Chapter 2 (rough draft)

Mark wakes up in a strange sort of place.

 

                The sound of distant thunder pulled Mark from the void, and as he opened his eyes, he was met with a vast gray expanse above him. For a moment, he believed he was drowning, for waves of water crashed down upon him, but as he righted himself to his hands and knees, he realized that he was in the middle of a grassy field, beneath a torrential downpour. He attempted to stand, but was thrown back suddenly as a gust of wind nearly picked him off the ground. A blinding flash of light struck the earth nearby, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap. Flames flickered for a moment, but were promptly doused, sending a trail of black smoke into the sky. Mark covered his ears, hunched over on all fours like a hedgehog. 

            Feeling dizzy, Mark slipped and fell to one side. He tried to get up, but was thrown down again, sliding uncontrollably down a rushing stream of water that sent him down into a wooded valley that swallowed him up. He hurtled down into the blackness, stones and twigs biting through his clothes and striping his back as he was thrown over small bumps and slammed into sharp turns. As he leveled out, without warning, he found himself skipping across the surface of a large pool, before his feet sunk deep enough to flip him forward face first and plunge him beneath the murky surface.

            Mark thrashed violently until he reached the surface, but the darkness around him was so complete that it was impossible to tell where he was. He knew he wasn’t a strong swimmer, so he quickly decided on a direction, and began to butterfly stroke his way to what he hoped would be solid ground. Before long, he realized that the water was almost shallow enough to stand in, so he continually dropped beneath the surface to test the depth. Once he could stand, he struggled through the slick underwater growth until finally, he reached the edge and dragged himself as far up hill as he could before sitting up to catch his breath.

 

            He could feel and hear his heart pounding in his aching chest. His legs and his back stung from what were likely dozens of scratches, cuts, and bruises from his wild descent. But the pain in his neck was the most persistent. Like a steady pulse, it sawed at his nerves as though poison were being pumped into his throat. 

            Mark turned and continued to climb through the underbrush until another bolt of lightning cut through the night sky and illuminated his exit. He scrambled towards it with renewed vigor, ignoring the jagged brambles and stones that cut into his palms until he emerged at the bottom of a hill, at the top of which was an enormous windmill constructed of stone and steel. It dominated the landscape around it, towering perhaps a hundred feet with four great metal arms that swung recklessly in the savage wind, bending and creaking as though they might break with each turn. Upon the jagged peak, a strange conglomeration of steel rods stabbed at the sky. At the bottom of the tower several small figures scurried back and forth, frantically boarding up the windows from the outside.

            As Mark started up the hill towards them a loud buzzing sound seemed to rush over his head and a dark shape flew towards the windmill. The figures immediately dropped their tools and began funneling towards a wide set of doors built into the ground near the base of the structure, their shouts and screams muffled by the fury of the storm.

            Realizing that he would be locked out if he didn’t move immediately, Mark started up the hill at a reckless pace, slipping in places to scramble on all fours till the entrance was in plain sight. Without thinking, he made a break for it, just as something large and black came down out of the sky like a meteor. Mark reeled back as six sets of tri-jointed legs snapped out from underneath the mass and all at once the creature unfolded itself. Giant plates along its broad round back stood up on end and the creature rattled forward, screeching as it lunged for the entrance.

            Gunshots rang through the air from the direction of the doors and with a sickening hiss, the creature slumped to one side. From behind it, three armored figures peered out at Mark, aiming what looked like hand held cannons. One of them motioned for him to move.

            “You mad? Get yourself inside before the lurchers come!”

            Mark gaped at the giant insect.

            “Where am I?” He shouted.

            “Get inside!” One of the armored men rushed forward and snatched his hand, half dragging him back to the entrance.

            Mark went numb as they plunged down a wide set of stone stairs into some sort of massive underground armory. Inside, men and women were loading up guns and strapping on armor, while others rushed in and out of corridors leading in all directions with boxes and bundles.

            “They’re digging into shell two! Get some soldiers down there, now!” A tall uniformed man barked.

            Three soldiers hobbled in that direction, still struggling to fasten their armor in place, while simultaneously loading their weapons. The one who had dragged Mark inside let go of his hand and rushed back up the stairs with several others and just like that, Mark found himself standing in the middle of a war zone. He looked around frantically, praying someone could tell him what was happening when he met the gaze of the man in uniform. The man stared at him from across the chaos and suddenly started forward.

            “Who the Hell is this?” He demanded just as an explosion of dirt engulfed him from one of the side passages.

            Even before the dirt settled, huge white centipedes the size of house cats began to slink out in disordered rows. Two armored soldiers stumbled out of the passage, the trailing man turning to fire wildly into the shattered doorway before a swift pair of massive pincers latched onto his shoulders and yanked him back inside. His scream was cut short, then a monstrous crab-like creature squeezed itself into the main room. Ten sets of red eyes searched in every direction, before every one of them locked on Mark. Dozens of hooked mandibles, dripping with venom, clacked and snapped as ten murderous legs began to drag the creature towards him. Unfortunately, the creatures legs were too long for it to stand up in the room and so it was barely able to move ten feet before the entire room erupted with gun fire and every one of it’s eyes burst in rapid gouts of yellow ooze until it dropped lifelessly to the floor, a smoking pit in the center of it’s face.

            Mark’s eyes darted around the room until he noticed the soldiers at the ammunition tables along the walls gathering up boxes and heading up another set of narrow stairs. He started towards the stairs, dodging centipedes, when he noticed a black gloved hand clawing it’s way out from the pile of dirt and rubble. Another soldier in much thicker armor than the others stopped at the base of the stairs, aiming a long spouted weapon connected to a tank of dark fluid strapped to either hip. With a sharp hiss, a small flame sparked to life at the end, and then a river of fire poured out over the giant centipedes. 

            Mark looked back to the hand in the dirt, then to the soldier, who saw him at the same time.

            “I’ll keep them off ya! Just get the Captain!” He shouted.

            Mark dashed for the pile, flames pouring out to either side as the soldier doused the room around him. He dropped to his knees, tearing at the dirt with his bare hands until he could see the Captain’s face. Just then, a glint of black flashed in the corner of his eye, and Mark nearly fell over as a larger insect crawled over his leg. He jumped to his feet, but it clung to his clothes , snipping at his shirt. Gasping and sputtering, Mark thrashed at it until he finally grabbed hold of one of it’s long front legs and pried it off of him. To his surprise, it flipped over, legs curling up until it was still. Quickly, Mark reached down and began to drag the Captain from the rubble. He was nearly out when the soldier at the door ran out of fuel and began firing a large pistol.

            “Hurry up!” He shouted, blasting away a green shelled beetle as it raced along the wall.

            Mark continued to dig the man out, when another explosion rocked the foundations of the building as another monstrous crab creature burst through the far wall. With a piercing screech it lurched forward towards Mark. The soldier saw this, immediately firing on the creature, taking out several of it’s eyes before it turned and shot out one of it’s clawed arms, snatching him up and dragging him towards it. 

            Mark looked around frantically until he spotted one of the large cannons the soldiers outside had been using. He rushed over and snatched it, immediately returning to the side of the half buried captain to fend off the encroaching centipedes while simultaneously taking aim as the giant crab as it struggled to pull apart the thick armor protecting the soldier. 

            Please don’t let me miss…he thought as he squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked back so hard that the force knocked Mark back on top of several centipedes that had snuck up behind him. The massive shell shot straight into the mouth of the crab creature, which immediately dropped the soldier, who in turn, rolled away, firing as soon as he regained his footing. With the last of his ammunition, he blinded the creature, then turning his attention to Mark, who continued to struggle as he kicked and thrashed at the insects around the pile.

            “Don’t mind the rotters, just pull!” the soldier shouted as he took hold of the other hand.

            The two of them heaved and with some effort, finally freed the Captain from the rubble, dragging him as quickly as they could to the door and shutting it fast behind them as another shock went through the stone floor. The stairway was dark, but Mark managed alongside the soldier to get the Captain to the top where several others swooped in and rushed him down the corridor. Mark collapsed against the wall. He’d never dreamed like this…never. It felt so real. The pain all over his body, the jackhammer pounding in his heart, the terrifying images, even the people seemed real. 

            But it was dark now. Mark knew that soon the images would be gone and he would open his eyes to find himself back in his room, or perhaps in a hospital with worried faces looking down on him. The soldier touched a circular glass panel on the right shoulder plate of his armor, giving off a pale blue light.

            “You probably saved my life back there, kid. Not to mention the Captain’s. What do I call you?” He asked offering his hand.

            For the first time, Mark got a good look at him as he lifted the heavy glass visor of his globe-like helmet. His eyes were strikingly wide, and dark brown like Mark’s. He had a broad white smile, and skin the shade of mahogany. 

            “I’m Mark.” He replied.

            “My name’s Eli Jones, but everybody just calls me Jones. So how’d you get out here, Mark?” He asked, helping him to his feet.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well, we’d better head to the medical bay. This ain’t over yet.”

            “What’s going on?” Mark asked as they started down the hall.

            “Storms always tend to stir up the bugs a bit. Usually it’s not this bad. Those hard-shelled soldier crabs must’ve been digging their hive underneath the foundation. They’re coming in through the lower levels I think.”

            “Soldier crabs? Where exactly am I?”

            “No time for that now.” Jones opened the door at the end of the hall and pushed Mark inside.

            “Wait—

            “This boy saved the Captain.” Jones shouted inside, “Check him out to make sure he’s okay. He looks pretty hacked up.”

 

            Once again, Mark was left alone in a room of strangers. The room was sparsely adorned with rickety wooden chairs and a few beds upon which lay several wounded men. There were no windows, and the only light came from a number of lights attached to the armor the soldiers wore. Another man, wearing a similar dress uniform to the one the Captain had been wearing, stood over one of the beds, wrapping a wounded soldier’s forehead. He was young, but when he looked over at Mark, his eyes seemed ancient.

            There were only two others in the room aside from those lying on the beds. One was a young woman, the other a young man. The young woman had the top half of her armor off, covered only by the bandages wrapped around her chest and right shoulder. The young man wore his armor, but had a bandage wrapped around his forehead and continually tipped forward and back in his seat, trying to steady himself with the butt of his rifle.           

The one that Mark took to be a doctor of some sort came over to him then. His uniform was a dull gray with neatly stitched seams and silver buttons. Like the suits of armor, it also bore a glass light panel on the right breast pocket.

“Who are you?” The man asked in a gentle voice.

Mark stared up at him, amazed at the sheer height of the man, who dwarfed everyone in the room by almost a foot. His head was almost touching the ceiling where he stood. 

“I’m, Mark.”

“Hold on, never mind that for a moment, lets take a look at you. Hmmm…”

The doctor turned Mark around to look at the scrapes and cuts along his arms legs and back, then stopped when he noticed the bite marks on his neck. 

“How long ago did this happen? Does it still hurt?” He asked.

Amazed, Mark realized that in the excitement he’d nearly forgotten the pain in his neck which now came rushing back to him in waves. He fell back against the door, but the doctor caught him and brought him over to a chair where he took off his shirt and began dressing his wounds.

“Where’d Eli go?” Mark asked.

“Jones? He and the others are trying to secure topside. Now that everyone’s regrouped they shouldn’t have too much trouble. This caught us all by surprise.”

“What did?”

“The storm. I mean we’re used to having weather like this in the Thunder Plains, but the quake is probably what stirred up the crabs. We don’t usually deal with those. It takes a lot of persuasion to bring them down.”

Mark remembered feeling off balance. It must have been an aftershock. He was certain that he’d know if he was right in the middle of an earthquake. 

“Is it over?” he asked.

“I hope so. I can do patch work on our boys and girls here, but the Captain needs to get to a real hospital. I’m afraid one of his lungs was punctured. What exactly happened down there?”

“I have no idea.” Mark said, “One minute, I’m in my room with Tala, and the next I wake up in a field, almost drown on some crazy waterslide of death, and then come out to see you guys getting attacked by giant bugs. I’m really out of my depth here. I must be dreaming.”

“Well, if it helps put your feet on the ground, my name is Nicolas Rojas. Where did you say you were?”

“In my room.”

“But where is your room? Where do you come from?”

“Riddleton, Wisconsin.”

“Hmmm…never heard of the place. Is it up North?”

“That depends on where we—”

Mark looked away, tears suddenly flooding his eyes.

“What is it?”

Mark covered his face. Everything began to rush in at once. The visions of Hell, the way Tala had bitten him, it began to make sense. I died, he thought.  This is Hell, or Purgatory. It has to be.

“Here, take this for the pain. It must be excruciating.” Nicolas handed him a black stick of what looked like some sort of weed, “Chew on it for a while. It helps.”

Mark took it without looking up, his breath coming in short gasps. He didn’t know why he was crying. He didn’t want to cry, but at the same time, there was nothing else to do. If he was right, and he had somehow been killed, then it was over. Everything was over. 

 

Just then the door burst open and Eli came through with two men in ponchos. 

“We have the trains ready to go, but we can’t hold the yard for much longer. We’ve got to load up our wounded and get out of here before the whole place comes down.”

Even as he spoke the building shook again, but Mark doubted it was one of the great crabs this time. The entire room seemed to sway with the force of it, and it continued even as they stumbled to the tables and lifted the wounded onto stretchers. 

 

“The arms are spinning too fast!” Jones shouted from the top of the stairs, “It’s gonna rock right off the foundation!”

“Is the train clear?” The doctor shouted.

“It’s clear, just get the wounded in the rear car and we’ll catch up with you.” Jones replied before unleashing a thunderous rattling of gunfire.

 

Using one of the side doors in the hallway, they came to another narrow set of stairs which down to a wide set of double doors. While Mark, and the rest of those carrying the stretchers waited at the base of the stairs, three of the armed soldiers went ahead into the black abyss beyond the doors. 

There was no way to tell how large the space was, but from the sound of their echoing footsteps Mark could guess that it was much larger and much taller inside than the armory. After a few minutes of relative silence, a loud hiss came from somewhere inside, and all at once dozens of blue lights came on in the distance. 

The lights started perhaps twenty yards away but continued back in a string that looked to be at least sixty feet long. The hiss then became a low grumbling as an enormous engine came to life. As the engine warmed up, the lights intensified, until Mark could see the entire machine.

 

True to its name, the vehicle was composed of four large cars, linked together by hitches and walkways. However, rather than a track, this train traveled on massive tires with treads that looked more like the teeth of a meat grinder. The five-foot hubcaps were shaped like roman shields.

The front car looked almost like a modern locomotive, the windows sitting very high near the top behind the engine, yet the bottom had the hull like appearance of a ship where the axles connected to the frame. Four tall steel plates surrounded the front of the engine providing protection, as well as a means to plow through obstacles as round saws were tucked in between each section. The cars behind the engine were covered in curved sections of steel like armadillo plates with small spaces left open for windows and gun ports. Each car, including the engine, had a gun turret at the top, with a long barreled rifle set in front and four foot steel spikes shooting out in a blossom around the gunner’s seat. 

Ramps folded out from each car, the largest ramp falling from the back of the rear car where they were directed to take the wounded. Globes suspended from retractable pipes and arms flickered as Mark entered the rear car and gunshots rang inside the massive room.

“Get ready to move! Close up the hatches! Gunners get on those persuaders, now!” Jones barked as he and a squad of soldiers emerged from a set of doors near the other end where rain began to pour in as chains drew the great doors open.

Insects began filtering in immediately. Some were flying, others crawling, and a few bizarre creatures even rolling in like stray tires. Jones and his men blasted through them, charging aboard the train as it slowly started backing towards the ramp that led up and out of the underground base. 

 

Inside, poncho clad workers buckled into seats along the walls and wounded were strapped to the center of the floor. Soldiers jammed their rifles through gun ports and windows, firing wildly outside at horrors that Mark could hear scraping and bouncing off the outside of the train. 

With a jerk, they turned around, and began moving forward, bumping and rattling as the powerful vehicle rolled over giant beetles, spiders, and centipedes. Massive wasps impaled themselves upon the spikes of the gun turrets, to be blasted off by the deafening discharge of persuaders. 

Mark took a seat next to the doctor, strapping himself in and staring at the tubes of light that ran along the ceiling. Mark turned around nervously, peeking through a narrow metal slot directly behind him. A bolt of lightning struck the ground just as the rear car cleared the doors and Mark felt his heart skip a beat when he saw what awaited them outside.

A loud buzzing sound surrounded them, so thick that it almost felt like the vehicle itself was vibrating with the force of it. Centipedes, giant ants, spiders, and monstrous ten legged crabs blanketed the hill surrounding the windmill, which was shaking fiercely not because of the force of the wind but due to the flying insects that continually blundered into it’s arms to be smashed to pieces in a shower of dark fluid. The sky was dotted with gigantic locusts, which even as he stared out came rushing down at the train, banging off its roof and sides. The gunner, whose sling seat hung near the back of the car ducked down, cursing.

            “My cap is jammed! Someone help me!” He shouted, swatting as a humming creature that looked like a mix between a mosquito and a hedgehog.

            Doctor Rojas immediately got up, whipping out his pistol, which reported sharply, bursting the insect like a water balloon. Together, he and the gunner climbed up to either side of the hanging seat that had stirrups to either side like a horse saddle. With some effort, they wrenched the turret cap free, and closed the dome of glass over the top just as another group of buzzing pincushions clattered against the outside. Without hesitation, the gunner swung himself back into the sling and spun around, shaking violently as his persuader rattled off a hundred cold steel darts into the mass of writhing mandibles and legs behind them.

            The train crushed into the creatures like a bulldozer. A crab immediately in front of them was flipped onto its back, sliding over ants and centipedes that went under the tires, crunching like leaves and twigs underneath. To either side, the gunners wreaked havoc, the cracks of their long barreled persuaders quickly drowning out the buzzing of the locust’s overhead as thousands of darts ripped into their hard exoskeletons.

           

Mark closed his eyes, shaking his head from side to side. This isn’t real. It’s just a dream. This isn’t real. It’s just a dream. He repeated over and over in his mind. He covered his ears, trying to blot everything out. Doctor Rojas put an arm on his shoulder.

“You’re alright, Mark?” he asked.

Mark continued shaking his head.

“Mark.”

Mark opened his eyes again. It wasn’t a dream. He knew it for certain now. The pain in his neck was overwhelming. It felt like it was swelling up. He scratched lightly around the edges where the good doctor had placed a neat circular bandage. This was real, but if it was Hell, or Purgatory, then the folks back home were pretty far off their guess. Of course deep down, Mark didn’t really believe any of that either. He was somewhere else, in a place where people had never heard of Riddleton Wisconsin, or even the United States of America. Mark had never even considered the idea of alternate dimensions or life on other planets, but his mind was in the process of being pried open like a rib cage before open-heart surgery. And here comes the arterial gush.

“Mark.”

“She bit me. My neck hurts a lot.”

“Who bit you?”

“I don’t know if I remember her name. It was all so—“

 

The train shook as it crashed through a small stand of trees. Dr. Rojas was nearly shaken off his feet, but he steadied himself with both hands against the ceiling. He glared towards the front of the vehicle, then marched to the connecting door and snatched a funnel-like device connected to a long rubber tube. He spoke harshly enough to be heard from the back.

“Cornwell! We have wounded men and women back here, including our commanding officer! It is not necessary to further test the durability of this machine!”

“Sorry doc. There was a lurcher on my front and I had to pick it off.” A faint echo replied from the tube.

Dr. Rojas nodded, “Alright, just do try to be more careful.”

“No problem doc. We should be clear of em now. So where are we heading?”

“Bisdun.” The doctor replied, “We need to get our wounded to the hospital there. Then we can send up our report, re supply, and once the Captain is up and going, we can head back to Nordik.”

“Any losses doc?”

“No, just a few wounded, but we have to hurry. Bisdun is north East. Is the navi up there?”

“Yea, we’ve got it doc. It’ll be a few hours. Just hold tight.”

 

The journey was bumpy to say the least. As far as Mark could tell, there were no roads or anything beyond a beaten path through the expanse of thick forests and plains of impenetrably tall grass that stood between them and Bisdun. The bench seats were as hard as stone, but due to the pain from his other injuries, Mark hardly noticed. Not to mention his mind being busy thinking about how he was going to get home, or even find home. 

Occasionally he would see something large peering out from the darkness through his tiny window slat, but it seemed that the swarm of insects had not been agitated enough to put on a pursuit. The world outside the armored train frightened Mark. He couldn’t imagine what else crawled beneath the seemingly placid surface of the plains, or in the depths of the forests. We’re at the edge of the map boy, here there be monsters, he thought.

 

Bisdun was a smaller settlement, surrounded on all sides by great palisade walls, and covered by thick cable netting that stretched from building to building to keep out all but the smallest of insects. After a brief stop at the gates, the train continued through into the narrow muddy streets until it turned into a long shed that was open on all sides. 

The soldiers and workers moved the wounded carefully down the ramp as everyone exited the train, and took them to a long carriage that had been waiting near the edge of the road. Strangely, the carriage had no horse, but rather a system of tanks and hoses affixed to the back beneath an exterior cab where a driver sat. 

While no one had yet seemed to notice him for the moment, Mark took in his surroundings. The town was much larger it seemed, on the inside. Half-timbered buildings were crowded together and stacked six high in some places where thick steel rods supported the netting high above. Between the buildings, porches extended into walkways that led from one place to another, crisscrossing over the road. The netting astonished Mark. Looking around, he could see no end to it. He couldn’t imagine the equipment and process that had been used to hang such a mass over an entire town.

Just as Mark decided he would look for something useful he could do, Doctor Rojas approached him.

“Mark, I’d like you to come to the hospital with the rest of the wounded. I have a friend that I think can help with your neck injury. Will you come?”

“Can your friend help me get home?” Mark asked.

“After we make sure you’re well, then we can talk about getting you home. Besides, when he wakes up I think the Captain will want to meet the young man who saved his life.”

 

With a hiss, the carriage started down the road. The ride was much smoother than going cross-country inside the train. Mark tried to force himself to relax, but found it impossible. A voice inside his head kept screaming at him, this is wrong, this is wrong, you don’t belong here!  But the voice grew quiet once again at they exited the carriage and entered the hospital.

Surprisingly enough, the hospital in Bisdun was similar to the one Mark remembered in Riddeton. Not in size or shape of course, but the white walled interior and polished tiles gave it the same sterile appearance inside. The waiting room was full to the brim as they entered. As they passed the first few rows of seats, Mark paled at the sight of several old women who had developed a sort of moss-like growth on their hands and faced. 

As they approached the front desk, he began to realize all of the people in the waiting room seemed to have some sort of plant growth literally coming out of their skin. A boy sat weeping in his mother’s lap as he tried to scratch at a yellow flower that had sprouted from his neck and she continually restrained him with a gnarled, moss covered hand. An old man in tattered clothes lay on the floor near the back corner by the glass windows, perfectly still, a veritable bush sprouting from the rips and tears in his clothing. Mark couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t want to.

The most dominating figure in the room, however, was the giant. Mark had heard of gigantism of course, but giants of that sort always seemed frail and off balance. Not only did this man almost touch the ceiling sitting down on the small couch against the wall, but the width of his shoulders made him twice as broad as Eli. He wore thick fur lined boots, and pants kept up by a heavy leather belt around his simple tunic. Around the belt were tied various knives, darts, animal tails, and even a human skull with two sets of razor sharp fangs. He had a heavy spotted pelt thrown over his massive shoulders and a familiar crab like claw stuck out from his enormous stuffed pack. His wide chin was cleanly shaven, but his hair was kept long and looked rather like a pelt itself. He stared across the room with squinted brown eyes gripping a bearded axe wide enough to decapitate an elephant.

“We’ve got some wounded soldiers here.” Doctor Rojas reported uneasily, “I didn’t realize there was an epidemic. What exactly is going on here?”

The nurse at the front, a fat middle-aged woman with beady eyes and a less than sunny disposition pointed across the room to the giant.

“Ask him. He’s the town hunter. He’s the one that seen it.”

The doctor looked back to the giant, who met his gaze evenly.

“Isn’t there someone else we could ask?” Mark asked her.

“Let’s go.” Rojas pulled Mark along with him.

 

As they approached him, the rest of the soldiers continued with the nurse, explaining their situation. The giant seemed to relax, allowing his axe to rest on one shoulder.

“Forgive me if I don’t get up.” He said, “They don’t actually get me in here often enough to raise the ceiling.”

He extended a hand and the doctor took it gratefully.

“Name’s Clark, but most folks around here just call me Hunter. I’m guessing you’d like to know how everyone here got infected?”

“If you don’t mind.” Rojas replied.

“Well, you know we just got the vaccine in this town not but a few months ago. It hasn’t all gotten around just yet. But it weren’t bad until the weeds came up again.”

“Weeds?” Mark asked.

“Corpseweed. He from around here?” He asked.

“He’s from up north, I think.”

“Oh, well that would explain it. Well son, corpseweed is a sort of carrion plant, you see? It grows in dead tissue. Problem is lately the stuff has been releasing spores that grow can infect live tissue, as you can plainly see around you. Now usually they don’t need me to burn the patches down as they come up. That’s what the graveyard keeper does. But this time the stuff came up kinda fast, and so they ask me to go down and take a look. Here’s what I get for my trouble.”

Clark rolled up one of his torn shirtsleeves to reveal a row of nasty lacerations, every one filled with a blood soaked moss,

“What happened?” Mark asked.

“Stuff lashed out at me. Never seen anything like it. Plants usually move pretty slow and they never leave the graveyard, but this patch of weeds seem to have a mind of their own. If it weren’t for Chopper here, I’d probably be nothing but a nasty looking bush right now.”

“Has the militia had any luck?” Rojas asked.

“Militia doesn’t have the gear to get in there. They need heavy armor, and burners. Local militia doesn’t get that sort of gear.”

“Are you making a proposition?”

Clark shifted uncomfortably in his couch, glancing as Mark for a moment with a bit of uncertainty.

“Look, obviously, I can’t handle the problem by myself. But I saw your crew roll in here in that train. Judging by how it’s been outfitted, I’d venture to guess you have weed killer equipment, among other things.” He raised an eyebrow, “Now I don’t know if you’re Nordik militia, or TG’s but I do know that with this whole epidemic going on, it’s going to be some time before you can get your wounded seen to.”

“So what’s your solution?”

“You gear up some of your men, and burn that hellish bramble down at the graveyard. Shouldn’t be any danger if you have the armor.”

“How does that help our wounded men?”

“If you do this, everyone in town’s gonna know about it. I can make sure of that. And I think you’ll find that heroes get tended a bit better than normal folk. Look, the sooner you get this done, the sooner you and your men will be tossing back complimentary drinks at the pub.”

Doctor Rojas looked down at Mark, as though gauging his approval. Mark didn’t know what to think. He didn’t even know if the good doctor had the authority to make such a decision without the Captain. 

“Very well then. It will be done. Mark, I need you to relay a message to sergeant Jones.” He said, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, “Let him know that we are to immediately eradicate any and all presence of carrion vine. He’s to start with the graveyard.”

“Wait, you’re sending me? You don’t even know me!” Mark said.

“Unfortunately, my assistants and I need to remain here to continue tending to our wounded until they can be admitted into the hospital. You understand, Mark. You’re the only one who’s free to do this, and it needs to be done. Go back out and tell the cart to take you back to the train. Jones and the rest of the platoon should be out and about resupplying. I’d expect Jones himself to be with the train.”

“But—

“The sooner we can get this done, the sooner my friend can see to your injury. If I’m right in my own assessment, it could get worse.”

He handed Mark the note and gently turned him towards the door.

“Make haste. We’re all depending on you.”

 

Despite his misgivings, Mark sprinted through the doors without further hesitation. The cart and driver were still waiting outside, and upon hearing what Mark needed to do, the driver snapped to attention and jumped up into his seat, beckoning Mark to get inside. 

The ride back to the shed was not as smooth as the ride to the hospital, but Mark was grateful for the driver’s speed. Upon his arrival, two soldiers rushed towards the cart, only to stop in disappointment as they saw Mark step out. 

“Who are you? Any news about the Captain?” The first soldier asked.

“The hospital’s too busy to take him right away. Where’s sergeant Jones?”

“He’s loading ammunition with Cornwell and Perch.”

“Thanks.” Mark headed towards the small assembly line loading boxes into the second car. 

At the rear, lifting boxes from the back of a flat cart was a scrawny looking soldier with short curly black hair and a still developing mustache. He stopped as he saw Mark approach.

“Uh, who are you?” He asked.

“I’m Mark. I need to give a message to Sergeant Jones.”

“Jones is busy. I’ll take the message though.”

“He sort of needs to see it now.” Mark replied.

The soldier thought a moment, “Well I guess if it’s bad news, it’d better come from you than me. They’ve been chafing me all day about my driving anyways. I’m Cornwell by the way. But everyone just calls me Corn, because of my hair.”

Mark shook his hand briskly as the soldier he assumed to be Perch came out for the next box.

“What’s going on, Corn? Quit lazing about and help me load this crap, okay?”

“Hold on, Perch, this kid says he’s got a message for Jones.”

“Well tell him that Jones has work to do. Jones happens to be loading boxes of ammunition that Jones will likely use to save your a*s again. And Jones doesn’t need another leech in his—“

“Perch, Jones is standing right behind you.” Cornwell grinned.

“Say my name a few more times and I might just pop out of thin air.”

“Sergeant, this is the kid who we—“

“This is Mark.” Cornwell interjected.

“This is the boy who helped save the Captain’s life. What do you got for me, Mark?” Jones asked.

“It’s from Doctor Rojas. He says you guys need to kill something called Corpse vine or something.”

Jones was quiet for a moment while he read the note. Then he nodded to Perch and Cornwell, who took it as a cue to bolt off in separate directions.

“Come on back here Mark, would you?”

They stepped up into the car and Jones gestured to the far wall, which was covered with rifles, pistols, cannons, and bladed weapons of varying types.

“I’ve got a job for you.”

 

            It was nightfall before all of those who weren’t injured could be rounded up and prepared for the task at hand. Not surprisingly, most of the time was spent taking extra precautions to ensure no one would be accidentally infected. The heavy suits, which Mark had not seen the previous day, took almost an hour to put on and were so ungainly that they reminded Mark of the scuba suits used by deep sea divers. 

            The helmets were probably what gave him the idea, for the bodies of the armored suits were more akin to a bulkier mechanized version of 15^th century plate. Like the uniforms and other armored suits, they bore lights affixed to the shoulders, chest, and one at either side of the head, giving them a rather insect-like appearance ironically.

            Much time was spent sealing around the joints, especially where the helmet met the chest piece. Meanwhile, Mark had been tasked with cleaning up the inside of the train, which involved more sweeping than anything else. It seemed that the courtesy of wiping one’s feet, didn’t extend to the affairs of soldiers. He supposed more than anything, he’d been given the task so that Jones and the others could keep an eye on him. He worked alongside Perch and Cornwell as they finished stacking boxes of ammunition, and was promptly pushed out and handed a broom when they were finished.

            Once everything was ready, they set out for the cemetery. Among other things, Mark found it odd that they were going at night, but Cornwell reassured him that the carrion vine would be more sluggish without sunlight, it being a plant after all. The streets were quiet as they passed through the business district and into the agricultural district, where patches of pumpkins sat piled high in the fields. Moonlight spilled through the netting overhead in neat squares, lending an eerie shift to their visibility as the train rumbled down the dirt road towards the cemetery. 

            The cemetery itself was built right up against the outer wall with a metal fence surrounding its other three sides.  Even before they could see the tombstones, it was clear that something was wrong. The ground seemed to be moving. As they pulled up alongside the fences everyone got a good look. 

            Mark felt the knot in his stomach tighten. The ground was moving, like a bucketful of earthworms. Except rather than worms, there were masses upon masses of jagged vines, wet and glistening like organs as they twisted and churned in the earth. The tombstones were nearly covered with leaves and huge flowers with blossoms the size of baseball mitts.

            “Alright, burners out on the left. Gunners, keep a sharp eye on any that start to reach over.” Sergeant Jones voice echoed through the metal tube intercom.

           

            Mark had been placed in the rear car once again, and could only watch as the soldiers without heavy armor lifted wide slats in the side of the car and shoved the long barrels of their flamethrowers out into the cold night air. The armored soldiers sat side by side on the right, clutching long sword-like weapons with two serrated blades that were vibrated back to back by a small motor like a hedge trimmer.

            Though he had expected a sort of bark or bang as the burners began to spew flames over the cemetery, the only thing that alerted Mark to the action was a glimmer of warm light from his window slat. As he looked out, the light intensified and was almost too much to look at for a moment. Two burners poked out of each car and every single one was now spouting a broad stream of liquid fire onto the writing mass of carrion plants. 

            They didn’t hiss or scream, though there were a lot of popping sounds as the vines began to burn, but the thing that reached Mark first was the smell. He’d smelled plants burning of course. Growing up on a farm he’d had plenty of opportunities to sit around bonfires throwing grass and brush on the fire, but this didn’t smell like plants burning. The scent was thick. It seemed sweet at first, like roasting pork, but then became nauseating like a fat guy’s armpit. There was something acrid like sheared copper, and horrible gaseous odors that one might only find at the bottom of a sewer. Mark gagged suddenly, turning away and pulling his collar over his nose.

            One of the armored soldiers chuckled.

            “Never seen the stuff, have you?”

            Mark shook his head.

            “That odor’s not just the plants. They pull up the bodies. That’s why everyone hates em so much. If they just ate up bodies we’d probably plant them ourselves, but they always pull em up. You won’t forget that smell, mutt.”

           

            The burning took perhaps an hour. Cornwell drove the train slow in a half circle around the cemetery until the entire place was ablaze. Afterwards, every light globe on the outside of the vehicle was lit and extended for a good look at the surrounding area. After another hour had passed a water cart came down to douse the flames and it was time for the armored soldiers, or Rippers, as they called themselves, to do their piece. 

            Small hisses and puffs sounded as each soldier started his blade and then eight of them waded out in twos to cut away the charred remains. As all of the soldiers left the vehicle to watch, Mark was asked to stay inside for his own safety, which he was more than happy to do, considering the smell had by now completely saturated the air outside the vehicle.

            Smoke rose in great tendrils from the blackened ground as the Rippers made their way through the carnage. Mark felt himself relax a bit, knowing that whatever the strange plants were, they were dead now. For a while, he sat on the bench seat, watching the activity and absently eyeing a large knife one of the soldiers had dropped while getting out of the gun turret sling.

            The back hatch had been shut for safety reasons, but Mark wasn’t surprised when he heard a knocking on the outside. He expected the gunner had just realized his knife was missing, so he went to the door and hit the release. As soon as the door dropped, he heard a gasp as a dark skinned man fell onto the ramp.

            “S**t! Are you okay?” Mark asked as he rushed to help the man up.

            Immediately upon grabbing hold of the man’s dark coat, Mark felt a stabbing pain in his hands and recoiled just as something lashed across his face. He fell back into the car, holding his face while the man seemed to slide the rest of the way up the ramp on his belly. Mark snatched the knife from the floor, regaining his feet and backing against the connecting door to the next car.  

“Someone get in here!” He shouted.

The man slid forward, face down, a jolting motion that implied some invisible force behind him. Then, with a sickening snap, the top half of his body seemed to fold backwards, raising his torso up but leaving his legs flat on the floor. His undershirt was torn and vines spilled out like intestines filled with broken glass. A narrow vine had roped his right arm behind his back and wrapped itself tightly about his throat, which bled as steadily as a garden hose. Dark red streams spilled from the corners of his mouth until he coughed violently and a jet spattered across Mark’s face. Twin roses sprouted from bleeding sockets and the tortured man thing rolled his head, blindly seeking Mark’s voice.

“Someone get in here, now!” Mark screamed.

The head snapped to attention, the roses seeming to open slightly wider than before. The man’s free arm lashed out suddenly with vines trailing and snapping after it like a bullwhip. Mark swung the knife feebly as a thick thorny vine behind the mutilated man heaved up and the entire body was lifted into the air. With a wave-like motion starting from the ramp, the vine rippled forward until the man’s body was hurled down upon Mark, pinning him to the ground.

Terrified, Mark scrambled, flailing and stabbing and slashing blindly. Thorns bit into his face, his chest, his arms and legs. The man’s face pressed against his, coughing blood into his eyes nose and mouth. Mark screamed, snatching hold of the man’s hair and driving the knife into the back of his throat just as a thunderous roar sounded outside.

The coughing stopped. The body went limp, and Mark heaved it to one side, spouting a string of curses between sobs. He threw the knife and banged the floor with his fists as the soldiers rushed to his side, lifting him up to the bench and immediately dragging away the remnants of the cemetery keeper. Cornwell knelt in front of him, trying to look him in the eyes.

“Hey kid, look at me. You’re alright. Okay? You’re alright, man.”

Jones came in briskly, pushing through the soldiers crowded around Mark.

“What the Hell was everyone doing? Get out of the way!”

He pushed Cornwell aside, and stared down at Mark for a moment.

“Get a cart down and take him to the hospital, now. Tell them the weeds are taken care of. And if they hesitate for even a moment tell them I’ll come up there and burn that place to the ground if they don’t tend to our wounded right now.”

 

By the time they got Mark to the hospital, the staff had already sectioned off an entire wing for the care of the soldiers. Mark was rushed through the busy waiting room into a dimly lit hall, lights passing over his head, and shrill voices battling back and forth as he was turned around corners and banged through doors upon a wheeled bed. He didn’t know whether he fell asleep or fell unconscious, but when he next opened his eyes, Mark was in a cool room beneath heavy blankets. 

A long bottle hung overhead with a tube running down to his arm where a needle was affixed to his vein. Mark could feel bandages on his face and neck, and then as he moved, he sensed the same tightness around his chest and lower back. Thankfully, they had given him something for the pain, which was working so well that Mark could barely feel his arms or legs.

“How are you feeling?” Rojas asked from across the room.

Mark turned his head, which he suddenly realized was difficult due to the apparent swelling around his throat. The doctor stood in the door, Sergeant Jones and Cornwell at either side. The two of them stopped at the end of his bed while the doctor took a seat at his bedside table, glancing at a chart.

“Looks like you’re on the mend.” The doctor noted, “You’ll be happy to hear that the rest of our wounded have recovered already, including the Captain.”

“The Captain?” Mark asked.

“He wants to see you, actually. Once you’re up and about again, of course.”

“I told him what you did at the outpost.” Jones said.

“He’s told everyone by now.” Cornwell added, “Sorry, by the way. About what happened at the cemetery. We should have been watching you.”

Jones nodded, hanging his head, “Yes, that’s also my fault. I should never have asked you to come along.”

“No, I wanted to come.” Mark said.

An irresistible itch forced Mark to reach down and scratch at the top of his hand, which he was startled to find had grown thick patches of moss. He gasped, staring down at both arms, which were lined with dark patches of moss.

“What the hell?”

“It’s alright, Mark. You’ve already been inoculated.” Rojas soothed.

“Not long after we got back, a cart arrived from Tir Pobell with the vaccine. Straight from the Rexxen Hospital.” Jones said.

“It looks like everyone’s going to be fine.” Cornwell added, “At least, everyone who’s in the hospital.”

Just then a middle-aged woman in a long white coat appeared in the doorway. Rojas nodded to her and he came in.

“Jones, Cornwell, could we have some time?” Rojas asked.

“We’ll be prepping the train then.” Jones said as he got up to leave.

Cornwell sat staring at the woman for a moment until Jones slapped him on the back of the head and dragged him out behind him.

 

The woman sat at the other side of the bed across from doctor Rojas. She stared down at Mark, holding a small glowing glass ball over his face. She wasn’t beautiful like Tala had been, but she did possess a certain elegance in her angular features and womanly figure that Mark admired despite her age.

“Well, you seem evened out.” She said with a smile, “How does your neck feel?”

“A bit stiff.” Mark replied, trying to turn his head.

“My name is Celia Bronco. I’m a doctor here, and a friend of Nicolas. He’s asked me to lend my opinion on your condition, but first I need to learn a few things from you.”

“Like what?” Mark asked.

The doctors exchanged glances, then Rojas looked down at Mark.

“Could you tell me again how it was you came to be at the outpost last week?”

“Last week?” Mark shot up in bed, “I’ve been asleep for a week?”

“You were badly hurt, Mark. You needed your rest.” Celia said.

“Actually, they didn’t believe you’d be able to fight off the infection.” Rojas added, “It was fairly advanced by the second night.”

“So what did happen, Mark?” Doctor Bronco asked.

Mark sighed, “Well, you probably won’t believe me.” He paused, “Hell…I don’t think I believe me. For all I know I’m probably lying in a coma at some hospital in Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” She asked.

“It’s where I’m from.” Mark replied, “Riddleton, Wisconsin. I live on a dairy farm with my family there. I’m not even done with school yet.”

They remained silent, listening intently. Mark was reminded of the school counselor, watching and writing, and…judging. Still, it didn’t seem there was anything to be gained by being stubborn. He was certain that he couldn’t worsen his situation.

“I’ve been having these visions. Or, maybe you’d call them episodes. For about a month or two. I see things sometimes. Weird things like giant bugs and mutated people who look like bugs and monster plants…but a little while ago I started to see something else.”

Mark stopped again, unsure if he was comfortable talking to strangers about Tala. He still wasn’t sure what she was, or if she really was at all. They might see his imagining a beautiful young woman as somehow perverted, or pathetic. Still, when he looked at them they seemed genuinely concerned, so he went on.

“The girl.” Rojas said, “You called her, Tala.”

“Yea.” Mark whispered.

“And what happened?” Celia asked.

“Every time I saw her, there was this panic attack. I’d see fire all around me, and she’d be in the fire and it looked like she was in trouble, but every time I tried to help her I’d get burned up, until that last time. The last time I got to her, and then…I don’t know.”

“Was it Tala that gave you this.” Celia pointed to his throat.

Mark nodded. Doctor Bronco puzzled for a moment, then shook her head.

“Well I must admit, I’ve never heard of a Riddleton, or Wisconsin. But your wounds are real enough. I’m going to suggest, Nicolas, that once you get him to Nordik, you put in at the Rexxen Hospital there and request to have some tests run on that bite. For now, make sure he gets this once a night.”

She handed the doctor a small box.

“What is that?” Mark asked.

“It’s a serum. One designed to slow the process of mutation caused by…well…a vampire bite?”

“Wait. You think Tala was a vampire? I’m not even sure if she was real! I don’t even know where I am! Where the hell am I?” Mark began to hyperventilate.

“Give him something.” Celia said.

The two of them struggled to Keep Mark in bed, ending when Doctor Rojas finally injected him with something that made him feel instantly exhausted, not that he had been that far from total exhaustion already. Mark sunk slowly back into his pillows as they pulled his blankets back over him. Doctor Bronco turned away, a hand covering her face.

“Are you sure this is the best thing for him?” She asked.

“He has nowhere else to go.” Rojas replied, “What would you have us do with him? He’s a foundling. You know what would happen if we just abandoned him in the city.”

“But what if he gets hurt?”

“At least as a part of the company, we’ll be able to protect him. Until we can find out where he comes from, it’s the only option.”

“Alright, Nicolas.