Welcome [Back] to the Hellmouth
1: Silhouettes
[NB: Don't own or make anything from the use of Wheddon's brilliant creation, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, or other characters from shows that may pop up. I am merely using them for my own creative amusement.]
It always happened like this. A moment that is seemingly innocuous. It always began with a conversation, and for us two broke, traveling girls, it usually ended in violence. That was how it was, the violence, ever since I was a kid. Fend for yourself, prepare and fight. Or die, and brutally so but that was the hope, not the fear because death isn't what it used to be anymore.
It was winter in the Southwest but every town we drove though looked like every place we'd come across before, bombed out and a vision from every doomsday movie I'd ever watched or read featuring every unbelievable twist and turn imaginable. And the boring as hell, which I always hoped for when I opened up my eyes to a brand new day.
A long, long time ago, back in 2003, it all started here, in the good ole U-S-of-A. More specifically, Sunnydale, California. A massive detonation occurred, a blast so strong that it dissolved a magical wall between our world and others. That blast created an extinction level event that cascaded across the globe with devastating consequences. Governments crumbled. Nations became full of the disenfranchised and terrified. Whole cities were consumed in fire and mayhem. Humans became population null, food and play fodder things for the monsters that seemed to come out of nowhere. One day, normal; the next, chaos. Creatures from horror movies were real, further adding to the de-population of Mankind as we knew it. And other reasons too. Even after so many years, what really happened and why was still up in the air.
The cloud cover above now painted the landscape, a wastelands really, in grey, brown, tan and silver drabs. The blast killed trees and flowers by hiding the sun away and making the rain toxic to any living thing it touched. There was no season, no variation. It was always cold and the land barren and empty of life. Except for the few of us that lived through hell on earth, unfortunately, along with every type of cockroach in existence.
"Worthless," Trina said in disgust, using the tip of her rifle to move bits of ceiling and whatever else out of the way. I looked at her, eying the ground full of crap and ready to trip me up.
"We haven't checked under the debris," I pointed out, doing as I say and removing layers of decayed crap with my hands, and wishing I'd put on my leather gloves. My cloth bag held only a few items I'd managed to find and that was after two hours of looking in every niche and corner of the store. I got up from my squat and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Then again, maybe you gotta point."
"Like I said, completely worthless," she muttered, breathe puffing away from her mouth. "Again."
Frustration stitched across Trina's forehead and that constant growl graced her mouth. Again. The bottoms of her flak jacket hung out from under her dark blue hoodie. She wore a thick vest over that, re-tailored to hold various homemade weapons and whatever we found. She wore black fitted jeans and Army shoes and kept her dark blonde hair in a tight ponytail, low at her neck. I didn't look much different from her, other than that I'm five inches shorter and darker-faired.
We'd been taking our time on back roads mirroring old Highway 95, having come up from Utah and along a southern route, more often than not, taking the road a lot less traveled to avoid the roads that were patrolled by raiders, bastards, thieves and at random times, everything else in between. If we got too south, we'd be hitting the Barrier and a whole lot of trouble.
As we traveled, our route random to stave off anyone trailing us, we looted every store we could, restoring our jeep with much needed supplies for survival. Specifically, to barter with when we came across gangs and highly distrustful secluded towns, when we ran low on ammo and gear. What remained of the Safeway store had been all but raided of anything useful, like most buildings. The only good thing was that we hadn't come across any bad guys, the monsters and fellow human hunting parties alike. Sometimes the enemy had the same face as you; sometimes the monsters had a better understanding of when to attack, and when to lie low. Humans weren't always that smart.
I was also exhausted but tried not to show it. "There are other places," I said, lowly, Trina's growl as impressive as my jaw-popping yawns. "We have a few hours before we need to break for camp."
I looked around at the daunting task of searching through the final quarter of the grocery store of things that were not there or rotted beyond recognition. Who knew shopping could be so exhausting? I watched dust bunnies float in the silver light of a late afternoon, feeling my spirits droop as low as my shoulders. I felt eyes on me and saw Trina watching me. I met her hard gaze unflinchingly. I knew what she was thinking. That I was much weaker than her, and she was right. To a point.
"There are other stores," I repeated, my voice calm. I met her stare with ease. I let her know I wasn't as intimidated by her as she would like. I'm not that weak. I just don't see the point in pretending I'm Bad Ass And Heartless Bitch Chick 24/7. "But for tomorrow. We're in no rush or any immediate need of supplies."
"We always need supplies. And we especially need more ammo. But you're right, it won't be today." Trina's boots made clunky, echoing sounds as she resituated her pack to a more comfortable position on her shoulders. She shook her head, dark blonde flyaway swaying listlessly against the sides of her narrow face. "At least we haven't met any unsavory unwanted."
"Which is why we can afford to linger here for a few weeks. Catch up on sleep, re-organize our plans. Plus, we are in Arizona, land of OK Corral and shit like that. Even if the gun shops are cleaned out, nine out of ten people probably have guns, knives and other weapons in their house. We'll just have to dig it out, and that'll take time. It'll give us more to barter with if we have to go through major cities."
"Maybe…but information is much more valuable, even more so than weapons."
"Don't even think about it," I warned.
"Not all of California is controlled by the vamps," she said, again. "It's mostly the central and northern parts. They have a lot of outposts in the southern section of the state and they're still vulnerable near the desert. Despite that fact that the cloud cover over Cali is the most concentrated, the ambient light still harms them. If we got to one of those outposts, stole whatever is there, that'd be our passport to the Barrier and we wouldn't have to entertain any other options, as you always say."
That was a pipe dream. Central California was The epicenter of the beginning of hell on earth itself and where everything had gone wrong. It was ground zero for all the bad and every monster that could formulate a thought came from. I was so tired of this circular conversation. "That's if those outposts would have anything worth stealing or bartering with."
"Fine, we could head directly south and try our luck through the Barrier without any creds."
"And get killed after all our hard work at avoiding it? The Militia controls the whole border." I tossed back quickly, and quite dubious. "They also kill anyone in sight now, and I mean from a scope miles and miles away unless you've gone through the proper channels. You need to know someone and then they have to vet you, make sure you're not a monster lying in wait, like what happened in Canada. Like in parts of Europe. Everywhere it seems these days. It's suicide."
"My point exactly," she said softly, giving a closed-lipped smile. "You've been a downer these past couple of months about finding Axel. You think we have any options left to us at this point?"
I hate being prodded into a corner and of my own doing. That was the whole reason we were on this little southern joyride. To find this mysterious 'Axel' that Trina had heard about twenty, thirty towns ago, which was now going on six months. Supposedly, the guy had a way of getting anyone to safe zones, places in the world that had been too far away to be immediately affected by migrating and loosed monsters, and therefore, had time to build protective walls and have a battle plan to defend the onslaught of a new kind of scary-shit monsters that may find a way their way. But without working airplanes, no trans-continental vehicles of any kind to move people from even a short distance, it all seemed fantastical. A beautiful lie. There is no safe place on this earth, not anymore. Not since Sunnydale blew up and introduced the world to everything that went bump in the night, times a thousand.
Frankly, I was convinced the guy didn't exist, even if there were 'eye-witnesses' that claimed they'd received messages from family members that had somehow found Axel and had gotten their ticket out of hell on earth. We hadn't had that luck and after so long, we still couldn't get a bead on him. No one could. That was the essential point, I was certain. What was strange was that about the time stories of his feats began spreading, an increase in never-seen monsters began popping up. More people were getting killed or changed into a variant of whatever horrible creature had touched them. Maybe it was a coincidence, as Trina said; or maybe not, like I thought.
"I've tried crossing the Barrier, with others when I was a teen," I said grimly. "I know how that will end but this Axel guy can't be our only option."
"What else is there?" she shot back.
"Parts of the high northwest is becoming safe…parts of Alaska and British Columbia." I paused, letting that parcel of recent info sink in. "Jolene said it herself and she's your contact and her word has always been solid."
Trina made a face, not liking my input but mainly because I had an opposing point of view and suggestion. Some days, I wonder why we stuck together when our personalities and philosophies were so divergent and disagreeing at almost every other point. Then again, the person who could put up with you was the one person who may not abandon you. Or maybe I was projecting. It was just that I was getting tired of moving around non-stop for the past year. The idea of finding a haven that was relatively safe was incredibly attractive to me, and establishing some roots with more than just one person.
Trina threw her rifle over one shoulder. "You know, we should—"
A sound from the back had us go still. We looked at each other, then at the source of that sound and heard nothing for a full minute before we heard it again. Like someone was rummaging around.
Like always, Trina followed a hunch, which never ended well. She gave a quick signal at me and darted ahead and around before I could even convince her of an alternate reaction, like running…away. On the other side of the aisle, I could hear her feet making scruff-scruff sounds against the dirty floor, as she didn't even attempt to mask her approach. No point, maybe. She was on the other side of the canned food aisle, motioning with me with how slow and steady her movements were and I had no choice but to mirror her and listened intently.
I drew out the compound bow I'd lifted from a hunting shop back in Colorado. The only problem being that I had limited metal arrows. I held it up against my shoulder like a gun, aiming and ready to kill. My breath kept floating in the way and I had to keep making fine-haired adjustments as I moved forward.
"Why is it always in the back where the meat's cut up?" I asked myself softly, my heart hammering in my skull. The noises got louder. Snarls, low and guttural. Animal. Not human. I knew what was back there. I may not know the genus or the face, but it wasn't human, and it was hungry.
We cleared the end of the long aisle at the same time. I could see Trina on my left peripheral, her focus like steel and determined. Me, less so. I was tired of this, the killing and the tension. At that split second, the idea of whatever was back there might end me…was more attractive to me than finding a safe place to hide away in. That bolstered me, lifted me out of my cerebral melancholy. For now.
We headed around the half-falling down counter, moving more carefully as we got closer to the swing double doors. It was dark but the shadows were gray under a silver glow of rest of the light flooding the rest of the space. Through the wide windows of the double doors, I could see nothing. That was because the plastic windows were splattered with dark brown and black spots. Old, dried blood.
Trina and I gave each other tight, quick looks. We were too trained at this. We knew what to do and so we did. Trina entered first because she was quicker on her feet and less squeamish. She shot without thinking and asked later. She rarely apologized or felt sorry afterwards.
When we made a collective and unified decision, which was surviving and winning whatever little battle came at hand, we were like a perfect killing machine. And everything always moved in a blur. But I always remembered the smell of death, which burned my stomach and coated the insides of my nose. The kind of smell that stayed with you, embedded under your skin and became a part of a cellular memory. Something to be inherited for the next generation.
The meat room was cluttered and littered with shit that didn't even belong there. There was a huge table dominating the center. The perimeter, metal counters with huge sinks and metal cabinetry above. It was basically a large kitchen and had clearly been ransacked. A few bodies in various stages of deterioration also littered the floor and counters. I immediately saw that there was no other way out other than the way we'd come in.
My brain didn't register what my eyes were seeing. Zombies. And a vampire that had, somehow, become part zombie but not fully. I could see chunks of that halfling vampire-zombie Frankenstein, the lack of understanding and consciousness but struggling to…be aware but failing. The vamp opened and closed her—its—maw, making this awful, mewling and strangled sound that had my skin crawling. It had a broken leg, the bone peeking out, gleaming white with red globs falling off it. An eyeball dangled out of the socket, quite literally by a thread, and part of its face sunken in, gnawed off fingers, multiple puncture marks of different sizes and things my brain didn't want to contemplate any further. Where zombies lacked intelligence. Vampires did, even the lowest denomination of the vampire race had a spark of human in them. This trio didn't at all.
As far as I could tell, there was only the three of them. Delirious. Crazed. Hungry, in a fast frenzy to feed that they did not realize that the body they were munching on had only been dead for days. Because it was cold, decomp had slowed the process down so there was still meat on the bone and quite possibly enough fluid to entice these three.
"What the fuck…what is that thing?" I breathed, which drew their attention to us. Dead meat versus fresh. "Shit."
Trina advanced without any artifice or fear. She fired, hitting one of the zombies in the neck. The sound of the bullet piercing through and hitting metal was loud like firecrackers. The other in the chest. I was able to shoot one of the zombies in the face, twice before it fell backwards just as the vampire flew at us. I shot it with my bow, straight through the heart but it didn't turn to dust but exploded like a filled balloon. To my shock, black, slime-tar like substance flew out at in every direction in wavy, elasticy globs.
When it hit Trina across the arm and face, she screamed. I saw, to my horror, the liquid melt away at her face. My heart jumped, rattled but my grip on the compound bow was firm, unyielding. I heard her as she dropped to the ground, the gun firing before it rattled and miss fired as she uselessly fought to fight off the globs eating away at her skin. She continued to scream, feet kicking out as though she were being physically attacked and things crashing around her as her feet made contact with nearby debris. Her screams turned to low, groans. My thoughts scrambled to stay focused and coherent. I wasn't sure what to do, go to Trina and help her, get her safely out of the way or kill the other two monsters.
When the vamp blood and insides hit the last zombie, it didn't scream but its decaying flesh began to disappear, as though the vamp's insides were poisonous.
Instinctively, I ducked and rolled, got out of the way before it could touch me but as I rolled, I was abruptly stopped and hit the back of my head and upper shoulders against something incredibly hard. My vision went blurry and I lost contact and sight of my bow. However, I definitely felt a splatter of the vamp remains grace the outer side of my heavy-duty Wolverine boots. I heard and felt, rather than saw, what the liquid did. Head now screaming and the world dark, tilting and foreign, my foot getting eaten away and not out of the woods, I tried to get my body to move but only parts would obey my mental commands. My whole body twitched, sweat rolling down my neck and spine; the pain settled in deeper, shimmying down my body. I tried to move but more pain shot through me and I couldn't get my left arm or legs to work properly.
This sound, this strange sound of half moan and exhalation of fear, panic and pain, came out of me. I'd heard it before, of those come and gone, and of a certain kind of realization. My vision cleared enough for me to see, just in time, the other zombie staggering toward me, that steel arrow sticking out of him like it was a splinter. It didn't feel pain. Just an insatiable, untenable hunger it had to assuage. I was backed in a corner. "Trina!" I screamed but it came out breathy and strained. She'd gone so quiet. The image o her face being eaten away…could anyone survive that? It didn't matter. I got no answer. I called for her again but only the sounds of the zombie and my heavy breathing could be heard.
I took out a .38 that I kept as a backup, a last resort. It too had limited bullets but unlike the bow, the gun was for me. In a zero-sum scenario. Like now. Because I knew. I knew, right then that Father Death was upon me. My vision cleared just enough as its mouth, dripping with a sticky foam around its rotting away lips, opened and brown-gray, decaying hands with clawed nails reached for me. I held up the gun, eyes wide-open, scared and seeing only a feathery image but in my mind, my imagination was sharper than ever.
"Not today mother fucker, not today," I whispered hoarsely, palms sweaty and terrified. I would rather die than become one of them.
I held the gun firmly in my hands, egging myself to just get it over with. Being dead-dead was better than just being dead. As I pulled the trigger, another body, darkly clad, came out of nowhere. I couldn't stop the press of the trigger, just the heat burn through me. The last thing I watched was the dark-clad shadow ripping the head of the zombie off. Then the world went black, the boom of the shot sang through my hands, up my arms and right into my head, like a swan song.