This Shade of Rust

Kara went running towards the fence at full speed. "Rusty!" she shouted, waving fiercely.

"Kar," Marie chastised, rolling her eyes, "you know better than to do anything that could provoke him."

"Sorry, sis," Kara replied, slowing her speed. "But Rust wouldn't hurt me. You know that."

"Everything can hurt you," she said, sighing a sad sound, "if you aren't careful enough." To emphasize her point, she hiked her skirt up over her riding boots, exposing her scarred calf. "'Manda was my friend, too, till she got spooked. Never forget it, 'kay?"

Kara pouted. "Okay." She approached the great red bull before her with more tact, her hand raised placatingly, palm outstretched. After he got a few good sniffs in, she rubbed and patted at his flank. The old bull snuffed, reveling in the attention.

"Alright, come on," Marie warned after several minutes had passed, "we have lots of chores left to do."

That night at the dinner table, Kara noticed a light shining from the heavens-- brighter than Polaris and closer than Luna. The four of them rushed out in time to witness a meteorite, all flaming outlines and dissolving debris, rocketing towards the distant edge of the farm. It crashed with such impact that the dust from it smacked them hard across the face.

Kara gasped. "We have to go check on the animals!"

"Alright, survey the damage, that's fair. But you two stay here," father commanded the sisters, mother quick to his side with a flashlight and a shotgun, in case of coydogs or ferals.

Kara counted the minutes until their return, until minutes became hours, and worry turned to outright fear. "We have to go check," she insisted, a whine in her tone, "they could be in a ditch somewhere!"

"Both of them?" Marie wondered, hesitant to involve her little sister in this mess but scared to leave her parents out this long, or Kara at the house on her own, for that matter. "Fine, we'll go. It's been a long time, maybe they took the tractor and got stuck in the mud. Could use a hand." She knew the likelihood of that. No doubt they took the horses.

Luckily, Marie also knew a thing or two about shooting by now, so she loaded up the spare shotgun and headed out on foot with Kara at her side.

They'd reached the far fence line with neither sight nor sound of their parents, but they had fresh tracks to follow. It was the horses, after all. They stopped at the edge of some thick sagebrush, funny looking drag marks circling 'round.

"Stay here," Marie ordered, and disappeared into the brush with the shotgun handy.

The meteorite was just in view, seemingly dull and inert; but slick like oil and riddled with the color of it, refracting the slim beam from Kara's flashlight as she approached. Steam still rose from the hole-riddled form, all black and burnt out, scalded-like.

That's when she heard the snuffling, deep and heavy, followed by the sound of a charge. The massive creature stopped just shy of her beam.

"Rusty?" she asked meekly, but something was wrong. He was… growling? Her light turned on him, and his eyes glowed wild red in the thick of it, like something out of the movies.

The light seemed to anger him. He roared, and accompanying the sound was a rush of wind like a storm, black tentacle things sprouting like a frill of leather and feathers from 'round the bull's neck, which was thick as felled timber and at least as heavy.

Kara backed away but fell to the dusty ground, and at the sign of her weakness the bull charged.

"Rusty, no! It's me!" She held out her hand and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, he had stopped inches from her, and one of his tentacles was exploring her hand-- something like a dripping maw at its center --with slippery curiosity.

Bam! Bam! Two shots rang out at close range, deafening her with a ringing past her ears and striking the beast clean in its skull. Blood spattered across Kara's face and stained the whiteness of her brand new shirt. He collapsed to the ground with a great thump and whoosh, dust and blood everywhere.

"Rusty, no!" cried Kara, lunging forward to grab for him.

"No, no Kara!" It was Marie. She held Kara back with a constrictive embrace.

"You killed him," she whispered, tears welling big in her eyes, "You killed Rusty! Let me go "

Marie tightened her hold. "That wasn't Rusty anymore, Kar."

Something clicked in Kara's mind, something terrifying. "Where are mom and dad?" she dared to ask.

Marie was trembling against her. She, too, was covered in blood, but it wasn't Rusty's. His was black like tar, like that oil stuff from the meteor. This was redder. Older. Like rust. "I-- they're not here anymore, Kar."

Kara jutted out her chin, aiming for strong and defiant but falling just short. "No," she insisted. "You're wrong. Let me see."

Her head fell. "No, Kar. That's something you'll never forget, in a bad way. You'll never remember them the way you want to again."

The tears sprang freely. "Let me see!" she shouted at the darkness, but she was already collapsing in Marie's arms.

"Shh, shh, I got you, Kar. I'm not going anywhere." She ran her fingers through Kara's hair, wet with black ink. "But we gotta make it back to the house, 'kay? We'll regroup there. See if the ponies made it. Either way we gotta leave: make for the city. That's miles out. Should be far enough to escape this, this stuff. And they'll know what to do out there, too."

Kara sniffled, a blankness in her eyes that spoke to disassociation. "Fine," she huffed," slow to unwind herself from her sister's grip.

"Here," Marie said, tossing the youngest a small walking stick. "Let's get moving."

The journey back to the homestead was nerve-racking. There were many animals on the acres-wide ranch, but they hadn't encountered any but Rusty. They took a shortcut, saw signs of struggles and fur and red, red blood, but nothing like the monster from before. Just as well.

Still, Marie was on edge.

Kara was on the verge of tears.

It was a long walk.

Back at the house they loaded up their rucksacks with non-perishables, enough to last the trip to town and then some. They both got a change of shirt: threw the old ones in the trash for good measure. Rinsed out their hair and made for the ponies' pen. Neither said a word.

The pen was crushed, the chicken coop too, and feathers and blood were all around. They took the risk and tracked the ponies into the brush where, thankfully, they were unharmed and unaffected.

So they began their long path.

It was uneventful, perhaps frighteningly so; they ought to have seen some critters by now, as daybreak was just around the corner.

By the time they made it to the outskirts, the sun was fully risen. They paused to water the ponies, and there at the creek they saw the first sweet signs of life: an Abert's Squirrel, pitch black and beautiful, tufted ears and all.

Marie aimed down the sights, thinking of dinner and survival more than prettiness and niceties.

"No!" Kara cried, extending her arm to lower the barrel as quick as she could, hand pressing dangerously close to the muzzle. "Let it be-- aren't there troubles enough for you?"

Marie sighed, then quirked a brow.

The squirrel ought to have scurried away at Kara's screeching: what a brave little thing. Or foolish, perhaps.

Instead it merely turned around, six red eyes blinking as it growled, and from its neck extended thick black tentacles-- long for its body --like the feathery mass of an Axolotl's gills.

Marie steadied her aim once more, but felt the insistent press of Kara hard against her shoulder. "Damn it, Kar, it's infected, I have to--" she turned to face her little sister for the briefest of moments, intent on getting her point across.

There was Kara, red eyes glowing in the half-light, mouth filled with misaligned razor teeth and a hinged jaw dislocating like a hungry snake. Inky tentacles wound towards Marie in slow-motion, but she pivoted-- light on her feet, like during their late night dance lessons --and pulled hard on the four pound trigger.

The city was empty. Blood of all kinds coated the dusted floor, the broken shop windows, the battered doors. Whatever happened was recent. Marie wandered aimlessly through the silence, her sister's black blood wet on her lips. Her eyes were wide and glazed, like the broken glass on which she trod.

Soon, she was at the desert, a barren expanse where the cold and heat interchanged in their extremities, night for day. It was midday.

Marie's vision blurred, her skin was parched. She was thirsty, so thirsty. But she carried on, spent shotgun drooping loose from her hand, held only by the trigger guard on her crooked pointer. Time skipped like a broken record. Grainy, horizontal motion blurs and static lines filled her jagged sight. She didn't particularly care, anymore.

Time jumped again. She didn't know how far. Her sister's blood sang in her veins, crying out to her, thick black bitter and misused. She cried back.

At the edge of eternity, there stood a great rusted doe in the twilight. It limped its approach, slow and cautious. Marie stopped. She reached out, yearning for connection, for belonging, and the oiled black tentacles 'round the both of their necks grew until they intertwined.