by Paul Cave
“There, I’m clean. Now let me through,” he ordered.
“Not yet, my friend,” the leader said. “Now, you two,” he added, pointing to Jacob’s companions. One after the other, the two followed the bizarre ritual.
Once the defenders were satisfied, the three newcomers were allowed entry. One by one the guns were pulled back through the plastic barrier. The centre of the barricade cleared and a small section of Perspex swung open to allow the three weary companions entrance.
“My friend,” the leader said. “I’ve been worried. It’s been three days since you left. I’d almost given up hope.”
“Hey! It’s me you’re talking to, remember?” Jacob joked.
“My friend, you risk too much by staying out so long. One day they’ll catch you,” the leader chided.
Jacob laughed bitterly. “Then you’d better keep the door locked, or I may come for you first.”
“Aye, I believe you would as well, you sick bastard.” The leader turned towards Jacob’s companions. “Go to the mess hall and eat.”
“Okay, Major Patterson,” the two said in unison. Both Elliot and Daniel Harper turned their backs before heading towards the underground canteen and a plate of cold stew.
“They’re good boys, both of them,” Major Patterson said.
“Yeah, two of the best trackers I’ve ever seen,” Jacob agreed.
The Major rested his arm across Jacob’s shoulders. “Let’s get you debriefed. Then you can get some rest.”
“Good plan,” Jacob said.
They moved into a dark, twisting passageway and made their way down into the catacombs of the mountain complex. They passed numerous bedraggled people on their short journey and, even though most were weary from malnourishment, all snapped to attention as the Major passed by. Eventually they turned into a small alcove to enter a gloomy looking compartment. A battle-scarred desk filled the middle of the room, with two chairs, that were stripped of varnish, on either side. An electric lamp glowed weakly above.
“Sit,” Patterson said, with a gesture towards a chair.
Jacob pulled the chair over to the desk and sat so he could see both the entrance and the Major.
Patterson read his comrade’s unease. “Relax, you passed the test. You’re safe and home.”
He looked around at the carved rock. “Home?”
Patterson recollected the world of yesteryear. He released a weary sigh. “Yes, we are a long way from the sunny days of years gone by, but for now these unbearable rocks must remain our home and our sanctuary.”
“I guess so,” Jacob concurred. His mouth split into a bitter grin. In the weak glow of the single lamp, his elongated canines glinted with two small slivers of light.
A shiver ran down the Major’s back as he looked upon the sharp fangs. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of those,” he said, with another nervous shiver.
Jacob reached up with his dirty fingers. He prodded at the ceramic teeth. For a second, he recalled the agony he’d endured while undergoing the operation. He remembered how he’d drunk nearly a full bottle of neat whisky before allowing the surgeon and his crude instruments to go to work.
“They serve their purpose,” he said, and dropped his hand away from the artificial fangs.
“That they do,” Patterson agreed. “Okay, so tell me, what are those bastard bloodsuckers up to now?”
“Ezekiel moves his army eastwards and will soon enter our territory,” he said. “And Raphael remains camped far to the south.”
“Christ!” Patterson spat. “Do you think we could slip through their grasp if we headed east?”
“No, they’ll anticipate that and intercept within days of our escape.”
“Then we are trapped,” the Major moaned.
“Then perhaps now is the time for us to stand and fight instead of running?”
“But we stand at two thousand soldiers only. What chance do we have against an army of millions?” Patterson asked miserably.
“They grow weak also. Remember, their food supply diminishes every time they take one of us.”
“But these … breeding camps. Is there any truth behind them?”
Jacob looked down at his booted feet, unable to hold the old man’s eyes.
“Tell me Jacob, do these camps exist?”
“Yeah,” he finally admitted, reluctantly, knowing what would follow.
“Then she could still be alive,” Patterson declared, and hope spread across his face.
“No, she’s gone,” Jacob snapped angrily. Then he saw the old man’s face collapse with despair. “Sir, Hannah must be … gone by now. It’s been five years.”
“But she’s still young, and could bear children. They may have kept her alive.”
“No. She’s gone!” Jacob yelled.
“How can you just forget about her?” the Major asked.
“Are you serious? Forget? There isn’t a minute that goes by when I can’t feel the pain of her loss. But it’s been too long, and I’ve scouted too many camps for there to be any hope of finding her.”
The old man shook his head. “But she’s my daughter.” A tear cascaded down the rough plain of his face.
“Aye, and my wife,” Jacob said, holding back his own grief, just.
The Major wiped away the teardrop before regaining his composure. “So what do we do now?”
“We get our shit together and head north, and hit Ezekiel with everything we’ve got.”
“Suicide,” the Major barked.
“Yeah, maybe, but I’ve had enough of these walls,” Jacob said. “Hell, who wants to live forever, anyway?”
Chapter Three
With a sigh of despair the mechanic threw the rusty wrench down. He turned towards the small mongrel dog at his side and offered it a miserable shake of his head. “Too goddamn important,” he said.
Tilting its brown and white head, the dog gave him a sympathetic whine.
“Yeah, you got that right, Scratch,” the mechanic said.
Scratch padded over and ran a small pink tongue over the guy’s greasy face. “Good boy,” muttered the guy, as he tickled the mutt behind one ear. The dog jumped onto the mechanic’s oily overalls and continued to lick at his grimy skin. The terrier eagerly lapped away at his cheek.
“Easy boy, better not get too carried away.”
The mechanic ran his hand along the mutt’s flanks and there felt the protrusion of bones. He quickly passed the rack of ribs, and instead let his hand rest on the dog’s thigh. Subconsciously, his stomach grumbled as his hand rested against the juicy meat underneath. He wondered – and not for the first time – what the leg would taste like if he were to roast it over naked flames and smear it with a layer of hot grease. As these thoughts invaded his mind, a clear drop of saliva dripped out of his open mouth to stain his double chin. Grime-covered fingers wiped away the drool, leaving behind instead a trail of smears, which ran from lip to chin.
The mechanic shook his head before returning his thoughts to the worn-out engine in front of him. He picked up the wrench and tightened the sprocket to the modified engine. Once satisfied with the tightness of the coupling, he dropped the wrench for a second time, but this time without the accompanying sigh. He looked around the cluttered workbench until he found a flattened screwdriver. Then, as he went to work on the engine, he let his thoughts turn away from food - or the lack of it.
Scratch disappeared for a moment, before returning with something in his mouth. He padded over to the mechanic and dropped the rubber gasket at his side.
“Good boy, Scratch. What a clever boy,” the guy said.
The mutt’s little tail wagged eagerly, pleased with his master’s remark. Scratch watched as the guy’s hand disappeared inside his overalls. After a brief wait, he was rewarded with a stale cracker. The mutt’s tail went into overdrive as he chomped on the biscuit. “Good boy,” the mechanic repeated, patting the dog’s head.
After he’d finished the treat, Scratch squatte
d down on his haunches and began to work at the irritation that crawled throughout his fur.
The mechanic picked up the makeshift gasket, which had once been the heel to a pair of sneakers, and slipped it into the engine. He took the carburettor and inserted the two pieces of machinery together. “Perfect,” he commented, as the objects slotted into each other. Using a ratchet, he began to screw oily bolts back into their housings. After a short while he finished the repairs and stood back to view his handiwork.
The modified engine sat on the workbench like some ancient mechanical beast. Three or four thick black pipes drooped down from the engine, which gave it legs. A large circular manifold protruded out of the main block, adding a head to the legs, and pistons ran along the sides of the mechanism, gracing this beast with arms.
“Mmm … Impressive …”
The mechanic turned and stared into the face of a pretty young woman.
“Good job, Squirrel,” the woman said.
“Thanks,” Squirrel responded bashfully. He rubbed his greasy hands down the front of his overalls. “Hey, after we’ve fixed the engine back into Old Betsy, maybe you could take me out for a spin?”
She turned towards the clapped-out truck parked just inside the open workshop. “Hell no, you’re too important. We need you here, safe and sound.”
“Please, just for an hour, that’s all,” Squirrel pleaded.
“Major Patterson would have kittens if he found out.”
“He won’t find out, please. I’m going crazy stuck in here.”
“Okay, but only on the test run. I ain’t stupid enough to take our best mechanic out on a salvage mission,” she said, patting his arm.
Squirrel’s heart fluttered as Alice Hammond’s hand rested against his flabby bicep. She released his arm, stepped over to the engine-block and made a quick examination. Leaning over, one of her blond ringlets fell forwards and lay across her pale cheek. Absentmindedly, she reached up with her hand and tucked the loose lock behind her ear.
“Excellent work,” she said, and returned to the mechanic’s side.
“Thanks,” Squirrel mumbled, feeling self-conscious under her intense gaze. “Maybe once we fix Old Betsy up … perhaps we could get a bite to eat?”
“Scratch!” Alice exclaimed, as the mutt appeared from under a workbench. She reached over to pick the dog up and giggled as his pink tongue tickled her nose. “Who’s been a good boy?” she mumbled into the terrier’s floppy ear.
Yap! Yap! Scratch barked.
Alice continued to giggle as the little mutt lapped at her nose. She endured the terrier’s overeager affections for a few minutes, enjoying the attention before finally lowering him to the floor. Instantly, Scratch went to work, his matted fur a living nightmare of irritation.
“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, her attention back on the mechanic.
Squirrel shuffled awkwardly to avoid her piercing blue eyes. His bravery dissolved like an evaporating mist. He replied, “Nothing … it doesn’t matter.”
“Listen, you must be hungry,” Alice said. “You’ve been at it all day. Why don’t you come and grab a bite to eat?”
Squirrel swelled with excitement. He barely managed to contain himself when he answered, “Yeah! Great!”
Alice gave him a warm smile before she looped her hand around his flabby forearm. “Come on then, what are we waiting for?” she said, and pulled him towards the exit.
Suddenly conscious of his oil-covered skin, Squirrel battled between not wishing to cover her in dirt and grease, and alternatively wanting to squeeze her close, so he could feel her warm body against his own desperate flesh.
***
Elliot Harper scooped another spoonful of lukewarm broth into his mouth. He grunted, but not in satisfaction. Neither he nor his brother had ever enjoyed the flavour of a finely cooked meal or the taste of a pleasurable and mouth-watering snack. Nor had their palates been graced with a mouthful of spicy fare. Instead, Elliot Harper’s grunt was one of acceptance. Both born in post-apocalyptic times, neither brother had any memory of shared birthdays, eating at fast-food restaurants, the excitement of waiting for the doorbell to ring, signalling the arrival of a much anticipated pizza, or even the simple experience of eating without giving thought as to where the meal had come from. The Harper brothers ate without enjoyment or satisfaction, simply offering this tepid and tasteless stew up to uneducated maws. Like two robotic arms, the brothers continued to shovel the insipid broth into open mouths in unconscious synchrony.
Elliot Harper finished his bowl then raised his eyes in time to see Alice Hammond and Squirrel enter the dimly illuminated canteen area.
Alice caught the tracker’s stare. Surprised by his reappearance, she gave Elliot an animated wave. Elliot offered his own wave and beckoned both Alice and Squirrel over.
“Where have you been?” Alice asked the tracker.
Elliot raised a dirty thumb and tilted it over his shoulder. “Out in the darkness, chasing rats.”
“What?” Alice asked.
Daniel Harper tilted his head towards the two newcomers.
“We’ve been out hunting down the undead vermin that swarms over our borders,” he said.
Although only two years separated them, these two Harper siblings could not have looked more different. While Elliot possessed features made up of odd angles and grey, bleached-out eyes, his brother was gifted with a face of unquestionable beauty. The only thing that they both possessed of similarity was a mane of thick, curly hair, which grew out in brown clumps. Although the blue-eyed younger brother was of obvious beauty, it was the angular features of Elliot Harper that made Alice’s stomach flutter with butterflies.
“Had ourselves a merry old dance,” Daniel Harper spat bitterly.
“What happened?” Squirrel asked, excited at the prospect of hearing a tale about the outside world.
“Found ourselves a party of trackers, ‘bout two days walk from here,” Daniel said. “That bastard Ezekiel has sent more and more search parties southwards. He knows we’re here, but not where exactly.”
“So what happened?” Alice urged, already absorbed.
Elliot took up the tale. “Jacob decided to have a little fun, so he led the party of trackers on a three day trail. Made them think they’d found us – idiots - and then took them on a trek that must have sent their heads spinning with delirium.”
“First, we trekked all the way north, as far as Fort Collins,” Daniel continued, “then we split up, and Elliot and I led half the party westwards, while Jacob took the other half right back into their own camp!”
“What?” both Squirrel and Alice asked, open-mouthed.
Daniel presented the group with an uncharacteristic grin. “Crazy son-of-a-bitch walked them right into the middle of their own camp, danced a merry jig and then disappeared into the shadows.”
“Why?” Squirrel asked.
“Because he can, that’s why,” Daniel explained. “They may be the most abundant race but we’re still the most intelligent species on the planet. And I think Jacob likes to remind them of that fact.”
“Then why are we stuck in here while they roam the open lands freely?” Alice asked.
Daniel said, “Because they hide within the never-ending shadows. Once the sun returns, things will change. I tell you, I’m ready for a bit of payback.”
“The sun …” Alice said, wistfully, half in rapture at the thought of beautiful golden rays caressing her pale skin. She had only the faintest of memories of days out in the sun. For her, day had become night at a very early age. And now, only tales told under the cover of artificial lights reassured her that the world had once been something other than this perpetual night.
They sat in silence for a moment, before Elliot spoke. “Daniel’s right. Once the sun returns and those bastard bloodsuckers flee to hide in their putrid lairs, then we’ll drag their sorry asses out into daylight and enjoy the fireworks!”
“Do you really think the sun will ever retur
n?” Alice enquired.
Elliot Harper looked directly into her eyes. “I hope so. God, I hope so.”
Chapter Four
Jacob Cain stretched out on his open cot. He closed his eyes and waited for his own private darkness to fall. He lay still for a long time but was unable to slip into the safe confinements of sleep. Opening his eyes, he turned his head towards the table at his side. A weary sigh escaped him as he bent forwards to take an old shoebox from the table. He sat up before placing the battered box on his lap.
With dirty fingers that hadn’t seen soap or hot water in a long while, he slid the box lid upwards to reveal a collection of faded photographs, letters that had yellowed over time, and a few odd trinkets. He took out one of the photos and raised it. Tilted it slightly towards the light above. To reveal a picture of a young woman smiling with open happiness.
The woman in the picture was in her mid-to-late twenties. She had long auburn hair, which fell in large fiery curls to her slender shoulders, a face that would probably have been at home on the cover of a woman’s magazine, and bright blue eyes, with slivers of emerald, which sparkled with fun and mischief. Behind her was a vast field of grass, which filled the photo with a lush green.
Jacob raised the photo to his lips and gently kissed its creased surface. “My dear Hannah,” he breathed. A single heart-wrenching sob escaped from his lungs.
He replaced the photo inside the box, and then slid the lid over and covered up his collection of private treasures. He returned the box to the table at his side. His eyes closed for a minute or two as he pushed his grief into the deeper recesses of his soul. Then, he stood and collected an assortment of odd weapons from the foot of his bed. He headed towards the open doorway.
Moving into the dark corridor, he decided that tonight he needed to see the light - had to see the light, must see the light, or his soul would surely die.
Jacob reached a tight bend in the corridor. A sudden presence pushed at his back. He spun around to find that a darker shadow had blocked the narrow corridor. The scrape of a boot forced him to spin back, and there, he observed another silhouette filling the passageway in front, blocking his escape. He reached for the weapon at his side.