Sunfall (Season 1): Episodes 1-6

by Meyer, Tim

  -2-

  “This isn't working,” Brian said, pacing the manager's office. “Everyone's growing restless. What happened to Clay just goes to show we need to tell them everything that's going on outside. Tell them how it is. No sugar-coated bullshit.”

  Shondra rolled her eyes. “There's nothing to tell them that they don't already know. The daylight is still dangerous. Enough said.”

  “She's right,” Tina added. “If Clay's death didn't make that abundantly clear, I don't know what will.

  Sighing heavily, Brian folded his arms across his chest. “I know, I know. But we can't keep the truth from them forever. Sooner or later, people are going to want answers to their questions. And judging from the way Clay acted today, I'd say that day is coming real soon.”

  “I hear you, Brian,” Shondra said. “I really do. But we're not in the position to hand out answers we're not even sure we have.”

  “These people deserve to know the truth!”

  Shondra pointed at the door. “Then you be the one to tell them!”

  Tina wedged her way between them. “Okay, okay! Calm down, guys. Arguing isn't going to do us any good. We need to figure out our next move. Where do we go from here? Any ideas?”

  With his back to them, Sam stared out the large, double-paned windows looking down on the entire store. He watched people try to find some sense of normality amongst the aisles of bulk paper towels and produce. Despite the reality of what was happening around them, they exchanged pleasantries and held somewhat casual conversations. But this place wasn't their home, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was a retail warehouse, not a sanctuary or a stronghold. It wasn't meant to be a place of salvation. It wasn't meant for any of this. But observing his fellow survivors settling in, trying to make the best of a bad situation, he realized it was all they had. Like it or not, Costbusters was their home now, their “new normal”, and they would have to make it last.

  “We don't know anymore than they do,” he said, turning to them. “We don't know how this started, and we don't know if it'll ever end. To go out there and fill their heads with assurances that things will get better, that things will one day go back to normal, would be lying to them.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” Shondra asked.

  “What we've been doing,” Sam replied in a low whisper. “We keep everyone calm and safe until we know exactly what we're dealing with. The last thing we need is to create panic.”

  Shaking his head, Brian took a seat in the swivel chair behind him. “So you're not going to tell them anything? We're not going to tell them about the—”

  “They already know more than they should.”

  Tina nodded, taking a seat of her own. “Agreed. Thanks to Clay, everyone knows more than they should about these cannibals, or whatever you want to call them.”

  “Why we brought that fool with us is beyond me,” Shondra scoffed.

  “Regardless, we're going to need help on supply runs now. We're short handed.”

  Shondra shrugged her shoulders. “And who exactly do you suggest we take with us?”

  “There must be someone we can trust,” Tina said. “Are there any employees still here?”

  “There's Chris Atkins,” Shondra suggested. “But that kid's likely to fly off the handle at any given moment.”

  “Absolutely not,” Sam said, clenching his teeth. “He's been nothing but trouble since I've known him.”

  “And it doesn't help that he's all over your daughter, too. Huh, Sam?” Shondra smiled.

  Sam turned back to the window. “Tina, take Shondra and see if you can find anyone trustworthy enough to help with the supply runs. Maybe talk to that guy Mort. I think I overheard him saying something about being in the Navy.” He shrugged. “We could use that kind of experience.”

  “The Mouth?” Tina asked.

  “Yes, the Mouth,” Sam said, smiling faintly. “If you have better suggestions, I'd love to hear them.”

  They didn't.

  “Okay, sounds good. But he's going to ask a lot of questions. People are beginning to wonder what exactly we're doing out there.”

  “So tell him what we're doing out there. Nothing more,” Sam said.

  Tina nodded. “Got it. Come on, Shondra. Let's leave Sam to practice his big speech.”

  Brian stood up. “Wait. Hold up,” he said, raising a hand in the air. “You don't think this guy is just going to be another trigger-happy asshole like Clay? Come on, Sam. We don't want a repeat of last time. Do we?” He shrugged. “There's got to be someone more calm we can ask.”

  “There isn't,” Sam said, still staring out of the window. “He'll have to do. And what happened last time died along with Clay. No one else needs to know about it, except the people in this room.”

  Brian rubbed his face. “Yeah, alright.”

  “It's settled then. Do an inventory and let me know how we look.”

  Sam didn't pay much attention to his assistant manager's grumbling as he left the office with the others. Again, he found himself quietly watching the others from above. He hated having to conceal the truth from them. But it was for their own good. What else can I do? he thought. Get their hopes up? No, he might as well lead them to their own deaths. There was still much to be learned about the outside. Too much to determine before leaving the safety Costbusters provided. The world was young again, and with youth comes the worst kind of danger—the unknown.

  A gentle knock came from the office door. “Dad? You in there?”

  Sam unchained himself from his thoughts. “Yeah, come in.”

  Carrying his textbook, cradling it in his arm, Matty shut the door behind him. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything is fine. Did you find Becky?”

  Nodding, Matty took up the seat Brian had previously occupied. “Yeah, I did. She said she's coming tonight.”

  “Really? Well, it will be good to have her there.”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “She wasn't with Chris, was she?”

  Matty searched for the correct phrase. “I didn't actually see him with her.”

  Sam smiled. “Right. Well, listen, son. I have to prepare my speech, so—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Matty said, standing up. “Can I show you something first?”

  “Alright. But make it quick.”

  Flipping through the pages of his textbook, Matty held it out in front of his father. “I have an idea of what might be going on outside.”

  -3-

  Noah strummed his banjo, playing a welcoming, folksy tune as the people of Costbusters gathered near the front lobby, where Sam used to hold daily sales meetings with his staff. A small chimenea sat in the center of the gathered, giving off enough heat to keep everybody warm. Sam watched as people began to take their seats, some preferring to sit Indian-style on the floor. Others unfolded beach towels and brought chairs from the breakroom. Some held hands and hummed along with Noah's song. Another man whipped out a harmonica and joined in. People smiled. Some laughed, even clapped along with the beat.

  Becky turned to Chris and shook her head.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Sam said, putting his hand on his daughter's shoulder. “Where have you two been?”

  Chris swallowed a large lump. “In the breakroom. Talking.”

  “Talking,” Sam repeated.

  “Yeah, Dad. Talking. You know what that is, right?” Becky asked.

  Sam shook his head and walked away. He approached Tina, who was counting heads with her finger.

  “Everyone here?” Sam asked.

  “Almost,” Tina said. “I counted thirty-seven.”

  “Let me know when everyone arrives.”

  Sam turned and strolled over to Brian, who had gathered more wood for the fire.

  “I see Becky decided to show up,” Brian said. “And look who she's here with. Our favorite ex-employee.”

  “Don't remind me.” Sam helped him with the firewood, taking half of what Brian carried. “Ho
w are we on supplies?”

  “Wood's getting low. We could use gasoline, too.”

  “You think we should make a run tonight?”

  “Might not be a bad idea.”

  “Okay. I'll inform the others after we're done here.”

  Brian nodded. Sam followed him to the center of the lobby. They tossed the logs onto the flames and watched the fire flicker to life. Some jumped back, fearful of the flames, despite its harmless intentions. It wasn't the fire that made them flinch; it was the memories the flames recalled. The images of the day it all went down. The Big Burn. It brought back the atrocities of those fateful hours. The very sight of the chimenea conjured the stench of that day, the horrid odor of burnt flesh and blackened bones. Piles of bodies being torched by the once benevolent atmosphere. A graveyard of fire and flames and death. Armageddon replayed itself in the smoke above the flames the campfire produced, and these were the reasons why the turnout for Sam's nightly gatherings were relatively low.

  Tina gave Sam the thumbs up. He nodded back.

  “Hello, everyone. Welcome to our little gathering,” Sam said.

  Noah stopped strumming the banjo and the older gentleman pocketed his harmonica.

  “Thanks for coming out tonight. I know some of you prefer to be alone when we have campfire, but I felt everyone should be here tonight. We have a lot to discuss.”

  The assemblage murmured simultaneously in agreement.

  “We lost three people today,” Sam said plainly. “These were unnecessary casualties and could have been prevented. If there is any lesson to be learned today, it's that whatever is happening, it's here to stay. There isn't any cure, and there's no waiting it out. Daylight is no longer safe, and we must learn to respect its ability to destroy us.”

  “We should have a moment of silence for the recently departed,” an elderly man said, standing up.

  “I agree,” Sam said. “Please, let's take a moment.”

  For a few seconds, no one spoke. Reflecting on the day's events, the crowd bowed their heads, held each other's hands, and closed their eyes, their minds trying to cope with the misery that day brought. Some of them cried, while others were glad it didn't happen to them.

  “Okay,” Sam continued. “We know our limitations. No one leaves the safety of Costbusters unless you run it by Brian, Tina, or myself.”

  People muttered. Some whispered “bullshit” loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “This ain't a fucking concentration camp,” someone said.

  “You can't keep us here,” another added.

  “Please,” Sam said, raising his hand. “If you want to speak, raise your hand.”

  A man in the back stood up, reaching for the sky.

  Sam pointed at him. “Yes. Kyle, is it?”

  “That's right.”

  Sam nodded. “The floor is yours.”

  Kyle stood and cleared his throat. “I don't understand how this works. Is it the sun's rays? Or is it just too hot to be outside that's causing people to burn? And if it's the sun, why hasn't the rest of the world burned?”

  “Well, I'm not a scientist, but based solely on my experience; it seems that direct contact with the sun's rays is what causes the burn,” Sam said. “Matty? Maybe you can shed a little more light on this subject?”

  “Me?” Matty asked, sitting in the background by himself. His face grew hot. Sweat began to bubble near his hairline.

  “Yeah. I mean, you had a pretty good theory. Tell them what you told me.”

  “W-well,” Matty said, “it-it's simple really. Um, Dad's right. Indirect contact seems to be harmless. Th-the best example is-is, actually the moon.”

  “The moon?” someone asked.

  “What the hell is this kid talking about?” another whispered.

  “Go on, Matty,” his father urged.

  “The m-moon. It reflects the light of the sun. That's how we are able to see it. So technically, if indirect sunlight were causing the effect, we wouldn't b-be allowed to g-go out at night either...” Matty finished, stepping back.

  “So... if we carried umbrellas with us,” Kyle said, “then we could technically go out in the daylight.”

  Some people perked up when they heard this. Some asked why no one thought of this before.

  “So what about hats and scarfs?” someone else asked.

  “Or ski masks?” another chimed.

  “Fucking somberos!”

  “I guess... technically,” Matty said. He looked to his father, whose eyes widened. “But wh-who really knows?”

  “It would be too risky,” Sam said to the group. “It's safest inside the store. I think we can all agree on that.”

  “What if we don't all agree on that?” another man said, raising his arm in the air.

  “Joel, right?”

  Joel nodded, standing. “What if we want to leave this place? Who are you to stop us?”

  “I'm just the guy trying to keep us all safe. And so far, except for today, I've done that. I've given you people food and water, and a roof over your heads. Myself and a few others risk our lives every other night seeking gasoline and other things necessary for our survival. Every night we have to venture out further because the surrounding quadrants are being bled dry.”

  “Why didn't you tell us about the cannibals?” Joel asked.

  “I already addressed this earlier,” Sam said. “We don't know all the facts. It's strictly conjecture. There's no sense in getting worked up over something that doesn't affect us. Not yet. If more information presents itself, I will absolutely call another meeting like this and tell you everything. You all have a right to know. And if something happens, and we need to make a decision that affects everybody, we will vote on it. This is a democracy,” Sam said. He shook his head. “I'm not your king.”

  “Just seems like it sometimes, that's all,” Joel said, sitting back down, gripping his wife's hand.

  Some agreed with Joel's comments, others waved him off.

  “I'm just going to relay the facts; we have plenty of food. Plenty of water. Years worth of soap, toothpaste, shampoo. We have protection from the sun. We have generators. Gasoline will become an issue eventually, but we can survive without electronic devices and artificial light. The cavemen did it.”

  “We're not fucking cavemen!” someone yelled jokingly, and the rest of the group laughed along. Even Sam chuckled to himself.

  “Well, not yet.” Sam bit his lip. “I firmly believe fortifying this place is our best option. It's worked so far and we can keep trying to make it work. We can't control what happens outside of this place. So let's continue to control what happens inside. If we work together, we will survive. I promise you.”

  A lone hand rose from the crowd.

  “Yes,” Sam said. “Mr. Nygaard. Glad you could make it tonight.”

  Chris Atkins elbowed Becky. She looked at him. Chris smiled, nodding at the man slowly rising to his feet.

  “I'm happy to be here,” Soren said. “Firstly, I agree that this place is the perfect sanctuary. You're right, Samuel, we have everything we could need or want at our fingertips. It's a viable solution to our current predicament.

  “And we have you to thank for that, Samuel,” he said, clapping his hands. The crowd joined him, weakly slapping their palms together. Soren separated from the crowd, facing them. “Had it not been for this man's selflessness, getting as many of us to safety as he could... well, I for one would be dead.” He turned to Sam. “I cannot thank you enough for your bravery.” Back to facing the crowd, he smiled. “I know some of you will balk at this, but I thank God for every day spent here.”

  Some people whispered, “amens” while others sneered.

  Soren narrowed his eyes, his lips stretching further across his face. “I believe God works in mysterious ways and speaks through others and Samuel—I'm grateful He has chosen you as one of his trumpets. Even if it was for a single moment.”

  The crowd grumbled. Half them seemed uninterested in Soren's serm
on while others listened intently, hanging onto every word. One woman held a crucifix as he spoke, mouthing prayers under her breath. The man next to her giggled to himself, whispering, “what a loon,” to the guy next to him.

  “I know what most of you are thinking,” Soren said. “Where is God in all this madness?”

  “Amen to that!” one man interjected.

  “But I'm not so much as a man of God, as I am a believer in faith and the spiritual connectivity that unites us all. See, I've done a few things in my life that I'm not too proud of. I've made many decisions that some might call immoral. Unjust. And they wouldn't be wrong to call them such. However—thanks to dear, Samuel—I now have a new perspective. For me, the sun didn't kill my friends and family; it saved me. It made me whole again. It renewed my conscious, absolved me of my previous life. The one where I couldn't bear to look myself in the mirror. Yes, the sun brought death to most, but for me, it brought life.”

  Sam folded his arms across his chest, looking to the floor, waiting for the man to shut his mouth. He thought about interrupting, but the crowd seemed to be—at the very least—entertained by Soren's speech. As long as the heat was off him, Sam didn't mind. He tried to think of answers to questions that he knew were going to be asked. Like why not everyone was invited to explore the quadrants. Or why they needed to explore almost every night. Why they sometimes didn't come back with anything.

  A woman stood up. “I was a drug addict before The Burn.”

  Soren nodded, letting her continue.

  “I've been clean ever since. I hope...” Her eyes glistened. “One day my family—if they're still alive—will forgive me for all the terrible things I put them through.” She sat back down.

  “Thank you, Cindy,” Soren said. “Anyone else?”

  A large man, wide enough that he needed to occupy two seats, stood up. “Three months ago, I weighed over five-hundred pounds. Today, I checked the scale and I'm under four-fifty.” People clapped as he planted his enormous body back on the seats.

  Soren was the last to stop applauding. “Wonderful job, Craig. I have no doubts that you will reach your goal soon.”

  He left the floor open for anyone who wanted to speak. A few others chimed in with details of their previous life, explaining to their fellow survivors of the hardships they had endured and how lost they had been, how The Burn gave them a second chance of righting wrongs. Soren applauded each one of them.