Darkness Falling

by Peter Crowther

  "The doo-dads are batteries, and batteries means we can use the tool without any electricity."

  Angel looked at him with wide eyes and a wavy smile. Nah, you're putting me on… how could you work the tool without–

  Ronnie shrugged. "There are no wall sockets on the airplane, are there?"

  Angel didn't respond. Ronnie figured she had no idea what he was talking about. Six years old was a long ways back from where he was standing, he had to remind himself.

  Instead, Angel said, "You think anyone's going to be mad?"

  Ronnie backed out of the first cabinet and moved along to the second.

  "I hope not."

  The second cabinet had rolls of posters, boxes of cloths and polishes and a whole rack of overalls.

  "Shit," he said. Then, realizing, he added, "Sorry, Angel."

  "That's OK. My daddy says that words can't really hurt you. But sticks and stones can."

  "That's right." Ronnie closed the door on the second cabinet and moved on to the third. "Your daddy's a smart man." He opened the door and there, alongside tall clippers and coils of rope, sitting all by itself on a shelf at the back, was a chainsaw. Just one. And best of all, it too was battery operated. He stepped back and triumphantly held the saw aloft. "Voila!"

  "Vwahla?"

  "Sorry, getting carried away there." He shook the saw with both hands. "This is what we were looking for."

  "Does it work?"

  "Let's find out." He flicked the main control switch and then pressed the start button. There was nothing. He flicked the switch back to where it was and pressed the button again. Still nothing.

  "Shit," said Angel.

  Ronnie nodded and barely managed to keep from smiling as he removed the battery from its clips. He went back to the cabinet and lifted various boxes, checking contents and muttering to himself. There had to be a spare battery. Had to be.

  Ronnie found two extra batteries in the fourth cabinet. He clipped one of them into the saw and pressed the button. Nothing. He let out a deep sigh, flicked the control switch and pressed the button again. The saw burst into noisy life.

  "OK," he said, "I think we're in business."

  Ronnie dropped the spare battery in with the provisions and held the bag out to Angel.

  "You think you guys can manage these?"

  Angel nodded. "Sure. Are they heavy?" She held out her hands.

  "Not too bad."

  Ronnie loaded the bag into the girl's arms, watching her groan a little, and then took the bag back. "Hey, better idea. Let's go get ourselves some neat new shoulder bags, then all the weight will be taken without it breaking us both in two."

  Angel liked that idea. "And you can get another watch."

  "Hey, right."

  When they left the janitors' area and went back to the mall walkway, Nancy Sinatra was telling anyone who would listen that her boots were made for walking.

  When they left the mall around twenty minutes later, it was actually starting to get quite dark. But when Ronnie checked his new watch – just $1,300 and change, including tax – but he'd gotten a great discount – it was barely seven o'clock. He stopped and shuffled the two new bags on his back, one on each shoulder. Angel stopped right alongside and echoed the shuffle with her own bag – Ronnie had put her in charge of the provisions, which he said was the most important job.

  "Strange," Ronnie said, looking over to the west.

  Angel followed his line of vision. Way over in the distance, the sky was light, shot through with veins of deep orange and red, but the darkness that seemed to be threading its way over their heads, coming from behind them, was different from the usual nighttime dark. They both turned and looked to the east.

  "It's night over there already, isn't it?"

  Ronnie nodded. "Yes it is. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. So the first light of morning starts over there." He looked down at the little girl and saw that she was watching the horizon. "Over there is New York, Angel. You ever been to New York?"

  She shook her head. "My daddy has," she said. "My mommy, too. They went there for their honeymoon." She turned around to face him, her eyes half-closed in a scholarly fashion. "Acksherly," she added, "I have been to New York."

  "You have?"

  She nodded. "But I was in my mommy's tummy."

  Ronnie watched Angel look down for a moment at her doll and then she looked back at the horizon.

  "Something's going on over there," she said, matter-of-factly.

  "Going on? Going on how, Angel?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know… not yet. But something's going on." She turned around to face Ronnie and said to him, very gently, "In Central Park."

  "Central Park?"

  Angel nodded slowly. "But they're not there."

  "Who's not there in Central Park?"

  "My mommy and my daddy. And your wife. They're not there." She turned away again. "It's a special dark over there, isn't it?"

  Ronnie looked up. Overhead, the sky was darkening the way it should darken at this time – after 8pm, he saw by his new watch – in April. But further away to the east, the dark was absolute, impenetrable. The more he looked, the more he could see it. There were stars showing through above them but the further eastwards he looked, the denser it became. Until at last, right over on the horizon, it was pure black. An absence of all color.

  "Yes," Ronnie agreed. "Special dark. But it shouldn't be."

  "Is it a problem?"

  Ronnie shrugged. "I don't know."

  Angel pulled on Ronnie's sleeve and stopped.

  "What is it?"

  Angel was looking around the parking lot and then back at the mall building. "I dunno. Something," she said.

  "You hear something? The phone again?" There was no way they'd be able to get back into the mall and up to the office to answer it before the caller rang off again, but Ronnie was prepared to give it a shot.

  Angel closed her eyes tight and concentrated.

  "There's another body," Angel whispered.

  "Another body?"

  Angel nodded. "She can't breathe."

  Ronnie looked around the lot. There were maybe thirty, forty cars parked up in bays, one car wrapped around one of the tall lighting poles and another one, a big 4x4 gas guzzler, lying over on its side amidst the flowers on one of the decorative border areas. It could have been modern art.

  "In the car?"

  Angel opened her eyes and looked across at the 4x4. "She's in a tight space," she said. "She's dead."

  "I thought you said she couldn't breathe?"

  Angel nodded, her eyes lidded and sad.

  Ronnie shook his head and smiled crookedly. "So, dead folks don't need to breathe, honey."

  "I know. Not being able to breathe was how she died."

  His first inclination – and maybe every inclination up to around number eight or nine – would normally have been to think the kid was either overimaginative or missing a few slates from the old roof area. But that was when Martha was still around and planes landed in airports, not taxiing along highways piloted by map-readers who demolished bookstores when they landed. "Wait here," he said.

  Ronnie walked across to the 4x4 and leaned over to look in one of the side windows. It was empty. He turned and shouted to Angel.

  Then he walked across to the little Chrysler that was wrapped around the light standard – same thing: empty.

  "Nobody's here," he shouted as he walked back.

  Across to the east, the sky looked like a purple and black bruise.

  "I think it could be a storm," he said as he reached the girl. He didn't feel convincing and he saw from Angel's face that it was coming over to her as well. "We'd better get moving."

  "What about the body? I saw a body."

  Ronnie shrugged. "Nothing we can do. And if she's – you said it was a she, yes?"

  Angel nodded. "Yes."

  "Well, if she's already… you know…"

  "Dead?"

  "Right
. Dead. If she's dead, well… she's dead." He patted her on the shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "Come on, we got stuff to do."

  As they were getting back into the Chevy, Ronnie heard the unmistakable sound of a car door-lock being released. He turned around and scanned the cars until he saw a man rising to his full height a couple of sections over to the left, standing up from what looked like a Volkswagen or some other little beetly European job. Ronnie squinted and felt Angel's hand take hold of his own.

  "It's OK, honey," Ronnie said. For some reason, he could feel his stomach knotting. It was as though there was suddenly an intruder in Paradise. Here he was – or here they were – all alone and in charge, and now some newcomer was going to be involved. And after this guy, how many others? And the sky was a blacker black than it had any right to be. Everything felt wrong somehow.

  "Hey," Ronnie shouted over, moving away from the Chevy. Angel held his hand tighter.

  "Hey," the man responded, slamming the Volkswagen door closed, the guy wearing patterned overalls of some kind with colored beading on the sleeves and pockets. "Just about given up on finding anyone else," he said as he came closer, threading his way through the cars.

  The man was in his early twenties, moving with the easy gait of self-assurance, swiping his long hair back from his forehead.

  "Hey, how you doing?" Ronnie asked, holding out a hand. "Ronnie Mortenson. Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes."

  "You too, sir," said Virgil. "Virgil Banders." Virgil took a hold of Ronnie's hand with both of his and clasped it, still shaking long after the greeting was over and done.

  Ronnie nodded. "And this here," he said, turning to usher Angel into the conversation, "is Angel."

  Virgil nodded and smiled. "Angel," he said, holding out a hand.

  Angel's face remained still and completely bereft of any expression. She reached out towards Ronnie, took a hold of his pants leg and moved in closer to him, hiding her head behind Samantha the doll and a handful of material.

  Ronnie patted Angel's head and put his hand on her neck. "You been in the mall? Nobody there."

  The boy nodded. "Took a walk around a little earlier. Place is deserted." He glanced back at the girl, saw her watching him. "She nervous around strangers, your daughter?"

  "Oh, she isn't my daughter. We met on the plane."

  "Plane?" Virgil looked around, frowning.

  Angel tugged on Ronnie's jacket.

  "Late running out of Denver." He shrugged.

  "Where you headed?"

  "Atlanta."

  Angel tugged a little harder.

  "So how'd you, you know, how'd you wind up back here? Plane didn't take off, right?"

  "No, the plane took off OK. But then, just a few minutes after takeoff, everybody just–" He snapped his fingers.

  "Hey!" Angel snapped.

  "What is it, honey?"

  She pulled Ronnie so that he lowered his face level with hers and cupped her hand around her mouth. "The man," she whispered, "he knows about the body."

  "What?"

  "What's she saying?"

  Ronnie shook his head and gave an apologetic smile. "She's a little shy."

  "Right."

  Ronnie turned back to Angel. "He seems OK to me, honey," Ronnie whispered into the girl's ear.

  "He knows," she said again. Then she folded her arms around her doll.

  Ronnie straightened up and smiled at Virgil Banders, the two men just standing there watching each other. Then, pulling Angel close to his side again, Ronnie said, "Hey, you see anything? I mean, you see folks, well, vanish?"

  "They're hiding," Angel muttered glumly.

  Virgil shook his head. "Uh uh, I was asleep. Woke up and–" He snapped his fingers. "–all gone. Poof! Like a damn magic trick." He gave another smile, glanced down at the girl, and said, "Drove over here to see if I might find anyone." He clapped his hands. "And, hey presto, I found you guys."

  Ronnie nodded, still smiling.

  "Lot of wrecks out on the highway," Virgil Banders said, waving his right arm over in a southerly direction. "Took ages to find my way through on some of the roads."

  "So… nobody at home, right?"

  The boy shook his head. And then shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't been back home yet. I was at my girlfriend's place. Fallen asleep." He winked at Ronnie. "You know what I'm saying here?"

  "I remember it pretty well. Been a while, but I do remember."

  They both chuckled at that, the boy more than Ronnie, with Angel looking from one to the other with a quizzical expression on her face.

  "So what happened, you think?"

  "Pardon me?"

  "What happened? To everyone, I mean?"

  Virgil shrugged. What was wrong with this asshole? It was like he was trying to trip him up all the time. And the girl. He didn't like the girl, not a bit. And it was sure as hell certain she didn't like him either. Why had he told the guy he'd driven up here? He glanced at the girl and saw she was watching him. She knew. That was why he'd not mentioned his car. Somehow, the girl knew that he'd tucked good ol' Suze Neihardt up in the Pontiac's trunk. He didn't know how she knew, but she knew. And you could take that one to the bank. He suddenly felt inexplicably relieved that, when this very undynamic duo showed up, Virgil was checking out a Volkswagen – V for V, seemed appropriate – that just happened to be the only other car on the lot with its keys in the ignition. The car had been parked at cross angles to the ones in the bays and had run up onto the curb. He had pushed it down and straightened it and was busy going through a glovebox of CDs – hip hop shit and some classical stuff – when he had seen Ronnie and the girl. Virgil looked at the girl now, smiling. He wondered how easy it would be to wrap her up, this brat, wrap her real tight so she couldn't breathe, watch her little body squirm, see the gauze around her mouth pulling in, and then out, in, and then out…

  "Hey, I was gonna ask you that one, sir. I was asleep, don't forget."

  "There was a light." Ronnie rubbed his chin, smiling. "It sounds stupid, you know? Like some kind of road to Damascus thing?"

  Virgil frowned. Where the hell was Damascus? Must be out of state.

  None of them said anything then for a few seconds until Virgil asked how they'd got the plane down.

  "There's one more of us. He's a map-reader, was in the cockpit at the time. It was him brought us down."

  "Where's the plane?"

  Ronnie thumbed over his shoulder. "Back out of town, down I25 about ten miles or so."

  "The other guy? He make it, too?"

  Ronnie nodded. "Got a bit beat up, piece of Borders store flooring came straight through the windshield and has him pinned down." He shook the bags at Virgil. "We got some things we hope to get him free."

  "You need any help?"

  "You bet!"

  Virgil turned to Angel and gave her his warmest smile. "That OK with you, Angel?"

  She didn't say anything, just kept looking at him.

  "Like you say, shy," Virgil said.

  Ronnie nodded and looked over to the sky in the distance behind the boy. "You ever see storm clouds like that?"

  Virgil turned and whistled. "Boy, looks like we're in for something."

  There seemed to be a small wheel of blackness, thick and pure, way over in the distance down on the horizon, and the duskiness was spreading out from it.

  "Still a ways off," Ronnie said. He rattled the Chevy's keys. "But best we get started before night comes. Be good to get Karl out of–"

  "Karl? He the map guy?"

  Ronnie nodded. "Best to get him free and all of us holed up someplace warm before it hits."

  Virgil took a hold of some of the packages. "Lead the way," he said.

  "What about your car?" Angel asked.

  "My car?"

  "Oh, I forgot you have a car," Ronnie said, slapping his forehead.

  Virgil shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll travel with you." He gave a little half-smile and waved an arm around. "Can soon pick up another one
any time I have a mind to. But I kind of like the little foreign jobs."

  "I'm betting there'll be plenty more to choose–"