End of Days
By: RJ Newlyn
In the early days, before I found the army, it was brutal hand-to-hand scraps as the world slid inexorably into chaos. We were using the old weapons but they were useless against those things that crawled out of the pits. How do you fight a nightmare with a shotgun? I was still looking for you back then; I can’t really remember when I gave up.
On the right, they’ve cleared a way to the sidings, which should give us the room we need. The fliers behind me are getting restless and I raise the sword to signal the charge.
Five
Whatever can be said about God’s all-conquering army, discipline is not a strong point. Our charge is as chaotic as ever. The enthusiastic flyers blaze a trail ahead but leave us without air cover and I’ve no idea where they are now. The left flank peels off to re-take the storehouses and are fully engaged, judging by the explosions in the distance. The rest of us thunder down to the old freight lines and are forcing our haphazard way into the city through a forest of twisted metal.
It’s all my fault – I’m a history teacher, not a general. I don’t know why I’m here but they still look to me because of the sword.
We’re close to home now – I can see your station up ahead, except it’s a smoking ruin like everything else and overrun with pit devils. Do you remember sitting in the diner there, drinking mugs of coffee and reading the papers together? It’ll be a hard task gaining that ground but we have to keep pressing our advantage.
The skyline we once called our own is broken and desolate, the trees are scorched and the air noisome. I can sense the darkness ahead and thick mists are descending.
Six
Grey shadows dance in the mist. The battle’s noise is muffled and yet I know that he’s out there; I can almost feel his breath on my neck.
But then the sun burns through and I find that I’m standing alone outside the station, our road skirting the hill ahead of me, our house just out of sight around the corner.
And there are no ruins, no smoking fissures, no angels, no devils; just the morning light and the way the world used to be.
Is it over? Did we win without me noticing? Are you…?
My heart leaps as I race up the hill, picturing myself opening our door, picturing you welcoming me back. Near our front gate, two men are leaning against a Pontiac and I wave to them in my happy delirium.
I know that something is wrong as soon as I see the unwashed windows and peeling paint. Then firm hands twist my arm and I am slammed onto the Pontiac’s bonnet, a silver badge brandished before me.
“You are charged with the murder of Mr. Cecil McKenzie. You have the right to remain silent…”
Instinctively I reach for my sword but it vanished with everything else.
Seven
He looks harassed, a little nervous, beads of sweat hanging on his forehead. I stare down at the crack in the paintwork just to the left of the door. The interview room is stifling; presumably they keep it that way on purpose.
“… just trying to understand what happened, why you killed him.”
There had been black fire in his eyes. Those things were crawling from the pits. The world was sliding into chaos.
“… and there were several others, weren’t there?”
They were all driven mad. The demons were taking over. There was nothing to do except fight.
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