After The Darkness: Episode One Read online



  After The Darkness: Episode One

  By SunHi Mistwalker

  Copyright © 2012

  https://www.sunhimistwalker.com

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art created by Keri Knutson

  Published by Dark Tales Great Lives, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Calcane City - Living Unit #4355698

  Jagged-edged whimpers ride upon the smoky white plumes of iced breath. Whimpers, like those of a tortured, scared puppy, quickly roll and tumble, earnestly pressing through blue, cracked, and peeling lips, releasing into the dark, frigid, compressed space. Immature, barely bulging muscles strain as frail hands tightly grip a faux brass doorknob long past its prime.

  “Goddess please,” 14-year-old Nadia cries. A trail of icy tears form a highway of misery from her blue eyes to the hard cliff of her chin as she desperately holds the door closed.

  Nadia’s labored cries and breaths are weighed down by the distant pitter-patter of bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. They close in, pressing upon the pointed edges of the whimpers, stopping them. Silence. Blue eyes dart and shift, illuminated intermittently by sparse rays of light flowing from the solitary incandescent bulb hanging from a thin chain hooked to the ceiling just outside the compressed space of the closet.

  Feet loudly, desperately race towards Nadia’s closet. The doorknob jerks violently. Someone is trying to enter her coffin-like safe house. Nadia grips the doorknob tighter, and with all of her strength she struggles to secure the door.

  "Open up! Please Nadia!" A sad girlish squeal pleads from the other side of the door. But there’s no response, only Nadia’s heavy breathing penetrates the door’s tattered wooden frame. “I know you’re in there! Open up!” Desperate, tiny hands jerk at the door.

  Nadia hesitates, but her tight grip on the battered brass doorknob doesn’t falter.

  “Mila?” A ridiculous question because of course it’s her little sister, the high pitched sound of the girl’s eight-year-old voice unmistakable. "Go away," Nadia finally says, her voice fearful and hesitant.

  Mila’s tiny voice only becomes louder, more desperate, more persistent, “Please! Please open the door!”

  “Shhh!” Nadia says. “They’re going to hear you!”

  The teenager’s demands are only met with more shrill screams and yanks on the door. Nadia’s grip loosens and the once secured door opens, sending Mila stumbling backward and sprawling onto the floor. But she doesn’t remain on the floor for long; she quickly scrambles to her feet and bolts toward the closet, not allowing Nadia’s presence there to deter her. “I can fit!” Mila yells as she tries to squeeze into the space, jostling Nadia to the side.

  “Stop it!” Nadia shoves the girl hard, sending her tumbling onto her back. Mila sits on the floor for a moment, nursing her scraped elbow and looking up at Nadia with mournful, angry eyes. “This is your fault. You made them come after us! It’s your fault!”

  Mila’s accusations send Nadia into a sudden fit of rage. “That’s a lie!”

  “No it’s not! Mom told you….” Mila stops talking and focuses on trying not to cry.

  “Look…” Nadia tries to sound soothing; but her voice only comes out as a scared whisper. “You can’t fit in here…go into the other room and…and…uhm…lay under the bed, they won’t look there.”

  “But there’s monsters under there,” Mila’s eyes plead with her sister.

  “Then find somewhere else…we can’t both fit here. Anyway, they’re not looking for you, they want me.” Nadia feels guilty even as she speaks the words; she knows that’s not exactly the full truth.

  Mila presses her tiny hands together, “Please…” she begs.

  There is a loud grinding noise. The lights flicker. Then there is darkness.

  Calcane City - Ministry of Retrieval: The Fallen and Errant Special Division

  It’s 8 p.m. and the cold wind whips against thick steel plates bolted across the fractured windows of what was once City Hall. Each floor of the four-story building is a maze of interconnected grey cubicles jutting from grime covered walls. The domed cathedral ceiling was once adorned with some renaissance style motif that no one remembers; but now it too is carefully covered with steel plates. Working in pairs, the employees sit back-to-back in their cubicles, filing out papers and rifling through color-coded binders as young boys push mail carts through the aisles and deliver various notes, letters, and bulky packages. The workers’ identical clothing and haircuts make them seem like one human interconnected machine. But there are no actual machines in this bleak workplace. Human beings are the energy source of choice.

  In the midst of the human maze of sameness, Thomas Thumb, a 47-year-old nonconformist with long, stringy dark brown hair and a thick scraggily beard, smokes a cigar. His cubicle mate, 35-year-old Percy Bright, coughs hard and leafs through the dull, beige pages of a legal-sized folder. The pushcart boy makes his way to the Bright-Thumb working unit and hands Thomas a #10 envelope. Thomas takes it and begrudgingly waves the boy away. Ripping open the envelope, his nicotine stained fingers snatch out the letter. He skims the text. “We got a lead, ya’ ready?” He glances over his shoulder at Percy and then flips up his digital wristwatch, taking note of the time.

  Percy smoothes back his thinning blond hair. His dull grey eyes roam to the small unframed drawing of a young woman with her arms wrapped around two girls. He closes his folder and sighs, “Yeah, I’m ready.” Percy comes to his feet and tugs at his uniform which is exactly like the clothing of all the other men in the division with the exception of Thomas. He heads out of the cubicle not waiting for his partner.

  Thomas remains in his seat for a few moments, leaning his broad shoulders against the office chair, he watches Percy. “You got what it takes,” he says. “You’re good. You should take a little pride in your work.” He plants his black combat boots firmly on the concrete floor and lifts himself out of the chair. Ashes from his cigar drift onto the lapel of his black jean jacket.

  Percy shudders. Could he tell? Was it obvious? He could jump to defend himself, launch into a diatribe about his loyalty to the elites and the society and his faith in the path that’s been laid; but that would be too obvious. A quick defense would make him seem guilty and being guilty could have grave consequences.

  Percy remains silent for a long time as he walks towards the preparation zone, his partner not far behind. Percy figures that the distance between the cubicle and the preparation zone would give him time to come up with a good response; but not too much time as to make it apparent that he is lying.

  Percy steps into the preparation zone and sits on the steel enforced wooden bench. He turns towards his partner and says, “Who can measure up to the great hound dog?” and he says it with enough genuine deference to make it seem sincere.

  Thomas looks at the man for a long time as if trying to read him, he isn’t called hound dog for nothing. Finally he shrugs, “Guess you’re right.” Pride had always been his biggest flaw.

  Flopping down on the bench and legs spread eagle, Thomas takes up most of
the space. There is a box on each end of the bench — one for Percy and the other for Thomas. They dig into the boxes and begin pulling out items: waterproof rain pants, heavy black rubber boots, polar fleece underwear, silk socks, goggles, wool mittens, waterproof parkas and snow shoes. They quickly dress for the harsh elements. In their heavy duty attire they seem like space explorers ready to walk the moon.

 

  Calcane City – The Dead Zone

  Sitting atop their three-person snowmobile, Percy and Thomas drive through the dead zone. Buildings on each side loom tall, dark, cracked and falling down, only shadows of their former selves. Frozen bits of human flesh peek through mounds of white snow pushed to each side of the solitary road. Loud explosions can be heard in the distance of an otherwise quiet and dark city. To the uninformed, the shotgun sounds stand as evidence of war; but there is no war, only exploding trees stressed by the harsh temperatures which often fall well below -80 degrees Fahrenheit. The bowed and split bark of dying trees dot the urban landscape.

  As Percy and Thomas continue down the road, the snowmobile’s headlights illuminate a fully intact building in the distance. As they get closer, Percy quiets the engine and once they arrive he brings the vehicle to a stop. They dismount. The snow is already up to their calves; but they manage to pull on their snow shoes, mount their weapons, and slowly make the one block trek to the entrance.

  Calcane City – Residential Living Quarters

  Thomas slides a plastic card into a slot on the wall and the door opens. The dim lobby lights frantically flicker, and a loud grinding noise rises and falls every few seconds. Percy unbuckles a heavy duty flashlight from his belt and shines it into the shadowy lobby as he and Thomas cross the threshold. The door closes behind them. They take off their head gear and snowshoes, carefully leaning them against the wall. Thomas points towards the dark stairwell, “Four flights,” he says. He pulls out his own flashlight and leads the ascent, his heavy, black boots thumping against the wooden steps.

  The echo of the men’s movements races ahead of them, up the stairs and into the cold, dark living space where Mila and Nadia cower. Hearing the heavy steps, Mila slowly turns her head towards the door. Nadia follows Mila’s gaze, “They’re coming…” she whispers, barely squeezing out the words.

  The marching sounds stop. Silence. There is a brief moment of nothing, no noise, no movement, as if it was all a bad dream, a mere figment of the girls’ imaginations. But then…..noise…..high pitched noise impales their eardrums. Their knees buckle, slamming hard into the wooden floor. Desperate hands unsuccessfully attempt to block the sharp blades of noise. The girls shriek in pain and terror, it is beginning.

  The worn wooden door swings open, hard and fast, nearly coming unhinged. Thomas and Percy stand larger than life in the doorway, clad in their white snow gear, high-powered tasers drawn and at the ready. The noise stops. The girls whimper, but in relief that their taste with ‘it’ has stopped. They struggle to their feet, still terrified.

  Mila cowers at the side of Nadia, a little whimper escaping. “Please…,” she pleads with the men.

  Nadia protectively pushes Mila behind her own frail body. “Back the fuck