Chapter 1 - Leap of FaithA Chapter by Stephen Bell
He stands exhausted on the roof of a building leaning over the edge as far as he dare to survey his surroundings whilst clutching the railing with both hands to hold his balance, his thighs and calves are burning from racing up the fourteen flights of stairs and he has just managed to catch his breath. The sun is bursting through a gap in the clouds, a rare occurrence, and the brightness forces him to squint and refocus his eyes; it seems beautiful against this broken urban landscape. He looks down and can see a window cleaner’s trolley hanging by the side of the building about two storeys down, he’s confident he can make the drop or better yet slowly rappel himself down the woven steel cables attached by crane arms from the roof but this city has fallen into disrepair and the cable could snap under his weight or the bolts anchoring it could come loose, best to keep looking. There is another office building to the south, it must be at least a twelve foot gap and the drop is easily another twelve but with the adrenaline coursing through him and a running start he can make it, he’s done it before, the gap wasn’t as big nor the drop as high but the stakes weren’t as high as this either. He’s running out of time now, they’ve reached the door and are throwing themselves against it, the impromptu door bar won’t hold for long. He takes his rucksack off his back and tosses it over the breach like an Olympic Hammer Thrower, it lands in the centre of the roof and bursts open from hitting a metal vent, his flask splits in two and the precious water he so carefully rationed soaks into the gravel and two tins of canned food explode across the ground. Behind him he can hear the door groaning, screaming for him to jump as it tries to hold back his attackers but it can do no more, the door flies open and bodies spill onto the roof falling over one another, almost comically, allowing him a couple of seconds to turn and run.
Sprinting as fast as he possibly can to the edge he uses the railing to vault from the roof and propel himself across to the other building, in the air he brings his knees into his chest in preparation for the landing, he feels the strong sun and gentle breeze working harmoniously and in that moment he can’t help but think that as far as final experiences go on this Earth, this one isn’t bad; his eyes water and his leg of its own accord breaks rank with the rest of his body and pushes itself out ever so slightly as the gravel roof comes up hard under him. Pain surges through his mutinous right foot but regardless it does its job well and is back in unison with his left springing him forward, his arms like roll bars protect his head and he skids forward a couple of feet on his back before coming to a stop. He lays there for a moment seemingly dazed with the sun still beating down upon him; he clutches his ankle with his right hand and with the left sleeve of his worn leather motorcycle jacket wipes sweat from his brow leaving a streak of dirt across his forehead. He raises his head up just enough to see past his knees and lets out an exhausted laugh as his head falls back to the ground. The sun disappears behind a great cloud and the air immediately feels cooler, he opens his eyes and panic floods his body as his arms instinctively come up to block his face he rolls to one side. A body comes slamming down beside him and he feels the spray of warm blood on his face and before he can react the ground beneath him gives way and he falls desperately into the unknown where he lands hard on his back and blacks out.
He awakes with a huge gasp and shock overwhelms him; his lungs frantically claw for air, his head rolls around as the muscles in his neck try to regain control, his ears ring shell-shocked from the clattering of metal and stone around him, his vision is blurred from dirt and tiny pieces of debris, he clenches his fists and cries out in pain until the sudden realisation of what has happened hits him. Parts of the roof are still falling above so he knows he hasn’t been out long, quickly looking around the darkened room he can see a door at the far end illuminated by light coming through a broken window, there are two vending machines and a small kitchen area with a refrigerator and some other small appliances, there are several banks of desks with monitors and hard drives on them and some have privacy dividers protruding from them. The commotion has disturbed a thick layer of dust which previously blanketed the entire open plan office and the huge dark swirls make him cough and wheeze, as he brings his arm up to cover his mouth he suddenly becomes aware of a contorted, shadowy figure twitching beside him.
Startled, he falls backwards off of the bank of desks which broke his fall and topples clumsily over an office chair landing face first on the rubble. He reaches across his chest slowly, grasps the handle of an eight inch blade and draws it from its tough leather sheathe all the while keeping his gaze on the body, he rises to his feet slowly wincing as he does so and steadies himself on a nearby desk as he takes tentative steps towards the grotesque creature. Its entire body continues to twitch violently as he walks around and puts his back up against the window where he pauses for a moment incase it strikes out, the butt of his blade is held to his chest with the serrated blade facing out so that in an instant he can launch his arm forward like a trebuchet and deal a killer blow, with his free arm he wipes clear the window and light bursts through revealing the extent of the disfigurement of this once human creature.
The skin is greyed and mutilated, there are scars and abrasions from head to toe, it’s not wearing any shoes and all of the nails are either broken or missing. Its ankle is clearly broken as are both feet. The clothes it’s wearing are torn and covered in blood, dirt and only God knows what else. A pole pierced the left arm around the bicep but the muscle is still taut as though it’s struggling to move. He crouches down like an investigator at a crime scene to closer examine the damages and can see that its back is arched and the spine twisted, probably why it can’t move, and he relaxes his arm loosening his grip on the knife slightly. These things are social and usually hunt in packs so this is the first time he’s ever been able to inspect one up close, he can’t help but wonder how the hell it made that jump, they’re fast, he knows that from experience but it shouldn’t have had the sense to jump and even though this one did, why didn’t the rest?
Its chest is still heaving as it tries to draw breath and its mouth gapes like a dying fish as its head falls to the side. It’s staring at him now and even under its dulled eyes he feels as though there may be something human left in there, the blank expression on its face and broken jaw make it easy for him to see it as a monster, but its eyes seem to cry out as if in pain.
He remembers being holed up in an old Library three or so years ago, he would have been eighteen at the time, it was completely derelict and the balcony on the East side of the building had collapsed scattering a sea of books across the cold marble floor. He’d spent more time there than anywhere else since being forced to flee from the Haven he shared with others years ago. He was completely fascinated by the books and newspapers and would spend hours imagining what life was like then, a life he’d never known or would know, and how wonderful it would have been. It was however, a comic book that gripped him the most, the cover page was indistinguishable from years of rot as were several of the pages but the centre fold was almost intact. It depicted grey human-like creatures, sluggish in their movements and voracious in their hunger for flesh and they would chase after screaming people shouting “Brains!” It was closer to his life than what he had seen in the newspapers.
He chuckles derisively to himself for a moment before shaking his head and snapping back to reality. He places his left hand under its chin and tilts its head back holding it firmly and brings his blade across its throat hard and fast cutting deep. Within seconds blood pools on the floor and the twitching stops and what life is left in its eyes fades out to become a lighter shade of grey.
© 2020 Stephen BellAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
571 Views
9 Reviews  Shelved in 1 Library
Added on December 10, 2014Last Updated on November 30, 2020 Author
Stephen BellGlasgow, United KingdomAboutHi. I'm 23 years old and my recent employment working nightshift has allowed me an opportunity to try my hand in writing. I am mainly doing this for my own amusement however I am still curious to see .. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked.. |
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing