Follow Me Until the End of the World: The Weapon - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Sandman
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 2

The desert offered a serene, if monotonous, landscape. Logan had walked for three weeks and nearly exhausted his supply of water. Not a single new source appeared during his journey. For the first time since leaving the bunker, he began to wonder if the desert would consume him. The sun- bleached sand stretched for miles in every direction. Occasionally, Logan came across a bit of old concrete or metal stabbing through the ground. It was a far cry from the Canada he had known. He had come across very little life. Only scorpions, oversized roaches, and mutated desert rabbits ever crossed his path. The roaches were quite aggressive, and attacked him on occasion. He simply crushed them under his boot. They secreted a noxious scent that caught on his clothing. Later, he found out that it attracted something else.

While camping for the night, he was nearly asleep when a dull wind carried a scent of something new-something grotesque. Soft moans from the distance alerted him to another presence, though definitely not human. He was being stalked by a nocturnal creature. Or creatures. He readied his pistol and kick sand into the fire, extinguishing it. The soft, hungry moans seemed to grow further away. The flat area would allow full visibility for Logan- whatever approached would be spotted quickly. That night, he remained awake listening intently to soft howls and moans, anxious to dispatch whatever was making it. For whatever reason, they left him alone.

The next morning he left to investigate the area he thought the noises were coming from, only to find an assortment of slaughtered pests-roaches, with their entrails ripped out. They were possibly consumed. The grotesque stench still lingered. As he was leaving, Logan noticed tracks of some sort. Larger than the size of a human foot with, bent toes that apparently dragged. Whatever made this track might be humanoid. Looking down at his last canteen, Logan jiggled it as a reminder to him just had short his water supply was becoming. Whatever made the track needed water. He decided to follow it, reasoning that he might not get another opportunity.

A slight wind had been blowing sand over the tracks all morning, making tracking slightly more difficult. Fortunately, the pungent odor they left behind also provided another route to follow, when tracks were unavailable.

Eventually, he spotted something in the distance. The landscape began sloping downward and then leveled-off, and a large structure sat. Logan approached it and noticed that it must have led to a subway tunnel. A bulletin board listed the times and destinations, though Logan doubted that it still ran anymore. He pulled the flashlight that he recovered from the dead private’s (Logan had already forgotten his name) footlocker out, switched it on, and peered down the stairwell. Graffiti covered the walls. A message, written in dried blood, beckoned Logan to come closer. He walked down the stairwell, and it read:

Down here,

Down here,

Where the good, and the bad, and the worst and the best,

Have all gone down,

And died, like the rest.

Beside it was, “Beware of Dregs!” and then, “Eat my cock, mothafucka!” but it was the first that somehow caught Logan’s attention. If it was a warning, he was ignoring it. He was getting thirsty, and had finished his last canteen.

The stairs led unto a subway platform. Flies swarmed near the entrance, but seemed to dissipate as Logan walked further. The strong odor of the nocturnal creatures pervaded, as did the smell of feces. These things were apparently using this place as a toilet. Logan wondered if they followed, the “don’t shit where you eat” mantra.

He hoped down of the platform and began walking down the tunnel. The track was intact, but quite cold. Logan noticed that it did not vibrate when he bent down to touch it-he doubted a train would come along and flatten him.

Dry heat began to pound on the lone traveler. He thirsted for water even more, and wondered what the creatures had been using for a water basin. The stench became even more powerful as he walked further down the line- only this time it included decaying flesh. He shone the light around, only to find bone piles and dried cadavers that used to be human. Logan picked up a femur bone and noticed teeth marks along it. If these things were humanoid, they were cannibalistic.

Logan pressed on for another half an hour before the howling started. It echoed off the tunnel’ walls. Before, they sounded lonely, and if they were calling out into the desert for some long-lost love. Now, they were hungry and aggressive. It was now only a matter of time before they attacked. The lack of light made the pistol a poor weapon of choice-he would dispatch them with his claws, if they made the sad mistake of trying to make him their nighttime meal. The howling increased in intensity as Logan pressed on. They seemed to be coming from inside the walls. Logan constantly moved the flashlight around him, trying to locate the source. Up ahead, a railway car sat in the middle of track. It leaned heavily to one side-this would be his Alamo. As he raced towards it, figures began emerging from holes in the wall. Logan leaped and caught himself on the car and yanked the door open. It swung open easily enough, and he entered while tossing his duffle bag aside. The claws were drawn.

Seconds later they were on the roof, howling with a possessed madness. The first wave attempted to climb through broken windows. Their smallish frames seemed to slide easily through. Logan beheld them for the first time-they were ghoulish in appearance, with drooping eyes and sagging skin. Razor-sharp teeth were housed in the narrow mouths, and their limbs seemed able to attach to any surface. Logan engaged them immediately, holding the flashlight in one hand and slashing with the other. Blood sprayed from one attacker as Logan cut his torso nearly in half. His body lay dead in the window for a moment before another creature yanked it down. Planning to slay each creature before it had the opportunity to reach him, he quickened his pace, slicing limb after limb off them, though their painful howls were drowned out by the rest.

Logan then felt an attacker on his back-they had broken in through. Teeth sank deep into his neck, causing the man to fall to his knees. The flashlight dropped and rolled under the seat. Logan stabbed backwards above his shoulder, and his attacker fell off. The wound was gushing blood, which seemed to only push the attackers closer to a frenzy. They pouched upon the burly Canadian, almost pinning him to the ground. One bit him along the ear-no doubt it would have taken it off had it not been for the adamantium lacing his bones-but it indeed felt like he had lost it.

His mind went numb and shut down, and he erupted into a rage. Logan stood up, though several still remained on his back. He quickly cut them off, and began swinging his arms like a lunatic. They connected every time, though he could the darkness masked him from seeing the damage. He didn’t care. He only wanted to kill every single one of them. Shouting a deep berserker cry of war, he became the aggressor. His acute sense of smell told him where the creatures were coming. The seats were obstacles, but Logan refused to stand still. The battle lasted only a few minutes longer before that stopped coming. The howling had stopped.

Logan sat, panting. His clothes were torn to shreds, bite marks covered his body. Blood gushed from his body, despite his wounds closing very quickly. There were times that even his healing factor became overtaxed. Falling backwards on top of one of the dead creatures, he laid until nearly fainting. He needed water-the loss of blood was too much.

After allowing himself a few moments rest, he went back for his flashlight and pistol. Nothing else was of any use in the duffle bag, and its weight would only slow him down. It was now a race against time, before he lost his energy and fainted. Then the creatures would devour him.

Logan stumbled off the train car and began running as fast as he could down the tunnel. Several occasions, he tripped, and picking himself up was harder each time.

Finally, sunlight poured from somewhere. At this point, Logan was barely walking-though he was determined not to lose, when he was this close to safety. The source was a stairwell, which he climbed, though not without a great deal of pain and effort.

Once reaching the surface, he found a city not unlike Toronto-battered structures, broken concrete and steel all over the place. The sun beat down on him again-he felt nearly defeated. He raised his head to the sky, ready to curse a God that he didn’t believe in for his plight, when he heard a chorus of singing. As it became closer, he recognized the tune as Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival being butchered. But there were voices-human voices fucking it up. Logan called out to them.

A band of workers approached, climbing over the debris. They wore hardhats and seemed to be collecting steel. Two carried shotguns with shell bandoliers.

“Wa..Water..do you have any?” Logan muttered.

“Holy Shit, woulda’ look at what the dregs did to this poor bastard?” one of the steel collectors exclaimed.

While the others stood, staring at Logan in amazement, one hopped down and handed him a full canteen, which was taken and emptied immediately. The foreman signaled his workers to provide more, which was also taken and drunk by the wounded man. After his thirst was satisfied, strength began returning immediately.

“Hey fella, you need some bandages?” the foreman asked Logan.

Logan wiped the sweat from his head. “No. Thank you, it looks worse than it is.” He did not want to arouse their suspicions about his status as a mutant, not knowing if they were still feared by people. “Where is this exactly?” Logan asked, admiring the destruction around him.

The workers looked at one another oddly, before one responded, “you’re in the north end of Detroit City. The hazard area. Were you part of a collector crew that got ambushed?

Logan figured that this might provide the best story. “Yeah, those creatures..”

“Dregs”, a worker interrupted, correcting him.

“Well, those dregs tore everyone else to pieces. I was lucky to get away.”

“You bet yer ass ya were!” the foreman shouted. “C’mon home with us. We’re just finishing up for the day. You can report in once you get back, fella.”

Logan nodded, and joined the party, making sure to keep his pistol concealed. The conversation focused on recent dreg attacks, and several questions were directed at

Logan, who simply pretended to be too shaken to want to respond. Most seemed to respect that.

They returned before dusk and Logan broke away, reasoning that he needed to report to his employer. The crew wished him luck before walking away, carrying the stash of steel. This part of the city was drastically different. Not quite clean, but secure. Occasionally, someone, probably a policeman or woman, walked by with a shotgun. He figured that this was probably the closest thing to civilization that he was going to get. Stores lined the streets, yet he possessed no currency, if they used it. For all he knew, they only bartered here. Either way Logan knew that he was shit out of luck.

Food was the priority now. Its aroma seemed to come from a nearby cathedral. Outside, a sign read:

Free food to the homeless, by the grace of our Lord.

Not giving a good godamn where it came from, as long as it was free.

He entered the cathedral, and noticed a few people sitting in the pews before the alter. More, however, were in a line towards the cafeteria. Logan waited for fifteen minutes before being served, and quickly retreated to the table before digging in. It was a casserole of some kind, not terrible, but very satisfying. Logan didn’t bother looking up when another man sat next to him, wearing a black robe.

“Hello, how’re you doing?” he asked Logan, who merely grunted in response.

“It appears that you’ve been in some trouble,” said the black robed man, referring to Logan’s torn clothing.

“With all due respect, bub, I really ain’t in the mood. I’m sure there are plenty of other souls here that need to be saved a lot more than mine, Father,” Logan growled.

The man chuckled. “Actually, I’m not a priest, I just work here.”

Logan then turned and faced the man after slamming his fork down. His first inclination was to verbally lash out him for not getting the clue, but he resisted. Nodding, he returned to his food.

“My name is Kurt Wagner. And yours?”

“Logan”, he responded between mouthfuls.

“Look Logan, I know that you’re probably not the kind that takes charity, but how would you like a new set of clothing and a place to stay for the night. I promise, nobody will preach to you,” he added, chuckling. “Its only that I know what its like to be in your place, and how much I needed someone to help me, no matter how badly I wanted to be left alone.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he finally agreed. Though generally suspicious of churches, it seemed like the best choice for the moment. Despite everything else, he genuinely liked Kurt, and more importantly, trusted him slightly.

After eating, Kurt Wagner directed Logan to a cot in the basement and a public shower, and assured him that he would be around if he was needed. Logan nodded without a hint of gratitude, and headed for the shower. After showering, he found his cot and made himself comfortable. Several people around still stirred and the lights remained on, but it didn’t bother him in the least. The next day, he would head into the city to see about resupplying, and maybe to find some transportation. Despite the hell he’d been through the last three days, he admitted that he was comforted when he found other people still alive. The desert had prepared him for the worst, though he wasn’t sure if the ruined cities were any better. For the moment, he felt a bit closer to California, and that was all that mattered. Tomorrow, he would also pump that guy Wagner for information to get a grasp on the hell was going on around here, and what the hell happened over the past few years. He was pretty sure that Wagner wouldn’t mind entertaining questions, because Logan recognized that the non-priest felt some sort of kinship with him. The last thoughts Logan had before drifting asleep were If only he knew what different they were…