A Reason to Live pt 2
*Disclaimer*
The following (part 2 of the series 'A Reason to Live') contains both mystical/metaphysical and Judeo-Christian Religious aspects. If you are offended by any/all of these subjects, you are strongly encouraged to avoid reading this or any subsequent works with the title 'A Reason to Live' that are written by me. Thank you for your compliance.
A Reason to Live pt. 2
Multiple voices, all sounding quite inhuman drifted up from the cellar and assailed the ear drums of two Furs, a male wolverine, and a female eagle. The wolverine, leaning against the wall of the adobe hut, spoke to his wife, who was sitting at the table.
"I don't like the sound of whatever the hell is going on down there, Roxie. You got here before I did, did you happen to see what was down in the cellar?"
"No," came the reply. "I tried to go down there, but the door was locked or something; I couldn't get it to open. But those voices don't sound very threatening to me, and besides, if that jackal does come back up here, you've got a gun and, from the looks of him, at least fifty more pounds of muscle than he does."
The wolverine sighed. "Thanks for trying, babe, but that just makes me more nervous. Why would he leave his front door unlocked, yet lock the cellar? And what was the deal with him saying he expected us?"
"I don't know, baby, I just don't know. But I think we're going to have to stay here for awhile. Listen."
No one spoke, save for the mysterious voices. Outside, a powerful sandstorm had drifted in from the south and now was passing over the hut. The wind shrieked like a wounded banshee, yet the thick adobe walls muted most of the sound. Only a dull whistle could be heard from inside.
"Well that's just great. Now we're stuck here until the storm dies down. That could be hours from now..." The Fur trailed off. A last he spoke again. "Roxie, did you, when you first found this place, happen to notice if there was an outhouse, or anything?"
"Even if there was an outhouse, you'd get lost going outside now. But there is another room in this place. There was a hole through the floor and a bucket of lye next to the door. I would guess that that room is the bathroom."
"Thanks, babe" The Fur strode to the room and went in, closing the door behind him.
A few minutes later came a loud curse from the bathroom. The wolverine then opened the door and returned to his place leaning on the wall. He spoke. "Idiot must make his own paper from cactus or something. One thing did surprise me though; he's got running water here. There's a sink in the bathroom that still works."
Outside, the sandstorm raged. Minute particles of sand were blown underneath the door to the hut, forming miniature dunes.
The Fur spoke again. "It sounds like the storms not going to let up anytime soon. Doesn't sound like our host is going to let up any time soon either. Maybe we should try to get some sleep." The Fur slouched down from the wall until he was in a sitting position.
Miles away, on a granite plateau jutting from the base of the mountains, a fierce battle was raging. Tribal canine Furs, armed with antiquated human firearms, spears, and woven reed armor stood, bravely, stupidly, attempting to hold a line against a swarm of black goo. The goo was not one entity, but thousands of separate monstrosities. Roughly humanoid, but missing arms and heads, these creatures oozed a viscous black petroleum tar. The thick tar coated their bodies, and protected them like armor. Flames sputtered to life and died in the creatures footprints, on the creatures themselves. Toxic fumes rose off of the tar.
Though the tribal defenders fought with fervor, it was in vain. The creatures merely shuffled forward, oblivious to the Furs. The defenders were knocked down and trod upon, crushed, burned and suffocated all at once. Few survived. This invading army did not seize the moment to loot its opponent's village. Nor did they bury their dead or eat the dead of their enemies. Slowly, the mob marched through the village, oblivious to the fires it had caused, towards the edge of the cliff. Pausing at the edge, a tremor swept through the entire group. In waves, the mutants plummeted off the cliff, smashing into the ground below. Eventually, the mass of hydrocarbons and calcium carbonate skeletons began to seep through the rock and sand, completing a cycle these creatures began every millennium.
From his vantage point in the rocks high above the battlefield, the man in black began to chuckle.
Gradually, the voices began to subside, and with it, the sandstorm. Roxanne, the eagle, was first to notice. "Hey, Ray" she walked over to where sat sleeping and nudged him. "Wake up, the sandstorm is dying down. And so are those weird voices."
"Huh? How long have I been asleep?" Ray asked groggily. The hut was deathly silent. Instead of a gradual slow down and then death, the storm died abruptly, like its power supply was severed. "Oh, only about an hour and half" Roxie replied. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" Ray asked. Roxanne smiled (as much as an eagle can smile) and said "I didn't want to wake you cause you're so cute when you sleep."
Without so much as a creak for warning, the door to the cellar swung open. The jackal, still shirtless, but now with bright crimson blood coagulating on his fur, and the tip missing from his left ear, stood in the doorway.
"Having fun?" he asked and laughed. Raymond jumped to his feet, pistol in hand. He flipped the safety off and drew the hammer back, pointing the gun again towards the jackal. The jackal calmly walked over to the bed and grabbed his cloak. He slid it over his head while he walked back towards the cellar. The faded red crucifix on the front brightened when it came in contact with the cuts on his chest. "I assume you have some questions then, otherwise you wouldn't be pointing a gun at me, right?"
"Ray" Roxie whispered into the wolverine's ear "Maybe this is the time for friendly conversation."
"Yes Raymond" the jackal said. "Mayhap you should listen to yer wife. You have my word that I will not harm either of you."
"Please, Ray" Roxanne pleaded. "Put the gun away. He's not going to hurt us." Tension filled the air.
"How do you know, Roxie? He could be crazy for all we know!"
The jackal sighed. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this." The jackal flexed the digits on his right paw outward. An invisible force slammed into Raymond, lifting him up from the gravel floor and pushing him against the wall. The force of the impact caused the stunned wolverine to drop his weapon. The jackal closed his right paw into a fist, and the Fur slid to the ground. The jackal opened his fist once more, and the revolver flew from the hut floor into his waiting paw, as if by a magnet. "An interesting weapon you have here, Raymond. Old; ancient when the human military force on this planet was young. Worn sandalwood grip, similar to the one used far from here so many years ago. Now, can we have amicable conversation, or not?"
He tossed the gun back towards Raymond, who, still stunned by what had just happened, caught it and set it on the ground. Both Furs nodded in agreement to the jackal's question.
"Ask yer questions then, and I'll answer 'em as best I can." Roxanne stuttered from fear while asking her question.
"Wh-what are you?" Outside the wind had begun to pick up. No noise came from the basement, though a loamy smell had drifted through the open door frame.
"That question hurts me, you know. Am I that different that I'm not a person anymore?" Seeing no response coming, the Fur continued. "I am a Fur, just like both of you, a different sub-species, mayhap, but a Fur none-the-less. The names...Kyle, just in case you were wonderin'. Next question."
Raymond spoke next. "So uh, Kyle, what just happened a minute ago?"
"That, my guest, was a demonstration of the power of having faith in the LORD. And, as for the voices, cause I'm sure yer gonna' ask about that next, I was speaking with the spirit of an ancient prophet and with some of God's messenger angels. Any other questions?"
Neither of the two spoke for a brief time. An eerie silence filled the small room. Raymond spoke up. "Look, can we just leave? We'll pay for the food and the water."
"I suppose I cannot stop you if you two choose to leave. But be warned though, there are scant few forces left on this planet that can protect you from the man in black." The jackal's answer was spoken tiredly, like very words weighted him down. He turned and began to walk back towards the stairs. Raymond scrambled to his feet.
"Hold on now. What do you know about the man in black?" The wolverine demanded.
Outside, the late afternoon sun cast elongated shadows on the ground. Faintly, the wind still blew, having somewhat died down again.
The jackal turned around slowly, until he was facing Raymond. "I know many things about the man in black, but now the question is, would you two stay to listen?"
Roxanne had stood to her feet now as well. "What does he want from us?" she asked the cleric.
"He does not want anything from you; it is your husband he is after. Make no mistake though, just because it is not you he seeks does not mean you are safe. You see..." Raymond cut the Fur's answer short with his own shouted question.
"Why is he after me? What the hell did I ever do to him to make him track me across the goddamn planet?!"
The jackal snapped his teeth in anger. "Watch your language, please. Do not ask stupid questions, either. You know very well what you did to him."
"Ray, baby, what is he talking about?" Roxanne asked.
"He's lying, Roxie. He's just trying to mess with our heads" shouted Raymond, more towards the jackal than to his wife.
"Now honestly Raymond, what do I stand to gain if I lie to you? Think back, Raymond. Eleven years ago, back at the human military installation. You needed money to marry your Academy sweetheart. You were desperate. A human in black powered armor offers you 50,000 credits to buy him one ticket off planet. He offers you ten percent up front. You accept, and run off with the money, forgetting all about your deal and the man in black. That is until he begins to stalk you, demanding you fulfill your part of the deal. You make excuses to buy time, then you and yer new wife flee. And so it has been; a vicious cycle of running and hiding."
"How-how do you know that?" Raymond stammered. "I haven't told anyone about that, not even Roxie. I'm so sorry I dragged you into all this babe. Roxie...are you..."
"Don't even ask, Ray, ya melodramatic lug. Of course I'm not gonna leave ya. I swore for better or for worse, and besides all that, I love you, baby. It would have been nice to know about things like this, but there's not much we can do about it now."
"Oh Roxie, I'm sorry about all this. I love you too." The wolverine's face looked on the verge of tears when the jackal spoke.
"How touching, really. But you two are missing the point here, why would a man spend eleven years chasing after a person for 5,000 creds? I'll tell you, but it seems that you two have a lot to discuss."
The jackal turned and retreated down the stairs to the cellar, closing the door behind him. The two Fur's were left alone with their thoughts. Outside, the sun was slowly beginning to set. It was summer in the desert, and the sunsets lasted hours.
The black garbed figure, from his perch high above the plateau, had watched for long enough. He jumped from his vantage point and fell, armored feet first, towards the ground below. A small crater appeared in the hard mountain granite around his feet. A cloud of dust and small pebbles was kicked up, and slowly settled back to the ground. The man looked around. Surrounding him were the carcasses of both men and monster. A mountain stream, clean and pure, trickled on the far western side of the plateau. Farms and orchards were set up on both sides of the stream.
The man walked on. He stopped; at his feet lay the badly burned body of one of the tribal warriors, yet the Fur still lived. He called out to the figure. "Give me your hand, I have use for you." The figure, even with scorched lungs, and burned vocal cords managed to gasp a reply.
"You...Death? ...Come to...take us?" 'Amazing' thought the power armored figure. 'Even mostly dead, this Fur speaks basic better than some humans I've known.' "No, I am not death. If you trust me, I can take the pain away."
The figure managed to wheeze out one word, help. Bending down, the man in black removed a small cylinder from a chamber hidden on his torso armor. He opened it, and poured the contents over the most grievous of the figure's wounds; the places where only carbonized bone remained, the flesh around it cooked off. On an atomic level, nanites pulled carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, iron, and other trace elements in from the surrounding environment. These they used to create proteins to repair the damage. Adding layers of carbon and calcium to the remains of the exposed bones, the impossibly tiny machines created anchoring points for tendons. Muscle, blood vessel, and nerve cells were added next. Finally a layer of skin was added. Ash grey fur soon sprouted. On a human scale, the nanites work was miraculous. In seconds they could repair even the most serious of injuries. A wave of healing spread over the Fur's body. Soon, the figure was fully healed. The man in black helped the awestruck Fur to his feet and proceeded to the next figure.
After less than thirty minutes, everyone who survived the battle had been healed. The total number was 38 survivors, out of a village of 114. 18 of these survivors were male, 20 were female. The survivors hurried into the surviving thatch huts to find clothing; most of what they tribals had worn had been burned by the uncaring mutants. The man in black called out.
"Good, now that you all are decent, I have some news. There is a reason I helped you instead of leaving you to your fates."
The canine ears of the tribe peoples twitched as they listened to the words of the strange figure.
To be continued...