Sunfall (Season 2): Episodes 7-12

by Tim Meyer

  Then pain.

  He starts to burn.

  Shondra fixed him up the best she could. She told him the bullet didn't need extraction because it had gone clean through, missing his collarbone by less than an inch. He asked her who had fired at him, but she didn't know. “The whole thing is hazy. There was a lot going on and it all happened fast,” she told him. It was the truth. She never saw the smoking barrel.

  “How are we doing with the locals?” Brian asked, taking a sip from a bottle of water. A cottony feeling ruled his mouth. He was dehydrated, he was sure of it. His piss had been bumblebee yellow. While he sipped, he saw Soren unpacking the car, hurriedly grabbing the bags of food and tossing them toward the minivan. “We getting out of here or what?”

  “Yeah, hopefully,” she said, less than pleased with the situation. “I don't know what Soren worked out with them, but I don't like it.”

  “Why don't you ask him?”

  “I did,” she said. “Bastard shoved me off.”

  “Shit.” He took another sip, enjoying the refreshing chill running down his throat. “That can't be a good sign.”

  “He did say no women were involved, but forgive me for not believing him.”

  “Well,” Brian said, shrugging. “You know my opinion. Haven't trusted him since day one. We'll keep our eyes open.”

  “You look like you could use a long nap.”

  He waved her away playfully. “Got enough sleep. Although it hardly feels like it.”

  “Dreams?”

  “You know it.”

  “Anything enlightening?”

  Recalling the weirdness, Brian shook his head. “Something about a city in the sky. And a train.”

  “City in the sky? Man...” she said, grinning. “How much acid did you take in your life?”

  Brian smirked, although he didn't find the dream sequences particularly amusing. Chills crawled across his neck as he thought of them. Scared to close his eyes, he sat back and wished he could enjoy a normal night's sleep for once. Had a mirror been handy, he would've barely recognized the man staring back at him.

  “Guess we'll be leaving at sundown,” Shondra said apprehensively.

  “Well, I'm just glad we're getting out of here in one piece.”

  “Yeah, well...” She motioned to the body fifty feet away. Someone had thrown a bed sheet over it. “Not all of us.”

  “Shit.” He wished things turned out differently. Shit happened, but at least most of them were alive. For now. He wondered if the City in the Clouds was Heaven, and death was the direction they were headed. Doesn't matter, he thought, we're all going to die in the end anyway. The world was too dangerous, too savage. If they had any chance of surviving the journey to Alaska they'd have to change their mindset and drop their scruples. They'd have to adapt. Adapt or die. The world was ugly now; no need for makeup.

  “Something bad is coming, Shondra,” Brian said, staring off into the space behind her. “Something that's going to change everything.”

  She swung her head back and forth slowly, befuddled.

  “I don't know what it is, and I can't even begin to speculate, but... I don't know. I feel something in the pit of my stomach. Something bad is headed in our direction and we need to get out of its way; or it could kill us all.”

  “We need to find your Cloud City?”

  “No, I think we need to avoid it.”

  The day took its sweet time changing into dusk. For Brian and Shondra and the others, it couldn't come soon enough. They had enough of the The Dirty's seedy eyes glaring at them, their malignant smiles hiding their sordid intentions. Shondra had come close several times to taking one of their craniums and smashing it against her knee. If given the choice, she'd prefer a bed of spiders over the touch of their fingers. After a while, she looked away from them and found something else to pass the minutes; she counted the bricks on the tunnel wall.

  As soon as the sun settled on the horizon, Soren informed them it was time to roll out. “Mouth, Shondra, Becky, Dana, Susan, Kyle, and David will ride with me in the minivan. The rest of you will take the SUV.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Shondra said. “Hold up.”

  Soren stopped and turned to her, seething.

  “I think Brian should ride with us in the minivan. Dustin, too. You packed most of the medical supplies in there, and since I've inherited the duties of nurse since Sherry offed herself, I think Brian should be with me. And there's more room in—”

  “You want them to have some medical supplies?” he asked.

  “Well, yes—”

  “Fine.” Soren stormed his way over to the minivan, tore open the passenger's door, reached inside, grabbed the bag full of medical essentials, and flung it in Shondra's direction. The bag landed at her feet, some of its contents sent tumbling across the pavement. “Allocate them to your liking.”

  Shondra glowered at him, not realizing her lips had pulled back like an attack dog. She bent down as Soren turned, grabbing the fallen medical supplies. She collected the roll of medical tape and slipped it into her pocket. The bandages and antiseptics she tossed back in the bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. Then she helped Brian to his feet.

  “What a fucking asshole,” she said.

  “Don't worry about him. Let's get through these next few minutes without incident,” Brian said.

  Together they walked over to the SUV. Dustin was already inside, wincing as the pain raked through his body. Shondra asked if he was okay and if there was anything she could do to make him more comfortable. He replied with, “A bullet to the head.” Hugh helped Johanna into the back, and the two of them held hands, interlocking their fingers so they couldn't let go unless the decision was mutual. Shondra placed the medical supplies on the floor, next to Brian's feet. Jaime smiled at Shondra from the backseat; she told Shondra she wished she was coming with them.

  “I'm not going to start a war with Soren over this. There will be plenty of time for that later,” Shondra told her. She faced Brian. “Ready, soldier?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Take care of yourself. And take care of Becky and Dana, too. Sam would appreciate it.”

  “You're acting like I'm never going to see you again.” She patted his cheek. “Don't be so dramatic. I'm only a car away. And we have walkie-talkies.”

  “Yeah,” Brian said, smiling. “Yeah, we do.”

  Ahead, the minivan's brake lights glowed. The sea consisting of sixty-seven dirty men parted as the van trundled forward. Hugh sighed and turned the key in the ignition.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried again and listened to the engine crank, but not turn over. Desperately, he twisted the key, giving the gas pedal a gentle push simultaneously. Nothing again. This isn't fucking happening. He looked to Brian, whose expression remained unchanged, no sense of panic, as if he expected this to happen.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jaime asked.

  “I don't know. Won't start,” Hugh said.

  He tried again. The engine coughed, struggled, and died.

  “Well, why are they leaving?” Johanna asked, pointing to the van, which was almost out of sight. “They'll realize it and come back, right?”

  Just before the van vanished past where their eyes could see, Hugh knew what had happened. “Motherfucker,” he muttered.

  The Dirty converged on the SUV, ripping open the doors while screaming and howling like the filthy animals they were.

  “Something's off,” Mouth said, looking over his shoulder. “They're not following.”

  Shondra eyed Soren warily from the seat behind him, the worst possible scenario crossing her thoughts.

  Soren ignored them and stomped on the gas pedal. The van's engine growled, propelling them toward the tunnel's exit.

  “I think you should stop, Soren,” Mouth said, concern growing in his voice.

  “Shut up,” he hissed.

  “Excuse me, motherfucker?”

  Soren handed Dana the map and told her, “Find us the
quickest way west.”

  She grabbed the map hastily and unfolded it, spreading it across her lap.

  Mouth nearly jumped out of his seat. “Hey! Pull over! Right the fuck now!”

  A forearm slipped under his chin and yanked him back. He choked as his neck squeezed between the seat and his assailant's bony arm. He flailed around the back seat, grabbing for whoever had him in a rear naked choke-hold. He breathed through his nose, but the asshole behind him applied more pressure, cutting off his air flow.

  Soren slammed on the brakes and the van skidded to a stop a few feet before the tunnel's exit. He whipped his head back, staring Mouth directly in the eyes. Susan and David watched as Kyle continued to choke him. Shondra watched helplessly.

  “Listen to me, you loudmouth fuck,” Soren spat. “I did what I had to so we'd get out alive. If you don't understand or don't like it, then I'll be more than happy to let you out.”

  Kyle loosened his death-hold.

  Soren pursed his lips. “Do we have an understanding?”

  Mouth grumbled something Soren understood as “yes.”

  “Now sit down and shut up.” Soren smiled.

  “You're a real motherfucker,” Shondra muttered.

  “You're a fucking monster...” Mouth spat through his teeth. There were worse things on the tip of his tongue, but the look on Becky's face begged him not to make matters worse.

  “We're all monsters now,” Soren said. “Deal with it.”

  Soren turned, slipping the gear in DRIVE. The van rocketed out of the tunnel, onto the bridge, and beneath a fading purple sky.

  THE TASTE OF POWER IS MINTY

  (An Epilogue)

  Mole sniffed the magic elixir and found its fragrance somewhat familiar, a remnant of the old world. It burned the nostrils a little, the way Scotch used to, sweet and tangy. He looked to Spencer with disappointment.

  “What am I going to do with you, Spencer?” He looked at his loyal servant, wondering where he had gone wrong. Had he been too lax? Too easy on him? Too care-free? He could change of course, become the leader Soren had suggested. It wasn't his style and the idea didn't sit well with him, but he could pull it off. He could put himself in charge of the tolls from here on out, let Spencer lead the troops into the neighboring cities for plunder and supplies. “You're starting to frustrate me.”

  Spencer leaned against the tunnel wall, folded his arms, and scowled.

  “You know we need women to repopulate. To start a society here,” Mole said. “We don't need to go outside during the day. It doesn't do us any good.”

  “I just thought—”

  “That's your problem. Don't think, Spencer. It's not your style. You listen. To me. And my directions. And that's it.”

  “You put me in charge of the tolls.” He bounced himself off the tunnel wall and stood chest-to-chest with his leader. “Me.”

  “And I could put you in charge of cleaning out the shit cans. If you prefer that duty.”

  Spencer bared his teeth. His breath reeked of week-old seafood and sour milk. Mole would have found it repulsive in the old world, but now it was commonplace. Mole didn't smell like a bar of Dove either, and most rotten stenches he had gotten used to, even found some of them strangely pleasant.

  Mole placed the vial on his chest. Spencer wrenched it away from him, and held it before him like a long lost artifact.

  “I want you to test it,” Mole said.

  Proudly, Spencer said, “I'd be more than happy to.” The way he figured it, once he became unaffected by the sun's deathly attributes, he could dethrone Mole and claim The Dirty's crown for himself. An easy task once the others witnessed his power. In their eyes, he'd be a god amongst men. They'd have no choice but to bow down before him, worship his almighty power. Drunk on his own potential, he downed the vial in one gulp. The liquid burned all the way down, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. A minty aftertaste stuck to the inside of his mouth, thick and syrupy.

  Mole smiled and said, “Soren said it would take two hours to work.” Dawn was only an hour away. “We'll wait here until you're ready.”

  Spencer expected for the serum to fill him with vigor, to enhance him in some way. He didn't feel anything except stomach-wrenching cramps. That's just the elixir working its magic, he thought. Mole ushered him to the end of the tunnel, stopping on the brink of sunlight flooding the road before them.

  “Off you go,” Mole said, after the two hours were up.

  Spencer flipped him the bird and stepped onto the bridge. The smell of salt water crept up his nose and ran down his throat as the warmth of day buried itself in his pores. A strong breeze brushed his hair to the side, pelting his face with ocean droplets. Rays of sunlight licked his skin, a glorious sensation he never thought he'd experience again. He turned and looked directly at the burning orange globe in the sky. His eyes were weak; the brightness hammered his eyelids like fists. Shielding himself from the sun, he continued to walk, farther from the tunnel, farther from safety. He spun around in circles, arms outstretched, laughing like a love-sick teenager. Outside, the air was pure. He could breathe again, his nose needing a break from sweaty armpits, stale piss, and unhealthy fecal matter. He never wanted to step in that tunnel again. He debated making a run for it, turning his back on Mole and the rest of The Dirty and starting a new life, a life allowing him to spend his days outside, and his nights sleeping. The way humans were meant to live.

  “This is the greatest day of my life!” Spencer cried out, forgetting the other great days of his life all at once: the first time he got laid, his wedding day, the birth of his son, Spencer Jr.'s first word (Daddy), their first ball-game together, all forgotten underneath the warmth of the sun. He laughed and hollered and stomped his feet in wonderment.

  Then, without warning, it came. The pain. Sharp and stabbing. His skin boiled and blistered. He looked up and saw a shadowy figure standing on top of the tunnel, garbed in black from head to toe. Who was this devil garbed in black? The sun had no effect, whoever it was. The figure stood there, watching tongues of fire spread across Spencer's body, melting away the flesh on his fingers down to the bone. The moment the excruciating pain seared his face, he knew it was the Angel of Death, here to collect his soul.

  Soul.

  Toll.

  Who was the collector now?

  No, he thought. No! No! NOOOOOOOOOOO!

  Flames flared on his arms. Quickly, he stripped off his clothes, hoping it would help, but it didn't. The last thought he had before his own screams powered off his thoughts was how strangely the magic elixir tasted like mouthwash.

  “ONE ANGRY MAN”

  EPISODE TEN

  -1-

  The officer had his pistol drawn as he kicked them toward the station house. He reminded them to comply, no funny business, no sudden movements whatsoever. He said, “Yous wouldn't want to make me nervous now, would ya?” No one answered him and he took their silence as, “Of course not, officer, we want to comply with everything you say and be good, obedient citizens, and oh, did we mention we're sorry for causing this mess, well, we are, extremely sorry. If you let us go we'll never cause a fuss again, honest, we'll be good citizens, role models for the kiddies. You believe us don't you, officer?” The officer smiled and said, “We'll leave it for The Judge.”

  “What Judge?” Chuck asked, turning around.

  The officer curled his mouth to one side of his face. “Son, you're a stupid sonuvabitch, ain't cha?”

  Chuck looked to Jarvis. “What the hell is wrong with this guy?” he said under his breath so only they could hear him.

  “Don't antagonize him,” Sam whispered back.

  “What yous saying up there?” the officer asked. “No one likes secrets, 'specially me.”

  “We were commenting on your lovely décor,” Jarvis said, nodding to the light poles. The bodies swayed back and forth, an October wind pushing them gently. He stared closely at one in particular. The body's features had been blackened with gristle, erasing a
ny human resemblance. The smell the wind pushed in their direction told them some of the deaths had been recent. Some were old, most of the skin and bones deteriorated, now ash, most of which nature carried off during the change of season. “Love what you've done with the place.”

  The officer stopped about twenty feet from the station's front door. He put his hands on his hips and looked around, admiring his handiwork. “Well, that's what you get for breaking the law. Don't worry though, friends. Perhaps The Judge will have a bigger heart for yous. Never seen him hang a man for jaywalking.” He frowned as if he remembered something unsettling. “Though, possession of narcotics he might not care too much for. Might earn yous a firm spanking for that.”

  “Sir, for the last time—” Jarvis argued, but Sam grabbed his arm, cutting him off.

  Despite the chill in the air, Chuck was sweating. His heart drummed, making his whole body vibrate. He looked to his surroundings for a way out of this riddle, avoiding the hanged blackened bodies, but his curious eyes fell on them anyway. He forced himself to look elsewhere and settled on the edge of a forest, not more than two football fields away. He wondered how good of a shot the cop was, if he was a cop at all. The more the officer stood there admiring his gruesome display, the more Chuck sensed he could safely make a run for it. Even though the sun was due up shortly, he'd take his chances hiding from the sun in the forest over the insane man holding a pistol in his hand. He looked to his friends, tried mouthing the words I'm running for it, and turned to speed off toward the forest. As he rotated, his right leg went one way, his ankle the other, and the maneuver sent him sprawling to the concrete.