The Devils Harvest: The End of All Flesh. (43 page)

I lost consciousness, everything fading to black.

Dancing Flames

M
y head throbbed. My eyes were swollen and aching. My joints faired no better; pain racing up my arms and legs as if I had be laid out, in an uncomfortable position for too long

Realization swept over me; I had been knocked out.

I kept my eyes closed, concentrating on my surroundings.
Am
I inside or out?
I felt no breeze, no rain, but I was still groggy and confused.
Where had he taken me?

I could hear footsteps moving around. Commands being giving off to one side. The sounds though were all muffled and alien to me.

I couldn’t lie like this forever.

I slowly opened one eye. Light welled in – subdued light. I lay on my side, arms tied in front of me, legs also bound. I lay on dirty, musty smelling straw.

Why hadn’t they just killed me?

“Good question,” a voice said from one side.

I slowly turned my head. Smoker sat on an old deckchair to the left. Cigarette between blue lips, the body he was occupying was decomposing fast. His left eye had turned all watery and was swollen shut. One side of his face becoming droopy, now there was no bottom half of the neck to support it.

I looked around the rest of the area. I was outside the craft, lying on the floor in the very barn I had run through yesterday. Now my other senses were coming online, I could in fact feel a slight breeze. My ears also picked up the sound of pattering rain on the shingled roof high above.

“Enjoy your sightseeing?” He moved the cigarette to one side, smoke curling up around the sagging side of his face. Smoke billowing out his flaccid, putrid grey nostrils.

“Very unwise move you made.”

I tried to work out what he was talking about. Then I realized he was referring to the creature that had crawled from the murky tank.

“Indeed. Luckily he wasn’t to seriously damaged.” He motioned outside the large barn door. The son was slowly walking around the yard. One side of his head looked like it had been blown away by shotgun. The same side I had shoved the hook into.

Then I understood, it was obvious.

The beings in the tanks were the four I had met in the old farmhouse. They must send telepathic signals – or whatever – to control the hosts they occupy. If I had known that I would have tried to cause more damage. Possibly attack the computers around them that were controlling the tubes.

“Very good. You’re beginning to understand,” he muttered quietly. “We can breathe your air, but we would rather stay isolated in our vats and use these more convenient bodies.” He motioned to the decaying bus driver. “The other three are more in touch with their host than I. As I have already said, they had more time to prepare long-term hosts. He closed his eyes and drew deeply on the cigarette. His lips made a wet rattling sound.

He continued. “A small insertion to the base of the neck.” A grey hand came up and pointed to his neck, just above the shoulder blades, right above the spinal cord.

“Then simply insert a Phemoniod membrane.”

I must have looked blank.

“That’s a strip of living tissue from between our eyes.”

I pictured the creature again, remembering the ridged skin that was between its round bulbous eyes, next to where the liquid had squirted out.

“I was preparing you. In a few more days you would have been ready for insertion. Pity.” He recrossed his legs the other way. They creaked under the strain, muscles and sinew already decaying.

I said nothing.

“Come now, not going shy are we?”

I struggled at the ropes. They were completely ungiving.

“Struggle as much as you like. My little helpers have done a good job.” He motioned with the cancer stick to one side. There, stood two small oriental looking humanoids, identical in every way to the small being I had killed. They could have been clones, like worker bees or ants. They didn’t look male or female – androgynous.

They may not have looked male or female, but one thing they did look was very angry – mega pissed-off. I could see blood lust in their small slanting eyes. Vengeance was one word they obviously understood.

“Of course they will have their chance soon.” That evil grin.

I went to speak and instead I coughed up a mouthful of blood. It felt like the little bastards had already laid in a few kicks while I lay unconscious.

I tried once again to wiggle my hands free.

“What do you want with me?” I tried to focus in on his one good eye. But it was ever shifting from a glassy dead eye, to a living staring eye. The look still unnerved me.

“Indeed!” He slowly turned his head to one side, out of my line of sight, over my shoulder.

The two small figures decided to help me turn. One kicked me first in the ribs, and then they both roughly rolled me over. One placed his little palm on my head and forced it down hard against the smelly, gritty straw.

“Feisty little things, aren’t they?” He gave a graveyard laugh, which made the skin on the side of his neck twitch and jump.

I was rolled over and could now see what he had pointed towards.

In the courtyard was the large arch of the gateway, silent and unmoving, having returned back to its dull metal colouring, now there was no longer pulsating light issuing from its center. Slow lazy rain bouncing off its surface and trickled down its sides, running over large strange writing, similar to the unusual symbols running along the base of the tunnels in the ship that gave of the blue hazy light.

Were they some sort of writing?
It even looked like the old runes you see everywhere. No one really knows how to use them anymore, simply play things for wannabe witches or weekend warlocks, who put away their briefcases and don elaborate sequin covered robes. Pimply teenagers sit in black crushed velvet clothes and pretend they understand what they mean.

But obviously these aliens did understand them.

What was alarming though was what nestled besides the portal, a human size capsule. It was standing with one section swung open on strong hinges. It revealed a human size impression imbedded into the metallic surface. I had a mental image of being clamped inside with the door swinging shut. It looked like the Iron Maiden, a coffin shaped torture implement that had thousands of nails sticking out inside, awaiting a body to be slammed in and the nails draining off all the body’s blood. Thankfully from my position I couldn’t see any nails.

“Yes indeed. You have surmised correctly.”

The small figures standing beside the smoking man were giving off giggling, childish laughter.

“Your unique energies are needed one more time. You have been prepared and nurtured for this one final task. Soon the stage will be all yours, for your very own one time performance.”

“It would be nice to have a say in it,” I said through a swelling lip.

He ignored my comment.

“The energies I have imbedded in you over the last few weeks will come in to play. You will not be my host, but you will become the Key to the portal.”

I gave the black cylindrical block one last glance. I imagined myself enclosed within. It also reminded me of the final scene in the 1998 movie Blade, where Wesley Snipes was enclosed in a block that look remarkably similar.

I struggled one more time. I could feel the rope burning into my wrist. I twisted my bulk, looking back at the bus driver’s cadaver.

The two small figures gave another laugh. I would love to shove their fucking teeth back their tiny throats.

Smoker stood in a jerking movement.

The two figures came to some kind of attention, standing rigid, pointed chins up.

“You’ll have to excuse me; I have things to attend too.” He gave me a mocking bow. Parts of his ripped open neck seeped to the floor, along with a chunk of decaying flesh. He then headed out into the rain.

He remembered one more thing.

“I will be back within the hour for you. Timing is of the utmost importance. The portal can only be opened at particular intervals. The dimensions aligned just so.” He looked at his wrist, peering at a cheap shattered Casio watch. “Only fifty-seven minutes before the dimensions are at there weakest and a hole can be punched through.” He gave me one last look and strutted off, limping slightly to one side. The host body was becoming too decayed to be agile.

I looked at the two small humanoids stood to one side. Watching me like I was about to combust. I rolled back around, onto my side, not wanting to see their ugly little faces. I then felt a bulge in my top. I suddenly realized I still had the lighter and hairspray in my baggy front tracksuit pocket. By some miracle they hadn’t checked for weapons. And the items hadn’t fallen out.
Was the pendant still in my pocket also?

I gave it a few minutes while the two figures moved around to one side, clicking and chirping at each other in a singsong kind of language, heads close together and arms rigid at their sides.

I wiggled my hands to one side, trying to pull at the baggy pocket. It took several tries, and eventually, twisting my right hand at an unnatural angle, and using my other hand to push against the first, I managed to grip the lighter.
Now what?

I twisted and turned, almost dropping the lighter. I now had it where I wanted it. Even though the ropes were wrapped tight, they were not pulling my hands close together; I had a large knot between both hands holding them apart.

I held the lighter steady and flicked the flint. Nothing.
Please don’t be too wet. Please work. Please
, I chanted inside my head like a Tibetan mantra.

Flash!

It had sparked. Good the flint still works.

I took a deep breath calming myself. Then clicked it again. Another spark. Then flash, a flame. I tried to control my breathing, I didn’t want the little guards to see a change in me and come and look. Luckily the thunder booming outside was hiding the sound of me clicking the cheap plastic lighter.

I held it under one section of rope. Smoke curled upwards.
Don’t look over here, don’t look.
I hoped the evil little bastards would stay engrossed in their conversation.

They must have been because nothing disturbed me as the flame slowly ate through the rope. My hand was getting way too hot, but not burning. The rope sagged; luckily it was the blue plastic type of rope, melting easily. I pulled and it gave way like melted cheese. I wiggled my hands free.

I lay motionless for a few seconds putting my mind in order. Then slowly I gripped the can in one hand, the lighter in the other.

I gave a long cry, sounding like I was cracking up under the pressure. I knew it would draw my two little guards over. I could hear their soft footfalls. Both enjoying the sound of me supposedly giving way to tears.

I rolled over and stared up at the small beings. Their eyes wide with understanding as they saw me unbound.

I held the spray can towards them and clicked the lighter. Nothing.

They both looked down at me, confused as to what I was doing. Both about to pounce.

Another click and the flame sprang too life.

They both stared at the glowing flame, their little eyes trying to work out what the significance of it meant.

Then I pushed down on the nozzle, white spray flying towards them. They looked at each other then back down towards me. The flame ignited the spray. A wave of superheated flames sprayed out like an old wartime flamethrower. It engulfed both standing figures, their silver clothing material instantly flaring up. I released the nozzle and put the implements down, while watching the two figures running around wildly. I quickly untied the knot around my ankles.

I stood up fast, making my head spin. I pointed the can at the straw around their dancing feet. It instantly flared up, burning like wildfire, catching the ground ablaze.

The small figures dropped to the ground, all twisted and deformed by the flames. Their skin looking like popped bubble wrap.

I ran from the barn, flames licking around its interior. It was like a dry tinderbox.

My legs ached like I had just swum a hundred lengths of an Olympic pool. But they pumped on; adrenaline surging through me, washing the pain away.

For the second time I found myself running away from the farmyard.

Angel of Death and Vengeance

M
y legs pumped like pistons. A stitch stabbed in my side. My head started to swim. Sweat ran into my eyes. The rain thrashed against my body, stinging my face. But I continued undaunted, knowing I needed to get away from the farm; the direction was irrelevant.

Without realizing it I had headed towards the motorway, to where the bus had crashed. I stood in the rain, leaning against the wooden fence that led down the embankment to the triple lane highway. Lightning flashing, illuminating the gruesome scene.

The bus was now nothing but twisted blackened metal. Burnt-out shells of cars lay against the tipped over bus. A long line of destruction and death. Black tyre marks announced where the vehicles had tried to screech to a halt. Glass and objects littered the asphalt.

The crash site had been attended too. A few police cars and four ambulances were parked on the hard shoulder. Even a helicopter lay crashed against the opposite embankment – possibly a news helicopter. Corpses littered around them. Time and elements having been unkind to the bodies.

Looking down as far as I could through the heavy rain, I could see right along one section of the motorway. Hundreds of cars, trucks and lorries were scattered all along both sides of the reservation. Some simply having slowly come to a halt. Others continued onwards like a battering ram until another object stopped them dead.