Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous: Tim Marquitz (31 page)

“Not going to die lying down,” Andreas muttered.

He found that the pain of his wounds was almost gone, a dull ache in
his skull and a dangling left arm the only sign he had been hurt at
all as he tried to drag himself up. After an eternity, he managed to
prop himself up with his right elbow on the nearby machine, swaying
drunkenly to his feet.

He blinked and stared at the man he had sought to murder.

The so-called Russian, finally revealed, seemed to dance amongst the
German soldiers, towering over them as an adult over children. He
moved like a serpent, long hair flying, the skilled blows and
gunshots of his victims rendered clumsy in comparison.

The gigantic, now-nude, body rippled with muscle. Pale, flawless skin
glowed in the ruddy light cast by the burning building. It looked
like an artist’s impression of the human form, figure
proportionate and yet somehow greater than even the most genetically
pure of humanity. This creature—this monster wearing human
skin—made Andreas think of the sculptures of ancient times;
of the artistic works claimed by the warriors of the Third Reich as
they had conquered Europe.

With one key difference: Jutting from that perfect form, glistening
wetly between bulging shoulder blades, were a set of leathery black
wings, like those of a bat rendered monstrously huge, a nightmare
made flesh.

A sword appeared as if from nowhere in the winged man’s—the
creature’s
—hand,
liquid shadow made manifest in a blade longer than Andreas’s entire body. The sword howled
as the beast swung it, and it seemed reality itself shrieked in agony
at its passing. The brutal weapon separated one of the veteran
soldiers from shoulder to hip in a spray of gore, even as another man
was gouged with the barbed tip of a wing, loops of intestines and
other viscera torn free with a single, carefree pull.

Alabaster skin was splashed in blood, rendered black in the
firelight.

Andreas lurched forward. He stooped as he moved, managing to grasp a
discarded pistol in uncooperative hands, pulling it free from the
death grip of a soldier who had literally been disarmed.

Andreas paused now, carefully bracing against a battered machine
press, and raised the revolver. He managed through sheer willpower to
aim at the back of the beast as it slaughtered the soldiers, hands
shaking from the effort.

Even as Andreas’s finger pulled the trigger, the monster leapt
aside, the sudden move causing the shots to go wide. He watched in
horror as Volkard fired his own pistol into the melee, the shot
missing the intended target and snapping back the head of one of his
own men.

The monster did not pause, burying its sword in the skull of Joachim,
one of the Scharführer’s best men. It left the screaming
blade wedged in Joachim’s head, hilt protruding from the center
of his ruined face. It thrust both hands towards Hartwig, another of
Volkard’s elite, fingers writhing. The big man crumpled to the
ground, seemingly untouched, a moan escaping his lips.

Andreas was still swinging his pistol around to take another shot,
amazed and horrified at the speed with which this creature could
move, when a dagger of living darkness—a smaller version of
the sword even now chewing its way downward through poor Joachim—appeared in its grasp.

Andreas saw the beast smile as the blade left its hand in an underarm
throw.

Blood bubbled instantly to his lips, the sudden impact so shocking
that for one fleeting instant Andreas thought there would be no pain.
That hope was dashed a heartbeat later, and he could not keep a
gurgling scream from tearing its way forth as the agony of his
impalement struck him.

He tried to shift forward, damaged hands scrabbling at the blade
until they were a bloody mess, but he was stuck, pinned to the
machine at his back.

Andreas watched helplessly, delirious from the pain, as Hartwig’s
body tore itself apart.

The monster drew the sword from its makeshift scabbard in Joachim’s
skull. The fire threatening to engulf the factory threw the scene
into stark relief. The creature pivoted on the ball of one foot,
gutting the last of the SS troopers with a spray of mangled flesh.

Only Herr Volkard was left, dropping to his knees to beg for mercy
from a creature that obviously had none.

“Please,
mein Gott
, please!” Volkard blabbered,
sobbing. A wet patch spread slowly down the Scharführer’s
leg, black against black.

“You dare invoke
that
name?” asked the monster,
the angry words at odds with the dry, always-calm tone. The
creature’s pale flesh glowed crimson in the light of the
flames, the top of its head wreathed in a halo of smoke.

“Whatever you want, take it!” cried the Scharführer,
voice shrill. “Take my men, the women, the children, the city!
Take it all, please, just spare me!”

“Pathetic,” whispered Andreas, the effort of speaking
causing hot blood to gush down his chin, joining the steady stream
pulsing from his chest with every weakening beat of his heart.

“Pathetic,” the monster echoed as it placed the palm of
one massive hand upon Volkard’s brow, as though in benediction.
It was smiling again, teeth glittering.

“No, no, please,
nononono
— ”

The sound of Volkard’s skull shattering echoed through the
cavernous factory. Andreas watched the headless corpse fall, and felt
not the slightest shred of pity.

The beast wearing human skin stalked slowly toward him, head cocked
as though unable to understand how this pathetic little being could
still be alive. He watched as the shadowy sword evaporated in a swirl
of mist, like it had never existed.

“Still amongst the living I see,” it said. The creature
stood just outside his reach, leaning forward so the over-large gray
eyes, set into a surprisingly handsome face, were even with Andreas’s
own. It had long, pale hair, matted with gore and sweat. Up close,
Andreas could just make out tiny horns, curled like those of a goat,
jutting from its temples.

“Not for long,” said Andreas.

“Not for long,” it agreed.

The flames had closed in further, the ammunition scattered about the
fallen beginning to cook off. The pall of black smoke sunk lower
still, beginning to worm its way inside his lungs.

“What are you?” Andreas asked, a bloody cough wracking
his body.

“I am many things,” said the beast.

Andreas shook his head at the evasive answer, the movement making his
head swim. The heat was almost unbearable.

“You disagree?” It laughed. “Tell me then, what am
I?”

“A monster,” he whispered.

“That too.” It smiled crookedly.

“Why did you do this to us?”

“Why did you plan to murder me?” It covered Andreas’s
mouth with a huge, bloodied hand as he tried to respond, the grip
surprisingly gentle. “Oh no, do not deny it. Why?”

The creature removed its hand. Andreas struggled to breathe, the
smoke and pain making it hard to speak.

“Orders,” he managed to whisper. He spat, the bloody
sputum hitting the floor near his captor’s feet.

“So you would murder one at the word of another, and for what?”

“Not murder; war.”

“War? What is your war, if not murder on a grand scale?”
The creature laughed at this, wide eyes reflecting the flames
consuming the building. “You seek the approval of those who
have committed genocide, and yet you would name me monster?”

The creature grasped Andreas by the chin, bones creaking from the
force of those massive fingers. He gasped as the otherworldly blade
transfixing him disappeared.

“You would name me monster,” it said, voice murder-soft.
“You, who would have gleefully slaughtered me.”

The giant hand began to squeeze, the grip threatening to dislodge
Andreas’s jaw.

“You, who have fought me so bravely, not from a sense of
righteousness
or
morality
, but so that you could go on
killing in the name of your golden calf.”

It paused for a moment. Andreas’s teeth were grinding together.
His skull felt like it was going to burst from the pressure.

The flames drew ever closer, the entire building now alight.

“You, the child of a regime who has done our work in this realm
more thoroughly than I ever could have predicted, plunging your
entire world into a conflict that has slaughtered millions.”

The handsome face pressed against his, nose to nose. Massive eyes
peered into his own, their endless depths flaying his soul.

“You would name me monster ... yet others once named me angel.”

Andreas tried to shake his head, but the inexorable, vice-like grip
would not allow it. The flames roared closer, almost touching them
both.

“D-De-Dev—” he stuttered, unable to say the word.
He was shaking, and he knew it was not from his injuries.

“Oh, no,” the giant hissed triumphantly, relishing the
moment. “I am not
He
. But I
am
one of His.

The creature lifted Andreas once again by the throat, the fire now
licking at his dangling heels, iron fingers squeezing the life from
him.

“You sought to murder Azazel, a lord of Hell. Know there are
consequences for your actions.”

Andreas began to weep then, tears cleansing the blood from his cheeks
before they evaporated in the heat of the flames. Great choking,
shuddering sobs overtook him, his mind overwhelmed.

“You wish to be a soldier?” he heard the creature—the
demon
—whisper.
“That is why I came here.
Another war approaches. My kindred have need of such ... ”

Andreas felt monstrous fingers dip into the gaping wound in his
chest. He could not even summon the strength to whimper at this
latest agony.

“ ... fresh blood.”

The inexorable grip was released.

Andreas plunged, screaming, into the inferno.

“We can’t keep her, Jeb.” Cassie ran her fingers
through her hair. “She’s not a puppy that followed you
home.”

“She’s just a child, Cassie.”

“But she’s not
our
child.”

“I can’t turn her away. She showed up on our doorstep for
a reason, and we have a Christian duty to take care of her.”

“A what? Did you hear yourself? There are no Christians. There
is no God. Take a look around you!” She gave a strangled laugh
dripping with defeat. “Where was your God when the clouds
covered the Sun? There’s no light. There’s no God. And if
you keep taking in strays, we’re going to run out of supplies
and … and die.”

The argument was familiar. Cassie was right. His first duty was to
his family, but he didn’t feel right turning away survivors not
bent on doing harm. There were some who’d come through, cold
people out to get what they could, and be damned to whomever stood in
their way. They were the reason he kept a shotgun by the door and
another at his side. They were lucky enough the farm was far from any
city or large town. He only remembered what he saw those first few
days on the television: the breakdown of civilization, riots in the
streets … the chaos. God only knows what happened once the
power dropped.

He made a mental note to check the generator before turning in.

Since the clouds rolled in and the world was plunged into darkness
and cold, people went one way or the other. They either followed the
path of the light they could no longer see, or they immersed
themselves in darkness. Good vs. evil—with no more
in-between. Jeb’s choice was simple, even if the result wasn’t.
There was no way he’d turn to the dark, but he worried about
Cassie. Oh, he knew she didn’t harbor evil in her heart, but
the darkness still tempted her. He didn’t like to admit it, but
there it was. Sometimes she’d stare into the endless night with
that depressing half-smile of hers. He did his best to help keep her
feet on the right path, but you couldn’t renew someone else’s
mind, only your own.

He was often reminded of the verse:

“
... the light has come into the world, and men loved
darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For
everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the
light, lest his deeds should be exposed ...”

John 3:19,20.

Only it was the other way around—the dark had come upon the
world, shutting out the light. Those who loved evil were thriving.

He didn’t know much about Cassie’s life before the
clouds; he’d found her half frozen and starved in the back
pasture a week after everything went dark. Bringing her in, he and
his mother nursed her back to health. The recovery had been slow,
mentally and physically, and they’d spent a lot of time just
talking. But somewhere along the way, he’d come to love her,
and she’d developed strong emotions for him. His mother had
performed a simple marriage ceremony. He figured it would be binding
in God’s eyes as he didn’t have a clue where to find a
preacher. Besides, his mom was a righteous woman, and when it came
down to brass, who’d married Adam and Eve?

His mother called from upstairs. “Jeb, you better come ’n
take a gander.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, he entered the bathroom. The girl
sat in the old claw foot bathtub, long brown hair thrown over a
shoulder, and arms wrapped around her knees. His mother was kneeling
beside the tub, sponge held over the girl’s back.

“Went to scrub her, and well—” She gestured with
the sponge.

Jeb moved to the back of the tub and stared at the child’s
back. Strange, there were black markings, like some foreign writing.
“Those tattoos?”

“Well, they seem to be permanent, but who in the hell tattoos a
child?”

“No idea.” Jeb shook his head.

“Don’t know what it says, but it looks like something
from Ali Baba and the Arabian nights.”