Descended from Darkness: Apex Magazine Vol I Read online

  And then she screamed again.

  I couldn't take it. I lugged the biggest piece of wall I could find to the edge, right above the man on top of Karla.

  I pushed.

  There was a high pitched scream, male this time, and then silence.

  Without peering over again to see what had happened, I grabbed Timo's hand and ran through the ruins for the next stairwell.

  * * * *

  "Frau Decker, Karla is dead, I killed her!"

  Timo followed me into the old woman's apartment, crying more than I was, loud jerking sobs that only made it worse.

  Frau Decker sat on what was left of the sofa in what was left of the apartment on Jägerstrasse. I once asked her why she stayed in a place with no roof, and she just said where was she to go, an old woman like her when all her family was dead?

  "You can find a house with a roof at least," I had said.

  She shook her head. "This is my home. My children grew up here. It is all I have, even if I must sleep in the hall."

  But Frau Decker would not be able to comfort us this time or ever again. When I came around the front of her sofa, she was gazing out at the ruins of Berlin with empty eye sockets. I had no one to learn from anymore.

  How was I to keep Remembering---and keep Timo safe?

  The only one who could help me now was the Beast.

  * * * *

  I became more careful and more afraid, as we all did. I once asked Frau Decker why so many adults were Hunters, but she didn't know either. She said that they were the hopeless, which didn't make much sense to me, since it wasn't any different from the rest of us. It seemed to me that the Hunters killed for fun, which meant that if we stayed out of their way, maybe they would kill one another. We children began to report to each other when we found bodies---it told us where adults were hunting, the places to avoid.

  We couldn't stay hidden all the time, though, since we had to eat. One late summer day, Timo and I were tending our garden near the Reichstag when we heard a loud whirring in the sky, like thousands of wings beating the air at once.

  We hid among the trees at the edge of the field and watched as a huge metallic bird with wings as fast as a dragonfly's landed straight down in front of the ruined building. The wind it created flattened the long grass in all directions.

  Slowly the whirring wings stopped and several figures jumped down from the flying metal thing. They looked like people, but their heads were funny round things resembling the eyes of an insect.

  This was something I did not Remember.

  "Yasmina, should we run?"

  "Shhh. They might hear us." As big as he was, Timo was always scared. I should have been too, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the strange people and their machine.

  One of them waved something shiny in the air and then reached up---and took off its head.

  Timo gasped, and I clapped my hand over his mouth. "Look, Timo, they're normal adults!" I whispered.

  After the first one had taken the bubble off, the rest did as well. There were only six of them---if they were Hunters, it was the smallest group I had ever seen.

  And every single one of them was darker skinned than the darkest Hunter I had ever seen.

  Timo took my hand off his mouth. "They're almost black," he said, remembering to whisper this time. "A lot darker than you, Yasmina."

  I nodded.

  Another one began waving something shiny in the air as well. It stopped, the piece of metal pointed straight at us.

  The strange, dark people began walking in our direction.

  "Run!"

  Timo didn't need any more encouragement. We dashed out of our hiding place. "Not back to the Beast!" I yelled. "We don't want them to know where we live!"

  We pounded through the grass for the ruins of the Reichstag.

  "Wait, we want to help!" one of the strangers called out in German. The words sounded strangely different. "We are from Africa, a place not destroyed in the wars!"

  The voice was that of a male adult, but I couldn't be sure if I had understood what he said. The words were all off in a way I had never heard. Sometimes Hunters spoke Turkish, words that brought back scraps of a life little more than a dream, my life Before. When those Hunters spoke German, the words sounded different too---but not as broken as that of the dark strangers trying to run us down.

  We hid among the ruins of the Reichstag until nightfall, and then crept back to our home beneath the Beast.

  I dreamt of Africa, a name I had heard once for a place far away. Africa and wars and dark skinned people with their heads in round bubbles.

  * * * *

  That night, we were startled awake by shots and screams.

  Timo and I held each other until the night was quiet again and then drifted back to sleep.

  When the sunlight crept through the cracks between planks and concrete and woke us, we crawled out and looked around in every direction. The sun shone, warm and strong on our faces, and there was no movement except for the squirrels and no sound except for the birds.

  I wished there were not so many empty spaces, but we made our way to the field in front of the Reichstag without meeting either Hunters or Strangers. The huge flying thing sat there, a burned-out shell, and all was quiet. Some of the tomato and bean plants in our vegetable garden were trampled. There were bodies strewn around the flyer, Strangers and Hunters both.

  But more Hunters than Strangers. And the Hunters were mutilated in ways I had never seen before, or at least not before I had started to Remember.

  Timo was whimpering, and I put my arms around his waist. "Shhh. We must try to find some of the other children so that we can bury them."

  And then another voice called to us in the strange German I had heard the day before. "Is there someone there?"

  I froze for a moment. But no one here could harm us, and I followed it, Timo following me.

  One of the Strangers still lived, barely. Bearded---a man.

  I knelt next to him, and he gripped my hand. "Please," he said in the same odd German as the one who had chased us.

  "When more of our kind come, you must trust them."

  "No."

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  Timo knelt next to me and took my other hand.

  The Stranger did not answer my question. Instead he gave me a message. "Tell them, the ones who come after, tell them to save the children."

  He was an adult, but he was dying. He couldn't hurt us. I took the head of the dark man in my lap and I began to sing.

  "Three blind mice,

  "Three blind mice,

  "See how they run."

  Perhaps it was the right thing to do. The Stranger looked at me with wide eyes and smiled.

  I continued to sing. When he died, he was still smiling.

  * * * *

  Most of the kids who used to live in the university before Karla died were still somewhere along Unter den Linden, scattered in twos and threes, in places where it wouldn't be as easy for the Hunters to find.

  Timo and I went from hiding place to hiding place, telling them what had happened, so we could bury the dead before they started to stink and rot in the summer sun. Many of us had garden plots on the edges of the field next to the Reichstag, and no one wanted decaying bodies there.

  Even though there were over thirty of us, it took us several days to bury them all. Not all of us were as big and strong as Timo, and our shovels were old and worn. We scavenged for new things when the old broke, but we couldn't always find exactly what we needed.

  We were pushing the last of the bodies into shallow graves when Andrea cried out a warning. "Look! From the river!"

  Over two dozen Hunters, and they had knives rather than just shovels.

  "Scatter!" I yelled. "Run for the trees and the ruins!"

  Everyone ran, most heading either for the nearest stand of trees or the Reichstag.

  I couldn't run as fast as I wanted; I had to keep an eye on Timo.

 
; And then he tripped.

  "Timo!" I felt as if my scream scraped the hard blue of the sky.

  The Hunters were too close, but I couldn't leave him there, I couldn't. I dashed back and pulled Timo up, supporting and running and dragging and doing anything that would get us out of danger. Luckily, many of the Hunters had stopped at the flying machine and were climbing in and throwing things out to their companions---more interested in scavenging than in us.

  We reached the trees. I pushed Timo down beneath some bushes and knelt next to him.

  "Don't make a sound," I whispered.

  We could hear a Hunter nearby trampling the bushes and branches and underbrush, but he didn't notice us.

  Timo and I stayed there long after everything was quiet again, and the birds had resumed chattering and chirping above. When I felt safe, I whispered to Timo that we could go.

  He moaned and pushed himself up on both hands. "Yasmina, I don't know if I can walk."

  * * * *

  I managed to support and drag and coax Timo back to our home beneath the Beast, but even now, with days and days of rest, he still cannot walk on his own.

  The Beast protects us, but she cannot help me in this. When she comes to me at night, she folds her wings behind her and shakes her head sadly. I know nothing of medicines, Yasmina.

  I turn away.

  I am growing desperate.

  I have checked on the others living on Unter den Linden to see if anyone knows what we can do about Timo's ankle. All of them are back in their hiding places except Kyrill and Verona, but none of them knows what to do for someone with a leg that will no longer support weight. I do not have the right memories to do what is necessary.

  And now Timo's foot is growing huge and turning colors both bright and dull that scare me.

  I am scavenging for medicines in apothecaries on Dorotheenstrasse when I hear the strange whirring noise again.

  Strangers?

  I throw boxes and bottles into my bag. My treasures bouncing against my hip, I run between the ruins in the direction of the Reichstag.

  When I reach the corner of the building, I see for the second time one of the bird like machines setting down on the field, flattening the grass beneath it.

  This time, the Strangers who jump down into the tall grass are not wearing the round bubbles on their heads, but they too have glistening skin so dark it is almost black.

  As I watch, they walk around the abandoned flying machine, inspecting the debris on the ground, the broken pieces the Hunters left behind.

  Then one of them, a woman I think, notices the recent graves. She cries out and drops to her knees. Even at this distance, I can see that tears are running down her face.

  The rest run over to the graves we dug. One of the dark people is counting, shaking his head. Another draws the woman back to her feet and puts his arms around her. A third notices the gardens we have planted near where I am hiding and begins walking in my direction.

  The man who died with his head in my lap told me to trust them, told me to tell them to save the children.

  I cannot. Trust does not come easily.

  * * * *

  I run back through the ruins, keeping to the shadows as much as I can. When I get back to our home on the shadow side of the Beast, Timo's skin is hot to the touch.

  "Yasmina, everything hurts now, not just my foot."

  I dump the medicines I found on the ground and start pawing through them, but the tears starting in my eyes are blinding me.

  This is too hard. Even though I Remember, I still do not know enough to read all these strange words and find whatever will cure my friend.

  I cover my face with my hands and turn away. Life would be no life without Timo.

  "Yasmina? What is it?"

  Squaring my shoulders, I look at him again, smiling. But he sees the shape of my eyes. "Don't cry, Yasmina," Timo says, stroking my hair. "You will take care of everything. You always do."

  But I cannot.

  Tell them to save the children.

  I kiss Timo on the forehead.

  A medication that describes itself as relieving pain and reducing fever calms Timo and puts him to sleep.

  I lean my back against the stone wall of our shelter and watch Timo's even breathing, the slight smile on his lips as he sleeps. Despite how peaceful he looks, I worry. Timo seems to be better now, but I do not know if I have helped him or just made him unaware of his injuries for a time.

  * * * *

  I am still afraid when I leave our sanctuary where Quadriga guards us. Darting between ruins and trees, I run in the direction I do not want to go, toward the field in front of the Reichstag. Perhaps, if I am lucky, the Strangers will already be gone.

  Perhaps, if I am lucky, they will still be there.

  There, just past the second flying machine, they stand next to the graves we dug, gazing silently at the freshly turned earth, their hands crossed in front of their bodies, their heads bent. There is something about the way they are standing, quiet and intent, that makes me slow down as I approach. By the time they notice me, I am walking.

  The woman closest to me pulls something I know must be a weapon by the way she is holding it. "Stop!"

  I do as she says. We all stare at each other for a moment, silent, not knowing what to do.

  I indicate the grave they are standing next to. "He said to tell you to save the children."

  "Who did?" a man behind the woman with the weapon asks.

  "The one who was still alive after the Hunters came."

  "Baleka," the man says. "We heard it on the transmission."

  "Hunters?" the woman repeats, her voice still laced with suspicion.

  I nod. "The ones we hide from."

  The black people speak among themselves in the strange language, their voices rising. I understand none of it. But when I sang the English song to the man who died, it made him smile.

  I start to sing.

  "Three blind mice,

  "Three blind mice,

  "See how they run,

  "See how they run!"

  The Strangers have stopped arguing and are staring at me. "You sang that after the battle," says the first man who spoke, in our language now. "We heard it through the radio."

  "What is a radio?"

  A reluctant smile flits across the woman's features. "You are the one who sang to him?"

  I nod again. "I think he liked it. That was after he told me to trust you."

  The woman finally lowers her weapon. "And said to save the children."

  I begin to cry. "Yes, please. My friend Timo, he was injured the last time the Hunters attacked. He is as big as an adult now, but---can you save him?"

  The Strangers look at each other, and without me seeing it, a decision is made. "We will try," a man who has not yet spoken says. "Where is your friend?"

  Lightness fills my chest. I dash over and take the man's gloved hand, pulling him forward. "He is in the shadow of the Beast."

  The man smiles and shrugs and allows me to pull him.

  "Will you take us to Africa?" I ask.

  Cai and Her Ten Thousand Husbands

  Gord Sellar

  Smoke in the air, a satchel full of squirming crystalline brains trapped in bloody skulls near my bare feet. I am cai once again. I kick the earth and turn my face north.

  "The calling springtime..." I manage to sing, before I double over in agony.

  * * * *

  We all expected the same things: husbands of our own to argue with, to walk beside in twilight, to make love to. Pretty babies to grow inside us, to unfurl into themselves and play at our feet.

  It's different for us Hakka, my mother said. Study hard, she begged.

  I did. Mornings, I hunched in rice paddies in sweltering heat. Afternoons passed in the library until sundown. Nights, my itchy eyes stared at a computer screen. Often, I woke to my wristlet's alarm with my head on a desk, and went straight to morning rice-field duty.

  We girls knew
something of the outside world from online newsfeeds and rice-field gossip. We followed the war in the border states and imagined dashing hi-tech Genghis Khans riding in from the Mongol Republic wastelands, or handsome Japanese and Euro CEO princes waving victory flags from the backs of robotic tanks, rescuing us from the onslaught.

  * * * *

  Late one night my wristlet woke me. I fled the library, out into the courtyard, breathless and terrified, for stars still crowded the sky.

  The other girls were already on the dormitory roof, screaming, "Fire, fire!" I scrambled up, and from the roof I could see it, too, off in the valley---a slim fringe of glowing orange light.

  "That's the city burning," an older girl said. "Soldiers will be coming here soon."

  Hours later, after sunrise, they did.

  Not Japanese CEOs or Mongol princes. Just rough-faced footmen marching in tight, straight lines. They reminded me of green carrot-tops poking up along garden rows. They looked dignified, almost honorable, in their patchy green camouflage uniforms, and many wore earpieces or carried little computers on their belts. Many carried backpacks big enough to fit a girl into.

  They spoke into machines that translated their dialect into ours. "We have liberated the city and come to liberate you, too," the machines boomed. "The whole province is now under our control."

  We asked, "Whose control?"

  "We cannot understand you," they answered, "Now come with us." They led us to a convoy of trucks waiting nearby. "Get in the trucks."

  Our teachers stood there, watching silently. One older girl waiting beside me began weeping. "We're going to die," she kept saying. Another girl argued with her, told her to be quiet. But the older girl couldn't stop saying it.

  "Why didn't they take our teachers too? Why only us?" another asked.

  "Maybe there was a special truck for them?" the older girl snapped.

  But none of us believed that.

  * * * *

  After hours of thumping and rattling down brutal roads, of sleepless sobbing and prayers, the truck stopped. Soldiers threw open the back and their machines translated their command: "Get out."