Where the fuck is he?
It’s been days and I haven’t heard a word from the one-eyed asshole. He has my wife and daughter in his grasps, and now he’s reneged on our fucking deal. My head pounds in time with my anger, the swift heat coursing through my limbs and dousing me in fire.
I’m going to pound his fucking face in.
My temper has been returning slowly these past few weeks and I need Heidi here to help me suppress it again. There was a time when cracking open another’s skull didn’t faze me. Getting blood on my knuckles was a fucking sport, but I had changed with Heidi’s help. Now that I’ve been left to my own devices, the will to not act violently is slipping away.
My fist slams into the weak, crumbling wall and a hole breaks away, causing a few roaches to skitter along the frail, plastered surface. Those fucking things survived the worst of the blast. The scrape on my knuckle gives way to a bubble of blood and I watch transfixed as it slips down my hand.
There’s too much dark energy gathering inside of me. I need to let it loose before I do something irrational.
I grab my jacket and shrug it on, wrapping a scarf around my face next. The weather has been acting up the last few days and its tumultuous winds are feeding this erratic feeling inside of me.
The grains of sand rip against my hands as I step outside, slicing the surface like sharp shards of glass. There has been an influx of sandstorms lately and with my sinister feelings aside, it feels like something ominous is brewing. The weather has always been unpredictable, but this feels like something chaotic.
I trudge through our small village, heading to the area where I once found my daughter. The closer I get, the louder the screams are from the Others. It’s becoming alarming how close they’ve migrated to our border. Lack of preferred food would probably be the reason. I slip down the small trail I saw her come out of, the sides built up with looming boulders, and come across an old worker’s shed.
A bolt of apprehension skates down my spine, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. The energy swirling around this one structure is dark and foreboding. My instincts are telling me to turn around and leave this place, to forget it even exists. But my mind knows this is where my daughter spent a lot of her time. This is a place she came to during the period she changed.
The air hangs thick as I approach the door, making taking a deep breath difficult. Evil resides here, nestled in the center of these four walls. My hand grips the handle of the door just as a gust of wind hits the side of my head. I wince as bits of sand blow into my eye, making me curse out loud.
Get yourself together, Pollyx.
I throw open the door and stand on the threshold, willing my eyes to focus on the darkened interior. The first thing I sense is the stench. A heady scent of decay permeates the space, singeing the insides of my nostrils and pulling a gag from the depths of my stomach. I pinch the fabric of the scarf around my nose and step inside.
My eyes skim the small space and I find a few overturned buckets, a barrel of water, and a wheelbarrow of dirt. I head to the dirt first, wanting to see for myself exactly what she was using. I won’t have her here to help build the border wall, and I’ll need to know the materials.
Scooping out a handful of the dirt, I revel in how fine it is, the small grains feeling like velvet. The color reminds me of my poppy’s rich red petals. I let it slip out of my hand, flowing between my fingers as smooth as water, and I shake my head with surprise.
My daughter found this.
Just as my chest expands with pride, my eyes settle on a large lump on the floor. It’s covered with an old worker’s tarp and the shape is unmistakable. It looks like a human form. I shuffle toward it, my breath trapped in my chest as the pride quickly subsides. I feel like I’m about to witness the darkest depths of my daughter’s illness.
As I toe the edge of the faded blue plastic, the crinkle sounds loud in the space around me. I kick it off and a cry rips from my throat at the sight underneath. Canary’s lifeless eyes, yellowing with decay, stare up at the ceiling. Her skin is darkening as it rots, exposing her cheekbones and jaws. Her lips are dried and pulled back from her teeth, the gums completely blackened. I retch at the sight, but the masochist in me needs to see more. I continue to kick the tarp off, exposing her bit by bit.
The smell becomes more intense, and I opt to breathe out of my mouth to keep from spilling the contents of my stomach. Once the tarp is off, I stare at the form on the floor with utter shock. She’s half encased in the cement. There are fine details on the surface of her toes and ankles and her knees are formed perfectly with the clay.
Bevie was making dollies out of people.
My eyes begin to water as the foul odor gathers like a heavy gas throughout the small space. Poor Canary, she didn’t deserve such an ending. I bow my head and pray to whoever is up there to take care of Canary’s soul, the surrounding stillness adding to the sorrow.
My head flies up as I really listen, hearing nothing. My mouth dries and my throat works as I slowly turn toward the door. I should be hearing the Others’ cries, their feet shuffling through the dirt, and the few trees snapping as they race by.
Nothing.
My breathing comes at a rapid speed as I stare out the open door, noting my first mistake. I left the door open. If I were anywhere else, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But here next to the border? It’s a grave error.
The scent was released as soon as that door was opened and now it’s been wafting out in thick waves, enticing the Others toward a meal. My heart stutters as the too-quiet space around me throbs through my vision at the same pace as my heart. Fear coats me in much the same way as Bevie’s clay, and it hardens me to the spot.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I force myself toward the door. I need to shut it.
Two steps.
I take two steps when a loud, high-pitched scraping hits my ears and I freeze in place.
Nails.
Long talons drag along the surface of the wall to my right, and then another set joins in.
They’re here.
The right wall touches the border, and the door is only a few feet beyond it. They shouldn’t be able to pass, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try. Hunger does strange things.
The scraping stops at the front right corner and I know they’re here, just outside of the door. My feet finally propel me forward, my instinct to live kicking in. I reach the door just in time to see the tips of fingers on an outstretched hand come into view. The skin is gray, the nails black and coated in coagulated blood.
“Fuck,” I say as I reach the flimsy door, slamming it shut quickly.
This won’t hold them if they feel it’s worth it to come inside. To break the treaties and satisfy their hunger. Fall against the door, my chest moves rapidly and my ears listen intently.
I’m fucking screwed.