Authors: Christopher Hoskins
“That’s
all fine and good, Damian. And I can understand your resentment towards me.
Believe me, I can. But I can’t go back and change the things that have been
done. All I can do now is try and stop this from going any further.”
“Any
further? Any further?! Look around,
Pastor Dave
. What’s left?! Nothing!
Nobody!! You took it all away, you crazy asshole!!”
“The
language is unnecessary, Damian.” He speaks calmly, almost soothingly, and he
seems totally unfazed that a single thrust of my stake could end his existence.
“And as I said before, things are a lot different now than you might’ve
imagined. And yes, things can and things
are
going to get
much
worse if we can’t stop it, and if I can’t retrieve the cure.”
“So
there
is
a cure?” My spirit lightens with his words and the prospect
that I might still be able to stop the pallor from consuming me, too.
“Yes,
there’s a cure. And based on the look of that bite,” he gestures toward my
shoulder and to the droplets of blood that form through my shirt. “I’d say you
might need to get to it even more than me.”
“Where
is it? The camp?? Let’s go! Move!!” I flick my head to the other side of the
clearing, and to the continuation of woods behind him that eventually end at
his lakeside camp.
“I
just came from there, Damian. There’s nothing left.”
“Nothing
left! What do you mean,
Nothing left
? What happened to them? Where are
they? Where is it??” My questions are infinite.
In
spite of all the things I’d learned since resurfacing, I’d learned nothing
concrete about Catee’s dad or about any of the others who’d survived because of
their allegiance to him.
“There’s
a lot to tell, Damian,” he says. And with a quick step back and sideways, he
easily dodges the desperate lunge I make to cut through his throat.
His
towering frame has blocked more than the sun. It’s been shielding an upturned
mound of dirt, and a large rock, too. My weapon drops when I read its
inscription:
CATEE (2000-2014)
DOER OF GOOD.
DAUGHTER OF GOD.
“YOU
FUCKING ASSHOLE! HOW COULD YOU!?” Blinded by rage, my knife’s in my hand, and
its foot-long blade glistens in the sun as I charge at him. “I’M GONNA KILL
YOU!!!” The swirling colors behind my eyes could make me black out if rage
weren’t fueling me forward. I swing it back and forth, and I lose all words to
guttural cries as I move in on my kill. He takes short trots back, but doesn’t
flee. He’s bigger, stronger, and he thinks he can handle me, but he’s wrong.
“ARRGHHHHH!!!!!”
I lash forward to stick the blade in his stomach and to slice him up and open
like a deer, but he sidesteps again, and his mammoth hands grasp onto my own.
“Drop the knife, Damian. It’s not what you think! It’s a lie. A rouse! To throw
them. She’s alive! Catee’s not dead!” His dark eyes are penetrating.
“Liar!”
One
hand clasps my bitten shoulder, and it squeezes until I drop my weapon.
But
I drive my knee forward, instead, to nail him square in the junk and send him
hunched forward. I punch out, but the pulsating pain of contact rips through my
wounded shoulder and reels me back in a torturous pain of my own.
“Damian,”
he says, and tries to collect himself. “I’m telling you the truth. We weren’t
safe anymore. I had to do it. She—
BANG!
The
deafening explosion rips through him, and my hands cover my ears as I drop to
the ground. I can’t hear anything, but I can see clear through the gapping hole
that’s been left in his body. Three … four … no … five others, all dressed in
the same camouflaged outfits as he is … or was … rush at us through the thin
woods that had veiled us from the road.
I
hear them yelling, but I can’t distinguish the words that are blanketed by the
ring in my ears, even as Mr. Laverdier falls to his knees and his lifeless body
digs into the ground in front of me.
May 11
th:
Sometime, P.M.
I’m
blindfolded, and there’s a sock in my mouth. My aching shoulder throbs and my
arms stretch behind me. Tied together in thick, bristly rope, they’re bound to
my ankles, and my skin chaffs more and more with each wiggle I make to set
myself free. I imagine I’m in the back of an SUV because I can hear them
talking in the front—five voices. They speak softly as we bounce along
and over what I can only assume are bodies of the fallen. Rise and fall. Rise
and fall. Rise and fall. The tires thud as they part and reconnect with pavement,
and I’m tossed around the back.
BKONK-BKONK.
BKNOK-BKONK
. A
walkie-talkie sounds out over the resounding orchestra of my abduction.
“Grab
it!”
“Where?”
“There.
On the floor. Answer it!”
BKONK-BKONK.
BKNOK-BKONK
.
“I
don’t see it!”
“Under
your seat!” A third voice jumps to help.
BKONK-BKONK.
BKNOK-BKONK
.
“This
is James,” the second one finds it and answers.
“How’d
it go?” A man’s gristled voice responds from its other side.
“Just
like she said it would.”
“You
found them there?”
“Yup,
found ‘em both—just outside the camp. We took care of him, but something
else got to her first. No worries, they’ve been taken care of. They won’t be a
problem anymore.”
“Excellent.”
Their handler’s voice crackles in the static of a bad connection. “Did you find
anything on him?”
“Nope.
If there’s anything back there, he didn’t get to it. We checked out the place,
too—pretty empty inside.”
“Pretty
empty isn’t good enough!” The curious voice, business-like before, turns
hostile. “Did you inspect it? Tear it apart? Turn it upside down!?”
“Give
me that thing.” The first voice—presumably the driver—interjects. I
try to stay as motionless as possible, and I crane my ear toward the front of
the vehicle to capture every word while I’m thrashed over bumps in the road.
“Hey,
Matthew. Ronny here.”
“Good
to hear your voice, Ronny,” Matthew’s voice softens some from the other side of
the walkie.
“Listen,
Matthew, you’ve got no worries about the Laverdier place. It was totally empty.
We tore it to pieces and lit it up before we took off. It’s a pile of ash now.
If there was anything left, it’s gone now. Problem solved.”
“Excellent.
Glad to hear it, Ronny. That’s why we selected you for this assignment. You’ll
be going places with the organization—brains and brawn, that’s what we
need to move forward with the Stage II.”
Stage
II? What are they talking about, Stage II? If The Whitening was Stage I, what’s
left? Where do you go when there’s nothing left at all? And what’s going to
happen to me? Was Mr. Laverdier telling the truth about Catee? What was he
going to tell me? What plan did he have to stop whatever this is from going any
further? Can I do it without him? Was he right?
Did
I actually need him?
“Hey,
Matthew,” Ronny continues. “We’ve got a little surprise here that we’re
bringing back with us.” At this, all five of the thugs break into laughter at
my expense. “Didn’t plan on it, but it’s funny what turns-up in the woods.”
Their laughter continues, perplexing Matthew and prompting him to question what
they had up their sleeves.
“You
just wait and see. I think the boss will be plenty surprised,” Ronny assured.
“And
if not, I’ll put him down like the animal he’s about to become!” a fourth,
fresh voice shouts from the seat in front of me.
“Well,
now I’m intrigued,” Matthew crackles over a bad connection. “We look forward to
your arrival back, Soldiers.”
“Should
be there in less than an hour now.”
“Excellent.
Over and out.”
“Over
and out.”
“What
do you think they’ll do with him?” A new and oddly familiar voice asks the
others. I want to put a face to it, but my head’s clouded with infection, and I
can hardly think straight.
“Not
our problem. Not our concern. Couldn’t just leave him out there, though.”
“We
could’ve just shot him, too!” James yelps from the passenger seat.
“Can
you imagine how that would’ve gone over if word ever got out? Not a chance,
man,” Ronny says. “We did the right thing. We bring him back there, and we let
them decide what to do with him.”
I
can barely fathom what sick, sadistic things they’ve got planned for me, and as
much as it horrifies me to become one of them—one of those things that
kept me trapped in the dark for so long—I just want it to happen already.
Here and now. In the back of whatever this is I’m being banged around in. I
want to swap-over and gnaw their faces to bone.
Whoever
this hillbilly brigade is, and wherever they came from, they stole my only
chance to fix the wrongs that have been done. And as much as I try to hold it
back, to preserve whatever persona of strength I’ve got left, I fall completely
apart. My chest heaves in and out. My throat convulses. And the sobbing begins:
soft at first, then louder and louder, to the point that I’m bawling behind my
spit-soaked gag. My blindfold, wet with tears, plasters against my face.
I
can’t hear them anymore, and I’m lost in my own self-despair.
Broken.
Grieving.
Infected.
Alone.
I
just want the pain to end.
May 11
th:
Sometime Later, P.M.
I
must’ve cried the entire way here—until we’re turning from the main road
and winding our way around and around, in what feels like circles. I can feel
the tilt of the vehicle as it travels on an incline, and if I didn’t know
better, I’d say we’re moving up and around a parking garage. The curiosity of
it stops me abruptly, mid-sob, and I do my best to move to a seated position,
but I end up awkwardly pinned against the SUV’s side, and at an agonizing angle
that only adds more stress to my shoulder. I need them to stop. I need them to
let me out: NOW. I can’t take it anymore.
And
after what feels like a dozen more circles, they do. At a jarring stop, I lurch
forward, then back, and bang off the seat.
“We’ve
arrived.” Ronny’s voice announces from the front and all the doors open. The
truck lifts on its suspension with their exiting weight, and the door at my
feet opens to fill the its back with the cool air of surrounding concrete.
Hands
grab me by the ankles. They drag me far enough out to separate them from my
wrists, and I kick out for faceless voices that stand outside the door.
“Mmmffphh!
Mmffffphh!! Mmmmpf!” I thrust my still-bound legs wildly. I want to shatter a
nose, but I’ll settle for anything else that might get their grimy hands off
me.
“Stop
messing around! Get him out here!” a voice yells, and the hands tighten around
my ankles to forcefully drag me the rest of the way out.
For
a minute, I don’t think they’ll stop. My legs pass out the opening, and then my
hips. My back slides across the carpet, my shirt rides up, and my back burns on
the carpet below. My shoulders approach the ledge too fast, and I brace for the
inevitable crash to the ground by pulling my head to my chest to keep my skull
from cracking against pavement and splitting wide open. But the guy stops. Just
at the edge, and close enough to put the fear of it in me, two sets of hands
reach out to grab my shoulders, and to stand me upright again.
The
muzzle of a gun jabs hard into my spine and the foul odor of plaque and decay
hisses by my ear and assaults my nose. “Make one wrong move, kid, and it’s all
over. Do like we say, and you might make it out of this in one piece.”
I
still can’t talk, and I know I can’t fight, so I nod my head in quick approval
as another fidgets at my ankles and undoes the rope, so they can walk me to
whatever demise they’ve got conjured up.
“Then
again,” the foul breath returns, “maybe we should just put you out of your
misery, here and now. Might be better than just waiting for the change to
happen. Might be safer for everybody.”
“What
are you saying to that kid?” Ronny speaks from a few feet ahead, presumably
moving toward wherever I’d be forced to follow.
“Just
letting him know how happy everyone’s going to be to see him. Letting him know
everything’s going to be alight.”
“The
two of you, knock it off. Get moving! Get him inside. NOW.”
And
with my feet freed and the gun jabbed deeper into my spine—so forcefully
that I can feel my skin as it sinks into the hollow tip—my two captors
motion me forward and toward the three shuffling sets of feet ahead. Still
cramped from my bonds and disoriented from my restricted senses, I stumble
awkwardly until they move to my sides and grab my armpits, instead. The gun
jabs into my side, and they nearly lift me off the ground as we move forward at
a pace that catches us fast with the rest of the group. I skim along on the
tips of toes, resigning to drift helplessly across the ground.