We, the Forsaken Page 2

  I saw two things. Two very bad things.

  A small girl, a tangled mass of dark red curls hiding her face, stumbled slowly by the wall of windows.

  And right behind her, his tall, pale body towering crookedly over her tiny one, the mutant lifted his hands and prepared to snatch his dinner.

  Chapter Two

  Horror burst from me in a thoughtless scream. “Robin!”

  It wasn’t my sister. I knew that.

  Robin would have been my size. My age.

  My twin.

  And Robin was dead.

  I reached the exit doors before I was aware I’d even moved. I shot through them, opening my mouth for another scream, praying I wasn’t too late.

  I had to save the child. I had to save her.

  I’d left one to die.

  I wasn’t leaving another.

  Maybe I thought saving her would make up for Robin’s death. Maybe I was just that insane.

  Maybe I’d get us both killed.

  But there was a child, and I would fight for her. I would protect her.

  Even if it killed me.

  I ran like I did in nightmares—slowly, so slowly, with my feet sinking into quicksand as I slogged weakly on, opening my mouth for another scream.

  I had no words, just sounds.

  But the sounds got his attention.

  He whipped toward me, his head tilting precariously upon his skinny neck as he studied the newer, bigger threat.

  The bigger meal.

  I needed to shut the hell up.

  One mutant I could possibly take. I had two machetes. I had knives. I had desperation.

  I could take him.

  But if I kept screaming, it would draw other mutants.

  And then neither I nor the little girl would have a chance.

  “Run,” I screamed at the child, but she slid down the wall and then curled up on the pavement, her face hidden behind her hands.

  I knew her terror. Her exhaustion. Her confusion.

  The thought flashed through my mind that I wasn’t actually okay in this new world. I understood my pretense.

  And I couldn’t allow that thought. No.

  That truth might have shattered me.

  I didn’t hesitate. With my machetes up and ready, I ran at the creature.

  He leapt back when I swung, and my blade cut through the air, barely missing his chest. But I wasn’t exactly a stranger to fighting the mutants—and I had adrenaline lending a hand.

  He came at me fast, no fear in those cold, yellow eyes, no sounds coming from his half-open mouth.

  I dropped one of the machetes.

  I caught a glimpse of large, crowded, sharp teeth, and then I fell to my knees, yanked the small dagger from my belt, and drove it into his groin.

  His eyes widened slightly, and he leaned over, grabbed the handle of the knife, and wrenched it from his flesh.

  Seconds. It all happened in seconds.

  Instead of flat coldness, his eyes now held hunger. Raging, ravenous, consuming hunger.

  That’s what pain gave them.

  When fighting a mutant, death—preferably theirs—needed to happen quickly. Before they got hungry. Before they got angry.

  That was when the mutants ate humans.

  They were like people out of their minds on meth. They felt no pain, no fear, and there was nothing but death in their eyes.

  When the hunger roared over them, it was as though they had to consume whatever was before them, and they had to do it immediately. They couldn’t help themselves.

  I couldn’t believe it was fear—I doubted they were able to be afraid.

  He flew toward me like a pale missile, his hands bent into claws, desperate to end his hunger. And if he got those hands on me, I was dead.

  Not because his hands were some sort of magical conduit of heart-stopping poison, but simply because they were so very strong. He’d grab me, then he’d sink his teeth into my flesh, and then I’d die.

  But pain made them foolish, distressed, and frantic, and that was good for me.

  It was how I fought them—smart or not.

  Hurt them, make them lose their minds with that pain and hunger, and then I could stand back and wait.

  I held the machete like a baseball bat, almost, waiting for him.

  He saw no weapons or resistance—only food. He leapt at me, and I swung.

  Blood and a milky white substance flew from his throat, and his head fell nearly to his chest. I kicked him in the stomach, and when he stumbled back, his clawed hands reaching beseechingly for me, I followed him and swung the machete once again.

  His head smashed against the pavement like a mushy coconut, and there it lay.

  His body joined it a couple seconds later.

  I drew back my booted foot and kicked the head. As it rolled across the parking lot, I shoved my machete back into its sheath, then ran to the child.

  I knelt beside her, then reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “It’s okay now. I killed it.”

  She didn’t move.

  She wasn’t dead—I could see her chest moving, and her exhalations rasped dryly against her hands.

  “Little girl? Come on, now. You can go home with me.”

  Nothing. It was like she didn’t even hear me. And other than her breathing, she didn’t make a sound.

  I glanced around, my eyes narrowed against the bright sun. I saw no movement, but it was only a matter of time before another mutant found us. They traveled in groups—and even when one strayed from his group, the others weren’t usually far away.

  I stood, then leaned over her small body. “I’m going to pick you up, kiddo.” I hoped that once I lifted her up, she’d come out of her shock and be able to walk again. I had a cart to shove home.

  If it came down to it, I’d grab a wheelchair from the front of the store and push the kid home, then come back tomorrow for the cart.

  It looked like it was going to come down to it.

  But when I slid my hands under her and grunted with the effort of lifting her lax body off the pavement, she came to life.

  She flapped like a fish on a line and slipped from my hands. She landed hard, but was up at once, and she didn’t make a sound as she reached out to take my hand.

  She still didn’t look at me, but with her head down, she tugged gently at my fingers.

  I left the spare machete on the ground and began walking beside her.

  “Where are we going?” I let go of her long enough to transfer her hand from my right hand to my left. “Are you hurt?”

  As soon as I’d slid my fingers out of her hand, she’d stopped walking.

  I asked her no more questions. I needed to listen for enemies, and I had to be more careful than ever. I now had someone to protect.

  She wasn’t going to answer me anyway.

  We walked all the way across the parking lot and around to the back of the mall. Halfway to the end, she stopped beside one of the huge dumpsters that sat against the buildings. Some had been toppled over, but most of them sat exactly as they had before the world ended.

  A little rustier, maybe, and splattered with brightly colored bird dung. I knew before she pointed at one of the dumpsters that a person had taken cover inside.

  And that person had probably sent the little girl for help.

  I heard a quiet, strangled sound inside the metal box she’d pointed out.

  “Shit,” I whispered. I pulled a knife from my belt and handed it to the child. She stared at it for a second, then grabbed it. It disappeared somewhere inside the bulky coat she wore.

  “No,” I told her. “Keep it out in case you need it while I’m…” I gestured at the dumpster. “While I’m dealing with this. And let me know if you see anyone coming, you hear me?”

  She nodded.

  I swallowed hard, leaned the machete against the side of the dumpster, then grasped the lid. Maybe there was another kid in there.

  Maybe the little girl was a decoy used by a gang of
baddies…

  I pushed up the lid.

  I cringed as I lost my grip on it and it banged against the side of the filthy container like some sort of hellish dinner gong for monsters.

  When I glanced down at the girl, she was staring straight ahead, her big blue eyes empty, one finger to her lips.

  Shhhh…

  “That’s some creepy shit,” I muttered, a little pissed off.

  Fear did that to me.

  I didn’t need my flashlight—the sun lit up the interior of the dumpster. I grabbed the side of the container and peered somewhat reluctantly into the depths.

  The smell wasn’t that bad. I mean, it was bad, but it wasn’t the sort of smell that usually came from dumpsters. Everything in it must have had a chance to…fade, I guess. Or maybe the woman inside had simply chosen one that was slightly clean.

  The woman.

  She was staring at me. Her eyes were wide with terror or pain or both. Her face was so pale it had taken on a greenish cast, and her parted lips were broken and bloodless.

  She rested on a high bed of what appeared to be old newspapers and half full garbage bags. Bloody, filthy blankets were tangled around her tortured body, but her bare legs stuck out like white sticks covered with oozing sores.

  “Help me,” she said. Her voice came out in a gasping half-scream, as though her pain was so large she could barely speak.

  And I believed it was.

  Once my mother had written about a corpse that’d been dragged out of the river. She’d described the character’s bloated, ripe, discolored body…

  And that’s exactly what this woman’s belly looked like.

  I recoiled in shock, but after chewing my fingernail for a long moment, I once more peered into the woman’s bed.

  She was in the process of giving birth.

  But the baby must’ve been stuck. Even as I watched, the woman’s belly rippled and I could have sworn I saw the tiny imprint of a face pressing against her flesh.

  She screamed, but her screams were almost silent. Her mouth opened wide in the mask of pain she wore, and her eyes stayed full of awareness and the worst horror I’d ever seen in my life.

  I was young, but I’d seen horror.

  I’d seen pain.

  Just not like this.

  She didn’t cry. Maybe she was too dehydrated to cry. Likely she was beyond crying.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “So sorry. I’ll take care of your little girl if you…if you can’t. And the baby,” I added, quickly. I doubted the infant would survive the birth, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  For one second, the look of relief on her face was stronger than the pain. But only for a second.

  “This…monster,” she whispered. “Not baby.”

  “Hold on,” I said. I looked around, found a bucket, then turned it over and stood on it so I could lean over and get closer to the suffering woman. “What about the baby?”

  She grabbed her stomach with bruised, dirty hands, arched her back, and screwed her eyes shut. The only sound that emerged from her gaping mouth was a high-pitched wheeze. Her skin stretched across her sharp cheekbones so tightly I was sure it would split like her dry lips split as she silently screamed.

  Her swollen stomach was going to burst. It would have to, if that kid didn’t find its way out soon.

  I wanted to cover my ears and close my eyes but I remained stoic and strong and stayed with her. It was the least I could do.

  Finally, she exhaled a breath that seemed to go on for five minutes—a long, wheezing end of life breath, and then spoke. “Kill me. Kill it.”

  I tried to swallow but my throat was too dry. “Your man is dead?”

  She shook her head violently. “No man, no man. Just them.”

  I drew back. My stomach began to hurt and my heart was beating so fast I couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean?”

  “They did this.” Her voice was louder with its rage and remembered horror. “This baby is one of them. You have to kill it. And…”

  “What?” I whispered.

  She held up a shaking hand for me to hold and God help me, but I couldn’t bear to touch it.

  I wanted to. But I couldn’t.

  “Don’t let them catch you,” she said, her raw voice as shaky as her fingers. “They won’t keep you for food. They’ll do to you what they did to me. You’re old enough.”

  Before I could even process her words, she threw back her head and began clawing at her distended belly. Her agony was unbearable.

  “Ahhhh,” she cried. “Ahhhh.”

  I lifted my machete, because there was nothing else to do for her. I couldn’t save her, and I would not leave her in that dumpster to die on her own in hours or days or however long it took her to die.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  “I…”

  “Kill it,” she begged. “Kill it. Kill us both.”

  And she didn’t stop begging and crying and pleading. She didn’t stop until I drew back my machete and began to chop up her belly and the thing tearing its way from her body.

  And her.

  I don’t know how long it took me to gain control of myself. I just don’t know.

  When I managed to stop, the sun was in a different place, the woman was lying in bloody chunks, and the little girl was gone.

  Chapter Three

  I climbed out of the dumpster. I didn’t remember going inside it. I didn’t remember much of anything after that first slash.

  Just…killing.

  And the sounds of the thing inside her dying. I remembered being terrified that it was going to climb out of her body, leap at me, and climb inside me to finish growing.

  I’d killed a human woman.

  Killing a human was vastly different than killing a mutant.

  “They’ll do to you what they did to me.”

  The mutants were impregnating women. Making more of themselves. Deliberately and with thought. Raping us.

  I bent forward and threw up. My head was bursting with pain and my vision was obscured with a reddish haze.

  I was not okay.

  And the woman’s child, the little girl, she was gone.

  I slipped behind the dumpster and knelt down, hiding until I could regain control of myself. I took a deep breath, then another, and I just kept breathing until I could think.

  “I have to find the girl.” But I couldn’t search for long. I had to get my cart home before the day headed toward dusk. At night, everything was worse. It would become pitch black, and the mutants and other baddies seemed more inclined to wander the night than the day.

  They came out in the sun as well, obviously, but the night…

  The night belonged to nightmares.

  I searched the ground, looking for anything that might lead me to the child, but there was nothing.

  “Little girl,” I called, but only once, as the sound of my voice froze my blood. Now that I knew what the dead lady had known, I was terrified.

  How quickly things could change.

  And if I hadn’t been aware of that, what else was I blissfully ignorant of? What else was going on in the world outside my relatively untouched town?

  “Just give me a minute to get used to it,” I told no one.

  That’s what I needed. Every time something new—and horrifying—happened, it seemed less awful after a couple of days had passed.

  After it sank in and the newness was gone, I’d be okay.

  I wouldn’t think about what had happened, what I’d learned, what I’d done, until I returned to the safety of my home.

  Sometimes when I was kid I’d wished with everything inside me that I had the power to be invisible.

  I wished that now.

  I walked back the way I’d come, bloody machete in my hand. I checked the dumpsters. One of them had become the laboring lady’s coffin. I didn’t want one of them to become the child’s.

  The sun was almost hot, though summer was over and fall had come. Winter wasn�
��t my favorite season anymore. In the winter, everything was gray. Summer with its yellows and greens and warmth and longer days made my mood less heavy.

  Winter was when I went a little mad, and I did not look forward to it.

  But it was coming, whether I wanted it to or not.

  Having some company would make those long, cold months much less dreary.

  “Little girl,” I yelled.

  I heard a sharp, metallic clank in the distance, and immediately I stiffened and closed my mouth. I didn’t yell again.

  I didn’t believe I’d find the kid. Most likely she’d bolted when she’d witnessed me chopping up her mother, and she wasn’t likely to return for fear I’d do the same to her.

  I kept an eye out on my way back to the front of the mall. The mutant’s body and head were still spread across the parking lot, along with vivid splashes of his blood. My spare machete still lay where I’d dropped it.

  The air was still and silent and held a heaviness I was accustomed to. It usually meant I wasn’t alone—that baddies were near. My baddies radar had become super sensitive over time, and even if I didn’t always come face to face with the enemy, I never doubted they were close. Not when I felt them this fiercely.

  There were baddies other than the mutants.

  And I needed to get my ass home.

  I hurried back into the store and grabbed my cart. I didn’t worry about carefully choosing items to take back with me. As I pushed the cart toward the exit doors, I grabbed whatever presented itself.

  Outdated chips, two containers of old fashioned oats, a box of aluminum foil, cocoa, canned meat, and magazines with celebrities on the covers. I stood at the doors for a long moment, and when I saw nothing sinister, I took off.

  The sound of the loaded cart’s wheels was loud enough to make me cringe, but I’d made this trip hundreds of times. The only difference today was I’d decapitated a mutant and met a little girl. I’d killed a pregnant woman and her…child.

  And I just needed to get home.

  I was heading for a breakdown.

  Halfway home I started shivering, and five minutes later my body was shaking hard enough to rattle my teeth.

  “You’re old enough.”

  “You’re old enough.”

  I gave an unintentional sob and ran harder, faster.