Not Long Now [A short story of Horror and Suspense in the aftermath of the end of the world - written by Matthew Munsey]

in #writing6 years ago

“Come on, keep moving.” One of the masked men growled, as the cold, wet tip of his semi automatic rifle pressed pointedly into the small of Archie Levinson's back. The cold metal stung smartly as it jabbed into his slippery, emaciated flesh - like the first tentative warning sting of some magnificent Queen Bee, poised and ready for her own brand of personal, insectile malevolence. “It’s not much longer now, that’s it.” The gruff voice came again, as the barrel again shoved itself into the region just above Archie’s cold, shaking hips. He moved faster for a moment, until he stumbled, his feet unable to find solid birth on the unctuous, debris strewn forest floor.

“Hold on” A buttery voice drifted calmly back from the front of the procession, circuitously swimming back and forth through the harsh pitter patter of the downpouring rain.. “We got a few dead ones.” From under the waterlogged potato sack that was still draped loosely over his head, Archie could just barely make them out. Waist deep in dark, viscous mud, their hands reached out towards the congregation, their jaws snapping manically, their crooked black fingernails swinging wildly in the air, their dead stares as incessant and imperishable as their lust for human flesh. Their skin hung off of their bones and viscera in liberal, undulating clumps, whipping to and fro as the wind and rain tore through the small puddle that comprised of their final, sludge filled resting place.

“Nice and easy boys, watch those ankles.” That smooth voice drifted back again, more careful now, and slightly out of breath. “Don’t let them take anything, not even an inch.” He barked, as the sound of his rifle butt rang out, colliding sloppily with the skull of one of the dead men. From just outside of Archie’s view, that rough growling voice came again. “Stay here, and don’t move a fucking muscle, or you’re dead.” As it spoke, Archie could hear the footsteps that almost certainly belonged to it moving steadily away, towards the guttural grunts and moans of the corpe men, and towards the other voice - the man who Archie knew to be these people’s leader.

There were other footsteps now too. Dozens of them, it seemed - though it was hard to tell in the tumult that surrounded them. Archie just stood there, waiting. His terror and apprehension nearly bursting forth from within his water soaked and down trodden skull. “Watch him, Reynolds.” Another man’s voice dithered sheepishly in between the wind, breathless and haggard from his sudden physical exertion. “He’s getting too close.” As he spoke, Archie abruptly realized that he had been moving. Walking slowly but surely towards the sounds, towards the men. Towards the corpses. “Hey!” Suddenly a hand was on his left shoulder, dragging him backwards through the mud.

And then, without warning, a blinding flash of light. Suddenly, Archie could see again. “What the fuck you think you’re doing, Arch?” The vilonious, toothy grin of Spot Lager pulled in to what couldn’t have been an inch away from his own. “Trying to take the easy way out, eh?” The great behemoth of the man growled again, a wicked, poisonous glint of nefarious glee dancing giddily somewhere far behind his eyes sunken and waxy sockets. “And what the fuck do you gotta be smiling about?” The monstrous man pulled his head back and bellowed laughter for a moment, thick and heavy, like smoke pouring wildly out of an overfired engines main stack. “You know you’re dead, right?” He finished slyly, his voice dropping an octave and a wicked little smile playing luxuriously at the edges of his pallid, broken lips.

Archie only looked back, his eyes still squinted at the sun, the smile that had been plastered upon his hitherto wretched and defeated face only moments before broadening at the sound of Spot’s words. “Fucking freak.” Spot uttered the words, more to himself even than anyone else, before shoving the sopping potato sack back, unceremoniously, over Archie Langston’s disheveled - and yet somehow suddenly hopeful - cracked and grinning face.

It wasn’t long until they had arrived. The compound was cold and unwelcoming - the concrete and steel bars that surrounded the place ominous, made no less so by the severed heads shoved firmly upon each of the iron spikes. Through the potato sack Archie could just barely make them out, their vacant, lifeless eyes staring longingly out into the vast open field before them. There were dozens of them, rotting and lifeless, and… Suddenly a noise escaped from Archie throat. Something so small he wasn’t even sure that it had been him at all. But there it was again, so it must have been. The grating whine releasing itself from deep within his stomach was growing, louder and louder, filling up the all of air around him more and more as each second passed. “The fuck’s wrong with him now?” A new voice quickly uttered, genuine worry seemingly etched lightly into every word. “I’m not sure… Unless.” That buttery smooth madman’s voice echoed forth again, moving in out and of the tumultuous rain effortlessly, as if compelled somehow by a vehicle all of its own. “Unless he knows her.” And suddenly the bag was pulled lose again, freeing Archie to look in earnest up, towards where her head now sat, decapitated and abused. Archies whine thickened as he stated, and yet, somehow - his delirious smile still remained - as if wrought in iron permanently into his soft and placid flesh.

“You see, Arch?” That cool, buttery voice slid again, unwelcomed yet undeniably persistent, into Archie’s head. As it spoke, a hand came up to Archie’s chin, holding his face where it sat, disallowing him to look away. “Fine.” Was all he could say.

“Fine?” A great guffaw released itself from deep within that buttery expression. “Here that, boys?” It roared, giddy in it’s devious delight. “Archie’s fine!.” And as it did, a great chorus of laughter spilt forth from all around it - it’s joyless mirth and fervor sending a shiver down Archie’s hunched, and water soaked spine. “Now come on!” A pair of hands were suddenly thrust under Archie’s armpits, dragging him forwards, up towards the great wrought iron gates.

As they pulled him in, Archie could do little but laugh. “I think he’s lost it, boss.” A timid voice peeped up from just below Archie’s left side. “Good, and why not?” That silken timbre responded, uninterestedly. “He’s as good as dead as it is.” As it spoke, Archie was flung to the floor, his arms flailing helplessly before him and he went - as if he were some gargantuan toddler, cast forth from the warm embrace of his mother's bosom out suddenly, into the cold, harsh world. “Should I tie him up?” That timid little voice piped up again, even further away now. “Don’t even bother.” That buttery voice responded, it’s tone unmistakably apathetic to the situation at hand. “He’ll be dead before he got a chance to run, as it is. Just leave him alone to die.”

Laying there, cold and wet, face down on the concrete - the smell of blood, and mud, and rotting flesh still hanging heavily in his nostrils, Archie continued to wear that lunatics smile. The potato sack that still covered his aching and bleeding skull had torn, allowing for the cool, wet asbestos infested air that filled the compound to come rushing into his tired, welcoming lungs. There wouldn’t be many more of those, Archie knew. Below his right pant leg, his wound burned, hot and red. What fools they had been, to not check him over. Archie’s smile thickened still, and a light tinkle of laughter managed to work its way confidently out of his torn and battered lips. It wouldn’t be long now, Archie knew, as that burning feeling slowly began to emanate it’s way outwards from the deep bite marks now tattooed into his aching and swollen right ankle. It wouldn’t be long at all. Archie smiled wider still, and waited - embracing the burning, aching feeling rushing up and throughout his body as he did. No, it wouldn’t be long now. Archie laughed quietly to himself, listening to the footsteps of the men and women who had destroyed his home pad quietly all around him - each and everyone one of them with no idea of what was to come. No, not long at all, now. Archie thought to himself, as his visioned slowly began to darken at last. No. Not long at all.



Dear Reader,
I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to read this story, and to let you know how much it means to me that you did! If you enjoyed this story (or hated it), please do not hesitate to let me know in the comments section! If you did enjoy this story, it would also mean a lot to me if you would be so kind as to upvote, resteem, and generally just let people know that you thought that what you read was worthwhile! Thanks again Reader, and I hope to see you next time! -Matthew Munsey

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Go here https://steemit.com/@a-a-a to get your post resteemed to over 72,000 followers.

kinda scary with gross physical details, but I like it adds some realism to it.

Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it!

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