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Chapter IV

Tags: ground rock mouth
Chapter IV

The carrion circled in silhouette against the vast cyan expanse of sky. The sun shown hot and the air was dry, cracking the Ground as it baked out all evidence of precipitation. He had been running all night it seemed, though he had not seen the sunrise.

I must have passed out he thought as he ran his finger through his matted dirty hair, wincing in pain as his fingers touched the moist and sticky gash that ran across the top of his head. “What the fuck…” he muttered as the world spun and darkness enveloped him.

The sun had set, taking leave of the horizon, ushering in the drop in temperature as the winds stirred along with the carnivores. His body trembled, and his teeth chattered echoing in the hollows of his skull, like church bells. Pulling tightly he gathered his bare legs up against his chest, in a vane but instinctual effort to keep warm.

His eyes fluttered, and things came into focus. He didn’t know where he was, but he felt the pain. The pain started at the top of his head and ran to the soles of his feet, which for some reason were bare. His Mouth was so dry; his tongue was coarse sandpaper against his lips and gums.

He struggled to upright himself, slowly shifting through the pain, he rested on all fours. His hands were bloodied and cracked, and his arms were scratched and bruised, and his left-hand had the red impression of what looked like teeth… human teeth. He vomited.

He was naked except for a bright green pair of hot pants and three strings of beads around his neck. His chest and body were covered in some type of body paint and glitter. His face was caked with dirt and black and he had a splitting headache.

He was lost, and couldn’t remember anything, except that he had been running. He had been scared. He didn’t’ know what he had been scared of, but he knew he had been. He decided to be as quiet as possible.

Standing was pure agony. His joints were aching and his feet throbbed from the cuts and gashes that covered them. He edged himself up on the Rock he had taken shelter under the night before, slowly moving to sneak a peak over the top. The stone was warm and smooth to the touch.

He shaded his eyes from the sun, but the heat that escaped the ground in distorted waves blurred his vision. Shadows moved and glimmer appeared and vanished in the brightness on the horizon.

Scanning the area he realized that he was elevated about ten meters on a series of rocks that jutted out of the hard desert floor. He could see about 180 degrees from his current vantage point, but he didn’t see much. He new he would have to seek higher elevation if he were to get his bearings.

After some brief discovery and a much-needed piss, he sat again and contemplated the climb he would have to make in his current physical state. After short deliberation, he closed his eyes and decided to sleep on it.

Night covered the land once again, and he was stirred out of sleep by the cold air. Shivering he stood, his knees were weak and his head still throbbed. The sky was clear and black dotted with bright shards of light. He cautiously decided to make his ascent to higher ground to get his bearings, and to figure out exactly where he was. His head was swimming and he shook with a fever chill.

Thorny bushes lined the path he followed up the rocks, and it was so dark he could hardly see. Each step he planted carefully, not wanting to trip or fall. He found a glow stick that was struggling to keep bright; he picked it up and shook it, which seemed to breathe some life back into the short plastic vile.

It didn’t’ produce much light, but at least he could see where he was stepping. The breeze was light and chilly and it delivered a strange sweet smell of rot and decay. Every breath almost caused him to wretch, but he fought to keep it down.

The path circled up the rocks for another ten meters, and he slowly made his way up. At the top, the path opened to a small area where someone had set up camp. Garbage, beer cans and bottles, food, condoms, and clothing littered the ground. A half collapsed tent sat discarded and bent against a bramble of thorn bushes, slowly moving with the breeze. A green dog cage sat toppled on its side with a large pink panda bear imprisoned inside.

He was desperate for water, so he searched frantically through the camp, picking up any container that might hold liquid. Finally he found a discarded plastic gallon jug filled about half way with what looked like water.

He took a small sip, and then poured the contents into his mouth. It was so cold and refreshing on his dry cracked lips and tongue. He gagged, bent over in a flash of stabbing pain through his intestines and stomach, and vomited up the clear liquid.

He was on all fours again; vomit ran from his mouth and nose, while tears and mucus dripped from his eyes. Then he heard it. It sounded like a moan or groan. Lifting his head he searched, and listened. He tipped the rest of the jug into his mouth and swallowed gratefully. Then he heard it again.

Had the tent moved? Was the pain playing tricks on him?

“Hello…” he croaked from between cracked lips.

There was no reply. There was nothing.

He needed to find some clothes, and he needed to continue to the apex of the rock formation to get his bearing. Slowly he searched the camp, finding a small Hello Kitty Tee Shirt, which normally wasn’t his style, but he was in no place to be picky. He was desperate for something to put on his feet. He found a white roller skate and a combat boot that had been spay painted bright blue and covered in glitter.

The boot was big, but he put it on anyway, the roller skate was more dangerous than helpful so he tossed it aside, and continued searching. After a half an hour he had managed to find a fuzzy pink moonboot for his other foot, a pair of star shaped sunglasses, a bong shaped like a penis and a trucker’s baseball hat that read CUNT across the front in bright pink letters. He put on what he could, left the bong on the cage with the imprisoned panda inside, and made his way to the top of the rocks.

As he approached, he heard the noise again, a moan, deep and guttural. He was scared but the pain was too great, he had to move ahead and get help. On the far side of the plateau he sensed motion on the ground. It looked like a person crawling on the ground.

“Hello…” he called out waving the fading glow stick above his head.

There was no response.

He stumbled slowly forward, waving the glow stick, hoping that he had found someone who could help him. On the horizon he saw the glow of lights, and fires burning. The air was smoky and sweet. At the base of the rock formation the ground was littered with more of the same debris he had found at the campsite. Dogs fought over something he couldn’t quite make out, pulling in opposite directions, ripping and tearing. It looks like a mannequin he thought to himself, or some sort of doll.

From across the plateau there was more movement; someone was standing slowly moving toward him. Through all of the pain he managed to feel a quantum of relief, though he knew he was far from recued. The night before had been a blur, but as he had slept quick cuts, visions, bits and pieces flashed through his dreams.

Bright colors, beads, fire, spinning lights, a unicycle, sex, sweat and smoke, were edited together in a nonsensical montage. He vaguely remembered a tall black man, wearing an America Indian headdress and a thong with the word MOLLY painted in white across his chest and stomach and the taste of licorice. He dropped to his knees again, and wretched, expelling the last of the hydrating fluids he had consumed.

He struggled to stand to be ready to meet the person that approached. He could see that is was a girl. She was tall and thin, and wore small Wonder Woman hot pants, striped blue and white knee socks, and had black electrical tape X’s across he nipples. Her hair was tied up in pigtails, with colors and glow strings weaved in and out of each tail.

Her eyes were painted heavily in black mascara that ran down her face like tears of hot tar. Her mouth was a severe slash of red that also ran down her chin and neck in long, crooked lines.

“Hello…” He said, but it was hardly a whisper.

She didn’t respond, but kept her slow trudge toward him. He was feeling scared and sick. He sensed there was something very wrong with her.

As she approached he could see that the slash he thought had been her mouth was not her mouth at all, but a wound so savage that her jaw was literally gone. Her tongue wriggled about below the line of perfect white teeth that filled out her upper palette.

The deep, wet, sound he had heard exited the gapping hole that had been her mouth with every step she took. Her fingers were stiff, pointing at obscene angles as if they had all been broken. She wore high; silver stiletto heals teetering with every step. Her left ankle had broken at some point and it flopped with silver heal perpendicular to the ankle to which it was attached. She came at him relentlessly, her foot flapping, the blood running down her chest, and half her face gone.

He starred at the abomination that approach him. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. Was he hallucinating, was he dreaming? He was frozen with fear.

She reached out after him with twisted, obtuse fingers, which were ice cold as they clawed at his shoulders. He was frozen in fear, as he looked into the white blue eyes that rained black down her face. She pulled him close toward the maw that had been her mouth. Blood and fluids spattered his face and chest; suddenly he thrust his hands out, shoving at her with all of his might.

She toppled over easily, losing her balance as the solitary heel snapped off in the hard packed dirt and rock. She slammed backward, landing hard on the ground, smashing her head against a jagged rock that jutted from the ground.

He didn’t stick around to see if she was dead or not. Blindly he ran, jumping over her twitching body, toward the center of the plateau. He ran falling and cutting his hands and knees on the sharp debris that littered the ground. The wind whispered and carried voices, cries, moans and other organic sounds.

Instinctively he moved toward the sounds, though he could barley see what was in front of him, and then suddenly there was nothing. The ground was gone, he reached out and there was nothing as he began to fall. He screamed, and then stopped as he met the ground in a heavy, painful thud.

“I said do you speak my language?
He just smiled, and gave me a Vegemite sandwich”

Colin Hay and Ron Strykert.



This post first appeared on Head Full Of Zombie, please read the originial post: here

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