Deep and Dark December

by Paul Cave

  “What?” she asked.

  “The one running was not infected like the other two. I cannot explain why – not yet, but I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

  The deputy remained silent for a moment. The image of Maggie launching herself at Luka was still clear and present in her mind.

  “Okay – that almost makes some sort of sense,” she agreed.

  “I think there’s something that separates us. The ones that get infected and the ones that don’t,” he said.

  “But what?”

  Rivers released her hand to spread both of his out. “I’m not sure.”

  “Take a guess,” Anderson said.

  “I’m working on it,” he offered.

  “Work fast.”

  “I will.”

  Rivers turned to the window and the darkness found there. He was trying to compute the information given to him, whether by experience or word of mouth, yet he was struggling to extract the correct reasonings as to why some changed once encountering the rain.

  The Brown Bear had displayed signs of unnatural behaviour, as had the elk, if Anderson’s account were to be believed – and why not, considering what had just happened – and the squirrels, too.

  Yet Luka had not. Why? Or had he simply not had time to change – what with Maggie attacking him within seconds of being exposed?

  Was it age related?

  Maybe.

  Rivers had all these questions racing around in his mind. An exhausted mind at that.

  “We need to secure the diner,” he said.

  Anderson nodded. She made to stand but Rivers’ firm hand kept her in place.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “Rest.”

  The deputy looked deflated. Worn out. She closed her eyes for a moment. Opened them.

  “I’ll help,” she said. “Need to stay busy.”

  “Okay,” Rivers said.

  He removed his hand and reached out to take the red shotgun cartridge – the one that had signified the movements of the elk.

  “You trust me?” he asked, holding the shell out for her to see.

  The deputy managed to force a weak grin. “Promise not to shower – then yeah, I trust you.”

  Rivers felt a pang of relief at her feeble attempt at humour. A good sign. She was still in the game. They all needed to keep it together.

  Because Rivers could not shake that terrible sense of dread, that something far more destructive was still on the horizon.

  Coming for them all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Deputy Anderson stood back, allowing Rivers to enter the diner. She had her firearm drawn and had watched over him while he was fixing the sign. She closed the door behind him and then locked it.

  “You think it’ll work?” she asked.

  Rivers shrugged. “I’m not even sure they’ll be able to see it.”

  Anderson looked at the makeshift sign he had fixed to the gas pump facing the motel.

  DANGER

  STAY INSIDE!

  Ben was nearing completion of a second sign – he was bent over a table with a thick marker pen in hand. Both Rivers and the deputy joined him.

  “How you doing?” Rivers asked.

  “All done,” Ben said.

  Anderson glanced at the second sign. Thought it needed something more than the first. She reached out to pluck the marker pen from Ben’s hand. The deputy scanned into the darkness for a moment, her head bobbing slightly. Her head froze at six.

  Bending, she scribbled a number onto the sign.

  Room #6

  DANGER

  STAY INSIDE!

  “Okay,” she said. “That’s about as specific as we can be.”

  The two men agreed.

  The deputy took the sign and placed it with the warning, face out, up against the window. Ben leaned in to tape the sign into place.

  “Let’s hope they sleep in,” Rivers said.

  “Yeah,” Anderson agreed.

  In fact, they – Rivers, Anderson and Ben, could not be certain that there even was a - they. Yet Rivers had convinced them that the VW must belong to someone, and most likely to the person or persons occupying the room found opposite.

  Indeed, he was certain that he had seen a light coming from within when first arriving.

  Ben moved away from them, rubbing his hands together as he did. Seemed he had managed to smudge half the black ink over his fingertips. He stopped at the sink behind the counter and hit the lever to the cold-water faucet. Thought better of it and turned it off immediately.

  Rivers rolled his eyes at him – shit had definitely hit the fan. He turned his attention back to the deputy. “Maybe they’ll sleep through the entire night, or wake up to find themselves in an episode of The Twilight Zone?”

  “Or sleep until the end credits…” Anderson suggested.

  “Yeah,” Rivers said. “Wake up to find everyone around them either crazy or dead.”

  “Don’t forget the bear – Rivers,” she added.

  He laughed slightly. “Let’s hope we don’t see the bear again - ever.”

  “Copy that,” she said.

  Rivers pulled the shotgun cartridge from his pocket.

  “Luka did a good job of hiding the shotgun,” he said.

  The deputy gave him a look of apology. “Sorry – my bad. Told him to put it somewhere safe.” Her look of apology turned to one of sorrow. “My fault – him being dead.”

  Rivers frowned in disagreement. “Don’t say that. You couldn’t have known. About Maggie – I mean.”

  “No,” Anderson agreed. “But I should have been more openminded – like you. Maybe he’d still be here.”

  “It’s not our place to question the what’s and why’s, or if’s – we just need to keep our heads straight from now on,” Rivers said.

  The deputy agreed.

  Still, the thought of the cook laid out in the mud and rain bothered her. “What about his body? Can we do anything?”

  “Too dangerous,” he said. “If Maggie’s still out there, then we can’t take the risk. Plus, the rain is still our biggest threat. We go out there and one of us changes…” He let the ramifications of that hang there.

  “You still convinced?” Anderson asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Can’t be sure either way.”

  “That brain of yours not worked it out yet?”

  “Still working on it,” he said.

  The deputy nodded. Under normal circumstances, she would have been frustrated to relinquish the initiative, but Rivers had already proven himself – first with the bear, and now, with this inexplicable threat from the rain.

  Anderson felt relieved to have him on her side. He was a man of honour and principle. And somewhat of a tough motherfucker, too. Not necessarily in a physical sense, but more emotional and intelligent.

  She liked him.

  Fact.

  Her gut instinct told her, if one man could work this insane situation out, then it would be him.

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s our next move.”

  Rivers glanced at the clock.

  Almost 10pm.

  “Get some rest,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Private Jake Rivers felt as if his heart were about to burst. The M16 rifle weighed heavily in his arms. His lungs burnt with effort. He could hear voices coming from behind – Charlie shouting out orders or directions.

  Something cut into the side of his face, a branch or leaf, and he felt a hot trickle of blood leak out. It did not slow him. His legs pushed him on – driven by the command of self-preservation. Survival. He broke through the underbrush to find himself within a clearing.

  Which way?

  His memory brought up a map to mind. The valley was split by a river – he could not remember its name, not in this most desperate of times.

  The Viet Cong had gained control over the north side of the river, and the US Army had maintained a foothold to
the south.

  Rivers and his platoon had been sent north – a recon detail, sent to gather intel and not engage the enemy. The jungle had proven too dense for the spy planes to offer any real sense of reconnaissance.

  Even the dumping of Agent Orange had not been able to give the US Army the advantage it needed. The jungle remained just as thick and inhospitable as ever.

  His commander in charge had stated that boots were required. Get in. Get out. No casualties.

  Only Sergeant Magnotta had had different ideas. His platoon had crossed the river at its shallowest point, cutting through the dense jungle until they had encountered the first village held by the Viet Cong.

  The soldiers had been engaged in torture and rape against their fellow nationalist brothers and sisters.

  Sergeant Magnotta had ordered the offensive. They had gone in under the cover of darkness, the heavy rain that fell masking their footsteps and movements.

  It had been a slaughter.

  Man, woman, and child had been his target. It did not matter if they were of north or south origin, communists or not, as they were all cut down by the orders of Magnotta. His men had been under his influence, most of them vets with multiple tours, their sensibilities warped and broken by the horrors that they had seen.

  They too, had been blinded by their hatred of this country. What were they fighting for? The enemy had become a faded image of something once understood. Magnotta’s men were seemingly reaping their revenge.

  And ignorant to any sense of right or wrong.

  Only Private Rivers and Lieutenant Meadows had not engaged in such atrocities. Their beliefs that Magnotta had slipped into madness – his spirit broken and damned, and the Sergeant had gone mad with the wish to seek retribution.

  The two soldiers had tried to stop these horrors, but Magnotta had pushed his men on, the war could be stopped here, right now, if they had the courage to see this through, were his claims.

  Rivers had run then. Away from the village. He had not been in fear of insubordination or treachery, but more frightful of giving his soul to this moment of hatred.

  Charlie had been right behind. Reinforcements were closing in from all sides – the Viet Cong many in numbers, and ready to die for their country.

  Meadows had been behind him. His voice calling out complicated coordinates into his field radio. An airstrike had followed. The ground pounded by US artillery.

  Rivers had run blindly - the earth exploding in bright flashes of mud and soil. He became separated from his friend, his sense of direction warped beyond repair. He headed headfirst into the tangle of trees, bullets and bombs blasting his sense of perception into fragments of confusion.

  Now, Rivers turned this way and that, unsure of which direction to take.

  Charlie could be heard from every which way, excited voices, and movements clear, as they closed in on the young draftee.

  A sudden force knocked Rivers to the ground. He had a terrible moment of understanding – a bullet had finally found him, his chest ravaged and ruined, lungs ripped and torn, only to see Meadows above him.

  The Lieutenant’s eyes looked wild. He pushed one finger to his lips in a signal of silence. Then, Meadows dragged the younger private into the undergrowth.

  They spent the night there, Meadows shielding the younger man as he lay on top of him. The Viet Cong came close – boots treading grass or roots near their heads, but the night and darkness kept them safe.

  Rivers felt the hands of fatigue pulling him down. The drone of overhead aircraft lulling him into a sense of safety.

  Not long after the sounds of aircraft passing, did he feel the first drips of rain. Not the normal rain that he had become accustomed to, but a ghastly hot residue that stuck to the skin.

  Meadows took the brunt of the dioxin that fell – his clothes sticking to his skin like a second layer of flesh – hot and acidic – and deadly.

  Not then. Not with immediate effect.

  It would take years for the toxins to work their way through his body. Skin and bones first. Then each cell. Healthy cells turning diseased and decayed. And by then, he would have been reduced to something sick and frail. And a hint of the man that once was.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jake Rivers bolted upright. It took a moment to focus – the dark conflict of yesteryear had rattled his senses. He shook his head, and what phantoms of memory remained quickly faded into the fragments of oblivion. Yet as that terrible feeling of memory drifted away – it left behind a sickening sense of dread.

  He looked about him, reality kicking in, and the events that had recently happened, brought his mind back to the fore.

  Rivers took a moment to gather his wits. He was back in the diner. The conflict that had blighted his sleeping thoughts had faded away.

  Rivers had tried to bury such waking thoughts from his life, too. Period. Until, that is, those two faces from his past had appeared to haunt him again.

  Magnotta and Meadows.

  They had returned with the abruptness of an undetected embolism. Only two days ago. Seemed like an age – a different life, not his. Then the bank robbery. Drawn into that by a sense of loyalty and obligation.

  Rivers cast these recent events from his mind. This was not the time to ponder. He had to stay focused on what was happening here – in this place. Right now.

  He arced his back to work the stiffness out of his spine. He had slept fitfully with his head resting on his arms, a crisscross of comfort, bent over the diner’s table.

  Deputy Anderson sat facing. She was resting across two chairs with her head propped up by the window. Her eyes were twitching in rapid motion under her lids. Seemed the deputy was being haunted by her own demons also.

  Rivers stood, careful not to scrape the chair legs back as he did so, not wishing to roust the sleeping deputy just yet.

  The diner was cast in shadow – the main lights above turned off, and only the faint hint of light could be seen coming from one of the rooms at the rear.

  Rivers passed the counter, glanced at the clock above. A couple of hours had ticked by. Ben was sat directly underneath, feet propped up on the counter and his head tipped to one side. He was snoring softly. Cal could be found curled up at the side of the stool that Ben was perched on.

  Rivers watched the mutt for a moment. It had been a few hours since he had pushed the mutt into the rain, yet his coat still looked damp, a greasy sheen that clung to his fur.

  Other than that, the dog looked normal. Acted it too. Another piece of the puzzle.

  Rivers moved towards the rear of the diner. He found the single toilet stall. Relieved himself and then caught his reflection in a small mirror.

  He did not look too good. He had the pallor of a corpse. Skin had greyed and his eyes were two pools of darkness. Dark rings were spreading out, brown eyes framed by fatigue and sickness.

  He placed his hand across his brow. Heat could be found there. He was burning up. A temperature. He pulled the mirror towards him and looked inside the medicine cabinet.

  Hardly a medic’s kit to be found inside. Still, a bottle of painkillers sat dusty, and Rivers popped the tab to find the bottle half full. He tipped the bottle towards his mouth, catching a few of the tablets as they fell.

  Muscle memory sent him off looking for a glass of water to help swallow the chalky tablets. Then sense kicked in, and he simply chewed them dry, forcing a lump of bitter paste down his throat.

  He found himself at the far end of the hallway. The fire exit looked to be shut tight. Rivers traversed the tight corridor. He checked the locking mechanism. The bar was firm. Nothing was getting in from the other side.

  In fact, he was not sure Maggie was still out there. Had the teenager run off into the woods? And in doing so met her fate. Rivers did not feel any remorse to that fact. Whether she had been under the influence of the mysterious rain, or in control of herself, she had still taken the life of an innocent.

  The cook had deserved better.

>   The thought that Luka’s body was laid just a few yards beyond this door made Rivers feel sick with sorrow.

  He placed his hand, palm flat, against the door. Offered the downed cook a silent prayer. Hoped he would find peace wherever his spirit was taken.

  Rivers returned to the main area of the diner. No change to be found there. The deputy and Ben were still resting, the mutt a coiled lump of fur near his master.

  The buzz of a refrigerator drew his attention. Rivers pulled the door open and the light from within cast him in a bright glare. A few bottles of beer were lined up inside. Rivers took one. Twisted the cap, and took a long gulp. The beer helped clear the bitterness that still lingered there. He took another swig, longer this time, and the chilled liquid felt good. Reminded him of normality. And simple pleasures. Rivers held the bottle out – looked at it. Was this the first real moment of enjoyment that the last 24-hours had had to offer?

  No, not true.

  Rivers had to admit that, cop and all, hellish night or not, he had enjoyed the company of Deputy Anderson. He did not necessarily subscribe to the notion of chemistry – but understood that there was an undisputable spark between the two.

  He turned the beer in his hand. Did not recognise the brand but appreciated it no less for not knowing. He reached in to take another, tucked it under his arm, and closed the refrigerator.

  The bottle almost slipped from its place. Only the fact that something had frozen Rivers in place, stopped the beer bottle from crashing to the floor.

  A silhouette was stood outside. The rain framing it in a blurry cascade. The shape just stood there. Directly where the deputy slept. It did not move. Just soaked up the rainfall.

  Rivers felt his heart tighten. Not Maggie. Too tall. Broad-shouldered, with a detectible tilt of its head. He knew that stance.

  Knew it well.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lieutenant Meadows looked on blankly. One eye had been pushed beyond his eye socket – the white of the orb visibly clear, and the iris downcast and seemingly vacant. His other eye had not blinked nor twitched in the time that Rivers and the deputy had been watching him.