Blackout: Book One (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Adam Drake

  Webster said, “Maginhart said he left the Constabulary shortly after seven last night, as best he can remember.”

  “His wife last saw him yesterday morning, before leaving for work,” said Fairfax.

  My eyes roamed up and down Oswall's rocky figure. One hand on his pistol, the other held out in front of him, its palm up and flat as if trying to deflect something. Eyes wide in fear? Shock? Horror?

  I noticed a thick little spiral bound note pad sticking out of the exposed inside jacket pocket of his coat. It, too, was complete stone.

  “There's his case book.”

  “Yes,” Fairfax said. “Won't be much help to us now, unfortunately.”

  That was an understatement. As a detective worked a case he scribbled notes in a notebook which was almost always on his person. If Oswall met someone here, which is how it appeared, he might have written the name in his case book.

  Struck with a thought, I looked at Oswall's shoes. The stone soles of them did not appear to be fused with muddy ground beneath them. Whatever occurred here only effected Oswall.

  Then I saw something else and knelt closer.

  “What is it?” Fairfax said.

  “Look,” I said and pointed. “See how the mud under his feet is pushed outward?” A little trough of mud ringed the base of both shoes.

  “Perhaps he's slowly sliding into the river?” Webster offered.

  “No,” I said. “See how the cleared area extends to both sides of him, toward the river and then the opposite direction.”

  “Someone moved him,” said Fairfax and scowled.

  “Heavy that,” Webster said.

  “Too much for whomever tried to push him,” I said. Oswall was a husky fellow, almost portly. Before he was heavy, now he was almost immovable.

  I looked around the area in front of Oswall, in the direction he was looking. The mud and rock debris here made it impossible to see footprints.

  “We did a sweep,” Fairfax said as he watched me inspecting the muddy ground. “The boys did a thorough job.”

  “That couple sullied the crime scene when they found him. Walking about and all,” Webster said.

  “I am aware,” I said. I still looked. Once I reached the far side of the bridge the ground became too rocky.

  There had to be something. I sensed it. I took a moment to glance inside my satchel. The knitting bag's clasp remained wooden. No help there.

  The river chuckled at me while it coursed along.

  Webster asked Fairfax, “How are we going to move him, anyway? Just from looking at him I'd guess he must be as heavy as a plow horse.”

  “We'll get the truck so to keep him covered,” Fairfax said, frustration growing in his voice.

  I looked toward the underside of the bridge; a thick, stone laced wall. I thought I caught the glint of something.

  “Yes, but then what? Push him onto it somehow? Would take all the constables in the force to do that. Maybe more,” Webster said.

  I approached the wall. Something was there, drawn on its surface.

  “That is a matter of concern for later,” Fairfax said. “Right now is the investigation.”

  Webster wouldn't let it go. “We could tie ropes to him, then drag him behind the truck. That might work.”

  Fairfax ground his teeth in frustration, but I would not be distracted. I came up on the drawing. No, not a drawing. An engraving.

  It looked at first glance to be just a set of long squiggly lines running up and down on the surface of a flat stone. By squinting at it I made out a figure. A long bulbous head, with a half dozen tentacles dangling below it.

  A squid.

  “There will be no dragging of constables while I'm in charge, understand?” Fairfax said.

  “Maybe we can push him with the truck,” Webster said, still thinking over the dilemma.

  “Gentlemen,” I said with mild exasperation. “Did you notice this?”

  The two constables walked closer.

  “Yes,” Webster said. “Noted and disregarded.”

  “How so?” I asked with genuine surprise. “This might be important.”

  “Well, it's just a bit of graffiti,” Webster said. “That sort of thing is everywhere now.”

  “Everywhere? Graffiti or this specific image?” I asked.

  Webster shrugged. “Both, really.” He sensed my annoyance. “I'll add it to my report, though.” He walked away, making a show of writing in his own case book, trying to get a safe distance from me.

  I sighed then held my hand over the etching without touching it and felt a faint tingling sensation against my palm.

  “Magic?” Fairfax asked.

  “Yes. Someone spelled this into place,” I said withdrawing my hand and fished through my satchel. “Also, see how clean the area is around it? This was created recently. Maybe at the time of the attack.”

  “Those have been appearing all around town,” Fairfax said, peering at the squid image. “No idea what it could mean. Do you?”

  I found what I was looking for and pulled out a long piece of paper and a charcoal pencil. On occasion, an old bird like me took to drawing the locals strolling through the park. I was terrible at it.

  “No, I don't. Here, hold this up, will you?” I said. Fairfax pressed the paper against the stone and I ran the pencil across it, capturing the squid image.

  Finished, I rolled the paper up and put it back in my satchel.

  “Did anyone find his buggy?” I asked Fairfax.

  “No, we haven't. I have constables searching further down the road, past the bridge, and another down the river. There's an old dirt lane running along it from here.”

  “Well, he had to arrive at this spot somehow. Either someone dropped him off, which I seriously doubt, or someone took his buggy after he was... stoned.”

  “It was a police vehicle so I don't think they would drive it about on a lark,” Fairfax said.

  I nodded, hands on my hips. “Okay, this should do for the moment. Now, let's go talk to our prime suspects.”

  Fairfax raised his eyebrows. “Prime suspects? Those two mud people?”

  As we walked past Oswall a pang of sadness struck me. He had been a good man, overall.

  “Until you can delve into Oswall's case files, those mud people are the only suspects you have.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  We climbed back up the embankment and walked to the buggies. Overhead the morning sun crawled up the blue sky and I realized Oswall would never witness another sunrise ever again.

  The couple were still in their shady spot only now they appeared to be more annoyed than nervous. As he smoked a cigarette, the man tried to blow rings at his companion. When we approached they jumped to attention as if at a military inspection.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  They both mumbled a good morning in return, and I got a better assessment of them. The woman was short and stout, hard looking. A tough life no doubt made her appear far older than she was. Dirt and filth etched every wrinkle on her face and hands. She wore a coat, which was too small for her plump figure, and clutched a tiny old purse in front of her.

  The man wore a baggy patchwork overcoat, pea green trousers which did nothing to conceal his mismatched socks, and a beaten up cap. He was just as grimy as she was.

  Fairfax was quiet so I simply jumped into questioning. “May I ask your names, please?” I said.

  The man spoke. “I'm Malwin Amata and this here is my sister, Gescha.”

  “And you found this man this morning, correct?”

  “Yeah, that's right.”

  “And what was your business down here at the river at such an early hour?”

  Malwin looked a little flustered at the question. “Well, our business here is our own, ain't it? What business is that of yours?”

  “Malwin, be polite with the lady,” Gescha said.

  Her brother crossed his arms and curled a lip. “I already spoke to that other constable over there. Why don't you go get wh
at I said from him, eh?”

  I kept my expression neutral but inwardly I sighed.

  Fairfax leaned in and said, “Just answer the questions, now. You don't want any troubles.”

  Gescha punched her brother in the shoulder. “We want to talk, right?” she said to him and he scowled.

  I tried a different tactic. “We want to clear you as a suspect so you folks can be on your way.”

  This had the desired effect. Malwin uncrossed his arms and his scowl vanished.

  “Suspect?” he said with alarm. “We ain't no suspects, just found him is all. We had no hand in whatever it was that happened to him.”

  I gave him a slight smile. “And what were you two doing here?”

  Malwin scratched his stubbly chin. “Looking for things that wash up along the riverside. Bits and pieces of things. Something to sell. You never know what the river gives up on occasion. Especially for someone who's hard on his luck.”

  From the state of these two I knew his reason was most likely plausible. Hard times abound. But it had always been that way. People were forced to do anything to make a few copper bits. Scavenging was the most common.

  “What happened when you found him?” I said.

  Malwin blinked wide eyed a few times as if trying to manifest the event from his memory. “We were following the river from the Hearts district since about four this morning. Didn't find anything worth our time and effort. So, if nothing is found at one part of it, you gotta keep walking along until you do. Took some two hours before we ended up here. I was telling Gescha that maybe we should just turn back or we'll be stuck out in the woods at night fall.”

  “He gives up so easily,” Gescha said.

  Malwin glared at her. “Do not!”

  Gescha frowned shaking her head, then said, “Put a drink in his hand and he'll be in the cups all day and night. But try to make him earn the money for those drinks, even for a little while, and he collapses like wet parchment.”

  “That's not true at all, and you know it!”

  I interjected before things got out of hand. “So what time was it when you arrived at this bridge.”

  “Probably six, I'd say. Not much later than that.”

  “And what happened?”

  Again, Malwin's eyes fluttered. “We found him is what happened. Under the bridge there. At first I thought it was a bandit skulking in the shadows looking to rob fine folks, such as ourselves. I called out to him not to try anything funny or he'd regret it!”

  “No you didn't,” Gescha said. “You told me to go and look under the bridge. See who was there. Brave man that you are.”

  Quick to cut off Malwin's anger I asked, “Was there anyone else around, besides you two?”

  “Nah,” Malwin said. “No one. Just us two. Strangest thing, ain't it? Man like that now all stone like. I was telling Gescha here that it could only be great magic which could do that to a person. Didn't I?”

  Gescha nodded. “Great magic. Very special. Thought something as special as a stone man should be noted to the police.”

  This was what had me wondering since the moment I saw them. These types of folk did their utmost to avoid authorities.

  “Now why did you two feel compelled to report it?”

  Gescha regarded me with surprise at the question. “Well, for the reward, of course.”

  “Reward?”

  “Yeah, reward. There has to be one when a stone man is found.”

  I heard Fairfax grinding his teeth.

  “There is no reward, Miss Amata. There never was.”

  The two of them looked horrified.

  “No reward?” Malwin said. “It's special, ain't it? You can't fool me that it isn't. A stone man has gotta be worth something to someone. Maybe we should sell it.”

  Fairfax had reached the end of his rope and said, “There is no reward, and that stone man is not yours to claim.”

  “I doubt that,” Malwin said, giving a shrewd look. “We found him. We should be able to keep him. Sell him to the highest bidder. Scavenger's rights!”

  Now I sighed. “When you two found him, you thought you could sell him. But when you tried to move him, to haul him away to one of the black markets, you found he was too heavy. Correct?”

  “Well, yeah,” Gescha said.

  “And since he was too heavy to move you figured you might get a reward which is why you flagged down a police buggy. Correct?”

  “Yeah,” Malwin said. He looked as confused as his sister. They both realized now they could never claim Oswall's stone body.

  I then pulled out the paper with the etching on it and presented to them. “This was on the wall next to the body. Did either of you make this?”

  They both looked at it, bewildered.

  “No, we didn't,” Gescha said. “What's that supposed to be anyway? A fish?”

  “Nah, it's a dog,” Malwin said. “See the tail there.”

  I frowned and put the paper back into my satchel. There was nothing more to ask.

  “I would like to thank you for informing us of the stone man,” I said. “The constable has your details and we will be in touch if we have further questions. Good day to you.”

  I turned and walked away. Fairfax stepped in front of the siblings before they could say any more, shooing them off.

  I found my temper had been rising throughout the conversation. Not a trait a detective should possess if an investigation was to proceed. When did I get this way? I had always been professional during my time at work. But now?

  Standing on the embankment and watching the river, I placed my hand into my satchel and caressed the knitting bag. Its texture soothed me.

  A constable stood near the underside of the bridge, guarding poor Oswall's stone corpse. The detective deserved better than this. At least he died by a river. I wondered how I would die and if there would be a river nearby.

  Fairfax appeared at my side. “What do you think?”

  “Of those two? I think I'd eat my purse if they had the wherewithal to perform greater magic on Oswall, and then be dumb enough to inform the police about it.”

  Fairfax chuckled. A pleasant noise. “True. But could they have been involved?”

  I shook my head. “They gave me no indication of anything like that. All they really did was sully the crime scene trying to move him. That explains the flattened mud at Oswall's feet. And good luck having them not mentioning this to anyone. They're off to spread the word of their grand discovery.”

  “Doubt anyone would believe them. Anyways, we can now cross off our only prime suspects,” he said with mild humor.

  I looked at him. Intelligent and duty bound he would solve this case on his own and without an old woman's aid.

  Might as well get this over with. I cleared my throat. “My assessment, Constable, is that this case is dangerous. Too dangerous, to be honest. Someone is out there right now with the ability to turn people to stone. A horrible magic if I ever heard of one. And catching the culprit will be very risky.”

  Fairfax frowned.

  I continued, ignoring his disappointment. “I would start with whatever is on his desk at the moment. That might give you a lead or two. But I believe you will find additional support is required.”

  “Not from a retired detective.” Fairfax said it as a statement.

  I sighed. “Get help from the Capital Constabulary. They may find this warrants a larger investigation than our local one can manage. That would be my recommendation. I'm sorry, but that is all I can offer you.”

  I looked away, not wanting to see his eyes. Home called for me. My only duties for the remainder of the day were crawling into bed and having a nice long nap. But would I dream of cats or stone men?

  Fairfax nodded. “I understand. And I appreciate you coming here. Shall I take you home now?”

  I was about to answer when a brilliant white car pulled off the road and parked next to where we stood. It lurched to a stop, kicking up dust and dirt into our eyes. This was one of
the more expensive model of buggies, and usually could only be found in the Capital. The gaudy thing looked like a beached whale on wheels.

  “It's the Mayor,” Fairfax coughed out, swiping dust away from his face.