Authors: Cody Toye
Evolution (10 page)
He watched in amazement as the nostrils flared slightly, in and out, breathing in his pungent odor from a day of sweat and mental anguish. Then he was gone. Just like that, the creature fled in pursuit of a more worthy meal. Jedd felt almost rejected.
A hamster running very slowly backwards in a warped metal hamster wheel. This was what it was like for Jedd. The answer to what happened and why was there, it just took an extreme amount of mental muscles to turn the wheel. He saw the nostrils flair. He knew he smelled like sweat and his breath smelled like human flesh. He was invisible to them. Camouflage. The scent of human flesh on his breath fooled the creatures. Are they blind? Does it matter?
A barrage of questions kept him occupied for many hours before he decided that being a living conundrum was much better than being a dead one. He laughed at the irony of that sentiment. He wanted to live again. He wanted to live just to be the man who spat on mother natures wicked face.
As the sun just started to sleep for the night, Jedd came across one last victim. This time though, He couldn’t bare to give him a name. He heard a nasty wet popping sound as heard the arm rip from the corpse. His stomach churned once again, but Jedd would have to learn to live with that. He slowly pulled the gnawed leather belt from the body and strapped the arm to his back.
He would wield it with pride. A cannibal knight and his sword. His weapon of survival. He would unsheathe it and smile as he bites into the flesh. Oh yes! Jedd would mockingly laugh at them as their nostrils flair and they turn to leave.
“What’s the matter? Aw did I outsmart you?”
*~*~*
They swarmed like flies to hot garbage on a scorching July day. I could smell their putrid breath and feel the searing pain as their needle teeth tore my flesh. Small rivers of blood trickled from the puncture holes and my muscles screamed. I swung. I swung over and over; knocking them to the dirt and watching them bounce back. No effect.
I fought with myself. The primal instinct to fight or flee was having a long conversation over a steaming cup of orange pekoe tea. The fighting side was currently at the podium discussing the benefits of death. Reminding me that death, theirs or mine, will save the lives of Alex and Boomer.
Another screech, more nerve endings registering pain. The instinct to flee now gives voice to reason. It states, plainly as day, that the pain shall end if I will only consider turning around and running away. How can I?
I close my eyes for a brief moment. I take a breath. I can see a smile, a pretty smile. Alex’s smile. I can see large beefy hands running through my hair and Boomer snoring away at the controls back at the earth ship. More pain. Fear. The weight of the onslaught is too much for me now, I can feel my legs wobble and my knees attempt to buckle underneath me. I can see the nasty red fireworks being lit up behind the dark blank screen of my eyelids.
Back at the podium, the fight or flight mechanisms give their final thoughts. I want so badly to be brave. To be the man that died fighting for humanity, but the argument was too compelling to ignore. I can almost hear a tiny voice booming through a microphone filling the ears of a silent audience. That voice moved me.
“If you die, you will never see them again. Remember her smile.”
Such a simple thought that tipped the scales in favor of fleeing. Simple but effective. A warm resolve washed over me, filling me with the adrenaline needed. A few hearty thuds and a frozen moment of confusion passed before my legs understood the decision my brain has made. The thin ropes of muscles in my legs ached and my lungs struggled. One foot in front of the other I tried to buzz saw a path through the creatures and free myself from myself inflicted fate.
They were too fast. I felt them on my back climbing like a tree as I ran. I could hear the creatures in the background catching up to me. It was only a matter of time. I could feel the dampness of sweat and blood running down my body and my shirt was nothing more than tattered cotton shop towels.
The fireworks attacked again, this time filling the blank canvas completely. I felt the tender flesh of my neck being impaled and could almost hear the sound of soft tissue being damaged. A lifetime of monster movies flashed before me.
Dracula’s cold embrace. Needle fangs and draining blood. Zombies eating the flesh of the living. My uncle Earl ripping the meat from the bone of a deep fried chicken wing. That was the image that turned me whiter than correction fluid. The weight of the world came crashing down on me in an instant. I felt the hard ground intimately. I kissed it; I hugged it with my kneecaps first then fell asleep holding it. I embraced my destiny, I am mulch.
I could count the seconds of darkness. I eluded it with the help of an accomplice that came in the form of noise and fluids. A random booming pop and a cold spray of fluid on my face. A horrific way to awake, but a gift. I was mulch no more.
*~*~*
If perception really is reality, what happens when the perception dies? Does reality die? This is one of many thoughts that randomly plague Granny Mae as her frail body lay upon the cool damp lush grass. Ironically, she felt at ease upon the ground, almost as if she were home once more. The refreshing cold wet feel upon her skin and the fresh fragrance of dew wafting into her nostrils tingled her olfactory senses.
“I reckon this shall do nicely.” she smiles
The creatures lurk closer, the sounds invade the atmosphere and everything feels so heavy. Granny Mae could feel the vibrating tingle of fear attempting to crawl up her spine. Taking a deep breath she grips her gun and holds in her shaking hands.
Fear like this hasn’t gripped her since she was a little girl on the farm. She remembers fear’s awful cold hands now. She remembers the feeling of an icy hand gripping her stomach and squeezing until a large painful knot forms and she is struggling for every breath.
After all these years she still remembers the name of that cow too. How she hated that cow. Terrified of it. They called her Maylene. She called her Mayday the devil cow. Her Pa used to do the milking for her, letting Mayday take out her aggression on him instead.
Then Pa up and bought more land. More land meant more preparations, more fields to plow and for Irene it meant more chores. Specifically, it meant milking that hateful heifer every morning before school.
She tried to plead with her Pa. She tried to tell him that Mayday was out to get her. But as all parents do, he just dismissed her pleas as nothing more than a scared little girl trying to get out of doing her chores.
The first time, Irene did give it a real try. She slowly walks around the picket fence and into barn. She had the metal bucket in shaking hands and her legs trembled as she walked. Tears already forming in the corner of her eyes, unwilling to let down her Pa. She knew she was scared. Worse…Mayday knew she was too.
Timing was precise on the part of the devil cow. It was like she knew the best moment to strike to completely scar the little girl and show her who was in charge.
Slowly, her tiny hands wrapped around the dry rubbery utter. She slowly pulled down and closed her eyes. Her breath caught in a time warp between her lungs and her mouth. A long moment passed. Nothing happened. She exhaled the confusion and dared a peek at Mayday the devil cow.
The heifer just stood there staring at her. She relaxed her body and tried once more. After a few minutes she could hear the tiny stream of milk pinging off of the bottom of the bucket. Things seemed okay. Irene did it; she beat her fear of Mayday the devil cow. She more than beat it, she conquered that heifer, claimed the land in name of Queen Irene and jabbed a neatly decorated flag into the ground beside her. She was beaming with pride inside and out.
As we all know, happiness and pride is not allowed near devil cows. Mayday chose that moment to strike, kicking her back leg hard, slamming it against the metal bucket. Irene felt the sting of pain as the metal bucket slammed against her knee and her tiny body collided in the hay. Mayday did her devil dance, mocking the little girl. Hopping from her front two legs to her back and going wild in her native cow tongue.
Irene pulled herself away, her body heavy and her knee swollen, attempting to free herself from the cows rage. Tears freely fell from her eyes and tiny sobs escaped her.
She doesn’t really know what ever happened to Mayday the devil cow after that day. Her Pa ended up hiring a ranch hand to complete some of the chores around the farm. But she learned two lessons that day. She learned what it was like to feel afraid and helpless, a feeling she has not felt again until this very moment, where Granny Mae once again lay upon the ground pulling her body forward with fear.
She also learned the value of a vow, no matter how silly or incomprehensible it may be to the rest of the world. It was that day that she vowed to eat a hamburger twice a month. Twice a month for the next half a century, Granny Mae chewed on those burgers, they tasted of pride flavored with revenge. She was pretty sure in her lifetime she consumed the entire body of Mayday the devil cow.
She kind of hoped cows go to hell. She kind of hopes the devil likes cheeseburgers.
Her thoughts were turned to shame at this moment. A vow. Two vows. For the first time, regrettably, Granny Mae would be forced to break a promise. She could see Trevor being attacked; she could see the creatures closing in on her frail body.
Through shaking hands she aims high, placing a bead on the menace threatening to rip the boy to pieces. Her very last thoughts before pulling the trigger and succumbing to darkness were of Alex and her promise.
A loud boom echoed in the day and the recoil of the butt kicked her back to the ground. No! Mayday kicked her to the ground. Mayday the devil cow finally finished the job. She managed to glimpse the nasty wet splatter as her shot hit the mark.
As strange as it sounds, upon her moment of death, Granny Mae felt alive once more.
*~*~*
It was to the tune of “The Musical Fruit” It didn’t make sense, it didn’t rhyme, nor did Alex care. It was somehow calming. She sat in the cab of the truck batting at the keys that were now dangling from the ignition. She watched them sway to and fro and never broke her gaze. They reminded her of the Newton’s Cradle that used to adorn the desk of her school therapist. The metallic steady clank and the unyielding movement of the metal balls always put her at ease. She would do anything for that feeling now. A Newton’s Cradle. Even a Metronome would do the trick. All she had was a song, a steering wheel, and a confused stare from her brother.
Her hand tightened around the wheel until her knuckles turned white. Alex sang softly under her breathe and tried to figure out the puzzle pieces of the events and how they fit together. Why did Granny Mae walk when she had a truck? Why was the truck still full of gas? Was she scared of driving? How did she know which direction to go? The question that bothered her the most. Shouldn’t she be back by now?
“Decisions, decisions, the musical fruit, the more you think the more you toot.”
She batted the keys once more and jumped in fright as Boomers meaty hand darted towards her. With a quick grip he twisted the keys in the ignition. She listened to life fill the engine. A mighty roar and the beast was awoken. Boomer just smiled at her, almost mockingly.
“Oh is that so? What makes you so sure that’s the right decision?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the long pause to contemplate their fates had left her bottom tingling. Asleep. Tiny sleeping pins n needles spider webbed their way freely around inside her stationary buttocks.
Boomers fat finger tapped the green neon numbers on the digital clock on the dashboard. His answer was simple and genuine.
“So she should have been back by now? Are you sure?”
Alex stared into her brother’s eyes for a long moment, struggling with the decision. Her face turned into a confused pout.
“And what makes you the boss mister man?” she said playfully
He rolled up his sleeve and flexed his arm, letting the large muscle knot in a proud display. She just giggled and grabbed the door handle, flinging it open and stepping out. The obvious look of confusion and the tug on her shirt told her Boomer didn’t understand.
She pulled his hand away gently and smiled at him, fixing the ugly crinkle on her close she took a breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Between her nerves and the pins and needles she needed to stand for a few minutes anyways.
“We need supplies if we are leaving.”
Boomers eyes widened and his hand gripped the long door handle. With a mighty push Alex cringed as the door slammed into the wall of the garage. A loud echo filled the room and Boomers whole body slumped apologetically.
Alex smiled warmly at her brother.
“It don’t matter what it looks like as long as it drives. Come on, let’s get our bags and as much food and household goods as we can fit in here.”
The man’s large feet clomped the cement floor as he took large strides across the garage. Alex followed right behind him, listening to the roar of the engine in the background.
Engine?
She turned and went back to the truck and opened the door, killing the engine she pocketed the keys, her brother in the doorway waiting.