Better Than One

Father Jon finished up washing the blood off his hands. Lost in thought he reflected on everything that has happened these last couple of years. On the day everything changed, all the news stations broadcasted a saccharine future ahead of us. Contact with aliens made and these new lifeforms communicated with almost all of the world governments. A new age for mankind supposedly laid ahead. Baseless optimism as it turned out. It was all a ruse to cover plans for global domination.
 
Pushing that thought aside Father Jon put away his medical tools with a deep sigh of regret and bitterness. Long ago, he joined his Catholic brethren at the local statehouse denouncing the sin of abortion. Hell awaited all women that dared to end the life of their own child. 
Little did he know that sin would become the only thing they could do to save the unborn. There he was barbarically scraping out fetuses almost weekly with whatever doctor supplies he could get his hands on. The couple left without saying a word once the young lady was in good enough shape to move. He did not blame them. There are no words in the English language that could accurately convey everyone’s emotion these days.
 
He exited to the front steps of his church, and for the millionth time today, gazed upon the rotting sky above him. Where once sunny days and starry nights occupied the horizon now it was always green and filthy, with seemingly random black splotches dotting across it. The atmosphere was decaying away from the pollution that our “Liberators” left. Liberators. Heh. That is what all those quislings on the radio called them.
 
No one believed it but no one dared to say so, least not publicly. Father Jon’s train of thought was briefly interrupted by the opening of another violet portal up above, a handful of ships flying out of it, coming from God knows where and filled with God knows what. Mentally going back on topic from before, he continued thinking about the war for Earth that determined the fate of Earth. The war that barely lasted forty-eight hours. The most powerful and largest of imperialist armies were among the first to be wiped out due to their own arrogance. Smaller and more careful militaries lasted longer but were blasted away by all these inorganic metallic soldiers.
 
These freaks were bad enough but they were nowhere near as unthinkable as the liquid blasts from those one-eyed gelatinous masses that were deployed soon after. Those things melt men, women, and children into screaming piles of goo and were assimilated into the creatures after a minute or so of inconceivable pain. When humanity admitted defeat, states and corporate powers became wielded by the invaders for their own purposes. News channels began broadcasting nothing but propaganda. Propaganda that claimed these monsters were heroes out to save us from self-destruction and the limitations of “our weak corporeal bodies”. Whatever the hell that meant.
 
Noticing daylight fading away, Father Jon went back into the church. Inside he looked at the empty pews greeting him. His eyes focused on the same one Jack slept on last month. Ah yes, Jack. The last surviving soldier of the local resistance. The chapter made one last desperate attempt to organize a raid on that inhumanly tall building in the state’s capital. Most people operated on the presumption that it was a base operation or if not a power plant for the invaders. 
Whatever laid in there could or must be destroyed. Using the entrance to a sewer system they went in and they never came out. That is until Jack knocked on the church's door a week later bleeding profusely. Father Jon patched him up without asking a single question or uttering a single word of comfort. As if it would help. Jon was now somberly sitting on the very same pew Jack slept on.
 
When the man healed up he said some pleasantries and returned home to his family. Jon later learned through word of mouth that Jack killed his wife and kids before turning the gun on himself. The priest knew why. Just from the look on Jack’s face he knew why. That man saw something that could not fit inside the puny brain of a human being. Something we would never be able to fully conceptualize beyond instinctive feelings of danger and despair. Still Father Jon’s conscience nagged at him. He wondered if he should have let Jack die as to save the life of the family or was it Jack who ultimately did that?
 
Father Jon sulked on the pew until a loud knock at his door interrupted him. Expecting another person in need of stitches or an abortion, he opened it up only to be suddenly knocked down to his feet. A single hard punch to his face hit him and his nose bled in response. The burly man walked forward and Jon scrambled towards his shotgun but stopped when the lights of the church fully revealed the man’s face. Ollie. After all the horrors that walked the Earth Jon felt like fate had finally found him. He closed his eyes accepting and expecting his death but instead he felt himself being pulled up.
 
“Get your ass up, Father. I got sins to confess.”
 
Father Jon blinked.
 
Ollie was the older brother of Freddy. That little choir boy whose parents the church had to bribe. Father Jon knew of what he did but all memories were a haze. This of course all happened in the nineties when Jon’s prescription drug problem was at its height.
 
Bringing a handkerchief to his battered nose Jon and Ollie went into the confessional where Both men sat quietly on both ends until Ollie spoke. “I bet you're wondering why you still breathing, Father?” Jon did not answer but Ollie went on. “The simple fuckin' answer is that I don’t bloody care any more. I don’t got the time or energy for hatred, and frankly, I ain't no saint either.” Father Jon of course knew this. He remembered reading about Ollie’s domestic violence convictions in the paper. 
“What is the nature of your sin, my son?” Jon said remembering formalities.
 
Ollie took a deep breath. “I took the life of two sorry sonabitches.” The ever talkative Father Jon went silent again before Ollie continued. “Me and my little girl traveled down south to see if I could find some work at one of the companies that still ain't under the control of those devils. My stupid ass got us a room at this ma and pa motel thinking it was safe. I left her in the room alone while I went to get some grub at a nearby food-line.”
 
Jon rubbed his head. He knew the terrible places this story was going to go. Despite a calm demeanor it was clear that an undefinable amount of anger existed underneath Ollie’s voice. His hands clutching violently onto the arms of his seat. “They were having their way with her, Father. Two cowardly scumbags who got paid by those elderly folks to clean the rooms. I walked in right during the middle of it. I then killed the scrawny cowards with my own two hands.”
 
“You faced true evil don-”
 
“Shut the fuck up, Father. I ain’t finished. My little girl witnessed it all. Those two boys may have been godless rapists but they were flesh and blood like you and me. They begged and screamed. My princess saw what I was capable of and she ran out terrified. She went into the desert and I couldn’t keep up.” There was a brief pause before Ollie spoke again. “One of those one-eyed bastards found her and got her but apparently didn’t feel like finishing the job. Half her body melted into goo and she was screaming and crying for her mama. I had put her out of her misery.” A longer and more grim silence overtook the room before it was interrupted. “After all that I need to make some penance but I ain’t got much left just a little food and some decent cooking skills.
 
“The churche's food-lines and communal dinners stopped months ago, Ollie.” Jon said.
 
“Then let me fix you something then.” 
Father Jon was flabbergasted. Even If he wasn’t the sole reason Freddy killed himself half a decade ago he certainly contributed greatly. Why would Ollie do a single good thing for him? Why was Father Jon still living and breathing?
 
“You don’t need to do that, my child.”
 
“I do.”
 
“But why? Out of all things and for me of all people?”
 
“Wake the fuck up, Jon. It’s all over. The fat lady is singing. Both our mortal souls are filthy. Let us get them clean before it’s too late.” 
Father Jon nodded. He couldn’t find a single reason to disagree and he was tired of eating barely edible cans of baked beans. That night, Ollie cooked both of them a few warm bowls of soup. It was an old family recipe even. One that will never be made again after the night is done. Exchanging stories and whatever lay on the top of their heads. They allowed the feelings they kept in for so long to finally be free.
 
Ollie at one point quipped that “Father, in the face of an inevitable doom, two is always better than one.”
When they finally fell asleep on their cots more portals opened up in the dying night sky all of it overseeing a race giving out their last dying breaths.
Category:Lovecraftian