Guts and Blackpowder

Parte sin título 6

I've been behind bars for a few days now. I am not a prisoner, but being behind bars is what keeps me alive. Bars like these are capable of blocking you from the good and the bad. I want to describe my situation, I have too much time ahead of me, time that I will not be able to take advantage of. I am in a town in Germany which I don't remember the name of. I saw him while he was still alive, while the population was still alive. Not now. Now there is nothing left of what once was, I was sent here with very clear orders. "Guard the village." This is what I did, such a faithful and blessed soldier that I have been. Together with my men we spent the days enjoying the constant good weather. It's now September and the charm has worn off. It doesn't rain much, the sun makes an appearance in May and from then on it hardly goes away. We enjoyed the charm of the drink and the affection of the citizens, all happy. Very happy. The mayor received everyone he liked in his dining room, the host made sure that the visitor did not lack anything. Coffee, sugar, buns, French toast, broth, stew and many other small pleasures that he saved. The only thing he didn't like was tobacco and chocolate, which I found unpleasant. He spent his time hunting and playing cards, life was peaceful. But disaster came to us suddenly. A caravan, arriving from the east, came with many travelers from strange lands. No one knew what language they spoke, it was too strange, and none of us knew what they said. It took us a long time to communicate, they were not poor, those who arrived came from places that you would only hear about in a barracks. The women brought several sets of jewelry that they hid behind cloths. The men, to take advantage of space, brought several pieces of clothing. And the children kept quiet without playing. The women who came were aristocrats. You knew it if you looked at her hands, completely made of silk and well cared for. I ordered my men to wear gloves when dealing with these people. About three caravans full of personnel came. The inhabitants and the men helped them disembark. But nobody really wanted them, none of the inhabitants, no matter how generous and rich they were, had room or food for a huge number of people. The mayor, very concerned about his population, sent a letter to the town of Baden-Baden to notify them of the problem. While my men worked I went to talk to what looked like the leader of the caravan. He was a gentleman, with long beard and tired eyes, like weights that kept him asleep. He pointed his finger at himself, and looking into my eyes he said "Lobovski." Or something like that, I don't remember well. I tried to decipher, perhaps, some damned damned word, but nobody, nobody, knew anything. We kept them in every possible nook and cranny. We were eagerly awaiting a response. After three days of waiting, a young man came on horseback. He had a reddish boat along with shiny hair, freckles and small eyes. He brought the mayor the letter, and said that he would stay the night to sleep. His horse needed rest. In the small cafe in the city I was talking to the man, he didn't have anything excessively interesting, he was an ordinary man. He confessed to me that he was Polish by birth, with his mother being German. Maybe, and just maybe, I asked him to see if he wanted to help me with the newcomers, to find out what they said. He agreed. He came with me to one of the places and spoke with several of those who had arrived. That man with the reddish beard told me that all of these were Russians, coming from the east. I was very surprised to hear such news. We tried to search among all those for someone who spoke Polish, because the man with the reddish beard did not know. Finally, we returned to Mr. Lobovski, who knew something of the Polish language. From him we learned that they arrived as refugees from the east, that they were those with enough money to leave Russia. They said that many of the servants went crazy and began to attack them. Others remained calm. And they helped them escape, hearing horrible stories, while other Nobles, hearing the news, decided to leave. They spoke of fathers who ate their children and women who died suddenly. All of this made me sick, and the same thing happened to the messenger. Fearing these stories I went to wake up the mayor, what they told me seemed urgent. I repeated, word for word, what they told me. His eyes expressed all the fear he suffered. The next day, in the afternoon, one of the women who came with the caravan fell ill. I and another passerby took her to her husband. We brought the medicines that were in the village and treated her illness as best we could. Everyone around me was calm. But for me, it worried me. That woman, with a very pale complexion, was turning grayish. I've been behind bars for a few days now. I am not a prisoner, but being behind bars is what keeps me alive. Bars like these are capable of blocking you from the good and the bad. I want to describe my situation, I have too much time ahead of me, time that I will not be able to take advantage of. I am in a town in Germany which I don't remember the name of. I saw him while he was still alive, while the population was still alive. Not now. Now there is nothing left of what once was, I was sent here with very clear orders. "Guard the village." This is what I did, such a faithful and blessed soldier that I have been. Together with my men we spent the days enjoying the constant good weather. It's now September and the charm has worn off. It doesn't rain much, the sun makes an appearance in May and from then on it hardly goes away. We enjoyed the charm of the drink and the affection of the citizens, all happy. Very happy. The mayor received everyone he liked in his dining room, the host made sure that the visitor did not lack anything. Coffee, sugar, buns, French toast, broth, stew and many other small pleasures that he saved. The only thing he didn't like was tobacco and chocolate, which I found unpleasant. He spent his time hunting and playing cards, life was peaceful. But disaster came to us suddenly. A caravan, arriving from the east, came with many travelers from strange lands. No one knew what language they spoke, it was too strange, and none of us knew what they said. It took us a long time to communicate, they were not poor, those who arrived came from places that you would only hear about in a barracks. The women brought several sets of jewelry that they hid behind cloths. The men, to take advantage of space, brought several pieces of clothing. And the children kept quiet without playing. The women who came were aristocrats. You knew it if you looked at her hands, completely made of silk and well cared for. I ordered my men to wear gloves when dealing with these people. About three caravans full of personnel came. The inhabitants and the men helped them disembark. But nobody really wanted them, none of the inhabitants, no matter how generous and rich they were, had room or food for a huge number of people. The mayor, very concerned about his population, sent a letter to the town of Baden-Baden to notify them of the problem. While my men worked I went to talk to what looked like the leader of the caravan. He was a gentleman, with long beard and tired eyes, like weights that kept him asleep. He pointed his finger at himself, and looking into my eyes he said "Lobovski." Or something like that, I don't remember well. I tried to decipher, perhaps, some damned damned word, but nobody, nobody, knew anything. We kept them in every possible nook and cranny. We were eagerly awaiting a response. After three days of waiting, a young man came on horseback. He had a reddish boat along with shiny hair, freckles and small eyes. He brought the mayor the letter, and said that he would stay the night to sleep. His horse needed rest. In the small cafe in the city I was talking to the man, he didn't have anything excessively interesting, he was an ordinary man. He confessed to me that he was Polish by birth, with his mother being German. Maybe, and just maybe, I asked him to see if he wanted to help me with the newcomers, to find out what they said. He agreed. He came with me to one of the places and spoke with several of those who had arrived. That man with the reddish beard told me that all of these were Russians, coming from the east. I was very surprised to hear such news. We tried to search among all those for someone who spoke Polish, because the man with the reddish beard did not know. Finally, we returned to Mr. Lobovski, who knew something of the Polish language. From him we learned that they arrived as refugees from the east, that they were those with enough money to leave Russia. They said that many of the servants went crazy and began to attack them. Others remained calm. And they helped them escape, hearing horrible stories, while other Nobles, hearing the news, decided to leave. They spoke of fathers who ate their children and women who died suddenly. All of this made me sick, and the same thing happened to the messenger. Fearing these stories I went to wake up the mayor, what they told me seemed urgent. I repeated, word for word, what they told me. His eyes expressed all the fear he suffered. The next day, in the afternoon, one of the women who came with the caravan fell ill. I and another passerby took her to her husband. We brought the medicines that were in the village and treated her illness as best we could. Everyone around me was calm. But for me, it worried me. That woman, with a very pale complexion, was turning grayish. The red-bearded postman was with me, wielding an officer's saber. We went back, little by little losing the few meters that the church had. Every now and then one of my men would be grabbed by the horde, disappearing in seconds. His face was the first thing they fed on, followed by his limbs and torso. I lost ten of my men in that action, the rest of us went and closed the basement trapdoor. That place was dark, full of pestilence, the smell of death. The cells where some temporary prisoners were kept were housed. I took the keys that were hanging on one of the walls, from there we built a barricade and held on. The chaplain did not stop praying, the two children who survived cried uncontrollably. And we supported the structure. Suddenly, a sound, a creak, and I saw splinters flying from the trapdoor. They were biting the entrance. We shot through, at point-blank range, without seeing what we were doing because it was so dark. Two of my men collapsed to the ground and the hatch gave way. We ran, down the narrow path. The mass enveloped everything that was sacred, that which had been loved was lost. The chaplain, in a desperate attempt to contain the horde, pulled out a crucifix. Showing it to the sinners they stopped dead, unable to continue. He began to pray in Latin. I will never forget these words.

Liberanos Domine.
Kirie eleilson.

I grabbed the woman tightly, and we locked ourselves in one of the cells. As a last refuge to escape death. The chaplain, after a few seconds of pure tension, fell, struck down, on his knees to the ground. He was devoured. Now, behind the bars they couldn't reach them, I've been seeing them. They have white eyes, without life, without love, without any feeling other than death. Sinful souls that have been deprived of hell and walk among the living to stalk them. Bad children of god. May they be condemned to an eternity worse than this, may the worst possible fates befall them. We have no other choice, there is no other solution for this. We will stay here as long as we can, we will last for days if necessary. The rescue. I ask the all-merciful God to heed our prayers and grant us a step to heaven. I am his most faithful servant. If a rescue does not arrive, let there be a record of this letter, which I write to make it clear what has happened in this damned town. Only me and this woman were left alive, her two children next to her. I still have ammo left. May God save our soul.