"Last Stand"

I stood alone on top of the wall, watching them soar past. A tiny part of my mind told me I couldn’t get them all, my defense was futile. I was the last one left, everyone else had fled, but still the steady stream blew past me. Each one I missed would land, and spill its pallid, infectious taint on whatever it touched. And from each landing, that taint would spread.

The spores were fragile, at least. They had to be, to float on the wind like that. I’d ditched my gun for a splintered, five foot length of plastic that had once been a flagpole or a tent strut or something. Shooting the spores was hopeless, but at least I could break them with the stick. And each one I got burst in a shower of gray goo, that goo pelting me and slicking the concrete under my boots. I was tainted beyond hope of a cure, I knew that, but perhaps I could do just enough to buy time for the rest to get clear. Perhaps I could save some of the fleeing colonists before I succumbed to the taint. Perhaps it was hopeless, but I had to try.

I swung again, and a whole swath of the floating spores, clumped together into ponderous globs, fell to pieces. I tried not to think about the rest, the hundreds that drifted past me even as I cut down dozens and scores of their number. It was hopeless. The colony was lost, I was lost, and if anyone escaped, it would only be a matter of time before they were lost too.

I swung again, and more of the spores popped into showers of deadly pus-fluid. All I could do now to slow the spread I was doing, and it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough...

“Peter, come down from there this instant!” I blinked, and the mottled, whitish spores faded to transparency, laced with rainbow ripples. My tattered uniform and boots vanished, and I was barefoot, feeling the wall’s rough concrete against my skin. I was covered head to toe in slimy soap scum, and so was the wall I stood on. “You’ll fall and break your neck!” She stalked over to Johnny and roughly yanked the bubble wands out of his hands. Johnny, not quite three, whimpered a little, and she picked him up as well.

“Aww, Mom!” I dropped my broken broomstick as the last of the bubbles drifted over and past me, to land in the grass beyond. “But that was my last stand!”

Mom’s worried, angry face softened a bit. “The way you were going, it would have been.” I hopped down, picked up my stick, and walked over toward the porch. “Go clean that off. Dinner’s ready.”

Disappointment lessened by the promise of food, I dashed into the house, heading for the bathroom. A fresh change of clothes and a towel were waiting for me, so I turned on the shower. The alien taint proved no match for the pounding spray, and it reluctantly sheeted off my skin to spiral down the drain.

This story originally written for the Literary Maneuvers Challenge on writingforums.com.

"Darkness"

I found the stone as the sun dipped below the trees on the western side of the cemetery, and the electric lights pointed at the nameplates of the gaudier graves began to come on. Grass was grown up around it, and lichen had begun its slow work on the lee side. My cane found the earth in front of it soft, not packed down by the feet of regular visitors. 

The name on it was one I’d not seen nor heard in two decades, but which had lived in my memory ever since. It was the name of the woman I’d failed, all those years ago. The woman who had turned to me for help in a dark hour.

“I’m sorry.” I said, echoing the last words I had said to her, all those years ago. This time, the meaning was wholly different. Around me, the shadows of the trees deepened, and the last few other visitors headed for the gates.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the twenty years roll back, to the day the grave was filled, the marker set in place. A priest in black intoned in the local language, while the shadowy figures of the assembled friends and family huddled against an oppressive gray drizzle. I recognized none of them, but I could see the empty space where I should have stood, a hollow spot off to one side, a place in the soggy grass where there should have been a pair of feet standing. But I was at work that day, probably, not even knowing what was going on.

There were footsteps behind me. I turned to see a bent-backed man with an electric lantern heading my way. As soon as he had my attention, he waved and said something I didn’t understand, but I picked up the meaning - he was the groundskeeper, and it was time to go. 

I turned back to the grave one more time. I knew I wouldn’t be back, not ever. I had to come at least once. “I’m sorry.” I repeated, at a loss for what to say. After a moment’s silence, I turned and followed the groundskeeper towards the gate, as the darkness outside grew to match the black guilt within.