Savior

A SciFi story set during a second civil war in the US

Approximately 2000 words

         

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Savior
by
Max Griffin

         
         
         Mary Ellen huddled underneath the shattered window in her bedroom and clutched a bedraggled doll to her chest. 
         
         Granules of grit and plaster trickled down from the ceiling and left a trail of fairy dust through her hair.  A salvo of muffled thumps, not quite like thunder, grumbled in the distance. Daddy told her the thuds weren't thunder, though.  He said the sounds came from mortars, whatever they were.  She kissed her doll's grimy face and murmured, "It's all right, Emma.  It's just like lightning.  If you've heard the sound, then it can't hurt you."  Daddy had told Mary Ellen the same thing, right before he left to get help.  She wished that he'd hurry back.
         
         The rosy fingers of dawn streamed in broken shards through the shattered windows of the room.  Charcoal-laden fumes wafted through breeches in the wall and invaded Mary Ellen's nose.  Next door, smoke floated in murky tendrils over the burned-out husk of Mrs. Niblock's home.  A robin fluttered through the haze and settled on the window sill.  It cocked its head and eyed her before it launched into song. 
         
         An engine growled from the street, like a semi assaulting the steep hill outside her school. It sounded like the scary thing she'd seen yesterday.  Daddy told her it was called a tank. 

         The robin fled.  A mechanical clank lumbered in cadence with the roar of the tank's motor. Stones clattered, and pops rattled in the distance, like far away fireworks on the Fourth of July.  A man's voice, hoarse and gruff, shouted, "Adams.  Simmons.  Check out that house.  And watch for snipers."
         
         Mary Ellen crouched into herself.  A stray beam of sunlight gleamed off the dark screen of her television and dazzled her for an instant, a reminder of better times.  Footfalls thumped up the stairs toward her bedroom and she hugged her doll.  "Be quiet, Emma," she whispered. "Maybe they won't find us."
         
         The door to her room crashed open and a man, enormous and filthy, stormed inside.  The black rifle he gripped in both hands scanned across the interior while he crouched.  He looked like a policeman on television, except that he wore a dull, gray helmet on his head.  His eyes glowed like white saucers surrounded by grime, and his mouth cut a red gash across his face.  His gaze focused on Mary Ellen and he pointed his weapon at her. 
         
         She whimpered and hid her face from the bore of the rifle. It looked big enough to crawl down.
         
         A voice shouted from the hall.  "What you got, Simmons?"
         
         "Some kid." 
         
         She looked up at shuffling sounds from across the room.  Another man, even dirtier, joined the first.  They both wore ragged, green uniforms and muddy, black boots.  They must be soldiers.  Cold fear snatched at her stomach and fled in pinpricks out her fingertips.  Daddy had promised he would be back before the soldiers came.
         
         The first soldier, Simmons, still had his gun leveled at her.  The sunlight glinted in his eyes.  For a moment, they glowed ruddy and feral, like the wolf's eyes in the zoo at Forest Park.
         
         The second soldier pushed the barrel of Simmons' rifle aside.  "Shit, man, she's just a kid.  Ease up."
         
         "Screw that.  You were in the briefing. That doll in her hand could be a bomb.  These heathen Yankees won't stop at nothin'.  Our orders are to shoot first, and ask questions later."
         
         "I ain't shootin' no kid, and neither are you."  His voice dripped with scorn, like Grandma's when she scolded Grandpa for using bad words.  The second soldier slung his rifle over his shoulder and removed his helmet.  He brushed greasy, chestnut curls from his brow and knelt next to Mary Ellen.  A tentative hand reached out to touch her cheek. 
         
         She pumped her legs and pushed against the wall. A bit of broken glass bit into her bottom and tears welled in her eyes.  Her sneakers slipped on the rubble on the floor.  A headless Barbie doll rolled under her feet and settled in the dust.  Mary Ellen opened her mouth to scream, but gagged on the stench of unwashed flesh that oozed from the soldier. 
         
         "It's all right, Sugar," he drawled.  "We won't hurt you." 
         
         His soft accent and gentle voice made her want to like him.  Her eyes roamed over his face and then dropped to his tattered uniform.  Her gaze fixed on the cross surrounded by black flames that was stitched over his heart.  Pastor Mike wore a cross on Sundays.  Maybe it was going to be all right after all.  She looked closer, and read the name "Adams" printed on a tag on his shirt.
         
         "We gotta get out of here," Simmons insisted from the doorway.  Tension wound his voice tight, like a string on her violin.  He backed into the hall and his eyes darted first left, then right.  The crump of mortars thumped closer.  His rifle pointed at Mary Ellen again.  "Let's finish up what we gotta do here and go."
         
         Adams glared at him.  He rapped out, "You ain't doin' nothin' to this kid."  He picked up his rifle. "I mean it." 
         
         Simmons backed away, his eyes never leaving his comrade in arms.  "You're fuckin' crazy, man."
         
         Adams pointed his rifle and growled, "You don't wanna see how crazy I can be."  Simmons lowered his weapon, and Adams nodded.  "Look, this kid ain't gonna hurt nobody."  His voice was softer now, like Uncle Brad's when he used to read to her.  "I just want to make sure she's all right."
         
         "The Lieutenant ain't gonna like it."  Simmons twisted his head and held a finger to his ear.  "Enemy units approachin' from the south.  We're bein' ordered back to the river."
         
         "Shit.  Okay, look, just give me a minute here.  You go on, and I'll hook up."
         
         "It's your funeral, asshole."  Simmons stomped away.  Mary Ellen was sure he would tell on Adams.  She  didn't like tattle-tales, and she warmed even more to the burly man in front of her.
         
         He slung his rifle back over his shoulder.  "What's the name of your dolly, honey bun?"  His husky voice reminded her of Tigger.
         
         She looked him in the eye. "Emma."  The word tore at her throat.  She swallowed and coughed.  Dust gritted in her teeth.
         
         "Emma. That's a nice name.  I've got a sister named Emma.  She's about your age."  He smiled, and his teeth gleamed an impossible white against the grime that cloaked his features.  "My name's Billy. Billy Adams."  He offered his hand.
         
         She hesitated.  Momma always said to be polite.  But..."Daddy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
         
         He nodded. "Your daddy sounds like a smart man."  He reached out and shook Emma's tiny doll-hand instead.  His voice changed to a falsetto.  "My name's Emma.  Nice to meet you, Billy."
         
         Then, in his normal voice, he replied, "Nice to meet you, too, Emma."
         
         A giggle bubbled up in Mary Ellen's throat. She hadn't giggled since the day that the airplanes flew over and fire fell from the sky.
         
         Billy's face crinkled into a smile and his eyes danced.  Mary Ellen thought he had kind eyes. He stared at the doll and asked, "Emma, will you introduce me to your friend here?"
         
         His gentle hand turned Emma's head to regard Mary Ellen.  He spoke again in a falsetto.  "This is my friend Billy."  He held out his hand to her and waited.
         
         She accepted it.  "I'm Mary Ellen."  His enormous paw swallowed hers, and his calloused palm reminded her of their pet lizard, Cloverfield, at school. 
         
         His voice was grave and formal.  "Pleased to meet you, Mary Ellen."  He looked around.  "Is this your room?"
         
         She nodded.
         
         "Are you all alone here, sugar?"  He dragged a knuckle down her cheek.
         
         She nodded again.
         
         "Where're your mommy and daddy?"
         
         "Mommy got hurt when the Arch fell down."
         
         He frowned.  "You mean the Gateway Arch, down by the river?"
         
         "Uh-huh.  We were there for a picnic, and then the airplanes flew over and the Arch fell down.  Lots of people got hurt."
         
         Tears puddled in his eyes and he blinked.  "I know, honey.  I know. How about your daddy?"
         
         "He went to get help."  She looked at his rifle.  "He said he'd be back before the soldiers came."
         
         The mortars thudded again, this time rumbling in a staccato drumbeat.  The tank engine growled from outside, and voices shouted.  He glanced out the window, and then leveled his gaze at Mary Ellen.  "Is there anyone else to look after you, Sweetheart?"
         
         "I'm a big girl.  I don't need anyone to look after me."
         
         His chin trembled and a tear streaked down his cheek.  "I'm sure that you can, Honey.  I bet your daddy's proud of you."
         
         She reached out and hugged him.  "Don't cry, Billy.  Daddy said that everything's going to be all right."
         
         He clung to her and a single, lonely sob shook his body.  "That's right, Sugar.  I promise you, everything's going to be all right.  I won't let anyone hurt you."
         
         A sudden explosion reverberated from outside, and a flash of brilliant orange light filled the room.  The reek of gunpowder and burning gasoline flooded the air.  Men shouted and rapid-fire crackles and pops rattled into the gaping silence.  Seconds passed like hours before quiet again settled over the battle-scarred suburban neighborhood.  Somewhere, a man screamed and screamed, his voice gurgling up as though from underwater.  A single, pitiless crack snapped through the air, and the man fell silent. 

         Billy unslung his rifle and crouched by the window. 
         
         Mary Ellen crawled to his side and tugged on his sleeve. "What's happening, Billy?"
         
         He shook his head.  "I'm not sure, sugar.  Stay down here, underneath the window, okay?  I'll keep you safe.  Promise."
         
         She stared for a moment into his blue eyes, and then squatted at his feet.  She screwed her eyes closed and wrinkled her nose at his bad smell.  But Momma said it wasn't polite to make faces and Billy was nice, so she tried to smooth her features.
         
         An abrupt salvo of cracks sounded from outside the window, and a line of holes stitched into the wall above the doorway.  A wet, splattering sound, like spaghetti thrown against a wall, filled her ears.  Something hot and slimy slithered across her face.  Billy collapsed on top of her, trapping her against the wall.  A flat coppery odor melded with the foul stench of his unwashed body. 
         
         Mary Ellen screamed.
         
         The stairs thudded again with footfalls.  Daddy's voice thundered into the room.  "Mary Ellen, where are you?" 
         
         Billy's body jerked up and revealed his features.  His head sagged loose  on his neck, but his mouth still curved in a slight smile.  His blue eyes stared at her, unblinking.  A neat, black hole gaped in the middle of his forehead.  His body tumbled to one side in a boneless heap, like Raggedy Andy.
         
         Daddy's strong arms picked her up and cradled her.  "What did he do to you, honey? What did he do?"  His voice quavered.
         
         She looked down at where Billy's body sprawled, exposing the back of his head.  Or, rather, where the back of his head used to be.  Now there was only a bloody maw, oozing white and orange goo.  He wasn't moving.  She wanted him to move.  She wanted to hear him tell her again that everything would be all right.
         
         A new soldier slouched in the doorway.  This one's uniform had an eagle stitched over his heart instead of a cross.  "Just another dead Johnny Reb."  He spat.  "Good riddance."
         
         Daddy hugged her close and hid her eyes from the ruin that used to be Billy.  "You're safe now, sweetheart.  He can't hurt you anymore.  We won't let anything happen to you."  He wiped at her face and his trembling hands came away crimson.
         
         Mary Ellen clutched at Emma and sobbed. 
         
         Her tears mingled with the blood of her silent savior.  She twisted to catch one last glimpse of him as Daddy took her away.  Mortars thumped and rifles cracked, but they couldn't silence the words she whispered.  "Goodbye, Billy.  Thank you."