36 Hours – Part 15

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The earth heaves under the barrage and throws up gouts of rock and dirt in every possible direction. We run, hunched over like animals. In places we are reduced to rodents, scurrying on hands and knees as the trench is destroyed above us. I hear nothing but the booms and cracks of artillery fire. I see nothing but flashes of intense daylight when the star shells explode overhead. In those moments the world is reduced to what is before me. The trench is my home and Shiod and Kat my brothers.

A shell lands behind us. I hear its whistle a moment before impact and fall flat, covering my head. I feel the explosion before I hear it, a deep, angry rumble that turns into a terrible vibration. It tears at me, rips the trench apart on all sides. Mud and dirt and human viscera fall upon me. Continue reading

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36 Hours – Part 11

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After, when we leave Shiod behind and make our way back toward the line, I resist the urge to think of home. Kat is looking at me and I wonder if he can see the resignation I feel. Still, he says nothing and we walk on through the lines of men on medical pallets, blood pooling and dripping. Some of them are already dead, others still clinging to a half-life of delirium and hope.

Our batteries open up, creating a cacophony so loud it shakes the ground we walk on and the walls that pen us in. Kat and I have to stop in a dugout to keep from falling over.

“What’s going on?” Kat asks a sergeant, the only man in the dugout. He’s older, a lined and bearded face half hidden behind a helmet and mask. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Does it matter?” Continue reading

Icarus – April 28th, 2099

April 28th, 2099

The lights on the Icarus have all gone out. I float in the darkness of the engine rooms, slowly feeling a chill creep into me. The Song is my only company since the screaming stopped. I don’t hear them anymore. They neither bang on the doors nor scratch at the grating. They aren’t gone though, they’re just waiting.

Waiting for me to come to them.

Why has it taken so much longer for me? Why did it take the others so swiftly and leave me alone to wrestle with it for days? It is the sickness, I can’t deny it anymore. Soon I will be one of them. I can feel it inside me, wrenching at my muscles, tearing into my mind. It’s the Song, a kind of hive-mind. It sings to you, telling you just one thing: spread. That is the melody by which they live, a melody I am powerless to stop.

I’ve decided to be clinical about this, to describe it as best I can before I can no longer write. The fever robs you of sleep, makes you see things. For me it has been Sarah. In these waking moments I read over what I’d written before and it’s so obvious. She is the illness made manifest, coaxing me on to do its bidding. Early on, you aren’t unconscious, your mind dissolved and replaced. You are simply tricked into a delusional dream-state.

I’m no scientists as I’ve said before, but I believe it comes in the form of your greatest desire or greatest regret. It pulls on strong memories, attaches itself there and moves you toward it. Eventually even that will be gone and the tumors I’d seen will control your basest of instincts, fight and kill and feed.