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

by Adam Drake

  As I tried to conjure the memory I yawned. Such things were best to not think of before bed. It would only create nightmares, and of those I already had plenty. I put the pistol on the table and looked at how the rock lights played across its steel surface. I hoped, that before this case was over I would not need to use it.

  Tired, I picked up my satchel and went to my bedroom, turning off the rock lights along the way. I readied for bed, and as I climbed in I looked at the knitting bag in the satchel on the night stand. Now that brought back memories. Strong and fierce. My old mind did not need coaxing for those.

  I turned off the rock light by my bed and closed my eyes. Sleep claimed me quickly and the vision of Oswall being lowered by the crane haunted my dreams.

  xxxx

  I woke with a start and sat upright in bed.

  My heart thumped in my chest as my eyes searched the darkness for what yanked me from my slumber. Was it a noise, or a nightmare?

  The room was pitch black, but I resisted the urge to touch a rock light. I had lived in this house for decades and I knew all of its creaks and pops when its old wood shifted. Now I listened. I sensed something was wrong.

  Then it came. A slight creaking of the floorboard at the end of the hall that bordered the kitchen.

  Someone was in the house.

  My mind raced with the implications. No one had broken into my house before. I had taken precautions. Yet, with another creaking noise, this one closer, the fact was undeniable.

  I fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm me. I was, after all, a little old woman who lived alone. But this old woman had bite!

  I realized I had an advantage, albeit temporary. I knew this house very well; the perpetrator did not. Also, based on how he or she moved, they were unaware I had woken. I could prepare for them.

  In the darkness I eased across my bed until I was up against the night stand. I reached over to my satchel and placed my hand inside, searching. Where was my pistol? Then it hit me. Like a fool I had left it on the kitchen table. Maybe the person skulking in my hallway had it in their possession and sought to shoot me with it. How fitting.

  Cursing inwardly I tried to think. There was my rifle in the closet next to the night stand, loaded but stuffed behind a bunch of clothing. Not very helpful yet I had little choice.

  I moved off the bed and placed a foot on the cold floor. The wood beneath my foot crackled loudly.

  Suddenly, the intruder gave up all pretense of stealth and rushed down the hall.

  I lunged for the closet door in a last desperate gamble to grab the rifle but I knew I would be too late. I slipped and in my effort to maintain balance I lashed out with one hand. My fingers grazed the rock light on the night stand and it flicked on. I bumped against it as I fell to the floor. The light flung across the room to land spinning at the bedroom doorway.

  The rock light spun around casting swirling shadows and light around the room. Then I saw him. A man, tall and lean, covered in black clothing. His face was covered with a black mask but his eyes were wide with anger. He held a pistol in his hand.

  I gasped and reached up to right myself. If I was going to die, it would be on my feet.

  The man entered the room and kicked the spinning rock light to the side. Its dim illumination cast him almost completely in shadow, and his eyes flickered like hateful jewels.

  I stood but my old body defied me one last fight and I sagged backward. My hand landed in my satchel and that's when I touched the knitting bag's clasp.

  What happened next was nothing short of miraculous.

  A cat leapt from the knitting bag and it was unlike any I had seen previously. It was a mottled gray color and absolutely huge. One instance the bag was open and the next a cat the size of a small horse stood in the space between myself and the man in black.

  The gigantic cat arched its back, long fur standing on end, and hissed so loud the sound shook the house.

  Stunned, the man in black froze, eyes wide in shock. He fired his pistol, and I flinched at the sound. The man backpedaled and raced back down the hallway.

  The cat ran after him, or so it tried. Due to its size and the slippery nature of the floor, the giant cat slid into the door frame, cracking it. A painting flew from the wall with the impact.

  I heard the man keening with fear as he fled, neither yelling nor screaming but a sound of utter terror.

  The cat's claws scrapped at the floor as it scrambled to get proper purchase and give pursuit. It soon vanished from sight thudding against a wall out in the hall.

  I gathered my wits, hurried to the closet and pulled out the rifle. In the kitchen I heard the back door being flung open with a load crash. I hobbled into the hallway, my side hurting from my fall.

  I saw the open back door and the blackness of night beyond it. The huge cat stood at the edge of the door hissing into the night but it would not step over into the back yard. The man had fled.

  Once I made it to the kitchen I headed for the open door. The large feline whirled around and hissed at me. I froze. Had the beast become so fired up from the attack that it might hurt me?

  I realized the meaning of its consternation. The one true limit of these cats was that if summoned from within a building or domicile, they were then bound to that place. This cat could not go outside. Had it been summoned outside there would have been no such limitation and I do not doubt it would still be chasing after the petrified man.

  And since going outside was not an option it could not protect me if I left. Which is why it now refused to let me pass. Touched as I was by its sentiments I found myself a little annoyed. I had looked forward to firing a shot at the black hearted cretin who defiled my home and tried to murder me in my sleep.

  The cat paced back and forth at the open door, agitated. I took the moment to touch several rock lights and assess my situation.

  I was safe now, at least for the moment. Whoever had broken in would not be foolish enough to return. I was wide awake, armed and angry. And now accompanied by my horse sized guardian I doubted another attempt would be made on me that night.

  To the cat I said, “I'd like to shut that door. It's letting in a draft.”

  The giant feline paused and regarded me. With a swish of its long bushy tail, the door slammed shut and the dead bolt slide into place, locked.

  I then realized that it had been shot when the man fired the pistol. “Are you all right? I thought he might have hit you.” I saw no obvious wounds and it did not act as if it hurt.

  The large animal began to wretch as if to cough up a fur-ball. And for a cat that size it would have been quite the sight. Instead something small fell from its mouth to clatter on the floor. With a cloth from the kitchen I picked it up. A small caliber bullet, and still perfectly formed. Almost as if it had been absorbed intact.

  I looked to the cat in amazement. It stared back with rainbow eyes then resumed its march back and forth.

  I thought it wise to avoid the windows for the rest of the night on the off chance the man may try to shoot at me from the dark. Paranoia, I know. But considering someone just tried to kill me I allowed for the safe guard.

  Snatching my pistol off the kitchen table I went into the sitting room which I kept it in complete dark. I sat in the big easy chair in the far corner. From here I would detect if the intruder returned. And I'd be ready.

  The cat paced up and down the hallway, making stressful warbling noises. Soon, it calmed a little and padded over. The large feline flopped onto the rug at my feet and stretched out.

  I contemplated going up the lane to the Elderbright's residence, who had a phone, to call the Constabulary. But that would have required me getting dressed and stumbling around the dark with a potential murderer skulking in the trees. And I did not think my new friend would have any of that nonsense.

  With the loaded rifle across my lap I fought against my tired body and waited for the morning sun.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I woke to the sound o
f knocking at my front door.

  Bleary-eyed I looked around the room. My large guardian was gone. Apparently satisfied that my safety was not in question it had returned to the knitting bag. I stood with an audible creak from my bones and waddled to the front door. With the rifle at the ready, I opened it.

  Fairfax was standing there, smiling and holding a tin of biscuits. The smile vanished when he saw my state and the rifle in my hands.

  “By the Gods, Mayra! What happened? Are you all right?”

  I waved a dismissive hand, but was still touched by his concern. “Nothing an old woman like me couldn't handle, along with the help of an immense cat.”

  At his confused expression I chuckled. “I'm okay, Fairfax, I promise.”

  As I told him what happened his face became more and more grim. When I finished Fairfax did not match my gaze. This appeared to affect him more than it did me.

  He said, “You should have called the Constabulary. I would have come right away.”

  “Agreed. But I had little choice now didn't I? Come now, let's go inside and I can put on proper detective clothing. Morning wear doesn't help with interrogations.”

  While I dressed in the bedroom, Fairfax paced around the house, checking and rechecking the latches on the windows and grumbling to himself. He even walked the perimeter of the yard looking at every leaf and blade of grass.

  Once I was ready I emerged with my satchel over a shoulder and met him outside.

  “Let us check the woods further back,” Fairfax said. “He may have left tracks or something of note.”

  I would have pointed out such an effort was useless but acquiesced. He was upset he had not been present to protect me. For that I could entertain a short jaunt through the woods. “Very, well, Constable,” I said with a smile. “Lead the way.”

  My property bordered a nature preserve which was a polite way to describe land that no one wanted to buy. Thick with trees and underbrush it had thwarted my last adventurous attempts to hike through it. Instead, I went to the park a few minutes away. This time the forest did not yield its secrets any easier than before.

  After several minutes I lost my patience. “Fairfax, I do not think we will find anything in this mess. Let us return.”

  “Just a little further,” Fairfax said, soldiering on. It was as if the branches and brambles did not exist to him, pushing through relentlessly. I wondered if I should be concerned. Was this more than hurt pride?

  Fairfax stopped and crouched. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. “Up ahead. Do you see?”

  I tottered up beside him and put a hand on his broad shoulder to steady myself on the uneven ground. Looking where he pointed I saw a cave or entranceway in a hillside.

  “Let us take a closer look,” Fairfax said and moved forward, pistol in hand.

  “What if there is a bear?” I said, taking my pistol out of the satchel.

  “Then you can summon a bear-eating cat,” Fairfax said, and I caught the profile of a grin on his face.

  We approached at an angle to get a better look. Then Fairfax stood straight and frowned. “It's a sewer grate.”

  The round cave contained the concrete workings of a sewage tunnel entrance. A large grate barred any access. A foul smelling trickle of water seeped out of it and into the ground.

  “Well,” I said. “That was anticlimactic.”

  A huge old padlock was secured to the grate. Fairfax pointed at it. “Can one of your friends do something with this?”

  “What? And go prancing through the sewers? I don't think so, Fairfax.” But at his expression I sighed and looked at the knitting bag's clasp. It was wooden. “Sorry,” I said. “They do not want to come out to play.”

  Fairfax looked at the muddy ground just outside the concrete entrance. “No boot marks. There are animal tracks but little else.” He stood and glowered at the sewer grate. “I'm willing to bet he came through this.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe he did. But I will admit it is good to know that this thing is here. And perhaps a little disconcerting.” Very disconcerting. A secret highway for robbers and thugs that spits out onto my backyard. I wondered how extensive the sewer network was.

  “Okay,” Fairfax said. “Let's return, shall we?”

  As we shuffled back to the house Fairfax asked, “He tried to shoot at you with a pistol. But the cat blocked it. Right?”

  “Yes, that's right,” I wheezed. This hiking was for younger people, that was a certainty.

  “Why didn't he try to turn you to stone with the Talon? Why switch to a pistol now?”

  That was a good question and one I had not considered. After a few moments thought I said, “Most artifacts and relics need time to recharge their magic. My guess is the Talon was not ready to be used again, hence the pistol.”

  Fairfax said, “Then based on the rough time frames when Elicia and Oswall were stoned maybe it can only be used once a day. Or after a long stretch of hours.”

  “Sounds reasonable, Fairfax, but we cannot know for certain. We should consider it usable at any time.”

  At the buggy we took a rest. I leaned against the hood and panted like an old hound dog returning from a hunt.

  “Where to this morning?” Fairfax said as he eyed our surroundings.

  “I had time to mull things over last night,” I said. “There is a definite connection between the museum burglary and Elicia.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Not a what. A who,” I said and opened the buggy's passenger door. “Come, Fairfax. We have one more interview which may finally result in a solid lead.”

  xxxx

  A fog had fallen across the Hearts District making driving more of a chore. But we located the Hubertus residence after I convinced Fairfax to stop and ask for directions from a clockworks toy seller at the roadside.

  The Hubertus home was a narrow townhouse quite like Elicia's only theirs was painted a bright yellow from ground to roof. Pasha Hubertus was no doubt responsible for the choice in color.

  “My eyes hurt if I look at it too long,” Fairfax said as we parked and got out.

  “We need to be on our best behavior with these two,” I said as we climbed the stairs. “There are questions that may put an end to this, and they have the answers. So, if asked, you love the color.”

  Fairfax sighed and followed.

  The moment I rapped on the door it flew open. Pasha stood in the doorway, a flummoxed look on her face. She had forgone blue for today and instead wore an outfit of eye-shattering green.

  “This cannot be good,” Pasha said. Her eyes darted between Fairfax and I.

  “Mrs. Hubertus, we have follow-up questions for you and your husband. Is Mr. Hubertus here?” I said.

  For a moment Pasha appeared to be trying to decide on whether to slam the door. Instead, she turned her head and bellowed, “Win! Those coppers are back!”

  “Who?” Winimar called from the bowels of the house.

  “Coppers!” She looked at us, eyes contorted with suspicion.

  “Well, ask them in for tea!” Winimar said.

  Pasha's stern expression transformed into a bright and happy smile. “We've put tea on. Would you like some?”

  This woman runs hot and cold, I thought. Her husband must be perpetually scatter-shot.

  I thanked her and we entered the tiny foyer. After slamming the door Pasha led us through a hall into a kitchen. Winimar was sitting at a table hunched over a newspaper.

  As we entered he said, “Looking for a new job. These want ads are for the dogs.”

  Pasha waved at the table for us to take a chair. I sat but Fairfax opted to stand to one side of me. He was on his guard and was ready to draw his pistol in an instant. I had told him I was uncertain whether the Hubertus couple had anything to do with the murders. How they answered my questions would decide that.

  Winimar pointed at the newspaper. “The only jobs in here worth looking at are for people with clockwork skills. That's not for me. I have enough trouble
attaching rock lights to their clamps, let alone messing with little gears and pulleys.”

  “Your fingers are too fat, Win,” Pasha said as she prepared tea at the counter. I kept an eye on what her hands were doing.

  “Maybe I'll just shovel coal,” Winimar said. “Always need people to do that. Don't last long on the job, but at least it pays.”

  I offered a commiserating smile then said, “Mr. Hubertus I was wondering if you could tell us how you got the job at the High Garden Museum?”