The Cull - The Watchtower Call

Photo by Krists Luhaers on Unsplash

The piercing screams of terror echoed through the air from every direction. We trekked for what felt like an eternity, our legs aching with every step, as we finally reached the watchtower.

Noor was right. There was no one here. We climbed to the top and explored the abandoned structure covered in thick dust.

I didn’t expect anything. We were in the middle of nowhere. As soon as we got service, however, Noor snatched the phone from me. Her hands were trembling as she dialled the emergency services.

“P- Please, help us! We’re—” She glanced at something I missed to notice. “We’re at an old watchtower. The numbers have faded, but the identification code starts with the letter l, capital L. They… they’re planning to kill us, you must… Hello?”

I met her steely gaze and hardened face devoid of colour.

“Noor. Look at me. What’s wrong? What did they say? Hey! Snap out of it! I need to know what they told you, word for word.”

Noor turned her face away, her eyes anxiously scanning our surroundings as she tried to comprehend what had just happened.

“‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’”

“She said she was sorry?”

“I…”

“That’s good.”

Noor looked at me, her detached eyes focused once more. “What do you mean? Why?”

“It means she knows this is wrong. It means there must be more people who feel the same way. It means there’s still hope.”

Tears welled up in Noor’s eyes, shimmering with unshed emotion. Every fibre of her being quivered with an intensity that mirrored the chaos within. Memories from the past perhaps, locked and pushed away, rushed back to her with a vengeance.

“It’s the same thing all over again! The bloodshed, the- the murder… How? Why does it never stop? When is it enough?”

“As long as some people think they’re above the law, it’ll never be enough.”

“Then how do we stop this madness?”

“We can’t stop this no matter how hard we try. That’s just how things work in this messed-up world ruled by some bastards.”

“There must be a way, there has to…”

“There’s only one way to put an end to this.” Pausing, I hesitated before continuing. “We need to let the world know what’s happening.”

“How?”

“Humanity might’ve been dormant for so long but it’s not dead. Not yet. The corrupted press tried to spin the news in favour of the terrorists back in October 2023. But good people did not buy that crap. Even if we don’t make it out of here alive, someone will know what happened to us. They’ll spread the word… even if we’re six feet under.”

“But it’s too dangerous to sneak around and take pics. What if they see us?”

“I’ll figure something out. You return to the hideout and stay there until sunrise.”

“No. We’re in this together.”

“Don’t do this. Think about your dad. You think he’s prepared to lose you too?”

“He’ll understand. I know he will. In Gaza, we live to die. Whether I die here or back there, it’s all the same. It’s in our fates.”

I looked away briefly. She wasn’t going to back down. “Then so be it.”

Climbing down the tower, we quickened our pace to reach the opposite side of the roadway. I scanned the area before leaping down the slope.

There was no trace of the guys anywhere near. I heaved a sigh of relief and gestured for Noor to follow me. As we approached the double-decker bus, I passed the phone to Noor and told her to take as many photos as she could.

Curious about what had happened to Ali’s mother, I boarded the rocking bus. Once again, I came face-to-face with the haunting sight of the chauffeur’s rigid remains.

With each step down the aisle and towards the back rows, I could feel the weight of the worn carpet beneath my feet, as if it held the memories of all who had walked this path before me.

It was drenched in blood. I called out to the poor thing, but the only response I received was the echo of my own words in the silence. She wasn’t here.

A deep furrow formed between my eyebrows. The woman was in no condition to make it out of the bus on her own, so how come she was not here?

“Elin! Hide! They’re coming!”

Startled, I turned around in a heartbeat as Noor banged on the bloodied windows. She pointed towards the forest. A faint glow from a flashlight pierced through the dense darkness from the windshield.

I sprinted out, my heart pounding, only to notice that Noor was nowhere in sight. As I was scanning my surroundings, I realised it was too late to cross over to the other side of the roadway.

So I slid down beneath the towering double-decker bus. The flashlights switched off, plunging everything into darkness, and the distant voices grew nearer.

I held my breath just as the black-capped guys stopped a few steps away from me. The air felt heavy and stagnant in my lungs.

They were laughing uproariously, joking and finding amusement in the presence of death and decay around them.

Not only did they kick the corpses, but they also gleefully played with the severed limbs. And I don’t mean play as in children’s play but play as in two adults pleasuring themselves.

I quickly looked away from the repulsive scene. My stomach churned as I realised that I could’ve been one of these lifeless bodies, feeling the cold flesh of those grotesque creatures masturbating.

This insight made me retch in place and I quickly turned to the side to empty my stomach of whatever was left from my last supper.

Then I heard another voice among the peal of laughter. I recognised the eloquent voice right away. It belonged to the person who spoke after the chauffeur. I narrowed my eyes to get a better view of the figure coming closer.

The two guys broke off, hastily pulling up their pants, and told the third guy to hurry, as if they had urgent matters to attend to.

The approaching guy wore a serious expression, his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. A look of disgust shone through his eyes, mirroring my own.

Without warning, the third guy delivered a powerful punch to one of the black-capped guys, causing him to collapse sideways onto the damp ground.

His cap slipped off, exposing his blond hair and blue eyes. His wicked expression was bent on murder as he abruptly rose to his feet and pushed the newcomer, who stood his ground and didn’t move an inch.

“What the fuck, dude!? You want to die or some shit!?”

“Didn’t I say to get the phones?”

“Yeah, I did, you jerk! What’s your problem, huh!? You think you can just push me around because you’re—”

“Hey, cut it out, you two!”

The other guy positioned himself between the newcomer and the blond guy. I scowled upon noticing, the deep hue of his navy-blue suit. It was marred by vivid stains of blood. Who in the world would wear a suit in a place like this? His eyes lingered on the blond guy for a moment.

“Conrad, chill the fuck out, alright?” before he shifted his attention to the newcomer. “And you, tell us what’s going on.”

“Someone’s called the police.”

“So what? No one’s gonna show up, anyway.”

“You know better than anyone that people don’t always listen to their higher-ups. You people failed at that back in 2023, remember, Mr Lawyer?”

The blond guy, Conrad, intervened as the guy in the suit was about to defend himself.

“I’ll talk to my boss if that’s gonna shut you up, you piece of shit!”

“It’s too late for that. We need to wrap things up and get out of here. Do you get it? Both of you.”

The lawyer nodded, and in a silent agreement, he quickly dashed towards the vehicle. I held my breath, my heart pounding like a drum against my chest, as he closed in. Did they see me? But they hadn’t.

The lawyer halted beside me, his polished shoes scuffing against the ground. With a swift motion, he opened the baggage compartment, its hinges creaking faintly. What did they store in there? Weapons?

“Hey, how many do you want?”

“Take the whole bag, don’t leave anything behind. We might need more than we think.”

Without moving an inch, I watched as the pair of black suede shoes gradually disappeared into the distance. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the heavy bag the lawyer guy was carrying. It was so heavy that even Conrad, the police officer, had to lend a hand.

Equipped with flashlights, they ventured deeper into the dark forest. What on earth was in that bag? Then it dawned on me. The newcomer, the one who threw the punch at Conrad, said they needed to wrap things up in this place.

I turned my head to catch a glimpse of the guys in the distance, but they had already disappeared without a trace.

Sliding to the side, I rose to my feet, feeling the rough surface of the damp ground beneath me as I rummaged through the baggage compartment.

Other than a first aid kit, there were no useful items whatsoever. No weapons, no supplies, not even a single useful item.

As I picked up the first aid kit and turned around, the scene that unfolded before me was a chilling tableau of carnage, with lifeless bodies strewn about like discarded dolls.

Thoughts of Ali’s pregnant mother flooded my mind. For all I knew, she could be in the throes of labour at this very moment.

I would’ve noticed if she had been killed inside the bus, but there were no traces of her existence there, which meant she was either still alive or slain while running away.

I stood there, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over me, unsure of what to do next.

My eyes darted around the macabre scene, taking in every gruesome detail, until they fixated on something sharp and gleaming under the moonlight.

It was a dirk knife. Its elongated and curved blade made it look like a Persian dagger. Running my finger along the blade, I could almost hear the faint echo of the fatal strike that decapitated the chauffeur.

The dagger must’ve dropped when the police officer fell. Without further delay, I tucked away the dagger, ensuring it was out of sight, before making my way back to the opposite side of the roadway.

My mind became lost in a sea of dismal thoughts along the way, pulling me into the haunting memories of the past.

I blinked. The forest changed shape in a blur of motion. The potent smell of antiseptic overwhelmed my senses, mingling with the desperate moans of the sick, as I found myself fleeing the infection ward.

The dispensary room, usually kept locked, immediately arrested me. Before sliding into the cracked room, I took a quick look over my shoulder to make sure no one was following me.

The unattended medicine cabinet was the first thing I noticed, its shelves stacked with syringes.

With six shots of morphine concealed, I left the infection ward and descended the newly mopped stairs. I slipped by unnoticed, a shadow in the crowd.

In this kind of occupation, fading into the background became second nature, especially when society overlooked your existence.

I was just the janitor, the cleaner, who had failed at life and now spent my days wiping down grimy surfaces and emptying overflowing trash bins.

It was right to treat me as if I were a whisper, easily ignored and even easier forgotten.

As I reached the basement, I quickly made my way to the toilets next to the lift, finding solace in their hidden confines while chaos erupted outside. It was evident that they had noticed the missing syringes and were diligently searching for me.

Running my fingers along my left arm, I felt the texture of my skin until I reached my arm fold, then tapped it softly and curled my hand into a fist.

Wheezing, I took off the pink cannula and experienced a rush of relief as the morphine coursed through my veins. I glanced upwards, my eyes drawn to the glow of the overhead lighting on the ceiling.

My body jerked back involuntarily, my eyes fixating on the door, startled by a loud and abrupt bang. Someone shouted at me to hurry.

But instead of opening the door or replying, I plonked down on the toilet seat, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling above, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions.

Eventually, the person behind the door left, and I turned my gaze back to the sink, where the rest of the syringes were and silently beckoned me.

In the end, I couldn’t muster up the courage to carry out the perfect suicide attempt.

It wasn’t out of cowardice or fear of death, but rather, because I had unfinished business in this wicked world.

This business, if you must know, was what eventually led to my imprisonment in the psychiatric ward, confined behind four walls and cut off from the rest of society.

I did something to someone who trusted me with her life. If I left her behind, she would be at the mercy of strangers and I couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering.

The two of us had to journey together to the promised land, even though I had long since forgotten the meaning of piety.

But these haunting memories were too close to home. It wasn’t time for me to confess the brutality of my wrongdoings. Not just yet.

I snapped back to the present, my heart pounding as I took in the aftermath of the massacre. The smell of blood hung heavy in the damp and chilly forest.

When I returned to the cave, Amina wasn’t there. I wished she were. But I was relieved to see that Noor had made it back safely.

I didn’t know what was inside that bag, but I was confident that it wasn’t something to be happy about. And with time running out, I knew our only chance at survival was to act swiftly.

We had to defend ourselves at any cost – no matter what.

Noor’s father, Omar, distorted his face when I finished explaining how we could, if not outnumber, at least stand our ground until help came – if it came. But I didn’t say this, of course.

Noor looked favourably upon this idea. Noticing this, Omar quickly emphasised the inherent danger of confronting the three men, who were bent on murder.

“Dangerous, habibti. You my everything.”

Noor’s words flowed in Arabic, soothing and melodic, like a symphony of poetic verses. I couldn’t understand a word she said, but I knew she was telling her father to trust her.

His hardened face turned soft. He must’ve realised by now that the daughter he raised was not one to give up without putting up a fight.

Her eyes shifted to the dagger I concealed behind my gown. I followed her intelligent gaze.

“I know how to use that. I can help you.”

“This?” I said, lifting the dirk knife. “We’ll only use this if we have to.”

“I used something similar back in Gaza. I- I know how to use it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She glanced at her father before replying, who nodded to encourage her to continue despite the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I killed a terrorist with it. They… the terrorists tied up my sister to their car. She was injured, she… I couldn’t take it anymore, so I… Do you know what that feels like? To be treated like a human animal? Worse than a stray dog.”

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s over now. You’re here. You’re safe. At least for now.”

“It’s never over. It’s October 2023 all over again. The perpetrators are the same, the victims the same. It’s never over. Not until we rid this world of those monsters who let the genocide happen.”

“I know. But there’s only so much we can do. Our best shot is to stay alive and show the truth before it’s distorted again. That’s all we can do for now.”

She wiped away a tear and nodded, changing the subject.

“You said there were weapons inside the bag?”

“No. I don’t know what’s inside the bag. But it looked heavy.”

“But let’s say there really are weapons inside. Shouldn’t we try to bring some here, then? Just in case.”

“And what if it’s just a waste of time? One of us could end up hurt, or worse, dead.”

“You told us to stand our ground and fight back. And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Besides, I trust you.”

“Trust me…?”

Omar stepped forwards. “We all trust you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. A smirk played on my lips.

“Why? I’m nobody.”

“Because you know more about this whole thing than any of us,” Noor said, adding before I could interject. “You knew the police wouldn’t be of any help. You overheard those murderers and you saw the bag. You told us to fight back, Elin. If not you, who else are we gonna trust?”

Amina’s face crossed my mind in that instant. Despite knowing the horrible things I had done, she too relied on me. Even Ali’s mum, a complete stranger, placed her trust in me.

Yet I couldn’t understand why. I wasn’t to be trusted. I never was and I would never be. Those who trusted me met their demise.

I was a walking dead, a curse that turned everything and everyone I touched into stone. I was the last person anyone should trust.

Lost in my thoughts, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Ali as his fingers tightly hugged something. I frowned. Upon closer inspection, I realised it was a fragment of his mum’s floral-printed dress. That poor thing.

Did he trust me too? Then again, who else would that kid trust but the person his mother entrusted him to?

It was no different for Helen. She trusted me because I was not only her mum’s sister but also the only person her mother trusted to take care of her.

I looked around me. The hope in their sparkling eyes was evident. They clung to me as their last glimmer of hope, their final grasp at survival in the face of imminent death.

How on earth did I get myself into this mess? I wasn’t born to be a leader. I failed in life. I failed at everything I did. So why? Why did these people put me on a pedestal?

Letting out a deep sigh, I dropped my head. There was no use in entertaining these thoughts. We were running out of time.

The Cull - The Forest of the Forsaken

Photo by Bradley Dunn on Unsplash

I took a step forwards, ready to confront her, but she never looked in my direction. It felt like I was invisible – a nuisance – prying into matters I wasn’t meant to know.

I couldn’t have made up the memories of her leaving the psychiatric ward. She was discharged. I was positive. I didn’t see her back when the bus arrived, either. How did she end up here?

I wanted answers but the young girl averted her hazel eyes, shutting all my attempts to get through to her. Something about her felt off. She had no reason to ignore me yet this was exactly what she was doing. Did she know more than she let on?

I shifted my focus to the others as this question crossed my mind. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen these people either. None of them wore hospital gowns like me.

From what I could gather from my brief observation, the father and daughter duo seemed like immigrants – perhaps Arabs.

The boy, a bony thing, seemed to be autistic and too loud for his own good, and the elderly woman sitting in the corner looked like the only English person here. She was also the one who acknowledged us.

 “Come in, hurry. They shouldn’t find us.”

“How long have you all been here for?”

“Must be half an hour at best. Noor?”

The Muslim girl stepped forwards and checked her watch. She wore a black and gold-patterned hijab, which concealed her chest and forearms.

Her loose, pearl grey abaya was soiled, it reached all the way down to her ankles and hid her womanly curves. Her eyes sparkled even in the dark, perhaps as excited to find another survivor as she was worried about who I was or could be.

“Twenty-three minutes, to be precise. Who are you? Is that your son?”

Ali seized my hand and hid behind me as she leaned over to greet him.

“No. No, that’s… It’s a long story. I’m Elin. And you are…?”

“That’s Yudes over there. Her son placed her in a nursing home a decade ago before she ended up here. The boy you see at the corner speaking to himself is Niclas. He’s autistic. Other than that, I couldn’t get much other information out of him.”

She then pointed at the man with a long and unkempt beard, who was probably in his mid-60s.

“This is my dad. His name is Khalid. We’re both from the Gaza Strip and applied for asylum in the UK five years ago due to, you know, the genocide. And I’m Noor. His only surviving child.”

I smirked. “Basically we’re all what the rest of the society perceives as the lowest class possible, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around you,” I said. “We’re all a burden to society. At least, that’s what they tell themselves to get rid of the guilt. They want us gone.”

“But those who brought us here said it was a rehabilitation programme. That it is supported by the government.”

“I don’t why or who was sick enough to call this death sentence a ‘rehabilitation programme’, and I don’t want to know either. All I know is that we need to find a way to survive until daybreak. This isn’t the first trip this bus has taken.”

Khalid joined the conversation. His accent was thick and the way he pronounced each word was hardly fluent, unlike his daughter.

“You say this happen before?”

I sighed, unsure of how to explain myself or choose my words. The last thing I wanted was for these people to panic.

“I’ve studied human biology. Those cadavers outside the bus are at least a week old. Even if we consider the frigid weather, those cadavers are not fresh. These people have been doing this for at least two weeks. If they’re truly supported by the government, the chances of our survival depend entirely on whether we make it to sunrise or not.”

I glanced at Amina without really meaning to at that moment. Her back was still turned to me, persistent and unrelenting, shrouded in mystery.

Another notification came through. All eyes were turned towards me as I picked up my phone. When I noticed the staring eyes, I shifted my focus from the birthday notification to the survivors.

“It’s a phone…” Noor said, her voice trailing off briefly. “We- we can call the police!”

I backed away. “Listen, I know this isn’t what you want to hear. But it’s not picking up any signal. Besides, even if it did and we somehow called for help, we wouldn’t get any.”

“How can you be so sure without even trying? They can’t just- just let us die like this! This a crime against humanity!”

“And yet isn’t this exactly what happened in Gaza a few years back?” I couldn’t help but smirk. “Crime against humanity? There’s no such thing. Not if you’re backed up by the world’s largest and only superpower.”

Noor dropped her eyes. “I- I don’t want to die. It’s… it’s not fair.”

“That’s the kind of world we get if a bunch of derailed people run it. I wish I could tell you something else. But this programme… It’s a death sentence for all of us.”

I regretted these words as I looked around and noticed how everyone grew quiet all of a sudden, their eyes bloodshot and misty.

This wasn’t good. Once these people lost hope, there was no going back – no second chances.

I shouldn’t crush their hopes, even if the chance of survival was close to none. That was how human nature worked. The only way it worked. Through hope.

I looked up at Noor carried on, a real warrior who had seen hell on Earth and come back alive.

“Even if that were true, let’s say it is, shouldn’t we at least try to call the police? Don’t expect us to just surrender and let those people have their way! Not again!”

I bit my lips and averted my gaze. I didn’t want to ignite false hope. Calling the police was a waste of time. Our best shot was to wait for daybreak and then make a break for it. If we were lucky, we’d find a car along that roadway or a safe place to spend the night.

There was no way those cowards would be here past sunrise and risk getting caught red-handed.

“She’s right,” Yudes said, adding before I could interject. “We should at least try. That way, we won’t have any regrets.”

“We don’t even have a signal.”

Noor looked at each of us in turn before speaking her mind.

“I saw a watchtower further up the slope.”

 “A watchtower?” I said. “In the middle of nowhere?”

“I- I’m not sure but we could be near a military base. That would also explain why there are no passing vehicles.”

“What if it’s guarded?” I said.

“I don’t think it is. We would’ve seen light coming through if that were the case. It’s so close to the roadway that we’d surely see it.”

“Which means this is an abandoned military base,” I muttered to myself, before adding. “Don’t you think that’s inconsistent with how there’s no traffic here?”

“It must be at a secluded place, at least a few miles from the nearest civilisation.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“How can I trust you?”

“I’ve studied military history. I know every single military base in this country, both active and abandoned. This place isn’t one of them. It must’ve been inactive for at least a century – if not more.”

“I see,” I said, before returning to face the others. “Do you all agree on this? That we should seek help?”

Everyone but Niclas nodded. He was too deep into his own world to listen. Even Ali agreed.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll go and see what I can do. But don’t get your hopes up too much.”

“I’m coming with you. I told you about the watchtower and I know more about these kinds of constructions than you do. I’ll be of help.”

Her father, with a sense of urgency, said something to her in Arabic. Even though I couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice held a distinct undertone of concern.

He was probably begging her not to go. Even if this place was a temporary solution, it was the only haven at the moment. No father would want his daughter to risk her life for him.

But Noor stood steadfast in her decision. We left the vicinity twenty minutes later.

The Cull - A Cry in the Darkness

Photo by Brad Helmink on Unsplash

I hesitated for good reasons. Whatever waited for me outside the bus I didn’t know. Bringing a vulnerable child with me was a great risk.

But the woman clung to my feet and wouldn’t let go, pleading with me to stay, desperate, and then she prayed to the god she so dearly believed to change my mind.

Sighing, I momentarily closed my eyes to think things over, to shut her praying voice away from my abysmal mind devoid of emotions.

It was too bothersome.

For a fraction of a second, I wished I had never turned around to find the woman there. Why would she even want my help?

I was a stranger to her, an unfamiliar face, what if I hurt her child? Was she too blinded by dread to consider all options and the consequences her choices would bring?

I reopened my eyes to take a second look at her pallid and hardened face fraught with worry.

I found the boy staring at me out of the corner of my eyes then, cautious, yet much to my surprise, probing as well.

He was clinging to his mum for dear life. I could tell right away that he didn’t share his mother’s misbegotten sentiments and would rather stay here with her than follow me. As he indeed should.

But he was also curious about me, this person his mum wanted to entrust him to.

I wasn’t a good person, though, and certainly not gifted with handling children. I never thought of myself as a maternal spirit. Perhaps he could see that too and was therefore wary of me.

Of course, Helen would have disagreed on that point and said the opposite. She and I were more than just aunt and niece, after all. Ee were close friends.

In the end, the woman didn’t give me a choice. She wasn’t going to let me go, and I wasn’t about to abandon a pregnant woman, whose only purpose was to protect her offspring.

I sighed, then nodded to show her my resignation. Only then did she let go. I rubbed my sore ankles.

The woman was in such pains to keep me put that she dug her nails into my skin and engraved a small, circular mark on it.

She pushed the reluctant boy into my arms. I snatched him as he was about to lose his footing and brought him closer than I wanted.

He smelled of jasmine and vanilla, a combination of fragrances, which was pleasantly surprising.

I never used perfume and otherwise found any kind of smell unpleasant. But this one surprised me in a good way despite the dire circumstances we were in. It smelled like innocence.

He looked up and stared at me like a lost sheep in need of shelter and protection, like a baby still suckling his mother’s sore breasts, too good for this evil world filled with filth, sex and weeds.

I pitied him. I didn’t even know why. I forced a half-hearted smile so he would become at ease, and much to my surprise, he returned my smile.

As I turned around to face the woman and bid farewell, I didn’t know it would be the last time, even though I did doubt she would make it out of here alive.

I also wondered at that moment, as our eyes locked and we made a silent pact, whether we would ever be rescued or simply succumb to our ill fates.

But I couldn’t ask these things to the poor thing, who clutched to her belly and wished upon the stars for a miracle. A sparkle of hope was all she needed to keep her sanity intact.

Even so, I didn’t consider for one second that she truly believed – blindly so - her own beliefs. We were as good as dead.

One only had to look around the gore and mayhem around to know this. Yet she seemed so hopeful and full of gratitude.

I wanted to puke my gut out.

While heading to the front door, the boy seized my hand and hugged it tight.

I didn’t like it. I hated to be touched, especially this abruptly. But it didn’t feel right to tell that to a kid, who may have just lost his mother forever.

I could cope with this much physical contact. It wasn’t going to kill me. I was the adult here so I ought to play my part.

His palms were sweaty and cold. His rigid veins contracted to supply his hammering child heart. Scared.

Callous I sure was but heartless I was not, and never had been throughout my entire life. I was just… weird.

Helen used to do that too at that age, clinging to me like a moth in search of light whenever we went to a playground a few blocks away.

Unlike her peers who’d run around freely with no care in the world, she would keep close to me – far more afraid than anyone her age should be and an absolute coward.

She reminded me of a combination of my big sister and me; split in half, almost, shy of strangers yet unbothered if left alone.

Then again, blood was thicker than water. Had I not known better, I’d say my sister had borne herself – duplicated herself, if you will, into this world but put strains of my genes hither and dither while at it.

I think I was the reason Helen was such a coward. I used to tell her scary stories about child abductions and bestial wolves disguised in human flesh to keep her from talking to strangers lying in wait for sweet flesh.

But I only wanted her to be safe in a world filled to the brim with evil. I had to.

She was kind and gentle at heart, a sacrificial lamb for those who purposely lurked in the darkest hours of the night to take her innocence away, if not her life, from the face of the earth.

I’d rather she fear me and everyone else than fall victim to the hands of those pieces of shit.

She was the most precious thing in this entire world in my eyes. She was the last drop of innocence that reminded me of a time long gone and past, of my own childhood and my lost dreams that vanished along with it.

No, I’d rather she live as a coward forever and be safe than turn stiff and cold somewhere where I could never find her.

“Don’t look,” I told him as we stepped out of the bus and found our surroundings riddled with dismembered passengers as far as our eyes could see.

A lot of them wore gowns, but it was far from the majority I had to admit. Some were severed in half, others decapitated so that their heads lay inches away from their mutilated bodies, while others were shot and then purposely disfigured.

Moreover, from what I could gather in that short period, some cadavers had been lying there for weeks – if not for months. This wasn’t the double-decker’s first trip to this place.

The antsy kid closed his eyes as I instructed and buried his face in my shielding arms.

Now and then, a blood-curdling shriek would emerge from within the forested area to the right of us. Then we would hear laughter and see flashes of lights from the depths of the forest, where the screams reverberated.

I didn’t know where to go at first. My immediate thought was to hide. Yes, hide, but where?

I couldn’t possibly trek miles on no end with a kid stuck to me. I didn’t even know where the roadway led or which direction to go.

I couldn’t risk anything. I promised the woman I would keep her son safe. There was no way he’d make it to the nearest town – wherever that could be.

After considering every possible course of action, I decided to venture to the opposite side of the roadway.

This side of the woods was denser, and I hadn’t heard a single scream come through from it.

It looked as if most of the passengers ran straight into the nearest place possible when the massacre broke out. That is, the right side of the roadway where the forested area was less dense.

I call it a massacre for a reason.

Those black-capped men, whoever or whatever they were, didn’t bring us here for rehabilitation. They brought us here to slaughter us – bump us off and blow our brains out.

These people were not acting on a whim either, no, nothing like that. They were fully equipped to spill blood.

It was a systematic death toll – a death sentence from the higher-ups to cleanse society of people like us.

“Is anne die?”

I was helping the boy climb over the slope at the side of the roadway when he asked me this. This was the first time I heard his quivering voice without an ounce of malice and could tell right away that he had pondered on this question ever since we left the bus.

He knew. He knew that he would no longer be able to see his mum alive. But he wanted me to confirm it, perhaps comfort him with a lie like adults were supposed to do.

But I wasn’t that type of adult.

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“She- she afraid, there, it dark.”

I followed his gaze to the double-decker bus. He was only five years old, so why did it feel like I was looking at a grown-up?

“I know. Let’s go. We shouldn’t stay here for too long. I’ll go get your anne later. Hmm?”

He nodded. I couldn’t tell the truth in the end. I couldn’t bring myself to do such a cruel thing to a half-human.

I caught up with him as he advanced through the bushes. Something about his dejected gait and slouched shoulders kept bothering me.

“She’ll be okay. I promise.”

He glanced at me but didn’t respond. He knew I was lying. That was when something in my pocket buzzed. I reached into my pocket.

I had forgotten all about the phone. It was a notification from my calendar – a notification of my niece’s upcoming birthday next week.

There was no reception, though.

The boy stopped short, his eyes were wide with utter disbelief as I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye.

I lifted my eyes off the screen. This was the first time I saw this expression on his face.

“Phone! Phone!” He jumped up to snatch it from me. “Call police! Anne need help!”

“It’s not working, buddy.”

“Not work?”

His wide eyes turned sad in an instant. I patted his shoulder to comfort him.

“You want to go home that badly, huh?”

He nodded.

“Me too. But we can’t do that if we’re too loud, okay? Do you understand what that means?”

“Police come and help anne if we quiet. And little brother.”

“Little brother?”

“Anne say he come soon and play with Ali. He come and play, right?”

“Why not? He’s got such a great big brother. Can I play with you too – even if he doesn’t come?”

He leapt into my arms and hugged me. It happened so suddenly that I wasn’t even prepared for it. I didn’t see it coming.

As I hugged him back, memories of my niece flooded back to me. I missed her. She must’ve grown so much these past fourteen years.

I’d probably not be able to recognise her if I were to see her again. But it was okay. I had no right to complain after what I did.

I had it coming. Helen was better off without someone like me. She was an angel. I was a demon. I would corrupt her.

As we ventured deeper and deeper into the forest, we found a cave at an outcrop. The entrance was hidden by tangled vines and moss-covered rocks. If it weren’t for the kid, who let go of my hand and dashed towards it, I would’ve completely missed it.

Without knowing what caught his attention at first, I scurried after him and found myself amidst a group of other survivors. Five of them.

Amina, she was there too. But she wasn’t supposed to be here.

The Cull - The Last Stop

Photo by Anna Berdnik on Unsplash

The bus was vacant when I made my way downstairs. Each step heavier than the one before, chary and on alert. The windows were marked with dark streaks of blood.

All around me, I found traces of mutilation and decay. Pieces of flesh riddled every nook and cranny, the smell of iron stuck to my dry throat.

But these things, these horrendous these, didn’t disturb me. I felt nothing in particular, neither sadness nor despair, angst or anger, disgust or shock, just emptiness for lack of a better word.

Like a shell without a soul, like the undead in their bottomless tombs – nothing. Was I even human?

I approached the chauffeur’s seat with careful steps, making sure no one else was inside the bus with me.

I must’ve spent a good five minutes studying the poor thing, then dropped my eyes in an attempt to show my respects to the unfortunate man.

His severed head hung loosely from his neck, a clear cut, deftly amputated. He was slashed from behind when he least expected it.

I wondered, at that moment, if he had any family and how devastated and heartbroken they would be to see him right now, lifeless and cold, and far away from everything familiar and perhaps never found again.

Repositioning the chauffeur, I placed his loose head against the window. If his relatives were to find him against all odds, I wanted them to find him whole.

That was the only way I could turn around then and there and abandon him. That was when I noticed something I had missed the first time around.

The impeccable chop revealed two things to me: it was either done by a skilled surgeon, who was mad enough to showcase his talents or someone with exceptional swordsmanship – perhaps a butcher.

I opted for the latter since the former required, not only madness, but a certain amount of daredevil no professional would engage in for the sake of some messed-up kicks.

Of course, as was inevitable, I could be wrong. There was an exception to every rule and someone like me, someone so wicked in my own right, knew this better than anyone.

I wouldn’t know for sure until I laid my eyes on the murder weapon and the one who wielded it.

As I was having these reflections, engrossed in my calculating mind seeking the indisputable truth, I heard a hush.

It was the kind of noise one would hear in a cramped space, like in a library, to quieten down another person – often a noisy kid living in his own world, where dragons were real and every story ended with a happy-ever-after.

It came from the back rows.

I was positive that none of the black-capped guys were inside the bus – not when I decided to go downstairs at the very least. I knew this for sure because I saw them leave from the second floor.

Whoever this was, it could be none other than another passenger. I was right. Only I did not expect to find someone so vulnerable and so helpless, and in so much pain.

I came face to face with a Muslim woman with wide open, gazelle eyes. Her beauty was mesmerising, like a real-life Shahrazad from One Thousand and One Nights. Most people would’ve described her as a natural beauty with her long and dense eyelashes, scarlet plump lips, and flushed, high cheekbones.

She wore a black hijab; a symbol of her faith and the people she belonged to. And, although, it didn’t catch my eye at first, most likely due to her loose flowery dress, she was hiding a baby bump.

The woman, as I was about to find out, couldn’t speak English. She kept asking me if I knew Turkish, which I did.

My family immigrated from Türkiye in the late 1970s. My paternal grandfather was promised a ticket to the West – an exorbitant life in an urban city – but was forced to work at a chemical factory instead for a low salary.

He brought over my grandmother and two of their younger children, my aunt and my dad after a few years. But he wasn’t able to bring my oldest uncle, who was already an adult at the time and thus had to stay behind with our relatives.

My grandfather died from gastric cancer after years of inhaling chemical fumes. He bit the dust a year after I was born. I had never known him, but my parents told me he loved me dearly and would let me jump on his stomach despite the excruciating pain he was in.

I was told that we were similar, my grandfather and I, that we were reserved by nature and unbothered by this material world most others would kill another human being for.

My dad was fourteen years old when he immigrated from Türkiye.

No matter how many years he lived abroad, he never quite thought of this place as his home – he longed to return to his home country his entire life, and told us, me and my older sister, to bring him to where he belonged should he die in these foreign soils.

A decade later, my dad also passed away. He caught what seemed like a harmless cold and passed away overnight due to sepsis. He refused to go to the hospital because it would cost an arm and a leg. He was the only breadwinner back then.

I was in my early twenties when it happened and my big sister was married and had her own family to care for.

Our mum became crippled soon after his death. They amputated both of her legs because of an uncontrolled blood sugar level.

I became the sole breadwinner after all this.

My mum and I had no one but ourselves to rely on. I became her arms and legs, her everything, and she became mine. Yet, I was never comfortable in my own skin and ethnicity. I never thought of myself as either Turkish or English – or both for that matter.

Among my relatives, I was this compliant young woman everyone thought was celibate and overly religious, while I listened to death metal in secret and found religion to be nothing less of a cruel and sadistic joke.

At the same time, and I couldn’t deny this, I was once very religious indeed. I was brought up in a religious household, after all.

I was a kid back then, and I just wanted to please my parents. But I drifted away from my roots, eventually.

Truth be told, when I used to blindly believe and thought I was protected by something beyond and above meek humanity, I was the happiest.

To have faith gave me a reason to live, even if life was rough and the path ahead difficult. But when I lost my faith, as I so bitterly did as a conflicted teenager, I got lost.

Just breathing became hard – for there was no reason to breathe, no sin to be forgiven or good deeds to be praised for.

I was going to rot in my tomb, either way. And if I could return to that time, I’d choose to have faith again.

I think it all began when I realised how different I was from other people. Following a faith I couldn’t fully grasp was harder for me than for those around me.

I didn’t know if this had anything to do with my interest in metal music, Shaitan’s music, as my mum used to say, but I’d like to think it wasn’t.

I was too logical for my own good, overthinking, and always seeking the truth to simply surrender to God – to become a Muslim in its true sense.

I was an imposter, someone who pretended for the sake of belonging somewhere – anywhere. And so I decided to commit suicide at the age of thirteen.

I prepared a rope, learned how to tie a hangman’s knot, and even contemplated subduing myself with pills to muster up the courage to let go of everything.

I almost succeeded.

But my mum had legs of her own back then and broke into my bedroom when I didn’t reply to her at al-fajr.

I failed to crack my throat in time. The knot was looser than I expected because of my lack of experience and, of course, young age.

Something came in between my mum and me after this failed attempt. I couldn’t really tell what it was or could be even if I wanted to.

My only recollection of that day was embarrassment, shame and remorse. I didn’t want her to see me like that, so weak and helpless, and it never crossed my mind that she would find me so soon, either.

I was so sure that I’d die by daybreak that I was bewildered by her antsy eyes and frail arms, swearing to keep me alive at all costs.

She wanted me to see a psychologist after this. But I refused to go. I went to CBT before my failed suicide attempt and I knew that no human being could bring this dead child within me back.

I should’ve heeded her words. If only I had sought help back then, maybe none of this would’ve happened…

The Muslim woman glanced to her right, which was obscured from my immediate view.

I couldn’t help but smirk, dumbfounded by what appeared out of the corner as covertly as possible. So this was why, I thought to myself, this was why she wanted my help.

A kid. A little boy. He was probably only five years old if I had to make a guess.

His tiny eyes were round and wide, curious, as oval as the moon hovering in the night sky and yet terrified beyond himself. Then again, who wouldn’t be in this kind of situation?

I knew what she wanted from me yet I desperately wished I was mistaken.

I was the last person in this wicked world to come to her rescue, and at the same time, she and I both knew that that was exactly what she wanted from me.

“Onu da al yanına, nolur.”

‘Take him with you too, please.’

The Cull - Passengers of the Abyss

Photo by Brandon Holmes on Unsplash

I descended the spiral staircase, taking each step with the utmost care. Reaching halfway down, I caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the fair-skinned guys gathering the discarded phones. I ducked my head.

That’s when another gunshot was fired. I flinched and cowered in place. What the hell? Another peal of laughter reached my ears not long after. It sickened me to the core. I had never heard anything like it before. It was a sickening mix of delirium and victory.

Taking a deep breath, I mustered up the courage to glimpse at whatever had aroused such a bizarre reaction.

Blood. It dripped down from the driver’s seat. One of the black-capped guys stood there. He was the one laughing his head off.

His face was covered in blood. The other guy, the one collecting the phones, was telling him to shut up and focus.

But that was only the start of what soon unfolded. I jolted as a severed head thudded against one of the windows. My hand instinctively covered my mouth to suppress a scream.

I crouched as low as I could. But it was too late for regrets. Right at that moment, the one who was collecting the devices, looked up at the snaking staircase and briefly met my gaze.

I made my way up and slipped in between two rows of seats at the end of the aisle. It didn’t take long before I heard the approaching footsteps. With bated breath, I reached further under the seats, contorting my body to occupy as little space as humanly possible.

I couldn’t see anything from this position. All I knew was that it was game over the second they found me. The footsteps, however, grew fainter and eventually ceased before they reached me.

Things remained like this for a few seconds, but the lingering stillness gave the illusion that several hours had elapsed, and whoever had come up here, went downstairs again.

A wave of relief washed over me. However, deep down, I knew that this blissful moment was fleeting. Something really, really bad was in the offing. But before I delve into the ensuing events, I must tell you how I ended up here.

Fourteen years ago, I made a decision that went against all reason. It was a deliberate decision. It happened because I desired it. I did not regret what I did. It was survival of the fittest.

I either had to succumb to my monstrous instincts or bear witness to my beloved’s excruciating suffering. I couldn’t bear the thought of causing her such pain in her last moments, and then still go on with my own.

No, I did not regret what I did. I’ll never forget and I’ll never forgive myself, but I refuse to regret what was bound to happen sooner or later.

I was working as a janitor at a large hospital, doing the same chores time and again. Physical to the core and mentally demanding, but I had grown accustomed to it. I had to.

It wasn’t really my call to serve those I had once studied alongside. That didn’t mean I did my job half-heartedly and spitefully. On the contrary, I worked until I dropped dead in my childhood chamber every single day.

I didn’t belong anywhere. The unwritten rules of the neurotypical world wore me out. I decided to play mute and shut off my senses to the world of the wicked and vicious.

Eventually, it was this folly game of pretence that afflicted me and led to my downfall. It was my forte, it was my Achilles heel.

Moreover, I didn’t see it coming. I still wonder how things would’ve turned out if I knew beforehand that all hell was about to break loose.

However, all of this was now a distant memory, a mere echo of the past. It was too late to turn back time.

Presenting myself as a pushover had both advantages and considerable drawbacks. As long as I didn’t have to engage in meaningless conversations, I was more than happy to be given orders and carry them out.

However, everything changed that fateful day.

I received an order to stay overnight and set up the rooms for the influx of patients from the ER since the infection ward I worked at had a limited number of rooms available.

I had just finished cleaning one of the single rooms, room nine when I decided to take a breather in the canteen.

When I say cleaning, I mean that I changed the bedsheets and took out the overflowing garbage bags. That was the routine in our ward and anyone who did more than that was met with shrewd looks from the regular janitors.

I, on the other hand, was an hourly worker and had to be careful not to look desperate.

The patient in room nine was a nine-year-old kid, whose mum had left the room when I arrived. Even as I finished my tasks and left, she never showed up.

Shortly after I left the room, one of the nurses entered, and I went to the canteen to grab some well-deserved coffee.

It was half-past two o’clock in the witching hour when one of my co-workers found me sitting there sipping my black coffee.

It was a habit of mine to do that during the breaks solely because I had nothing else to do. All my coworkers knew this.

This co-worker, however, wasn’t the type to strike up a conversation with me. That day, or maybe I should say that night, he slammed his fists onto the table and raised his voice at me.

His name was Jamal, and he was from Somalia. He was one of the regular janitors in this ward, and I had worked with him enough times to know that he was a decent guy.

He wasn’t the type of person who’d cause unnecessary trouble. I knew immediately that something was off.

“You clean room nine?”

I remember not wanting to answer because I couldn’t grasp why he was seeing red. It wasn’t like Jamal to raise his voice.

While I didn’t respond in the same distraught manner as he did, I made sure to sound as firm as possible.

“I did, why? Did something happen?”

“The kid dead.”

He said that without skipping a beat. I couldn’t help but frown. The kid was perfectly fine when I was there. He was watching a cartoon and having a great time. There was no way he could’ve passed away this suddenly.

“Someone cut oxygen, you know what means this.”

Though Jamal said nothing else, I could still hear the whiff of accusation in his tired voice.

I could even hear the voice inside his anxious mind asking – directly and with no filter - if I had killed that poor thing, either on purpose or without meaning to, by cleaning too close to the oxygen supply.

He asked me, in his own way, if I had done something irreversible and fatal - even if it wasn’t my intention.

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence. That was why our instructor warned us to avoid any contact with the instruments, cylinders, or any other objects inside the patient rooms while cleaning.

I wanted to defend myself, but the opportunity never presented itself. Following his distraught entrance to the canteen, a group of nurses entered.

My words, no matter how carefully chosen, held no weight or meaning in this kind of situation.

In this uniform, it was evident that I belonged to a lower social class. I was insignificant, a mere speck of dust, and the nurses were prepared to do anything to put the blame on me to conceal their own mistakes.

This marked the beginning of the end for me. I just didn’t know it yet. Looking back now, I realise I should’ve stood my ground. I had legal rights just like everyone else.

But I guess I was exhausted, too drained and burned out, from living without purpose. This incident provided the perfect justification for me to bring an end to everything – a perfect opportunity.

From a young age, I displayed a solitary nature and was a lone wolf. I immersed myself in the world of books, finding solace and comfort in secluded locations, where I could read undisturbed while remaining invisible to others.

I never desired or longed for anything. I was living yet I was far from any living being. I never felt the need to engage in social interactions, to connect with other people, or to cultivate meaningful relationships.

Even as a young woman, at the height of my youth and beauty, with suitors who hankered for my attention, I felt dead inside and nothing else. My heart was sealed and so was my mind.

That I did not succumb to my dismal mind sooner was nothing less of a miracle. I always knew that suicide would be the end of me. Still, I clung to life for a reason all these years.

I lived for her. She was the one whose existence was so dear to me that I couldn’t bring myself to leave this wicked world. But more of that another time. Let’s return to the main topic.