The Workmen

Chapter 2

Dead, that was all Keira's mind could conjure as her head hastened toward the concrete slab. However, when she did hit the pavement it wasn't from brute force. It was just gravity.

Shaking and bewildered, she carefully pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her wide eyes flitted around the alley. Wary of what she was preparing to face, she turned around.

About mid turn, her ears picked up a faint gurgle. Two figures crept into her peripheral vision, one still and the other moving swiftly. The sight unfolding before her might have endangered a horror enthusiast's composure.

She muffled a scream with her trembling hands. All she could do was watch, dumbfounded.

The face, like the body, was contorted with a charcoal complexion. Where normal eyes once took in the world sat sunken crevasses on either side of a much defined nose. The flesh was pulled back tightly against its cheekbones. Any minute she expected the protruding features to tear through the surface. No lips were present, only teeth, which resembled nails more than pearly whites. She imagined the way its mouth must have moved when it was alive. There were too many teeth for its so called mouth to function normally. The only scenario she could come up with was that each word was carefully annunciated, but the movements must have been abnormally rapid.

Though her eyes remained glued to the ghastly being, she was well aware of its executioner. He was heading for the corner of the alley she figured was his entry point. She noticed him disappear then reappear with something in his left hand. She was too preoccupied to find out what.

The appendages made the girl cringe a little. If it were human, she would have thought the creature's arms and legs were broken. How this thing could even walk, nevertheless force a hundred and ten pounds of flailing woman off the ground, was beyond her.

Keira's attention was averted by the smack of something heavy on the concrete.

"You got lucky," said a gruff voice. "Most Dwellers don't play with their food."

She frowned at the expression. He said it so matter-of-factly. There wasn't a hint of concern behind it. Almost as if the man was disappointed. He rummaged in what she now realized was a black sports bag. His eyes never left its contents.

"I have to give you props on your instincts though." He glanced over at her as he spoke.

"I'm not so sure I deserve the credit." The statement was not really directed at him.

No one uttered a word for a while. The man pulled out a vile of clear liquid, no bigger than Keira's pinky, and a set of matches. Each item was placed next to the corpse's head. Then, the legs and arms were straightened and the head was tilted towards the sky. The monster looked twice her size in length. The man unscrewed the top of the vile and poured a third of the liquid on three separate sections of the body. A third on the forehead, a third on the chest, and a third was evenly dispersed on both of the feet.

"What are you—?"

The man cut her off, taking hold of her wrist and pulling her over to him. Fabric scraped across the ally floor as he slid the bag behind him with his foot. She saw an ignited match fly and land on top of the nightmarish ghoul. In no time at all, it was up in flames.

The man tossed his bag over his shoulder and made a face. "Ugh—I hate that smell." The disgust in his voice was unable to be ignored.

Keira knew the feeling. It reeked of burnt hair and decay, a noxious odor that overpowered the nostrils. The man was already heading from whence he came when she started holding her breath.

"I promise I'm much better company!" the man shouted. She spun around, a little embarrassed that she was the only one still hovering near the fire. "Well..." he didn't sound so playful this time.

Her nerves were still on edge. After all, the last stranger she'd bumped into tried to bash her head in. It was only human to be a bit shook up.

Regardless of the innumerable emotions raging within her, she kept her face unreadable. She didn't want to give him the upper hand.

An unexpected feeling of comfort rolled over her like rain on a famine land. "Do not be afraid. You are in good hands."

It was the voice again, clear and unmistakable. Most people would freak out if they heard someone else's voice in their head, but not Keira. Not at this voice.

Suddenly, the urge to get as far away from that exact spot set her battered feet in motion. She wanted plenty of distance between her and the alley, and the atrocity burning within it. Sitting in a stupor meant never finding Stele, and that just wouldn't do. Besides, she was less than eager to be left alone with her thoughts; namely those involving her missing sibling.

Determination pulsing in her veins, Keira, head held a little higher, followed close behind her unnamed champion. Whoever he was, he was certainly not a threat. She was at his mercy from the get go. Instead of letting her die or doing her in, he offered companionship; even if he hadn't said so in as many words. The fact of the matter was she detested being on her own during relatively normal circumstances, and the present tripled the sentiment to staggering heights. She was suddenly exponentially grateful.

This newfound glimmer of happiness, of not having to go through this unspeakable ordeal alone, faltered as the two survivors stepped out onto the main road.