Chapter Three: Gabriel
The sun was a maddened sledgehammer, beating sunlight into Sera’s eyes and thudding a drum inside her head. Her lips were dry and cracked, and she needed her water skin She found it nearby, along with the rest of her belongings, in a small pile in the corner, leather satchel on top. Drinking greedily, gulping gratefully the lukewarm water in great swallows, barely registering the new surroundings. Blood pounded heavily in her brain, and she was exhausted. The night’s sleep had been harsh, and had left her unrefreshed. The room was small, and furnished only with a straw mattress and a small wooden dresser. She recognized it at once.
“What the fuck?”
It was her room, and one she had never shared. Her stomach growled angrily and her hand grasped at it. It couldn’t have been a dream. Her clothes were still shredded, flesh sore and scabbed, it had been real. Her head ached with a vengeance and the rest of her body moaned impatiently. The scent of smoke and ash filled the air. Had there been a fire? Wafts of stale air floated through the open window, but all else was quiet. No voices, no sounds. No.
She began pulling her shredded clothes off, tenderly tugging free at the places where her flesh had scabbed into the leather. Wincing as fresh blood oozed down her skin, she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. It was silent as death today, and that meant only one thing could possibly have happened.
No. Stop it, you’re been childish. How could that have . . .
The smell of long pork drew her attention back to her instinctual conclusion. No. It was an afterthought of a smell, was she imagining it? Better safe than sorry. She wrapped her wounds slowly, with fresh bandages from her satchel, grimacing at the cool antiseptic burn. The flesh around the claw-dug trenches was red and purulent; thick yellowish goo seemed to pour from the skin and seep through the bandages.
She wasn’t cool and collected. That same feverish frenzy from the night before was upon her. Head thumping, vision blurring, every part of her body throbbing violently. She felt sick. It was a sickness, the sickness of shades, she had no doubt, yet she couldn't just survive it like this. She should have turned by now, and yet she hadn't, and the only cost was this fever. But fever or no, sick or not, in her current state, she wouldn’t last five minutes in the desert sun.
Fresh clothes had been laid out on the floor beside the mattress, and she grabbed them, slowly pulling the shirt and leggings each past the gashes. Covered, and feeling paler, the room spinning slightly, Sera quickly tied the straps to her spear-knife and hung her satchel across one shoulder. An unfamiliar sound tinkled from the satchel. It wasn’t a dream, she told herself. Opening the leather bag, a piece of paper and a silver key inscribed the letter “GM” shined up at her. The note, which it was, was scrawled in a loopy, forward slanting manner. It was easy enough to read, she had learned how from her grandfather, who had insisted on remembering the more important of the old ways.
“I wait for you at Salt Lake, as does another you might know.
Have my steed, and be done with this place of fire and death.”
It wasn’t signed, whoever had left it had known she would read it. A hole, a gap in her memory, a shadow instead of a face, blanks instead of a name, all but the voice was unrecognizable. The voice was familiar, sounding as the writing had in her brain. A rumble? The steed was a car, she was sure of it now, an ancient automobile. Glimpses appeared in her mind’s eye as she would find it, a dark red coating streaked with chrome, tanned leather seats and metallic wheel, a rumbling (petrol?) gasoline-powered motor. Those glimpses ran in her brain, flashing with the beat of her heart, and the memories flushed red with blood, so sweet, so enticing. Stop it! She shouted at herself, forcing the blood from her vision. It was the rumble she wanted to hear again, not just the echoing rumble in her brain. That damned echo of thoughts which weren’t hers, haunting her since childhood, the random jumble and utter chaos of a mind which hadn’t yet been tainted with infinity.
An almost rhyme flooding her brain, circling her thoughts. Who hadn’t yet been touched by the madcap rush towards infinity. It was infinite, or nearly so, but it also hung in a precarious balance, light and dark opposite each other on the teeter-totter of human existence. That wasn’t quite it, though, either. It was never good versus evil in the real world. Only in fairy tales were the opposing sides so clear laid out in black and white. The good knight against the evil dragon. Grey against grey. Brother against brother. That’s how it really happens.
It was without form or voice, and found from within. Given form by the minds who thought it, and given voice by those who spoke of it. Simple yet conflicting ideas reaching out to whoever could hold and spread them to others like-minded. It was a sense of purpose, a way out of her own mind and the prisons she had crafted for herself, but it wasn’t just a thing to be used. It wasn’t only for her. It belonged to every one, every person who could dream of things greater than themselves.
Struggling to put it out of her mind, confused at her failure to do so, she let it go, sliding down the slippery slope of fever and pain. She had set herself upon the path of ultimate devastation and disruption, death and betrayal. Perhaps not just herself, but the others as well, and maybe her choices hadn’t been the only ones made that had solidified her path into being, but a higher power’s choices as well. The truth of the matter was, it didn’t matter. The way did though, and the time had come for her to hurtle along it towards the infinite. Guided by emotion and instincts as well as skills taught her by her grandfather. Things she had known before, but now fully unleashed. A thing loosed can sometimes never be put in chains again. Water can only flow one way. Downhill. It was time that flowed downhill, and everything else just followed suit. It was pulling her, down towards uncertain fears and certainly towards the most difficult battle any had ever faced. Her adrenaline-maddened brain was pumping and pulsing furiously at the prospect.
I’ve got to get out of here first.
Hot, pyretic thoughts poured through her conscious mind, but she ignored them, moving frantically downstairs, towards everything that lay ahead, leaving all she knew behind. The door swung shut behind her, and the sunlight glared overhead.
Home.
The destruction was complete and total. Friends, family, neighbors, hard-working citizens of the Brig all lay still, flies buzzing incessantly about the desiccated corpses. Some had been burned, probably while they had still lived, and some had strips of flesh and muscle torn from them, a grisly sort of snack for the blood-thirsty men-that-were. Shades didn’t care for anything but human flesh, a symbol taken from Sigmund Freud’s words. The shadows would have laughed their coarse laughter as the living fought off their blighted enemies. Always coming under the cover of darkness, the destrachan had raided before. The main wall had been three feet of concrete at its base, and slightly tapered towards the top, thirty feet above. Many attempts had been made to breach it, but always it had survived. Near the main entrance, the primary gate, a huge gaping hole filled with rocky rubble and chunks of metal had been the catalyst of its defeat.
A soft moan escaped her lips. Must have been hundreds of them! She thought, They didn’t stand a chance! Sera fell to her knees and wept, with her head in her hands. The carnage came at her from all around, filling her mind behind closed eyes with the faces of her friends, of Henry, the kindly alchemist, of Mick, the hunter, and of the Sheriff Olsen, all dying, and damning her for being gone, flown from the Brig in the hour of its direst need. The tears she cried fell to the ground and were swallowed up by the dryness of it. Crying will do you no good. A voice in the back of her mind said flatly. She was sobbing, near uncontrollably, but she managed to suppress it a little. It wasn't enough. “Why? Why the fuck did it have to be now?” she screamed to the sky, “Why?” and the tears were back, flooding her eyes and falling to the ground. Emotionally charged, the shakes were gone as quickly as they had come, and though her tears were still falling, they had slowed somewhat. Grief became anger, and this desecration infuriated her.
Sera stood slowly, deliberately, and began walking gingerly forward. Limping slightly, she made her way to the hole. Pieces of rusted axle and melted rubber lay still among the stones which had once been part of the wall. She saw the automobile as the word popped into her thoughts (Elcamino), yet it was two words, not one. Painted a deep burgundy, the car shined like nothing she’d ever seen or imagined; chrome bumpers and detailing completed the image, mirrored finish twisted the reflections of the harsh light like a fun-house mirror.
“Wait! Oh God, please wait!” a voice called to her from behind.
Drawn in a practiced instant, her spear-knife shot towards the voice as she turned, still holding the handle tightly. “Nobody sneaks up on me.”
“I . . . they’re all dead.” He was young, too old to be called a boy, but his beard was sparse, and he looked unarmed.
“And they would have left none alive. Who are you? What are you doing here?”
He stuttered slightly, fear wavering in his voice. “My . . . My name is Gabriel, and I come from Hill.” He paused slightly as if to continue, but didn’t.
“You didn’t answer my second question, Gabriel.” Her knife was still near his throat, hand as still even though the ground was shaking beneath her feet. He had gotten close, too close for comfort, but he was spinning with the rest of it. Must be the fever working its magic, that must be it. The boy had a kind face, one that didn’t look so battle-hardened as the Brig’s guards had been. He was scared, as well he should have been. Sera never took anything lightly when it came to life or death situations, as this might very well turn out to be.
“What are you doing here?” She spoke slowly and seriously, carefully enunciating the words to be sure he got the message.
“I was hiding. When it happened, I mean.” He seemed a little more calm now. That was good, although he still looked scared shitless. “I followed them up here, but they moved so fast. I couldn’t warn them in time. I . . . I saw the whole thing.”
Sera gulped at this, and if it were possible, she would have turned a shade paler. “All right, then,” relaxing her arm now, she sheathed the blade of her spear-knife and motioned towards the El Camino. “I’m heading down to Hill in that. If you want to come with me, you’ll have to tell me exactly what happened.” Her head swam in a daze, and she fought the urge to vomit.
“In that? Does it still work?” He asked, confused at everything, it seemed.
“I don’t doubt it. We might be in time to . . .” She interrupted herself by bending over, spewing vomit from her mouth. Head still pounding, she rubbed her temples lightly and moved towards the car, Gabriel moving to aid her.
“No! No. Just get in the other side.” At once, she saw her rifle slung in a rack on the back window. A note was sitting in the driver’s seat, print up in that loopy, scrawled script reading “Good Luck.” Sera crumpled the paper and tossed it on the ground. Luck had nothing to do with it.
“Are you gonna be all right?” he asked, concerned. She briefly considered attempting to see his thoughts, then thought better of it. Only crazy people believe in that sort of thing.
“I’ll be fine. Strap yourself in, this is going to be a little wild.” She pondered attempting to probe again, but only succeeding in flustering herself. Besides, he’s kind of cute. Where the hell did that come from? Shut up, Sera. Let it be. She smiled.
“I guess I’ll start from the beginning,” he started.
“That’s usually best.”
Gabriel ignored this and kept going, visualizing everything as it happened. “I’m a runner, a scout for Hill and the surrounding valley. Uh, two days ago, I spotted movement from the west heading northwards towards Fort Brigham. You call it ‘the Brig’, right?”
She nodded in affirmation.
“Anyways, I spotted them close to sunset and watched them book it double time, almost running, I’d say. Probably close to a thousand of ‘em.”
He didn’t have to say who. It was obvious, understood. Destrachan was the only possibility. Turning the ignition key over in her hand, she saw how it inserted into a hole just left of the wheel and turned it. A satisfying rumble leaped from beneath her, the car sounding its approval. Fever high and nausea rising, she searched the hidden stores of knowledge inside, the voices creeping into her mind once more.
‘D’ is for
“Drive.”
“Huh?” His perplexed look was laughable.
“Nothing. Please continue.” She pressed the button on the lever on her right and pulled it backwards until the red indicator had fallen to ‘D’. ‘D’ is for drive. The El Camino obediently began to move.
“The way I figure it, there were close to a thousand of them. God, I’ve never seen so many in one place and . . . Hey, you gonna tell me your name, or what?”
“Sera.” her voice was cool, but her mind was burning up, reality cracking all around her. Bright white light was shining through those cracks, shaking her world. Her right hand pulled up to her brow, trying to relieve the pressure by rubbing it, but not succeeding. And from above, high above it all, an intense, low-throated hum, or maybe it was singing.
Not there, I’m just delirious. I’m going crazy.
Sand spurted beneath the wheels as the car continued on its way, carrying its two passengers south, towards Hill and the horde.
Copyright 2006