Kanto in Flames: Chapter 1 - Rain

Kanto in Flames: Chapter 1 - Rain

by ~TheLostOracle



Smoke rolls so thickly across the sky that I can't even tell if it is night or day. I think it must be night. All evil happens at night. Like in a story I once heard where…. For just a moment, I touch on something real, something from my past, but it slips through my fingers leaving nothing but a ghost of its presence. I am both frustrated and excited. My memories still exist in some shadowed corner of my mind. However, even with this revelation, I feel no closer to reaching them.

The dog barks twice. It has ceased licking my face, and is now pacing anxiously by my head.

      I am not alone.

This thought sustains me. I have no memories, no goals, no ambitions, I don't even have a name, but now I have something to fight for. This dog will be my new friend and companion. We will escape this place of fire together, or not at all.

I roll over on to my side. My head throbs with each beat of my heart, booming like a great drum, my eyes burn, my lungs ache, most of the rest of my body hurts to some degree, and I feel tremendously weak. Getting up off the ground seems like it will be a heroic endeavor, but lying here a little longer won't make it any easier. Grunting with the effort, I finish rolling over on to my stomach. I inhale a nose full of ash and sneeze violently. My entire body contorts with pain as I sneeze twice more. When the fit passes, my head now ringing like a heavy iron bell, I find I have managed to raise myself up to my hands and knees.

This is as far as I can go for now. I am already dizzy, and doubt I could keep my balance even if I could find the strength to stand.

"Where to, pup?" I wheeze. "You're a dog, right? Use your animal instincts, or whatever." The dog whines and paws at the ground impatiently. What else could I expect? I didn't really believe it would understand me. Or did I? The thought just makes my head hurt, so I push it aside and take a good look around.

In a direction I arbitrarily decide to call east, the fire still rages. Smoke billows up toward the sky in ugly black and red clouds, while trees and small buildings are consumed below. Aside from the crackling flames and occasional screech of twisting wood and metal, the scene is forebodingly quiet. Why is no one fighting the flames? Is there no one left? Have they all evacuated or are they all…? I don't allow myself to complete that thought.

Right, I think. Not going that way.

To the north, there is only blackness. Ash and smoke swirl hypnotically, stirred by thermal updrafts. Here and there, a few cinders still glow feverishly. Even as I watch, a blackened, twisted frame gives a final crack and collapses. Piles of charcoal and dilapidated structures stretch on as far as I can see. The scene terrifies me, not because of any imminent danger, but because of what I fear I might find if I crawl through the tortured ghost of a town. Even here, where there is still some light to see by, ghosts and terrible shadows gather at the edges of my vision.

To the west is more of the same, though the smoke seems marginally thinner. I consider going that way. By moving backward along the path the fire took, I can most quickly distance myself from the flames.

To the south, small fires still burn. The smoke is heavier there, but I see something in the distance, something strange. I realize with a sickening lurch that I have forgotten that colors other than red, black, and orange even existed. Beyond the smoke, I see a new, wonderfully refreshing color. I think hard, and the name comes to me.

      Green.

      I don't remember ever being so happy. Green is the color of life. Despite the fires I will have to avoid, I decide to go south. The sight of something new and hopeful fills me with renewed energy, and I begin to crawl toward it. The dog barks again and frolics along beside me, sweeping long swathes of ash into the air with each flick of its tail. It seems impertinent for the dog to be so carefree in this place of sorrow, but its energy is infectious. Soon, in spite of my pain and weariness, I begin to smile.

      The wind shifts suddenly. Fresh, clean air is blown in to my face as the first gust washes over me. Admittedly, it is accompanied by a great deal of soot and the sudden cold causes me to shiver, but it is still the most wonderful feeling I can remember. With relatively clean air to breathe, I feel a small measure of my strength returning, and I struggle to my feet. My legs wobble uncertainly, but hold my weight, and my head spins less violently than before. That seems like a good sign. Encouraged, I forge ahead.

      I am perhaps three hundred yards from the far edge of the flame-blackened wasteland when the first fork of lightning splits the sky. I am momentarily blinded, an image of the dog, its hackles raised and teeth barred, is seared into my eyes. It looks dangerous, maybe even feral, and I find myself suddenly frightened of it. Could it be rabid? Would it soon turn on me?

      The lightning is followed immediately by a boom so loud it drives me back to my knees, covering my ears with my hands. A raging wall of force, displaced air from the lightning perhaps, crushes me to the ground. I am vaguely aware that the dog is barking now, as if to ward off the storm, but my ears are ringing so loudly I can't hear anything else.

      A column of fire blazes up into the sky, blinding me again. I scramble away from the light and heat. It doesn't make sense; fire doesn't just leap skyward after a lightning strike. The blaze seemed almost seemed retaliatory, like the ground and sky were warring for dominance. That thought scares me. If there is a war going on, I'm right in the middle of it. Blinking furiously, trying to clear the cacophony of after-images from my eyes, I stumble to my feet. The dog is at my side again, no longer barking, but its fur all stands on end and wisps of smoke cling to its muzzle.

      A new sound, muted by the ringing in my ears, draws my attention. It starts off as a distant buzz, but quickly grows louder and closer. At first, it sounds like wind in the leaves of trees, then the rhythmic cracking of twigs, then the pitter patter of many tiny feet against the ground. More lightning flashes and thunder rolls nearby. The sound is rain, and lots of it. A curtain of misty blue-black hurtles toward me from across the black wasteland. Raindrops the size of large marbles toss up clouds of ash as they pummel the ground. Flecks of white are mixed in with the rain, but I don't know what to make of that until the rain is upon me and the first one hits my arm.

      Hail.

      The hailstone bounces away more or less harmlessly, but it stings my arm. Another strikes my shoulder, and a third lands on my head, just above my left eye. That one hurts. The stones are getting larger, and feel dangerously sharp. I cover my head with my arms and start to run, shoulders hunched. More hailstones strike my arms, back, and neck. I cry out, but my throat is so dry I can barely whisper. All this water and none to drink.

      The irony is lost on me as I run, slipping and sliding in the sticky muck of ash and mud. It coats my feet and legs, clinging and sucking, making squelching pops with each step. Something catches my leg, and I fall in the muck. It sticks to my face and worms its way in to my mouth and nose, choking me. I flail ineffectually, my hands seeking anything solid to use to pull myself up. My hand closes on something with a hot, crunchy exterior. Good enough. I pull at it, leveraging myself up out of the grime. The thing I'm grabbing breaks with an unnerving, meaty crunch and a terrible, sickly smell assaults my nose even through the layer of mud and ash.

      Lightning flashes again, and the thunder smothers my scream. I'm holding the blackened and shriveled remains of a human forearm, hand and fingers included. I throw it away, trying to suppress rattling sobs of terror and disgust. Another flash of lightning blinds me for the third time, and the hail is falling harder than ever. I have to move, or the weather will kill me, but I don't want to look at the ground. So I don't look. I force myself up, standing on shaking legs, and run.

      After several strides, I know I'm far enough away from the corpse that I won't see it, but I keep running blindly forward. The smell follows me, making bile rise in my throat. Even the lightning can't burn the image of the blackened and twisted arm out of my eyes. The mere memory of the sound it made as it broke makes my stomach lurch unpleasantly, but my stomach is long empty. Fear flows through my limbs like an electric current, driving me on.

      The terrain is changing now. There is less ash, and the ground seems more level. I'm getting close to the edge of the wasteland when, without warning, I slam into something tall, narrow, and hard, and fall backward. One of my ribs feels cracked, my shoulder aches, and my knee is definitely bruised, but at least I didn't hit the obstacle face first. In the darkness, it's hard to tell what I hit. I reach out with my hands, feeling in front of me. I find a tall wooden post.

      The post seems strangely out of place until I realize it is the first thing I have found that isn't burned and blackened by fire. In fact, it seems almost new. I feel up along the post until I find a wooden platform a few feet above head level. Without thinking, I duck underneath, desperate for shelter from the hail that feels like it is quickly flaying the skin from my back.

      Under the platform, a large hole has been dug out of the ground. I can comfortably stand here, but several inches of water swirls around my bare feet. The water is freezing, and makes my feet ache numbly, but it beats standing out in the hail. I wrap my arms around my torso and shiver. Maybe I can wait out the storm here.

      Something warm brushes against my leg and I jump, started, but it is only the dog. It shakes happily, showering me in more freezing water, but its company is more than fair recompense. I crouch down next to it to scratch behind its ears, and it licks at my wrist affectionately. For just a moment, I push all my other thoughts aside. I am alive, and I am not alone. All is not lost.

      Then another flash of lightning shows me that I've been taking shelter under a gallows.

      I scream again, and the dog barks loudly. Four bodies still hang, bloated and grotesque, just a few feet away. My stomach convulsing with dry heaves, I stumble out from under the shelter of the gallows. The hail hits me at the same time as another lightning strike lights up the plaza. Bodies lay hither and thither, some alone, some piled together. These people were murdered en masse. No wonder no one was left to fight the fire. Someone had exterminated every one of them, and left their town to burn.

      Without a conscious decision, I find myself running again. I have to get away from this town. There is nothing here for the living. There is only death and fire.

      Beyond the plaza is a forest. I make a beeline for it. The trees will protect me from the rain and hail, and anywhere is better than here. The dog runs easily on my right side, a few paces ahead like a guide. Ghosts and corpses and blackened flesh flit about in the darkness before me. I am afraid to keep going in the darkness, but I am even more afraid to stop, so I keep running. Even once I make the cover of the trees, I keep going until I am sure my heart and lungs will burst.

      Finally, when I can run no further, I collapse against the trunk of a tall, thick tree. The rain and thunder are muted here, and the darkness is almost impenetrable. If the dog had not been leading I would surely have run into a tree, or fallen in a hole, or something equally disastrous.

      Weariness overcomes me. I am cold, hungry, and I hurt all over, but I can't even make the effort to find a more comfortable part of the tree to lean against. As I close my eyes, the dog curls up next to me, warming my side.

      "Good dog," I croak, then my head falls back, my eyes close, and I plunge into darkness.



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End of Chapter 1



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