Sunfall (Season 1): Episodes 1-6

by Meyer, Tim

  Dana glanced up at her, wetness clinging to her eyelashes. “I can feel her. It's like we have a connection. I can sense she's in trouble. But she's alive. I know she is.”

  “That's great, sweetie.”

  “No it's not. My Dad refuses to go looking for her. He says he doesn't 'have time.' What a load of shit.”

  Susan shook her head. “Don't curse, sweetie. Girls your age shouldn't use curse words. Makes you sound trashy.”

  Placing the doll down on the table, Dana shrugged. “They're just words. I've said worse.”

  “Still. Just because they're words, doesn't mean you should use them.”

  “Well, you're not my mother. Are you?”

  Susan jerked her head like she had been slapped. “I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to—”

  “Don't you have kids of your own to look after?”

  “Actually, my son died—”

  “You know what? I don't care. I already have a mother and it's not you.” She pushed Susan's arm away from her.

  “What's going on here?” Sam asked, hanging in the breakroom doorway.

  “Sam?” Susan said, startled. “Your leg looks better. Just about healed I see.”

  “I asked you a question. What are you doing in here with my daughter?”

  “There's no need to be snippy with me, Sam. I'm not your enemy.”

  “Dana, come over here.”

  Dana stood up and ambled across the room to her father's side. Sam bent down, whispering something into her ear. Dana's vision drifted toward the woman when her father finished. Still staring at Susan, she whispered something into Sam's ear. Her father nodded, standing back up. Directing his thumb toward the hallway, he dismissed Dana. She huffed, then left the room, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall.

  “You people think you can turn my family against me?” Sam asked.

  “Please, Sam. It wasn't like that.”

  “Bullshit. I know what you're up to. I know what Soren is trying to do. Gathering people, turning this whole place against me. For what? Some pilgrimage across the country? Some place in Alaska that may not even exist?”

  “You've got it all wrong, Sam. Trust me,” Susan said, smiling amiably.

  “No, you've got it all wrong if you think that using my family and turning them against me is a good idea to get what you want. I will protect them; whatever the cost. I will die for them. Understand?”

  Susan smirked. “Sam, please. We both know you're a terrible father. Let's face it, it's just not your game. Like the way baseball wasn't Michael Jordan's. You're better at leading people. Aren't you? Why don't you try sticking to that?”

  Sam's skin boiled. “Stay the fuck away from my family,” he grunted, turning and disappearing into the hallway.

  The expression on Susan's face faded. The doll on the table stared up at her. She grabbed the plastic figure and headed toward the exit, tossing the doll in the garbage before traveling back to Soren's quarters.

  -2-

  The woman sat Indian-style on the bed, her forearms resting on her knees. Her eyes stayed shut, her fingers curled into open fists. She meditated like she had every night for the past year. Brian entered the room quietly, careful not to disturb her. Olivia hated when he interrupted her nightly routine.

  Brian skulked his way around the room, toward the dresser. He opened the top drawer, searching for his pajamas, the one with the Ninja Turtles printed on them. No, that wasn't right. Brian looked in the mirror and saw a thirty-five year old man staring back at him. His pajamas weren't Ninja Turtles, hadn't been since he was ten. They were gray and red now, plaid-patterned. He reached in and withdrew his jammies. Sure enough, four pizza-loving humanoid turtles faced him, two of which gave him the thumbs up. He looked back to the mirror; a ten-year old boy stared back at him, his head tilted slightly to the side, wondering the same thing Brian wondered: what the hell is going on here?

  Brian turned back to the bed. The woman was there, her blonde mop hanging over her face, looking more like Cousin It than Olivia. No, wait. That wasn't right either. Olivia had long dark hair. Not blonde. He tried to recall a woman he had slept with who had blonde hair, but couldn't produce a single name. He hated blondes. Always had. In fact, he usually only bothered with brunettes and redheads, even when he was younger and less picky.

  “You've been a bad little boy,” the blonde figure informed him.

  The deep voice inflicted Brian's skin with tiny, hard bumps. A chill swirled down his spine. Dry patches riddled his throat.

  The figure brushed the blonde hair away, revealing facial features belonging to no woman Brian ever met. The five o'clock shadow twitched along with the figure's mouth. “Bad little boy,” he repeated. The figure's eyes were cold and dark, holding murderous thoughts and foul intentions. “Needs to be punished. Needs a spanking. Don't you? Bad little boy...”

  Brian wanted to run, but invisible barriers boxed him in. He couldn't move. The lower half of his body felt sunk beneath a lake of sludge. His limbs moved, but barely.

  “Bad little baby boy.”

  The figure on the bed rose, unbuttoning his robe. It touched its nipples while licking its lips like a ferocious predator already tasting a savory kill. The figure grinned through its blonde strands of phony hair.

  “Bad little boy needs a spanky-spanky.”

  The room changed. The bedroom walls faded. His dresser transformed into a concrete wall, stained with rusty streaks. Musty odors conquered the air. The faint sound of wind howling against the shutters filled his ears. No, it wasn't the wind. It was children. A whole row of children. Brian turned to the cell next to him. A little boy huddled in the corner, crying, pissing himself. The figure outside the cell opened his robe and erupted with menacing laughter.

  “Bad little boys. All of you. Bad little boys that need spanky-spanky.”

  The blonde figure turned to Brian. Its lips curled back, exposing blackened, puffy gums riddled with decayed shards of teeth. His breath reeked like raw sewage.

  “And you're first!”

  -3-

  Brian Waters shot out of his dream like a rocket launching into outer space. Shondra, who was cooking eggs on the stove next to Brian's mattress, jumped. She dropped the spatula onto the floor, backing away like he had morphed into some hideous beast from another dimension.

  “Jesus Christ,” Shondra exhaled, placing her hand over her heart. “You scared the living shit out of me.”

  “Sorry,” Brian muttered, trying to catch his breath. His heart kicked around his chest. Sweat poured from his receding hairline, dripping into his eyes. He dragged his backhand across his forehead, then patted the collar of his shirt against it. Already soaked, the shirt was useless.

  “You having a heart attack?” Shondra asked.

  “No.” Brian shrugged. “If I am, I'd know it by now, right? Shooting pain? Numb left arm? All of that, right?”

  Shondra nodded. “Maybe you should ask Dr. Quinn when he comes back.”

  “No, I'm fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Where is Sam, by the way?”

  “Hell if I know. Called in sick the past few days.”

  “That's not such a bad thing.” Brian sighed as his lungs resumed normal breathing. “Sorry I startled you.”

  “No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I thought maybe I woke you up or something.”

  “I think I need to find a new place to sleep. Looking back, the kitchen probably wasn't the best choice.” He glanced around. “I guess I love waking up to the smell of coffee.”

  “No one else sleeps in here. That's another perk.”

  He nodded. “What a nightmare.”

  “Care to talk about it?”

  Brian found her eyes. “Not really.”

  “Fair enough.” She smiled. “Eggs and coffee?”

  “Love some.”

  Brian accepted the plate and devoured its contents in three greedy bites.

  “What's going on with you and Sam la
tely?” Shondra asked. “Seems like you two haven't been on the same page.”

  Brian sat the plate down, took a sip from his coffee. “Sam's a great guy. But lately he's been, I dunno—different.”

  “Different how?”

  Brian shook his head. “Just different. It's this place, I think. His kids. The stress of the situation. It's muddled his thoughts. Not thinking clearly.”

  “Maybe the few days off will set him right.”

  “Certainly can't hurt.”

  -4-

  Four figures dashed toward the black Charger under the glow of the pale moonlight. Crouching, they made it to the car without being seen. Entering the vehicle apprehensively, each one shut their doors gently, keeping the noise relatively low. The kid in the driver's seat cranked the engine while bouncing in his seat like a child in an inflatable moon-bounce. The girl in the passenger's seat glanced over at him, witnessing a long, mischievous grin driving his cheeks apart.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. You're acting like a kid on his way to McDonald's,” she replied.

  “Are you kidding me? We haven't been outside this place in over three months. Why aren't you excited?”

  “I don't know.” The girl shrugged, staring out the window. “It feels wrong.”

  “Look, Becky. You want to find your mother, right?”

  Becky nodded. “Of course, Chris, but—”

  Chris peered into the backseat via the rear-view mirror. “And don't you, All-Star?”

  “Yeah,” Matty said. “Totally.”

  “And you, Lola. Don't you want to find your family?”

  “It's Lilah.”

  “Whatever. The point is, none of us are getting what we want cooped up in that giant hen-house your father calls a sanctuary.”

  “And what do you want, Chris?” Matty asked.

  Chris threw the Charger in gear and the car peeled out of the parking lot.

  “I want what you want. Answers. I want to explore, man. See what's out there.”

  “Is that what Soren wants, too?”

  Chris's eyes glared at him in the rear-view, burning like lasers. “It's not like you think, Matty.”

  “Then how is it?”

  “Soren's not a bad guy, man.”

  “I didn't say he was.”

  “Guy's a bit of a creep,” Lilah said.

  “Well, who asked you?”

  “Chris, he is a bit of a nut,” Becky added.

  “Look. I know you guys are down on him because he's all about Jesus or whatever and your father hates him, and that's cool. I get that. But he's not a bad dude. He's looking out for the safety of everyone. You have to understand that he wouldn't put other people's lives at risk for no reason. The place in Alaska exists. He firmly believes that—since this is the end—we should head there. It has everything we need to survive. Come on. Tell me that's not a solid plan.”

  Silence filled the car while Chris pulled onto the Garden State Parkway.

  “It's a solid plan,” Becky said, summoning her best robotic voice.

  “Come on, Beck. I know you have this personal attachment to your father despite saying you hate him all the time—”

  “I don't have any 'personal attachment' to the man,” Becky said, shriveling the skin on her forehead. “He's my father. That's it. Doesn't mean I have to follow him off the edge of a cliff.”

  “Amen, sister,” Lilah said, smirking in the darkness.

  “He's not so bad, Becky,” Matty said. “Give the guy a chance.”

  “I gave him a chance, Matthew. I gave him plenty of chances. We all did. Especially Mom. How many times is he going to miss one of your science fairs, or forget about showing up to those academic award ceremonies you're always invited to? Huh? If I'm not mistaken, didn't he miss picking you up for your driver's permit class?”

  “He had to work late.”

  “He always has to work late. Always. If he really cared about us—if we were really important—he would have made time for us. He'd put us first before his fucking Costbusters.”

  “I don't think it works like that,” Matty said.

  “He's the fucking store manager, Matty. He can do whatever he wants.”

  “He wasn't always the store manager. How do you think he got to where he is?”

  “Don't defend him. Dad chose not to be there for us. He put his career before his family, and now look at us. We're just another dysfunctional family statistic.”

  Matty opened his mouth to speak, but Lilah put her hand on his knee. He turned. She shook her head.

  “Yeah, I guess you're right,” Matty replied.

  Silently, Becky slouched in her seat. She gazed out the window, lost in thoughts about how different life would have been if Samuel Wright had been a better father.

  “Yeesh,” Chris Atkins said. “Who let the elephant in the room, huh?”

  He pressed on the gas pedal, pushing it to the floor. The Charger accelerated down the empty highway. He dodged abandoned cars, swerving back and forth while the needle on the dashboard hovered around eighty miles per hour. If it weren't for faraway reveries, Becky would've scolded him, told him to slow down. The Charger weaved in and out of the apocalyptic junkyard. Matty watched the cars fade behind them, the same ones he witnessed on the day of The Burn.

  “We almost there?” Chris asked.

  “Yes,” Becky said dreamily. “Take the next exit.”

  Chris veered down the exit ramp, trying to win the race against dawn.

  -5-

  The empty walkie-talkie package rested on the table in front of her. Tina closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. None of this makes sense. She tried recalling who came to Costbusters after The Burn. There were a few. Some she couldn't remember. Some she could. The names rattled around her head like elusive butterflies. Shondra? Shondra had come a few days later. But she had been a good ally and a good friend. There was no way she had infiltrated them from that early on. What about Craig and his wife? Tina couldn't remember if they were shoppers that day or if they stumbled in afterward. The Mouth? She didn't remember seeing him that day—in fact, she didn't remember seeing him until weeks after. Hadn't she? Shit. She couldn't remember. Chris? Peter? Kyle? She couldn't remember who from Soren's gang was there on that first day and who wasn't.

  We need a fucking census.

  Just when Tina wanted to scream, Sam strolled through the doorway, heading straight for the Keurig. He popped a K-cup into the machine and turned to her. She opened her eyes and saw him standing there, on his own two feet, without the support of crutches.

  “Look at you, Mr. Walking-Tall.”

  “I feel two-hundred percent better,” Sam said with a grin as wide as his face.

  “See what a couple days off can do for you.” Tina winked. “You're no spring chicken, you know. Do you some good to remember that.”

  “I'll try my best.”

  Tina laughed. “No you won't.”

  Sam chuckled beneath his breath.

  For a few seconds, they gazed into each other's eyes. Sam tried to figure her out, trolling her eyes for secrets. She gave none away, and after figuring out what he was doing, Tina found something else worthy of her attention.

  “So... any ideas?” Tina asked, picking the lone walkie-talkie up off the table.

  “No. But I don't like it. Any leads?”

  “None. We searched all the rooms, Sam. No one is keeping a walkie-talkie under their inflatable mattress.”

  “Dammit.”

  “It's only a matter of time before the whole camp finds out,” Tina told him. “And you know what that'll mean.”

  “More ammunition for the preacher.”

  “I don't like him either, Sam. But you have to control yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked, furrowing his brow.

  “You know what I mean. I see the way you look at him. The way your jaw tightens when he opens his mouth. The way your fist clenches when he speaks.”

&nbs
p; “I think you're overreacting,” he said, snickering.

  “No, Sam. I don't think I am. There's a lot of rage pent up inside you. I can tell.”

  “And how can you tell?” That goofy smirk reappeared.

  “Because I was once like you. Angry at things beyond my control. Pissed off all the time. Don't do it to yourself, Sam. Don't let the anger win.”

  “Thanks for the life lesson.”

  “I'm serious. Don't make the same mistakes I did.”

  Sam opened his mouth, but someone interrupted his current thought, clearing their throat in the doorway.

  “Am I interrupting anything good?” Brian asked.

  “No,” Sam said immediately. “We were just discussing the mysteries surrounding the walkie-talkie.”

  “Uh-huh. So... any ideas?”

  “No,” Tina said. “And what the hell happened to you?”

  Brian shrugged. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “You look like someone shit in your coffee,” Tina said.

  “Thanks.” Brian made his way to the fridge. He snatched a loaf of bread and some deli meat off the top shelf. “But no one shit in my coffee. I didn't sleep very well last night, if you must know.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  Brian turned, glancing at her suspiciously. “No... why? You have any?”

  Tina winced. “No.” Her eyes darted toward Sam, who was already looking back at her. “Sure you're okay, Brian?”

  “Yeah, nothing to worry about. I'll be fine.”

  “If there's anything you want to say, Bri...” Sam said, “you can tell us.”

  Brian shrugged. “It's nothing to be concerned about, guys. I just didn't sleep well.”

  “Who has slept well?” Tina asked. “I don't think I've slept through the night since this whole thing started.”

  “This was different from tossing and turning,” he said, not really meaning to speak aloud. He felt their eyes fall on him, although he concentrated on decorating the two slices of bread with mayonnaise. “Bizarre.”

  “Brian, what is going on with you?” Sam asked.

  Brian turned to them, stuffing the sandwich into his mouth. “You guys believe in premonitions?”