Will the Sun Ever Come Out Again?

by Nate Southard

  Charlie laughed as rubble buried the monster. Dust and filth flew into his mouth, but he didn’t care. He’d hurt the fucking thing, and that was enough to make him happy. He needed to kill it, though. He couldn’t rest until he’d finished it off.

  The beast wrestled loose of the timber and bricks, looking dazed and furious. It took a pair of shuffling steps, letting the broken stones fall off its back. It sniffed the air, searching.

  “I’m right here,” Charlie said. He stood perfectly still, afraid to shift his weight. The boards beneath his feet felt as though might collapse in the face of a spring breeze. He’d given Jimmy’s place a pounding, all right. He just hoped it was in the condition he needed, weak enough for his trap to work but strong enough to remain standing.

  The demon shook its head, let out a screech that shook the walls.

  Charlie whispered a few words before smirking. “C’mon! Stop being such a pussy and come get me!”

  The beast attacked. It leapt from its spot, jaw dropping open and terrible claws ready to shred flesh. Its roar filled the attic and escaped into the night.

  Charlie jumped. His spell carried him impossibly high. His back slammed against the ceiling, and he began to fall again. He reached out and grabbed hold of the rafters, held on tight.

  Below him, the demon slammed into the weakened floor. With a great crash, the floorboards gave way. The monster thrashed, searching for anything to stop its descent, but there was nothing. It fell through the floor and dropped into the dining room.

  Charlie pushed off the rafters with everything he had, diving after the beast. For a single instant—screaming a spell at the top of his lungs—he felt like a superhero. Then he hit the demons with everything he had. The force of his impact was like a ton of steel dropping out of the sky. The demon screamed in pain, and Charlie felt its ribs shatter.

  They hit the dining room floor and broke through, the world quaking around them. Charlie roared with fury as they entered the dark and slammed into the cobblestones that made up the floor of Jimmy Mills’ basement. He heard a satisfying crumbling sound as the stones broke beneath them. Together, magician and demon fell into the building’s original basement.

  Together, they fell into the tomb.

  He pounded his fists into the creature’s flesh, fighting with every ounce of his anger. The demon shrieked beneath him, pain and hatred spilling into the dark. Red washed over Charlie’s vision, taking hold. It burned through his being like a wildfire in July. Something in the back of his brain screamed at him to get out of the darkness, but he ignored it. Nothing mattered but hurting this thing, making it pay for all of the pain it had caused.

  He clawed at the demon’s chest, anger and magic giving him the strength to tear through its flesh. Brackish water spilled over his hands, cold and awful. The sensation woke him from his rage. He remembered why he needed to get out, and in the same instant he heard the dry scuttling sounds all around him.

  He looked up, finding the edge of the hole above him. He leapt, hoping he still had enough magic in his muscles to make the distance. He nearly fell short, but somehow managed to catch stones with his fingers. Biting back his scream, fighting the pain that surged through his arms, he clawed at the cobbles. He kicked with both legs and managed to gain a few inches. With a solid grip, he pulled himself from the hole, refusing to rest until he was clear of the abyss beneath him.

  “Mother of hell!” he whispered as he rolled onto his back. From the tomb came the sounds of the demon’s agonized screams and the tearing of its flesh. The soft clicking of bones accompanied the terrible sounds, and they made Charlie smile. Sulfer’s dead had never liked being disturbed.

  He’d won. It had taken so damn long and the cost had been high, but in the end it had been worth it. The thing that had killed Tammie was suffering, dying. Soon it would be gone, nothing but muddy water to mix with the bones of a past generation. One day something far worse would be coming down the pike, but right now that didn’t matter. Tammie had been avenged, and that was good enough.

  Charlie hugged himself and waited for the pain to go away. He began to laugh, and he laughed so long he began to cry.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  And he was. Every goddamn day.

  Charlie awoke in the darkness of the basement surprised to find he was still alive. His entire body sang with pain, and he could already tell which bones he’d broken during his tussle with the demon. His left collar bone and right tibia were the worst offenders. The two ribs would be okay, so long as they didn’t puncture a lung. His left hand felt damn near shattered, but he never used it for much anyway. No big loss, really.

  The nearby hole was silent. Maybe the dead had decided to continue their rest, or maybe they’d made up their minds to move on out of their resting place. Charlie almost laughed at the thought, picturing a few hundred waterlogged skeletons shagging ass out of their tomb only to find out they were in the middle of another flood. He started to chuckle, but his ribs told him how bad an idea that was.

  He needed to get out of the basement. Maybe he was safe down here, and maybe he wasn’t, but that didn’t matter when all the food was one floor up. Maybe he could find enough supples to patch himself up, wait out the rest of the flood. It wasn’t as though he had a whole lot of alternatives.

  As carefully as he could, he crawled to the stairs. The journey was a slow, agonized one. He knew he might be able to save time by climbing to his good leg and hopping, but he didn’t dare tempt the ribs, at least not right away. Once he reached the foot of the staircase, he grabbed hold of the wooden banister and pulled himself to his feet. Every motion brought new agony to his body, but his determination didn’t falter.

  The stairs looked impossibly tall. The climb might finish the job the demon had started. Charlie shook his head. In the end, it didn’t matter. Something crazy in his brain that might have been determination had decided he would make it to the top of the stairs.

  “C’mon, you boneheaded bastard,” he said. “Start climbing.”

  And so he did.

  The climb took an hour, but it was worth it.

  He found her waiting on the other side of the glass storefront. She stood naked, still but for her dark hair, which danced through the currents like smoke.

  Charlie took a deep breath, blinked. It was really her. He’d seen the face in his dreams thousands of times. Her smile had lit his night like a candle, and her body had sliced through endless waters. So many years later, she still looked the same, as eternal as the Ohio herself.

  “Tammie.” The name echoed through the ruins of Jimmy Mills’ diner, rippling like sorrowful currents.

  Her expression did not change. She pressed her hands to the glass, and her eyes locked on his.

  He approached slowly, cautiously. If his broken bones gave him pain, he didn’t feel it. His mind only registered Tammie. He wanted to believe it was a miracle, but he knew it was probably something worse. Miracles didn’t take place in Sulfer.

  But she was here. She was right in front of him, hands to the glass.

  He reached the doorway and stood across from her. His palm found the glass and pressed. He felt the cool of the river, but there was a strange warmth there, something he hadn’t felt since he’d lost this woman so many years before.

  He looked into her eyes. They returned his gaze. They were kind, happy.

  “I miss you,” he said.

  She nodded, and he felt his palms grow warmer.

  “There hasn’t been anybody else. I couldn’t. I don’t know if you wanted that, but it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t even imagine somebody other than you.”

  She gave no noticeable reaction. He didn’t know what that might mean. Instead of trying to sort it out, he let his forehead rest against the glass. Memories flowed through his mind like silt, settling, polluting. There were some beautiful things in there, but almost everything after Tammie’s death had been ugly.

  “I would have followed, but you s
aid I’m important. Maybe I am. I don’t feel like it—just feel like a bastard—but maybe you were right. So I’ll stick around until I’m done, then I’ll come for you.”

  He looked at her. She smiled. Her head tilted into a nod. She shifted forward, and suddenly her lips found the glass.

  Charlie closed his eyes and returned her kiss.

  She was gone when he looked again. He knew she would be. It was okay, though. He knew where she was now, knew for sure. When he was finally done—when it was all finished—he would find her. Her smile would light the way.

  SAFE HOUSE

  August 14th

  We attacked the State Police headquarters in Mason today, and just like that, we’re rolling. It’s been a long time coming (and I’ll admit it, there were times I thought we’d never make it this far), but now the day is finally here. We’re changing the world. Or at least saving this country.

  Quickly, I want to praise Jonathan Simms, the first martyr of our cause. He understood how important it was that this action not lead back to us, that the movement is more important than the survival of its players. That’s why the third and final of the pressure cooker bombs he set off was in the passenger seat of his patrol car while he sat behind the wheel. This particular thread ends with him. While he will not receive the recognition he deserves, he will have our gratitude from now until the end. Thank you, Jonathan. Despite your job with the State, you proved yourself a good man.

  I told Jenny I’m leaving her and the kids, that I’ve been fucking another woman and that I’m sick of looking at them day in and day out. Far as she knows, I’m running off to Vegas to live with a woman I refused to name. Told her it didn’t matter, that the only part I cared about was being free of her and her bullshit. She cried a lot, and it hurt like hell.

  “How can you do this with everything happening out there?” Her voice was thick with tears and confusion. “Goddammit, Brad! We’re your family. You’re supposed to take care of your family.”

  “I want out of this family,” I said. Did a pretty good job of acting like I meant it, too. “I’m sick to death of this family. Keep my last check. Consider it a parting gift.”

  We were in the kitchen when I told her, the kids at school, and she ripped open the cabinet and started hurling plates at me. One after another, she sent them flying toward me. I dodged most of them, let them shatter against the wall and rain shards of ceramic to the floor, but I let a couple hit me. All things considered, I felt I deserved it. They couldn’t come with me, and there was no way to explain to them where I was going without putting everything at risk. Once we’re done, I can come back for them. I can take care of them. Right now, it’s just too risky. The others are making similar sacrifices.

  Yeah, a lot of that depends on if we survive and if we make it back. That’s the whole reason we’re heading to the safe house, though.

  “You asshole,” Jenny said. She screamed at me from the kitchen floor, where she’d curled up like a dead spider. “I hope the two of you are real goddamn happy.”

  Standing over her, I wanted to say I was sorry. Instead, I left.

  August 15th

  We met at the safe house, a log cabin deep in the Kentucky hills. Kind of a cliché, and I’m not exactly happy about it. A log cabin? Makes it look like we’re a bunch of militia rednecks. We’re not. Still, it belonged to somebody deep in the organization, so deep I’ve never met them. Hopefully, that means they’re so deep the feds won’t track us down. Organization is key to making it through this.

  There are six of us. Well, there were supposed to be. Mitchell, a schoolteacher from Frankfort, brought his wife, so there are seven. He tried to explain, but the rest of us didn’t feel like listening. The man screwed up, breached damn near every protocol we established. Ratner said we should boot her, maybe send both of them packing, but the idea didn’t gain much traction. For now, there are seven of us. Either Mitchell’s wife (her name’s Renee) will come around or she won’t. We’ll keep an eye on her and figure things out.

  It’s pretty hard to gauge everybody’s moods. Maybe it’s because I’m still thinking about Jenny and the kids. Telling myself they’ll understand when I return doesn’t exactly help. Way back in the deeper corners of my brain, I don’t think they will understand. No matter when I show up, no matter how many times I tell them it’s for the greater good, I’ll still be the man who abandoned them when the entire country was under attack and heading straight to hell. I’ll be the asshole Jenny said I was, and I won’t be able to deny it.

  Ratner seems more pissed than anything. Mitchell and Renee have him on edge, but he needs to get past that. I’ve known Ratner for years. Hell, we were Sunday football buddies before he recruited me to the cause. He showed up at the cabin with all his hair chopped off and bags under his eyes. Those eyes have been burning since. Mitchell only made things worse, I guess.

  Sidney, a nurse from Lexington, just stays quiet and sits near the window. She hasn’t said much, and I wonder who or what she left behind. We need somebody with medical expertise, though. She fits the bill, and it’s not like anyone forced her to join the cause.

  Davey and Joe are brothers. Davey served in the marines, and Joe’s supposed to be some amazing mechanic. He was regular army. They spent most of the day going through our available vehicles, weapons, and other supplies. It’s good to have some people here with real experience. I can’t imagine how helpful that will be.

  So now we wait for our orders. Any day now, we should know our next move. I hope it’s a big one. Maybe that will take my mind off Jenny and the boys.

  August 17th

  There was an argument today. Ratner’s been shooting Mitchell and Renee dirty looks like you wouldn’t believe, refusing to talk to anyone other than to mutter a few words about discipline and protocol and the way things are supposed to work. More than a few times, I’ve caught him giving the pair of them the stink eye from across the cabin. I understand, because Mitchell’s spending a lot more time trying to bring Renee around than worrying about our goals, but Ratner’s brooding isn’t helping.

  Not that he’s brooding anymore. After today’s blowup, it’s all pretty much out in the open.

  She asked if we had anything we could cook. Big mistake. We’ve got a basement stocked with MREs and canned goods, but so far we haven’t turned up much through hunting. I guess Mitchell didn’t explain the situation to her. Or maybe he did and she just didn’t get it.

  “Really? You guys don’t even have some eggs or ham?”

  Ratner had been sitting on the ratty couch that fills the center of the living room. With a single kick, he sent an old coffee table skidding halfway to the fireplace. “Does Paris Hilton want a mimosa and a massage, too?” he asked. His voice was acidic.

  Renee held up both hands, surrendering. “Sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it.”

  “Oh, you meant it.” Ratner jumped off the couch and stomped toward the kitchen. I tried to block him, but he pushed me aside. “Did Mitchell tell you this was a vacation? That this is a goddamn spa? You pampered stack of garbage.”

  That got Mitchell’s attention. “Watch yourself, there.”

  “Me? Please! You should know better, Mitchell. You think she could survive when we’re bottomed out? She’s the exact kind of spoon-fed pissant we’re trying to get rid of!”

  “Get rid of?” Renee asked. Her tone told us Mitchell hadn’t exactly filled her in on every detail. Of course, it wasn’t like I’d found a way to explain to Jenny that we were dragging the country back to zero, creating a place where the bureaucracy is dead and only those fit to survive will do so.

  By this point, we’d all gathered in the kitchen. I looked at Davey and Joe. They appeared ready to pull Ratner and Mitchell apart or drop them to the floor, whichever needed doing. However, Ratner stormed out of the cabin rather than keep pushing. Joe followed him out, and Davey ushered Mitchell and Renee down to the basement, where I hoped he explained some things to her. Sidney and I just shared a shru
g. At least things hadn’t been worse.

  No orders yet. To a degree, we’re flying blind. Part of keeping the safe house under the radar is not using too much power, keeping the heat down. That means we don’t get a lot of news outside of brief checks on the internet and radio. Maybe that sounds paranoid, but I just think it’s smart.

  August 18th

  Joe tore us from sleep just after two in the morning. Part of me wants to say something less dramatic, like he woke us, but that’s not what he did. My eyes popped open when a hand clamped over my mouth. I saw Joe standing over me, a finger to his lips. Once I gave him a tiny nod, he let go of my mouth and I sat up. That’s when I saw Ratner and Sidney in my doorway. All of them were armed, and Joe slipped a Glock into my hand before I could ask him what was going on.

  “Somebody outside,” Joe said. He spoke in a flat whisper, and his eyes ticked toward the window.

  I’ll admit, those two words filled me with a sense of relief. When I hadn’t seen Mitchell and his wife with the rest, I’d thought the others had decided it was time to do something about them. Why I’d dread such an action, I don’t know. More than anything, I believe in the cause. If they had to die in order to serve that cause, fine…

  I climbed out of bed and slipped my feet into a pair of tennis shoes. Quietly, I joined the others in the hallway. Davey led Mitchell and his wife out of their room. Renee looked terrified, so maybe she finally understood the measure of things.