Posted: February 25, 2013 in End of Times, Fiction

The watcher kept the gas mashed to the floor.  She thought.  It kept the pain in her hands and arms and legs at bay.  She didn’t have any better ideas at that moment, so there was nothing to do but keep moving and keep listening.  “Resume playback.”  She didn’t want to drive aimlessly, but she wanted even less to be assaulted by more demons.  She trained her eyes on the dark road, glad that she’d opted for the obnoxiously bright headlights.  She wasn’t sure where in the narrative her accidental search had taken her, but she didn’t have a keyword to find her apparition yet.  Anders’ voice issued from her pocket.

“All that government overspend, it was just fallin’ into the hands of the demons.  I know I ain’t the only guy who said ‘fuck it’ and packed up and ran.  I’m thinkin’ everybody wanted to run.  All those not-a-fighter types clogged up the roadways with shit that weren’t important to survivin’.   Beemers loaded with iPads and TVs and fancy clothes.”  He snorts.  “Me an’ my boys packed for our little extended camping trip.  We headed west.  Seemed like the only plan.  Disappear up into the hills.  We weren’t so far from the Rockies, figured there was enough natural castle out there that we could disappear.”


“No, we didn’t walk.  That’s crazy.  Johnny had himself a big-ass truck.  We piled in, took turns driving, were nice and peaceful at gas stations, so long as people stayed clear.  Took backroads.  We knew how to read a map.  Sometimes we took the more direct route.  It was slow but sure, and we stayed ahead of the shitstorm.”

More silence.

“I ain’t exactly a theologian, but we all just figured that if there were gonna be a Bible-style  end of the world, it’d come from a Bible-style Holy place.  The only places like that any of us could come up with was the Palestine-Israeli warzone or the Vatican.  Both of ‘em east.   Wil gives us the benefit of his city education; tells us that if the end comes from the east, we gotta move west, and if it comes from the west, it’s got a long damn way to go.  So, west.  We keep the radio runnin’ to stay up on the goings-on, and we keep the engine running to stay away from the goings-on.”

More silence.  The watcher decided that this was before Anders had seen the apparition.  “Search battles, Rocky Mountains.”  The computer beeps.

“…Down in the flats, there was some kind of firefight. That armor had all driven out and formed a sort of crescent, bubbled inward so as to flank whatever came up. Soon enough, we started hearing the reports of all that cannon I saw being shot off.

Wil had one nice piece of spyglass, I gotta say. I turned the magnification way up, and coming through the fire and smoke was what looked like a man on a horse. The horse seemed about the same size as one of them Abrams tanks and was red like a fresh weld, and the rider fit on that. That’s a pretty big guy, I gotta say.  Anyway, he’s wearing some kind of pretty gothic plate armor and has the kind of sword you’d expect Conan the Barbarian to be packing strapped across his back.

Wil tried to grab back his spyglass, but I shooed him off. I had to see this. The rider raised this horn to his mouth, and it sounded like rolling thunder. From behind him, these huge canine looking monsters come charging out, and lay into the skirmish line of armor. I could see them tearing the plating off of the USA’s greatest war machines…”

“Next entry,” she said.

“…  He just ran at one of the EUs.  All speed and chrome.  Dented all to shit, sure, but just runs up the EU, jumps on its knee…”

“Next entry,” she repeated.  At least she was back on the right track.

“… Hot on our heels.  We plowed through the crowd, I ain’t proud to say.  We didn’t have the firepower to put down those damned Hellhounds.  That monastery’s robot didn’t buy us enough time.  In short, we were fucked.”

Silence for a moment.  An audible, hard swallow.

“It was a damn nightmare.  Yeah, the whole thing was, but this…  We hadn’t seen anything so bad up close.  Everybody was scrambling, forcing into the tunnels.  That long one, the Eisenhower.  People were abandoning cars, dropping gear, anything to be faster than the demons.  They tore into the stragglers – screaming, blood spraying, sometimes a flying body part.  They were literally tearing people apart.  These black snakes with arms and legs.  The hellhounds, looking like the bastard spawn of Great Danes and Porcupines.  The bats the size of Cessnas.  We knew there was a Rider on our ass.  This was it.”


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