Never Fear Page 5

  She woke to the sound of pounding at the front door. As she stumbled down the hallway, she already knew what she’d find waiting for her. She unlocked the door, opened it, and stood back as Edmund—who didn’t have a mark anywhere on his body, including his throat—crab-walked inside. A thought drifted through her mind. The cat came back…

  ***

  She tried three more times. She used an iron poker to cave in Edmund’s skull. She jammed a pair of socks down his throat to block his airway. Finally, in desperation, she took a screwdriver, rammed it through his left eye into his brain, stirred it around real good, and then did the same to the other eye.

  He healed each time.

  She had no idea if Edmund healed because of some quality his transformed body possessed or if her Master specifically healed him each time as a way to torment her. Whatever the reason, she knew she couldn’t kill him by ordinary means. To end his travesty of a life, she would need power. The same kind that had transformed him in the first place.

  She began to plan.

  ***

  The skin on Audrey’s right hand was raw and blistered. Pushing the cart hurt, but she couldn’t manage it with only one hand, so she endured the pain. Edmund followed behind her on the sidewalk, moving a bit faster now, with a decided bounce in his step. She’d jacked him off, and it hadn’t taken him long to come. It never did. But while what shot out of his quivering cock looked more or less like semen, it was an unhealthy gray, stank like sulfur, and was boiling hot. Getting Edmund off was a sure way to motivate him. He’d be in a good mood for hours—but she only did it when nothing else worked, for no matter how hard she tried, she always got some of his cock-lava on her. Usually on her hand, but if his orgasm was particularly strong, he’d blast like a firehose, and there was no telling where she might get hit. Today, she’d been lucky. Only her right hand and a small spot on her left wrist had been burned. Painful, but nothing that would slow her down, and now Edmund was trotting behind her like an eager puppy, cock already swollen purple once more.

  Audrey didn’t look down as she walked. She knew better than to gaze at the cracks in the sidewalk. Something—or many somethings—lived inside and whispered the most awful things. If they caught you looking down, they’d whisper louder. They’d urge you to do things to yourself and to others, and the longer they whispered, the harder it was to resist them. Better to not set them off in the first place.

  The town’s population was sparser now. Many people died during the early days after the Masters’ arrival, and many more had died since. Some had been sacrificed to Masters, some had been killed by the new monstrous predators that roamed the world, and some died at the hands of their fellow survivors, people who’d been driven mad or had turned savage during their struggle to stay alive.

  Because of this, Audrey saw few people along the route to her Master’s lair, and those she did see were sitting in alleys or on front stoops, heads down, sleeping or—just as likely—gone deep into their minds to try to escape the horrors of the World After. Every now and again one of them would look up as she passed, and she always made sure to turn her head toward them so they could see her thrall mark. That was usually enough to make them look away and lower their heads once more.

  She was aware of other creatures, moving swift and silent between buildings, or crouching on rooftops and watching, motionless and hopeful. At times she even had the sense that something was looking down at her from above, but when she looked up, she saw nothing in the sour-yellow sky. The land was filled with predators now—some large, some small, all deadly in their own ways. Her thrall mark would keep them at a distance, especially close to her Master’s lair. She hoped.

  Audrey had never had cause to visit the Third Street Iron and Metal Company before the Masters’ arrival. She didn’t live particularly close to the place, either. She had no idea why the Master who laired there had offered to take her on as one of its thralls. Maybe it had broadcast a general call and she’d answered. Maybe she’d been chosen for a specific reason, one she’d likely never know. Whatever the truth was, she’d come to wish she’d never accepted the Master’s offer. If she hadn’t, she and Edmund would’ve been dead by now, probably from lack of fresh water, but that end would’ve been preferable to what their lives had become. Serving as a thrall was a mistake, one she intended to rectify now.

  The word company seemed too grand for this place. A high white wooden fence surrounded the property, with the business’s name painted in red letters on one of the outside walls. A section of a wall served as a sliding door which could be closed and locked, although it was always open when Audrey came here. Since the only thing that could threaten a Master was another of its kind, there was no need for simple physical boundaries like doors and locks.

  Audrey’s thrall mark burned hot as fire. Her Master knew she was close, knew the metal was close, and it was losing what little patience it had. Audrey had heard about what happened to thralls that displeased their Masters. It made what had been done to Edmund look like little more than a mild swat on the hand.

  She began pushing the cart once more, Edmund crab-walking obediently behind her.

  The instant she set foot on the barren earth inside the fence, she felt the Master’s power wash over her. She was officially in its lair now, the place where it was strongest. The air here seemed to ripple, like the distortion created by waves of heat rising off hot asphalt. Edmund made a small bleating sound when he entered. He was never comfortable in the Master’s presence, but he always accompanied her inside anyway. She was counting on this—habit? Loyalty?—now.

  The ground was smooth, the path to the pit well worn, and the squeaking wheels of the shopping cart rolled easily over it. Normally, Audrey would push the cart up to the pit’s edge—not too close—and then start lifting out pieces of metal one by one and tossing them in. If the Master was especially impatient and the cart’s contents not too heavy, she might try to dump the entire load in at once. She would do neither of these things today, though.

  Her Master’s impatience, its lust to feed, filled her, made her thrall mark feel as if white-hot coals had been slipped beneath her skin. She gritted her teeth against the pain, gripped the cart handle tighter, and started to run. She was seventy-three, malnourished and dehydrated, but fear, anger, and determination fueled her, and she ran with the strength and speed of a much younger woman. The cart’s wheels squeaked so loudly they almost seemed to be screaming. The sound of the wheels combined with the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, and she couldn’t hear if Edmund continued to follow her, if he too had picked up speed, his bare hands and feet slap-slap-slapping the earth as he fought to keep up with her. She hoped he was.

  At first, she felt only her Master’s all-consuming hunger, but then she detected a hint of puzzlement. Why was this thrall approaching the pit so fast? But before the Master could command her to stop, Audrey felt the front wheels of the heavily laden cart roll over the edge of the pit. She held tight to the handle as the cart tipped forward and fell into the darkness, pulling her with it. She looked back in time to see Edmund fling himself after her, and she smiled. The Master might prefer to eat metal, but she hoped it wouldn’t mind an offering of flesh. Two offerings.

  Audrey and Edmund tumbled down through black nothingness.

  ***

  Audrey had no idea how long they fell. She’d lost her grip on the cart somewhere along the line, and she had no idea where it was. Edmund was close by, though. She might not have been able to see him, but she could still smell him. More, she sensed his presence the same way she’d sometimes wake in the night and know he was lying in bed next to her without having to reach over to confirm his presence.

  The vertiginous feeling of falling had subsided around the time she’d lost contact with the cart, and she couldn’t tell if she still continued descending. Without so much as a speck of light, she had no way of telling which way was up and which way was down, if such directions even meant anything in thi
s dark limbo. For all she knew, she was hanging motionless in this void, and she might remain so until she died. Or worse, she’d stay like this forever, never dying, always awake and conscious. How long could a person exist like that before going completely insane?

  She tried to speak but was unable to tell if her mouth produced any sound.

  I’m so sorry, Edmund. I didn’t know something like this would happen. I thought we’d die.

  No reply from her husband. For once, she was glad his mind was gone. If they were trapped in this place, he wouldn’t go mad. After all, he was already there.

  After a time—how long was impossible to say—she sensed another presence, enormous and terrifying. It was as if she were floating in a sea and a silent ocean liner had drifted close without her being aware of it until the massive craft was almost on top of her. She knew she was now truly in her Master’s presence.

  She felt a wave of curiosity roll forth from the Master. It wasn’t a word, wasn’t even a human concept, but Audrey interpreted it as a single-word question.

  WHY?

  She didn’t have to ask why what.

  I couldn’t let him go on living like he is. And I couldn’t leave him.

  She sensed only continuing curiosity, now tinged with confusion, coming from the Master.

  He’s my husband. We belong together.

  The Master’s confusion and curiosity vanished, followed by a sense of satisfaction, which Audrey interpreted as a single word.

  UNDERSTOOD.

  Pain exploded throughout her body as her bones, muscles, and organs began to shift and rearrange. She let forth a soundless scream, but she felt a hand clasp her shoulder—Edmund’s hand—and she knew that, whatever horrible thing was happening to her, at least she wasn’t alone. And then she felt Edmund’s fingers join with her flesh, their skin flowing together like liquid putty, and if she could’ve produced sound in this non-place, she would’ve screamed louder.

  ***

  Audrey and Edmund shuffled slowly into an abandoned building. The sign out front said the place once had been a night club called Spinners, but since neither of them could read anymore, the letters were only meaningless nonsense. They moved on four hands and four feet, two pairs of eyes scanning the debris inside the club for any metal. Poking out from beneath a splintered table, they saw a thin half circle of what looked like… Could it be? Copper! Once, Audrey would’ve recognized this object as a bracelet, but now she only saw it as her Master’s favorite delicacy. Audrey and Edmund were excited to retrieve the bracelet, but their combined anatomy made it difficult to move the pieces of broken wood. Yes, they had four hands, but their arms no longer bent the way they once did. Edmund carried a silver serving spoon they had found in a restaurant a couple blocks away, and he put it on the floor. The two of them then took hold of the table fragments with their teeth and slowly, painfully dragged them off the bracelet. When the object was fully revealed, Audrey leaned her head down to it. She used her thorn-covered tongue to lift it into her mouth, and then she gently gripped it between her serrated teeth. Audrey and Edmund couldn’t operate a shopping cart, and so they were limited in what they could gather for their Master, but hopefully their meager offering would still be pleasing. Their Master would understand. After all, hadn’t the Master made them this way?

  Edmund retrieved his spoon, and they left the bar. Because of the tangled arrangement of their limbs, they scuttled and lurched instead of crab-walked, and they were more awkward than either of them had been on their own. But they’d learn to make due. Everything would be all right, just as long as they had each other. Once outside, they turned left and began heading in the direction of the Third Street Metal and Iron Company.

  Together.

  BELLUM SACRUM

  Mathew Kaufman

  “I wish you would just die already! You are a lazy, backstabbing piece of shit!” Mark screamed at his co-worker. His face was flushed with excitement. He was finally getting all his pent-up anger out. It had been building for so long and now was blasting out, unencumbered, uncensored, and in front of all his peers.

  It was wonderful!

  Faces, mostly blurred, filled Mark Thomas’s peripheral vision. Even obscured as they were, he could see all of the gaping jaws. It looked like twenty trout staring at him. He continued to scream obscenities at Lin Alvonellos, the office fuck-up. Vile words spewed out of his mouth. Spittle splashed on Lin’s face, splattered on the walls and desk as he unloaded his fury.

  Lin just stood there, stupefied, as if he was too dumb to comprehend the hate-filled rant. Mark watched as he stepped back while the barrage impacted. He watched Lin’s face change from simple and ignorant to confused and pained.

  Lin rubbed his left arm and begin to scratch—no, more like claw at—the side of his neck. Red marks appeared on his irritated skin as Lin feverishly raked, but nothing was going to stop Mark. He had waited too long for this very moment; Lin had done far too much stupid shit. This was his time to shine.

  “You are a stupid fuck! How can anyone be so dumb? Don’t just stand there, say something! I want you dead!” Mark yelled.

  All that Lin could muster was the same stupid thing he always said. “Oh, good.” It didn’t matter if you said your granny just died, it was only thing Lin ever sputtered.

  And it was the last thing he ever sputtered. Without another word, Lin grabbed his chest, made a stupid face, and dropped dead. Right there in front of the whole office. Just dropped dead.

  It was the first time Mark had ever killed someone, and he had only used his words. He thought for sure they were going to suspend and fire him on the spot. Hell, the Human Resources bitch, “Tasty” Carlson, just stood there slowly smothering to death in her epic fat rolls, not saying a word.

  It never happened though. Mark just returned to his cubicle and went back to watching YouTube videos. Tasty stopped eating her Ho Hos long enough to call 911. Mark could hear the bitch screaming, “He’s dead, ohhh, he’s dead—”

  Mark just rolled his eyes and put his headphones in. Sometime later, the ambulance arrived and carted Lin off. Mark didn’t even bother to look up from his screen. It was a good day.

  Before long, the police were asking him to fill out a statement on what had happened.

  Mark simply told them, “No, thank you,” and returned to YouTube until the work day was over. He found that each interaction filled him with a sense of joy and accomplishment. Each time he said something out of the ordinary, he felt titillated. Soon enough, five o’clock arrived and without a word, not even so much as a glance at the other employees, he walked out and went home.

  ***

  THE next morning Mark awoke to the piercing beep-beep-beep of his alarm clock. His brain began whirring awake. He immediately recalled yesterday's events, cracking a smile as they replayed in his head. I can’t believe he just died. I would have yelled at him far sooner if I thought that would have happened.

  He lay there, snug and self-satisfied in his bed for a few more minutes before deciding to get up. He sprang from his bed, filled with exhilaration. He had to do something to rid himself of some of this energy, so he shed his boxers and did what every twenty-five-year-old does.

  Masturbation seemed to have lost its ability to calm him, however. He was still so full of energy. Sure, he’d been energetic before, but never like this. It was like a dozen A.D.D. kids off their meds were bouncing around in his brain. Jesus fuck, man…

  Mark hopped in the shower and raced through washing. He needed to do something to get rid of this energy. He felt out of control and had to rein it in. What can I do? What will make me feel better? A run maybe?

  He bounded out of the shower and grabbed his socks and shoes. He sat on the couch still dripping wet after forgetting to dry himself. Socks on. Shoes on. Laces tied. He was out the door and halfway down the block.

  Run, run, running… Gotta go faster. Can’t stop running. His body coursed with his life-blood. He slowed and looked at his smartwatch to
check his pulse. Fifty-five beats per minute. How could that be? I was practically sprinting.

  He took another look at the heart rate monitor. Fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two… the countdown continued. He bolted into a sprint again. His mind raced as his heart barely puttered along. He checked again. The rate was locked at forty-eight.

  He picked up the pace. No change. He ran full out, as fast as his body would move. No change. What the fuck!

  He stopped, expecting to be panting after sprinting so hard. He was barely breathing faster than when he slept. Fourteen times a minute is what he counted. Shit, Tasty Carlson breathed that much just thinking about a Snickers.

  Honk! A car horn blared.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Get some clothes on, you pervert!” the man yelled from the car.

  What? Mark looked down. He was horrified at what he saw. His giblets hung out in the open for everyone to see. His pasty white skin glowed like snow on a sunny day. I forgot clothes. I’m naked. I’m naked, he paused, looking around, in the middle of downtown.

  “Get out of the road, you fucking faggot! No one wants to see your tiny dicklett!” a kid yelled out the window of an approaching school bus. The bus’s brakes squealed as it came to a stop at the light.

  This can’t be happening. It must be a dream. He felt his face flush with embarrassment.

  “Ha! Look at his tiny dick!” a ginger teen yelled, pointing out the window.

  Before he knew it, Mark’s mouth was open and spewing words: “It's not tiny, you motherfuckers!”

  “Why are you naked? What a freak!” the ginger replied.

  “I’m gonna come up there and light you on fire, you little fucker!” Mark yelled.

  “With what? You gonna rub your tiny dick ‘til it shoots sparks?” The ginger laughed. The whole bus laughed as Mark scanned the windows. Each one had at least two faces pressed against their panes. Some even had three.