Anthony Barnhart - Starseed.pdf - Anthony Barnhart - widez2

Starseed

a novel by

Anthony Barnhart

Starseed

Anthony Barnhart

Starseed

Prologue:

Death is Not the End

he gripped the baby tight in her arms, screaming, writhing

away; the baby shrieked, toothless howl shaking the stark night

air. One of the guards grabbed the woman by the shoulders,

ripped her away, hurled her into a cloud of snow; the other snatched

the wailing baby by the legs, whirled it against the bullet-riddled brick

wall; blood and guts stained the rustic brick, the lifeless corpse

dropping into the snow. The baby cried no more. The woman leapt up,

fanatical; the guard swung around the 9mm, blazing the trigger; she

dropped into the snow, blown brains melting the ashy snow. The two

prisoners just watched, feeling nothing, hands cuffed, dressed in

shanty jeans and a flight suit; the barrels of guns poking into their

backs. All around men, women, children huddled in groups, herded

onto the flatbed Army trucks, the beds encased with barbed wire.

Families were torn apart, parents from wide-eyed kids, fathers from

wives; young babies were dropped into the snow and stepped on,

crunching their faces, scarring the earth crimson with innocent blood.

The trucks slowly filled; the ones loaded with kids went to the left,

into the city, where the children would be shoved into metal lockers,

the walls slowly compressing until all that was left was crunched bones,

slithering mush. The bodies were swept up with mechanical brooms

and dropped into fiery pits. The women took a traverse to the cliff and

forced to jump headfirst, smashing over the rocks; it was that or rape,

unless the inhuman soldiers had warm feelings for you beforehand.

And yet the men, stripped of all humanity, all dignity, stood proud on

shaky legs as the back of their skulls shattered under the pressure of

Anthony Barnhart

Starseed

the bullets, bodies dropped into deep graves to be burned like wild

animals; stronger carcasses gave the rampant dogs meal that night.

The two soldiers had never seen it up close. Now they were thrown

into the hellfire. Most of the trucks had been filled, and sputtering

smog and clenching dust, they drove off down the separate byways. The

pair of soldiers got the dirty end of the stick, slammed into one of the

sooty trucks; encased in barbed wire, they stood motionless as the

vehicle pulled away from the town, enemy soldiers milling about. The

convoy vanished into the countryside, navigating the steep hills and

gullies.

“We’re not getting out of here,” one said, voice crisp with fear.

The other didn’t react. “They’ll come.”

“They’re not coming. They would’ve been here by now.”

“We always go. Why won’t they come for us?”

His friend stared out the lacerating wire; someone tried to squeeze

through; the guard atop the truck fired behind a .50-caliber

machinegun, spraying his body all over the other passengers. The first

P.O.W. gasped, yanking a shred of bloodied cloth from his shoulder;

his companion didn’t react, backside smeared with warm blood. Some

groaned, prayed, most were quiet; some sobbed, losing control. Theirs

was the last truck in line, no headlights behind to light the road. Total

darkness. Mist wrapped along the edge of the road, between bushes

and gangly trees. The earth had been turned into a wasteland.

Squealing brakes; the truck lurched to a stop, the prisoners swaying

with the jolt. The back door was opened, soldiers yelling at them to

jump out and run into the clearing, following the torches. Like lab rats,

they obeyed, without question, the masculine guns better at giving

orders than mere words. All knew they would die, yet all feared the

repercussions of fighting back. The clearing opened; a giant pit was

engraved into the earth, reeking burning flesh and sputtering fat. The

Anthony Barnhart

Starseed

companions crowded around the edge of the pit; bones, charred and

weathered, covered with bare strips of ashen flesh, lay all over each

other; some had tried to climb up the sides, falling down, burning alive.

The enemy soldiers took the first wave of men, knelt them along the

perimeter; they closed their eyes; the first P.O.W. turned his eyes as the

UMPs chattered; the bodies fell into the pit, spilling fresh blood. The

next wave lined up, bodily hurled into the grave. Wave, wave, wave

after wave.

Their turn had come.

Sub-machineguns jabbed into their backs, sending them along;

forced to kneel down beside the rim of the pit. Horrible, it had to come

to this; everything they’d always fought for, everything their friends

had died for, ran rampant, an evil black plague, no hindrance, no

handicap. The two soldiers knelt down, staring at the mutilated bodies

building within the vast grave; some were alive, groaning, moaning,

quivering; many suffocated under the weight of all the bodies, lungs

crushed. The guns were lowered, inches from the back of their skulls.

“They didn’t come,” his companion said, gazing over the slaughtered

souls.

No resolution, no fear. “Death is not the end.”

The guns roared; their bodies collapsed into the pit. The soldiers

poured gasoline over the bodies and lit it aflame, abandoning the

bonfire, heading back to town. The only survivors burned to death,

carrion turned to crackling, smoldering with the smoke, a barbecue of

human flesh.

“Swipe your card.”

She obeyed; the door slid open, pale, cool vapor pouring out the

door, crawling over the floor. She stepped inside, shivering, teeth

chattering. The guard shut the door, entered the room filled with

Anthony Barnhart

Anthony Barnhart - Starseed.pdf

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