Remnants — Episodes 3 & 4

Remnants — Episode 3

Bobby stopped nearly a block away, and they stared as the church quickly incinerated. Even with their windows closed, he felt the heat, put the car in reverse to back away. Kyra’s grip tightened.

“Charlie!” She pointed farther down the street.

He snapped his head to follow her finger, expecting to see her husband standing there. The preacher must have survived, after all. Bobby saw no one, turned to look at Kyra.

“Where?”

“His car. It’s gone.”

Bobby looked again. Everything was burning down to the ground.

“He parked it right there in his space.”

Bobby continued to look, thinking.

If Charlie escaped in time, where was he now? Probably home, assuming Kyra would be there, alone.

Except Bobby hadn’t seen any car when they were leaving. He hadn’t expected to.

Kyra coughed.

She bent forward, racked by a series of gagging attempts to expel something from her throat.

“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked anxiously, then felt something enter his own throat, and he also choked.

Ash? he wondered, slamming his foot on the accelerator. The car shot backward as he continued to cough.

He couldn’t get it out.

He swallowed, felt whatever was there slide painfully down his windpipe.

More distant from the heat, he braked hard then looked over at Kyra. Her eyes bulged and she didn’t seem to be breathing.

The tickle in his own throat subsided, and Bobby twisted his body, began to thump her back.

Finally, her breath exploded out in a rush.

Bobby was shocked to see a green fog spread through the interior space, then quickly vanish. He knew it must be a hallucination, that nothing like that could be real.

They both sat back, enervated, gazing ahead at the blazing church. Gradually, they regained their ability to breathe normally.

Bobby looked over at Kyra. “We need to go.” Deeply scratched, his throat hurt.

“Home first?” she rasped. “I need to get my stuff.”

“No. Charlie might be there.” He swallowed gingerly. “We’ll pick up what we need on the road.”

Kyra looked at him uncertainly, finally nodded.

Bobby shifted into drive then made a U-turn, front wheels riding over the curb. At the main highway, he turned away from town.

The comet had exploded into hundreds, maybe thousands of pieces. This scene would be happening in lots of other places, too.

He coughed once more, and Kyra stared at him. He smiled reassuringly.

“Things will work out,” he said. His gaze flicked to the line of fire in his rearview mirror. If this was their fresh start, it was an unlikely one.

Hope for the best, he thought wryly, and prepare for the worst.

He glanced at the glovebox where his pistol was concealed. In case of Charlie, he’d told himself when he’d placed it there. Now it was ‘In the event of holocaust.’

The night air shimmered with emerald dust.

Remnants — Episode 4

Charlie pumped the accelerator one last time. The engine coughed, caught, died.

Damn. The gas tank was bone dry.

He’d meant to fill up last night before heading for home after services. Then the comet arrived and all hell bust loose.

He’d been the only one to leave the church, the sole survivor. That had to be a sign.

He let the Chevy coast to a stop in the road.

Close. Right on their tail, he could feel it. The elopers couldn’t be far ahead.

He’d have to hoof it until he found another ride. But he’d catch up, and when he did…

Charlie smiled, considered the possibilities, and wiped his lips. Yes, they’d pay. He’d make damn sure of it. Even Jesus would agree with that.

Kyra would come back where she belonged, tail tucked meekly between her legs. Some chastisement might be in order, but she’d eventually see the error of her sweet little ways.

That demon Bobby Kent now, he was a whole ‘nother story.

Stealing a man’s wife just couldn’t be allowed to happen, not without a generous ration of retribution. The Holy Hand of God would smite the sinner low.

Charlie grinned. Yes, his would be the Hands of the Lord.

“So help me God,” he muttered as he got out to walk.

His western boots tocked the highway. This avenging angel, he chuckled, was in dire need of dependable transportation.

He coughed deeply, then spat green phlegm onto the asphalt.

In the distance, he could make out lights set off to one side of the road. Probably his new ride awaited him there.

God provides for the needy.

* * *

Near morning, Kyra began spitting up blood.

They’d passed several towns. One had been ablaze, the rest only dark. An isolated roadside store between towns was just opening, and they stopped for gas and food.

As Bobby paid, the proprietor had been strangely mute.

When Kyra came out of the restroom, she looked scared.

“Bobby, I’m sick.” He nodded. Her cough had worsened during the ride, rattling as if something inside had come loose. Bobby had listened to it with increasing concern while he’d driven through the night.

“Are you in any pain?” he asked. “I’ll find a hospital.”

“No,” she said. “Not exactly. It feels more like…” She hesitated, then her hacking coughs began anew.

Bobby knew what it felt like. Not as extreme as Kyra, at least not yet, but he’d experienced it, too. A shifting of organs, a throbbing with every heartbeat, an odd circulation through his entire being.

Anxiety chasing fear, he wondered what it was that slid down his throat. He’d thought Kyra had gotten rid of hers when the green mist shot from her mouth, but evidently not everything had exited her then.

All night he couldn’t stop glancing up at the corruscating sky. Something was in the air. Something that stayed inside of you.

Bobby watched, concerned but helpless. Kyra’s raw coughing lessened, became wheezing, slowed to deep-drawn gasps.

“Are you okay?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No, I am not okay.” Her voice quavered, but she sounded frustrated and angry.

Bobby had been relieved to hear her speak so vehemently.

Until she coughed again.

Bubbles of blood flecked her lips then penetrated the tender flesh. Quickly, a froth of rich crimson blisters erupted on her mouth, each bubble’s circumference outlined in glistening green.

When Kyra reached up to wipe it off, her hand came away lathered in burgundy and lime. More bubbles spilled onto her lips.

Their eyes locked in horror. Then Kyra cried out in pain.

“It’s hurting me!” The red and green foam dribbled down her chin onto her blouse. “Get it away from me, Bobby.”

He watched helplessly as it ate through her cotton shirt until it reached her chest. The bubble blisters burned into her skin.

She was being consumed, inside and out.