The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2) (23 page)

I can feel pricks of icy coldness upon my arms which rapidly
fade to mild dampness. It is distracting, putting my attention into
chaos as I continue to focus on my goal as well as past and possible
future events. Even though it is tough to see through the haze in my
eyes, little specks begin to float all about. Swirling amongst the
recently dead that lay upon the ground, which now are nothing more
than sun-bleached bones. No, not bleached, but snow covered.

The boulder? Where did it go?
Time, like my emotions, is no longer existent. What has felt like
minutes is obviously more like months, possibly even years. It is
hard to say. But I do not lose focus, I push on, concentrating on each
foot moving forward, fighting the demon inside for control. I search
for that boulder, the goal my eyes had lock onto, to draw my
decaying body in. But it’s no longer there. Neither is Rangeley or
the path that I was following.
Before me, and endless swamp, humid and muck filled, making
each step harder and harder as it tries to suck me down and consume
me. Mosquitoes swarm about me, yet they never bite, or at least I
haven’t felt their sting. The snow that was swirling about not long
ago is all but gone. Another season had passed, or was it a decade?
How far have I traveled? Am I traveling in the right direction? More
questions without answers.
What will the outcome of my success be? A rash but apt
execution? Or will my body hold out? Will the people of Maribel
recognize their former leader? Will it be Steph to crack open my
skull and wire me up? Will she still have any feelings for me? Or
will her love have faded into disgust at my tainted carcass? These
questions never stop, and somewhere in the darkness of my mind a
cackling madness arises.
Focus, Patrick, focus on our objective.
But the snickering is getting louder, and the voices multiply. It
is not of my subconscious, it is not me. The voices are from HER,
from Valkyrie, tearing through the membranes of gray-matter in
attempt to squash my individuality. I hear her clearly now, she is
speaking to me, commanding me. Not with words, not with any type
of foreign or alien dialect, not with visuals or emotions. But still, I
hear her, and her voice is that of unexplainable horror, her taunts are
that of recollected and manipulated memories.
My dearest mother, standing in the doorway of our bathroom as
I washup in the tub. I am just a boy, maybe Abel’s age, possibly
younger. The water is red and smears across my skin like paint,
blood, thick and warm. The walls of the bathroom are covered with
it, hand prints, streaks of splatter, and puddles strewn across the
floor. And upon my mother’s face was a look I had never seen
before, a grimace of disgust and hate, something she would have
never felt towards me. But now she did.
“You fucking pig!” She snarled, but it was not her voice. “I’ll
slit your throat!”
Emotions. They had been suppressed, or just transparent. But
now they were as strong as ever. Not the emotions of a grown man,
but those of a frightened and self-conscious boy. I was crying, and
a sting of pain shot through my fragile heart as I stared up at my
mother’s beautiful eyes and saw the loathing within them. No…
This was not my mother… I need to focus.
“PATRICK!” My late wife’s voice cried out.
I was in a hospital room, staring down at the love of my life as
she screamed in agony. It was the day my daughter was born, one of
my most precious memories and the greatest day of my life. All the
emotions faded as fast as they had come, and I reveled in the
moment of reliving this special occasion. Gently I caressed her
cheek, comforting her as the doctors worked diligently to bring
Melissa into this world.
“YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” She barked at me. “YOU FAILED!
YOU KILLED OUR DAUGHTER!”
“No, honey, she’s almost here. She going to be fine.” I
reassured her.
“KILL ME!” Her voice cracked with agony as her face drained
of color, her eyes sinking deep into her skull, and her skin blackened
and cracked.
“DO SOMETHING!” I screamed, but there was not one else
there.
I was alone, except for my withering love, and my unborn child
pulsing from within. A heart breaking shrill escaped her lips as the
skin across her stomach split and ebonized blood seeped from the
wound. I tried to look away, tried to refocus, but Valkyrie forced me
to look on, forced me to endure. Tiny fingers pried through her flesh,
petite and innocent nubs, smothered in blood. Slowly they tore the
skin further, ripping her from crotch to breast, before a matted haired
child peeked up through the entrails. Those eyes, as bright as I
remember, glared back at me from the remains of what I had once
adored.
“STOP IT!” I cried out. And the vision faded. Only to be
replaced with another.
This was not of a long lost memory, rewritten and mutilated by
disease, but instead of the world from far above. Like a helpless
angel, trapped behind the gates of heaven, I looked down upon a
wasting humanity. Millions of people, flocking the streets of every
city, running from an infinite battalion of demons. Their agonizing
screams shred through my ears as ice cold fingers grasp my heart.
Men, Woman and children, falling beneath the heels of the dark
ones. Throats bitten, limbs torn, and children burning in the streets.
The emotions came back as I watched on, unable to intervene,
unable to stop the agony. But as I fought back, tried to ignore the
vision and peer back through my own eyes, I was thrust downwards,
back to earth like a rock being tossed off a cliff. An endless descent,
darkness and flames all about, painfully cold yet blisteringly hot.
Then, with a burst of wind, I was standing upon Zimmerman
Boulevard, empty and desolate, aside from a precious soul before
me.
Steph, so young, so innocent, so beautiful. She reaches for me,
calling my name, with a fuse of love burning in her eyes. Staring at
her, unable to move, unable to speak, only wanting. Wanting to hold
her, caress her face, and kiss those lips. Wanting to carry her through
the thresholds heaven, to lay her down upon a billowing plane and
indulge in endless and physical lust before the eyes of God. I wanted
all to see the affection I felt for this precious woman, and give all
that I had to give to her.
But she was so far away, my legs would not move, and she
seemed unable to come closer. As I fought my asymptomatic binds,
struggled to free my lead encased legs, defy Valkyries restraints, a
dark figure approached from behind. Steph was oblivious, her eyes
focused on my own, and I was incapable of warning her. All I could
do, all SHE would let me do, was watch. And I did, my eyes wide,
and yearning for the new found love before me.
But soon the shadows cleared, and Abel stood behind Steph
with a grin of rapture. Slowly his hands, seemingly stretching
unnaturally around her, gripped tight upon her breast before she was
pulled down to him. My legs broke free, and I was running as fast
as I had ever run before, but the closer I got, the further they became.
And as I pushed to reach her, struggled to save her, Abel lunged
forward and ferociously tore her throat away with a swift clean bite.
Instantly, they both charged me, two of my beloved now driven by
disease and hunger.
But I did not retreat, nor did I attempt to fight them off. Instead,
I remained in place, gradually kneeling down upon the pavement,
and stretched my arms out to my sides as I looked up into the
heavens and accepted my fate. Maribel faded into blackness, and
both Steph as well as Abel waned away with it. Complete darkness,
cold and empty, brimming with silence. Then, somewhere deep
within the void, that same cackling arose, louder and more defined,
until it was everywhere.
Notions from beyond filled my mind, Impressions seeded by
Valkyries deceptions.
You failed. The world will burn. Mankind has
been eradicated. Abel is dead.
She taunts me endlessly, even as I try
to focus - she makes me forget. A never ending battle on the planes
of my depraved subconscious. But I refuse to believe her lies, I
refuse to succumb to her, I refuse to be defeated. One foot before the
other, and soon, she releases her grip, and the darkness fades back
to glistening haze.
Standing alongside an old road, but this was not a long lost
memory. It was the present, or maybe the future from my
perspective. A heavy frost blankets the area, more seasons had
passed, and Ifear how many years it has been. But Valkyrie’s voices
were gone, it was just me, trapped within my own ravenous body.
Not far ahead was a large sign, faded but legible, and it was the
motivation I needed to refocus and set more goals.

Focus. Avoid Distraction. Keep Moving.
Slowly I was making progress - at least that is what I hoped for.
Day and night continued to muddle together, weeks and months
seemed none existent. And before long, I was back beneath a forest
canopy, on course or backtracking, I couldn’t be sure. Up ahead a
large mass of iron lay twisted and battered amongst a few toppled
trees. A helicopter, its tail rotor was all that was recognizable, along
with a pile of moss covered bones within.
There was no identifiable markings, nothing to say that this was
Atlas, and that those bones were of my friends. Even if it was, even
if SHE was right, it didn’t matter. There was nothing I could do
about it, and I was unable to emotionally respond. Abel was my goal,
and reaching Maribel would be the only option of finding the truth.
And even if they never made it, even if this is their final resting
place, there is still purpose. I still have some influence over this
hijacked body, I’ve pushed it thus far, and I am not one for giving
up.
My focus…
My finite control…
Quickly fades into nonexistence before the sight of a lowly deer
stuck within a pool of muck not far ahead. But as I fight back for
control, I find myself up against a wall. My influence gone, and SHE
has complete control. All I can do is wait, bide my time, and hope
that soon I will be able to negotiate with my own body and continue
my mission. As the wayward ungulate fights to escape the grasp of
this approaching predator, another soft and gently voice fills my
mind.
“I love you.” Steph whispers, over and over until it fades into
the same hellish cackle as before. And so I surrender to HER, for
the moment, without choice but beneath an iron fist. But as Valkyrie
does her thing, spreads her disease, consumes, I will review and
contemplate. I will continue my work from within an inescapable
prison of my own psyche. SHE is the puppet master, I the
marionette, and her fingers tug at my strings with ravenous intent.
It is time…
Time to feed…