The Dawning.
By @Davidgibbs6
A Forbidden Planet : Tevun Krus exclusive.
George would have liked to think he was a good man, except deep down he already knew he was fatally flawed. All he was striving for, was hollow and in the end, everything he did was a pure act of selfishness. He only did the righteous things he did, so that in the aftermath he could make himself feel better about the other things he knew he did, the unspeakable things.
The groans of pain from the girl before him brought his head out of the clouds and he again focused on dressing her wound. The hole made by a bullet was infected and would surely kill her. The humane thing to do would be to kill her now. But even if he had it in himself to pull the trigger he doubted the watching parents would let him do so. Instead they looked to him for some tiny glimmer of hope that their only daughter might be saved. Right now George couldn't even muster enough hope to drag his own sorry ass out of a deep and spiraling self pity.
Standing he avoided their pleading eyes and politely excused himself to the bathroom. The tap water was a welcome respite from the heat as he splashed it over his face. Looking up into the cracked mirror he barely recognized his own reflection. Deep lines crossed his face, a testament to the hardships of his life and a steady growth crept up his neck and across his face. All of a sudden he looked old and the thought lit a fire in him. Pulling his glock from under his belt, he forced it up under his jaw while gritting his teeth. The mirror reflected a grimace as the gun barrel pulled his flesh tight and he struggled with himself.
He couldn't even do the girl in, let alone himself, the fire in his eyes was not his own and with a shaking hand he replaced the piece. There was nothing more he could do here except give the waiting parents their false hope, which he did in a most gentle manner and then left.
Stepping into the street and the cool cloudless night, he looked to what was left of the moon. It hung suspended, barely in orbit like a silent assassin waiting to strike. The jagged tear left by the anti matter generator incident taunted him, as a shooting star blazed brilliantly to earth. Once, meteors had been a rare occurrence, but the destruction of over half the moon had changed that. Now pieces rained constantly from the heavenly body as the remaining third grinned on manically as tidal forces slowly tore it apart.
A gentle breeze picked up, carrying the sounds of gunshots his way and he wondered silently how far off they were. The moon and its consequential ring would have been beautiful had it not herald so much destruction and with worse still to come. Scratching his dry scalp he sniffed the air and started to walk, he wanted nothing more than to fall into the dark embrace that was sleep. The other was coming and he could feel it ripping through his body like a wild fire, for now he was in control but the other side to him was tearing its way out and he wanted to be far from here when it happened.
At some point George had stopped thinking very hard, and he found himself not wanting to go home and sleep. Deep inside he knew this was a bad idea but something else was driving him now. Every step he took was not his own and he slipped gently, ever deeper beneath the other who possessed him.
He caught his reflection in an unbroken window, still looking old but somehow less frail, or maybe it was less afraid. It was not George who was less afraid, as he watched the hair creep across his features in each passing glimpse, he was very afraid, just not for himself. The cracked pavement passed more quickly until George found himself running. Sights, sounds and smells assaulted his senses, spurring the painful fire which enveloped him until there was no part of him not cover in ungodly hair.
The city had been lucky for the most part, at least physically. It had been far enough away from the coast to avoid most of the tsunamis that had swallowed up the less fortunate. The earth was now plagued with king tides, drowning entire countries and their people without mercy. George considered these lost souls to be the lucky ones, free from the cancer which had grown within society since. Such terrible circumstances bought out the best and the worst in people, doubly so for George.
He found himself looking at the sky again and George had to admit it was beautiful, even if it was to bring about the end. Inside of him, Qemuel smiled and wondered how long they both had. George knew, Qemuel had seen the old man scribbling equations in a book. Qemuel didn't need a book or equations to know what was coming, his penchant for destruction told him it was so. No matter how many equations George did, no one could tell indefinitely how long it would be before one of the great rocks crashed into this particular piece of paradise.
A smell bought Qemuel out of his day dream and sent George into retreat. Somewhere ahead of him people burned gasoline, people who made too much noise and were not shy about their deeds. These were Qemuel's kind of people, raw and unapologetic, people who reveled in their basic animal nature, unable to control their urges. Removing George's bright shirt and restrictive shoes Qemuel ignored the metallic instrument tucked behind his belt, letting it drop to the ground as he moved in for a closer look.
"Happy new year! You sad little fuck." The burly man's victim remained silent as his captor in face paint lorded. over him. "It's the year of the clown."
The mans childish taunt bought about a round of whoops and hollers from his companions. These were pack animals, with a pecking order and all the traits of such. Their prey was the weak, an individual soul who couldn't fight back, even if he had wanted to. Like a pack of hyena they slobbered and laughed as they cleaned the street of any unfortunate enough to be caught in their path.
Unlike George, Qemuel had a respect for hyena. He understood their nature and the purpose they had in the scheme of things. It didn't mean he would be any more merciful in their treatment. They would learn their place, like the dirty scavengers they were, useful or not.
"Look here." Came the cry from one of the blood spattered walking flesh piles. "Nice look!.. Freak."
Qemuel eyed the leader as he walked calmly from the shadow where he had been a spectator to their brutal slaying.
"What do we have here?" The clown like leader sneered, still confident in his pack protection.
The wolf man ignored the clowns rant choosing to reply with actions instead. Quick on his feet, he launched sideways catching his victim by surprise and with a powerful blow, helped by sharp claw like nails, he punctured the stomach of an unsuspecting tow along. The young man doubled over as his blood pumped fee of his body's confines, matting his wolf like arm hair and filling the air with a familiar taint.
His aggression was met with the immediate counter attack from a more experienced street member, which he avoided easily. He swiped at the eager man's face, leaving large gashes, the price for his opponent's opportunistic advance. Letting the writhing body of his partially gutted opponent fall, Qemuel bared his teeth at the leader in challenge.
"Dyin aint much of a living boy!" Qemuel sneered butchering the English with his bestial accent.
"Get him." Growled the painted burly man in return. But the wolf like appearance and weak reply to a direct challenge held the group at bay.
Unwilling to answer the calling himself, the alpha called a retreat and the pack slinked off into the dark, their dynamic in total disarray. Qemuel knew the man's days as leader were numbered, it was only a matter of time before a challenge was issued from within and there seemed little point in perusing the matter further. Instead he focused on the wounded man, forcefully severing his spinal cord with a quick twist of the head.
Above him the moon's twisted grin cracked and separated as it passed the Roche limit, sending out a fresh spray of meteors. Time was short for this world and Qemuel wanted to enjoy what little time he had left. A nagging feeling pulled at his insides as George's very human dilemma unsettled the beast, it nagged at the carefree nature of the creature and it was time to put it to rest.
The walk was familiar, as was the door before him now and he wondered what he would find inside. The anticipation gave him no thrills, this was not his idea of a good time. George was desperately hiding something in this room, but at the same time he wanted to lead Qemuel here. Qemuel didn't know what it was but it was something that had to be done. Call it unfinished business. With a spring like stance he launched at the door, shattering the hinges and bursting into the room.
The rooms two occupants were taken completely by surprise, caught in the middle of their nightly routine. Their faces taunt and sucked of all life. They continued to live purely because they hadn't died yet and for no other reason. The father glanced to his daughters deathbed and Qemuel understood what George wanted. As a physician he strove to preserve not just life but also it's quality. There was no quality of life here, just husks of people waiting for the crunch at the end.
Their weak bodies caved easily as he tore through their flesh. Surprise turned quickly to shock and their eyes slowly glazed over. George considered it a tragedy for a child to die before her parents, no parent should have to live to see that. For the first time the person that was George had transcended the barrier into Qemuel and it was a new and interesting feeling for them both.
As he stood over the feverish girl Qemuel could feel George's will, urging him on. Without a shred of remorse, even as he felt the tendons stretch and snap, Qemuel removed the child's head using brute force and an almost compassionate violence. For the briefest second her eyes flicked open but their feverish vision faded to match her parents before any recognition could set in. It bought Qemuel no pleasure to kill something so weak and from George he only felt relief.
Sitting in the window he looked to the cancerous people who roamed the street, drowning their fear in petty struggles. There were few left worth saving, probably few left who even could be saved. George was gone now, happy to sleep in the background. No longer wishing to take part in the short future that mankind had left before them. Qemuel let his gaze wander from the violence in the street, there would be time for that later, instead he stared at the barrage of meteorites lighting up the sky. Who would have thought the end of humanity would be so exciting and yet so tragically beautiful at the same time.