Excerpt from "GoneAway Into the Land" by Jeffrey B. Allen

Again, John began maneuvering to put his back to the building. The Beast had lost all expression of humanity. Its eyes were dark with hatred and bitterness. It took a long step toward John, and in response John took several steps back, determined to maintain his distance.

Ellie and Sara continued down the road yelling for John to run. “John,” cried Ellie. “Get away. You can get away.” Ellie was frantic.

Hampton followed, mumbling nervously to himself. He feared the worst for his friend. He feared the worst for the Land. If the Siftar only knew what was happening.

John backed up to the doorway of the MixingRoom. The closer he got the more pungent the odor. The Beast bent low. It took a long gulp of air and scraped its bloody knuckles into the dirt. It was distracted by the smells that were coming from the building. John reached behind and lifted the latch to the door. As it swung open he was nearly overcome by the odor that stung him in the nose and burned his eyes. John stepped to the side and studied the reaction of the Beast.

There was a sound of working machinery, a rhythmic sloshing, churning some strange brew that the Beast could not ignore. A thick red mist clung to the top of the door header and floated out in stratified layers. The Beast took his eyes off John and bent even lower to see into the doorway. John seized on his chance. He raised his weapon and ran at the Beast. With every muscle in his body he jumped up and hurled his spear into the exact center of the Beast’s eyeball. The monster’s head snapped back in shock. John landed between the Beast’s legs but by the time it grasped what had happened John was clear and back standing by the MixingRoom door. His weapon was gone. There would be no more chances.

The Beast was reeling; stumbling to the side when out of the deepest depths of its bowels came a low groan that built into a horrifying howl of agony. It whirled around groping for the stick that had not only punctured its eyeball but penetrated into its skull. The Beast tried desperately to remove it, but the damage was setting in. Its head was burning with pain and it was becoming disoriented. It spotted John by the open door. It stumbled toward him but it had lost its perception of distance. The Beast found itself spinning inside a circle of images that were quickly losing relationship.

The MixingRoom. The army of people. The tracks.

But the Train — where was the Train?

The hills to the North.

The archway, smashed to bits.

Around and around it went, circling, searching for the boy.

Go toward the smell of the drink.

Its thoughts were blending together into a steady stream of uninterrupted insanity. The Beast paced back and forth, side to side, swaying, stumbling, trying to see — trying to get to him.

Crush him, its mind was yelling.

Destroy the boy! Get rid of him once and for all!

Nobody’ll tell me what to do! NoBody! No more!

I want food! I want ‘a Eat! Drink more! Drink . . .

My Palace . . . Where’s my Kingdom Hall . . . all lies . . .

It glimpsed the MixingRoom flying past. It took a sideways step and stumbled in that direction but stopped short, unsure of where it was.

John stepped in front of the open door. He wanted the monster to see him. He yelled. He wanted the Beast to hear him. “Die for what you’ve done. Die for my mother — and die for Marny,” said John. And die for Sara.

Kill it, whispered a voice. Kill the Beast.

….

Ellie and Sara reached the edge of the Receiving Circle just as John was blocking the doorway to the MixingRoom. Hampton came up from behind, out of breath. They stood silent, unable to do anything but watch, afraid to utter a word.

….

The Beast steadied itself for an instant as if its brain had decided to give it one last opportunity to regain its sanity. But the few seconds of clarity merely allowed it time to point itself in the right direction. With a final burst of outrage it threw its body toward John and the steaming MixingRoom. John rolled off to the side with ease.

The huge deformed mass of muscles smashed through the red clay fascia and onto the peak of the roof. The walls of the structure buckled at first and then burst outward. The roof rafters gave way and began pulling apart at their joints. The Beast’s body crashed through the forward timbers. Twisting and bending it fell with its knee onto the planked table where Mengus had left a long stemmed glass half filled with his sparkling red liquid. The force of the blow caused the table to snap in two and the pilings that supported the decrepit observation deck to collapse into rubble. The Beast fell on both knees into the forward mixing vat where the powerful mechanisms of the mixing auger cut into its flesh. The Beast’s upper body followed, careening through the rafters one after another. Finally its head came slamming onto the wooden pipe where the helpless girl had earlier been left bound and blindfolded. The pipe snapped off at the wall where it made its connection to the valve that regulated the flow of red liquid from the Boiling Pool. The Beast’s head bounced up and then splashed face down into the swirling vat. The monster strained to stay above the surface, sporadically raising its bristly face, gasping for breath. Its arms reached out in desperation. It found the rickety catwalk and grabbed hold, but the old rotted wood came away in its hand and crumbled into pieces.

The helpless Beast tried in vain to lift itself out of the vats, but it couldn’t. The weight of its body was working against it, as if it were bound and tied to the bottom by a thousand knots. The Beast’s rock like skull, covered thick with curls of black hair sank beneath the surface of the liquid.

Its lungs filled with the fluid it craved. The Beast’s body went lifeless.