Empty War Copyright 1998 --------- By Ben Christie. All Rights Reserved. The clip was empty. Empty like the soul of his killer. I tossed the gun away and gazed back upon the bodies. Dressed in torn jeans, the body of a human trooper, which I had tripped over, lay face down in the mud. He was lying on the moist ground and even through the decay of his face, he still conveyed an expression of horror. Its eyes and mouth, forever locked in an eternal scream which he would take to the grave. His body was ice cold. He must have been killed a while ago. Near by was the remains of an anthroanimality, fur wet and beginning to shed from his body. He had clearly been dead for quite some time. The snout had begun to lose its flesh and fur, revealing the boney under structure. It was a horrid sight, but nothing I hadn't seen before. Returning to my feet, I felt a sudden sharp pain run up my left leg nearly causing me to topple back down. I held my ground and relieved most of the pressure off my left leg and placed it on my right. I turned and began to hobble away. Surly this injury would not allow me to continue at the same pace that I had been traveling at before. I needed some place to hide. I began to notice that the body was giving off the repugnant stench of death which had already begun to hand in the air like a thick fog. Trying to forget the putrid smell, I started to look for a hiding place. Where there had once been a city, there was now only the remnants of structures at one time inhabited by the living. I had seen destruction worse then this. I had caused destruction worse then this, yet it still shocked me to see the brutality that one's entire race could create. City no more. Only an eerie, silent graveyard. The ruins were lined along what once appeared to have been a paved road, but was little more then a wide dirt pathway. The structures had once been houses for the living. Now, they were coffins for the dead. Walls were tombstones. Basements were tombs. Many houses did not possess roofs anymore, and the rain from the previous night dripped down through the cracks and gaping holes. Some of the houses were so devastated that there were only large cement basements marking the spots of previous buildings. A steeple lay fallen from the remnants of a church and blocked the roadway father down. From experience, I knew they would still be following me, though I was probably ahead of them by several miles. Still, I did not risk spending too much time searching for cover. I hobbled down the road, breathing in and out steadily. Even though they were probably nowhere in sight, I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the area behind me. Finally, my eyes came to rest on a building that looked almost completely intact, save a wall missing on the left side. Feeling that I had found my resting place, I moved towards the front door. It was gone, like the life of this town. My leg stung with each step I took and the pain seemed to have a numbing effect on my hip. My best chance was to hide myself in the basement, possible under some garbage, or furniture. As I walked towards the stairs, I had the feeling I was entering a long undisturbed tomb. It was cold down below. Cold and damp. The only light which entered from the room was through one small hole in the ceiling above, and the stairwell I had just descended. By this time, I had already searched the basement with my eyes and picked out a perfect hiding place in which I could rest until the danger had passed. Crouched down in the corner, and covered by several chairs and pieces of garbage, I felt remotely safe from any approaching danger. Hearing only the sound of my breath, I lay my head back on the cold cement floor and slowly began to drift off to sleep. I was not alone. I held my breath. Still I could hear breathing. There was someone in this basement with me. Someone or something. I couldn't hide in a basement with another person. what if he gave my position away? What if I was killed before it had a chance to? What if it was one of them? I couldn't stay. If I stayed I could be killed by this creature in the basement. I couldn't go. If I left I could be killed by the coming enemy. But was this creature one of them? Maybe it was one of us? Maybe it wouldn't kill me, like they would. I figured, even if it was one of them, I'd have a better chance with one then I would with many. And I might not even be able to find another hiding place in time. My choice was clear. I decided to stay. I could not drift off to sleep though. Heaven's no. That could give the creature the perfect opportunity to get me. I could not move, nor make a noise. How could I know if it already knew I was here? It may not or it my be inching it's way-- Suddenly it moved and, like a reflex, I cried out, "Get back!" Everything fell silent. I had stopped breathing. The creature had stopped breathing. My heart beat furiously beneath my rib cage. Water dripped through the small hole above. Dipping into a puddle. Each splash like a second on a clock, counting away time. My time. It returned my cry. "Is someone there?" The voice was edgy, and conveyed a nervousness that I too was feeling. Yet, the voice was gentle and warming. It came from the opposite side of the room. I answered back. "Yes, who are you?" "My name is Jonathan McCarther. Who are you?" "Grant Lawrence. I'm hiding here to get away from-- " 'Them? Me too." His voice suddenly calmed. "How long have you been on the run?" It's been three months for me and I must have traveled at least a hundred miles." He was obviously in a similar position as I, and even though I wasn't sure I could trust him, I had the need to finally talk to someone again. "Just over a week. They've been following me since I escaped from a detention center. I injured my leg outside, so I had no other option but to hide." "Do you have any protection with you? A gun of knife?" I hadn't found a weapon since the body I tripped over and that gun was useless. "No. Do you?" "Yes. A small handgun. It's lasted me the entire time, but it's out of ammunition. I found in the forest and I just use it to scare people away. I'm sure glad I didn't have to use it. I'd hate to--" He paused. "--kill and I pray that this war will end. I pray each and every day. Do you?" "Yes. I pray every minute of every day that it will just end and let us continue on with our lives." "My life will never be the same," Jonathan said with a hint of despondency. "I don't think anyone's life will, but rest assured that we will find a way through this to the bitter end." "My whole family is dead," he said. "Everyone. My brother. My wife. My... daughter. Sarah. She was so sweet. So young. She didn't even have a chance to live her life before she had it taken away from us...from me." "I'm sorry to h--" "Right there in the middle of the night, I was woken by screams of my daughter from the room across from us. She was screaming for her mother. Her loving mother. My wife. She was screaming with every breath her lungs could give her. We ran to her side, but we confronted by two huge men. They had guns bigger then their bodies. And there, on the floor beside my daughter's bed, lying in a pool of his own blood, was my brother. Crimson red covered his clothes. They placed a gun to Sarah's head. How dare they place a gun to my daughter! I ran towards her as the putrid enemy laughed, but was held against my will. Held back by one of the huge and ugly creatures and I watched as they gunned down my daughter in her own bed. I watched them kill my wife as she knelt to the floor crying. All before my eyes. I keep seeing it over and over. I keep reliving it. Who could be so cruel as to kill a kid? A defenseless kid and her mother? Who could have such a twisted mind to be able to laugh as they kill a child? So barbaric?" The enemy was barbaric. A collection of all the hatred in the world. I hated the enemy and they're ways and I felt sorry for the hell Jonathan had been through. Jonathan wept silently in his corner. Footsteps. Footsteps echoing throughout the cement confines of the basement, Footsteps on the floor above. It could only be one thing: them. The enemy. Jonathan was quiet now. I had stopped breathing. Only footsteps could be heard, closer then before. They were approaching the stairs. My mind raced with vivid pictures of what they might do to us if we were found hiding here. Or would they kill us where we stand, like Jonathan's family. The first enemy began his descent of the stairs. There sounded like there was only two of them. They chatted amongst themselves. "See anything down there, Jim?" one said, his voice booming. "Nothing. Shine your flashlight around the room a couple times," the other man, Jim, replied. A beam of light passed over my body and then moved onwards along the other walls and corners. They weren't searching very well, but I had no objection to that. The light beam must have passed over Jonathan, by now. He was safe then. "I don't see anything down here, Phil," Jim said. "Me neither. Let's join up with the rest and move on." With that, they began to leave the basement, but not before I had a chance to lift my head and see the face of the enemy. "No wait!" I cried. The two men spun around, the flashlight and guns pointed directly at me. I covered my face. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm not the enemy!" "My god!" one exclaimed, lowering his gun. "How long have you been down here?" I presumed from his voice that this was Jim. "Only a few minutes. I escaped from a detention center a week ago and I was running from a group of them that were--" Hey, we just came from scaring a swarm of them away. Must have been the ones that were following you. Are you all right?" "I'm fine," I said lifting myself up. Pain surged through my leg and I winced. "Geeze. Give me your hand," the other one said. I took hold on his hand firmly and was hoisted out of the corner. "Thanks. Are there more of you?" I asked. "About a dozen. They're searching the rest of the houses. Haven't found anyone, but you so far. Just body after body." "There's another one down here with me," I said turning to the other corner. "Jonathan! It's safe to come out. They're friends." The garbage in the corner moved a bit and a figure rose from the corner, still hidden in the shadows. Phil shined his flashlight on him. "My God! Shoot him!" one yelled, firing his gun. I watched blood spurt forth from Jonathan's chest as he flew back into the corner and yelled in horror. They stopped firing and I ran and knelt next to John as he lay on the ground, his blood spilling out on the floor. "God dammit!" I cried. "Don't just stand there!" One of the men jolted up the stairwell, yelling for help. The other one, the gun-toting lunatic, just stood there. "I didn't mean to," he said. "But he's one of them. It's second nature." "Second nature to kill?" I yelled. "To kill them, yes." "No," I hollered, tears forming in my eyes. "It's not!" I was crying as I held Jonathan's limp body close to mine. His gentle body. His calming body. His lifeless body. But I had not been crying for Jonathan's lose. No. I was happy that he had gone to a better place then this hell. He was with his family now and that is why I was crying, from what I had realized. My hands were stained with his blood, the floor had turned a black red and I looked upon the ground where the clip had fallen from his gun. "Do you realize you've just killed a defenseless man?" I yelled. "He had a gun for God's sake." "The clip was empty!" Empty like the souls of his killer.