15

Four men. She called four men to their deaths. The inflection and emotion of her pleading voice convinced the concerned samaritans to risk death. White knights turned red. Saviours made martyrs. It's like she fed Jesus to the hyenas as they cackled at God.

Black sky daylight.

She eyes the commotion of the camp from the parking lot of the Maranon Mall. Cabin tents are falling. Packing. Clotheslines untying. Inventory counting. Panic and in some cases, notions of the world dying and resurrecting as fear and grief. A belief in the previously unbelievable.

She limps from the mall to be closer, minding the campers who might be watching the field. She lingers in the shadows of ditches and long grass.

Time's fed comes upon the remnants of a smashed and gutted Winnebago. Climbs into the roofless wreck and feels the gray sun as it breaks through the steps of her past and upon her countenance. She takes her hoodie and shirt off to let fragments of Old Sol touch her bare back. Kneels in front of the dashboard where the drivers seat once was.

She listens. The campers converse beyond the barricades. Their voices carry. She wonders if they're aware of the volume extending from each word.

Her ears are witness to the language she's responsible for. They're talking about her.

"There's a witch out there in the darkness. She's going to eat all of us if we don't hurry."

"It's no witch. It's one of them. They can sound like us now. Those monsters can talk like us, now."

"No, our boys were hearing things. They were already infected. I heard nothing last night until Solomon fired his flair into the sky."

"I saw that flair, too. I saw her with her wolves. It's a witch. A she-wolf. She'll lure all of us to our deaths to feed her hungry pack."

"Four husbands and the two sons who never returned? All sick? The beginnings of the abominations don't ever act like our boys acted. What might've been become ravenous immediately. Our boys weren't infected! I heard the third one, Marcus, go on out there. I heard the woman. They weren't sick, they were being good Christian boys. That bitch lured them out! Bob's right. We're dealing with a witch. She's the devil."

"The laughter. What about the laughter?"

"Her fallen, dark angels. The demons. Wolves that find death humorous. This place is cursed and we're doing right by leaving."

"What if she has them and's torturing them? We need to find our boys."

"No! That's what she wants. She wants us one by one. Maybe even in groups. We don't know the extent of her power. Our boys are dead. Let 'em rest. We need to leave. There's nothing left to cremate. They've all been swallowed."

"I think she's a skin changer. I think she has the voodoo power of the wilderness."

"I think she is the wilderness that eats all movement. But it don't matter. We can't stay here. We'll go insane and she'll take us. We need a structure. Walls of concrete. A place of refuge. A place not touched by this curse."

"The Ark museum."

"Yes. Our loving God's place of artifact. Adventist and young."

"Yes! Salvation. Praise God. I pray we can multiply there. Begin again as God intends. Leave this Sodom and Gomorrah to its ashes and salt and create civilization from our own."

"Isn't that place a tomb, now?"

"Maybe. Maybe we be like Lazarus and Jesus will raise us from this death."

"We take no one else in until we have the museum as our own. Spread the word as we tear down. As we travel. Kill anyone we meet. We can't trust anyone except those already among us. Our group is meant to enter the Ark of the flood. Our new Genesis. An Exodus from this dead, old world."

Time's fed has heard enough. She puts her shirt and hoodie back on and crawls out of the Winnebago. Finds the shadows of a ditch. Her crisp eyes watch the camp for another moment and she decides to hurry the transients. Rolls onto her back and begins her soliloquy.

"Oh, please. Help me. Oh, help. I need help. My children. Please, help my children."

A gunshot echoes across the field and a woman screams violent sobs.

The time's fed girl listens to the reassertion of panic in the campers movements. Clanging and stomping. Running and swearing. They're as ricochets in the haunting, claustrophobic new day. Her presence shatters an invisible glass that once felt like an understood barrier of protection. She continues to play with them. With their superstitions.

"Oh, please. Help me. Help me. Help me."