The Mariner

“Inside, now!” Harris pushed the reverend back and pulled the door closed. “Key? Key?! Give me the fucking keys!” he screamed, tugging them off McConnell as he fumbled.

They jangled in the lock, and for a moment gave stubborn resistance, but finally clicked into place.

“Is there a back way out of here?”

“Y-yes,” McConnell stuttered. “Through there.” He pointed a shaky finger. “What’s happened to them?”

“They’re Mindless. That bastard Philip is some sort of Anomenemy, another Oracle! He must have done this.”

“We don’t know that!”

“Fuck! Of course we do, who else would do this?” The door began to shake as fists pounded upon it, furious voices screaming their frustration. “We need to go, now!”

“Where?”

“The dock, we’ll grab a ship and get out of here.” He turned to go, but McConnell grabbed his arm.

“But the library? The plan? Harris, this may be our last chance to preserve what’s left! There may be others like us?”

“Reverend!” he snapped, and McConnell winced at the defunct title. “Did you see the number of them out there? There’s nothing left. Nothing! We’ve got to go!”

The two men fled to the back of the church, knocking over stands of long dead flowers and incense in their haste. Behind, the door began to shake against its hinges, cheap wood splintered under the frantic blows and mindless faces peered at them through the gaps, ever widened by torn and bloody fingers.

Outside, behind the church, was a thin alley, secluded in the shadow of two tall houses. Both men bolted, glancing fearfully behind, waiting for the Mindless to burst forth. Beyond the protective walls they could hear the cries of a thousand madmen. Occasionally a terrified scream would join their bellows as the Mindless hunted down the few thinking left, spared from insanity by not hearing the Mariner’s words.

As McConnell and Harris reached the street, they saw two such people; a father and his daughter, the child presumably too young to attend an execution. He was carrying her on his back whilst he ran, desperately clutching onto her arms draped about his neck. Daughter, unable to confront the horrors behind, buried her head in his shoulder, closing her eyes tight.

McConnell watched as the pair were dragged to the ground by the pursuing horde, forms instantly hidden by the mass of bodies that clustered over them, punching and kicking and clawing.

“To the dock!” Harris grabbed McConnell by the arm. “I jumped in the sea last time. I’ll do it again if need be.”

The unlucky child and her father weren’t halting the crowd. Already their heads had been smashed open and brains shredded; creatures devoid of thought desperately seeking what had abandoned them. When the Wasp failed to return to their bosom, the humans moved on, traces of Wasp scented ahead encouraging their hunt.

McConnell and Harris fled further down the street, away from the brutality taking place. Turning a corner, they got their first view of the dock.

“Look!” Harris said, carelessly loud in his frustration.

McConnell followed his gesture. In the distance he could see the Neptune slowly gliding away from the dock, wind in her sails taking her from the cursed island.

“Arthur?” And sure enough it were the Mariner. Escaping. “That fuck!” McConnell grabbed Harris’ shoulder. “He mustn’t get away. He mustn’t!”

“Then keep running!”

The pair sprinted to the dock, making no attempt to hide, just a final desperate dash. The two designers of Sighisoara’s new beginning, abandoning her to ignorance. Others could be heard behind, feet slapping against the cobblestones, hoarse voices screeching.

With a final push they reached the dock. Stone turned to wood, and with relief found themselves skirting along the promenade, looking for something to sail.

“Just get in any!” McConnell pleaded, glancing towards the mainland. Already Mindless had advanced to the edge of the dock. He could feel the wooden beams below his feet judder at their approach.

“We need something we can sail ourselves, we have no crew!” Making his mind up as fast as possible, Harris pointed to the trawler that had delivered the Mariner just a day before. “That one. Get in!”

Harris dived on and started to fire up the motor, leaving McConnell to untie the mooring ropes. They gave his numb fingers trouble, but first one, then the rest submitted, and the reverend threw himself aboard, only realising once the ship was pulling away that he hadn’t allowed himself a breath since they’d first picked the boat.

Huge fearful gasps made his vision waiver, and McConnell slumped, unable to take his eyes from the Mindless as they gathered about the end of the promenade, screaming in fury at being thwarted. Some leaped into the water and swam in pursuit, but the motor was many times faster. McConnell wondered how long they would swim, and if they’d ever work out how to get back.

“Can you follow him?” he called to Harris. “He can’t get away. Not now. Not after this.”

“I can see the Neptune in the distance and I know where he’s headed.”