Scorched - Fiction

The smell of the smoke forced Logan awake. The sun was high, though not powerful enough to cut through the hazy layer above. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes, carefully rolling onto his side, wincing in pain.

He gained the strength to lift himself off the forest floor – noticing his once yellow uniform brushed in black ash. Nothing was familiar. With one arm, he yanked the large brown glove from his hand and motioned to check his watch. Nothing. Then grabbing the other glove and throwing it to the ground, he checked his other wrist. Fuck he exclaimed.

Shielding his eyes again, he looked up to the sun; after a short while, giving a confirmational nod. Can’t be past midday he mumbled, wheezing afterwards. His attention back to the surface, he looked around in an attempt to orient himself. Surrounding him, an endless sea of glowing black chalk pillars; the fire had stripped all from the trees, leaving behind nought but charcoal.

He started to scan the floor around him, his pack was missing - as was any form of equipment he had taken in the morning. Logan knelt down. He began to brush away the black coating from the forest floor, looking for any semblance of a track. Beneath, there laid a trail. It was sure to lead toward Twin Crest, the only sign of civilisation for an unthinkable distance.

As the sun moved further across the sky, the track had continued beyond any recognisable landmark. The forest lay completely still, no chirping from the sparrows or rustling from the leaves. Not even the crackle of fire.

In the distance, finally, Logan noticed a tall tower of bricks. In another time it had been a chimney. His mouth dry and stomach empty, he hurried toward the structure.

As he approached, he noticed the faint outline of where a house had once stood. Clambering through rubble, he approached the phantom kitchen. Charred cabinets rested against each other. He began to rummage. The residents had left a lot behind, although not much edible; soup, a can of peas and even a dented tin of ravioli – the only one with a ring pull.

Suddenly a snap broke the silence; something was approaching. Logan turned his head toward the sound and scanned the horizon. It was as barren as it had been when he arrived, a small clearing where the house once stood encircled by an endless number of tall black trees.

He yelled out.

In response, the guttural screech of a black bear cub. Logan squinted and followed the perimeter of the clearing with his eyes. Before long, he noticed movement; the bear cub had passed the treeline and stepped into the open.

The bear continued to call; Logan had heard similar before. Where there’s a cub, he thought, the mother mustn’t be far behind. He dropped to the floor and began searching for a weapon. Something to repel a bear.

They were approaching fast. He grabbed the largest piece of wood he could see, the one with the sharpest edge. Crouching low to the floor, he readied himself to fight.

A second bear call, this time fiercer. The mother he thought. His muscles tensed, ready to strike.

With the bear approaching, so came a foul odour; the smell of rotting vegetables, of vomit.

The smell of death.

With a few deep breaths, Logan slowly lifted his gaze over the chimney to see the bears. First, he noticed the cub. It’s back was stripped of hair, more pink and red than black; the fire had taken its toll.

In tow, a black figure. Too small for a bear, the creature drifted through the trees as liquid. It had a single arm raised, wielding a short, crudely forged blade.

As the figure closed the gap between it and the bear, Logan found himself enamoured. Maybe it had been human, though the similarities ended with the silhouette. It walked on misshapen legs, painfully contorted – it’s arms oddly malnourished.

It’s huge black eyes seemed to shift aloofly, perhaps the creature was blind.

The creatures charred skin receded behind it’s gaping maw, exposing hundreds of tiny pointed fangs. He watched as it unhinged it’s jaw and tilted it’s head back, manufacturing a haunting wail; Logan winced and covered his ears.

The cub stumbled; the figure caught up to it and lunged, driving its dagger into the cubs back. It lifted the weapon and struck again. Logan closed his eyes, only hearing the final few blows.

He dropped his head back down below the chimney bricks. His eyes scanning the circumference of the clearing, seeking any form of sanctuary.

After a moment, he recognised the indistinguishable sound of a flare. He searched for the light, finally noticing a distant stream of synthetic red smoke. Shortly after, a helicopter was drawn to the source.

He raised himself back up, the distracted creature was ravenously devouring the carcass. Logan began to move.

He had barely made it a few feet before the ground below his heels began to rumble. A small hole had opened behind him in the dirt. Then a second, then a third.

The rumbling intensified, Logan lost his footing and fell backwards – the dirt seemingly disintegrating around him.

Before he could rebalance himself, a fourth hole opened under his hand plunging it beyond the earth.

Then the screeching began underneath. Peering below, dozens of the the creatures looked back up, scrambling and bickering for the first taste of flesh. Before Logan could retrieve his hand, it became detached in a single bite.  

One of the creatures heaved him under the dirt, landing with a crunch atop a disgusting sheet of bones and chewed meat.

In his final screaming moments, Logan watched as the house sunk into the ground. The impact awoke a swarm of the beasts.

They acted as termites below the ground; carving and devouring the Earth.