Gather at the feet of the Elders, brothers and sisters, and listen to a tale from the time of our ancestors. May they always walk with us…
It is said that before the Days of Tears, clear skins and The People alike were scattered like grain before the breeze. In these times, the cities of the Old World still strove to touch the sun but their stone pathways were layered with the bodies of the dead. Man hid in the shadows like frightened animals and offered up tearful prayers to the Old God, who seemed to have abandoned them at their time of greatest need. Without the blessings of their deity, they traveled through their defiled home like those who walk while still dreaming. The dark spirits who lurk outside the veil saw this and cast out a net which entangled their minds with fear and confusion and many were the ones who took their own lives in despair.
Not content with this, the dark spirits infested the decaying flesh of the fallen, seeping into the meat and causing vile liquids to leak from the mouths, noses, sphincters, and pores. As more and more spirits crowded into the empty husks of the dead, the stench of evil rose like an invisible cloud. It has been told that so great was the presence of the dark ones, their forms could be glimpsed, wavering in the air over the bodies like heat above a fire.
As creatures who walk between the worlds, this same stink also called Rat and Fly to the unhappy dead, who lacked even the earth to be buried within a mound.
“Man goes hungry,” said Rat, “but why should we? Is this not our home as well?”
“I agree.” Replied greedy Fly. “Let their stomachs know the pangs of hunger while ours are filled. They smashed my kind with implements of death and lured us into strips that were like sticky sap from which we could not escape.”
Rat nodded in eager agreement, crying out, “They crushed the skulls of my brothers and sisters with cruel traps and tainted our food with poison!”
“We owe them nothing.” Said Fly.
And so it came to pass that they gorged themselves upon the deceased. What the gluttonous pair did not realize, however, was that the evil contained within the bodies longed to feed upon the living, just as Rat and Fly did the dead. Carried on Fly’s wings and Rat’s whiskers, the evil took seed in the open wounds of man. Their injuries soon smelled of the grave and roots spread out from the afflictions. Intent on strangling the heart, red tendrils crept just below the flesh, growing in both length and heat with every passing day.
As with all things, the universe seeks balance. So it came to be that with Divine wisdom The Great Spirit planted Its own seed into the fertile minds of two men. First among these was a clear skin, called Homer Anderson among his people, upon whose head hair would not grow. The second of the chosen was John Redtree, he who is greatest among the ancestors, may they always walk with us.
Together, they gathered the tribes of man and a great exodus from the cities of the Old Word followed. Going to the forests and fields, they established a new city which was called, at that time, Hope. The clear skins tried to treat The People with bandages and poultices, as it was not yet known that we were Chosen and could not die from the same affliction which had killed so many. Together, Homer Anderson and John Redtree built homes for their people from scraps of the Old World. They gathered food and water and tried to ensure that none of their brothers and sisters would ever know the ache of hunger within their bellies.
Yet many were the mouths they had to feed and within the span of a moon their supplies were emptied. While their people ate grass like goats and deer, the fallen cities were plenty with food that had been left behind in their haste. So it was decided that men should go back into those dire, haunted lands and seek out the nourishment that was so desperately needed.
To protect themselves against the evil spirits who dwelled there, these men donned suits of white and affixed masks and goggles to their faces. Loading themselves into carts which required no animals to pull, they swept the remains of the Old World and returned with a great bounty.
After the food had been anointed with boiling water to bless it and drive away lingering spirits, it was declared it should be shared equally between all people. But the clear skins were like Rat and Fly and they cried out for more than their share, claiming that nourishment should not be wasted upon the dead but heaped upon the living.
And thus was yet another seed sown. Soon it came to be that clear skins feasted upon the endowment while The People looked on with hollow bellies. Angered by this, some among The People talked of taking the food by force and claiming the share that was rightfully theirs. Yet there were others who danced like birds for a single scrap thrown their way. These traitors to their own kind went to the clear skins, telling them of the plans, and in the dark of night the clear skins entered into the homes of The People, taking their weapons and leaving tears in their wake.
Even then, however, the evil which had seized the heart and mind of Homer Anderson was not satisfied. While our People did not die from disease, those who attempted to help us could not avoid their fate. The City of Hope again knew the pestilence which had driven them from the Old World and a cloud of fear spread across the land.
In these dark times, The People were driven from their homes and caged within pens whose walls were made of wire with metallic thorns. No more was even the smallest amount of food shared with our ancestors, may they always walk with us. They were left to eat the bugs which crawled through the mud and it has even been said that the hunger was so great as to madden the minds of men and lead them to the taste the flesh of the dead.
Angered by their treatment, there came a day when The People could take no further indignities. Though the metallic thorns ripped at their flesh, they advanced as one and the wire walls toppled before their might. With a cry like thunder, The People ran toward the homes of the clear skins, wanting only food for their bellies and water to cool their burning throats.
Yet it was not to be…
Tanner Kline felt as if his lungs were on fire. Every breath, every gasp of air, drove needles of pain deep within his chest. Part of his mind reeled at how easy that Spewer bitch made it look: she moved through the forest as if the logs and obstacles didn’t apply to her, as if she could pass through them like a phantom if she so chose. Bobbing and weaving, ducking and leaping, completely fluid and in control of every action… if not for the fact that her blood carried dormant poison, he could have almost respected this woman. But she did.
Like all Spewers, the disease ran rampant in her body, manifesting the symptoms of sickness without ever claiming its just reward. Which is what made them so dangerous. Left to their own devices, these savages could live until they were old and wrinkled, erupting with geysers of putrid death for years to come. Anyone who may have known why the Gabriel Virus didn’t outright kill them like it did so many others had died with the Old World. There were no answers to be found, no great mystery to unravel… there was simply the threat of infection and the pain of death.
Sometimes, Tanner bolted awake in the middle of the night with a sheen of sweat plastering the thin sheet to his body. He’d gasp for air as his hands scrambled in the darkness, seeking out the warmth of Shayla’s small body curled up beside him. The dream was always the same: his beautiful little girl marred with blisters, seeping infection and stinking of sickness. Tears streaked her face as she reached for him with trembling hands. Help me, Daddy… it hurts. It hurts, Daddy, it hurts so bad…
Which is why he had to ignore the stitch in his side that felt like a knife was being plunged beneath his lowest rib. Why he had to continue running even though he scrambled over the stony ground on legs that felt as if the muscles were about to snap like rubber that had been stretched too tightly. His little girl depended on him and as
