Dark City

by Hodge, Brian

  “Just leave us alone,” she said. “Leave us all alone.”

  — | — | —

  BURNING BRIGHT IN THE INVISIBLE NIGHT

  «« — »»

  Gerard Houarner

  It came to Isabella that evening, after her husband came home, that his eyes had changed color.

  When the alarm woke them that morning and Hugh turned to her, his eyes were just as they’d always been, brown, speckled with green, the kind the glittered a little in dawn light.

  He’d blinked, stared through her as if trying to focus on something on the far side of the house and asked if she’d woken him up during the night, if she’d led him out into the street where a meeting had been called because of an emergency and they had to attend.

  They’d separated in the crowd of neighbors and strangers, and he’d searched for her through a crowd of hundreds until someone announced from above that something big was going to happen in the morning. Everyone had to prepare themselves because things would change the next day.

  He looked up at the sky, he’d said, scanning it for a helicopter. Or a balloon. The source of the voice in charge. But the stars and moon were gone, and the blackness that was left seemed like a doorway to an unlit basement.

  She’d started to laugh, but the smile died when she remembered talk of similar dreams she’d overheard at school last week, even yesterday.

  A chill ran through her as she peered into Hugh’s eyes, through confusion and alarm, past the hangover of exhaustion from a working weekend without rest, to the man she’d met the first day at college and loved from their sophomore year and on without doubt or hesitation through their first moving in together and the ballet of marriage between two very different families and upbringings and careers and the move to their own house to this moment, in the quiet warmth of their bed, together, entwined, and yet apart.

  She shivered at the threat of losing him, of finding his car, abandoned on the side of the road, like so many others, and calling his name in to be logged on the long list of the missing.

  She’d taken a breath. He was worn out, maybe from protecting her from things he’d seen in the city, maybe a riot, or a crash like the one that had closed the nearby interstate exit. Or worse. Things that had stolen his sleep and left odd dreams behind.

  But whatever else was happening, she found him, at last, looking back, locking on to her, desperate, fragile, vulnerable, certainties cracking under pressures she didn’t understand, surrendering parts of himself she doubted he knew existed as soon as he recognized who she was and what he was with her.

  And a part of her opened to him, like a flower to moonlight, delicately parting what had been tightly bound.

  The chill passed. The anchors they’d thrown into each other held true, and the latest storm wearing away at the world only pushed them closer to each other, into the deeper waters they shared.

  She took his hand, he squeezed hers. Isabella smiled, kissed him lightly on the lips because there was nothing to ask or say. The dream had skipped her, left her behind. But they were still here, together.

  He surged to her like a slow tide coming to shore. Skin tingled sliding over skin, tickled by hair. Fingertips dipped into curves and hollows, probed the outcrops of spine and knotted muscle. She tasted salt as her tongue tip glided from ear to neck to shoulder, guided by the scents of sweat and perfumed soap and the notes she couldn’t name but made her itch and tingle behind her eyes.

  Hunger nipped and drove the rhythm of her heart and breath faster.

  His heart thumped beneath her palm, his breath warmed her ear.

  They moved to each other, slowly, searching, as they’d done before life had accelerated, as they did only occasionally in these days, when time and need made passions burn faster, hotter, brighter. His hand on her back. Her finger to his ear. His body, muscled hard but yielding, flowed over her, carrying her in a musky current to a precipice whose roar she could hear in the distance. She swam through him, navigated by touch, by kiss, by the stars of their desire, and by what they needed.

  His lips crossed her cheek, settled gently for an instant on her mouth, curled off to her ear.

  The roar from where they were heading filled her head. She hardly felt the bed under them. The house, the world were fading memories.

  She held a breath. He hesitated.

  From across the precipices they faced, their gazes met and she felt they shared the vision of all that was and that was coming, the moments of passion and pain, the work and the joy, of the life they were living together.

  “Hugh,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said.

  “The school, there’s so much to do—”

  “The business, we’re in the thick of it—”

  Gently, they separated, sat up.

  “You should stay home,” Hugh said. “Are the kids even coming?”

  “Yes.” She sat up. Unpinned her hair. “Most of them, and their parents, they just want things to be normal. There’s been more kids than the teachers left can handle. That’s the problem. But, can’t you just work from home?”

  He rolled to his side, sat on the edge, facing away from her. “The Feds are counting on us. They said they wouldn’t even monitor us, today. We handle this right, keep distribution going while everyone else is panicking, we’ll be way ahead of the competition. There’s government contracts on the other side of this thing, opportunities for tying into national networks—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, hugging him from behind as if he was a little boy overflowing with a passion for something he did not yet know he loved. “Baby, I know, everything’s going to be fine, just like they’re saying on the new—”

  He held her hands in his. Squeezed. “You know, my Dad’s been working for this all is life. For us, for our kids, it’s their future. I’ve got to be there, you know, right? Besides, it’s not like the world is really ending.”

  He turned and the fire in his eyes made the green incandescent. She felt in his excitement the reverberations from her own visions of their future. For a moment she was back in college, sitting in the cafeteria, heart racing at the thought of graduation, work, the real world, independence. Hugh. Their children.

  She felt a slight chill. Children, still not born, only planned, soon, any day, just not yet today but maybe, maybe tonight.

  “Maybe it is,” she said.

  He grunted. “It’s always ending.”

  Isabella squeezed his hands back, hanging on to the dream of them together as reality began filling the hazy blank space of sleep and dream. “Tonight, let’s do something special.”

  “Yes.”

  “No more rescuing neighbors.”

  She rolled her eyes, bit back what she desperately wanted to say—what else was I supposed to do, with you stuck at the warehouse the whole weekend even though the world isn’t ending and people are piling furniture up on the lawn and Mrs. Gernstein is hysterical about her missing daughter? Instead she took a breath, hung on to their intimate moment, and said, “Look forward to it, right?”

  “Yes. Tonight will get us through the day.”

  His shoulders relaxed. He turned around, held her. She smiled. He’d come back from wherever the dream had taken him, and she’d felt sure the promise they made to each other would be fulfilled, no matter what happened during the day.

  Isabella fixed coffee, reviewed lesson plans, kept the television on mute while Hugh got ready for work. Every now and then she looked up at the familiar images of people standing singly and in crowds, swaying, nodding, fingers twitching while police and emergency service workers surrounded them. Overnight, there’d been bigger riots in Europe and Africa. Some cities had closed the major transportation arteries feeding them. The riot clips were brief and taken from afar.

  Hugh came out of the bathroom and turned up the sound. He took out his phone, started checking mail. Isabella paused as she left for a shower, caught by Hugh’s frown.

  “Bad news?” she asked. />
  “I don’t get it,” he said, swiping and taping the phone screen. “You’d think with everything going on there’d be a ton of stuff online. But sites are down or frozen, posts are gone. I can’t even open some of my emails.”

  “Isn’t there enough going on right here?” Isabella asked. She didn’t wait for an answer.

  Before he left, over the background drone of television news, Hugh kissed her goodbye. She said she’d pick up dinner on the way home. He said he’d try to get back early, but if he couldn’t, he told her to just wait. Coming home was the most important thing he had to do today.

  At the door, he hesitated. He looked back and said, “Be careful, in case something big happens.”

  “I think something big is going to happen tonight,” she said.

  She waited for a sign of recognition that she was being provocative, maybe a grin, certainly a smile, however thin under the weight of dreams and realities he carried. Something told her, something deep and primal, now was the time. Tonight. Tomorrow. The coming weeks. Whatever else happened in the world, or to the world, she’d come out of their moment’s intimacy certain that what was coming later would become the next part of their life—the children, the family they’d been planning.

  It might have been a waking dream, an echo of what others were sharing. A premonition, or their intimate moment resonating inside her.

  She’d been sure he felt what she did, that their connection had been deep and powerful, and that a foundation remained that would see them through all the hardships to come. Because, at least they’d have each other, come what may.

  But Hugh blinked. His mouth hung open, his gaze passed through her once again, as if struggling to recognize the ghost of what he thought she was, a faint and distant figure.

  “No,” he said. “In the morning. That’s when something big is supposed to happen.”

  She heard her mother’s warning, almost every friend’s mother’s warning about men: they always change. Fathers told their sons the same thing about women. At least, that’s what her brothers had told her.

  “Not every change is bad,” she said.

  He frowned, shook his head. “Just be careful. Please.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You, too.”

  As he left, she said, “Love you.”

  If he answered, she didn’t hear him. Outside, dogs barked.

  Her cell phone ringtone broke the bitter sweet spell she’d fallen into. It was her youngest brother, Julio, calling.

  “You and Hugh okay?” he asked.

  “Fine, just fine. You?” She muted the TV sound.

  “I’m at Mom’s. Dad called. Everything’s fine, don’t worry, he just needed a little help.”

  Isabella’s heart jumped. “What help? Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s upset. She had a bad dream. She got into a fight with Dad, you know how they are, and he called me. Crazy kids.”

  She shook her head. “How are they? Do you need me to come over?” She grimaced, thinking of the school.

  “Hell, no. I got this, I can work online from the kitchen table. Mom’ fixing a nice little cocido, got herself a nice pile of choritos, some chickpeas, you know how she does it. And I’m not saving any for you.”

  “Brat.”

  “Heard from Reynaldo?”

  “No.”

  “Can’t get any messaging through, and he’s not picking up.”

  “Maybe whoever he’s with isn’t letting him pick up.”

  Julio laughed. “Older brother needs to stop living my lifestyle and settle down like you.”

  Isabella hesitated before asking, “Had any bad dreams, lately?”

  “Hell, no. I’ve got my shots, I’m not catching any fever.”

  Isabella’s gut twisted just a little. “Stay safe, Julio.”

  “Go to work before they find out how lazy you really are. And hey, wait, how’s your internet?”

  “Hugh had problems.”

  “Damn. Twitter’s dead, too. My life has no meaning. I can get to the company database, but I can’t talk to anyone, even on the secure network. Oh well, guess I’ll just log-in, clock my hours and play some video games on the side.”

  She cut the connection on his laughter.

  While dressing, she caught glimpses of the news streaming at the bottom of the screen: Feds once again denying terrorist attacks while the CDC continued monitoring outbreaks of a mild encephalitic virus posing no long term threat. States of emergency had been declared in areas where people were taking advantage of breakdowns in local authority caused by brief periods of mass debilitation.

  She blinked. The pieces still didn’t fit together. The steady stream of news showing snippets of far-off disasters and vague explanations didn’t explain the pile of furniture and electronics in front of the Dodds’ house, untouched. Or the open front doors, the darkened windows, the strays, the children standing by themselves in classrooms, in bathrooms and the end of hallways, unresponsive. Or the parents who never showed up to pick up their kids.

  Wild gossip and mad theories from neighbors, teachers, the rest of the school staff and board, the National Guard unit that had shown up on Friday and Monday, confused the picture even more. She’d had to tell Hugh to stop telling her about the things he’d found on the internet before the outages had hit.

  More than ever, she needed Hugh and the promise of their future, not more chaos. Deep inside, need ran into the hard reality that the madness might be winning, or the Hugh might not need her or their future as much if his family’s business reached new levels of success. A part of her coiled, withdrawing. Gathered itself into a singular, hard and lonely world.

  She had no idea what might happen if that cold, stony part of her was unleashed.

  Hugh’s phone buzzing startled her. He’d left it on the coffee table, buried under printouts.

  She checked the screen and answered, “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, Isabella. Is Hugh around?”

  Hugh’s father’s weary voice jump started her heart, again.

  “No, he left his phone home. “ She looked out the window. His car was gone. “Is everything ok?”

  “Nothing serious. Eileen’s not feeling well, so I’m taking her to the hospital. Just wanted to let him know.”

  Isabella caught another snippet on the screen and said, “They’re saying the hospitals are backed up, you should call in to a screening center—there’s a number for your county. Check the news, it’s probably the flu—”

  “You’re right, flu, virus, whatever they’re calling it now. But you know how she is, every little thing. Doctor’s not calling back so I’m taking her in just to calm her down. If they send us home, at least she’ll know it’s not that bad.”

  Isabella tried to find the next thing to say to him, but she’d been caught up in the words that seemed to race across the screen: mobile hospitals, emergency treatment centers, partial voluntary evacuations. It was worse than the weekend, than even yesterday.

  “You still there, Isabella?”

  “Sorry. My Mom’s not doing well, either.”

  “Sorry, honey. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “Of course you’re no bother. It just doesn’t seem to be getting better.”

  “Ah, people make a big thing out of nothing. We used to be tougher when there weren’t so many people telling us how bad things are all the time.”

  “Do you want me to call Hugh at the office?”

  “I’ll call. Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of help here. You go to work, young lady. Those kids’ve got to get educated so they can get good jobs and pay for my social security.”

  “Let me know what happens, Dad. Call me if you need anything.”

  “You got it.”

  She took Hugh’s phone in case anyone else called. She felt the pressures of two families bearing down on her, Hugh, school and the children. Wait until you have your own kids, her Mom would say. And still, this was nothing compared to the worst of what was happening out t
here, far away from here, but close enough for her to see the damage.

  She thought of the night to come, closed her eyes. The world was changing, it always changed. But some things remained the same, if you worked at keeping them that way.

  She caught Hugh’s scent in the air, the aftershave he’d put on this morning. She went to the bed, put her face in his pillow. Stroked the sheets, cool now. Their mattress was the kind that left no body impressions.

  She’d left for school a little while later, after leaving a message about the phone at his office. Traffic was heavier than yesterday. Some people had packed their cars to go someplace else. Music played non-stop on some stations, the same news spots she’d heard yesterday repeated on others. A sports station announcer talked in circles about possible trades, canceled games, station staff shortages. Once, he pleaded for his wife to come back.

  On the way, traffic slowed. A bus and two cars had gotten into an accident. There were no responding police, ambulances, National Guardsmen. A dozen men, women and children stood as Isabella had seen others stand, in school, in the neighborhood, on television. They were scattered along the roadside among the cars, buses, trucks abandoned as if a bomb designed to shut down engines had gone off, allowing drivers time only to pull over before momentum failed.

  Past the accident scene, drivers were stopping to pick up survivors waving them down.

  Isabella drove on. On the horizon, thin plumes of smoke rose from distant fires.

  Over the weekend, a fire truck had stopped two streets down from the house. A young fireman had told her they’d found homes open, food burning on the stove and oven. Calls were coming in non-stop, two more since they’d arrived, houses, businesses, car and truck accidents. They’d been called in on a train derailment and a small plane crash, all on a skeleton crew with no rest or shift changes. He’d looked tired as he tried to reach family, sad when he failed. She’d felt sorry for him, and tried to cheer him up. She’d still had large reserves of hope and confidence back then.