The Devils Harvest: The End of All Flesh. (22 page)

He raised his voice so everyone could hear. “Revelations chapter twelve and verse nine states:
Down the great serpent was hurled, the original serpent, the one called Devil and Satan, who is misleading the entire inhabited earth, he was hurled down to the earth, and his angels were hurled down with him.
” He looked at me with his dark eyes.

His voice became a whisper. “In another left out book, called The Book of Wisdom, it states, in chapter two and verse twenty-four, that:
By the envy of the devil death entered into the world. And they that belong to his realm experience it.
All belongs to me. All die because of me. The world lies in my power and mine alone.”

I looked on in utter shock at his outburst, the way he was flicking between personalities. Maybe his host had a disorder? Bipolar maybe?

Suddenly he went silent, brooding on the very words he had just spoken.

It was also the first time he didn’t have the wicked grin stretched across his face. And the first time he had raised his voice while talking to me. His head was slightly lowered, his red eyes rolled right back to there limit. He wiped the blood from his forehead, smearing it across his face, like tribal war paint.

At that very moment a suited man rose from his seat and approached our seating. He stood over the conductor. He couldn’t have picked a worse time.

“Excuse me. But, are you going to punch our tickets or not?” Then as an after thought added, “Oh and it’s illegal to smoke on public transport.” Proud to be the one to stand up to such outright rudeness.

Nothing seemed to happen for a few seconds, until the body next to me slowly started to turn around – as if on a turntable – and look up at the suited man. I could feel his raw power emanating from him like a supernova.
If I could feel it, surely the suited man could?

“Fuck-off,” was all he said through clenched teeth, cigarette bouncing wildly in his mouth, ash spilling down the uniform, as if to taunt the man. “You fucktard, thick as lead bastard, can’t you see we’re talking here?”

The man physically flinch back a step, as if being slapped in the face, a face that was now turning bright red. His hand squeezed the back of the seat. He could obviously see the blood smeared across the conductors face, but didn’t mention it. He looked extremely incensed. Maybe he had never been called a fucktard before?

“I have ridden t-t-this very t-t-train for eight years and n-n-never in all that time has a-a-a conductor e-ever s-s-spoken to me like this b-before.” His chest was rising and falling, panting heavily.

“N-n-n-never?” He mimicked the mans stuttering, spittle flecking from his mouth.

The complaining man was furious, spittle flecking from the corner of his mouth as well, as if copying his tormentor.

“I w-w-will –” The man began, but was cut off by being punched in the stomach by the conductor. He then grabbed the mans tie and pulled him down to his level.

“You fucking moronic homosapien. Why do I put up with all this shit?” The second part he said while looking at me, his face boiling with rage. I had never seen him like this before. It scared me right down to my very core. The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end, my palms itched like crazy. If I had an opportunity to jump from the train at that exact moment I would have.

He turned his attention back to the coughing man. Who was now bright red from having his tie pulled tight around his throat.

Other people were now standing to see what was happening. But in typical English fashion no one came to the suited man’s aid. They pointed a lot, and made loud tut-tutting noises with their tongues, but that was the extent of their helpfulness. One man did run to the back of the carriage and out through the automatic door, either running away or going for help.

He then leant in closer to whisper something into the mans ear. The mans face contorted as if hearing something unimaginable. Then in a flash he gripped the mans ear in his mouth and ripped it off his face, blood pouring everywhere.

Screams of hysteria echoed up and down the carriage.

He released the man, tossing him backwards with superhuman strength into another seat by the window. The man was screaming like a person possessed. His eyes wide, still clutching at the bleeding gap, until his head smacked bone crushingly hard against the thick glass, sending millions of small cracks in every direction. He laid motionless, head at an unnatural angle. The blood pouring from the side of his head was the only movement from him, and even that was slowing down, now that his heart had stopped pumping.

The conductor’s face changed, now evil and vile, contorting it to the extreme. He now stood; hands stretched wide like a true demon, conjured from the dark bottomless pit of Hades.

The image before me was disturbing, reminding me of the time I had been to the Prado in Madrid, which showed a dire painting by Hieronymus Bosch. It was named The Garden of Earthly Delights. The images that had come from Hieronymus tormented mind were horrifying. The painting was in three parts. The third though was by far the worst, showing demonic birds and other bizarre creatures administering torture to numerous sinners. The detail was enthralling, capturing the look in the creatures’ eyes as they dealt out the pain.

The look in the conductor’s eyes was identical to those of the monstrous creatures.

People tried to get out of the carriage, running down the narrow isle, all piling into the next one along.

He turned back to me, his face quickly returning to that of a dead man, eyes all glassy and devoid of spirit. I could see he was consumed with madness, anger boiling off him, like rays from a black sun. It was almost palatable. The very air seemed to shimmer in his presences. Where his hands were clenched on the back of the two seats, small flames danced between his tense fingers. He lifted a smouldering hand and removed the ear from his mouth, blood dribbling down his chin, soaking his dirty collar.

“I will show you who controls things on this world. If He is in control of things down here, would He allow me to do this?” His eyes never left mine, as if enjoying the look of utter panic that was being radiated back to him.

“Enjoy your ride,” he said in a whisper. His eyes part closed, making his face all the more malicious. Then his eyes closed tight, his head whipped back violently, snapping several vertebrae, his head now hanging back at an impossible angle, causing his Adams apple to distort and push through the skin. His arms were akimbo, fingers stretched wide to there limit.

Suddenly the train lurched. Loud ear piercing screeching resounded along the carriages.

People were now screaming louder. Everyone trying to climb over the next to get away. But there’s nowhere to run to on a train.

The laws of physics then took over.

The slight shaking became violent jolts, and then it happened. An ear piercing sound of metal being rendered in two engulfed the air. The carriage no longer jolted but flew, as the train left the tracks. For a split second everything became weightless as it tumbled through the air. Then one carriage started to collide with another. Metal bending, glass shattering. The momentum was still forward as the front carriages twisted and compressed into each other. The next carriage folding on top of the first, like a flimsy piece of wet cardboard.

I was tossed forward like a ragdoll, no more being able to stop my own momentum than I was able to stop the train. My head slammed into the seat in front. I realized I was upside down and still moving. I had images of being crushed like an egg. It’s at moments like this when you realize just how fragile the human body really is. How effortlessly the small flame of life can be extinguished.

The body’s impact velocity times kinetic energy squared, equals painful, bloody bone crushing death. Newton’s laws of motion can be a bitch.

The screeching and jolting continued.

People flew past me, trying to get a purchase on anything. Personal items became weapons. Bags and briefcases hit the seats like bricks fired from a cannon. A leather wallet struck me in the left temple, knocking me almost senseless.

One woman’s body sailed past, her head crushed, her skull compressed like a rotten mushroom.

Then the carriage started to roll, I was now being thrown the other way and then to the right. I instantly changed direction mid-flight, with my neck jerking hard. Everything became just a stretched out blur. Then just as quickly I could focus again.

What felt like an eternity later, the carriage came to a screeching halt, with one final slam; the carriage came to rest up on its left side.

Gravity’s weight returned.

The screaming started to recede along with the momentum of the train.

Then what felt like an eternity later, there came silence and stillness.

Slowly, whimpering and crying started to fill the twisted compartment. Along with the sound of the metal carriage resettling itself.

But I couldn’t hear any of this; my hearing had turned into a long high pitch ringing.

I rolled over; realizing most of my impact was against the conductor, who was motionless. Both his legs missing from being severed by some seating that had torn free from its foundation and cutting across him.

My head was still spinning. I felt like I had been hit repeatedly with baseball bats. Glass was sprinkling onto my head and shoulders .

Crying echoed up and down the carriage, coming from the survivors, which soon turned to shouting as people tried to locate family members, friends or loved ones.

I climbed to my unsteady feet, stumbling off the remains of the conductor, who seemed to have died with a wide grin etched on his face. I checked myself over. Nothing. Not even blood, because the blood inside the conductor started to congeal the moment he had died hours ago.

The carriage was on its side, perched up against another carriage in front.

I crawled on my hands and knees out the shattered window, crawling out from under the leaning carriage, in case it toppled the rest of the way. I crawled for several meters beyond the wreckage, eventually to lie on my back on the wet cold grass. The smell of the grass filled my nostrils. So fresh. So alive. It was as if all the sound of the world had been drawn away, sucked out, replacing it with loud muffled, ringing bells. I just lay there, letting the wet grass soak through my clothing. Breathing heavily. Eyes wide open, unblinking, staring straight up.

Above, the trees close to the track, swayed in the breeze. Old brown leaves still clung to the brittle branches.

The trees above blurred.

I could now see the image of my grandmother’s old pear tree, which sat right in the middle of her small back lawn. The branches sagged from the weight of the fat, juicy pears – not beautiful pears, like you saw in the supermarket; these were ugly bulbous, patchy, spotted things. But they were full of mouthwatering flavour.

I could hear my mother and grandmother in the kitchen, through the open window, clattering pans around, preparing dinner. My older brother and sister squabbling in an upstairs room. Rosy, my granddads old and severely overweight jack Russell, with her head resting on my arm – snoring.

The pear tree stared to fade. The spindly branches with the dead clinging leaves, returned.

The first sound to come back to me was the sound of a bird singing. So random and surreal after everything that had just happened. Then the slight whooshing sound of the leaves above, as the breeze danced through the branches. Then, as if the void was filling once again with air, the sounds started to race back.

My other senses started to return. I noticed a dead body beside me, which had a long shard of steel, protruding from her blood soaked neck. Big globs of bloody flesh lay sprinkled around me; one part was a hand still attached to a severed forearm, it had a tattoo on the wrist – a swirling tribal turtle, facing downwards.

Looking the other way I could see along the rest of what remained of the train. There must have been about seven carriages on this intercity 125, as well as the other power car, which had caused most of the damage with its extra weight.

Three or four were now nothing more than flat-packed, each crushed up against the next, some rested completely across the others, some disconnected and laying slightly to one side. People and luggage was scattered all over the area, littering the ground along with pebbles of glass and rods of twisted metal.

Individuals were also staggering from the wreckage, some tripping over other dead bodies; ripped clothes and splattered with blood, they started to climb free of the destruction. Some were shouting for help. Others were stumbling as if drunk or dazed, confused as to what had just happened. A few were even trying to get back inside.

I noticed my bag an arms length. I pulled it close, tipping a bloody lump of flesh off it, and clutched it to my chest. I started climbing to my unsteady feet, having to sidestep the top half of a male torso, who was still clutching a shred of The Daily Telegraph’s business section in one hand.

Realization dawned on me that he had done this. A demonstration for me. But I couldn’t think about that now, within minutes the place would be buzzing with ambulances, fire fighters, and more importantly police. I needed to get as far away from the scene as possible. I ignored all cries for help.

Limping unsteadily I started to make my way towards what looked like a busy motorway. Cars had started to pull over, people running across the fields, coming to the casualties’ aid. Already I could hear numerous sirens ringing out clearly, heading in our direction, and the dull throbbing of helicopters rotor blades.

Surely things couldn’t get any worse.

How wrong I was.

A Busy Day