Sunfall (Season 2): Episodes 7-12

by Tim Meyer

  Alaska, he thought. Fucking Alaska.

  He knew Becky would leave out of spite. Alaska was the last thing he would have agreed with. Anywhere but there. He'd pick the 7-11 on Maple Street over a cross-country venture ending with a scenic trip through the treacherous Alaskan terrain. And where in Alaska were they headed? He was no Geography scholar, but he knew Alaska was vast and all nature. What would they do once they got there? Stumble around the forests and trek across the tundra until they found each other? He started thinking the note wasn't even written by Becky, but by someone else. Just as the thought passed, he sensed a presence looking over his shoulder.

  “Have they changed yet?” a woman's voice asked.

  Sam turned and saw his ex-wife staring at him, fixed in that annoying, passive-aggressive pose she perfected over the years. “What?”

  “The words? You've been staring at them for an hour,” Brenda said. “They haven't changed. Have they?”

  “What's your point?”

  She reached for the paper, but Sam moved it out of her grasp.

  “Point is, maybe you should put it down and figure out where my children are.”

  He shoved the note in her face, practically rubbing her nose in it.

  “Read it,” he said. “Not clear enough for you?”

  “I haven't spent the last four months with them. You have. As with the rest of these people. If anyone has any idea where to find them, it's you.”

  “Alaska. That's where they're headed. The man leading them is hellbent on some sanctuary there. Says there's enough food and water to last a lifetime.”

  “Sounds great,” she said. “But how the hell are we supposed to find it? Don't suppose this man left you a map.”

  “No, he didn't leave us map,” Sam said. His anger rose, heating his skin. He didn't want to instigate another argument; he had little strength and their fights usually exhausted more energy than any aerobic workout. “If he left us a map, I wouldn't be staring at this fucking note.”

  “All right,” she said, putting her hands up. “No need to get your balls in a knot. I was just asking a question.”

  Stuffing the hateful words begging to be spoken back into his throat, Sam nodded. It would have been easy to unload his feelings on her in a series of expletives and reminders of how much she fucked up the past, and how if she hadn't been such a stuck-up bitch during their marriage they'd still be together and ninety percent of this mess never would have happened, but Sam didn't give in to his urges. He kept his mouth shut and started to formulate a plan in his mind, something attainable, something real.

  “Okay, everyone!” he said, stepping past her and into the center of the small group who, until this point, stood around speechless, examining the massacre that had happened before their arrival. They counted themselves lucky they hadn't been there. Trails of blood and evidence of brutal violence turned most of them pale. “We need to move. And soon. We don't know exactly what happened here, but I think we can all agree it wasn't very good. And we don't know if the cannibals are coming back or...”

  He paused, considering the possibility the cannibals were still out there, lurking about.

  “Anyway,” he continued. “I suggest we hurry. Let's gather as many supplies as we can. There are camping bags in aisle eighteen if we—”

  “Aisle eighteen has been picked pretty clean,” Tina said, emerging from the aisle. She held two hiking backpacks in her hands. “These were the only ones left.”

  Soren, he thought.

  “Okay, they'll have to do. Why don't we help Tina gather as many things as we can. See what we have in the way of knives, rope, tents, apparel, and water. Especially water.”

  The group of ten dispersed. Some went more willingly than others. Matty nodded at his father, then waved Lilah on. She followed, but her pace wasn't brisk enough for Sam's liking. Bob's enthusiasm was lackluster at best. He stared at Sam for several seconds as if he had a better way to proceed, but advised himself against speaking out. He took Brenda by her arm and whisked her away before Sam could put his confrontation mask back on. Sam watched the people he had released from the cages head down the aisles. Most of the people they had freed from Malek's human zoo fled on their own and he refused to talk them out of it. If they wanted to take their own chances, so be it. As far as he was concerned, he was done trying to save people who didn't want to be saved. He wasn't Jesus. He wasn't Mother Theresa. He wasn't fucking Gandhi. He was Sam Wright, Store Manager of Costbusters Store 0635, father of three smart, beautiful children, your average American man. He had watched those scared survivors run for their lives, knowing they were as good as dead without his guidance, and didn't care. Instead, he led the people who wanted to survive, who wanted to live life the way the universe intended humans to live; back to Costbusters to start over again, to succeed where he had previously failed.

  Sam turned and almost bumped into two others he had sprung from the cages. The one who had introduced himself as Jarvis and a shorter man Sam didn't know.

  “What are you two doing?” he asked.

  “Um, chilling,” the short man replied.

  “Well, how's about instead of 'chilling', you help grab some supplies. Why don't you head over to aisle twelve and grab some snacks. There's beef jerky, roasted peanuts, granola bars—”

  “Um, dude, I know you helped save us and all, but I don't work for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Jarvis slapped his friend on the shoulder. “I think what my compadrè Chuck is trying to say is, we'll be more than happy to grab your nuts.” He yanked Chuck along by the collar of his shirt. “Aisle twelve?”

  Sam nodded.

  The two men shuffled down the aisle and disappeared.

  Great, he thought, rubbing his forehead. These are the people I'm supposed to depend on.

  He made his way down the aisle and found Brenda staring at a depleted bay of potato chips. There really wasn't much left; Joel and Craig had an addiction to the crunchy treats Lays and Doritos provided. He was surprised the two hadn't stocked up for their long journey.

  If they survived, he thought. He hadn't made his way back to the truck bay to find their dismembered remains, and would never get the chance.

  “Those chips aren't going to pack themselves, Brenda,” he said.

  She suddenly snapped out of her distant reverie. “Relax, Sam.”

  “We need to hurry. The longer we stand around looking at the pretty packaging, the farther our children are going to get away from us.”

  “Well, maybe we wouldn't have to look for them if you kept an eye on them for a change,” Brenda snapped back.

  Sam felt a twinge in his neck. “Maybe if you didn't let them do whatever the hell they wanted, they wouldn't be so goddamn rebellious.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Brenda said, making her sour face. “Like Dana is so rebellious. She's twelve for Christ's sake and still sleeps with teddy bears. Get to know your children, Sam. It's not that difficult. Even you could handle that.”

  “I'm not talking about Dana.”

  “Oh get over it, Sam. Becky's eighteen now. She's not your little girl anymore. She never really was to begin with so I don't know why you're pulling this shit with me. Now of all—”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Brenda glared at him. “You really want to do this? Now?”

  “Yes.” His collar was drenched in sweat. “Tell me what you meant.”

  “You know what I meant. You were never there for her! Not once. You missed birthday parties, soccer games, dance recitals—”

  “I was working to support—”

  “Whoa!” Bob intervened. “What seems to be the issue here?”

  Doctor Bob to the rescue.

  “Thanks for the concern there, Robert,” Sam said, enjoying the face Bob made when he heard his birth name. “But how's about you stay out of this and go find a back to adjust. I'm sure one of your cage-mates could use a good rub down.”

  Beyond Bob and Bren
da, Sam saw Tina watching closely from the end of the aisle. He could tell she wasn't trying very hard to stay undetected. She shook her head, warning him to tread lightly.

  “Come on, Sam. There's no need to act childish. We are all in this together,” Bob said, gazing at him with that same old concerned look, which always brought Sam's blood to a turbulent bubble. “Why don't you have a seat over there in the corner and we'll talk things out. Man to man. Let Brenda get back to gathering supplies.”

  Sam watched Tina disappear behind some racking and he knew she wouldn't come to his rescue. He understood; he had dug himself a hole and he was responsible for digging himself out. He turned to Bob and bit down on his lip.

  “Fuck you, Robert,” he said. “Fuck you and the lame horse you rode in on.”

  “Sam, please. I know you have a lot of pent up frustration and your head isn't in the best of places right now, but this is not the time to fall off track. These people need you. Your children need you.”

  Sam lashed out and stretched for Bob's throat. Brenda screamed, sounding like a crow cawing over a fresh meal, and jumped between them. He stopped himself and stood chest to chest with his ex. Bob, no longer feeling threatened and dropping his defensive position, placed his hands on his wife's shoulders.

  “You know what I wished this whole time,” Sam said, pointing his finger in Brenda's face. “I hoped you two were playing tennis the day of The Burn. Or going for a jog. Or sunbathing. Something outdoorsy. I prayed for it.”

  The slap was heard from several aisles over. It stung like a bad sunburn. Her open hand was a blur and Sam had zero time to react. He pressed his palm against the sting and felt his hot, pulsing flesh and nodded.

  “How dare you speak to me that way,” Brenda said. “I could've buried you in the divorce, but I didn't.”

  “Hon,” Bob said, grabbing her shoulder.

  She brushed him away. “But I didn't, you understand?” Spittle drizzled from her mouth as she spoke. “Because, even after all your faults and fuck ups, deep down, you were still a great guy. A good human being. Someone my children could look up to and idolize.”

  “Hon, I think we better—”

  “But not anymore. No way. You've become something else. You've become... I don't even know the word for it.”

  Sam nodded. He turned and walked down the aisle. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Just grab whatever you can and bring it up front. We're leaving.”

  -4-

  The dreaded walk across the campground felt like an hour long journey rather than a few short minutes. Mouth received many sour glances, expressions he had been accustomed to for the better part of his life. He had always rubbed people the wrong way, ever since his youth. Teachers, parents, friends, colleagues, bosses, neighbors, and the general population he interacted with daily. It wasn't intentional; that's just how he was. He tried to fix his behavior, and so had his parents. They sent him to summer camps and week-long getaways through a local church organization, even sent him to a month-long military camp the summer between eighth and ninth grade. Nothing worked. Finally, his mother resigned to the fact that God forgot to give her Morty a filter for his mouth. He was blessed with the gift of the four-letter adjective.

  Passing the other survivors, Mouth tried eavesdropping on their conversations. He caught whispers of this and that, but he couldn't string more than a few words together. They weren't talking about him. They weren't talking about Brian or Shondra, Becky or Dana. Most of the conversations contained the name “Soren.” He caught glimpses of them praying every half hour or so, as if Soren's tent were a temple and he were the god inside. Mouth couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't sure what he had witnessed back at Costbusters, but it damn sure wasn't the handiwork of a demigod. He'd seen too much death to believe in gods, or any spiritual influence, for that matter.

  Becky was on the outskirts of camp, staring into the woods, perhaps pondering whether running away would be the best course of action. He stood next to her and she pretended to ignore him. Glancing at her, he wondered how the conversation should start to avoid sparking the teenager's inner angst. He opened his mouth, but for the first time in a long time, he had nothing to say.

  “What?” Becky said.

  “Nothing,” he replied, facing the woods. “Nice view, huh?”

  “It's woods. What's so nice about it?”

  Mouth shrugged. “You're the one staring at it. You tell me.”

  A subtle smirk grabbed her lips. “What do you want, Mouth?”

  “Just wanted to see how yer holding up.” He turned back to her, examining her figure. When they first met a few days after The Burn, Becky had been skinny. Now she was all bones, looking like an anorexic fashion model. “Er... how are you holding up?”

  “Fine,” she said, her features expressionless.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not sad about whats-his-face?”

  She whipped her head toward him. Her face dared him to speak another word, and Mouth was never one to back down from such a challenge.

  “Christopher.”

  “Chris,” she corrected.

  “Christopher and Chris are the same name, darlin'.”

  “It was just 'Chris' and you didn't know him so don't you dare talk about him like you did.”

  Mouth raised his hands. “Fine. You got it.” He stopped and for a second, he had convinced himself he wouldn't push the topic any further. But alas, he was who he was. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I'm here for you.”

  She shook her head. “What the hell would you know about losing someone you love?”

  “Ohhh, a thing or two.” He brushed away a wet eyelash. “Maybe even three.”

  “Well, I'm not the one who needs counseling.” Becky turned, facing the camp. Mouth followed her gaze. She nodded past some of the survivors kneeling in prayer. Near Soren's tent, Dana sat, dragging a stick in the dirt. Every few seconds she looked up, staring at the tent as if she expected him to emerge. “What do you think?”

  Mouth nodded. “Oh, goddammit.”

  “I know my father put you up to this—the whole 'protect my daughters' speech he probably gave you.”

  “Ah-em, I don't know what you're—”

  “But one of the things my father never noticed was I'm not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.” She nodded at her sister. “But Dana needs someone to look after her and I trust Soren less than you do.”

  “Pssh, doubt it.”

  “I don't know what game he's playing,” Becky said, “but I don't think he's the good Samaritan he has some folks believing.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you're smarter than you look?” Mouth asked, grinning. He failed to evoke any emotion from the teenage girl. He kept up his smile. “What do you suggest?”

  “I don't know,” Becky said. “But she won't listen to me. She needs someone to guide her. Please try?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Becky walked away.

  Mouth grumbled to himself as he trekked toward Dana, dragging his feet the whole way.

  -5-

  While most of the survivors made their way outside, Sam remained inside, raiding aisle three of everything he could stuff into a rubber storage crate. Canned veggies, bags of rice, and an assortment of soups were cleared off the shelf with one arm. Once he packed the tote to a manageable weight, he stood up and lugged it up front.

  The door had been opened and in the distance he could see the rest of the group standing in the parking lot under the guidance of the pale moon. He dropped the tote on the concrete and the sound of the rubber smacking against the ground grabbed their attention.

  “I thought I said to grab as much as you can,” Sam said, feeling fire in his eyes that wasn't the result of the poisonous atmosphere. “What are you people doing out here?”

  Bob stepped forward. Brenda grabbed his arm, but he smiled, telling her it was okay. She listened and put her arm around Matty, pulling him close.

>   “We've packed what we could, Sam,” Bob said. “But we need supplies that your store doesn't have. I think maybe we should split up for a few hours and try to find operational vehicles—”

  “You know what? I'll just do it all myself,” Sam growled. He headed back inside while the others called his name, telling him to leave it alone, that he was wasting valuable time.

  “I'll get him,” Tina said. “I think I can talk some sense into him.”

  Brenda eyed her warily. “Good luck. The only person I've ever known to talk sense into Sam Wright was Sam Wright.”

  Tina gave half a smile and jogged toward the store. Once she disappeared down the main aisle, Bob turned to the rest of the group. They immediately began whispering amongst each other, discussing the next course of action. Some of them suggested a hotel room, somewhere to hide out; the sun was due up shortly and no one wanted to be scrambling for last-minute refuge.

  “We have approximately two hours and forty-six minutes before sunup,” Matty announced. “I say we head down Route 70 West. Judging from this map I found inside,” Matty traced his finger along a stretch of highway, “I believe this is the only road our friends could have taken. They may have a head start but we can make ground if we travel during the day. We can—”

  “I'm sorry,” Jarvis lamented, “but did Doogie Howser just say travel by day?”

  Matty nodded. “I've done a few experiments. I'm very confident only direct sunlight causes the chemical reaction on our skin. We just have to stay covered. Sweatshirts, hats, goggles, masks, anything we can find to cover ourselves up.”

  “Very confident?” Jarvis asked.

  “Extremely confident.”

  “Forgive me if I sound brash, but you won't mind if I ignore the advice of a twelve year old.”

  “I'm fifteen,” Matty corrected. “And I'm fully prepared to prove my theory.”

  “That's great, kid. But I think we should stick to a more practical approach. Like, I know the moon is my friend and he's not going to burn my face off, so I'll stick to the vampire lifestyle I've grown accustomed to.”