Like I said last time, this was a short story that accidentally became a bit bigger, so I'm gonna see where it goes while the going's good, and then force myself to finish it anyways when the words don't flow any longer. This one goes back in time to let you know how things were before it got bad. Or, rather, worse.
Enjoy! Have yourself a lovely day, and see you Monday for more of this stuff most likely!
Plague Watch II by Mackinley Clevinger on August 11, 2016
Eleven months earlier.
“Close the gates! Seal them tight! No one comes in, no one leaves, by writ of Queen Josephine, long may she reign in these accursed times.”
Schmidt stood before the great gates, watching through the narrowing space as it slowly swung shut. A body buffeted against him, trying to force itself past him and the other privates forming a human barrier between the panicked crowds and the shutting gate, shouts rising in greater fervor as it grew closer to being closed and barred.
Distantly, a line of carts disappeared from his vision, the last few traders and citizens to get out before her majesty’s surprise shuttering of the city to contain the plague from spreading, a noble venture to those who didn’t hear the rumors that the king of Lavas had threatened to burn the city to the ground if she did not contain the plague.
Schmidt turned back to the ragged crowd, shouts and jeers at the City Guard interrupted by the sound of hacking coughing. Men and women with green and purple splotches on their skin stood at the forefront of the crowd, shoving and spitting at the privates keeping them away from their last chance to flee the city, to see the sun again before they succumbed to the plague.
“Get back!”
Schmidt twisted the baton to lay it across the man’s shoulders and pushed, shoving the man back into the thick crowd to a chorus of startled screeches. The man’s eyes glazed over, barely taking notice of the spreading wetness on his shirt as he scrambled forward again, focused entirely on moving past Schmidt and being free of the city’s walls.
Spinning the baton around, Schmidt struck the man across the head as he tried to force his way through the line, leaving a rough tear that oozed black blood across his face as he tumbled to the cobblestones. The press of the crowd surged against Schmidt, distracting him with desperate hands while the wounded man scrambled past him, oblivious of the world around him save for the distant gate.
“Cass! Need a hand over here!”
Over Schmidt’s shoulder, an arm lashed out and struck a woman to the ground, the ferocity of the blow as blood ran out of her mouth halting the crowd while a hand took Schmidt roughly and pushed him to the side, stepping into his spot in the line and glaring at the crowd.
“Private Schmidt, I would recommend you apprehend the plague victim you let slip by you. I will keep these filthy wretches in line while you attend to your duties.”
Lance-Constable Amick turned his head to peer at Schmidt, an arrogant tilt to his head as he peered down at the Private. He jerked his head towards the gate sharply before returning to the stunned crowd, hand tightening on the blood-stained baton in his hands.
“Private Cassandra, do not step out of formation. Schmidt needs to clean up his own mistakes.”
Schmidt heard the sound of flesh being struck behind him as he turned away from the crowd, eyes darting over the largely cleared space between him and the gate. His hand darted to his neck, feeling the familiar comforting metal emblem that adorned the necks of his fellow guards, but was distinctly missing among the members of the crowd behind him.
Ahead of him, a dozen guards strained against the spokes of rotating wooden structures, the rattling of chains echoing across the cobbles as every step they took brought the gate closer to being shut. Few eyes were watching for interlopers as the frantic and bloodied man made his way towards the increasingly narrow exit, the guards readying to seal the gates distracted by the task ahead of them.
Schmidt took off after the man, the sound of his boots impacting stone spurring the man onwards in his flight. The gates were hardly open, barely wide enough to permit two men squeezed together to exit, and the plague had clearly taken its toll on the desperate soul fleeing from Schmidt, his diseased mind incapable of seeing anything beyond the thin strip of road and cloudy sky ahead of him.
They passed the guards working on shutting the gates, Schmidt maintaining a short distance between himself and the man as the gate came upon them. If the gates stopped now, there would be just enough room for a thin man to squeeze past it; there was no way the man would escape Schmidt, let alone the city.
The stone arch of the gate rose on either side of Schmidt, a darkness enveloping them both as the rattling of chains echoed in the enclosed space. A few errant eyes watched the Private approach the plague-stricken man as he made his final approach on the gate, a thrill of fear running through Schmidt’s body as he realized the man wasn’t slowing down. There wasn’t enough room for him to –
The man flung himself into the gate, one arm and a shoulder making it through the narrow space between iron fittings as he tried to claw and drag himself further out, his body pressed into the opening as far as he could make it fit. Schmidt came to a stop behind him, planting his feet firmly and taking ahold of the man’s other arm as he tried to pull him, the space too small for him to be able to slip through the gate.
Heaving, Schmidt pulled the man a few inches towards himself before the shutting gates pinned him in place, the sudden pressure pulling him out of the obsession for a brief second as he realized what was happening.
A cry of effort arose behind him from the guards shutting the gate, a brief struggle against unexpected resistance quickly defeated by a burst of energy that resumed the gate’s closing. Schmidt pulled at the man’s splotched arm uselessly, feeling sores and boils burst over him as the man scrambled against the gate, beginning to scream.
“No! Let me – “
A cry of pain rang out, accompanied by the popping sound of bone being displaced. Schmidt gave one final tug on the man before releasing him, watching him uselessly as the gates crushed him alive. The baton fell from Schmidt’s hands, the sharp sound of it striking the cobbles beneath him joining the chorus of cracks and pops from the man’s bones, but barely rivaling the echoing sounds of his screams.
The jeering and shouting from the crowd kept back by the line of guards grew silent as all eyes turned towards the gates, guards and civilians alike watching as the pinned man was slowly, agonizingly slowly, crushed between the two massive doors of the city gate, the silence broken only by the occasional cough and sobbing.
A pool of thick, brackish blood flowed out from the center of the gate, Schmidt’s baton saved from its touch at the last second by Amick as he scooped it up and thrust it into Schmidt’s chest, accompanied by a forceful pat on the back.
“Private Schmidt, while my orders were to apprehend the sick wretch, I must say that this will serve as a fitting example to the city of the consequences of disobeying us. Well done, Private.”
An arm hung limply from the gates, flesh and blood oozing along the iron and sinking into the wood as the occasional twitch brought horrifying imaginings to Schmidt’s mind. Amick looked into his stunned face and shook his head, turning away to bark orders at the guards whose gazes were similarly locked to the gate.
Schmidt turned away from the horrific sight as guards stumbled towards the gate with massive wooden planks in tow, preparing to bar the gate as others smashed the chains used to shut the great doors, ensuring no one would be able to open the gates and flee the city until the plague had ended and a concentrated effort could be put together to free themselves.
The crowd of civilians looked upon the bloody mess and the sealed gate with terror in their eyes, aghast at the horrific death but more frightened by the knowledge that they were trapped in the city for good. The fear found its way into the eyes of the guards, too; a resignation setting in that they would be facing the plague with nowhere to flee to, no-one to rescue them, and the fact that those gates would likely never open again.