The Blast

A sneer crosses his face like a scar, the jagged gash of teeth bent and twisted as if smashed in. His steps are slow and deliberate, each one placed with a degree of precision reserved for machine pistons and automated devices. As he draws closer the bloody mess that was his stomach becomes apparent.

“What has become of you friend?” Tom says while stretching his hand outwards, in both friendship and compassion.

“I’ve been liberated, and I wish to liberate you and your creed.” Gestalt utters with spite.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Albert barks.

Looking down at the deep stain on the floor, his eyes somewhat frosted as though seen through a fogged mirror, Gestalt begins, “I lay there dying, my essence tumbling forth from this wound mortal.” he indicates at the bloody pulp across his midsection, “Then, as an all encompassing light enveloped me in a warm and welcoming way, I felt a warmer, more inviting sensation. First at my feet, then it worked its way to me legs, hips, heart and finally my brain. How could I say no? I grasped at the kernel of heat and held it close, I devoured it, it soaked me in love.” Looking up into the eyes of the men he continues, “The light faded and the room resolved, the leader stood over me, his hand extended, I grasped it and he pulled me up, we stood face to face, our eyes met, and do you know what he said to me?”

The three waver their heads slightly, the tale having gripped all of their attentions.

“He said, ‘Welcome to life!’ and just like that I knew my life was better.”

“You’ve gone mad Gestalt, completely mad.” Henry says taking a step backwards.

“No, no that’s not true, I’ve actually got quite a bit of clarity, a clarity that I’d like to share with you.”

As the last word tumbles from his mouth Gestalt steps forwards, right had raised to eye level, a gun held delicately in his grasp, “Now who wants to feel life first?”

Barley without thinking Tom blasts at the top of his voice, “Run!”

As quickly as that the three divide and run in different directions; Henry darts to the right and tumbles behind the deserted vehicle, he falls heavily on the ground but manages to hid successfully behind the vehicles bulk. Albert runs towards the door, his footfalls erratic, this has the effect of shifting his body from left to right rapidly; a moving target is hard to hit.

At the cessation of his command Tom leaps forwards, his bold words, and the sudden movement of Henry and Albert enough to distract Gestalts mind. With both hands he grasps the gun, his fingers tight around the barrel, both men wrestle from side to side, the open end shifting targets several times.

BANG!

The gun fires, a bullet tears through the iron roof, a slanting beam of light scurries into the room.

BANG!

Another,

BANG!

And another, both men jump slightly at each blast.

Finally Tom manages to grapple the gun from Gestalts hands, he tosses it aside, the thing slides under the disabled truck and onto Henry’s waiting feet.

While still holding Gestalts hands Tom takes a slight step back, draws his fist to his shoulder and thumps the man in the nose. A fountain of blood spills forth and gushes onto Tom, the liquid cold and lifeless.

Tom lets his old friend go and steps backwards, his eyes watch as the river of red spills down the mans face and onto the cold stone floor, each torrent dousing his cloths a little more.

“Man what are you?” Tom utters in solemn disbelief, the cold blood a stark signifier.

“I told you I’m alive like never before.” Drawing his hand across his face he smears blood under his eye, “Now its time you joined us.”

With his fist raised Gestalt steps forwards as if to beat the spell into Tom, just then cold steel touches Gestalt’s temple, “Now lets not do anything rash lad.” Henry says, the gun firmly grasped and cocked in his hands.

Albert climbs up at the sound of Henry’s voice, his eyes looking around to see if all of his friends still stand, with relief he see’s they’ve won the day.

“Now lets get the truth Gestalt, what happened to you?”

“Its as I told you, I’m not capable of telling a lie now, as you will be friends, why fight it?”

Pushing his face closer to Gestalt’s Tom smiles, “Because we don’t want to be god damn zombies!”

Gestalt stares back his eyes unblinking, “Then you will have to die.”

Starting as a light beat, very deep, almost beyond their perception the sound begins to grow in volume. Boom, boom, boom. Then a heavy bass chimes in as a solid wall of deep noise, not unlike the growl of a jungle cat. The sound grows in volume and as it does inanimate objects in the room begin to rattle and shudder. Loose bits and pieces dance within the cars chassis, while the remaining chairs and table jounce as if alive.

Gestalt begins to smile as his whole body vibrates as if on a spring, his face shudders so violently he looks to have four, five, ten eyes all at once, and then a blur of colours with no definition.

Releasing his hands from Gestalts Tom grasps Henry and Albert by the wrists and drags them, runs them to the door, both men stumble but manage to gain their feet to join him in the desperate dash.

Bursting from the door all three look about, each trying to find a safe place to cower, without breaking stride Tom runs while pointing to a small concrete hut, perhaps an out-house or privy.

“Inside, everyone inside.” He yells, while his lungs burn with heaving exertion.

Henry, Albert and then Tom pile into the small structure, the concrete outhouse nestled between two behemoth iron hangers. Yanking the small wooden door closed and jamming it into place with the drop bolt Tom slides backwards and takes his place on the toilet seat, Henry and Albert crouch beside him grasping the urinal as if they’re hugging their mums.

The droning hum continues to grow in volume, every heartbeat bringing it closer to breaking. All other sounds cease, the only things drumming in their ears: the distorted base and their own heartbeats, each one escalating with anticipation.

Finally, as the privy door begins to shake so violently that Tom needs to grasp the central bar to prevent it from dislodging, the humming stops; sounding like that split second when a derailed train hangs in the air, every indication of its approach having stopped.

The men take a collective breath, anticipating the crash.

A tidal wave of light hits the door, every crack and fissure becoming a conduit for the intense blast. Henry and Albert shield their eyes while Tom grapples with the jostling door, spear like wood fibers pepper his face and lodge into his uniform.

Tom holds fast.

Next the door starts to smoke as the outside is scoured clean by a wave of yellow-red heat; the sound of tearing metal and breaking stone fills the confined space.

As quickly as the light started it ends, the last vision the men have before total blackness is thin tendrils of smoke rising from fractured wood.

⚅⚀thoughts