September 2023, (VII: Chapter 3)
Mo Serrick lay weakly on his bed in the hospital, feeling like all strength was gone and the face mask was all that was drawing breath from his battered lungs. He could hear the rhythmic thrum of the machine, like clockwork and actually less annoying then the whirs and beeps from both beyond his room and from the other machines he was hooked up to.
He was dying. No ifs, buts or maybes, they'd caught his condition too late and he just kept deteriorating. The last three years felt like he'd been fighting a war against his own body, a losing war at that and every time something went his way there were at least three more things that didn't. And now all his strength was gone, he felt beyond spent and knew he didn't have the energy left to fight. Dying actually wasn't that painful, strangely enough. Living hurt more than dying, the painkillers he was on drowned out most everything. No reason not to make him comfortable, he was only ten.
He was at peace with death, it was beyond it that scared him. Hell was eternal pain and suffering, Heaven was supposedly good but Minister Caldwell had molested him for years – which was how he'd gotten infected and why he was on his death bed - claiming it was God's will and an expression of love so he had many complaints and doubts about Heaven being so great and had gotten in trouble many times for being angry at God and Jesus. Which was his other concern, when he still doubted God why would he even be let into Heaven if it was good? He didn't think he was a bad person but he wasn't sure he was a good person either. His best bet was just neither, nothingness wasn't so scary when he was used to spending so much of his time out of it. Least it didn't hurt.
Mo wasn't dead yet though, as straining as it was to keep breathing against the non-existent weight on his chest. He did try cling to consciousness, after all he never knew if this would be the last time or not he'd ever get to think or feel. This was why he pivoted his tired eyes around the small hospital room, ironically bigger than any room at home and there was a large window right in front of him letting in lots of light and a small TV wedged in a corner.
Not that he could see very well anymore, it was like a whitewash had been put over everything and it blurred around the edges, blurs that only spread more inward. He used to see fine, he kept blinking like to get the sleep out of his eyes to see proper but it never helped. Still he tried to watch the TV, watch the blurry colors of the cartoon. They'd left it on for him, they'd also lowered the volume to not disrupt him if he slept which was unfortunate since he could barely hear it over the hospital machines. The staff were nice enough but Mo didn't always understand their logic.
He quickly felt sleep trying to pull him back, keeping his open was tiring these days and this wasn't exactly holding his attention very well. He wondered if this was finally the last time, he hoped it wasn't as he'd like to see his family one last time. They didn't visit much, lack of money and caring but still, wasn't like he could pick his blood. He didn't even know if they were okay, the Shadows had started attacking the States now but he didn't know where or how bad or anything. The staff didn't want him to think about that bad stuff, like that helped or was even possible…
He must've fallen asleep because in the next instant he was being jolted awake by the sound of screaming, it was also strangely silent apart from that and dimmer indicating it was later. Mo looked around and noticed the TV had shut off as had some of the machines, the one giving him oxygen was the only one still working. The power must've cut off, it had happened before in a storm and the backup generators had kicked in which limited power to the most important things the staff said. He couldn't hear a storm though, he only heard screaming.
Mo felt his dying heart beat a little faster for the first time in a long time, what was happening? Was this the Shadows? He frantically scrambled for the call button with his fragile skeletal fingers, calling for a nurse to tell him what was happening. It didn't light up though, it mustn't be important enough to have power. At least the screaming sounded like it was coming from outside… it was still sounding closer by the minute though. He couldn't see well enough to make out what was happening through the window though, he'd have to get closer.
Mo pushed himself shakily into a sitting position and hauled his legs over the side of the bed, he had to take a minute to pause and breathe for a minute as even that sapped the little strength he had. He still had to know though, he had to know what was happening. Mo touched his bare feet to the ground, shuddering a little at the coldness of the linoleum as he stood up weakly. His legs trembled beneath him and he had to hold onto his IV for support, glugging down the oxygen desperately as standing continued to drain his sickly body.
He hobbled over to the window slowly, still needing to cling to the IV to support himself and drag his oxygen tank along with him because his scarred lungs needed the help. It was only a few feet but it felt a few thousand, he was so tired. He made it though, albeit panting behind his mask and leaned against the window for support as he gazed out into the city beyond.
The scene was horrifying, even with his poor vision he could see decrepit corpses were storming through the streets like zombies in a video game except… not. They didn't struggle to walk, in fact some were crawling up the walls to climb in windows and were tearing through doors without difficulty. And the people… A lot of folks were just cowering on the streets and oddly they were being left alone, anyone standing or fighting or trying to flee were being torn to shreds. Bony fingers became claws and teeth became knives, many were covered in blood because of it. They were stronger than they looked and for once Mo was glad his vision was poor now, spared him the graphic details.
Mo backed off shakily and clambered back into his bed, he lay there weakly for a minute clutching his face mask and letting himself catch his breath. He was fucked. No ifs, buts or maybes about it, he was a sitting duck and he damn well knew it. He knew he'd die soon, he just hadn't expected it to be like this and today. He tried to care more and think what he should do but his eyes had closed without him realizing it, walking to the window and back had been too taxing and his now exhausted body succumbing to sleep before he could think to fight it…
"Wake up, boy," a voice barked, crisp and clear.
Mo was startled awake once more, noticing immediately it was even darker indicating it was even later and that there was a faintly rotten smell in the air. The screaming had also stopped, for some reason he wasn't sure that was a good thing though. He rolled over onto his back and was startled to see a man was now in his room, standing at the foot of his bed looking through his chart. Mo's breathing increased in panic again at the surprise, everything about the man was dark. Despite being lanky he was tall and oddly imposing, there strength in the way he stood. He also had a strong jaw, short dark greasy hair and coal colored eyes that matched the plain dark clothes he wore, pants and a thin sweater beneath a cloak. His shadow seemed unusually dark, Mo shivered although not from fear strangely enough.
"Interesting," the man drawled as he read from the chart, drawing his dark eyes away to meet Mo's and a cruel smile curled the corners of his mouth, "Quite the predicament you're in, eh? It's a wonder they didn't shoot you already, put you down like a dying dog."
Mo said nothing. It was hard with the mask and he felt no need to, he was more concerned with what the man – who had to be one of them Shadow people - wanted. And even that was more curiosity, his lack of fear very much surprised him now he adapted to the man's presence. What was there to fear? This man couldn't do anything to him he hadn't already suffered and he was on his way out, he wouldn't suffer for much longer and it'd just kill him faster. Mo wasn't afraid. He held the man's gaze unwaveringly, earning a curious cock of his head before he put down the chart.
"My name is General Stephan Hunter and I'd like to speak with you quickly, not like you have long anyway," the man introduced himself, "So, tell me Moses-"
"It's Mo," Mo insisted firmly even if it sounded muffled with the face mask, giving the man further pause but Mo didn't care. If he was going to die, he was going to die with his preferred name.
"You don't seem particularly afraid, Mo," Stephan observed thoughtfully and made sure to emphasize his name as he approached him, pulling off the oxygen mask roughly, "You do realize this city has fallen to us, don't you?"
"I… I'm al… already… dead," Mo struggled to get the words out as his breathing descended in weak wheezes without the oxygen but he still wasn't afraid just in more discomfort, "What… What's to… to fear?"
"Good question," Stephan smirked and reached out.
Mo would've screamed if he had the breath for it as he felt the man had clawed through his skull, except he hadn't even touched him. The man didn't even have claws, yet Mo still felt like talons were tearing painfully through his brain as images started to play through his mind. Memories, he realized as he saw a slightly younger version of himself collapsing when he was supposed to be running track while his coach yelled at him to get up but he was too weak. The scene changed – which was accompanied by further pain from the clawing inside his skull - and he was being kicked into the ground by his third stepdaddy who was screaming incoherent drunken insults, then he was being beaten by his drunken mama, his fourth stepdaddy and mama were laughing as they threw empty beer bottles at him in competition, his grandfather used a stick to beat him, teachers used paddles for punishment, his stepsiblings had ganged up on him, bullies did too… he'd been beaten a lot.
And then he was running from bullies, almost colliding with a wall as he realized he'd hit a dead end and he pounded on the wall uselessly instead as the kids reached him. But they couldn't see him, he blended into the wall like a chameleon and he watched his confused younger self as the kids ran off angrily ranting that they'd lost him. Then he was watching himself aim a gun, his third stepdaddy yelling at him to stop being a pussy and kill the deer which he didn't want to kill but he fired the gun anyway. And the bullet curved in the air, swinging right round and his stepdaddy fell to the ground howling in pain, clutching at his bleeding shoulder. It changed again and he was in church, angrily listening to Reverend Caldwell's spiel and the cross behind him caught fire. And then he was in the church basement again, Reverend Caldwell rambling that his name was a sign that God wanted this as he stripped… No! He didn't want to remember this.
He felt as if an explosion went off in his mind and abruptly the claws were forced out, for some reason he knew Stephan was surprised. Then he was actually back in the hospital for real as he lay gasping for breath while his body collapsed again the bed, all strength gone as darkness tried to drag him back to oblivion.
"Uh-uh," Stephan's voice complained and Mo felt his oxygen being replaced, restoring his breathing to a more bearable structure. He tried to focus on that, tried to stay conscious even if he hadn't the strength to open his eyes, "Impressive though, Mo, can't say I've ever been repelled by an underage burst of magic before. Ironically, you're certainly the strongest I've tried recruiting."
Well now Mo was just confused, this guy wanted to recruit him? The dying kid? He almost thought he was dreaming but somehow he just knew he wasn't, dreams didn't feel like this, they didn't hurt and he could still feel the reverberations of pain in his head. No, that had to be the magic. Even he had seen the revelation and if this guy was with them, he probably had the magic. He felt his head being moved and managed to force his eyes open a crack to see Stephan had turned his head to look at him, holding onto the mask.
"By now you've probably realized what you are?" Stephan queried, pausing to wait on his answer.
Mo hesitated before nodding. He'd always known he was different, strange things tended to happen around him, things no one could explain. That's why everyone thought he was a freak, some had called him a devil child- especially after he'd burned the cross. When he'd seen the revelation he'd suspected he also had the magic, this guy's interest and question seemed like confirmation to him. He still had no idea what this guy wanted though, didn't the chart mention he was dying?
"But what you probably haven't realized is that you don't have to die," Stephan told him in a tone so serious Mo felt chills crawl up in his spine, when you were dying he'd learned that false hope was a very cruel thing, "Your illness is only fatal by non-magical standards, magic can quite easily heal you."
"You'll… heal me?" Mo mumbled from behind his mask and Stephan smiled, it wasn't a kind smile.
"My people will," Stephan clarified, "But only if you agree to my condition."
"What?"
"You have to join us. There's a place we have to train our Elite soldiers with an extensive and intense regime, if you want to live you have to agree to become one," Stephan explained, "You have to sever all ties to everyone and everything you knew before and dedicate your life to us."
Mo felt a surge of mixed feelings, the idea of being an Elite soldier very much appealed to him actually. He wasn't afraid of a tough training and military service had been his desired career once upon time before he'd learned he wouldn't get to grow up, he'd get to leave his crappy home and they'd teach him to be strong, no one would ever be able to hurt him again. He was assuming he'd probably be some kind of magic soldier but he was sure the same principle applied. But these were the bad guys, the ones destroying the world and he wasn't sure on ditching his family to just be with them either. Of course if he refused he was dead, he was losing his family no matter what. It seemed like the bad guys had already won anyway so what would refusing to join them accomplish? He couldn't do accomplish anything dead but if he was alive… maybe, they could just make the best of the bad guy's winning and try make it… less bad. He didn't know! But he did know his heart screamed for life, he could choose to die at any point but this was the only chance he'd ever get to choose to live.
"Well, Mo?" Stephan questioned and Mo flicked eyes he hadn't even realized had closed back to the man, "What's it going to be?"
