Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous: Tim Marquitz (18 page)

Mel stared at the screen, sat upright. “What if it’s the
bishop? What if
he’s
the one causing this?”

It was the fifth day.

There was ash in the air, smoke in my lungs. I pushed myself through
the crowd, clutching the handgun in my pocket. I got close enough to
see the crude stage assembled before the ruins of the burned
cathedral.

I didn’t have a rifle, or a weapon effective from any kind of
distance that wasn’t point blank. I would never get by the line
of soldiers, and if I fired the handgun in hope, I would be torn
apart by the crowd.

Fear chewed at me. I had never killed anyone, not even in my former
life as a marksman. I waited, shaking with nerves. My son and my
brother were depending on me.

Two hours passed. Zombie Priest read assorted passages from the Old
Testament. He finished, slammed the tome shut. He whispered to one of
the soldiers and together they walked from the stage. A protective
circle of police surrounded him. They raised their Plexiglas riot
shields and led the bishop away.

I sensed my opportunity and skipped after them, never losing sight,
but never quite getting close enough to try a shot.

I followed them to the Marriott hotel. The police led Zombie Priest
inside. I rushed after them, through the glass doors and into the
lobby. My pulse thundered. My breath was ragged.

The bishop dismissed the police and waited by the elevator. He was
alone.

I moved to his side, my heart pounding, sweat beaded at the base of
my back. The smell of rot and ruin clung to him. Close up, he was a
shambles of withered, yellowing skin, pulled taut across sharp
looking bones. He was an abomination, a parody of man.

The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside together. They closed
with a
swoosh
. Zombie Priest pressed for the top floor then
turned to me.

“You don’t believe.”

I exhaled in surprised as the elevator started up.

Zombie Priest grinned and showed me his black teeth. “You still
don’t believe in His power. You think that I, His vessel, am
responsible?”

My fingers trembled on the butt of the handgun. “I can’t
accept that God would punish us like this.”

“Acceptance is the problem. There is no faith. These days,
people need to know for certain.”

I whipped out the handgun and pointed it squarely at the bishop.
“You’re behind this.”

His smile widened, revealing pus-ridden gums. “
Steven
–
you need to see for yourself.”

I pulled the trigger, just before I realized he’d known my
name, and splashed his black brains all over the inside of the chrome
elevator doors.

“Daddy, why is it dark?”

David sat on the bed. Mel leaned against him, tears of mascara
streaked down her cheeks. I was on the futon, by the floor. Ollie was
with me. The gun was on the dresser, almost casual in its disregard.
I could reach it in a heartbeat, if need be.

I forced a smile, fatigue a sickness in me.

“I don’t know. It will be morning soon. It will be light
again.”

“Can we go to the park then?” Ollie’s eyes shone. I
could tell he knew things were different, but that he didn’t
know how hopeless things had become.

I fought back tears. I hadn’t told anyone what the bishop had
said to me.

I ruffled Ollie’s hair. “Yes, we can go to the park. I’ll
get you an ice-cream. Would you like that?”

Ollie giggled. “With a flake in it?”

I nodded. “With a flake in it.”

“Can …
Uncle
David and
Aunty
Mel come
too?”

I looked up at the bed. David and Mel wept silently. I drew Ollie
close to me so he didn’t see. “Of course,” I
whispered, hoping I never had to let my son go.

I prayed then, wished my voice would carry across all those selfish
screams from what remained of the world. The crazy thing was I hadn’t
wanted a drink since God took back the light.

I asked for forgiveness. I pleaded. I screamed inside my skull with
frustration, anger and hate.

When I’d finished, David stood over me. Mel had drifted and she
lay curled at the top of the bed. Ollie snored against my chest.

My brother crouched, gripped my shoulder. “I have faith, Steven
… faith in you. If … I …
die
, I know
you’re stronger than before. I know you’ll look after
them.”

I put my hand on top of his. “I can’t do this.”

David nodded. “You can, and you will.”

“
Ollie …
”

David stiffened. “
I’m
the first born in this
family.”

I knew it wasn’t the truth. I could see in David’s eyes
he knew it, too. I wanted to tell him I would take care of Mel, and
that we could move forward in whatever the dawn revealed was left of
the world. Instead, I said nothing.

David checked his watch, let out a shivering breath.

“Steve—it’s five to midnight. The five days,
they’re nearly up.” He placed his hand over his mouth and
his eyes watered. “Maybe you did it?”

I dared to hope. Maybe the bishop had been responsible? Warmth
blossomed inside me; a flickering light in that part of me I thought
dead. A smile crept into the corners of my lips.

That was when the shadows on the wall moved.

I blinked, thought it was some hallucination, some product of anxiety
and sleep deprivation.

But the shadows kept moving. They writhed like eels, drew together
like metal splinters to a magnet. The shadow grew in size until
blackness consumed the entire wall. It happened so quickly I barely
had time to mouth, “David –”

It peeled off the wall, a giant that stooped beneath the twelve foot
ceiling. Its face was hidden behind a black cowl, its form obscured
beneath dark robes. It raised an arm, one long skeletal finger
pointed at my brother.

I pulled Ollie tightly to me and stood. I grabbed the gun.

“Get back!” It was weak, not a command. My voice betrayed
my fear.

The spirit of the Lord raised its cowled head. I glimpsed pale
gossamer, misshapen features pressed against it. The veil moved as if
maggots wriggled beneath the delicate material.

David took an unexpected step forward. His eyes were glassy, hands
limp by his sides. I screamed at my brother to stop but he carried
on.

I fired, one, twice, a third time.

The bullets should have found the spirit’s heart. Instead they
thumped into the wall behind, passing through as if the thing didn’t
exist.

David moved closer and the spirit outstretched both arms. Its robes
began to squirm as if possessing a will of their own. They twisted
and reared and stretched into black vipers. They circled my brother,
fangs on show, forked tongues brushing David’s cheeks. Their
vile hiss deafened me.

The robes billowed at the spirit’s chest. They opened and
revealed a swirling mist. Brilliant light sparked and faded within.

David took one more step. I fired again.

My brother convulsed and I saw an aura, a shimmering essence, peel
from his flesh. Two great webbed wings unfurled from the spirit’s
back and they wrapped around my brother. They embraced him, just for
a moment, before David fell limp to the floor.

The wings retracted and the vipers recoiled, before reabsorbing into
the spirit’s robes.

You need to see for yourself.

The beast raised a skeletal finger, pointed at Ollie.

My son still slept as did Mel. The gunfire, the screams, and the
hissing serpents were not enough to wake them from whatever spell
they were under.

The gun wobbled.

“No! Please, no! Don’t take my son.”

The spirit approached, the foot of its robes blanketing David’s
prostrate form.

The gun fell from my grip. I opened my hands, forced myself to my
knees. I wept.

“
I believe.
Please, don’t.
I believe
.”

The spirit moved nearer, outstretched its skeletal arms. An intense
pressure came into my head. My blood boiled. I crashed to the carpet,
fitting. Ollie was no longer in my grasp.

I became still, paralyzed by a pain that wracked every inch of my
being. The foot of the spirit’s robes was inches away. I was
vaguely aware of singing vipers.

The pain left me at once. Ollie crashed into the carpet beside me and
I screamed.

I managed to get to my feet. The spirit was gone. Only the shadows
remained.

I threw myself onto my son, held him tightly.

The dawn breaks. Crimson light creeps in at the base of the curtains.

I will not open them. I will not let this new world in.

I can hear the sirens scream. They tell me that I am not alone in my
pain. I do not want to know what grows from these ashes. A monster
dominates my thoughts.

And yet, I know it’s our fault. We would not believe unless we
were shown.

Beside me, Mel’s blood cakes the white bedspread. She took the
first bullet.

I slug back the last of the whiskey and the bottle slips from my
grasp. The remnants of an old, well-loved foe trickle into nothing.

I raise the gun. My hands tremble.

I wonder if I’ll be reunited with my loved ones.

The naked man lies flat on his belly, unmoving, pretending he is
dead. He’s lying in his own filth, inside what used to be a
large ceramic-tiled cistern in the basement of an abandoned building
on the outskirts of the city. Outside, it’s sweltering hot for
this late in the year, but down in the bowels of this makeshift
prison, it’s always frigid and damp.

In this escape-proof cell, there are no windows, and no doors. Only a
ten by ten by seven feet high concrete box, with a service drain hole
in the floor to piss in and a small circular opening on top where
warm dirty water and half-rancid food is dumped in just often enough
to keep him alive.

He’s been in here a long time, paying for a crime his
remorseless captor has deemed unforgivable. He’s being punished
outside of the law, of course, the prisoner of some grief-stricken
husband fully convinced in the righteousness of this cruel form of
vigilante justice. When he thinks back to the day this nightmare
began, as he so often does, it still seems so damn unfair. It’s
all a bit of a jumble now, the memories flashing in his mind like
blurry fragments of a badly edited home movie ...

...Approaching a busy intersection, gunning the Volvo’s engine
to try make the lights, an already shitty day made worse by being
twenty minutes late for an important meeting with one of his real
estate clients ... seeing the middle-aged couple stepping off the
curb, realizing they don’t see him and are walking directly
into his path ... stomping on the brakes and hammering the horn in
frustration at being forced to stop and wait for the light to change
... the couple jumping at the sound of his horn, startling them so
badly it’s as if he’s fired a cannon ... the man jumping
back toward the safety of the curb, but the woman panicking, moving
further out onto the road, right into the front grill of a flower
delivery van speeding through the just-turned-green light of the
intersecting street ... blood everywhere, so much so, he knows the
woman is dead even before the van pulls to a stop, and everyone
starts screaming ...

Not the husband, though. No, not him. The naked man vividly remembers
his reaction. Instead of screaming, or crying, or making the futile
attempt of trying to help his wife, the baldheaded, bearded man
simply pointed an accusing finger at where he sat behind the wheel of
his car, clearly blaming him and not the driver who had actually
killed his wife. And in all honesty, it probably was his fault she
was dead, but he hadn’t wanted it to happen. It had been an
accident, a terrible tragedy, but certainly not a crime.

No matter, though, the husband managed to track him down. No police,
no lawyers, no trial. Only a lump on the head, and a string of
profanity-laced promises from the mind of a man clearly obsessed with
revenge:

“Where I’m taking you, dipshit, they’ll never
find you. You’ll never get the chance to ruin anyone else’s
life. I won’t let you. You’ll never walk the streets
again ... or drive another fancy fucking car ... and you sure as hell
will never ... ever ... honk a god damned horn again! Do you hear me,
scumbag? Never!”

Guilty of a crime or not, this awful hole in the ground is his entire
existence now, his own private hell, and he knows that he’ll
never be allowed out. No one else seems to know he’s here, the
rest of the world having forgotten him, probably not even aware that
he is missing. Or they simply don’t care. Either way, it’s
crystal clear the cavalry’s not coming.

He’s all by himself, but he certainly isn’t alone.

He has friends down here. Lots of them.

Hours later, still lying with his face pressed to the ground beside
the floor drain, he can finally hear them coming, slowly making their
way up the pipe to pay him another visit. It’s pitch black
inside his prison, but in his head he can vividly see each small
rubbery black body inching up out of the pipe—thousands of
them—separate creatures but moving as one large slippery
mass, drawn toward the promise of coppery-sweet blood waiting inside
his ever-weakening body.

The leeches swarm the naked man, moving with an unnatural quickness,
spread over his skinny body head to toe, and immediately begin to
feed. Within their dark embrace, the man welcomes their vampiric
kisses, offering no resistance as they seal him inside a constantly
shifting, fleshy cocoon. Forced into this solitary confinement,
unknowingly slipping well past the borders of sanity, he is craving
contact with the outside world, and no matter how parasitic this
relationship is, it’s better than being alone. Being alone
might drive him crazy.