Black Creek

by Dan Kemp

  The living room floor was littered with shards of glass, glittering and sparkling in the moonlight. A brick sat in the midst of the mess. He pulled back the curtains and saw the shadow of a man in dark clothing running down the street away from his house.

  Dorian burst through the front door, giving chase. "Stop," he shouted as he ran. He managed to gain on the man slightly, but he had too much of a lead and disappeared down an alleyway.

  "Motherfucker."

  "What was that?" the girl, now awake, asked as he returned to his bedroom. She was sitting upright in the bed with the sheets only up to her stomach, and her bare chest exposed.

  "Somebody broke my window," Dorian said, sliding his gun back into its hiding place.

  "Why?"

  "No idea. Anyway, I couldn't sleep. I'm just gonna get up and go out." He slipped into a pair of jeans and a shirt from his closet. "You can let yourself out later, if you want."

  "Okay," she said as he walked away, down the hall toward his office.

  Just another fucking problem.

  He grabbed the handset of the big military radio on his desk.

  "Hey, you awake?" he asked.

  A moment of silence, then an answer.

  "I am now," Kristof said.

  "Sorry. Couldn't sleep. Can we get started?"

  "Yeah. I wasn't sleeping much either. Meet you over there."

  "Alright."

  It was still dark outside, and a light mist hung over the deserted streets. The town was still asleep, and his walk was serene and quiet aside from the distant chirping of crickets. Though he was still exhausted, he felt as if just a bit of weight was lifted off of him. When he got to the temporary guard outpost at the site of the destroyed wall, the sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon.

  He greeted the guards on duty, who looked quite tired and eager for their daytime relief to arrive, but had nothing to report from the nighttime. Kristof awaited him just past the blockade, and the two men made their silent way down the path toward the power station.

  The bodies which littered the ground just a few days ago had all been cleared away. After his initial tearful breakdown on the day of the attack, Kristof threw himself back into his work and hadn’tshown any further signs of emotion. That Dorian hadn't recognized the signs of his second-in-command's burgeoning relationship troubled him somewhat, but less so than the gnawing heaviness in his gut which wouldn’t let up these last few days. Was it guilt? Sadness? Dorian wasn't sure. Whichever, Dorian didn't appreciate the feeling.

  The dead Church members had been dragged out and left in the forest. For their own, Kristof had personally dug each and every grave. They now rested in rows of wooden grave makers just inside the walls of what had been the power station. As they passed by, Kristof paused and rested his hand on one marker. Dorian cast his eyes down in what he hoped was a show of respect, and shifted his feet idly in the dewy grass.

  "Let's get to work," Kristof said after a moment.

  "Alright. Hey," Dorian said, putting a hand on Kristof's shoulder. "You were right. About her. And the others too. I'm glad you made me let her in."

  "Thank you, Dorian. Keep that in mind next time."

  The power house had truly been gutted. The walls were charred and black, all the wood burned away, though the brick structure still stood. The metal stairs and walkways running around the perimeter of the main room were warped, and in a few places had collapsed. Bits of ash and cinders blanketed the floor.

  In the middle of the room, a crater had replaced the two generators which sat there before. Their hulking metal forms were now fallen on their sides, each broken in half at its midsection where they were previously embedded in the floor.

  Dorian dropped down off the ledge and inspected the closer generator as Kristof watched from above. "Looks pretty fucked," Dorian said after a cursory glance.

  Kristof snorted a bit. "Yeah. They had some pretty heavy duty explosives, from the look of it. The turbines down in the ground are cracked, we'll have to pull those out. I don't think I can salvage any of this, maybe a few parts."

  "So we're going to need entirely new generators? Where the hell are we going to find them?"

  "Another dam is probably our best bet."

  Dorian laughed as he climbed back out of the crater. "Know of any?"

  "There's a few. I was already looking into it, knowing we were going to need parts soon." Kristof slid a folded map out of his back pocket. "There's Conowingo Dam, out in Eastern Maryland."

  "That's probably under the ocean now,” Dorian said. “Everything out that way was, as far as I could see."

  "Well, then there's a couple of sites on the Allegheny River, north of Pittsburgh. Similar capacity as this dam. Probably our best bet."

  "I've got to head that way anyway, to deal with the Church."

  "And you know I'll be with you on that one," Kristof said, his one eye fierce. "Looking like a tougher task than we planned for, though. They seem very well armed."

  Dorian smiled. "It won't matter once James gets here."

  "What, the real James?"

  They were interrupted by the sound of running footsteps approaching from outside. A moment later one of the guards entered, breathing heavily.

  "Mr. Black, sir. Someone is outside the walls, asking to see you."

  "Come meet him," Dorian said, glancing at Kristof.

  Dorian led the way back to town. Just outside the wall was the truck he had left with James, recognizable by the long scratches and dents along its one side. His guards stood in line across the gap in the wall, rifles leveled at the truck.

  "Guns down!" Dorian shouted, and they did as he ordered. Yet it wasn't James who climbed out of the cab but a beautiful young woman with reddish-brown hair. She turned to look at him and Dorian felt disarmed, as if someone had struck him in the gut. Though her smile was warm and genuine, there was a real power in her eyes, somehow slightly aloof and intense at the same time. It was the same look James always had.

  "You must be Dorian," she said.

  "Are you... James's wife?"

  "Hope," she corrected him with a smile.

  "Where is he?" Dorian asked, as she unlocked the rear door of the truck and heaved it open.

  "He said he had some things to do first. Come on, kids," she called into the truck. One by one, a dozen young boys and girls filed out of the truck, dropping carefully from the back. One young girl who looked to be the youngest among them hesitated. "Oh come here, Mira," Hope said, grabbing the girl around her waist and placing her on the ground.

  "Shit," Dorian said.

  "He'll be here," Hope said, closing the door.

  "I forgot about the kids," he said. "Things took a turn here when I got back. Kristof." The other man had stood quietly a few feet behind him. "We got a couple empty houses?"

  "Yes, unfortunately."

  "Right. Hope will need one, and we'll need one for the kids, until we can work something else out."

  "I'll stay with them for now," Hope said. "I'm quite fond of them, really."

  "Alright," Dorian said. "Give them the biggest open house, move enough beds and cots in there for everyone."

  "Will do,” Kristof said.

  "Are you guys hungry?" Dorian asked the children, trying his best friendly kid voice, which never had felt particularly natural coming out of his mouth. The children, at least, didn't seem to mind as they giggled and cheered.

  "Hope, one of my men will lead you to the fire hall so you can get some breakfast. I'll meet you over there."

  "Thank you," she said, then gathered the children and followed a guard off into the town.

  "Kids? You getting soft on me, Dorian?" Kristof asked.

  "I don't want to hear it."

  Just another delay, Dorian thought as he made his way down the street toward the fire station. James had promised to come join him; he was sure he would, but what could be so important to make him wait? They had to strike back against the Church soon, or else he was certa
in they would attack again.

  In a wide field on his left, cornstalks swayed gently in the morning breeze. Farmland stretched on for acres behind and beside it. A short distance further Dorian raised a hand to greet a farmer who was inspecting some of the crops. Somewhere else in the field he heard a tractor engine hum to life.

  The mood at the mess hall was electric. Hope and the children occupied one long table near the entrance, and a number of other residents had already arrived. Though a few ate their breakfast as if nothing was out of the ordinary, most observed the group with curiosity. Until today, there had been very few children younger than sixteen in Black Creek. A couple of young women knelt at the end of the table, chatting happily with a few of the kids.

  As Dorian entered, a man sitting alone at a table caught his eye. He was muscular, with close-cropped military-style hair, and wore cargo pants with a tucked-in dark green shirt. He stared at the raucous kids' table impassively as he lifted a fork of scrambled eggs to his mouth.

  "Jenski," Dorian said, leaning on the table next to him.

  "What's all that?"

  "Kids,” Dorian answered.

  "Figured that, yeah," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "Why?"

  "The woman is married to a good friend of mine, who's going to help us with the Church. Kids came with them."

  Jenski chewed for a moment. "That's good," he said. "Time to start thinking about the next generation, right? See ya, boss." The man turned his attention back to his food.

  Dorian laughed a little to himself as he turned away. That wasn't at all what he had expected him to say. He figured he'd have to defend the decision to the town, but everyone here seemed excited enough to see the children join them.

  He took an empty seat across from Hope, who greeted him with a smile. The tray in front of her was almost empty but for a single spoonful of shredded potatoes, which she promptly finished off.

  "The food is really quite good. Thank you," she said.

  "Not bad," he agreed. "You should see what we can do with electricity."

  "So what happened with that? The hole in your wall looked fairly fresh."

  "We were attacked, the night I got back from going to look for your husband. Group calls themselves The Church of James, goes around attacking people, capturing them. Human trafficking, all that bad shit. Shit. Sorry," he attempted to correct himself as he remembered he was surrounded by children. None of them seemed to have noticed.

  Hope shook her head. "He won't be too happy about that."

  "I'm counting on that."

  "He'll be here," she said again. "Whatever you said to him, it lit a fire in him. He can get that way."

  "I'm still a little bit blown away that you're real. I always made fun of him for wearing that ring, talking about how he was going to go visit you one day, but never did. Now, seeing you, I'm wondering how he managed to stay away."

  She ignored that. "There came a time when he felt it wasn't safe for me to stay with him anymore. I'm not exactly like him, I can be hurt. I'd have never left his side, but he insisted. When Martin destroyed everything, well, we figured we might as well be together at the end of the world."

  "You're not exactly like him," Dorian said, raising an eyebrow. "So what are you then?"

  "Whatever I am, he made me. I was born a normal person, like you."

  "What even is he?"

  "Have you ever asked him that question?" Hope asked.

  "I guess I haven't."

  "That’s strange."

  "You're right," he admitted.

  "You know, he once told me that he only ever revealed himself to four people in his whole life. And two of us are sitting here at this table. He's told me a great deal about you. You don't see eye to eye on everything, but your friendship means a lot to him."

  "The feeling is mutual."

  She put her hand gently over his, a gesture that felt more like a mother comforting her son than anything else. His eyes were moist, he suddenly noticed.

  "I know you need his help right now, and he will help you. But he needs you too. What he’ll have to do to end all of this will be incredibly difficult for him. Don't make it harder." Dorian quickly brushed a single tear from his cheek and coughed, turning away slightly. Hope just kept watching him with those unnerving eyes of hers.

  The hall was almost full now, and even more people had taken notice of the group of children. Dr. Brandt, looking as exhausted as ever, sidled over to the table with his breakfast in hand. As he introduced himself to Hope and made small talk, Dorian couldn't hear what they said. The room seemed very loud all of a sudden, and his chest was getting tight.

  He stood up abruptly, knocking the table as he went, and rushed toward the exit. He nearly stumbled outside, gulping down lungfuls of the cold morning air and steadying himself against the wall. Dorian closed his eyes and breathed slow, willing his racing heart to settle. When the pounding subsided after a few moments, he opened his eyes again and brushed the sweat from his forehead. Panic attacks were not something Dorian was accustomed to. The stress of it all must finally be getting to him.

  Two women were approaching the fire station now. They were Rachel, the therapist, and Jess, the detective, walking hand-in-hand. He tried to lean more casually against the wall of the building.

  "Good morning, ladies," he said.

  "Good morning," Jess said. With the benefit of a few days' rest and a shower, she looked much better. Her brown hair was in a clean ponytail and her face was no longer caked in dirt and grime.

  "Are those kids?" Rachel asked, apparently just having noticed the commotion around the nearby table.

  "Yeah. Long story. Actually, we might need your help with them, Rachel. They all came from pretty shitty situations, seems like."

  "I never did much work with kids, but I'll do my best with them."

  "That's all I ask. And Jess, or should I say Chief?"

  She smiled. "Jess is fine."

  "We've got a space ready for you. We can head over there after you eat. I figure you can go solo for a little while, get things set up. If you find anyone in town you want to recruit, that's fine. Or we'll keep looking for former officers out there."

  "Sounds fine. Looking forward to it."

  "I've got your first case for you, too. Easy one. Someone threw a damn brick through my window this morning."

  Jess chuckled a little. "Sure thing, boss."

  The irony of it all was not lost on Dorian. His memory of their first meeting couldn't be clearer. It was obvious enough to him at the time that she suspected him of being the vigilante. But she had no proof, and his connections with her Chief had made any formal accusation inconvenient, if not impossible. Now, two years later, she had come crawling to Black Creek, at his mercy in the only safe place for hundreds of miles in any direction.

  To her credit, she had shown nothing but deference to him since arriving. Maybe she was ready to forget the past and move on, to work together. If so, he certainly was as well.

  Dorian felt a gaze on the back of his head as he shook hands with Jess and Rachel before they went inside to eat. It was Hope, he saw, watching them, but as the two women walked away he saw that her gaze followed not him, but Jess.

  Skye

  The bar looked like a saloon out of some old western movie. In fact, the whole town did. As she stood on the brown, patchy grass outside, an old man ambled out through the bar’s swinging wooden doors. He paid no more mind to Skye than he did to any of the handful of other people milling around outside as he struck a match and lit the lantern hanging just outside the door.

  A light breeze kicked up the dust around her feet, and the heat of the day was just beginning to subside. It had been a week since she left the Church compound. A week of winding her way south on highways and crumbling back roads. Now she found herself here, in northern Virginia, in a little town that looked every bit the shithole it must have already been, even before the world had ended.

  She took the steps all at once and pushed
her way through the doors. A few gruff-looking men occupied this end of the bar, and the tables to her right were sparsely populated by some other men and two couples.

  One of them had a child, she noticed, a boy probably eleven years old. Aside from his slight frame, the boy would otherwise have blended into the crowd easily, with a bandanna wrapped around his head and a chunk of his left ear missing.

  Skye had just begun to make her way toward the far end of the bar when one of the men scooted his stool out into her path. Sensing the impending collision, she put a hand on the man's shoulder and stepped aside.