Will the Sun Ever Come Out Again?

by Nate Southard

  Releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I stepped through the doorway and approached the dresser. The air inside the shack was colder, and the absence of sunlight was almost total. I reached the piece of furniture before my eyes adjusted, and I had to spend a few moments waiting for them to catch up.

  When I could finally see again, I placed my gun on top of the dresser and opened the top drawer. It slid out in a series of catches and squealing jerks, requiring more effort that I’d expected. Save a few more of the leaves, it was empty. Giving it some of my shoulder, I shoved the drawer back home.

  The second drawer opened a little easier, the old, dry wood not screaming nearly as much. Again, nothing but a few leaves and a quick swirl of dust that pirouetted into the air. I sneezed, wiped my nose on my sleeve, and then wrestled the drawer shut.

  As I eyed the bottom drawer, I listened for footsteps or breathing, any sign I might not be alone. I heard nothing. A quick look over my shoulder convinced me Renee wasn’t sneaking up on me with a rock in her hand.

  I pulled on the bottom drawer, and it only opened an inch or two before it stuck. Another tug didn’t do much to help. I wiggled it back and forth, and it slid a fraction of an inch. A musty, almost spicy scent drifted from the drawer, and I guessed there was something more than dust and leaves inside. Bracing my shoulder against the dresser, I pushed the furniture against the wall and yanked at the drawer. It jerked open a few more inches, and then my next violent pull freed the wood almost completely. The drawer open, I peered inside, and then I clamped a hand over my mouth before I could scream.

  At first glance, I thought someone had nailed an old steak or piece of roast inside the bottom drawer. Within seconds, however, I recognized the muscle as a heart. The brown and gray piece of meat barely held onto its shape, but the size told me it just might be human. It didn’t smell bad, like I’d expect a rotting heart to, but just gave off that spicy scent. A dull gray nail held it in place. Several small, white objects surrounded it, and it took me a moment to realize I was looking at a scattering of teeth and finger bones.

  Something slammed against the shack’s rear wall hard enough to make the dresser jump. I screamed, hand over mouth or not, and leaped toward the doorway. Whatever was outside struck the back of the structure again, and I heard wood splinter. I remembered my pistol. Snatching the weapon from the dresser, I thumbed off the safety as quickly as my shaking hands would let me.

  A third impact rocked the shack, and then a desperate scrabbling sound filled the air. It reminded me of a dog trying to paw its way in the back door. A large dog. I looked down at the 9mm in my hands and wondered if I could put down a coyote with it. Then, I wondered if there might be bears in the area. I should know better. Knowing how to survive is all a part of our grand plan, but fear knocked all that knowledge out of me.

  Easing toward the doorway, I took several deep breaths. With each, I felt my nerves calm just a little. When I lifted the handgun toward the back wall and saw my hands weren’t shaking, I decided it was time.

  I rushed out the doorway, the 9mm still up in front of me. My footsteps sounded way too loud in the old leaves, so whatever was trying to bust into the shack had to hear me. Refusing to run just so it could rake claws down my back, I ran to the right, taking a wide arc around the shack. A dozens steps took me from the doorway to the back wall.

  Nothing. I circled the shack three times, convinced with each corner I rounded that I’d come face to face with the world’s stealthiest grizzly, but I never saw a thing. I couldn’t even find a trace of an animal. The rear wall had been clawed to hell and back, though. Deep wounds in the wood like somebody had torn at it with long, wicked knives. Looking at the wall made me remember the frantic scrabbling I’d heard, and a violent shiver traveled through me. I couldn’t handle any more, so I raced away from the shack and started the climb back to the cabin. Renee or no Renee, I was done with the valley.

  I know I need to tell the others. What I found at the shack, what happened there…I can’t just keep that to myself. The thing is, it’s so weird. I tell everybody about it, and their two options are freaking out or not believing me. When you add in Renee’s disappearance, Ratner’s anger, and Mitchell being cuffed in the living room…well, I just don’t know if bringing up the shack is the best idea.

  I have to tell them, though. Right?

  August 22nd

  Jesus Christ! I’m sitting here, struggling to keep my hands from shaking so bad my writing isn’t legible. If things were bad before, now they’ve taken a turn into god-fucking-awful.

  Joe’s dead. I guess that’s the first thing to get out in the open. It’s a terrible loss, because he was one of our most dependable people. Real military training, which now only Davey can say he has. Ratner and I aren’t bad at what we do (we wouldn’t have been welcomed if we were), but we’re at least a step behind Davey and Joe. Just a step behind Davey now, I guess. Shit, this is all going down the tubes.

  What happened was a scream woke me up. It woke all of us. Just this long, high-pitched shriek that didn’t feel like it was going to end.

  I jumped out of bed and grabbed the 9mm before I was even aware of my surroundings. That scream had me instantly wired, and I remembered the impacts and the scratches at the shack, the heart and teeth and bones in the drawer. In that moment, I bit back a scream of my own and turned toward the door. Davey rushed past, a shotgun in his hands, and Ratner followed. By the time I reached the hallway, I heard a man’s screams join them. I thought it was Mitchell, but I couldn’t be sure.

  My senses were almost overloaded when I entered the living room. Both screams buzzed in my ears like they came from a bad speaker. When Davey clicked on the light, it was too bright, its harsh, white glare singeing my eyes.

  The scream came from Renee. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that. She stood in the center of the living room, naked save her bra and panties and a day’s worth of mud and leaves. Fresh blood caked her hands, had been smeared halfway to her elbows. Her eyes were wide open and staring at nothing. Behind her, Mitchell screamed from the chair where he was still cuffed. When he finally formed a word, it was his wife’s name over and over again.

  Renee stopped screaming long enough to suck in a breath. She launched right back into the same note. A shrieking statue, she didn’t move an inch. Her expression didn’t change. The seconds ticked by, and she didn’t do a goddamn thing but scream, Mitchell shouting her name like a backup singer.

  Sidney stepped past us, a single hand raised. “Renee? Renee, it’s Sidney. Do you remember me?” If Renee heard her, she didn’t show it.

  As Sidney took another step forward, it occurred to me that Joe should have been on watch. He wasn’t in the living room though, and Renee had made it past him. For some reason, I didn’t make the connection between his absence and the blood on her hands. That buzzing scream must have been screwing with my brain.

  “Renee, I need you to calm down, okay? Can you do that? Can you calm down?”

  Mitchell joined in, only his voice was frantic and raw. “Renee, baby, you need to stop. What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong. You need to fucking stop!”

  “Everybody shut up!” Ratner’s voice boomed over everything else. It sounded too much like those bleating cries he’d made as he slammed Mitchell’s skull into the floor. He took a pair of steps toward Renee, only he kept his handgun in front of him, the barrel aimed at her face.

  Mitchell jumped in his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. “You motherfucker! Don’t you point that fucking thing at her!”

  “Somebody shut her up before I plug her.”

  “Don’t you do it!”

  “Somebody shut her up!”

  Mitchell roared, a sound of pure rage and desperation, and Ratner shifted his aim. The gunshot deafened us all, and the back of Mitchell’s head disappeared in a fan of red and gray muck.

  I staggered back a step, lifting my shoulder to one ear as though it might stop the terrible pain an
d buzzing that filled my entire skull. Ratner lowered his handgun to his side and just stared at the blood pooling beneath the man he’d killed.

  It took me a second to remember Renee. When I finally looked at her, I could only guess if she was still screaming or not. Her face remained frozen in place, so I guess she was. Sidney had collapsed to her knees in front of her, hands pressed to her ears. Renee didn’t appear to notice.

  The pain in my head was too great to let me react when Renee moved. With a strange calm, she lifted her hands to her face. I wasn’t even sure anyone else had noticed. Could be their ears took all their attention. Or Mitchell’s body. Either way, no one moved to stop her, not even me. I didn’t do a damn thing but watch as she worked her fingers into her open mouth, stretched her lips wide, and then ripped open her cheeks. I saw the skin stretch and then tear, saw blood pour from the ragged wounds she created with her hands, and I didn’t do a goddamn thing to stop her. Maybe I should have tackled her or pleaded with her, done anything other than watch.

  Look, I know I could have done more. I’m not delusional, and I’m not trying to pretend I’m something I’m not. When she tore into her face with her hands, I should have done something. In a way, it was like watching a car crash. Everything just drifted into slow motion.

  Sidney reacted first, moving Renee to the couch and shoving her down. Frantically, she tried to grab hold of the woman’s fists and keep her from hurting herself, but Renee ignored her, fingers working on her face like claws. Only when Davey came up behind her and took hold of both arms did she stop.

  Then, it was like someone had flipped a switch. Renee stopped attacking herself and let her hands drop to her sides. She stared straight ahead. Blood kept pouring from her ruined cheeks, and Sidney ran to get bandages.

  All of that happened hours ago. Now, we’ve got Renee tied down in her bed, the bottom half of her face covered in bandages that might already be soaked through. Since we’re short on supplies, Davey took some leather belts and nailed them to the wall, used those to secure her wrists and ankles. I had to help Ratner bury Mitchell’s body. The entire time, he just kept saying, “He wasn’t an alpha,” like that excused him murdering one of our own. A part of me thinks Ratner would have done it sooner or later. He’s…slipping. I think the stress is getting to him, but I can’t be sure. I tried talking to Davey about it, but he was busy burying Joe.

  That’s right, Joe’s dead. We found him at the edge of the forest, his eyes gouged out and his throat ripped open. That explains the blood on Renee’s hands, at least. It doesn’t explain Renee at all, though. Where did she go? Why did she come back? Why did she do those things, and then why did she just stop? She hasn’t made a peep since Davey got her hands away from her face, hasn’t looked any direction except forward. It’s like something burnt out in her mind.

  I need to tell them about the shack. And maybe we need to get the hell out of here.

  August 23rd

  Today, I showed Ratner and Davey the shack. Sidney wanted to see it, but she had to stay behind and watch after Renee. Before sitting around the breakfast table and trudging down into the valley, Ratner asked why I hadn’t told them sooner. Every time he asked, I couldn’t do anything but shrug.

  “Ease off,” Davey said when Ratner asked once again as we reached the valley’s bottom.

  “Ease off?” Ratner asked. “Hey, I’m just doing my part. That’s what we’re all supposed to be doing, right? So why isn’t he doing his?”

  I let the remark slide off my back. Arguing with Ratner wasn’t going to improve matters.

  “Where’s the place?” Davey asked.

  Pointing, I led the way. Within a few minutes, I spotted the shack jutting from the hillside like a tumor. “That’s it.”

  Ratner scoffed. “That? It’s a piece of shit.”

  “I said it was a shack. What were you expecting?”

  He shook his head and gave us a dismissive chuckle, then started tromping up the hill. We followed. I looked to Davey for some kind of support, but he was taking in the forest, eyes never hovering over any one spot for longer than a second. At least one of us was still alert. A night with so little sleep had left me exhausted. Everything felt a little softer than it should be, edges blurring all around me. Not good.

  “Ratner, weapon ready,” Davey said. Ratner waved a hand and then drew his handgun and prepped it.

  We were still maybe twenty yards back when Ratner reached the doorway and peered inside. He froze, standing in the doorway as we approached. When we stepped behind him, the tension drained from his posture, and he laughed.

  “That’s some scary stuff,” he said. “I can see why we’re crapping our pants.”

  I almost said something, but then I looked past Ratner and into the shack. The dresser and mattress were both gone. In their place, the bare branches of a thorn bush filled the space, choking the interior so thoroughly there was no room to step inside. The tangle of branches was old, the dried-out gray of a plant that was just shy of dead. I couldn’t pretend this was new growth, even if I could convince myself such a bush might grow in two days.

  Without a word, I left the doorway and rushed around the shack. I reached the rear wall and kicked up leaves as I stumbled to a halt. Nothing. Not so much as a single scratch marred the lumber. The boards were old and dry and cracking, but nothing had attacked them.

  “Son of a bitch.” I whispered the words to no one, but Davey and Ratner still heard me.

  “What is it?” Davey asked.

  I had no explanation to give. Instead, I just pointed at the wall and shook my head. Ratner started talking about something, but I tuned him out. As he yammered on about something in that pissed-off voice of his, I looked at the faded boards of that unmarked wall and wondered what on earth was happening to me. I refused to think I’d imagined my time in the shack two days before. Desperate, I examined my surroundings, searching for some clue that this might be a different shack, but the landscape was exactly as I remembered it. We were in the right place. The right place had changed, though.

  “Let’s get back,” Davey said, and we started the climb out of the valley. I was too busy trying to make sense of things to protest.

  “Not cut out for this kind of work,” Ratner said. His voice was acidic. “Should’ve stayed a teacher or whatever.”

  Yeah, it was a petty slight, and it pissed me off. I still had the image of Mitchell’s brains blown across the cabin floor though, so I kept my mouth shut and fought the urge to give him the side eye. A few weeks ago, Ratner had been a friend as well as a fellow soldier. Now, I was scared of him. Hard to believe he’s the guy I used to drink beers with while we watched Sunday football.

  A few times on the way back, I caught Ratner and Davey shooting me glances. Could be I’m not the only one who’s scared. If one of them had led me on a similar goose chase, I’d worry about their sanity. Why shouldn’t they worry about mine? Maybe they’ll try to strap me down like they did Renee, tell me it’s for my own good when really they’re scared I’ll hurt one of them.

  Of course, things are worse now. Who knows what’s going to happen.

  When we got back to the cabin, Renee was sitting on the porch. Not a good sign. Again, she had blood on her hands and forearms. Again, she stared at nothing, her eyes almost dead above the seeping bandages that lined her mouth. At least she wasn’t screaming. Davey shouted and aimed his weapon, motioned for Ratner and me to check out the cabin. We rushed onto the porch, giving Renee as wide a berth as we could, and through the door.

  “Sidney!” She didn’t answer, so I called her name again. My voice echoed through the cabin.

  Ratner charged past me and down the hall. He entered the room where we’d tied down Renee, and I heard him groan. “Dammit,” he said.

  I knew by the sound of his voice that I didn’t have to hurry. I could walk, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Hell, I could probably crawl, stopping halfway to take a short nap. Either way, Sidney was dead, and t
here wasn’t anything for us to do but dig another hole.

  When I stepped into the doorway, I examined the scene over Ratner’s shoulder. A part of me thought I might see a room of thorn bushes again, but that wasn’t the case. I really wish it had been.

  If Sidney’s face hadn’t been largely untouched, I might not have recognized her. Her cheek and lips were swollen from what looked like a couple of nasty punches, but the real damage had been saved for her body. It looked like Renee had turned her inside-out, just opened up her belly and started yanking on all the goodies she found inside. Blood and flesh and organs stretched from one end of the bedroom to the other.

  I could see Sidney’s heart from the doorway. It was in the center of the floor, where Renee had secured it with a single nail. The hammer lay discarded a few feet away, blood drying on the handle. Something cold ran through me, but it vanished when Ratner spun around and shoved past me.

  “Fucking psycho,” he said as he stomped down the hall.

  When I caught up to him, he was stepping onto the porch and pressing the barrel of his pistol to the base of Renee’s skull. He shouted something, but I couldn’t hear it over the sound of my thoughts.

  She’d nailed it to the floor. Right to the floor.

  Davey started shouting, too. He didn’t sound angry like Ratner, though. Just confused and frightened. Still, I couldn’t make out any words. Static filled my ears and my head. The lights were too bright, everything yellow and burning. And there was laughter somewhere. Dry and clicking chuckles that fell like stones through the white noise in my brain.

  “You are nothing.”

  Ratner and Davey fell silent, and the white noise in my skull dissipated like mist in a strong wind. I didn’t recognize the voice—it was hollow and ragged, like someone speaking from deep in a cave—but I knew the source. Slowly, I stepped past Ratner and walked down the steps until I stood beside Davey. I looked up at Renee as her mouth opened and that voice tumbled out again.