This short story won an award in 2009. Warning: This story contains semi-graphic violence and disturbing themes.
Come, Goddess
By K.M. Rice
I slept in darkness.
“Run, Makemba!” She pried her daughter’s hands off of her skirts. “To the forest.”
The distant, rapid gunfire and screams made her heart, strong from eight years of pumping, falter. Shouts of men wafted into the shanty home.
“Go!” Her mother shoved her to the other side of the tarp wall. “Don’t let the men find you, and don’t come back until it is quiet.”
Makemba nodded then jumped at the splitting shrieks of a nearby pig. Her mother looked over her shoulder. Trucks of men sped through the village and people dropped and fell and stumbled as they were stung by bullets. She swatted her daughter’s behind and shoved her, watching her leave until her small form disappeared behind the other settlements.
Makemba ran and the din of the blood rushing past her ears silenced many of the screams from the camp. One foot slipped in the mud at the edge of a puddle and her knee yanked with a twang but she didn’t stop. There was a boy running a few feet away and another girl beyond that. The wind of a bullet clipped past her ear with the spurt of hammering from a rifle and first the boy fell, then the other girl. Relief surged through her veins, tethered to adrenaline. She was not dead. She was not dead.
She reached the forest, the humid air constricting her lungs, the large fronds smacking her bare arms and legs. There were snapping sounds, breaking sounds, thumping sounds. She caught a peripheral glimpse of red and orange through the green. Another runner. It was not a race but she ran faster. She didn’t stop until she heard a startled snort of air. She turned to look and tripped, her side slamming into a tree root sticking out of the ground like a spider’s leg.
A pair of almond-shaped brown eyes studied her in surprise. Makemba rose, her chest burning, sweat stinging, and eyed the long black hair, tipped with dew, and large flared nostrils of a female mountain gorilla. Her heart hammered in her throat. She had come into this forest with her mother to collect wood many times, trespassing on the soil of the people of the mountain, but she had never seen one. “They are guardians,” her mother had said; though what they guarded she did not know. The gorilla stood stock still on all fours, matching her timidity.
There was the sound of wood sundering and another gorilla pushed out of the brush, coming to stand beside his sibling, eyeing the naked ape. In a heartbeat he was joined by a massive silverback. Makemba pressed her lips together, straightening her shoulders, her nostrils flaring as her blood continued to surge.
A woman screamed nearby, making both Makemba and the gorillas break out of their curious trance. The silverback sniffed the air then postured, flexing the knotted muscles of his shoulder blades and rising high enough to hammer out a message on his chest. The gorillas then quietly pulled away, retreating into the wide leaves, inching further up the slope of the volcano. Makemba took a step towards them, wanting to follow, but halted when the young female paused to look at her over her shoulder.
Another scream, much closer this time, and the gorilla slipped into the fronds. A soldier suddenly shoved into the small clearing, an AK braced in one hand, yanking along a bruised and bloodied woman with the other. He paused when he noticed Makemba then struck the young woman with the butt of his rifle, running at the little girl, the metal of his unfastened belt buckle clinking as the other woman landed on the ground.
Makemba shouted and kicked and bit at his fingers as they dug into her, yanking at her skirts. She twisted to reach the soil, clawing at the black earth, grasping at tree roots, crying out for help as the soldier yanked down his pants. She screamed as her blood trickled onto the ground, seeping into the soil.
The gorillas of Virunga know what happened next, but they no longer speak to Men.
Your blood woke me, daughter.
The same images played on every news station. “At least a hundred dead with more bodies being uncovered every few minutes,” the thin-nosed news anchor paused as the aerial footage zoomed in on UN officials in hazmat suits, carrying black corpses. “So far the bodies have all been male and the group has been identified as Sudanese militia. Though the camp is on the border of Darfur, there are no signs of violence or trauma to any of the bodies.” Rows of booted feet stuck out from under blue tarps that fluttered in the breeze, revealing glassy eyes crawling with flies before the clip hastily cut away to the English news anchor as he continued. “UN spokesperson Nadia Amir has said that cult activities are not suspected and that officials are treating these mystery deaths as an outbreak of an as yet unidentified disease. Reports of more deaths in several other African nations have also come to our attention. Stay with us for more.”
Where am I? This is not the world I remember.
His shoes echoed down the corridor and his radio chirped to life then hissed in static before losing the wayward signal. Dustin sighed through his nose, readying his ID card then sliding the plastic through the panel by the door. He stepped into the room, cells flanking him on either side as he strolled through, ignoring the sleeping prisoners. His stomach twisted in hunger. “One more hour,” he muttered to himself. “One more hour…”
“Hey, warden!”
Dustin paused, looking to the cell behind him before strolling over. “There a problem?”
“He just fell over.” The pockmarked prisoner pointed to his cellmate on the floor.
A line formed between Dustin’s brows. “What do you mean ‘he just fell over?’ Is he breathing?”
The prisoner shook his head, taking a step back. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Dustin unclipped the radio from his breast.
“He said ‘oh Jesus’ and he dead.”
“This is Higginson,” Dustin said as he held down the button on the side of his radio. “I’m gonna need a – ”
“Holy shit!”
The shout came from behind him and Dustin pivoted. The prisoner in the cell opposite him had leapt away as his obese cellmate groaned and rolled out of the top bunk, hitting the cement with a slap. Dustin moved his lips but another yelp stole his breath. Then another. And another.
The prisoners grabbed at the bars, screaming that they were being poisoned, that they had rights as men, that this was some fucked up shit going on.
Look around you. What have you done to me?
The mayo was turning but other than that, the hoagie was pretty good. Miguel sucked at a tendril of turkey muscle caught in-between his teeth, picking at it with his thumb when it didn’t dislodge right away. The plinking and buzzing and hammering continued across the street as the other construction crew kept working. Miguel watched them work while he ate, his buddies retrieving their lunches and unpacking them on their tailgates, laughing above the din of the intermittent spurts of a jack hammer. He’d only been out of prison for six months, but he was already beginning to feel like he’d been working on this building for years.
Miguel hunched to grab his thermos, taking a swig of coffee. He straightened, pulling back more of the paper around his sandwich, and leaned in for another bite then paused. A little girl was standing across the street, her white summer dress enhancing the earth tones of her skin. Her dark hair lifted in the breeze as she smiled at him, her brown eyes alight as if he were a friendly face.
A bus roared past and he squinted in the glare the sunlight cast upon its windows. The child was now strolling down the length of the chain link fence, trailing her fingers over rattling metal, sloppy inconsistencies brushing against her skin.
She looked to him. He set his sandwich aside. She smiled timidly over her shoulder.
“Are you lost?” he called to her as he rose. Her expression didn’t change. “Estás perdido, niña?”
She continued to wander the length of the fence and several cars sped past. One honked, warning her of her nearness to the road. Miguel cursed under his breath then jogged over to her.
“Hablas inglés? It’s very dangerous over here,” he said as he held out his hand to her.
She studied his calluses then looked up to meet his gaze, narrowing her eyes a little as the sunlight shrank her pupils.
Miguel smiled a little, resting his hand on her shoulder. Her skin was smooth, her lips were full, and there were endless empty rooms in the apartment building behind him. He glanced around to see if anyone else was paying attention. “Where’s your mommy?”
The little girl’s eyes relaxed, welcoming the burn of the sun. She took a step back.
Miguel shook his head and pulled out his cell phone, briefly showing it to her. “Let’s cross the street then give your mommy or daddy a call from inside where it’s quieter, all right?”
The child took a step towards him and Miguel smiled, tucking the phone back into his Carharts. He furrowed his brow as he noticed the pigment of her irises begin to shimmer and waver like liquid.
She darted into the street. His smile hadn’t yet slipped when the cement truck swerved to avoid her. He felt the tips of his ribs rend his lungs as he soared, wondering if he’d ever come down. He never knew if he did.
I walk amongst you with a smile. Who am I?
“Kiet!”
The earth continued to shake and Kiet stepped away as a pot fell and shattered beside him.
“Kiet!”
He ran towards his father’s voice, meeting him at the entrance to their home as his father returned, pausing long enough to grab him then run. Before Kiet could ask why they were leaving instead of staying inside as they were told, he saw the reason over his father’s shoulder. The sea had become a river and was surging into the town, wave after wave increasing the speed. The water was colored like milky tea, foaming and crumbling houses like soggy biscuits.
His father’s fingers pressed hard against his spine as he ran, his sandals slapping against the packed earth. Another man began to scream in warning but Kiet and his father were knocked forward and hit the ground, shoved against the slicing sand before he could finish. Kiet’s heartbeat surged and he strengthened his grip on his father’s sodden shirt as the two were twisted about in the torrent, his eyes squeezed shut. The man beside them was wrenched to the side and his head smacked against a car with a muffled plink, the water about him moving too quickly to be colored by the blood of his death wound.
Suddenly Kiet felt that they were moving upwards as his father’s feet brushed the ground and he shoved. They breached the surface like a whale and its calf, coughing and gasping. His father swam with the current, heading towards what looked to be the strongest nearby building where a Thai flag still flapped.
There was another surge of sea and the two were shoved underwater again, once more tossed about in the surf, their scratches and slices stinging in the salt. When they broke to the surface again, Kiet’s father latched onto a tree trunk, looking around. They’d been swept far past the government building.
There was a gurgling – the chthonic rumbling then trumpeting of an elephant as it dashed away from the water. Kiet wanted to go to it, to pretend to be its mahout, to ride it to safety, but his father was trying to pull him away from his chest. Kiet cried and held tighter to the fabric.
“To my back,” his father said and Kiet slowly obliged, keeping his legs tight around his father’s torso. The man then began to climb up the tree, and Kiet clung, pinching his flesh, holding his breath as his father kicked off his sandals for a better grip. The child could feel the muscles in his father’s back and shoulders shaking but he kept climbing as the tree rattled and shook from another wave. He paused when he reached a thick branch high up, shifting to straddle it. He pulled Kiet to his front once more before hugging the trunk.
They studied the disaster below as more waves pounded their home. The bodies of several suited businessmen lolled in the water and Kiet looked away, gazing out to the east and the ancient stone temple of Siddhārtha Gautama, mumbling a prayer to the Buddha to protect him and his father, his tears melting into his father’s soggy shirt.
The tree shook many times and even tilted some, but the roar of the water began to quiet, replaced by the wailing of survivors.
I am she who is. And I have come for they who have defaced me.
Cassidy looked at the front page of her university’s newspaper. There was a colored picture from the most recent football game at the top and below it the picture of a man clinging to a statue of the Virgin Mary as water surged past him, the accompanying article tallying a tsunami death toll.
“Damn, we lost again.”
She looked over at Chantal then folded up the paper. “Who cares? What time is it?”
Chantal glanced at her cell phone. “8:45. We’ve got fifteen minutes. I’m getting coffee.”
Cassidy fell into step beside her, sniffing as her nose began to run in the cold air.
“You getting one?”
“Shit, that’s Rob.” Cassidy hastily turned away, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Where? Which one?”
“Coming out of the parking garage,” she mumbled, beginning to walk in the opposite direction.
Chantal eyed the young man then caught up with Cassidy. “You know how much I wanna beat his ass?”
Cassidy kept walking.
“Cass, you could put him in prison for what he –” She was jostled by someone passing by and frowned, looking over her shoulder at the woman who strode down the cement pathway, her long hair and her white, calf-length sundress lifting in the wind of her passing. Chantal stopped when she noticed that the young woman was barefoot.
Cassidy paused to glance to the woman as well. Her breath clouded before her.
Chantal shook her head. “She just totally smacked into us.”
Cassidy rested a hand on the back of Chantal’s shoulder, taking a step away when Chantal suddenly snorted in laughter, biting her lip to keep quiet. Cassidy followed her gaze and noticed that Rob had tripped and now lay on the ground while his two friends laughed. He didn’t rise. More people were looking now and the woman with the long hair was gazing at the three. Rob’s friend laughed nervously, lightly kicking his bicep. “C’mon, man.”
The woman looked away and Rob’s friend gasped, his backpack slipping off his shoulder as his knees buckled and he fell to the cement.
“Oh my God,” Chantal breathed.
“He’s dead!” the third friend shouted after feeling Rob’s pulse. The small crowd of wandering students paused and milled about, some dialing emergency numbers on their phones, one jogging over to help.
Cassidy turned to watch the young woman as she continued down the walkway, moving slowly, as if she trod on shifting sand rather than concrete. She stepped into a noisy group of students outside of the student union. Cassidy and Chantal looked on, standing perfectly still, as male heads intermittently disappeared from the crowd and cries of alarm were sounded.
You forgot I would see. You forgot me.
Sirens in cities wailed. Morgues overflowed.
The ocean claimed its bounty. Sharks feasted on bloated bodies.
Pavement stained red faded to dark grey. Tires ground spills away.
Cells were half-empty. Beds were burned.
Carrion reined.
I come from the mountain.
I come from the sea.
You know my voice.
You know I see.
Sing my song, daughters.
I set you free.
Makemba pressed her palms into the soil, shakily pushing herself up. Her breathing hitched in her chest, stuttering from tears. The fronds around her reflected the silver of the moonlight on their waxy tops and a chill in the air numbed her skin. She squeaked and held a hand to her loins when she was gutted by a sharp phantom pain, memory of being split. The earth clung to her bloodied legs and groin and after several breaths the pain faded to a throbbing ache and she stood, holding onto a tree for support.
She was alone now. The man had left after she had stopped moving and he had taken the beaten woman with him. Insects hummed and chirped so deep into the forest that she felt their sounds must be as the water in a lake. Warmth slid down her leg as she bled from her movement but she didn’t dare bend to brush it away. A breeze rattled through the leaves, coming down from the mountain. Makemba stopped breathing when she realized that some of the leaves made too much noise to be from the moving air.
The hair on the back of her neck rose with a flush of goosebumps, as if the wind had kissed her nape. She turned to look behind her and saw an old woman, her face sagging with lines etched by the sun and the spinning of the earth.
Makemba’s lips parted and she blinked.
The old woman inclined her gray head, her bones and beads clanking.
Makemba hugged the tree, pressing her cheek against it, and the old woman laughed, a squeaking chuckle, showing her missing teeth. She then turned, hobbling up the slope. Makemba watched her for several heartbeats then turned as well, hobbling just as slowly down the mountainside.
There was another gust of wind and Makemba glanced over her shoulder to where the old woman had been and instead glimpsed a little girl her age, running into the forest, the leaves swaying in her passing, laughing for her as she returned to the earth. Makemba’s lips twitched on their own, curving in a smile before the memory of her mother’s harried eyes once more bade her to turn around, slowly making her way down the slope and into the village where the women had piled and burned the bodies of the soldiers.
The mist from the trees on the slopes of the volcano shrouded and shifted in a whispered hum. The female gorilla watched Makemba step back into the camp far below. She saw the child’s mother limp to her, picking her up in an embrace, resting a hand on the back of her head. The women were wounded, but they would heal. She then looked away, following her family deeper into the mountain, her knuckles pressing against the soft earth that harbored ancient veins and quiet tremors and nebulae of memory.
I will return.
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