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She couldn't help but walk gingerly over the body parts and blood coagulating and rotting all over the road on the way to the center of the accident... what seemed like the center of the blast radius, as it were.
There was a black van on its side, with its right-hand side door facing the late afternoon sky. The thing was more aptly described as being the color of black primer. The van was old but there was something about it, a quality of not reflecting anything. Was that why they sprayed it in layers of black primer? There was absolutely nothing shiny on this vehicle at all. It sucked in light, like a black hole on its side.
She looked back to her own car, which was no longer visible after she'd crept around the mazework of smashed and tumbled vehicles littering both lanes of this highway. She knew this was no longer a major thoroughfare and had been bypassed by a new highway system built over the last few years, miles away. Still, who were all these people using this forgotten road at the same time, coming together the wrong way at the wrong moment? How exactly did this happen? Did anyone survive at all?
Judging by the state of the body parts and the birds and vermin picking at them, no one had been by here since it had happened. Had anyone walked away from this carnage? Or even crawled? She climbed up onto the black van with difficulty and looked past the vehicles into the forest nearby the highway and saw no interruption in the old fence. No one had gotten past that. In the other direction was grassy plains for miles, and no sign of anyone getting away.
The woman looked down into the cab of the van and so no one at the wheel, no one up front at all. The windshield was smashed but there was no hole large enough to crawl through. She leaned over the door and pulled the latch for the sliding door, pulled up the door and pushed it across...
The blackness simply billowed out like smoke, like ethereal evil blowing out of the van like satan exhaling a big bong hit. That was the last thing to occur to her as the blackness permeated her like a kind of penile osmosis, both soaking and screwing her at the same time, like a rapist penetrating her in her sleep after sharing a spleef.
She fell forward into the van, through the blackness that was filling her up.
Evil, the evil, she was full with it. There was no moment of conversion, no change, no interruption; just a complete remaking that ignored process, time, sequence of events, any kind of accounting by exterior witness or chronological storytelling to speak of. She was pure evil as if she had always been evil, and that was that.
She faded into the blackness, billowed out with it, filling up the van and feeling the rotten corpses inside with it, the faces frozen with suicidal smiles and hands clutching sinister talismen of sacrifice and summoning. Her brothers and sisters had died consigning their souls to the Burning to bring her the powers she would now exert upon all flesh.
She smiled inwardly and billowed out of the van and thought of her own truck, full of family and children waiting for her to come back to them. The most useful of them would drive away from this place with a wholly new purpose in life, and the rest would feed her hunger with their bodies and enter the Burning with their souls. She would consume them all in different ways, but those who would walk away would begin another cult.
Soon, for the nearby cities, the country, the continent and the world, there would be blackness enough, exploding throughout all things and soaking into their existence with unspeakable malignance and hatred for life. She would eat the world, and swallow for the devil.
She had become the poison breath of a dead angel.
------
The Alienist
jhfurnish@yahoo.com
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Dead Eagles
