Once he had moved the head to the roof, Zeke's body hadcome second. He had thrown the stinking mass over his shoulder and climbedcarefully up the ladder that led to the roof, rung by rung, pausing every sooften to catch his breath and readjust Zeke's body on his shoulder. He had notbeen a small man, that was for sure.
They had all said their goodbyes earlier, those that hadknown him the longest, and even those that hadn't known him very long at all.The words had all been positive, nice things, the type of things that a cynicmight call platitudes. But in the end, the group had all agreed that his bodyhad to go. No one wanted it in the theater. It was too similar to the creaturesthat were banging on the walls and doors. No one wanted to see the deadanymore. They wanted to huddle inside, bury their heads in the sand, and hopethat it all just sort of went away.
Lou looked down at the ground again. There was only oneway it was all just going to go away... a two to three second fall ought to doit. In the distance, a skyscraper that had been burning steadily for the lastday finally crumbled to the ground. Lou felt the ground quake underneath hisfeet, and a cloud of debris, dust and smoke sprung up into the sky... yet itstill burned, even the ruins still burned. Good, he thought. Let itburn. Let it all burn.
Lou bent down and grabbed Zeke's body, throwing it overhis shoulder and balancing it on the edge of the waist-high wall that ranaround the perimeter of the movie theater's roof. "Sorry, buddy." Hepushed the body over the edge, and watched it tumble to the ground. It fellquick, quicker than Lou had expected. A little less than two-seconds and it wason the ground. The swollen stomach of Zeke's body had burst open, spilling itsdecaying and putrefied contents on the cement sidewalk that surrounded thetheater.
Without thinking about it, Lou turned around and grabbedZeke's head off the ground. The flesh was cold and made his stomach turn. Itfelt as if he were lifting a thing made of wet clay. He threw it over the side,and then wiped his hands on his jeans. It didn't matter. It's not as if hisjeans could get any dirtier.
Lou regarded the Portland skyline one last time. Flameshad started climbing one of the still remaining skyscrapers next to the onethat had collapsed. He climbed down the ladder, into the darkness of the movietheater thinking, Let it burn. Let it all burn.
Be sure to check out
THE
ENEMIES OF OUR
ANCESTORS
By
The Vocabulariast
Here is a sneak preview:
THE ENEMIES OF OUR ANCESTORS
Prologue: The Night Whispers
Kochen walkedthrough the night, his bare feet testing for sharp rocks before he put his fullweight on the ground. In this way, he moved through the black-chilled air. Windblew through his obsidian hair, and his dusky brown skin raised gooseflesh inresponse. Kochen looked up and saw the outline of the canyon's rim against thenight sky, the faint hint of blackness against a dark blue. More stars than hecould count looked down at him. It was the time of the Lynx moon, the time ofthe bobcat. Its full, round face rose into the sky, bringing with it the onsetof spring. He could smell the change in the air. Though he was onlysix-winters-old, in a world where seasons meant everything, he had learned thesigns of change at a young age.
He walked throughthe empty farmland, away from the mud and stone houses that his ancestors hadcarved and molded into the cliff, his toes sinking into the loose brown soil.Kochen lived on the lowest terrace of the village nestled among the cliffs, sohe needed no torch to descend down the variety of stone ladders that led fromthe highest level to the rough stone ground. He had simply walked out of hisfamily's small room where his mother and father slumbered, inched down asingle, thirty-rung ladder, and he was on the ground.
The farm soilhad already been broken up for the spring. The soil felt cool and soft againsthis toes as he plodded through the loose farmland, avoiding the budding shootsof corn. He stopped to relieve himself, pulling his loincloth to the side. Hisurine steamed in the night as it pattered to the ground, impossibly loud.
Behind him, heheard someone doing the same. He turned to look and saw his father.
"What areyou doing out here?"
"No, whatare you doing out here?" his father shot back.
Kochen had beentold over and over to not wander far from their house to relieve himself in thenight. No one had ever explained why; they just said not to.
"I had togo. Besides, it's good for the crops." Kochen finished up his work and lethis loincloth fall back into place. His father did the same. Kochen walked inhis direction, and his father cuffed him on the back of the head.
"That isfor thinking you know it all. Get your skinny rear-end back into thehouse."
Kochen ran inthe night, lest his father's ire turn into more than just a simple cuff. He wasusually slow to anger, but tonight he seemed different.
"Next time,you go from the ledge like everyone else."
Kochen heard thewords, but dared not give a response on the odd chance that it would be seen asdisrespectful. As Kochen put his first, rough hand on the ladder, he heard anoise, a low rumbling. It was not a noise he had ever heard before. It echoedthrough the canyon and across the farmland. A gust of wind blew the hair on hishead backwards as he turned around to see what was making the noise.
In the faintlight of the moon, he could see the blue shine of his father's skin runningtowards him. The tilled farmland was darker in the night than the untilledearth of the canyon floor, and when his father reached the edge of it,
