Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ In The Silence, I Wander ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
“...that’s when it all got even more messed up...”
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.01.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.1K | Visits: 362 | Status: Completed
“...that’s when it all got even more messed up...”
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Horror / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.01.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.1K | Visits: 362 | Status: Completed
Extreme AU, OOC, non-historic West, violence...supernatural themes, violence...Just be prepared for the amount of violence and utter chaos.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.
I’m Alive: Man, I can’t believe I’m writing a fic about zombies! XD I’m usually the one not that interested, but...here’s my shit. XD XD As for all the creatures that I’m going to whip up, I’ll explain them on the way. I have surprising things coming up...O_o And, as a nutty Hs/R fan–one of the few that are out there, apparently, of COURSE I’m going to have some romance, going...I have some interesting things for the both of them coming up. (Claps hands in glee) Hope ya’ll are prepared. It’s going to be weird...
Oh, and to those that have noticed R's rather wimpy behavior? Do not fret---doesn't last long! XD (glomps Tri)
Chapter Five:
In The Silence, I Wander
Hotstreak had just finished telling Virgil and Adam about the train robbery–something that had happened eight years ago.
“It was fucked up,” he admitted over the sound of their horses’ hooves hitting the dirt. In the darkness, they had the comfort of the nocturnal animals as they made their sounds. If they turned, they could easily see Alva’s town burning. The faint screams of panic were still audible at their distance–ringing off the cliff walls and mountains that enveloped them. They were trying not to look back; all of them were a little numb, save for Hotstreak–he felt too much.
Too dangerous to ride fast through the dark, they were walking their mounts along the trail they used to drive their cattle into town. Virgil and the others were finally learning the secrets of Hotstreak’s past–the guy was still a little freaked as he fiddled with the reins, with his hat, with anything; Charger himself was more than restless, but worked rather easily with his master, as if sensing now wasn’t the time to challenge and play.
“So,” Virgil trailed off, blinking as a particularly loud blast sent waves throughout the cliff walls, making a few pebbles tinkle onto the earth. He struggled not to look–he would see things he wouldn’t want to. “You guys were responsible for unleashing all Hell upon the good West? I’m sure ya’ll must’ve felt so damn bad...”
Hotstreak shot him a disgusted look. “Fuck off, Hawkins. Who knew that the first train job I get, that fuckin’ shit happens?”
“Well...discouraged you from a life of crime, eh?”
“Actually...no. I ended up doing a few more things before finally ending up here,” Hotstreak admitted, frowning as Charger stumbled over some unseen dip in the trail. “Just that...fuck. I didn’t think it would...this was still goin’. I didn’t think it’d all follow me, here.”
“So, what happened when you guys headed back to town?” Adam asked curiously.
“Fuck...that’s when it all got even more messed up...”
010101010110
Blayne slowed his pace, sniffing the air. It was at that moment that both Francis and Aron realized what that stench was in the air.
It was the unforgettable stench of human flesh, burning. The smoke that filled the air, carelessly drifting over the bright sun, was light–signaling that whatever fire was burning, it was nearly out, with no fuel to keep it going. The humidity of the area had seemed to allow the stench weight---it was quite detectable no matter which direction they were looking, or smelling. It clung to every molecule, it seemed---the buzzing of thousands of hidden insects were just quiet enough for them to hear the faint sounds of chaos. Used to the clinging humidity, the boys wiped their faces with the casual movement, trying not to breathe so hard, to take in that stench.
Hurrying along, the three boys ran up the rest of the rocky incline, stumbling over loose gravel, and peered over the edge.
Their town, the place they’d grown up in, was destroyed. The wooden houses, the corrals, the barns, the farms that were spread throughout the valley–most of it was gone. In horror, all three stared at the devastation. In the correl just down the hill, there was an animal of undetermined nature, running and screaming in agonized circles as fire continued to eat at it.
Amidst the screaming of the animal, there were faint shouts further into Floriston–there were men on horseback, all of them surrounding something; but their panicked action and repeated gun blasts told the boys that something was wrong, there.
The fields, the crops were untouched–but the structures were destroyed.
There were human bodies, old and young, littering the streets, alley ways, and porches of the buildings closest to them. Some of them were burned corpses–others were destroyed messes of missing limbs, gore covered torsos, and congealing blood. The stench was horrendous, touching them in their distance, and Aron leant over, vomiting acrid liquid.
Blayne’s skin had turned a sickly, ashy color, while Francis blinked every so often. There was a woman screaming as she ran across the correl, where the burning animal ran–there were a group of men chasing her. Their actions were clumsy, almost drunken–but their mouths were open, and words of undetermined nature were coming from them.
“Gwaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhh!” was a common one, one of them grunting in a sort of dog-like bark. The woman was obviously in shock–her dress covered with blood, her bodice torn.
None of the boys could move, watching as she stumbled, watching as the men swarmed onto her. Her screams rose louder and louder–high pitched, devastating shrieks that sounded watery at the end. Material flew–an arm flew. Before it even registered, there was a gurgling sound that she emitted last, followed by a spectacular geyser of blood–the men covered her with their bodies, shifting hastily–until the boys realized that they were tearing at her with their teeth and fingers.
Aron vomited again.
“What is goin’ on?” Blayne whispered, as if those men would hear him. Francis only shook his head, eyes not leaving the sight of the cannibalism that was occurring just a small distance from them. Aron’s eyes were large and watery, his nose dripping with snot–there were sounds of garbled distress coming from his open mouth; as if he were trying to speak, but the words continually died at the tip of his tongue.
The rail line nearby clacked and cluttered–as if another train were coming through, but it was just a boxcar that swept along the tracks–unaided. The top was smoking dark black plumes, and flames licked the air through the small windows. There was a continuous dinging sound coming from it, as if someone were continually pulling on the bell.
Something exploded, and Blayne numbly announced that it had been old man Frankston’s oil supply, to keep his shop in light after the sun went down. The announcing plume of smoke lifted into the air, and it was only a matter of time before flames began licking onto the roofs nearby, spreading quickly as timber was consumed.
They continued to stare, unmoving, until Aron gave a choking sob, clamping both hands over his mouth. Both Blayne and Francis felt the same way, terrified and alone, but felt it too risky to start bawling like Aron. Blayne swallowed tightly, looking at his partner with a scared expression. His dark skin was still ashy.
“We goin’ down there?” he whispered.
Francis considered it, his eyes moving back to where the burning animal ran, where the men were finishing the woman off. Innards lay in the broken dirt, and two of the men were currently scrapping with each other over something that looked suspiciously like part of a rib cage. His stomach lurched, and his throat spewed bile onto his tongue.
He turned, spatting into the rocks below their feet. Blayne watched, expressionless, as those men began tearing each other apart. There were birds in the sky–crows. Cawing loudly as their black feathers fluttered through the air, beaks opened wide with their shouts. That flaming animal finally hit the dirt with an audible exhale, burning–the stench was horrendous.
“Dunno. Should we?” he asked, looking at Blayne.
Blayne shrugged, his fingers digging into the dirt. The three continued to stare down at the scene in shock–silent.
This morning they’d had woken, excited and nervous, expecting to rob a train and return with cash they could use for personal things. Now...they were coming back home, to find all that they had ever known, destroyed by things they didn’t understand.
It was nearly night fall when the three boys, clustered close together and creeping through the burned ruins of their town, examined fallen Floriston. Devastation was everywhere–the bodies had birds alighting them, and thin, wild dogs were already pouncing on the fallen meat of humans. Glass windows had been shattered–none of them had survived whatever it was that had swept through the town.
The buildings that hadn’t been burned had their doors hanging off their hinges–gardens were ruined, ransacked. Scorch marks from gun blasts littered almost every standing surface–rounds were visible in the dirt. An occasional horse swept through, eyes wide with panic, saddle in place, missing their rider–they all seemed to dart away from the humans once they caught sight of the boys.
Floriston had been a bustle of activity–a mixture of cowboys, of sodbusters, travelers, settlers–all sorts of souls that had wanted to pass through the Louisiana territory and into the West. The rail line ran right through the center of town–the population had been nearly a thousand–quite grand for a settlement like this. But whatever wasn’t on fire, whatever wasn’t torn, whatever wasn’t littered with gore and devastation–was empty and silent.
The silence of the town was what scared the boys, most. The fact that all the people they had seen and known all their lives were now either lying in pieces on the ground at their feet, or missing.
Aron was struggling to keep himself composed as Blayne led the way, his nervous eyes shooting here and there, Francis close behind him, rubbing anxiously at his forearms. The tromping sound of their boots along the packed dirt rang off of still-standing structures–a rabbit darted quickly through the road, hitting the bodies of downed humans, and scurrying anxiously into an open garden.
There were faint shouts further ahead of them–and the moment they saw some people racing, sluggishly, through the streets, the three of them were ducking behind any available cover. As the group neared the trio, Blayne peeked over the small garden fence, catching sight of their ghastly appearances. Their clothes were torn, skin was gray–they were the walking undead, just like those passengers in the train.
He recognized two of them–they had been buried nearly two months ago, just outside of Floriston. The sheriff had ruled them a suicide, due to their crops failing last year. The immigrant husband and wife had half their heads and faces missing–they walked with the uncertain action of a drunken man, undecided in where he was going; their footsteps were careful, as if they were treading on ice.
He watched them sweep by, giving those odd sounds, none of them in connection. The woman would “Urrrrghhhhh”, the man would “Keeeeeeekkkkkkkeeeeeeee”, the others would add in their various guttural noises. It wasn’t as if they were speaking to each other–just uttering them at the surprise of hearing themselves. Quickly, he looked over at Francis, who was hiding behind a haphazard hanging door up some church steps, and Aron had crammed himself underneath the porch of a woman’s dress shop.
The moment the undead scurried by, Blayne was signaling at them to get moving–to join him. The other two did so, fear on their faces, and the moment they were reunited, Blayne was leading the trek out of the streets, heading for the back end of the closely grouped structures. From there, they moved through a winding trail of hiding from various people, to arguing quietly in where they wanted to go.
Blayne wanted to hit his father’s farm, just outside of Floriston. Francis wanted to go home to the boardinghouse he lived with his parents, and Aron wanted to see if his family, a widower with a new wife and stepbrother. It didn’t seem right to break up right then–but they all wanted to go in different directions, to reassure themselves that all that they knew personally was still there. It was hard to think that anything of theirs was still standing–everything was in ruins. Everything was different than from what they’d left it.
They went to Francis’ boardinghouse, only to find that it, along with several other shacks along the street, were burnt–the supporting ties were still burning, and there were visible human corpses everywhere. Blayne merely clapped a hand on his back in sympathy, squeezing his shoulder to let him know that they had to get moving. Numbly, Francis followed them, casting glances back at the smoldering mess, wondering if his parents had died–if some of those corpses littering the ashy ruins were them.
Aron’s place was next–the moment they reached the small, still standing structure, the blond left them. He raced up the porch and into the house, immediately tripping over his stepbrother’s body in the process. Dwayne’s face was permanently etched with a deathly fear, congealing blood pooled around his body–his death had been an axe carved deep into his back. Just a distance away, his father sat on the couch, his head blown off, his brains and skull matter decorating the back wall. There was no sign of his mother–intensely disturbed, not bothering to look for her, Aron walked back out. Silent.
From that day on, he never spoke again. It seemed as if he’d just given up–as if his mind shut down with all the easiness it took to blow out a candle.
By the time they’d reached Blayne’s house, night had fallen, and Floriston was silent. Fires kept the valley alight, showing off the settlement’s destruction to the billions of stars that shone overhead. There were a few ducks waddling here and there, and chickens raced about in frantic effort–disturbed by the three that were walking up the tended path.
Blayne hurried up the front porch and walked in. Too fearful of drawing attention from the wandering dead in town, he didn’t call out. Merely searched room from room for those that he knew.
But...in the end...all three boys had only each other. Sleep was out of reach from them, as they took turns trying to rest and standing guard. Blayne had discovered that his father had left behind some ammo and a single-shot hunting rifle that constantly jammed. They used that, passing it to the person on watch while the other two slept.
There was still some food in the pantry, and that next day found the three of them at the table, staring at what they’d been able to pick out. Aron wasn’t acknowledging anybody, and both Blayne and Francis spoke only when they had to.
Picking at pieces of dried venison, Blayne looked at Francis, then looked worriedly at Aron, who stared at his food sightlessly. Shaking.
“What we gonna do?” he asked, keeping his voice low. The constant chatter of the chicken and ducks outside was something normal for them–it kept them from completely losing themselves to the sudden silence. There hadn’t been any trains passing through since the one they’d tried to rob yesterday.
Francis shrugged. “I dunno. Mebbe hit the next town? We can walk. Or find a few horses. Still some runnin’ around, out there.”
“What we gonna do when we get there, an’ it looks like this one?” Blayne asked, his voice a little shaky. “I don’t think I can take seein’ anymore of this, man. It’s freaky.”
“...Do you think we caused it all?” Francis asked him, darting worried green eyes in his direction, then focusing at the open window. Staring out into the distance. “That...that we...like, let something go? That thing, it said cuz we all upset it–it was gonna do somethin’ nasty. Do...do you think we did it?”
Blayne shrugged. “I dunno. We couldn’t, have. I mean...we was just followin’ orders! We didn’t even have any ammo to do things! How could have we started it all?”
“I’m scared, man,” Francis admitted. “What’s gonna happen if we run into them? Do we, like, try to run away? Or kill them?”
“...Just see what has to be done, I guess.” Blayne ran a hand over his tightly braided hair. “I don’t think those things can be kilt. I mean...they’re dead already!”
“Yeah...but...they can’t be like...completely powerful. They already fallin’ apart...maybe it just needs some coaxing. We can get, like weapons. Your daddy’s axe, his farm tools–things. Even if we don’t have any guns.”
“We’d need mounts. I don’t think we can keep on doing this on foot,” Blayne said, matter-of-factly. “Let’s do that. I’ll go get the weapons–you and Aron pack whatever we need to take wit’ us. That cool?”
“Yeah.” Francis flicked an anxious glance at Aron, who didn’t register any of them. “What if he stays like that, man?”
Blayne studied their blond friend. He shrugged helplessly.
By that afternoon, strapped with weapons that they could carry, the boys head back toward town, intent on catching a few of those horses that were running about. Things seemed to have died down, a little. There weren’t very many men or women lingering about. Everything was completely silent. As the sun continued to burn, and the humidity continued to keep them drenched, the bodies lying in their places were starting to disappear, leaving behind a mass of inner organs, bones, material of shredded clothing and congealed blood. It was both eerie and panicking to know that the bodies they’d seen a day earlier were just getting up and leaving.
They managed to catch a couple of horses, and it was agreed that Aron was better off behind one of them. Steadying a particularly skittish stallion, part of its right outer thigh bloodied by what looked like bite marks, Francis glanced at his two friends as they trotted along behind him, on a somewhat calm mare. They were going to head out of Floriston and head towards another town, a day’s worth of riding north of here. They were all tired–exhausted. Not wanting to talk very much.
As he led the way, he glanced around here and there, staring in particular at the burnt area where his home had been. He hadn’t been that close to his family–his father was often gone, working on the ever lengthening rail line, his younger sister was married off to a sodbuster looking to work his settlement somewhere up north, and his mother was a dressmaker–his parents were in an arranged marriage, didn’t talk to each other much, and he was often the troublemaker, making it hard for them to cope and manage.
He came home whenever he wanted, said what he wanted, and did what he wanted–this train robbery was going to be his ticket to a life of crime; he felt he would work well in that aspect. He had thought it would be neat to hold people up and take their valuables. He was good with a gun, and he was quite large for his age. He had been so excited to meet with the group of men that had coaxed him into their plans–now...he wasn’t sure what to feel.
They were nearing the train station, aiming to take the main road out of Floriston when he realized he was looking at the train they were to rob yesterday. It was parked in the station–cold and unmoving. Usually, there were people milling around the station–the engine was always running. There was always steam coming from the smoke stack, and there were always operators running around it, making sure that things were in place and working well.
But everything was so still–so still and so eerie in that it was all abandoned. He pulled his horse to a stop, gesturing at it to Blayne.
The immigrant looked over, studying the station, then the train. He looked back at Francis with a shrug, not knowing what to make of the situation. Francis turned his horse to start walking when he pulled up short with a gasp, Blayne uttering the same noise.
It was the man from the train that was standing there, hands folded before him. Not making a sound, his head lowered–the wide brim of his hat kept his face covered.
“Afternoon, boys,” he greeted in that creepy voice of his, penetrating the deep silence.
His bandanna was missing–the missing contents of his neck was exposed, and Blayne had to wonder how it was that he was able to speak. Those cracked lips spread into a smile, and the face lifted–those eyes focused on them, but they were flat–unseeing, like a blind person’s. Which made the two wonder if he were able to see at all–that glow wasn’t there. “Where are you off to, this fine, warm afternoon? You look as if you are on a trip out of town...do your parents know where you are?”
Neither could find his voice to say anything, Francis backing his horse so that they were side by side with Blayne. Aron showed no registration of the man at all–clinging to Blayne’s waist with shaking arms. Francis found he was able to pull his borrowed shotgun, the one that always jammed, and aimed it at the man.
“You stop this!” he cried. “Look at what you did!”
“‘What I did’? I didn’t do anything! You provoked my partner–he decided that this should be so! If you stupid thieves hadn’t bothered with climbing aboard our train–which is privately owned, I must inform you–he wouldn’t have made the decision to do what he had! He was angered by your choice! How dare you come aboard his train, and ruin his trip with your silly intentions!”
In mounting frustration, in that this man was speaking in riddles, Blayne shouted angrily, “Who is this ‘he’ yer talkin’ about?”
“My master, of course,” the man chuckled, his black hair lifting with a sudden afternoon breeze. “Someone that has been in control of me since I stumbled upon him. We go back a long way, you know...I hope you all feel special, boys. You started this entire chaos of darkness.”
“We didn’t do anythin’!” Francis insisted, his horse taking on agitated movements, startled by his teenage voice. “We was just lookin’ for our future! It ain’t like–it ain’t like we kilt anybody, or anything!”
“No...you just pissed off the wrong person,” the man said gravely, frowning darkly at them. “Hell of a time to try and shift the blame.”
“We didn’t do anythin’!” Blayne cried this time. “We didn’t do this! We didn’t ask for this!”
“Aw...the sound of children, feeling bad for the crimes they’d committed...almost musical. Almost... makes me tear. If only I had tear ducts, that is. I seem to be missing a great majority of my body–that happens when you live as long as I do.”
Shaking his head, looking anxious, Francis looked back at Blayne. His eyes darted toward the open road, and Blayne understood with a solid nod. Aron held tighter, even though he wasn’t looking at anybody.
Francis looked down at the man, sneering as his skittish horse pranced, snorting wildly. Head tossing–nostrils flaring–the guttural sounds of those undead catching their ears. Blayne looked back to see the street was filling with them–as if called from some unseen person. The corpses in the street were rising, and words of undetermined nature were coming from their mouths. Sightless eyes were directed toward them, and their shuffling gait caused dust to rise.
“What’s your name, man?” he asked.
The man grinned, his lips on the verge of cracking as he did so. “Caine. That’s all I remember. Shall I be seeing you again, young one?”
“Don’t count on it. I’ll just pass the word on.”
“Please don’t expect too much of the next town,” Caine muttered, walking away from the two skittish animals, their riders holding on tight. “Or the next...or the next. I’ll admit, the West is rather large, and places are spread too thin. It’ll take a while before we catch up to you, again. But don’t count on us looking up your new address–as far as he is concerned...you’re nothing to worry about. Just lost children...opening Pandora’s box and unleashing a curse upon the world. You know how it goes...”
With an uncertain look at Caine, who was walking through the moving undead, Blayne coaxed his horse forward. Francis followed, the trio riding off through town–heading for the next.
010101010110
“That guy was right, too. Nothin’ was left of any town we came to. Our horses ‘bout died, from bein’ ridden too much without rest. We was just lookin’ for a place that wasn’t all invaded by those things.” Hotstreak thought more of his past with a grim frown, thinking of their journey.
Virgil, having listened quietly the entire time, stared with a troubled expression at Sparky’s mane. They’d left Alva’s town too quickly for him to see the undead wrought their havoc. He hadn’t seen any of the horrors Hotstreak had described. But the sounds that he heard were enough to convince him that it was all so frightful.
“What happened to those guys?” he asked curiously.
Hotstreak shrugged a shoulder. “Coupla days later, Aron blew his brains out with the rifle. Damn thing never did work again. But Blayne and I...well, we got to learnin’. Experimentin’. Y’know, we just did our thing while looking for a way out of that place. We saw our share of shit–he went on to do good, that way. Turned into some sorta badass zombie-killer; that’s what he called them. Zombies. Got all...like, heroish–wanted to find Caine and this ‘he’ he kept mentionin’, and...we sorta parted ways.”
Virgil studied him. “What happened to you?”
Hotstreak sighed heavily. “I fuckin’ chickened out. Learned my lot, learned what to do with those things–an’, trust me, it ain’t just zombies an’ things on horseback. I kinda went crazy. I didn’t care to go the way Blayne had. I didn’t want to look for that bullshit. I just wanted...out. Found and made my second train, got fucked up on that–kilt my first person. From there, I just hopped from town to town–no one knew what was happening. Word didn’t reach nobody what was goin’on, an’ it was like...we were the only survivors. An’ whose gonna believe us? Couple kids–nigger and a white boy, talking shit about undead? No one.
“Blayne went on to being a hero, I went an’ did whatever it took to get drunk an’ cause shit. ‘S how I ended up stumbling onto your daddy. You know the rest from there.”
Virgil nodded quietly, and the group rode in silence for some considerable time. By the time the sky began to lighten up, they were halfway close to Hawkins’ Ranch. They decided that it was considerable distance to rest, and they did.
010101010110
They stared at the rising plume of smoke, visible in the distance. Almost simultaneously, jaws dropped–hearts seemed to stop. Virgil didn’t hesitate, thoughts of his father and sister jumping to mind as he kicked Sparky into a dead run toward the ranch. The others followed, and Hotstreak was left behind–gaping at the visible trail of destruction. While he inwardly knew what they were going to see, he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want that horror, again.
Slower, but definitely keeping Charger at a run, he followed after the others.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.
I’m Alive: Man, I can’t believe I’m writing a fic about zombies! XD I’m usually the one not that interested, but...here’s my shit. XD XD As for all the creatures that I’m going to whip up, I’ll explain them on the way. I have surprising things coming up...O_o And, as a nutty Hs/R fan–one of the few that are out there, apparently, of COURSE I’m going to have some romance, going...I have some interesting things for the both of them coming up. (Claps hands in glee) Hope ya’ll are prepared. It’s going to be weird...
Oh, and to those that have noticed R's rather wimpy behavior? Do not fret---doesn't last long! XD (glomps Tri)
Chapter Five:
In The Silence, I Wander
Hotstreak had just finished telling Virgil and Adam about the train robbery–something that had happened eight years ago.
“It was fucked up,” he admitted over the sound of their horses’ hooves hitting the dirt. In the darkness, they had the comfort of the nocturnal animals as they made their sounds. If they turned, they could easily see Alva’s town burning. The faint screams of panic were still audible at their distance–ringing off the cliff walls and mountains that enveloped them. They were trying not to look back; all of them were a little numb, save for Hotstreak–he felt too much.
Too dangerous to ride fast through the dark, they were walking their mounts along the trail they used to drive their cattle into town. Virgil and the others were finally learning the secrets of Hotstreak’s past–the guy was still a little freaked as he fiddled with the reins, with his hat, with anything; Charger himself was more than restless, but worked rather easily with his master, as if sensing now wasn’t the time to challenge and play.
“So,” Virgil trailed off, blinking as a particularly loud blast sent waves throughout the cliff walls, making a few pebbles tinkle onto the earth. He struggled not to look–he would see things he wouldn’t want to. “You guys were responsible for unleashing all Hell upon the good West? I’m sure ya’ll must’ve felt so damn bad...”
Hotstreak shot him a disgusted look. “Fuck off, Hawkins. Who knew that the first train job I get, that fuckin’ shit happens?”
“Well...discouraged you from a life of crime, eh?”
“Actually...no. I ended up doing a few more things before finally ending up here,” Hotstreak admitted, frowning as Charger stumbled over some unseen dip in the trail. “Just that...fuck. I didn’t think it would...this was still goin’. I didn’t think it’d all follow me, here.”
“So, what happened when you guys headed back to town?” Adam asked curiously.
“Fuck...that’s when it all got even more messed up...”
010101010110
Blayne slowed his pace, sniffing the air. It was at that moment that both Francis and Aron realized what that stench was in the air.
It was the unforgettable stench of human flesh, burning. The smoke that filled the air, carelessly drifting over the bright sun, was light–signaling that whatever fire was burning, it was nearly out, with no fuel to keep it going. The humidity of the area had seemed to allow the stench weight---it was quite detectable no matter which direction they were looking, or smelling. It clung to every molecule, it seemed---the buzzing of thousands of hidden insects were just quiet enough for them to hear the faint sounds of chaos. Used to the clinging humidity, the boys wiped their faces with the casual movement, trying not to breathe so hard, to take in that stench.
Hurrying along, the three boys ran up the rest of the rocky incline, stumbling over loose gravel, and peered over the edge.
Their town, the place they’d grown up in, was destroyed. The wooden houses, the corrals, the barns, the farms that were spread throughout the valley–most of it was gone. In horror, all three stared at the devastation. In the correl just down the hill, there was an animal of undetermined nature, running and screaming in agonized circles as fire continued to eat at it.
Amidst the screaming of the animal, there were faint shouts further into Floriston–there were men on horseback, all of them surrounding something; but their panicked action and repeated gun blasts told the boys that something was wrong, there.
The fields, the crops were untouched–but the structures were destroyed.
There were human bodies, old and young, littering the streets, alley ways, and porches of the buildings closest to them. Some of them were burned corpses–others were destroyed messes of missing limbs, gore covered torsos, and congealing blood. The stench was horrendous, touching them in their distance, and Aron leant over, vomiting acrid liquid.
Blayne’s skin had turned a sickly, ashy color, while Francis blinked every so often. There was a woman screaming as she ran across the correl, where the burning animal ran–there were a group of men chasing her. Their actions were clumsy, almost drunken–but their mouths were open, and words of undetermined nature were coming from them.
“Gwaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhh!” was a common one, one of them grunting in a sort of dog-like bark. The woman was obviously in shock–her dress covered with blood, her bodice torn.
None of the boys could move, watching as she stumbled, watching as the men swarmed onto her. Her screams rose louder and louder–high pitched, devastating shrieks that sounded watery at the end. Material flew–an arm flew. Before it even registered, there was a gurgling sound that she emitted last, followed by a spectacular geyser of blood–the men covered her with their bodies, shifting hastily–until the boys realized that they were tearing at her with their teeth and fingers.
Aron vomited again.
“What is goin’ on?” Blayne whispered, as if those men would hear him. Francis only shook his head, eyes not leaving the sight of the cannibalism that was occurring just a small distance from them. Aron’s eyes were large and watery, his nose dripping with snot–there were sounds of garbled distress coming from his open mouth; as if he were trying to speak, but the words continually died at the tip of his tongue.
The rail line nearby clacked and cluttered–as if another train were coming through, but it was just a boxcar that swept along the tracks–unaided. The top was smoking dark black plumes, and flames licked the air through the small windows. There was a continuous dinging sound coming from it, as if someone were continually pulling on the bell.
Something exploded, and Blayne numbly announced that it had been old man Frankston’s oil supply, to keep his shop in light after the sun went down. The announcing plume of smoke lifted into the air, and it was only a matter of time before flames began licking onto the roofs nearby, spreading quickly as timber was consumed.
They continued to stare, unmoving, until Aron gave a choking sob, clamping both hands over his mouth. Both Blayne and Francis felt the same way, terrified and alone, but felt it too risky to start bawling like Aron. Blayne swallowed tightly, looking at his partner with a scared expression. His dark skin was still ashy.
“We goin’ down there?” he whispered.
Francis considered it, his eyes moving back to where the burning animal ran, where the men were finishing the woman off. Innards lay in the broken dirt, and two of the men were currently scrapping with each other over something that looked suspiciously like part of a rib cage. His stomach lurched, and his throat spewed bile onto his tongue.
He turned, spatting into the rocks below their feet. Blayne watched, expressionless, as those men began tearing each other apart. There were birds in the sky–crows. Cawing loudly as their black feathers fluttered through the air, beaks opened wide with their shouts. That flaming animal finally hit the dirt with an audible exhale, burning–the stench was horrendous.
“Dunno. Should we?” he asked, looking at Blayne.
Blayne shrugged, his fingers digging into the dirt. The three continued to stare down at the scene in shock–silent.
This morning they’d had woken, excited and nervous, expecting to rob a train and return with cash they could use for personal things. Now...they were coming back home, to find all that they had ever known, destroyed by things they didn’t understand.
It was nearly night fall when the three boys, clustered close together and creeping through the burned ruins of their town, examined fallen Floriston. Devastation was everywhere–the bodies had birds alighting them, and thin, wild dogs were already pouncing on the fallen meat of humans. Glass windows had been shattered–none of them had survived whatever it was that had swept through the town.
The buildings that hadn’t been burned had their doors hanging off their hinges–gardens were ruined, ransacked. Scorch marks from gun blasts littered almost every standing surface–rounds were visible in the dirt. An occasional horse swept through, eyes wide with panic, saddle in place, missing their rider–they all seemed to dart away from the humans once they caught sight of the boys.
Floriston had been a bustle of activity–a mixture of cowboys, of sodbusters, travelers, settlers–all sorts of souls that had wanted to pass through the Louisiana territory and into the West. The rail line ran right through the center of town–the population had been nearly a thousand–quite grand for a settlement like this. But whatever wasn’t on fire, whatever wasn’t torn, whatever wasn’t littered with gore and devastation–was empty and silent.
The silence of the town was what scared the boys, most. The fact that all the people they had seen and known all their lives were now either lying in pieces on the ground at their feet, or missing.
Aron was struggling to keep himself composed as Blayne led the way, his nervous eyes shooting here and there, Francis close behind him, rubbing anxiously at his forearms. The tromping sound of their boots along the packed dirt rang off of still-standing structures–a rabbit darted quickly through the road, hitting the bodies of downed humans, and scurrying anxiously into an open garden.
There were faint shouts further ahead of them–and the moment they saw some people racing, sluggishly, through the streets, the three of them were ducking behind any available cover. As the group neared the trio, Blayne peeked over the small garden fence, catching sight of their ghastly appearances. Their clothes were torn, skin was gray–they were the walking undead, just like those passengers in the train.
He recognized two of them–they had been buried nearly two months ago, just outside of Floriston. The sheriff had ruled them a suicide, due to their crops failing last year. The immigrant husband and wife had half their heads and faces missing–they walked with the uncertain action of a drunken man, undecided in where he was going; their footsteps were careful, as if they were treading on ice.
He watched them sweep by, giving those odd sounds, none of them in connection. The woman would “Urrrrghhhhh”, the man would “Keeeeeeekkkkkkkeeeeeeee”, the others would add in their various guttural noises. It wasn’t as if they were speaking to each other–just uttering them at the surprise of hearing themselves. Quickly, he looked over at Francis, who was hiding behind a haphazard hanging door up some church steps, and Aron had crammed himself underneath the porch of a woman’s dress shop.
The moment the undead scurried by, Blayne was signaling at them to get moving–to join him. The other two did so, fear on their faces, and the moment they were reunited, Blayne was leading the trek out of the streets, heading for the back end of the closely grouped structures. From there, they moved through a winding trail of hiding from various people, to arguing quietly in where they wanted to go.
Blayne wanted to hit his father’s farm, just outside of Floriston. Francis wanted to go home to the boardinghouse he lived with his parents, and Aron wanted to see if his family, a widower with a new wife and stepbrother. It didn’t seem right to break up right then–but they all wanted to go in different directions, to reassure themselves that all that they knew personally was still there. It was hard to think that anything of theirs was still standing–everything was in ruins. Everything was different than from what they’d left it.
They went to Francis’ boardinghouse, only to find that it, along with several other shacks along the street, were burnt–the supporting ties were still burning, and there were visible human corpses everywhere. Blayne merely clapped a hand on his back in sympathy, squeezing his shoulder to let him know that they had to get moving. Numbly, Francis followed them, casting glances back at the smoldering mess, wondering if his parents had died–if some of those corpses littering the ashy ruins were them.
Aron’s place was next–the moment they reached the small, still standing structure, the blond left them. He raced up the porch and into the house, immediately tripping over his stepbrother’s body in the process. Dwayne’s face was permanently etched with a deathly fear, congealing blood pooled around his body–his death had been an axe carved deep into his back. Just a distance away, his father sat on the couch, his head blown off, his brains and skull matter decorating the back wall. There was no sign of his mother–intensely disturbed, not bothering to look for her, Aron walked back out. Silent.
From that day on, he never spoke again. It seemed as if he’d just given up–as if his mind shut down with all the easiness it took to blow out a candle.
By the time they’d reached Blayne’s house, night had fallen, and Floriston was silent. Fires kept the valley alight, showing off the settlement’s destruction to the billions of stars that shone overhead. There were a few ducks waddling here and there, and chickens raced about in frantic effort–disturbed by the three that were walking up the tended path.
Blayne hurried up the front porch and walked in. Too fearful of drawing attention from the wandering dead in town, he didn’t call out. Merely searched room from room for those that he knew.
But...in the end...all three boys had only each other. Sleep was out of reach from them, as they took turns trying to rest and standing guard. Blayne had discovered that his father had left behind some ammo and a single-shot hunting rifle that constantly jammed. They used that, passing it to the person on watch while the other two slept.
There was still some food in the pantry, and that next day found the three of them at the table, staring at what they’d been able to pick out. Aron wasn’t acknowledging anybody, and both Blayne and Francis spoke only when they had to.
Picking at pieces of dried venison, Blayne looked at Francis, then looked worriedly at Aron, who stared at his food sightlessly. Shaking.
“What we gonna do?” he asked, keeping his voice low. The constant chatter of the chicken and ducks outside was something normal for them–it kept them from completely losing themselves to the sudden silence. There hadn’t been any trains passing through since the one they’d tried to rob yesterday.
Francis shrugged. “I dunno. Mebbe hit the next town? We can walk. Or find a few horses. Still some runnin’ around, out there.”
“What we gonna do when we get there, an’ it looks like this one?” Blayne asked, his voice a little shaky. “I don’t think I can take seein’ anymore of this, man. It’s freaky.”
“...Do you think we caused it all?” Francis asked him, darting worried green eyes in his direction, then focusing at the open window. Staring out into the distance. “That...that we...like, let something go? That thing, it said cuz we all upset it–it was gonna do somethin’ nasty. Do...do you think we did it?”
Blayne shrugged. “I dunno. We couldn’t, have. I mean...we was just followin’ orders! We didn’t even have any ammo to do things! How could have we started it all?”
“I’m scared, man,” Francis admitted. “What’s gonna happen if we run into them? Do we, like, try to run away? Or kill them?”
“...Just see what has to be done, I guess.” Blayne ran a hand over his tightly braided hair. “I don’t think those things can be kilt. I mean...they’re dead already!”
“Yeah...but...they can’t be like...completely powerful. They already fallin’ apart...maybe it just needs some coaxing. We can get, like weapons. Your daddy’s axe, his farm tools–things. Even if we don’t have any guns.”
“We’d need mounts. I don’t think we can keep on doing this on foot,” Blayne said, matter-of-factly. “Let’s do that. I’ll go get the weapons–you and Aron pack whatever we need to take wit’ us. That cool?”
“Yeah.” Francis flicked an anxious glance at Aron, who didn’t register any of them. “What if he stays like that, man?”
Blayne studied their blond friend. He shrugged helplessly.
By that afternoon, strapped with weapons that they could carry, the boys head back toward town, intent on catching a few of those horses that were running about. Things seemed to have died down, a little. There weren’t very many men or women lingering about. Everything was completely silent. As the sun continued to burn, and the humidity continued to keep them drenched, the bodies lying in their places were starting to disappear, leaving behind a mass of inner organs, bones, material of shredded clothing and congealed blood. It was both eerie and panicking to know that the bodies they’d seen a day earlier were just getting up and leaving.
They managed to catch a couple of horses, and it was agreed that Aron was better off behind one of them. Steadying a particularly skittish stallion, part of its right outer thigh bloodied by what looked like bite marks, Francis glanced at his two friends as they trotted along behind him, on a somewhat calm mare. They were going to head out of Floriston and head towards another town, a day’s worth of riding north of here. They were all tired–exhausted. Not wanting to talk very much.
As he led the way, he glanced around here and there, staring in particular at the burnt area where his home had been. He hadn’t been that close to his family–his father was often gone, working on the ever lengthening rail line, his younger sister was married off to a sodbuster looking to work his settlement somewhere up north, and his mother was a dressmaker–his parents were in an arranged marriage, didn’t talk to each other much, and he was often the troublemaker, making it hard for them to cope and manage.
He came home whenever he wanted, said what he wanted, and did what he wanted–this train robbery was going to be his ticket to a life of crime; he felt he would work well in that aspect. He had thought it would be neat to hold people up and take their valuables. He was good with a gun, and he was quite large for his age. He had been so excited to meet with the group of men that had coaxed him into their plans–now...he wasn’t sure what to feel.
They were nearing the train station, aiming to take the main road out of Floriston when he realized he was looking at the train they were to rob yesterday. It was parked in the station–cold and unmoving. Usually, there were people milling around the station–the engine was always running. There was always steam coming from the smoke stack, and there were always operators running around it, making sure that things were in place and working well.
But everything was so still–so still and so eerie in that it was all abandoned. He pulled his horse to a stop, gesturing at it to Blayne.
The immigrant looked over, studying the station, then the train. He looked back at Francis with a shrug, not knowing what to make of the situation. Francis turned his horse to start walking when he pulled up short with a gasp, Blayne uttering the same noise.
It was the man from the train that was standing there, hands folded before him. Not making a sound, his head lowered–the wide brim of his hat kept his face covered.
“Afternoon, boys,” he greeted in that creepy voice of his, penetrating the deep silence.
His bandanna was missing–the missing contents of his neck was exposed, and Blayne had to wonder how it was that he was able to speak. Those cracked lips spread into a smile, and the face lifted–those eyes focused on them, but they were flat–unseeing, like a blind person’s. Which made the two wonder if he were able to see at all–that glow wasn’t there. “Where are you off to, this fine, warm afternoon? You look as if you are on a trip out of town...do your parents know where you are?”
Neither could find his voice to say anything, Francis backing his horse so that they were side by side with Blayne. Aron showed no registration of the man at all–clinging to Blayne’s waist with shaking arms. Francis found he was able to pull his borrowed shotgun, the one that always jammed, and aimed it at the man.
“You stop this!” he cried. “Look at what you did!”
“‘What I did’? I didn’t do anything! You provoked my partner–he decided that this should be so! If you stupid thieves hadn’t bothered with climbing aboard our train–which is privately owned, I must inform you–he wouldn’t have made the decision to do what he had! He was angered by your choice! How dare you come aboard his train, and ruin his trip with your silly intentions!”
In mounting frustration, in that this man was speaking in riddles, Blayne shouted angrily, “Who is this ‘he’ yer talkin’ about?”
“My master, of course,” the man chuckled, his black hair lifting with a sudden afternoon breeze. “Someone that has been in control of me since I stumbled upon him. We go back a long way, you know...I hope you all feel special, boys. You started this entire chaos of darkness.”
“We didn’t do anythin’!” Francis insisted, his horse taking on agitated movements, startled by his teenage voice. “We was just lookin’ for our future! It ain’t like–it ain’t like we kilt anybody, or anything!”
“No...you just pissed off the wrong person,” the man said gravely, frowning darkly at them. “Hell of a time to try and shift the blame.”
“We didn’t do anythin’!” Blayne cried this time. “We didn’t do this! We didn’t ask for this!”
“Aw...the sound of children, feeling bad for the crimes they’d committed...almost musical. Almost... makes me tear. If only I had tear ducts, that is. I seem to be missing a great majority of my body–that happens when you live as long as I do.”
Shaking his head, looking anxious, Francis looked back at Blayne. His eyes darted toward the open road, and Blayne understood with a solid nod. Aron held tighter, even though he wasn’t looking at anybody.
Francis looked down at the man, sneering as his skittish horse pranced, snorting wildly. Head tossing–nostrils flaring–the guttural sounds of those undead catching their ears. Blayne looked back to see the street was filling with them–as if called from some unseen person. The corpses in the street were rising, and words of undetermined nature were coming from their mouths. Sightless eyes were directed toward them, and their shuffling gait caused dust to rise.
“What’s your name, man?” he asked.
The man grinned, his lips on the verge of cracking as he did so. “Caine. That’s all I remember. Shall I be seeing you again, young one?”
“Don’t count on it. I’ll just pass the word on.”
“Please don’t expect too much of the next town,” Caine muttered, walking away from the two skittish animals, their riders holding on tight. “Or the next...or the next. I’ll admit, the West is rather large, and places are spread too thin. It’ll take a while before we catch up to you, again. But don’t count on us looking up your new address–as far as he is concerned...you’re nothing to worry about. Just lost children...opening Pandora’s box and unleashing a curse upon the world. You know how it goes...”
With an uncertain look at Caine, who was walking through the moving undead, Blayne coaxed his horse forward. Francis followed, the trio riding off through town–heading for the next.
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“That guy was right, too. Nothin’ was left of any town we came to. Our horses ‘bout died, from bein’ ridden too much without rest. We was just lookin’ for a place that wasn’t all invaded by those things.” Hotstreak thought more of his past with a grim frown, thinking of their journey.
Virgil, having listened quietly the entire time, stared with a troubled expression at Sparky’s mane. They’d left Alva’s town too quickly for him to see the undead wrought their havoc. He hadn’t seen any of the horrors Hotstreak had described. But the sounds that he heard were enough to convince him that it was all so frightful.
“What happened to those guys?” he asked curiously.
Hotstreak shrugged a shoulder. “Coupla days later, Aron blew his brains out with the rifle. Damn thing never did work again. But Blayne and I...well, we got to learnin’. Experimentin’. Y’know, we just did our thing while looking for a way out of that place. We saw our share of shit–he went on to do good, that way. Turned into some sorta badass zombie-killer; that’s what he called them. Zombies. Got all...like, heroish–wanted to find Caine and this ‘he’ he kept mentionin’, and...we sorta parted ways.”
Virgil studied him. “What happened to you?”
Hotstreak sighed heavily. “I fuckin’ chickened out. Learned my lot, learned what to do with those things–an’, trust me, it ain’t just zombies an’ things on horseback. I kinda went crazy. I didn’t care to go the way Blayne had. I didn’t want to look for that bullshit. I just wanted...out. Found and made my second train, got fucked up on that–kilt my first person. From there, I just hopped from town to town–no one knew what was happening. Word didn’t reach nobody what was goin’on, an’ it was like...we were the only survivors. An’ whose gonna believe us? Couple kids–nigger and a white boy, talking shit about undead? No one.
“Blayne went on to being a hero, I went an’ did whatever it took to get drunk an’ cause shit. ‘S how I ended up stumbling onto your daddy. You know the rest from there.”
Virgil nodded quietly, and the group rode in silence for some considerable time. By the time the sky began to lighten up, they were halfway close to Hawkins’ Ranch. They decided that it was considerable distance to rest, and they did.
010101010110
They stared at the rising plume of smoke, visible in the distance. Almost simultaneously, jaws dropped–hearts seemed to stop. Virgil didn’t hesitate, thoughts of his father and sister jumping to mind as he kicked Sparky into a dead run toward the ranch. The others followed, and Hotstreak was left behind–gaping at the visible trail of destruction. While he inwardly knew what they were going to see, he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want that horror, again.
Slower, but definitely keeping Charger at a run, he followed after the others.