Short Weird Tales: Trench

19 July 1918

Dearest Ginny,

Thank you for writing. It's good to know that Davy is walking properly now and that your parents are in the best spirits they can be. Do keep sending them my love.

Please try not to talk about current affairs in your letters, neither newspapers nor hearsay. Information is limited here for means of security and morale alike, and the censor panel obscured rather a lot of your last letter. I've heard at a certain point they'll just destroy the whole thing, so best to keep any of that business to a minimum or less. It's more comforting in all this confusion to know the little details from you. There's enough to keep me on edge here as it is, and your letters are the only thing helping me get any sleep at all.

Things here are as well as can be expected. In terms of progress I can't tell you any more than you already know (or have been told). The food continues to be dreadful. So hungry. The noise is constant and every sunrise is both a curse of protraction and a reminder of how lucky I am to see it. For every yard we take at one point in the front, we seem to lose two elsewhere, but it can't be too bad as we've only had to draw back twice this year. Like I say, every sunrise.

I volunteered for Wolf Division last month. More in the hopes of peace and quiet if anything, as they're a fairly new group and it was rumoured they'd be working away from the front lines. That much is true, but it turns out this occupation is full of noise wherever it's at. I started on watch so at least got to be in my own company. Uneventful stuff, which in this game is a blessing. Most of my time has been spent monitoring an abandoned church on the province border, rumours of something unusual going on there but even I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking out for.

The boys here say hello. Afraid to say we lost the Johnson brothers, although I'm sure you've heard that already. Can't go into the details but to say it was a damned foolish business. I know it will be of little to help to their mother Audrey, but when you see her - and when the time is right, of course - just let her know it was quick. They're missed awfully here, but we've vowed to do right by them.

Tommy's been a bit off these last couple of days. He was away for two nights on recon and very shaken when he returned. Nasty affair from what I can tell you, although this was after the Johnsons. He was a bit scuffed up but still walking and able to aim a rifle. Not quite himself soon after, though. He became sullen the next day (not unusual in this line of work) and outright rude the next. Tommy's never been the most calm of soldiers, but word is he tried to bite the sergeant at one point. Not sure I go for that, but the poor man's got bruises coming out all over him and he's scratching at his arms constantly. Medical looked at him before he came back to us but not since, so I'm sure it'll work itself out.

Chap whose name I don't know is said to have come back the same. Thing is, Tommy lashed at my face earlier when I said good morning to him. Had quite the tizzy and caught me quite deeply, but as I say he's been through a lot. And I'm damned but I've never known itching like it. Going to see if I can get a dressing later, but they're awfully busy down there and at least it's not my good side. I can feel (hear?) it tingling, although I'm sure that's some infection working itself out.

Anyway, it looks like we're going to be moved again soon so I'm hurrying this one out and not sure when I'll get your reply. Brass are around keeping an eye on things so this could be something big. Have to go, though. Apart from anything else I'm so bloody hungry I've got to find something to eat. Can't concentrate, it's getting so bad. Want meat. God dammit, I need meat. XXXFUXXXXXXXX Sorry, please ignore that, just nerves. Sure I'll be right as ninepence in no time. And the most delicious smell has just wafted past outside. If the boys are eating without me I'll bloody kill them, I swear it.

Anyway. See you soon, I know it.
Love to all,

Daniel.

X

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DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Short Weird Tales: Interview

The cell-leader lowered her head. "When you get out there, it's crucial that you become just like them. That you are one of them. Can you do that?"

"I think so" the charge replied, her tone sounding more confident than the words themselves.

"Thinking won't be enough", Bryant snapped. "If you give those creatures a sniff, they'll take it all..."

She turned and looked gravely down through the balcony door. Below, the shambling remains of people who had walked these streets every day of their lives, and continued after death. Moping about, so locked in to their unfathomable, wordless preoccupations that they didn't interact even though they were drawn together. "Plus ça change..." Bryant muttered.

Cassie knew some convincing was in order. "I've spent enough time studying them, I understand how they move. How they shift their weight on stiffened joints, but swing loosely on decomposing muscles. The gait of each one is unique to their build, just flat-out 'acting zombie' is the easiest mistake to make. They can see if you move unusually. And they're not aimless. In any area, each one cycles between three or four points. It's like they arrive at a place they remember, then forget why they wanted to be there and move on to the next."

"Okay..." Bryant left a pause hanging in the air of her makeshift office, an invitation to complete the answer. But Cassie hadn't finished, she'd only wanted to ensure her expertise wasn’t mistaken for youthful enthusiasm.

"So instead of going in a straight line, it makes more sense to wander around in a circuit. So that when I finally reach the target they aren't noticing my behaviour."

"But you know it's not just about how you move. They're hungry. Always. Are you ready for that?"

"Well, you're going to smear me in The Gunk so that shouldn't be a problem. So long as I don't smell like dinner, I'll be fine."

Bryant tilted her head slightly, appraising the applicant. It had to be said, she may have just the right mix of knowledge, duty and gung-ho stupidity to pull this off. She changed tack.

"What made you volunteer for this, Cassie?"

"We all have different skills here, and we work well together. It's why we've survived so long. I want to be the best. I want to be the only one who can do what I do. Also, I don't see a queue of people throwing their names in for this one?"

"Yeah, that's fair", Bryant acknowledged. "But you need to understand what's required here. And I need to know you're committed. Are you ready to go method on this?"

"Bryant, please. I'm an actor. I once dated a guy for five months in high school because his mom was British and I wanted to study her accent for the Dickens Christmas show our theatre group was staging. This kid was in deep, took on two part time jobs to save up and buy me a ring. But I got everything I needed by mid-November and rehearsals were stepping up, so I ended it."

"And how did he feel about that?"

"Overdosed on his mom's fentanyl."

"And... how did you feel about that?"

"Won the year's award for best performance."

"Okay... wow."

"Look, you need someone to get the package to our contacts on Princeton and Rhodes. That's the old arts college. I spent the next two years there, I know the way. No matter what happens on those streets, no matter how panicked I get or how many diversions I need to make, I can get that package to that building. It may just be a matter of time."

"Well... you're right. We need accuracy over speed. Again, I can't overstate this: the contents of the satchel are irreplaceable, do you understand?"

"I do", Cassie answered. She didn't, but that was only because she didn't know exactly what she'd be transporting. That it was more than simple information was obvious, that could have been shared over the radio. But if Cassie herself could carry this cargo - and do so surreptitiously and alone - then it could hardly be a cache of heavy ordnance...

Bryant continued, "And you know you may end up needing to stay there? You're not just going to be able to come waltzing back across town?"

"I'll do what I have to. We all make sacrifices."

Another silence. Longer, this time.

"Okay you've got the job, kid."


The commander crossed the room to a row of metal lockers against an interior wall. From a low, unmarked door she produced a small backpack, fashioned from a heavy plaid fabric, its single compartment fastened with a light combination lock.

"They know the code" Bryant murmured; needlessly, Cassie thought. They could cut it open, if needs be.

She continued, "You should be able to bump this or even land on it if you need to, you're not going to smash what's in there. The inside of the pack is showerproof, but try not to submerge it in anything."

The leader slid the bag over Cassie's outstretched arms, the faintly puzzled look on the girl's face belying a mind racing to work out what this cargo was. "And just for good measure..." Bryant raised two loose straps from the sides of the pack and fastened them across the chest. She sealed these in place with another combination lock. So no snooping, then.

"Are you ready for this, Cassie?"

"Of course. Let's go to the offal-tank and get me camouflaged..."

"I'm afraid that's not the plan we've decided to go with today. There's no room for uncertainty. Remember, 331 Princeton and Rhodes, got it? They're waiting for you."

As Cassie's brow furrowed in question, Bryant reached to her shoulder holster and retrieved a Browning 9mm pistol, releasing the safety catch. She shot Cassie twice in the stomach at point blank range, waited until her gasping stopped and eyes glazed, then quickly hauled the body out and over the balcony railing.

And watched.

---

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Short Weird Tales: Promise

There was nothing there, she could see that now. No recognition of her face; no memory of the all-too-brief time they'd shared; no trace of the promises they'd made every night since this began, to protect each other no matter what.

It was all gone, scraped roughly away and replaced by a feral, desperate hunger. Those pale brown eyes, glazed yet alert; darting around like a rat being backed into a corner, searching for only one thing: food. Red, wet sustenance that wouldn't replenish the body no matter how much was consumed. A downward spiral, only the hunger remained; nothing else.

This was the moment they'd talked about, the situation that they'd both prayed was avoidable. A memory flashed into her mind, lingering with sarcastic appropriateness. "God answers all our prayers" her Sunday School teacher had often chimed, "but He doesn't always say yes". Indeed.

So be it.
She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

---

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.