Blood Land, J.R. Lawson [electric book reader .txt] 📗

PROLOGUE - YEAR: 2014

IT WAS CLOSE to sundown in the middle of winter. A man and his son were going down a busy highway in a two-seated pick up truck. The man was driving, while his son was riding in the passenger’s seat. The man looked ahead of him as he drove. He seemed to be about middle-aged. Small bags under his eyes suggested his tiredness while the slight grey in his hair suggested his elder age. His son was much younger, sixteen to be exact. He had black hair that was a mess on top of his head and his eyes were bright blue, the sun making them even bluer as he stared out the car window. The two of them went silently down the road, at least, until a line of cars stuck in traffic caused them to slow down and eventually stop.

“Oh no,” the man sighed in frustration, “Damn this snow.”

The boy rolled down his passenger side window and stuck his head out to try and see the cause for the traffic jam. There was snow piled high along the sides of the road, continuing on up ahead, but it was unclear if the snow was the cause of the problem or not. The boy shivered as he was starting to get cold, so he brought his head back into the car and rolled up the window.

“Can’t tell what it is,” he said to his father, “Just a jam probably. We should be out of it soon.”

“I’m just worried,” his father responded, still looking straight ahead of him, “It’s already almost dark. If we have to sit in traffic, it may already be late by the time we get to the cabin. It could be dangerous.”

The man’s son looked over at him and sighed. He was quiet for a couple of seconds before then saying, “You want to go back home, huh?”

His dad chuckled, “Not yet. It just depends on how much time we lose.”

The boy nodded, “I just…really wanted to go to the cabin this year. It may be our last year.”

His dad looked at him, “Stop saying that, son, we’ll have plenty of years ahead to go to the cabin.”

“Dad, come on!” the boy laughed, “The epidemic is getting worse and worse every year. You really think we’ll get to go to the cabin again next year?” he then shifted a bit in his seat and rolled his eyes.

"Son, you give up too easy,” his father responded, “Scientists and doctors will figure this thing out soon. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past two years, dad,” the boy said.

“And I’ll keep saying it until it’s over,” the man smiled over at his son. His son looked back at him and peaked out a smile, but then turned away, trying to hide it.

It was then that the traffic up ahead seemed to begin to move again.

“Oh good!” the man said as he began to drive forward. It was quiet in their car for several minutes before he spoke up again, trying to continue conversation, “So…I’ve noticed you’ve been getting real good at working those machines at the carnival.”

The boy laughed and looked over at his dad, “Yeah, it’s no big thing.”

“It is big,” the father said, glancing over at him for a brief moment, “I’ll need you to take it over after me some day, you know.”

“Dad, enough about that!” the boy exclaimed, “You and I both know by the time I’m old enough to own that crummy carnival that no one will be going there anymore.”

“Don’t’ say that. Neither of us knows what the future will bring.”

“It’ll bring dozens of night-flyers. That’s what the news says,” the boy solemnly spoke, “I watch the news, dad. Their numbers grow every day. They grow at a much faster rate than we can get rid of them. People barely come to our stupid carnival now. Why would they in, say, ten more years?”

The boy’s father sighed as he drove, just looking ahead at the road. It was then that they began to pass by what seemed to be the cause of earlier traffic jam. The both of them glanced out the driver’s side window. They were silent as the image of a destroyed car went by, followed by the shapes of bodies under sheets being wheeled on stretchers.

“Hm…bad wreck,” his dad said as he then decided to just look at the road ahead of him.

“Yeah….wreck….” his son responded, still looking back at the large bloody claw marks on the damaged vehicle as it shrank in the space of the back window of their truck. The image of the tragedy was now a speck in the distance but the boy was still looking behind him. He made a large sigh. His father then glanced over and, the son feeling his look, glanced back. They didn’t say a word to each other; both knowing the truth of what they’d seen, but pretending they did not. The boy finally turned around in his seat, facing the front. That’s when his dad decided to break the silence.

“We’ve got to have hope, son. People are losing hope, with the world the way it is now. And even though it seems silly to keep our little carnival open, it’s giving hope to the few who still have it. That’s what’s important.”

“You’ve always had too much hope,” the boy laughed half-heartedly.

“Someone’s got to,” his father responded, giving him a quick look and a smile.

It was quiet again for a portion of the drive until the man spoke up again, “I wonder how you’re mother is doing in all this.”

His son looked over at him. He had a look of disbelief toward his father on his face. He wasn’t sure if his dad had been talking to him, or just talking to the universe. Regardless, he answered, “Who cares?” he then looked out the passenger’s window with a huge sigh.

The father looked over at his son and sighed too, “She’s a good woman, son. More than you know.”

“Yeah? Well, whose fault is that, dad? She’s the one who left before I could even know who she was.”

“She had her reasons.”

“Dad, come on,” the boy retorted, finally looking over at his father, “She doesn’t care about us! How many times has she called us since the epidemic struck just to see if the two of us were ok? Try none. The world has gone to shit and we don’t even get a check in.”

The boy’s father just sighed again, looking ahead of him, “I’m sorry, son,” was all he spoke. His son looked over at him for a second, but then went back to looking out the window for the rest of the trip.

After a semi-long ride, the two of them finally arrived at their cabin. It was a small one, in the middle of a forest, with only a single dirt road leading to it. Their pick-up truck pulled up to the front and the two of them exited the car.

“Let’s get in the cabin. Quickly,” the father said, “It’s already dark.”

“What about unloading the truck? The boy asked.

“Just get in, son. We need to start lighting the lamps. We’ll unload the truck tomorrow, when it’s daylight.”

“Come on, dad. We’re in the middle of nowhere here. The night-flyers won’t come here. They’re most likely in the more heavily populated cities…”

“Son, just do what I say,” the father had a very strict tone.

The boy sighed rolling his eyes, but then did as instructed and went into the cabin, his father following him.

“Light the lamps, put one in every room, and shut the windows. I’ll start making a fire,” his father directed as he shut the door behind him. The son obeyed, not saying a word. He went into the kitchen with his flashlight on, soon finding several oil lamps. He pulled out some matches and began lighting them. He brought one into the living room so his father could see.

“Damn it,” he heard his father curse as he entered the room.

“What is it?” the boy asked.

“No more firewood,” his father was kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“What can we do then?”

“I’ll go out and get some. There should be a pile at the side of the house from the last time we were here,” his father then preceded to stand up and light a kerosene lantern to bring outside with him.

“I can get it,” his son suggested.

“No, son, I’ll get it. You just keep lighting the lamps,” his dad then began to walk towards the door. Suddenly, the father and son both froze, as they heard the faint sound of a loud screeching off in the distance.

“Dad,” the boy then said, breaking the spooky silence, “Let me go. I’m faster than you. I’ll be back here in no time.”

“Son, let me do this, alright? I won’t be long.”

“Dad—”

“No,” the boy’s father was very stern this time as he looked over at his son, “Light the lamps. Put one in every room. Every room has to be lit with the light of fire so they won’t try to come in. Go do it, son. I’ll be right back.”

The boy just stood there as he watched his father open the door, letting the cold, snowy wind in for a second. His father glanced at him with a small smile as he went outside and then shut the door behind him.

Several minutes had now passed. The sixteen year old boy was now upstairs, putting the last lit lamp on the table of one of the bedrooms. He then went over to the window and shut the wooden shudders that were on hinges on the inside of the window. He also locked it with a locking mechanism that was fastened to it. Secure, he thought. Now he felt it was time to go back downstairs.

THUD!

A loud sound seemed like it came from downstairs. The boy stopped quickly at the top of the stairway, “Dad?” he shouted, “Dad, are you back with the firewood?” but there was no response. So the boy headed down the stairs and into the living room. The only light came from a small oil lamp on the coffee table. But the fireplace was still empty and unlit, and his father was no where in sight.

“Dad?” the boy called again. Perhaps his father was in the bathroom. There’s no way he could still be outside.

Suddenly another thud was heard from above. It sounded as if it was coming from the roof. The boy looked up as he wondered what it was. He then glanced over to one of the windows that had not been shut yet and saw a bit of snow fall from above and pass by it.

“Just some snow fell on the roof,” he concluded. Just then, there was another sound. This time it was a scratching and it was also coming from the roof. The boy then decided he should probably go outside and see what was going on. What if his father was in trouble? So he then proceeded to light another kerosene lantern and take it as he opened the door and headed outside into the cold.

It was very dark. Except for the lantern he had to light his way, everything else around him was pitch black. He started to slowly walk around to the side of the house.

“Dad?” he softly whispered. He didn’t want to be too loud for fear of what was out there. When he didn’t get a response he tried again, “Dad?” he spoke a little louder this time. Still nothing so he continued walking, inch by inch, to the side of the house. Suddenly, however, he stopped. He saw several small spots of blood in the snow at the corner of the house. They looked to be trailing around to