Day Turned Black

The best part of Izzy's day was admiring the sun as it burst over the mountains. It would be better if she woke up refreshed enough not to doze under the streaks of purple and red stretching out over the sky. Night terrors ruined those moments for Izzy more often than she wanted to admit. The same nightmare she’d had for months left her breathless and her bones buzzing every morning.

Izzy shook off the haze it left with farm chores. More potently, the stench of the slop pen and the round-bellied snorkers. The wet smack of their wide mouths grinding up the scraps put off most people. The deterrent was exactly what she wanted.

No one bothered her here and nothing more than the cool air and the cute scrunched-up faced animals were needed. The snorkers were only pushy if she stopped to enjoy the world before feeding them. One of the young snorklets pranced around Izzy’s leg. Three-toed feet with wide webbing kept it from sinking into the spring mud that squished with thick sucking sounds.

“Ah.” She lifted the tiny guy into her arms. “You still can’t reach the trough, Runt? Here, I’ll give you a boost.”

She turned over the slop bucket and settled Runt on top. The snorklet dove for the food, burrowing in to snatch up last night's vegetable refuse. Izzy chuckled, scanning the area to count the snorkers. Six adults and seventeen snorklets, all accounted for.

She locked up the pen and struck out for home. Knee-high leather boots helped keep farm muck from seeping into the soles. It was a messy job cleaning up and keeping the animals groomed and fed. Izzy reveled in every moment it gave her to shake off the screams from her nightmares.

Her quaint farm town had a hard year ahead of them after last year's drought. People relied on their farm with food stores running low. The animals who survived were young and resilient. Dozens of births this spring meant a promising future. Even with fewer old animals ready for slaughter from the heavy cull last year, the economy would rebound.

As long as the farmers kept produce coming. Without enough grains or grasses for the herbivores on her farm, they would become fodder for the omnivores, like snorkers. Meat supplies would dwindle to only animals that raised the fastest with the least amount of feed. People would get ill-tempered if foul and rodents became the main staples.

She crested the hill from the lower pens and the bustle of life washed over her. The savory scent of Izzy’s mom cooking eggs wafted in the air. Their neighbor, Mrs. Banion, had her cart hooked up to her favorite bovine for a trip to the city. Mr. Jarris peddled a cart of baked goods up the road.

His merry wave lightened her heart. Her family always had plenty of failed bread with wonky bulges or burned crusts, but it was still food. As long as they exchanged their end cuts and lard, Mr. Jarris provided what he could to them. The worst bits made good slop, anyway.

They’d have toast today. Her mouth watered with the idea of her father’s famous honey toast lightly warmed on the cooking stove. A spread of fresh cream skimmed off the settled milk was just the right touch for a full meal.

Popping in the distance slowed her steps as the nightmare flooded back from the sound. Townfolk fired pistols if a wild beast was getting too close to town. Izzy schooled herself with the thought, waiting for the alarm to raise. If it was a beast, she’d need to corral the animals until it was gone. If it wasn’t…

Another pop split the air and another with a deeper pitch. Two people were after it already? Another and another joined the first two and her bones flared with fire. The memories of her nightmares materialized before Izzy’s eyes, banishing any hope of just a stray creature.

Mr. Jarris jumped off his cycle, arms waving in urgent jerks to staring citizens. Cobblestones scraped under their rushing feet from whatever he’d said. Across the way, the neighbor's bovine shuttered and bucked. The cart attached to his yoke upturned, spilling the goods the townsfolk had filled it with.

Each action mimicked her nightmares step by agonizing step while the popping grew in intensity. Izzy had lived this day in her sleep a hundred times. Each iteration shifted only by her actions. She had to trust this dream would come true like all the others did when her bones burned like this. 

This nightmare ended the same for her no matter what she did. Dead. In all those failed attempts to live, she managed to piece together one path that would lighten the sting.

Izzy charged for the fence, her heart pounding in her ears. If she hid in the barn, the horde would find her, their black smiles with broken teeth far too happy to find a lone young woman. The option slipped away in the heat coursing through her. Going inside only sealed her fate with her parents.

Oh, her parents! She hadn’t had time for a hug or kiss today. She never would have the chance again.

Izzy’s feet almost veered to the house for one more moment in her mother's arms as they died. The ingrained actions from nightly practice and burning bones kept her path focused toward the fence and she leapt it in a bound.

The town sat on their doorstep. Mom preferred the placement, and Dad carved out enough space for their livelihood. The men terrorizing their hometown would find their way here before she could escape to the cover of the sparse woods leagues away. When they found her, she had to be in the right place. She couldn’t afford a wrong choice in real life.

“Izzy,” Mr. Jarris called after her, helping Mrs. Banion to control her bovine. “Stop! They’re raiding the town. Find shelter.”

She gritted her teeth and ran toward the rising cacophony of panic and gunfire. To stop and help them, even with the chance of a faster ride from town, would end fruitless. She forced herself forward into town until a marauder rode into a side street ahead on a fearsome reptilian beast with fast legs and whip of a tail.

That was the signal she needed. Izzy darted up the next alleyway, knowing it would be clear. Her breath burned in her lungs, but she pushed through. There was no time to waste. One second late in this ruleless race and everything would fall apart.

The alley broke into a broad street. Chaos ensued before her. Reptile-riding men shot anyone they saw. Lit torches flew into windows and doorways. The men’s mounts snapped up people in their jaws, crushed them under taloned feet, or spun to whip them with tails.

Cries filled the air. It was madness. Unfettered and unprovoked with no warning. Her townspeople were not fighters. They had no quarrels with the outside. Izzy knew that didn’t matter. This was not about fairness. Destruction and resources drove these men. Only stores and their wares were safe from burning.

She ducked behind a set of crates not yet touched by the invaders. They would arrive in moments. She crouched and waited. One step from this meager cover too soon and she’d be dead before reaching her destination.

Her muscles burned from the exertion. Smoke rose into the air as home after home went up in flames. The sky darkened above her, destroying the beauty of the morning.

A rider trotted up to her hiding spot. The red triangle painted on his vest with a long skull proclaimed his troop - the Bull’s Death. Her town was experiencing the band's vicious reputation first-hand.

The larger round patch sewn with more precision on his shoulder added to the confusion of the nightmare. She could hardly believe the crest of the Temeric kingdom to the north could grace such vile men. 

The crack of the lid giving way to the hammer end of his spear widened her eyes. She dropped flat on her belly, hands covering her neck.

“This one has produce!” His gravelly tenor echoed with her nightmares. “This store we tear apart. The loot will keep us fed for weeks.”

Food that should have kept the town running after the drought and famine, not these evil men. Her heart burned with anger, chasing away the fear and flooding her with adrenaline. If they wanted to scour her home of every useful thing, she would make them pay for it.

The man wheeled his mount into a trot up the street. Orders flew from his mouth. He’d be at that for a while. With the distraction, she reached into another crate. The lighter oil inside was clear, like water. The stench of the surrounding smoke masked the faint scent of it. Their raid of the town would last until it dried, undetectable but for an odd tingle on the tongue. She popped open the top of each bottle and poured the contents into the food crates.

They drained, the glug of liquid rushing through a small hole. Four piles of crates. Four bottles of poison. It leaked through each stack, coating the food inside before pooling on the ground. She tossed the bottles behind a stairway. 

It took every ounce of effort to creep along the building out of view. Around the corner, she dashed for her final destination. Time clicked in her head. Stopping to taint the fruit was risky, but worth her small retribution.

At the next intersection, more men stalked a street door to door. She heard the screams of people and the pops of gunfire. A young man lay in the gutter, just as she knew he would be, bleeding out from holes in his chest. She snatched off his cap and hastily shoved her longer hair inside it. With her work clothes and this hat, she would look like a boy instead of a girl.

She raised her gaze to a small opening under the sidewalk between stores and her final destination. Her chosen resting place. The frightened eyes of the two young Stilton children peeped out of the shadow. Hidden, but not well enough against the search of blood-hungry men.

Unless she made sure they were.

She set her feet, ready to sprint. Ready for when the enemy turned to gloat, affording her a last opening. Her bones burned, reminding her this was exactly where she needed to be.

The riders moved just so. She dashed from her meager cover and a cooling calm flooded over her. A shout, a gunshot, and pounding feet of reptilian mounts came her way. She dropped and rolled under the sidewalk.

“Get back. Far as you can.” She forced the command through breathless panting. “Hide behind me and don’t make a squeak. No matter what. Got it?”

The Stilton children, the little girl with dusty hair and a boy with freckles on his tan skin, huddled against the wall where she bodily forced them back.

“Are they going to kill us?” the girl asked.

“Only me if you don’t move.”

They whimpered, and she put a finger up that stopped them. Feet pounded on the ground as a man dismounted. All sound under the walkway cut off.

“That’s a bad hiding spot, boy,” the marauder said.

A first shot bore between her shoulders, arching her back with the force and surprise of the hit. The next two shook her, body spasming in shock. His sauntering step faded away as the man hollered a whoop.

She forced her eyes to open, feeling consciousness slip, but she had to be sure her dream held true to the end. The two children huddled, silent tears running down their faces. Both whole. Uninjured.

She smiled and relaxed into her fate. “Stay until they leave town. Tell our story.”

The children nodded, clutching at each other. She squeezed her eyes tight as the world faded away. They were safe. Their faces the last thing she saw.