For Children of Sands

Borderline, dead inside
I don't mind, falling to pieces
Count me in, violence
Let's begin, feeding the sickness
How do I simplify
Dislocate the enemies on the way

A startling veil of light pierced through the murky glass, rousing Andy from his sleep. His stomach felt like his wallet at the age of fifteen; it only had the memory of being full to the brim to comfort it. His lips were dry and rough to his touch, cracked and peeling. Despite the persistence of the of the morning sun, Andy refused to open his eyes.

Somewhere, possibly outside, a battlement of flies commenced a symphony of a chaotic drone. According to the stench that mingled in the dry hot air there was a feast on rotting carcasses. Not that Andy could care; he wanted to sleep. The buzzing headache would not subside and leave him in peace, the white noise would not clear from the static tv screen that was Andy’s mind.

Eventually, despite Andy’s purest intention to slither back under the sweet veil of dreams, he understood that the sleep would not come. He cracked open his aching eyes to come face to face with the back of the mustang’s front passenger seat. The surface underneath him was pleasantly warm, not from the sun, but surface emitted warmth.

It also, curiously enough, did not send spring poking into his ribs.

It took a moment for Andy to realise that he wasn’t lying rather comfortably on a something but rather a someone. Not that it was the first time. But a more curious thing was how did his booted feet end up dangling from the opposite window. Andy was sure that he didn’t go to sleep the previous night, and certainly not in this position.

Was there any alcohol involved? Unlikely. But it should be marked down as a consideration.

“Whatever you do, don’t look outside.” A lazy, fatigued mutter came from the front seat. It was Jinxx. Andy could just make out the black blur that slithered into focus.

“Why?” Andy mumbled back as he attempted to deduce who could possibly make such a comfortable pillow.

“Because,” Jinxx replied, “Last night we created a massacre and we forgot to move somewhere else before we crashed.” He explained calmly

“Oh.” Andy croaked. Vague smudges of the previous night began to return, only spits of the memory such as stumbling away from the massacre, feeling impossibly heavy with fatigue and falling face first into the mustang. So it had been an eventful night.

“What a wonderful morning to be alive on.” Spoke a sleep hazed voice from above which belonged to the self heating and very alive pillow. “Don’t you just love the smell of rotting human flesh on a day like this.” Sarcasm seeped from every word like ill tasting golden honey.

“G’morning Rambo.” Answered Andy, feeling no more awake than before. “Salander says we had a wild night.” He forced himself to shift to an upright position and let blood flow towards his lower half, but his boots caught on the window frame and sent him toppling back down into the seats in a disarray of long pale limbs. In a mess of obscure insults Andy proclaimed his hatred towards mornings and God.

Finally, with a half hearted helping hand from Ash, Andy found himself in an sitting position instead of being sprawled obscurely over Ash’s lap. It was soon discovered that Jake and CC were still deep asleep and neither of the trio were concerned enough to rouse either of them.

“So, where are we going again?” Jinxx inquired as he began to pull out handfuls of yellowing maps from the storage compartment which only opened if someone could be brave or desperate enough to sacrifice the remainder of their nails; Jinxx had used one of his knives so he wasn’t wincing in pain as he rifled though them.

“Somewhere on the Lincoln highway heading east towards Ely, I have no idea what town this is.” Unhelpfully replied Ash, he attempted to bring the heaps of black tousled hair atop his head back into order of sort, but the attempts were aimless. He gave up and nearly pushed Andy onto the dusty floor of the vehicle as he snatched the crinkled map from Jinxx’s hands and began to inspect it, only a firm hand on Andy’s hip stopped him landing disgracefully on the floor.

He began to chart their treaded route across the Lincoln highway but confusion was soon drawn over his features and began to recite the route again.

“Where ever the hell we are,” Ash spoke, “Isn’t on the map. Maybe it’s so tiny and pointless they thought ‘Ah, what’s the point, not like anyone will even want to visit this ghost town’. Anyway,” Carelessly he threw the map onto the dashboard, “If we get back to the main road it will be the Lincoln highway and if we go east, we will eventually reach Ely.”

“Can’t be more than twenty miles.” Noted Andy. In Eureka, he knew survivors from Ely and according to them it was an absolute ghost town, three times the size of Eureka. It held out for at least two and a half years before the parasites overthrew what remained of the fragile resistance.

“Uh huh, and you are driving.” Commanded Ash, there wasn’t much arguing. They disputed for a long while on who would disturb the two men in the cadillac who were drunk on sleep and who would be the brave unfortunate soul who would be forced to step outside and face the remainders of their job well done. Eventually, Jinxx volunteered.

With no speed limits, traffic or highway cops they reached Ely within the hour. It was as hollow as any other from the first look, no different from Eureka except for the towering brigade or the sane faces peering from doorways. But once the vehicles trailed further into the town they were met by a stranger sight.

The walls of casinos, retail stores, motels, car dealerships were plastered with withering posters reading “The End is Near”, “Find Salvation in God”, “Find Sanctuary Over Seas”, “Beware of the Undead”. Every surface was plastered with the same bold black words screaming to you, demanding for your attention.

From the crooked traffic lights and lampposts hung ropes and chains, attached to them were the remains of corpses, typically sun bleached bones. Some were charcoaled, scorched by fire to death, if what had been condemned to death could have been called alive in the first place.

The streets were littered with abandoned vehicles, from SUV’s to muscle cars all battered beyond any sort of recognition. Antique bullet shells roasted on the tarmac amongst cracked plastic casings of weapons smashed glass and broken blades. A war had raged here, the crows had finished their feast and now this town was empty.

The gang left their vehicles in the middle of the town at a crossroad and continued the rest of the journey through Ely on foot. They split apart in teams and followed different roads, searching for what they could salvage from the ghostly ruins. Every street corner was littered with bones, guns and army trucks. A similar scene had unfolded in Carson city, but none of the gang managed to dwell too far into the city, there were too many parasites and not enough of the opposing force.

Andy was soon on his own as they encountered more large empty boulevards, marching down the highway which cut through the town. His boots thudded softly one after the other along the thin white line splitting apart the tarmac. His footing would not waver with the sight of the hanging carcasses, a warning that screamed at him, displayed what could be. As he marched, Andy couldn’t help but imagine the sounds of the rushing traffic, of adults and children scuttling by on the side walk. In his mind, it all seemed so bright and so alive. How could three years possibly destroy a civilisation.

Eventually, Andy reached the end of the town. The sun was high in the sky and so far he found nothing but looted homes. He stopped on the line between the ghost town and the grey desert through which sprouted weeds and dust veiled shrubs and wiped the sweat that had gathered on his exposed brow. Before he could make a step in the opposite direction Andy heard a groan. Human. And pained. Completely and utterly human. A survivor?

Meters away, behind an overturned car was a man lying on the tarmac, he was dressed in ripped clothes soaked with blood. He clutched onto his arm, unable to cry out for help through the pain. In front of the man lay a fresh carcass of a parasite, it’s shattered skull decorated the heated tarmac.

Instantly and wordlessly Andy came to the strangers aid, ready to help in any way possible. When he crouched down by the man he began to search for the wound he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press against his neck. Andy froze, displaying no shock.

“We’ve caught a pretty one haven’t we.” It was a male gruff voice, arrogant and proud. More foot steps padded against the tarmac, more voices. Andy could see two more figures around him, each had a weapon at hand.

The man on the tarmac before Andy lifted his blood smeared face and displayed a yellow smirk. “Fell for it straight away, our good samaritan here.” The hijacker cackled.

“Stand up, slowly. If you try anything you are dead.” The other man barked at Andy. At the command Andy rose to his feet.

Once the false victim stumbled onto his feet, he began to observe Andy like a slave at an auction circling round him. The hijacker prodded his flesh and hummed in approval. “Maybe we can have a little bit of fun with you, huh?” The man sneered.

Andy’s breath hitched as he felt a sharp blade draw lightly across the soft flesh of his stomach, the other man behind Andy began to ruck up his shirt, making him more vulnerable by the moment. He was completely helpless, surrounded, in utter doubt that a cry for help could be heard. Like an animal in headlights Andy remained frozen, he was tempted to simply snatch his handgun and shoot through those fragile ivory skulls, but he was reminded by the cold metal at his neck that it all could turn for worse.

There was a wheeze of pain, a chocking gurgle, then shouts of panic. There was no longer a gun held against the base of Andy’s skull. He took that moment to shoot down the man who stood before him. His mind shut down and he ignored the look of fear. Damn him, if he is still human, he was no better than a parasite.

One of the hijackers that attempted to run was crippled by Andy and left to sprawl in the dust, but still alive, still kicking and screaming in pain.

Beside Andy stood Ash, streaked with fresh human blood and machetes unsheathed, hanging down by his sides, his eyes clouded with rage. “Fucking scum!” Ashley bellowed and lashed his machetes across the nearest corpse, breaking bones and painting his skin red.

“You heard me. You. Are. Scum.” Ashley spat at the remaining breathing hijacker. He was about to decapitate the man when Ashley noticed the terror and panic in Andy’s eyes. The fear in those pale blue eyes cleared the rage from Ashley’s mind. The fear of him.

With a clearer mind Ash let his foot fly and take the man in the ribs, letting the hijacker go with only three broken ribs and a lower probability of hobbling out of this town.

In silence both men escaped the scene, but the evidence was still on Ashley’s skin and in Andy’s eyes. Shame had settled deep beneath Ashley’s flesh, a fear, of how easily he lifted his blades over those men. Yes, there had been a reason, a good one too. But he still feared how this New World changed him, how it drained the morality from his veins and replaced it with something cold and ruthless. He couldn’t be any better than them, deep in the darkest crevices of his mind, Ashley thought and concluded.

Notes