Apocalyptic and Dystopian Tales Page 4

  “Step back,” I told them. Smoke swirled around me. I knocked the glass from the bottom of the window frame. Then I carefully lifted the children out, setting them, each in turn, on the dry grass. There were only four and they were quite small, the oldest one being no more than seven. I heard a shout. The crowd was rounding the edge of the building.

  “Quickly,” I told the children. I led them to Hope and tossed them on. I mounted behind them and we were off. As we left the angry crowd behind, I felt great sadness. I had only been able to save four. So many others would die. Tears streamed down my face as we flew home on Hope. The sun was setting, changing the landscape from shades of gray to blackness.

  As we neared the farmhouse, my blood ran cold. I clucked at my horse and she ran faster. The house was burning – the flames like a beacon in the darkness. Then, all at once, I heard gunfire. I felt a sudden pain in my chest and head. I lost focus…Fade to white.

  ***

  “Before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands.

  These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. He who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence. Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them, nor any scorching heat. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (New International Version, Revelation 7.9, 14, 15b, 16,17b)

  Too Late For Life?

  He debated as to what he should do. He was a free agent now. He leaned his wiry frame against the red brick wall. He felt its roughness through his light cotton T-shirt. It was almost dawn. He had to decide now. Right now.

  Mark had broken away from them after seven years. His skin was pale, and his clear blue eyes stared up, between the tall buildings, at the patch of sky that was rapidly changing from black to grey. Is it too late to try life?

  He had told them he was leaving. Told them he’d kill them if they came after him - and he would have. I’m not living that kind of life anymore but I’m not running either.

  “But if I can only drink blood...” His voice was dry and harsh in the quiet of the predawn. He ran his hand through his short, spiked, blond hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one in particular. It’s a rare thing in life to know something for certain. But Mark knew.

  The chill of the night clung to him. He put his hands back, palms touching the solid realness of the wall behind him. He kept his eyes open, hoping he would feel the warmth of a sun’s ray before he met his deserved fate.

  The sky was fully light now - a pale blue. The sun was still hidden behind the building.

  Mark straightened up. He walked slowly to the end of the back lane where he would see the light - after so much darkness. He breathed in sharply as he saw it over the buildings. His eyes watered at the brightness and he looked away, but he felt no different. Mark walked down the narrow, cracked sidewalk towards the rising sun. A corner store was open so he went in. On the small fruit stand, there were some deep red apples. He bought one. Standing outside the store, he took a bite. It was crisp and sweet.

  Through the window, Mark saw, on display, plastic, white, glow-in-the-dark cross necklaces. He finished the apple and dropped it into the garbage as he entered the store again. He touched it gently. Nothing happened. He squeezed the cross in his hand. Laughter welled up from within him as he lifted it from the rack. After he bought it, Mark pulled the small, stretchy necklace over his head.

  The plastic pendant, off-white towards green, hung on his collarbone. He touched the cross once more and smiled as he pushed open the door and walked out again, into the light.

  Count to Ten

  It was dark, and the air was moist in the abandoned building where we Christians were hiding. Walking quietly along the uneven corridor, I pushed unwashed, dark curls away from my face, as I squeezed my young daughter’s hand. She was only three.

  From around the corner in front of us came the black-clad soldiers who both preceded and followed Death. I lifted Sarah in my arms and turned to run. A soft gasp escaped my lips as I careened into the arms of terror’s shadow; soldiers had come up behind us! One of them pried my child from me. Another forced me to follow behind. I didn’t have to be dragged along, like some of the others. I went willingly with Sarah.

  They brought us out into the bright sunlight. I blinked, my eyes tearing momentarily. My little one’s curly hair shone golden as they thrust her back into my arms. They put us up against a white wall. I felt mild surprise to see such a wall still standing after all that had happened. Beside me, I could hear some people praying as we stood, side by side, awaiting our fate. I put Sarah down to stand beside me and held her hand. Looking down into Sarah’s small face, I saw her blue eyes looking back at me, trusting.

  “Sarah,” I told her, “We are going home to Jesus now. Count to ten with me, and, when we get to ten, we will be home in heaven.”

  The soldiers had already begun their countdown. They would reach zero before we reached ten. Sarah began to count with me, but then she looked up, the freckles on her nose contrasting with her pale skin, a puzzled look on her face.

  “But Mommy,” she said, “I see someone standing in front of us and he’s saying ‘Run!’”

  I looked at the soldiers. I looked at Sarah.

  “Run!” I shouted, as I pulled her back towards the door from whence we had come. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the soldiers trying to shoot us. As we reached the safety of the building, a glance back showed the soldiers angrily inspecting their guns.

  “Mommy!” Sarah gasped, as I sprinted away with her in my arms, “Mommy! It was Jesus!”

  The Carefully Wound Clock

  “The time is now 15:00,” the computer voice rang out through the deserted house. The robotic maid began to sweep the front hall and the butler droid peeked out the door to see if the children were coming up the driveway, home from school. Time crept on, the ticking of the carefully-wound grandfather clock in the front hall marking its passage.

  “It is 17:00,” the voice rang out again. The two kitchen bots came out of the closet and began to prepare a meal. One of them diced vegetables while the other took a portion of meat out of the freezer. They made a delicious casserole and a salad, with bread rolls.

  “It is now 18:00. Time for dinner,” the unseen voice announced. A slow ‘clomp, clomp’ was heard down the hall as the butler came to serve the meal. He brought the crusty rolls and the salad first. Ten minutes later, he placed the main course on the beautifully arranged table in the dining room. Half an hour later, the maid cleared away the dishes. The wash bots scoured them in the kitchen. Dessert was served. Three small pieces of chocolate cake and two larger ones. When twenty minutes had passed, the butler returned and cleared these away. The maid tucked in the chairs and wiped the table. The refrigerator’s and the freezer’s built-in computers ordered the groceries for the next week from the supermarket.

  “It is now 22:00 hours,” the voice spoke throughout the house. “Time for the children to go to bed.”

  The maid went to each of the children’s rooms and turned down the covers.

  The bots quietly performed their routine maintenance. Then they put themselves away for the night.

  ***

  “Good morning, Smith Family,” the voice chimed. “It is now 7:00. Time to get up.”

  The butler walked slowly to the front hall, his footfalls the only sound. He opened the door and took the newspaper out of the mailbox. The butler hesitated momentarily as he looked at it. Blank again, as it had been for the last 21 years. He unfolded it and continued to gaze at it. What did it mean? What could be done? The butler folded the paper again and placed it at Mr. Smith’s place at the table, as his programming directed him. Then he went to stand in the hall by the door.

>   Escaping Darkness

  They fell. That’s what I had said. That’s what everyone had said. But I knew. Surely some of them did too. But they had been glad. We had gotten away.

  ***

  Fear. The lights in the tunnel flashed like blue streaks as the open rail car sped past them in the darkness. We were going fast, but not fast enough. The beast was behind us. Pounding closer and closer, sparking against the tunnel walls as it came, heavy as metal. I could taste the fear in my mouth. Some of the others in our small group fixed their eyes forward on the small distant brightness that marked the end of the tunnel. But I knew - the opening was too far and the beast was too close. It was almost upon us now; I could feel its hot breath. It would knock the overcrowded cart from the tracks and we would all be lost. Fear clutched icily at my heart. I pushed my knees away from my chest and struck out with my feet. With a cry, two people tumbled off the back of the car. The great beast careened to a stop. There were gasps from those around me in the darkness as the cries turned to screams and then faded, while we made for daylight.

  ***

  Murderer. That day haunted me still. Now I always travelled alone. Walking through sparse trees, waist-high bushes, and lush grasses that were almost as tall, I marveled at how the world still looked so beautiful after all that had happened. The morning was clear and sunny, the warmth dispelling the chill of night.

  I smelled a campfire and something cooking. It had been several days since I had eaten.

  Deciding it was worth the risk, I walked cautiously out into a small clearing.

  I saw old, worn tents, a cooking fire, and several families. There were even children there. They seemed to be all of the same ethnic group, with a darker skin tone than mine.

  A tall man, clearly a leader, walked towards me. He held his hands up, backs so I could see them. I did the same. He reached out for my hand. I let him touch me. He looked at the back of my right hand and scratched its surface. Then he offered me the back of his right hand to inspect.

  With the ritual complete, he smiled. I could see dentistry had not been practiced in this region for a very long time.

  “Welcome. Please join us.” He gestured that I should join the others already seated around the fire. Reluctantly, I took a seat amongst them. It would be safe…for now.

  After a meal of meat stew, we spoke. They were some of the religious ones. How they had survived unchanged so long was a mystery to me. I pitied them.

  “There is grace; there is forgiveness from the Lord, redemption…” insisted the brown skinned man.

  “Not for me,” I told him abruptly, standing. I had to keep moving. Darkness mustn’t find me here.

  ***

  Fear. But no matter how far I travelled, the darkness always found me. I came to a vast field, with grass long enough to hide me but not those I feared. Seated in the tall blades, I would be able to see them from a distance. I would be able to outrun them if they came my way. Outrun them all…all but the beast. I shuddered as the last hint of pink faded from the western sky. Surely he would have no cause to come out here, so far from buildings, caves, or other places of shadow where darkness concealed itself during the light of day. I shuddered again as a chill settled down around me and I scanned the area by starlight.

  Sleep must have found me there, though I had sworn it would not. I awoke to the sound of dreadful familiar pounding.

  When I came to, I saw it. Already halfway across the field, coming toward me. Soon I would be overcome. A fate worse than death. I stood and ran, knowing I could not get far but driven by blinding fear. In my headlong flight, part of my brain heard the approaching vehicle. It skidded past me and slowed enough for strong, brown arms to pull me aboard. People from the village; they had a pickup truck! We roared away across the open field. A sick lump formed in my gut. We were going fast but not fast enough.

  The man who had rescued me touched my face and gently turned me so that I looked into his eyes. It was the leader of the group, the same man I had spoken to before.

  “The thing’s too fast,” he said calmly. “But it’s no accident we found you here. I’m glad we saved your life. God has a plan.” He kissed the woman beside him and then the baby she clutched in her arms.

  “And there is redemption,” he said, standing, “even for you.” In one fluid motion, he leapt over the tailgate and flung himself into the darkness.

  “No!” The strangled cry left my lips as his body thudded to the ground behind the truck. I saw him draw a knife and take a stance as the beast hurtled towards him.

  ***

  Not for me! I wept as we sped away. His screams reached us through the distance. I knew they should never have slowed down for me.

  “He’s dead now,” said the woman quietly, tears marking her face, “passed out of this world into the next. He wouldn’t have let the beast capture him alive. I know Joe fought till the end.”

  I wept into my hands.

  “Joe knew what he was doing,” said the woman, “and he was glad.”

  I wept more intensely. Something had broken inside me. And though the chill of dark still clung to the land, somewhere, deep inside, a light was shining.

  Time for Action!

  Calista’s hands flew to the heavy metal collar around her neck as a scream tore from her throat. Nine-year-old Calista Zarah squeezed her eyes shut for only a moment to compose herself. She knew better than that. Stupid move, Calista chided herself. To resist meant to be punished. And it hurt, bad.

  “I’m sorry,” Calista murmured. She kept her eyes on the floor. Anger burned in her heart but she knew she couldn’t let it show. She wasn’t sorry that she had not come at the summon of her master. She wasn’t sorry that he had to stomp around looking for her. She was sorry that she was trapped with a slave-collar around her neck. Powerless.

  “I shouldn’t even have to call you,” her master snarled. “You know your duties. Now get into the kitchen!”

  “Yes, Master.” Calista walked into the kitchen without looking up at the man. She grabbed the peeler and started in on the carrots. She would have to really hurry now or she’d be late. That would earn her another shock. She felt that tears wanted to come but she wouldn’t let them. One day, she’d be free.

  Slavery was common in those days. Illegal, but common. Especially the slavery of children. There were no orphanages, no foster care. Abandoned children were captured and put to work.

  As Calista stood at the sink, washing potatoes, she looked out the window into falling snowflakes. A thick layer of snow lay over the landscape, like a comforter, swathing the world in silence. The sun was already setting. It got dark so early in the winter. Calista loved to see the beauty of nature through the window. That’s the only way she saw it. She had not been outside in years.

  A short time later, the master’s wife, Margret, came home. The large woman usually just yelled rather than using shock control. Calista thought it was funny the way her face got all red when she yelled. The woman swept into the kitchen.

  “Will dinner be ready in time?”

  “Yes, I think so. It’s all cooking.”

  “Good. Quickly now, you need to have a shower before dinner and then change into your nice dress. We will be having company.” They often had company. But no one who came over ever helped Calista.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” She walked down the stairs to the basement where her closet-sized bedroom and a small bathroom were located. Margret clomped down the stairs behind her. When Calista stepped into the bathroom, Margret pulled a controller from her pocket and clicked the slave collar release button. The collar had to come off when she showered. Calista undressed and stepped into the plastic shower stall. Margret scooped up her clothing.

  “Call on the intercom when you’re finished and I’ll bring down the dress.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Calista turned on the water as Margret lumbered away and up the stairs. The woman had not closed and locked the door like she usually did. Opportuni
ty. Leaving the water on, Calista stepped out of the shower. Danger. The plan was so risky. But she felt certain that no one was going to save her. After five years as a slave, no one had. Time for action! Calista felt that, if she could take control of her own situation, she could change things. She toweled off with the hand towel from the rack and then let it drop to the floor. Calista grabbed the folded bath towel from the counter and clutched it to her chest. It was now or never.

  Calista crept up the stairs. No one in sight. She dashed to the large, heavy front door. She had seen them work the locks often enough. She flipped the three deadbolts in succession and then yanked away the locking bar. Carefully, gently, she put the metal bar on the floor so it wouldn’t ring out. She was in the clear! Calista pulled open the door. It was dark out now. She dashed out into the snow, still holding the towel to her chest.

  The icy air made her breath catch in her throat as she took off running. Street lamps lit the city. She could see the steeple of a nearby church. It looked to be only a couple of blocks away. If it was unlocked, she could use the phone to call the police. Her feet felt like they were burning as she sprinted through deep snow. The cold wind on her bare skin stole her breath.

  Calista only slowed a little as she reached the glass door to the church. She let her momentum carry her into the door. She bounced off the closed door and fell into the snow.

  “No, no, no,” she whimpered, righting herself and pushing hard on the door. Then she tried pulling. To her relief, the door pulled open. A warm puff of air embraced her as she slipped inside. The door swung closed behind her. Calista’s feet were in agony, like the carpet was a hot skillet. She brushed the snow from her chilled flesh. Calista glanced around the brightly lit vestibule as she unfolded the towel and wrapped it around herself. No one was there. But there was a small table with a phone. She hurried over to it. With shaking fingers, she dialed the emergency number for the police.