Remnants: A Collection

REMNANTS

Published by Clayton Snyder at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Clayton Snyder

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CONTENTS

All These Things That Once Were

Birth

Blood

Cold

Exorcism

Hell, Inc.

Jars

Lazarus

Move Aside

Old Dominion

Old Wounds

Panphobia

You Can Get it for Free

Study in Red

The Expedition

All These Things That Once Were

I wake at five a.m. to a cool room and an empty bed. I reach out for Keri, and find her spot cold. She’s been up for a while.

Shit, I think. After so many years, it’s hard to get back to sleep without her. I lie under the covers for another minute, soaking in the warmth, and then throw them off. The cold air hits me all at once, and I wince. I run a hand through my hair, rub my eyes, and stand. The carpet is cool underfoot as I walk to the door. The knob turns easily, and the door swings open on quiet hinges. The hall is dark, and I pause for a moment in the doorway. I don’t smell coffee brewing, or hear the television.

That’s weird.

I start down the hallway, and stop in the bathroom. I leave the light off – the small window by the medicine cabinet lets in enough light, and I don’t feel like shocking my eyes awake just yet. I finish, and leave the room, the sound of the toilet tank filling the space behind me with an almost metallic hiss. I step into the hall, and my feet sink into the deep pile carpet. It already feels warmer than when I first set foot on it, and it seems softer. I frown to myself, and write the sensation off.

Maybe Keri cleaned it the other day.

The hall opens up into our living room. I can see the silhouettes of the couch, TV, and recliner in the pre-dawn light. I stop in the middle of the room, and try to check the clock, but I don't see it on the wall.

Weirder and weirder, though she may have taken it down to clean, as well.

I settle for checking the display on the cable tuner. It reads 5:30, and I make a mental note to reset the clocks. I turn back to the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. The shutters are closed at the bar, and light spills out from under the door between rooms. I breathe a sigh of relief. I was starting to get a bit worried. I step to the door, and push it open. It swings easily, and I step through.

Sunlight hits me full in the face, and I throw an arm up to shield my eyes. Underfoot, sand stings the soles of my feet, and I can feel heat rising from the ground. In the distance, a long butte rises above the desert floor. Its shadow stretches across the sand, but even as I watch, it grows shorter. I turn in a panic, looking for the door, but it’s gone.

What the fuck…

The soles of my feet are starting to ache from standing in the hot sand. I stand there anyways, trying to process what just happened. I woke up, peed, and walked down the hallway, into the living room, and into the kitchen…except it wasn’t a kitchen.

Are you sure you woke up? Could still be dreaming.

I crouch, and grab a handful of sand, and let it slip through my fingers. The grains are warm in my hand, and I can smell that dry, dusty smell that goes with summer days too long without rain. I stand, and I can feel the first beads of sweat forming on my forehead, and under my arms. I look up at the sun again, and figure it must be mid-morning already. Which means it’s not even the hottest part of the day yet.

I look behind me again. There’s still nothing there other than what looks like miles of endless dunes. With a sigh, I head toward the butte in the distance, because dream or not, it’s my best chance of finding some shelter, and if I’m lucky, maybe a little moisture in the shade. On top of that, it wouldn’t hurt to see if I could climb it, to get a better view of the surrounding area. I’d hate to die in the desert because I didn’t realize a town, or the sea, or even a forest were just over the next rise of dunes. I pinch myself, hard, and it hurts, but I don't wake up. With a sigh, I start off towards the rise in the distance.

2

A couple of hours later and the soles of my feet feel like they're on fire. The sun is high in the sky now, and my skin already feels like its baking. I can feel dust in my throat, scratching the back of my trachea, and I manage to work up some spit and swallow, hoping for a little relief. It helps some, and I lick my lips, trying to get a bit of moisture in them as well.

I stop for a moment, to give the stitch in my side a rest, and look around. My footprints extend as far as I can see behind me, barely obscured. They seem to go on forever, back and back, until they're obscured by the rise of a dune. In front of me, the butte is closer now, and I'm just beginning to see details - cracked red rock with streaks of orange and gray running through it like veins. The shadow it throws is shorter now, but no less inviting at this point. I give it another minute, and start off again. If I can keep this pace, I figure I should reach it by early afternoon.

Something strikes me as I'm walking; the sand shifting and sliding under my feet, making it feel as though someone's rubbing fine-grain sandpaper on my already aching soles.

Are all deserts like this?

I rack my brain, trying to remember elementary school lessons, biology, geography, anything really. I'm having a hard time recalling whether or not there should be cactus, or snakes, rodents, spiders, or scorpions, and coming up with blanks. I hope I wake up soon.

*

Another hour and the sun is merciless. A snatch of song is echoing in my head, and I shake it to clear it, but it persists.

'Dem bones

'Dem bones

'Dem dry bones

Repeat, ad nauseum.

I hate you, brain.

*

Another hour, or at least I think so. The rock is closer now, but its shadow is so short, I'm starting to worry that if I make it there, it will be only to cook like an egg on a sidewalk.

Sizzle, sizzle, motherfucker.

The thought makes me giggle, and my lip splits when I do. I can feel a trickle of blood slipping down my chin, and I wipe it away.

Get a grip.

The thought strikes me that I don't even know if Keri is safe. My gut twists a bit, and I hope to God this didn't happen to her.

No, no - there were no other footprints. Just yours.

I spare a glance behind me, where a single line of impressions vanish into the distance. In front of me are only rippled dunes, and that rock, looming like a monolith from an earlier age.

*

I can't tell how much time has passed, but the rock is so close, I can make out more ridges and colors and individual spars that jut from it like natural handholds than before. I speed up my pace, and immediately regret it. My body rebels and my legs flail for a minute before I go down into the sand. It billows up around me when I hit, dust getting in my eyes and nose and throat. I cough, trying to get it out, and sit up. I rub the sand from my eyes and realize I am at the base of the rock.

I stand, and look behind me. There is a furrow in the sand, and another realization hits me - that I dragged myself the last few feet to my destination. I walk over to the rock, and lean against it. Despite baking in the sun all day, it is surprisingly cool. I sink down, and close my eyes. Just a short nap.

*

It's dark when I wake, and I can feel a chill biting through the air. I feel weak, but not hopeless. I look at the furrow in the moonlight, and a shiver runs through me. Not quite hopeless yet.

I stand, and my knees protest and try to give out. I fight them, and am rewarded with a brief shooting pain in my feet once I get my full weight on them. Once up, I start to walk around the butte, letting one hand trail against the rock wall in case I need the support. It takes a while to reach what I think of as the edge, or the corner, of the rock, the silence of the desert broken only by my stomach, which has begun to complain.

I rest for a moment, leaning into the cool stone, and hope I find something other than sand soon. My vision threatens to blur, and I shake my head to clear it.

Doesn't matter, keep going.

The thought comes clear as a bell, and sounds like my dad. I take its advice, and start moving again. After maybe fifteen minutes, I come to the other side of the rock, and my heart sinks. The only thing there is more sand, stretching away mile by mile into the distance. I slump against the rock, and nearly fall into the opening in its side.

It's a crack in the stone, maybe three, four feet across, and about five feet high.

You must be this tall to ride the rock. Also, this looks like a good spot for a giant spider to hide.

I hate you, brain.

I stick my hand in and wave it around for a minute, then pull it back. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it is neither covered in webs nor spiders. It only takes a second for me to make up my mind after that, and I duck into the opening, taking care not to smash my head into the rock above. I take two steps, and there's a sensation of wind, of something sliding, and when it stops, I'm standing on a city street.

3

It's dark here, and a light breeze is blowing, carrying with it a cool mist. The street I'm standing on is paved with what looks like black cobblestone that glistens in the light from the gas lamps that line it. Despite the fact that I still have no idea where I am, I feel a momentary rush of relief at being in a city, where there will be food, water, and phones. I can already feel my muscles relax, the cool air and moisture relieving some of the aches from being in the heat for so long.

I begin to walk down the street, keeping to the sidewalk. I start to lay out a plan in my mind - find a public place, find a phone, call a cab, and get home. I don't bother to work out details just yet, since plans can change at the drop of a hat. I walk down the street for a minute or two, not really paying attention to my surroundings, when I'm forced to stop. I'm in front of a building taller than all the others.

It must be at least 100 stories, and when I tilt my head up to see the top, the clouds rolling above it give me a touch of vertigo. I tilt my head down and look at the front of the building. Double doors, each six feet wide by ten feet tall dominate the front of the building and break up the stonework. I consider those doors for a moment. I'm not sure why they're so big, or why the building is so tall in an area where all the other structures seem to be only about ten stories at the most. The best I can come up with is that this may be some sort of public works building, and if so, there may be a billing clerk or a janitor still working who will let me use the phone.

I start for the doors, and reach for a handle, when I hear it. The sound travels in sharp clicks across the hard stone of the city's streets, moving like a wave. As it gets louder, I can hear the beginnings of echoes bouncing off the surrounding buildings. Accompanying it is a sound like fabric rustling. It reaches me, and I feel a shiver work its way up my spine, forcing the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to rise as though I had just walked into an electric field.

The sound makes my stomach twist into a knot, and fight or flight kicks in. I step away from the doors, and sprint for the nearest alley. I slip into a dark sliver between buildings, my breathing coming a bit harder after my run. Out in the street, those echoing clicks are coming closer. It takes a minute for my eyes to balance the light gray outside with the deep black of the alley. When they finally adjust, I press myself against the wall, and inch to the corner. What I see nearly pushes my mind to the edge.

Men from the waist-up, they're wearing nearly identical clothing - three piece suits I suspect wouldn't be out of place in Victorian England, and top hats. From the waist down though, they are all brass and steel that gleams in the light from the gas lamps. An oval platform extends from their waists horizontally, providing the base for eight legs crafted from that same brass and steel, cogs and gears intermeshing with each step. The legs themselves are about the same size as a man's leg, but articulated like a spider's, beginning with a thick thigh that joins to a round knee, and then tapering to a point where their feet should be.