Uroboros 11, 12

11

This was it. This was the end. The world grew dim and dull around him. The words of the blonde man were far and distant. He could feel the hard earth beneath his knees and the sweat on his face but nothing else. This was death.

 Davis heard a sound he had not heard in so many years. Clear and real as the desert in which he knelt.

It was a soft rustle and the calm whistle of wind. A cool autumn breeze blowing gently threw the upper wheat fields. He saw it now. The golden waves of the swaying wheat. The clean and clear and bright blue sky. His father, Victor lawliet Alaric, stood by the field. He had seemed so tall to a young Davis. His black hair blew in the breeze. Davis had run to him. His father had picked him up so easily and sat his young son on his shoulder. He heard his father’s voice then. So clear and so strong. Indeed, it had carried across the endless miles and harsh years.

“Davis.” There was a small smile on his father’s face.

“Yes da?”

“Where do we come from?”

Davis recited his lesson. He knew it well.

“We are sons born from the line of Alaric.”

“Yes Davis.” His father paused. He brought Davis off his shoulder and put him down. Then he kneeled to be at eye level with his young son.

“We come from a noble bloodline. From a line of kings. The kings and their kingdoms are far gone, but their line remains. It lives in us. And it will continue through you my son.” Victor Alaric smiled. The golden field rustled again.

“When you are trained, my work will be finished. You will take the burden of the oath we swore so long ago. In your time you may stumble, you may doubt and you may fall. But you will bear the burden and all the suffering and pain that follows.” He kissed his son’s forehead and put his hand on his head.

“You will bear it because in your veins flows the blood of a king. You will bear it because you are my son.”

Victor spoke with certainty in his heart and in his eyes. There was no doubt in him. There was only faith. Faith in his son. Faith in what he would do and who he would become. Tears had run down Davis’ young smiling face. This was the moment. Just before his fifth winter. This was the moment Davis Lawliet  Alaric, son of Victor and decedent of kings accepted his duty.

Through whatever pain may come Davis would do his duty.

12

Davis roared into the dusty sky. His cry was long and true. He willed the dull, fading world around him back into focus. The pain returned to him in a single wave. His shoulder was bleeding. His nose and several of his ribs were broken.

Davis forced himself back to his feet. Blood flowed freely down his shirt. Elven looked back at his opponent in disbelief. He had turned and had begun to walk away after Davis had fallen. The broken sword still in his hand.

“How?” Seemed to be all he could articulate.

Davis tightened his grip on his weapons. The broken sword had made the blonde man strong and inhumanly fast. He seemed to be able to stop bullets with only his sword. Davis’ skills as a gunslinger and swordsman had been rendered useless. This was a fight he could not win. The blonde man was going to kill him. Davis smiled. His smile was fierce and unafraid. He raised his sword and pointed it at the blonde man.

“You want my head? Then come and fucking get it.”

our new world 7, 8, 9

7

Molly sat in her car with her forehead against the steering wheel, much the way Ron had earlier that night. The trunk and the backseat had been filled with her purchases, with the help of a young Wal-Mart employee. He had given Molly a concerned look, just like the cashier had. But that didn’t matter. She had gotten what she needed. That was good. At least, good enough for now.

Molly hadn’t been able to drive to England the day Shells died. Really, she hadn’t been able to do anything. It was only after a few minutes that she realized the ridiculousness of what she had been thinking. Molly had been barefoot. She didn’t have her purse, which contained her money, credit cards, and driver’s license. She didn’t have her phone. The phone was not just forgotten but also destroyed. All she had been able to do was sit in her car and cry.

Eventually she went back inside. Somehow she knew that trying to call Shells would be useless. As useless as trying to drive across the big pond. Molly turned on her TV and changed it to one of the twenty-four hour news stations. There was a young blonde woman talking about the soaring gas prices and how this was affecting the average commuter. Molly found another news channel. This one had two older white men arguing over who the main contestant might be in the next presidential election. She tried another channel. And then another.

There was nothing about England. Nothing at all. Just the same boring filler that makes up ninety percent of twenty-four hour news stations. Why? What the fuck was happening? If there had been some kind of crazy riot in England, it would be all over the news stations.

Maybe this is some kind of joke? Some kind of sick joke. Maybe Shells was just fucking with her in some kind of awful way. A sick prank where maybe she just went a little too far. Just trying to get one over on old Molly. This thought brought a little spark of hope to her stomach. Then Molly remembered the blood on Shells’ neck.

No. This was real. This had happened. And worse of all, Shells was dead.

Then a horrible thought occurred to Molly. Her stomach went cold and all at once she wanted to vomit again. Good thing she was running on empty now or she would have yacked on her sofa. The image of Shells came back to her. The blood coming out from between her pale fingers. If this is real, Molly thought, then why the fuck wasn’t it all over the News? Why weren’t there hundreds of reporters on the ground covering this by now? The gun shots she had heard in her last chat with Shells had sounded real. The blood had been real.

Molly started flipping through the news channels again. Again nothing. If this was really happening then why wasn’t it being covered? What the fuck!? Molly turned her TV off and threw the remote on the floor.

This was real. The image of Shells was real. The blood was real…

But how could it be? Really, how could it be? Was there some kind of war going on in suburban England? She remembered the soldier, with the bloody gear and a large hole where his cheek had once been. She remembered the gun shots. Not a warzone. No. this was something else. Shells hadn’t been shot or stabbed. Had she been strangled? No, she had screamed. Hard to scream with someone trying to choke you to death. They bit me! That was what she cried. Who bit her? And why? Now that she thought about it, the wound on her neck, it was a bite. Not some kind of shrapnel wound. But a bite. That doesn’t make sense.

The gun shots were real. The blood was real. The bite was real. But then how do you get bitten in a fire fight? And what bit her?

Then thy came! From everywhere! What did? Whatever had bitten her? She heard her friend scream again. Shrill screams of pain and terror. The tears rose up in Molly’s eyes again.

The blood was real. The screams were real.

These thoughts kept coming into her mind. The shock of watching her friend, her only friend, die right in front of her eyes seemed to have overloaded her brain. Causing her to throw up then black out for a few hour. And the drowsy feeling she had when waking made everything that had happened seem false. As if the last wisps of a nightmare had followed her into the waking world. She couldn’t fully shake this feeling of falseness. But the vomit on the carpet was real. That means the blood was real and her friend was dead. Then a question came back around in her mind. If this was really happening, then why wasn’t it all over the fucking news? War, blood and death? The news stations just gobble up this kind of shit. And really wasn’t that what they were made for? Why they existed? To search out the worst parts of human nature and air it for our viewing pleasure? It most certainly was.

Then why weren’t they? Because someone was stopping them.

Molly paused at this thought. She reached down, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV again. What had Shells said? First that the air travel had been suspended. She watched flipped through the news networks for a third time. Nothing about grounded flight. In fact no foreign news stories at all. This thought made Molly a little uneasy. Then Shells had said that the news station had been playing reruns and she had seen soldiers in her town. Judging by her tone, that had not been a common occurrence. No reruns on the news and as far as she could see no soldiers.

But that doesn’t mean anything. The new stations weren’t playing whatever was happening and now molly thought she had a pretty good idea who was stopping then. The good old government of the United States. For god knows what reason they were covering this up. sweeping it under the rug. Why? Why would they want-

Because it’s coming.

 This thought cut through all others like a razor. Of course. Whatever the fuck this is, it’s coming. And they don’t want us to know. Now Molly was willing to bet that this wasn’t only happening in Shells’ neck of the woods. This Shit could be happening all over the fucking world for all she knew. And they don’t want us to know.

Shells had said that radio and phones had come down before the shit hit the fan. They were still working here. So Molly knew what to look for.

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you Shells, Molly thought. I’m so sorry. The blood was real. Hler screams were real. Molly’s hands rolled into fists and she stood up.

“I’ll be ready for this shit”, Molly said. Her teeth were clenched and tears rolled down her face “I know what to look for now, and I’ll be fucking ready!”

For the next few weeks Molly tried to plan for what was coming as best she could. Waiting for some sign of the end. But nothing could prepare her for the horrors to come.

8

The morning after Molly’s little shopping spree, James Van Houten woke with a start. He looked over at his sleeping wife, and then he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Jimmy thought that he had heard a single loud bang come from somewhere. Like a firework going off a few blocks away. He laid there in his bed for a minute waiting to see if another bang rang out. It didn’t.

Must have dreamed it, he thought as he looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was Nine-Nineteen AM. Wow! They had both slept in this morning. He could see bright trails of light coming from the bathroom window. He could also feel that the day was already starting to grow warm.

It’s gonna be a blazer of a day, yes sir. Jimmy carefully sat up and got out of bed. He didn’t want to wake Julie up just yet. He made his way to the bathroom for his morning glory, stretching as he went. When he finished his business he went to the living room and plopped on the sofa, yawning. His right knee was a little sore. He stretched it out in front of him and rubbed it.

            The day was gonna be hot all right. Another beautiful southern California summer comes to us! Complete with smog and traffic. He reached over and opened the window to let in a breeze if there was one.

            Jimmy and Julie lived in a quaint house in the central part of Riverside two miles from the Ninety-One freeway and about a mile from the river bottom and the small Riverside Airport. Smack dap in the middle of suburbia. With only schools, shopping centers and churches disrupting the vast expanse of houses.

            They lived on Walter Street off of Central Ave and not too far from the Riverside Plaza. The houses in this area were built in the early sixties and most were one story three or four room jobs. These weren’t the cookie cutter houses that sprung up everywhere after the turn of the century either. Jimmy liked to think that his house had some character. There was a small koi pond in their front yard next to a porch swing where Julie liked to go out and smoke. And his lawn was kept immaculate. Neatly mowed and edged with several ceramic animals tastefully scattered about for good measure. They had their RV parked around the right side of their house and a small one car garage on the left.

He picked up the good book and his glasses from the end table. James Van Houten was a man that believed that a daily dose of Jesus was good for the soul and good for the mind. And the morning was the best time to take it. His mother had taught him this. And even though she had passed sixteen years before, god rest her soul, Jimmy stayed true to the teachings of his dear mama.

He opened the bible to where he left off. Somewhere in the book of Mathew as he recalled.

“You making breakfast, dear?” Julie called out from the bedroom.

Oh no. He had wanted to be done with his dose of the almighty before Julie was up.  Oh for cry-eye. Jimmy sighed and got up, rubbing his right leg as he did it. Julie preferred a half pot of coffee in the morning rather than a few pages of scripture.

“Yep, I’m on it,” Jimmy called out and headed for the kitchen. Jimmy and Julie had a kind of unspoken understanding between them. Jimmy almost always got up first, so he made breakfast. So then Julie always prepared lunch and dinner. This system worked, so why mess with it. Good deal.

 I guess I’ll get some Jesus later in the day, Jimmy thought. There was no way he could know it now but Jimmy’s days of morning scripture had come to an end.

By the time Julie got out of the shower, Jimmy was finishing up breakfast. He had made scrambled eggs and was frying up the last of their bacon. It’s delicious meaty aroma filling up the whole house.

She sat at the dinner table and Jimmy brought over the bacon and eggs. He put the two plates down and sat next to her. She gave him a look that said “did you forget something?” Jimmy just looked at her and shrugged.

“You forgot the coffee, Jim,” she said, with the slightest tone of annoyance in her voice.

            “The coffee?” He asked, smiling. “In must have slipped my mind.” Jimmy looked over at the full pot on the counter and made an exaggerated shrug, still smiling.

            “Get me my Joe, you silly man.” She said smiling and gave him a playful slap on the arm.

            “There’s that smile! It does my old heart good.” Jimmy said as he got up.

He poured her a cup. The mug read Alfa-Tor Roofing, Free estimates. Then “Why did the Roofer go to the doctor? Because he had a bad case of the Shingles!” He brought the hot mug over to the table. He held the mug out to hand it to her but when she reached for it he pulled it back a little.

“If you want your coffee, I need my morning sugar first.” Jimmy said, smiling. Julie rolled her eyes, still smiling. She tilted her head back and Jimmy kissed her. The old spark in his stomach was still there. For as long as they had been married, that too was a good deal.

They ate their breakfast in silence. Not one word needing to be passed between them. Then Julie picked up the plates and put them in the sink. She threw away the empty bacon container and put away the eggs. As she did so she noticed that they were also out of butter as well as bacon. And the orange juice was running dangerously low.

“We gotta go to the store, Jimmy. We’re running low. And I want to do a ham for dinner tonight. I don’t want to eat out.” Jimmy just nodded and said “ok.” He started washing the dishes.

When he was done he sat on the couch and picked up the remote. Julie sat in her easy chair and turned on her iPad. The Angry Bird’s song played and now Jimmy rolled his eyes. Julie did have a weakness for those little buggers. He raised the remote to turn the TV on. He thought better of it, and then he tossed the remote on the couch.

“We should get to the store while it’s early, don’t you think?” Jimmy asked. Julie looked up from her game and turned her palm face up. “Sure, why not.”

“Alright, let me grab a quick shower and we’re off.” Julie didn’t look up from her game this time and just nodded. Jimmy stood up and looked at the remote for a second. He wondered if he should turn on the news to see just how hot today was apt to get. He thought better of it again and headed to the bathroom. If he had turned on the TV that morning, they wouldn’t have left their home. If they had checked their phones or tried the radio, they wouldn’t have left their home. They would have found the same emergency broadcast on every Television channel and no signal on their phones. All radio station would be blearing the same emergency screech. But TV remaind off that day. So at around Ten AM they climbed into the Jeep and headed to the grocery store. The day was hot and the streets were clear. By late afternoon there would be police sirens wailing and the sounds of gunshots from all over the city.

The end for most people in Riverside had come. And on this beautifully warm summer morning the Van Houten’s where on their way to the Vons.

9

They drove over to the plaza. At first glance nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Accept, there seemed to be a lot of people standing in their front lawns and porches. A lot of neighbors standing around and talking. This struck Jimmy as odd. Why so many people hanging out today? The heat should have driven most people inside their nice air conditioned homes.

“Let’s pick up a new movie tonight from the movie box.” Julie said. She was talking about the Red Box movie rental kiosks that sprung up in front of most grocery stores. To her they were always ‘Movie Box’ instead of Red Box. A new movie tonight sounded grand.

Uroboros 10

10

                This was no curse. The air around the two men had taken on a strange new feeling, as if there was a low and constant electrical charge. Davis took half a step back. The tears on Elven Greene’s face glimmered for a moment then disappeared. The blood on him seemed to be somehow too bright and too red. His expression also changed. The mixed look of fear, hate and fury was replaced with a calm malicious gaze.

                The two men stood for a moment. The hot sun above, favoring them both with its constant gaze. Three dead and bleeding men around them. Their blood spilling into the warm and unforgiving earth.

                Davis drew in a deep breath. His arm wound still ran with blood. Blonde man stood still, holding the broken sword almost casually. Not in a defensive posture. What the hell was this weapon? It healed his wounds. It seemed to have done it the moment he touched it. And it also changed him somehow. He was the same man. The same blonde hair on his head and the same scar still ran down his cheek. But something had changed. His posture. His expression. That was not the look of a man who is about to die. It also wasn’t the look of a man who is going into a conflict where the result is uncertain. His look was focused, sharp and fierce. The look of a predator.

The broken sword had made him more dangerous. That was clear. The muscles in Davis’ right arm tensed then relaxed. He was going to end this quickly. He did not want to see what other kind of tricks that sword had.

Davis moved. His hand blurred. In one sharp and smooth action he drew his big revolver and fired. He did this with the speed and practiced aim of a true gunslinger. The shot rang out. There was a flash of steel and a sharp whine.

Davis’ eyes grew wide. He took another step back. The barrel of his revolver lowered slightly. The round should have hit the blonde man about an inch above his right eye. He should be dead.

The bright blade of the sword was now held out in front of the blonde man’s face. A small wisp of smoke rose from where the round had hit. There the bullet had left no mark.

That was impossible. At this range? No man was fast enough to stop a round with his sword. No man. Had he even seen the blade move? No. Just a flash of the steel. Davis had been trained in his father’s arts. To have eyes that saw every small movement and detail. Yet he had not seen the blade move. The blonde man smiled as he lowered the sword again. Impossible. It just had to be.

Davis roared as he raised his weapon to fire again. The blonde man moved, his steps so quick and sure. One shot flew by where Elven had been a split second before. Another sailed past his head as he ducked. A third shot, which should have hit him dead in the center of his chest, gave a sharp, metallic snap as it was deflected by the blade. The broken sword came down in a wide arch before Davis could fire another round. The blade of the sword bit into the steel of the revolvers cylinder. The gun was ripped out of Davis’ hand by the force of the strike. His revolver, a weapon that had been his companion for many years, fell to the dirt, a jumbled and broken mess. Davis brought his own sword back to strike, but before he could do more the blonde man spun around and kicked him square in his chest. Davis was lifted into the air by the force of the kick.

 He hit the hard ground with his back several feet from where he had stood. His hat flew from his head and his sword rolled out his hand. Davis gave a loud cry of pain as his hands went to his chest. The force of the blow had broken two of his ribs. The pain in his chest was agonizing. His breathing became shallow. He cried out. The pain became more intense every time he breathed out. He looked up. The blonde man was coming. The broken sword in his hand.

Davis rolled to his stomach and tried to stand. The pain in his chest came to a sharp and intense pitch and he could not breathe. He got to his feet. Elven Greene was looking at him smiling fiercely.

“I am going to take your head off and feed it to the crows.” The blonde man said with a perverse joy in his voice. He lifted his arms to gesture at the sky.

“You hear me you piece of shit? The fucking crows!” He laughed as he approached. That hollow voice coming from all around. With some effort Davis reached down and retrieved his sword. His black hair blew in the warm wind. The wind had taken his hat and claimed it as its own. He tried to slow his breathing. Sweat stood out on his face.

Elven came within strike range. Davis blocked out the pain. He roared as he swung his blade, meaning to decapitate his enemy. Elven parried the attack easily. Davis brought his sword back around.

Elven caught Davis’ sword hand by the wrist. His grip was unbelievably strong. Davis tried to break free. The blonde man twisted his wrist back. Davis cried out in pain and rage, his sword dropped again. Elven grabbed Davis by his shirt collar and pulled his torso down. He brought his knee up and it struck Davis in his face. Davis staggered back as warm blood spurted from his nose.

The pain in his chest cried out louder than ever. Davis was having trouble breathing now. His vision became momentarily blurry and dull. He bent slightly. The pain in his chest brought him back fully. His vision cleared.

Elven Greene began to laugh. He took several steps back.

“Is this it? After all this time? After trying to kill me in my own home? After trying to take my father’s treasure? Is this all that you can do?” He feigned an exaggerated look of disappointment. Then he laughed again. His voice all the while retaining that hollow sound as if it was being yelled down a long stone hallway. It seemed to come from all around Davis.

Davis spat the blood from his mouth and picked up his sword again. To his left was the body of Lee, lying face down in the dirt. The blood pooled around his head forming a halo of dark earth. The world started to go blurry again. He hit himself in the chest with the hilt of his sword. The pain brought everything into focus.

Davis ran at Elven, his sword drawn back. The blonde man smiled and raised his weapon. Before he came into range of the broken sword he slid to a stop and jumped to his left. Davis reached out and grabbed Lee’s revolver. He hit the ground and rolled, nearly stabbing himself in the stomach with his own sword.

Davis brought the gun up and fired two rounds in quick succession. The first was dodged with that same inhuman speed. The second bounced off the broken blade as he closed the distance. Elven gave a loud echoing scream as he thrust. The jagged, broken tip of the blade entered Davis’ shoulder not far from the scar the blonde man had left him before. Davis let out a wail of pain as his blood splattered onto the blonde man’s hand. The pain in his shoulder dwarfed the pain in his chest. Blood spurted as the broken blade withdrew. Davis fell to his knees before Elven Green the blonde man.