[Original Novel] Metal Fever 2: The Erasure of Asherah, part 47

^source

^{Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26
Part 27
Part 28
Part 29
Part 30
Part 31
Part 32
Part 33
Part 34
Part 35
Part 36
Part 37
Part 38
Part 39
Part 40
Part 41
Part 42
Part 43
Part 44
Part 45
Part 46}

Asherah interrupted my rumination, asking what I was so preoccupied with. I saw no reason to sugar coat it. “Wondering if you’re real, or if I’m still tripping balls. If so, that was some powerful shit they gave me. I mean, it’s day three and you’re still here. Talk about leaving no ball untripped.”

She smirked. “What have you been filling your belly with, then?” She extended another vine with the savory red fruit dangling from it. “Did you imagine these as well?” I had no answer for her which I found satisfactory. So far all of it appeared seamless. There’s been no indication which elements of my experience have been real, and which were hallucinatory.

Perhaps I would never receive those answers. I’ve heard urban legends about acid trips that never end. I’ve also heard that’s impossible, and that the claim residual amounts of LSD can accumulate in the spine, released in small amounts for decades, is medically unfounded.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. But I also can’t remember why it’s important to know that. Philosophical navel gazing isn’t going to help me find Dad. I’ll never even find my way out of these woods if I can’t stop getting lost up my own ass.

I winced, noticing for the first time that my leg’s resumed swelling. I could’ve sworn I treated that, but I can no more trust my memories at this point than my immediate experience of reality. I knelt to examine it, as well as gingerly prod it with my finger as if that would help in any way.

I dreaded the thought, but knew right then that I would have to return to the village. In all my wandering, I haven’t seen any trace of civilization apart from that well hidden community, so the odds of reaching a hospital in time to save my leg seemed vanishingly slim.

“My leg”. What an uncomfortable notion. It was disposable to me until recently, just a mobility appliance. Now it no longer feels like a tool, to be used until broken and then thrown away. Being stuck with it for this long, especially in such a demanding environment...I’ve formed a relationship with the damned thing.

My arms, too. Biceps bulging from my near-constant exertion since the crash. My torso, gleaming with sweat, developing unmistakable pecs and abs. The fruit I’ve been eating must somehow accelerate the accumulation of muscle mass?

Or maybe this is just what happens when I actually use my meat parts. When I put them through their paces, while also ensuring that their needs are satisfied. Clean water. Clean air. Nutritious food. The shortcomings of the flesh that I worked so hard to escape now seemed instead like symptoms of neglect.

My biological parts never performed how I wanted...because I never gave them a chance to. I never paid attention to the signs they weren’t getting something they needed, just pushed them until they broke down before buying replacements.

My body communicated those needs to me, I just didn’t listen. I thought of eating, sleeping and so on as inconveniences I could cheat my way around. I’m done cheating now. I never knew my muscles could feel this powerful! I never knew they could perform this well.

Save for the infected wound on my leg that is. I limped my way through the undergrowth, brushing some ferns out of my way. Every fern, even little blades of grass brushing up against the swollen skin proved agonizing.

My body, finally fighting back now that I can’t just cut off whichever part of it gives me trouble. Somewhat reminiscent of the GMO flora overgrowth problem. You’d think they’d have learned something from the rampant, uncontrolled spread of kudzu in the 20th century, but history moves in cycles I suppose.

There comes a point where you push nature too far, so it begins pushing back. Really throwing its weight around to remind you how small you are. If it’s not methane bubbling out of the ocean, it’s a GMO jungle swallowing up the North American continent. A creeping green infestation which expands faster than it can be killed away.

The prohibition on controlled burns due to emissions restrictions had a lot to do with it. But so did gross overestimation of how hardy those trees and other plants would need to be made in order to cope with the desertification they were created to combat.

Asherah couldn’t be more delighted about that. Our loss, her gain. Then again it could be a win for us both, if we lived differently. Sighting the periphery of the village in the distance cut short my cogitation. In large part because several of the huts were on fire.

The closer I drew, the more I could make out. The more I could make out, the worse it got. There were bloodied bodies strewn everywhere. I could hear the sound of a woman sobbing, but not resolve the source.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. I ducked as low as I could without crawling, and drew my pistol. I wished for the opportunity to test fire it, but circumstances did not seem to accommodate that desire. Male shouting. Angry by the sounds of it.

A woman screamed. Not the same voice as the sobbing, near as I could tell. I crept in the direction it seemed to be coming from. Argument? I couldn’t understand either voice, muffled as they were by the walls of the hut.

I instead slid up around the outer wall with my pistol at the ready, then slowly peered around the edge of the doorway. It was the chieftess. Battered, bloodied and at the mercy of a hoary looking white man with matted brown hair, a stained white undershirt, swim trunks and flip flops.

He turned towards me, but before he could react, I shot at him. My hands were shaking, but my aim was true enough. Struck in the neck, blood bubbled out through the hole as he collapsed against the inner wall of the hut, gurgling feebly.

I didn’t bother to check on him after that, content that he was dead and deserved his fate. Instead I focused my attention on the chieftess. “Who was that?” I whispered. She glanced fearfully over my shoulder. When I followed her gaze, there was nobody in the doorway.

“Others?” I whispered. Eyes wide and tearful, she nodded at me. More male shouting, and another gunshot. Close by the sound of it. I crouched to one side of the door, just inside and concealed by shadow. I gestured for the chieftess to do the same.

“Where are your weapons?” She pointed to a rack of axes and bows on the wall. “No, I mean your real weapons. What have you been hiding from me? You can’t have been sitting on biotechnology like this without anybody coming to try and steal it. How did you repel them?”

She wiped away her tears and insisted they had no more sophisticated weapons than that. “We’ve never needed to kill anybody before.” Me either, I thought. My hands were still shaking and I couldn’t bring myself to look at the blood pooling under the intruder’s body, still slumped over where it fell.

I took an axe from the rack, double checked the remaining rounds in the pistol and slunk out. Being unlit during the day, the hut interiors were nicely shadowed by contrast with the bright sunlight outside of them, and made for perfect cover.

When I sighted the source of the shouting, I again ducked inside the nearest hut. I then waited and watched. A familiar scene. The lanky, bedraggled figure furiously beat one of the villagers he’d restrained to a tree.

I poked just the tip of the pistol around the edge of the doorway, sticking my head out only as far as necessary to take aim. I didn’t manage to kill this one so cleanly. He spun around and cried out in pain, struck in the midsection.

He got off a few shots, none of which came anywhere close to me. The second shot struck his shoulder, whereupon he dropped his gun. My third shot finally did the job, carving it’s way into his eye socket and through the brain.

He toppled over and the blood began to pool under his remains. Two more of the invaders came running to see what the ruckus was about. They were unarmed though, and upon witnessing what I’d done, they turned tail and fled.

---

^{Stay Tuned for Part 48}