SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

The moon was kissing the horizon when Luke crossed the final bridge and came to the walls of Midian. They were old and worn, crumbled in a hundred places. They seemed held in place by the weight of years more than by mortar. The buildings inside the city were boxes of stone smoothed by time. The windows were open sockets, and their doors slack, stupid mouths. They were stacked a dozen high in some places, like piles of skulls at the entrances of crypts. Dusty tarps hung over some of the doors, their jungle green dusted to a colorless gray. Bent, rusting antennae jutted above a few of the roofs, and a pair of boots sat next to one doorstep like forlorn puppies. There were no voices but the mute ghosts of abandoned things.

“Hello?” Luke croaked, licking a split in his bottom lip. “Is anybody here?”

No one answered. Luke’s throat tensed up, and as dry as the rest of him was, tears welled in his eyes. His legs wobbled like sprung springs and he started to pant. He patted at his belt absently, like he couldn’t quite remember what he was looking for. That was when he looked up and saw the light. It blazed over the rooftops; a burning beacon that could be seen for miles. He approached, breath hitching in time with his steps.

He walked until the detritus of the one-time occupiers was behind him. He crossed ancient aqueducts, and stepped past dried-up fountains filled with flat stones. He turned down crumbling boulevards and ducked between the shadows of the too-close ruins. He continued until the city grew humble, with the eaves cut at sharp angles so the houses bowed toward the center.

The heart of Midian was a colossus that dwarfed the rest of the city. Built of the same stone as everything else, it was a tapering pyramid that brushed the low-hanging firmament. The plateau of the lowest level was higher than the tallest of the surrounding structures, built from blocks bigger than they had any right to be. They were cut with short, narrow stairs. He saw no other way up, so Luke started climbing.

The stairs were deceptive. The first dozen went by easily, and he barely noticed the dozen after that. They seemed designed to strain the ankles and torture the feet of climbers though, and they were cut at such an angle that Luke had to lean into them like a man in a high wind. Sweat streamed down his skin, burning like battery acid as it cut through the dirt and seeped into his wounds. He stepped wrong and almost fell, pin-wheeling his arms as he tried to reclaim his balance. His shovel slid off his belt, clanking and spinning off into open air. He crawled from that point on.

Dragons guarded the first landing; huge, serpentine things with hollow eyes and empty mouths full of sharp teeth. They reared out of the walls like they were trying to escape the stone. Ball chains had been hooked around their jaws, and dozens of dog tags swung below their maws like grisly souvenirs. Luke stared at them, trying to get his breath back. Slowly he pulled his tags off, and took them apart. He hung the long chain on the left, and the short chain on the right. Then he started climbing again, looking back every few steps to be sure the dragons weren’t following.

There were others. Graven demons with no eyes; carved forests with men’s faces along their branches; and giants who stood the full height of several blocks. Some of the guardians hurt Luke’s eyes to look at; creatures who seemed to be made of light with thousands of eyes that lived inside ever-dancing flames. He left his spare magazines, his empty canteen, his pistol, his equipment belt, his shirt, his boots, and even the stump of his little finger behind as he marked his own, bloody trail up the side of mountain.

In time he reached the summit, shaking and shivering like a newborn. A fire burned brightly, but it gave off neither heat nor sound. It was like someone had torn a hole in the night, and the light that lived behind the sky was looking in. Luke stared at it until his muscles ceased trembling and his breath came clear again. He stared until his pains quieted. Then he looked up, and nearly fell back down the way he’d come.

Something sat on the other side of the fire. A shroud covered its face, the threadbare cloth imploding as it breathed deep, and billowing as it breathed out. Ichor dripped from its chin and pooled in its lap. Two legs were crossed under it while the other two sat splayed out. Its cock dangled, barbs glistening with something too thick to be sweat. Antlers and horns curled above its distended head, framing it like a predator’s smile. It sat on a throne of meat that heaved and breathed, sweated and shitted. It dragged talons over the shivering cushions, and chittered as the blood ran from the pulped, palpitating flesh. Luke’s chest cried out, and his vision went pale as he clutched at his chest. His hands came away bloody, and the thing laughed a hissing laugh. Its breath smelled of corruption and cordite.