Blood

The whole damn world was going mad. Clark just knew it had.

It all started with that missing hiker from the south, the kid’s body had been discovered in the forest, drained and shriveled. Clark had found his tracks in the sand off to the side of the road, the hiker's heel prints had been especially deep, like he had been grappled from behind and pulled forcibly into the trees. Dragged in and taken against his will. Drained of all his fluids and then left to be found by the ranger on his last day before he started vacation.

Then the number of disappearances had increased, first to the north near where they’d discovered the kid and soon in the outlying farms and now directly from the areas around the small wood-logging town of Spanish River itself. It was all some terrible dream.

As Clark rechecked his rifle for the fourth time he leaned against his parked Ministry of Natural Resources truck, wondering what the hell he should do or think. He’d seen how they ended up, the two cops that had come out with him to the ranger post. They had gone into the woods, gone to investigate a noise and hadn’t come back.

First thing in the morning, in the trees and the all too quiet timberland he had seen the cops, their guns still holstered, the looks of pain and terror on their faces as those red, spider’s silk vines had floated down on them from the bows above. The thinner vines must have acted to contain and maybe even poison the men. To hold them in place while the larger, serpent-like ones rose up, slithering and bending, thrusting themselves down into their bodies. Spearing flesh and puncturing arteries so that the vines could drink away the liquids within.

The world had truly gone mad and if two armed and trained policemen had lost their lives to the horrors of those woods then what kind of hope did a ranger like Clark or anyone else for that matter have?

He may have been the only one in town who realized the danger and he would need to warn everyone quickly, before it was too late.

Suddenly he had an epiphany, he thought of Elaine, the police dispatcher. She had stayed in town. Elaine would have an idea of who they should call for help.

Jumping into his vehicle his thoughts drifted back to his friend Lyle, the man and his wife, their team of prize winning sled dogs. They'd all gone missing the day before. Like the whole farmstead had left in the middle of the night, without packing or telling a soul.

It would almost seem that they had, save for the torn screen door of the house and the fact that every kennel gate had been ripped open, some right off their hinges.

Shoving such thoughts and the fates of his friends from his mind Clark fumbled with his keys as he entered the truck. He had to get back to town.

The tires of his vehicle squealed like banshees as he turned the last corner leading into Spanish River. Sweat poured off his brow as his eyes pulled focus on the road ahead and the image he saw there turned his blood into icewater.

Horses, maybe a dozen of them lay across the roadway, each having been dragged there from their pens at the animal auction that had been set up beside the town fair a short distance away. Each beast was completely encased in those same whisper-like, scarlet vines that had trapped the policemen.

The poor animals were held in place, their backs broken and pierced by the same plant-like tentacles as before. Vines that he had prayed were still several kilometers away to the north.

His heart leapt in his throat as he made out at first their feeble thrashing and then through his open window, the pitiful whinnying of the near-dead animals.

He had to escape! Clark knew if he didn't get away from the horrors surrounding him he would go hopelessly mad.

His hands turned the wheel as he attempted to skirt around the dying horses but his reaction had been slowed by the numbness the scene caused within him and his vehicle was going far too fast. With a crack, his right side tries struck the rump of one of the incapacitated horses and the resulting impact launched him several feet into the air before crashing him down hard on his driver’s side.

Jarred from his daze, Clark gritted his teeth as he touched his now injured left leg and thanked God when he realized it wasn't broken.

Rifle in hand, the groggy forest ranger pulled himself out of the passenger side window and slid heavily to the ground.

Elaine, he thought to himself. Must get to Elaine.

Limping now, Clark made his way through the eerily hushed community, it was still early on a Saturday morning, no one would be out of bed yet and if those things had made it any farther into town, no one would likely be getting out of bed at all.

Down he went passed the library where he spotted the town’s only resident vagrant and most venerable saxophone player Old Jack. Jack was sitting on a sidewalk bench, the same bench he had always sat upon since coming to the township all those years ago. Clark remembered being introduced to the affable man when he’d first arrived at the beginning of the forest fire season, he’d liked him and certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

“Old Jack,” said Clark running up to him, “Listen you have to come with me.”

“Hey there kiddo,” said the jazzman with a drunken smile, “Did you stop by to jam?”
“What?,” asked Clark grabbing the old man’s arm and pulling him off the bench, “No and I don’t have time to explain.”

But as the ranger pulled the older man to his feet he felt resistance, at first he assumed the wino was refusing to move but then a far darker scenario presented itself.

Old Jack couldn’t rise because of a long, blood red tentacle-vine that flowed from the woods behind the library, through the slats of the bench and protruded from the man's spine, just above the tail bone.

“What?,” wheezed Old Jack when he saw the horrified look on Clark’s face. The slurred tone of his voice likely coming more from blood loss than from anything the old man had imbibed, “Oh her” he said with an amused laugh at the appendage, “Don’t worry about her, she’ll be done soon enough and then I’ll be free to talk with you kiddo.”

Clark backed away as the old man began singing softly and his head lolled backward. There was nothing Clark could do, nothing but run and get help for everyone still unaffected.

Clark ran as fast as he could on his damaged leg, noting as he went the screams from nearby houses, the people and dogs lying in the streets with scarlet vines wrapped about them or thrust into them. It was some sort of bizarre hell on earth, and Clark had a front row ticket to witness its creation.

Don’t look at them, he willed himself. Just get to the police station and everything will be alright.

With a feeling of great relief Clark rounded the next bend and at last spotted the Spanish River police detachment.

Up the stairs he dashed to the front door eager to be off the dangerous streets. With a great heaved on the heavy glass and wood door the ranger made his way inside and was elated to see Elaine sitting behind the front desk doing her paper work.

“Jesus, Elaine, you’re alright,” breathed Clark coming up to her.

Removing a pair of headphones Elaine gave him a big smile, “Hi ya Clark, what’s up?”

“What’s up?,” he asked a bit annoyed that she didn't know what was going on around her, “The whole towns being slaughtered. That’s what’s up.”

“Huh?,” came her baffled response.

Taking her hand Clarke pulled her to the window so that she could see for herself.

Elaine screamed in alarm as she saw a woman being dragged from her home across the way and partially cocooned on the street outside of the police department.
“Where are Lands and Burns?,” she asked hysterically referring the two policemen that had accompanied Clark out to the ranger’s station.

“Dead, almost everyone in town is dead and we need to contact the city, we need to get help out here fast. These Goddamn things are spreading!”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she gasped over and over.

“Listen we have to get help, who can we call about this? Someone you trust will believe us and send immediate assistance.”

“The feds, but it’ll take them two hours to get here.”

“Then let’s take care of it,” he said in a soothing tone that didn’t calm either one of them down in the slightest.

The sound of shattering glass drew them from their lull of safety. Looking about they saw that the windows all about the building were exploding inward as three inch thick vines slithered toward their location.

“Shit, there’s no time,” spat Clark drawing Elaine to him, “Is there a way up to the roof?”

“This way,” she said leading him by the hand to a back room.

No sooner had he re-positioned the desk to gain access to the ceiling than the office door was shredded apart by over a dozen slimy tentacle-vines.

With Elaine already through the hatch Clark scrambled upward just barely avoiding being speared through the leg. Once on the roof he quickly kicked the hatch closed a second before the plants could follow them through.

"I don't think that will hold them long," panted Clark as he tried to regain his breath.

Atop the building they could see that almost the entire town had been impacted by the appallingly lethal flora. Whole houses on the upper side near the Spanish river had been enveloped in large, burgundy, vein-like cocoons.

Gasping in panic, they both realized that the streets all about them too had become choked with the squirming, helpless bodies of the town’s dying and the thickly knotted, scarlet beds of writhing plants.

“What could have caused this?,” asked Elaine gripping her sidearm with both hands.

“I don’t know,” answered Clark in a hushed voice staring down on the people below, “But I'm sure as hell not going to wind up like them.”
“Look,” said Elaine pointing to the west, “There’s a gas truck over there by the gulp n’ gas. It’s outside of the blocked off areas. We could use it to get away.”

“We’ll never make it there on foot,” replied Clark shaking his head while watching the hostile plants swarming in the alleyways below.

Elaine shook her head, “you’re right, on foot we’d never make it,” and then she pointed at the extra television antennae pieces lying off to the one side of the roof.

Picking them up the two slid them together and made a serviceable bridge, enough to reach the roof of the next house over.

“Ok, I’ll go first, then you follow,” said Clark kneeling down to skitter atop of the wobbly structure.

Once across he leapt onto the roof causing the aerial to rattle noisily. A sound that seemed to draw the attention of the plants below.

Elaine was halfway across when a pointed, snake-vine stabbed up through the metal antennae drawing a scream from her as she just barely managed to turn aside and avoid being impaled, but in her effort she toppled off of the aerial and dangled precariously from the edge of the temporary bridge.

Clark pulled his rifle from his shoulder and took aim at the plant just as it rose up and leveled at Elaine’s back. It lurched like a cobra rearing for the strike before lunging at the police woman’s spine.

Elaine tried to shift away, going hand over hand in a futile attempt that did nothing to avoid the impending attack. But in the instance before the plant struck its spike-like head blew apart and a loud rifle shot rang out in the air like thunder through the still morning sky.

“Come on!,” urged Clark lowering his weapon and extending his hand as the damaged vine descended to the ground, spraying blood and ichor every which way as it went.

“What was that?” asked Elaine as they both made out the most hideous, inhuman shriek. A noise that reverberated from the woods just outside of town.

“I’d say we hurt whatever that vine was attached to.”

“Well I sure don’t want to find out what it looks like,” she said wiping at the sweat on her forehead.

“That makes two of us,” he agreed.

Retrieving their bridge they laid the antennae pieces down and crawled cautiously across the next few rooftops until finally they reached a safer part of the street and climb down before making their way quickly to the awaiting gas-tanker.

“I’ll check for keys, you check to see if anyone is still alive in the store,” said Elaine breaking off from him.

Clark hobbled around the back of the tanker listening to the slow churning of the river as he stood on his tip toes to see if anyone was in the gas station, “says it’s closed until 8am on the door, I don’t think anyone coming to open it this morning.”

“No keys,” yelled Elaine running back around to where Clark was.

“Dammit!,” he cried, “We can’t catch a break here.”

The vines were making their way across the pavement now, Clark could only assume that the gas station and the houses down the road were next on their destinations to destroy.

“Should we make a run for it?” Asked Elaine sounding less than enthusiastic.

“No,” he said looking at the river and putting his face to a strong westerly wind, “We can stop them here.”

“What? How?,” she asked skeptically.

“It’s the dry season and they’re all down river. We can flood the waterway with gas and start a fire, it’ll burn the woods on both sides for miles. . . the town too if the breeze holds.”

“That’s crazy,” she said, obviously astonished he would consider such a thing.

“Why? Who do you think is still alive in there? Who can we save but ourselves and everyone else not under already siege by those things?”

Elaine stood stunned, she either could not find the words to argue or decided he was right, either way Clark didn't care. Pulling the hose from the truck he began to empty the tank's contents into the nearby river, he knew it was the only thing they could do to eliminate the danger posed by the plants.

“What about those pumps?,” asked the police officer pointing at the ones near the station.

“No way,” exclaimed Clark,” The fire’ll climb right back to them and blow the pumps and us sky high. The truck hose is all we can use.”

“Look out!,” cried Elaine.

Clark turned and saw at the last second that the noise of the gas pump had drawn unwelcome attention. The vines came in at a startling speed, half a dozen tentacles whipping about like a nest full of angry wasps.

Reactively Clark banged the metal head of the hose on the asphalt by his feet, rubbing it rapidly on the ground until enough sparks flew off of it to catch the fuel passing through it aflame.
Swinging his arm upward the ranger flashed the lit fuel across the surface of the plants, using it as an improvised flame thrower to sear and burn the dangerous flora to a charred crisp.

Once the threat was removed Clark doused the hose in the water upstream to extinguish the flame, just as they both made out a series of wails of in the forest.

“There’s a lot of them out there,” breathed Elaine looking about nervously.

“They’ll be a whole lot less of them once we’re done this,” murmured Clark as hose began to sputter and tanker ran dry.

With a quick scratch on the ground he re-ignited the spray and set the surface of the water ablaze. Watching in satisfaction as the river burned, spreading flames to the dry tinder that was the northern range of trees and stared on in quiet remorse as the houses on the south bank began to burn as well.

In the distance the inhuman squeals occasionally sounded out, each one felt like a little bit of vengeance for the decimated town of Spanish River. Each destroyed creature returning a tiny piece of Clark’s sanity.

“Burn you son of bitches! Burn!,” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Grabbing Elaine the ranger held her as much for his support as her’s, grateful that the horror of all that had happened over the last few days was finally at an end.



Three months later. . .

The two firefighters walked carefully through the smoldering ruins of the forest, each paying close attention to smoking, hot patches and stamping on flare ups as soon as they were discovered.

“So you’re telling me a forest ranger started this fire?,” asked the first of the second.

“No shit, Terry, the bastard pumped a truck load of premium into the Spanish river and then lit it up. Burned the whole town to the ground, people and kids in the their houses and everything. Plus he managed to turn every tree from here to the city into a charcoal briquet.”

“Jesus, now that’s one sick fucker,” said Terry shaking his head.

“You said it brother,” replied his companion as he busted apart a hot stump, “Last I heard he was serving time over in Juliette, letting the shrinks there deal with all his twisted shit.”

Just then a squirrel leapt away from them, startled by the activity and sudden presence of fire.
“Hey Terry you see that,” said the firefighter as he smiled and pointed at the small bounding rodent, “that’s the kind of thing that gives me hope. That no matter what kind of world we live in, that no matter how messed up things get there’s always the possibility for the miracle of new life and baby, that’s alright.”

As the two men nodded and grinned the squirrel bolted into a patch of thicket that had been spared the flames, a swampy area too wet to properly burn, a place where a few plants and insects had survived the ruination of their habitat.

As the rodent sprung passed a small, purplish, cactus-like bush it was impaled by a shoelace sized tentacle. A protrusion that dug deep into its spine, paralyzing it so that its precious juices could be drained away.

It truly was amazing just how miraculous life could sometimes be.