No Man's Dominion and Other Post-Apocalyptic Tales

by Glen Krisch

  Julian grabbed the keys and left the room without even a simple thank you.

  Wight waited until he was certain that Julian had left before he went in search of Darby. He added another layer of clothing and put on a thick pair of woolen mittens over the fingerless gloves he rarely ever removed. Wight knew Darby's comings and goings fairly well so he found her at the first place he looked; the greenhouse above the cafeteria building. He silently approached and watched as she added soil to the pots and adjusted certain plants to better catch the weak winter sunlight. He marveled at her beauty, how a random act like scratching her cheek made his heart race. She happened to turn his way, and frozen by her glare, he could only offer a guilty smile.

  "Jesus Christ, you scared me half to death! How long have you been standing there?"

  "Just a minute or so. You seemed so peaceful... I thought I'd warm up before I bothered you."

  From the sour look on her face, he was bothering her.

  "You shouldn't do that. Especially now."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

  "Well, just think for once, will you? Everybody called you some kind of genius, but you don't have any sense, do you?"

  "Can I help you with anything?" he asked hopefully. The meager seedlings all looked withered and weak, more yellow than green.

  "No. Not that any amount of help would do any good. Most of these flats won't make it. I just... it's just the cold... if only I could get them warmer." Darby covered her face with her bare, dirty hands and started to cry. Her nails were chewed and raw. He didn't know what to do for her. He couldn't provide her warmth, or food, or a way to safety. He felt useless.

  "I think there's eight of us now," he said, not knowing what else to say. "My grandfather died three days ago."

  Darby looked up. "I'm sorry to hear that, Wight. He was a good man."

  He couldn't say anything for fear of crying.

  "You said eight? I count nine. Who else is gone?"

  "Dr. Julian."

  "What happened to Howard?"

  "He didn't tell you? I saw him grab a pack and take off snowshoeing in the direction Brownlie and Francis took. He probably meant to follow their route."

  "That's ridiculous. Why would he do that? Why wouldn't he tell me..."

  "I thought you knew."

  "When was this?" she said, grabbing his coat at the shoulders and shaking him. Close up, Darby didn't look so beautiful. Her auburn hair hung in greasy tufts from under her winter cap. Her skin was chapped and dry, her breath sour. Despite everything, he would still kiss her if given the chance.

  "He left, I don't know, an hour ago, maybe?"

  "So there's time! His tracks will still be visible," Darby said, a warm glow lighting her features.

  Wight could strangle himself for being so stupid. He had never been able to control what he said in front of Darby. It was a physical impossibility.

  Darby grabbed her gloves and slipped them on, a smile still etched to her face. "If I hurry... I have to hurry. I wish you would've told me sooner, Wight!" The girl of his dreams stormed from the greenhouse, intent on charging out into the bitter cold, potentially into the face of a danger she would never believe.

  "Wait, Darby. Please, wait!"

  Darby ran down the narrow stairwell and through the cafeteria building, Wight close on her heels. When she angled toward the courtyard, he figured she would cut across to her dorm, even though it would expose her to the elements.

  Wight followed her, short of breath.

  It didn't take long for him to catch her, however. Only a few steps into the snow-swept courtyard, the girl slowed, then stopped dead still. Then she let out a blood-curdling scream.

  Wight slipped in the snow and bumped into her. She stumbled forward, her boots trampling sticky blood pools.

  While rifling through Darby's belongings under the pretext of attending to her, Wight found a baggie of brown sugar hidden at the back of a desk drawer. He could see no better excuse to splurge with such a luxury, so he spooned a lump into a mug of hot tea for her. He wouldn't let this opportunity come to pass; Darby McGuire had to understand that he would do anything for her.

  She sat on her bed, staring at her discarded and bloodied boots. Gray fur clung to the rubber cleats. The smell of slaughter followed them inside her room, a vile odor contrasting with the pleasant surroundings: pink walls and throw pillows, a well-organized personal library containing the complete works of Bradbury, Kerouac, and Rand. She seemed to be in some form of shock, even though she'd seen plenty of death the last several months.

  "Darby, those were wolves in the courtyard. They got inside somehow and couldn't get out, and they started attacking one another. That's what I think, at least." It was a sound explanation, but he didn't believe it. Wolves wouldn't do that to one another. Even if they did attack one another, it wouldn't result in such a bloody fallout. Plus, he saw no trace of any survivors.

  "We should find him," Darby said. "It hasn't started snowing, yet, has it?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.

  "Darby, he'll be back."

  "You really think so?" Her voice cracked, then all emotion seemed to drain from her.

  "Why would he leave the academy? More importantly, why would he leave you?"

  The shock lifted from her eyes for a moment, and a brief glimmer shined from them as she smiled at the thought. But the fugue quickly pulled her back under its sway.

  "No matter what happens, I won't leave you," he said. Darby accepted the tea when he offered it to her. While she absently sipped its contents, she remained distant, as if her mind had drifted off in search of her love, Dr. Howard Julian.

  Wight made sure Darby finished her tea then tucked her under a warm blanket. She allowed his manipulations without a word or hesitation.

  "Why not take a rest, Darby?" He brushed the hair from her forehead. He couldn't remember ever touching her, and surely he would remember, for even now, in her current state, he felt a tingling through his fingertips as they contacted her skin. The girl closed her eyes, the tension easing from her face.

  Wight watched her for a long time, listening as she uttered nonsensical fragments as she slept. He waited, hoping to hear some half-formed phrase that would align both his name and happiness in the same utterance. When sleep pulled her deeper, he left her bedroom for the laundry, smiling to himself, her bloody boots under his arm.

  "It's going well, I think." Wight fretted over the muslin, tucking the loose flaps back under the body. "Her strength is returning, I can tell by the color in her cheeks. She's not speaking, but she will. I couldn't be happier, given the circumstances. And I owe it all to you."

  Wight stepped back, appraising his work. Everything seemed in order, albeit with the form of his Grandfather getting smaller by the day. He would soon have to resort to cooking with the stores from downstairs.

  He nodded, as if listening to a question that floated on the air.

  "I know he could return at any time, but that's why I have to act now. I have to provide. I have to comfort. That's the only way I can win her over. Besides, he's been gone for over a week. Surely, he's dead by now."

  The pot heated on a hook over the hearth, filling his room with the heady aroma of homemade soup.

  Darby sat at her dorm table, a steaming bowl in front of her. She brought a spoon to her lips, blew on it, then slurped it down. Wight stood, still holding the soup ladle, awaiting her response. When she acknowledged him with a rare display of eye contact and raised her frown to a thin neutral line, he accepted it as a grand endorsement.

  Wight dug in himself, finishing two full bowls. For once he didn't feel hungry.

  "So, there's five of us now," Darby said.

  Wight's spoon dropped from his fingers and rattled inside his bowl. She hadn't spoken since Julian's departure.

  "Wh-what? How... how do you know?" he asked, his mind reeling. He had to come up with an explanation. He couldn't let this spiral out of control, not after all the progr
ess he'd made the last several days.

  "When I went to the restroom to clean up earlier, I stopped at the lounge. I don't know why. I haven't been there in months. No point, really. Can't watch T.V., the pool table sits at an odd angle."

  "So you saw?" he asked, forcing himself not to finish the sentence: So you saw everything? The carved bodies? The stored meat?

  "Yeah. I saw."

  "I'm sorry." How could he explain his actions, his unflagging need to provide? If he hadn't acted, the meat would have spoiled. The pool table had been the perfect surface on which to do the grisly work. He wanted to kick himself for not cleaning up the mess better.

  "I guess I knew. Where else would you get food? I just needed confirmation."

  "There was no other way, Darby. I couldn't let you wither away to nothing. I... I love you."

  "God will never forgive us. Not after what we've done. And I will never love you," she said, anger furrowing her brow. "I love Howard, and I always will. He's going to marry me!"

  "It's all my fault... It's... I'm so sorry, Darby," he said, his voice choking on the words. Everything was ruined. He could never recover from this discovery. This was not how he had imagined professing his love. Not while having to defend the drastic actions he had taken in order to ensure their survival.

  Darby finished one last spoonful of soup, then stood.

  "I should be strong enough now. Howard needs me and I need him. Don't even think you can stop me."

  Wight's dreams dimmed before him, extinguishing for good when Darby McGuire left the room.

  After suffering the worst humiliation of his life, Wight still couldn't let Darby go off by herself, even if their path should lead them to Dr. Julian. She had nearly an hour head start by the time he managed to gather both his resolve and a pack full of supplies.

  He left the front doors of the academy and followed her shuffle strides through the knee-deep snow. He could picture her exhausted form hunched over, holding the flaps of her wind-hassled overcoat, eyes scanning for any discernible clue to Dr. Julian's direction. Her strides were short and erratic; she wouldn't last long if he didn't find her soon. The wind picked up as he hurried toward the front gate. He paused long enough to look back at their mingling tracks, wondering how long they would last before they were forever lost to time, then he left the grounds.

  There was no semblance of roads, and outside the academy's high brick walls, no sign of civilization. The unmarred drifts reached the low hanging branches of nearby trees, making them appear stunted and skeletal. The branches shuddered in the brisk wind, their iced surfaces cracking like brittle bones.

  He came across a clearing where he could see that Darby had hesitated in her decision making. Her tracks circled around and back again in tight circles. She was assuming the path that Brownlie and Frances had taken, hoping Wight had been right about Julian's route, veering south toward Winterlochen village. The sun was setting, the light dimming so quickly it was hard for his eyes to adjust. He hurried over a rise and looked down on a barren, bowl-shaped valley. A dark shape stood out against the white backdrop, an unmoving shape where Darby's trail terminated.

  "No!" Wight cried. He stumbled in his first strides down the slope, but after pulling himself upright, he trudged on, this time more cautiously. "Darby! Don't fall asleep!" His voice was hoarse and his muscles trembled from the unaccustomed exertion.

  After what felt like an eternity, he reached for the dark shape and turned it over. Ice crystals clung to her cheek, but her eyes closed and opened again.

  "Oh, thank God! Here, I have to get you warm. I have blankets!" He broke open his pack and covered them both, pulling her into his arms. He rubbed her shoulders and hands, and soon, she started to shiver. He took this as a good sign, a sign that he hadn't been too late.

  The setting sun cast long shadows across the valley. It would soon be fully dark. They wouldn't make it back to the academy. He supposed he knew this all along. Never returning meant never having to face the gruesome acts to which he resorted in order to make Darby McGuire see him in a better light.

  All in all, it was for the best.

  The world ended, but he had lived on. His every action since the onset of perpetual winter had sped him on this course. He could close his eyes and ride the blessed ride to wherever it took him, comforted that Darby McGuire was in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. His eyelids drifted lower. His mind began to fog, but was still cogent enough to realize this wasn't such a bad way to go.

  Wight heard a snuffling nearby and sluggishly opened his eyes. He no longer felt cold. Darby was rigid in his arms, but he realized it was out of overwhelming fear rather than the rigor of death. Her brown eyes were wide, unwavering from the sight before her. When Wight turned, he saw a wide swath of stringy, dirty white fur. The snuffling sound came from a grizzled maw and short, swine-like nose.

  The beast closed cautiously on their position, five feet away, now four. It sniffed the air and licked its dark lips. Its eyes were black coals, a glimmer of intelligence flicking across them now and again. Its odor swept over them, causing Darby to gag. The beast stiffened, on edge. Its fingers twitched at its sides, its filthy claws clicking together menacingly. It grunted a throaty growl, and stomped a foot, as if to provoke them.

  Wight moved an instant before the Sasquatch, lunging in front of Darby, catching the beast's claws square in the chest. The fingers of a single muscular hand grasped him by the torso, and lifted. Sharp barbs of pain exploded across his body. Adrenaline stripped away the haze of hypothermia. As his body was thrashed through the air, his eyes briefly met Darby's. He'd never seen such unmitigated terror, such hopelessness. She scooted away, out of Wight's limited sight.

  The beast growled again, enjoying his torment, shaking Wight like a rag doll. Wight's body flooded with warmth, but the sensation was fleeting as his lifeblood poured from ragged wounds. Then he was airborne, the wide white world tumbling through his vision as he cart wheeled, before he finally crashed into a rock-hard snow drift. Wight slumped into a pile of broken bones and seeping blood, barely able to lift his head. He could hear the beast's steady breaths and he realized how little effort it had expended in order to incapacitate him.

  The creature's broad, hairy back blocked Darby from view. It advanced on her, her whimpers waning. Her eyes must certainly be closed, he thought.

  "Close your eyes, Darby!" he shouted. Pain shot through his chest, allowing no other words.

  It lifted a massive, clawed hand, and as it fell, a gunshot rang out, echoing across the valley. The beast staggered and grabbed its wounded side. It turned in a full circle, searching for its attacker. Another shot fired, this time connecting with its shoulder. The next two shots came in such quick succession that Wight was uncertain if they had found their targets.

  The Sasquatch stepped away from Darby, then fell to its side as impressively as a felled tree. Snowflakes plumed skyward, recast to the wind.

  Wight heard crunching footsteps, then a whoop of joy.

  Dr. Julian came into view. Black patches of frostbite littered his cheeks and nose. He reached the beast and placed the gun to its temple. Another shot wasn't necessary.

  "You set us up!" Wight tried to shout, but all that came out was garbled. "We were your bait?"

  Julian looked up from the beast and went to Darby's side.

  "Darby, honey, let's get you home. Oh, Christ!"

  Wight choked as blood filled his mouth and bubbled on his lips. He was suffocating, but he still managed to heave himself into a seated position in order to see Darby.

  A black hole dimpled her forehead, a red puddle spread beneath her like a blooming halo.

  "You son-of-a—" Wight grunted between shallows gulps of air. He pulled himself closer to Julian, even as he bled to death.

  Julian fell to his knees and looked at his killer's hands. He shook his head and began to cry.

  Wight had no more strength, only stubborn will prodded him on. Julian never acknowledged h
im, never stopped looking at his hands. When Wight got close enough to touch Julian's jacket, Julian lifted his weapon and discharged one final round, this time into his own brain.

  Wight's heart pumped harder, still fighting to keep him alive. He closed his eyes, willing it to stop.

  "Down here! I knew I heard gunshots!" the boy, Edgar Brownlie, said to the group of adults lagging behind.

  He ran down the slope, the snow-turning-to-slush kicking up in melting clods in his wake.

  His roommate, Timothy Francis, was the next to arrive. Bandages covered a slight case of frostbite on his nose. Though still weak from their ordeal, he hadn't let them start their search without him.

  "What the hell happened here?"

  "Some kind of shootout. Is that Dr. Julian?"

  "And Darby McGuire."

  "For fuck's sake, what's that!"

  "Is it a bear?"

  "I don't know, man, let's see what the other's say when they get here."

  "Who's the other kid?"

  "I don't know. I recognize the face, but can't place him."

  "We probably missed them by a few hours."

  "Yeah, I bet this just happened."

  "They should have listened to us and stayed at the academy. We told them we'd be back."

  "All this, and the snow's melting."

  No Man's Dominion

  Story Notes

  Grandmother's first bloody tear fell that morning. Quinn saw it when he brought in her morning tea. Reclined but awake, the tear dripped from her cheek to stain her pillow.

  "Thanks, dear," she said, offering a smile.

  He could see it in her eyes; she didn't know. He dared not mention the tear, knowing the traumas the coming day would bring, knowing by nightfall his family life would be in upheaval. He struggled to return her smile before leaving. Closing the door behind him, he heard his father stirring in his own room. He couldn't face him, not after such a discovery.