Sunfall (Season 1): Episodes 1-6

by Meyer, Tim

  Wearily, he faced the cruiser. Sweat poured from his hairline. Looking over his hands, he watched his skin bubble and pulsate like a bowl of boiling water. Smoke began to rise off his shoulders and neck. He took a strenuous step toward the car. Then another.

  “Come on! Move it!”

  Tossing his sweat-soaked jacket aside, he tried to take another step, but fell to one knee. He tried to holster his revolver, but it fell from his grip as his fingers became nothing but blackened dust, eventually drifting away with the warm summer breeze. His partner couldn't speak. She couldn't scream. Neither could Sam nor anyone inside the warehouse. All they could do was witness the man burst into flames and burn like an insect trapped beneath the concentrated rays of a magnifying glass. For a moment, they thought they heard him beg for help, but no one could tell for sure. No one moved. On one of the hottest days in history, everyone was frozen.

  For several moments after it was over, no one twitched a muscle. The woman cop in street clothes fixed her eyes on the pile of black ash. Her gaze was eventually interrupted by the colorful threads of the beach towel that had landed just outside her door.

  Staring at it, she looked to Sam.

  “Either put that on,” he said, pointing to the towel, “or wait until dark, but for Christ's sakes don't you dare step into the light.”

  -1-

  “Sewing a shirt is a lot different from sewing someone's skin.” The woman's hand trembled violently as she spoke. “Especially when that someone used to be my boss.”

  “Sherry, you need to at least try,” Tina Givens told her. “If you don't, then Sam might not make it. He's losing too much blood and the wound won't close by itself.”

  Sherry looked over her shoulder. Sam was sprawled across the bed, fidgeting around, slipping in and out of consciousness. Noah, Brian, and Shondra hovered over him, changing the cool, wet rag on his forehead every few minutes. “There's so much blood.”

  “And there will be a lot more if you don't do something about it.”

  “I can't be the only one here whose mother taught them to sew.”

  Tina leaned in, almost pressing her nose against Sherry's. “Listen to me and listen closely. Sam has sacrificed a lot to keep you safe. The least you can do is try to save his life.” In the corner of her eye, she spotted Dana peeking her head into the room from the doorway. She disappeared as soon as Tina set eyes on her. Whispering, Tina added, “You want to be the one to tell his kids that their father died because you were too scared to save him?”

  Sherry stared at Sam's injury. The hole in his leg gawked at her like a cyclopean eye.

  “In exchange, I'll help you with something,” Tina said. “I'll owe you a favor, whatever you want. But you have to do this. You have to help him.”

  Sherry thought about it briefly, looking to the floor for guidance and finding nothing there. “Okay, I'll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Listen,” Noah said. “He's trying to say something.”

  Tina, Sherry, and the others gathered around Sam. He was barely conscience; his eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings, his words sporadic and indiscernible. Mouth leaned over him and listened closely.

  “What's he saying?” Brian asked.

  “Beats the balls out of me. Fucker's mumbling some shit. Maybe a name or something.”

  Sam shivered.

  Shondra replaced the rag on his head, wiping the sweat off his cheek.

  “Day,” Sam coughed. “Na.”

  The group quieted themselves and listened. Between coughs, words fell from Sam's lips, some easy to comprehend, others not so much.

  “Dana.”

  “Dana?” Brian asked. “You want me to get Dana?”

  “Beck... Matthew...”

  Shondra continued running her palm over his forehead, combing his hair away from his eyes. “His kids,” Shondra said to the group. “It's all right, Sam. They're just fine. You hang in there and we'll take good care of them.”

  Sam started coughing again.

  “Get some water,” Shondra told no one in particular.

  Noah obliged while Tina took hold of Sam's hands.

  “You're all right, Sam. You're doing just fine. Rest up and you'll be back on your feet in no time.”

  “Bren... da,” he whispered before Shondra placed the cup of water to his lips. He repeated her name over again once he sipped the water. “Brenda.”

  “Who's Brenda?” Tina asked.

  “Fucked if I know,” Mouth said.

  Tina dropped Sam's hand and backed away. Her eyes caught the gaping hole on his leg. The amount of blood that soaked the sheets made her stomach rise.

  “A little fucking squeamish I take it?” Mouth asked.

  Tina grabbed Mouth's arm and dragged him to the corner of the room. “Level with me,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Is he gonna make it?”

  “Fucker's lost a lot of blood. I'd say a transfusion might be needed once the wound is closed. I saw some antibiotics in an office down the hall. Fighting off the infection won't be a problem.” He shrugged. “But what the fuck do I know? I was a cook in the Navy. Not a doctor.”

  Tina bit her lip. “Shit. We don't have enough medical supplies or someone with the ability to perform a procedure like that. As far as I know, Sam's the only one with any medical background.”

  “Yeah, well, something tells me that motherfucker barely knows CPR.”

  “We'd have to know what blood type he is.” She thought about it for a moment. “Shit, I don't even know what blood type I am.” Glancing at Mouth, she asked, “Do you?”

  “B positive.”

  Blood.

  “Hm. That's probably something I should know. Isn't it?”

  So much blood.

  Mouth shrugged. “Guarantee half the motherfuckers in this place don't know their own blood type. Don't beat yourself up about it.”

  Tina shook her head. “All right. I'm leaving. Find me when the procedure is over and Sam is awake. We'll figure out what to do then.”

  “You're not gonna stick around?”

  She walked out of the room without answering. From behind her, she heard Mouth carrying on about something she hadn't intentionally tuned out. Her mind was elsewhere. The sound of the doorbell drowned out everything.

  The sound of the doorbell.

  The doorbell—

  -2-

  Rang. The woman waited for what seemed like a very long time. She passed the seconds by surveying the neighborhood, watching the kids kick around the soccer ball in the middle of the pedestrian-friendly street. She smiled. It'd be nice to have kids some day, she thought, some kids of her own instead of remaining Aunt Tina for the rest of her life.

  Her nerves caused butterflies to scrape against her stomach. Her trembling finger reached for the doorbell again, but before she pressed it, the door swung open.

  “Hello,” the tall attractive man answered. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  She flashed her badge. “Sir, I'm here in reference to a complaint that was called in. A four-fifteen; domestic disturbance. If you have a moment, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

  He stared at her, leaning against the door frame and folding his arms across his chest. “Funny, I don't remember calling in a four-fifteen.”

  “Oh no?” the woman asked, smiling. “You don't have a very good memory then, Detective Bernhardt.”

  Bernhardt smiled back, waving her in. “Get in here, you.”

  She stepped inside the detective's lovely home, admiring the interior décor. She took her shoes off, placing them next to several other pairs.

  They don't belong there, a voice spoke in her mind. You don't belong here.

  She ignored her conscious like she had done frequently in the past and followed Bernhardt into the kitchen.

  “Mind if I take this off?” she asked, hanging her jacket on the back of a chair.

  “Go right ahead. The kids won't be home until later, so don't worry about it.
”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a seat.

  Bernhardt opened the fridge. “Want some wine?”

  “God, that would be fantastic.”

  Bernhardt laughed. “I thought you could use a drink. You look tense. Sure you're okay?”

  Tina shrugged. “Just not good at this sort of thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know. You. Me.” Bernhardt poured her a glass of red wine and slid it across the marble countertop. “And a bottle of wine at one o'clock in the afternoon.”

  Bernhardt chuckled. “Don't tell me this is the first time you played hooky?”

  No, it wasn't.

  “Just drink,” Bernhardt suggested. He moved away from the fridge and positioned himself behind her. Slowly, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Rubbing them gently at first, he chuckled under his breath. “Jeez, you are tense.” He ran his knuckles down her spine. “You got rocks back here.”

  “Lot of stress lately.”

  “I can imagine,” he said, kissing her neck.

  Bernhardt worked his fingers—his strong magical fingers that did magical things to her body—between her shoulder blades, digging them deep into her back where many knots waited to be eradicated. He worked them over until the pressure was fully relieved. After that, his fingers migrated down her lower back where bad posture had created a soreness only a good massage could cure.

  “Feels so good,” she breathed.

  “I can make it feel better,” Bernhardt whispered into her ear. His hands traveled around her waist, following the creases in her inner thighs. He massaged deeply, and Tina felt her body quiver. A quiet moan escaped her lips, and her forehead became flush with embarrassment. “I can make you feel a lot better.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Let's take this to the bedroom,” Bernhardt told her. “Where we can really turn the heat up.”

  “All right,” she said. “I'll meet you up there. I need another glass of wine.”

  When she turned around, he was halfway up the stairs. She looked around the kitchen, spotting the bottle of wine on the counter in front of her, and refilled her glass without hesitation. She downed the wine, immediately reaching for the bottle once again. As she slid the dark red contents down her throat, she noticed toys scattered across the living room carpet. Toys. Kids. Family. Like the one she'd probably never have. She drank more, already starting to feel the effects. Her eyes drifted across the counter, fixating on a family photo. Bernhardt was in the middle, his three kids hanging all over him. And, of course, Mrs. Bernhardt standing next to them, her arm draped around their oldest daughter. Alice, she thought his wife's name was. Or Ada. Shit, she couldn't remember. She only met her once. Smart woman. Very intelligent. Too smart to end up with someone like Detective Louis Bernhardt, that was for sure.

  Shouldn't be doing this, the phantom voice spoke again. It wasn't too late to walk out. She could have headed straight for the door, been halfway down the block before Bernhardt noticed she was gone. Before things went too far. Before things happened that couldn't be taken back. Things she'd later regret.

  “Detective, are you coming?” she heard Bernhardt call out playfully from above. “There'll be plenty of wine after!”

  She took one last, long look at the family photograph before throwing back another glass and heading toward the stairs.

  -3-

  “There you are,” Mouth said, walking into the breakroom with Sherry following closely behind. Tina sat at the table, munching on pizza bites. “Was looking all over for you.”

  “Well, you found me.”

  “Jesus, you okay?” Mouth asked. “You look like you've seen a fucking ghost or something.”

  “Just tired, that's all.”

  Mouth stared at her disbelievingly. “Whatever you say, cupcake. I ain't here to judge. But I am here to tell you that Mr. Wright is out of surgery. Looks like the fucker's tougher than I gave him credit for.”

  Tina pushed the pizza bites away, immediately standing up. “Is he awake yet?”

  “No, not yet. He's worn out, that's for sure. Will probably be a few hours if I had to guess.”

  Tina nodded. “All right. We'll let him rest for now. You did great, Sherry. Thank you for your help.”

  “I did my best,” she replied. “And I'm hoping you'll do the same for me.”

  Tina raised an eyebrow. “Do my best with what?”

  “You promised you'd help me if I helped Sam. That you'd owe me a favor. Well, I'm holding you to that promise. There's something I need you to do for me.”

  “All right, Sherry,” Tina said, crossing her arms. “What can I do for you?”

  “I...” she started, taking a seat at the table. “I want you to find Maurice. I want you to bring my husband back.”

  Mouth tossed his arms into the air. “You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, woman! You just saw firsthand what happened to King Leonidas back there! We ain't going to throw ourselves back to the wolves, no way!”

  “Mouth, shut it. This doesn't concern you,” Tina said calmly.

  “You're damn right it doesn't. Because I ain't going back out there.”

  Tina and Sherry watched him storm out of the breakroom before continuing their chat.

  “He's got a point. Now might not be the best time to go off on a search-and-rescue mission.”

  Sherry's lips trembled softly. “Maurice wouldn't need rescuing if you hadn't left him behind out there. God only knows what has happened to him. And not a single one of you give a shit!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Tina said. “No one left him behind. He never met us back at the rendezvous point. We waited as long as we could for him, but the sun was rising. What would you have us do, Sherry? Should we all have burned out there?”

  She stood up, leaning in close to Tina. “Maurice told me all about the cannibals. And all the guns you have. He told me everything about every supply run he went on with you bastards. I know Sam's been lying to everyone. He's been lying about everything. But I don't care about any of that. All I want is my husband back. If you don't want to find him, fine. But just because I don't care about all the lies, doesn't mean the others won't.”

  Tina's eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking blackmailing me?”

  “No,” Sherry said. “I'm asking you to make good on what you promised me. Like I did mine. And if you don't, I promise the truth will come out.”

  “Sherry, I don't know what you think you know, but—”

  “Tina!” Noah said, running into the room. “Sam's awake! He's up! Well, trying to get up anyway. He wants to get up and walk around—Brian had to practically strap him to the bed.”

  Tina smiled. “That stubborn bastard.”

  She made her way to the doorway before Sherry spoke up. Tears stood on the threshold of her eyes. “Tina?”

  Gripping the door frame, she sighed. “I'll do it. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after. I promise.”

  She joined Tina on the walk to see Sam. “Thank you.”

  -4-

  “Sam, you're not fine,” Brian said. “You need to rest.”

  “I'll rest when I'm dead,” Sam said firmly, trying to rise to his feet.

  “Well, if you don't rest, that's exactly what you'll become.”

  “Try not to move around too much, Sam,” Sherry said. “Those stitches aren't anything but cheap thread. They'll pull apart under too much strain.”

  “You're going to have to take it easy for a while,” Brian reiterated. “This isn't something that's up for discussion either. So get that look off your face.”

  Sam stared at the surrounding expressions, realizing they were probably right and there was no use fighting them. If push came to shove, they'd fasten him to the bed with shrink wrap. And they'd be right to do so. Sam knew that. They were only trying to help.

  “Fine,” Sam said, turning to Tina. “If I have to.”

  Tina smiled. “You're looking good, Sam.” She gave the wound a quick glance. A bandage
had been wrapped around it, secured with medical tape. A dark red stain bled through, and she found herself unable to stare for very long. “How do you feel otherwise?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “Well, relax. You'll be telling us what to do in no time.”

  “I want to see the girl,” Sam said.

  Mouth laughed. “Keep your drawers on, chiefy. There will be plenty of time for that lat—”

  “Where is she? How is she doing? Was she hurt badly?”

  “She's safe, Sam. Don't worry about that right now,” Tina said. “We'll take care of it. Just sit tight and get better.”

  Sam shook his head. “Is she separated from the rest of the group? Has she spoken to anyone?”

  Glancing around at the other concerned faces in the room, Tina nodded. “We have her in one of the maintenance closets. Alone, as of right now. She hasn't spoken a word.”

  “People are asking a shitload of questions out there,” Brian said. “Where she came from? Is she one of them?”

  Tina glared at Brian, begging him not to say anything else.

  “We need to talk to them. Everyone,” Brian said. “Tell them everything that's happened over the past month, including what Clay did—”

  “We don't have to tell them anything,” Tina said. “Not yet.”

  Bickering started amongst the small gathering. Accusations. Finger-pointing. Mouth started moving his lips a mile a minute, cursing, his voice prominent over the rest. Sam whistled and everyone immediately closed their mouths.

  “Bring me the girl,” Sam said, resting his head against the wall, wincing as pain shot up his leg. “Bring her to me right now and don't let anyone see you.”

  Tina folded her arms across her chest.

  “You sure you're up for this?”

  “She probably needs medical attention. And I'm the only one with exp—”

  “Experience,” Tina finished for him. “Yeah, Sam. We know. You're a regular George Clooney. But you need to fix yourself before you start fixing everyone else.”

  “Besides,” Mouth said, “the girl is fine. She's gotta few bumps and bruises, a scratch here and there, but nothing beyond that. Physically she's okay.” Mouth's eyes rolled to the other side of his head. “Mentally, however, is a different fucking story.”