The Fall: The Rift Book I

by Robert J. Duperre

  “I…I don’t know,” muttered Josh.

  “Well, you’d better figure it out. It’s life or death out here. There are no in-betweens.”

  With those words, the General walked away. He barked orders at his flock, who in turn hurried to carry those orders out. Josh rubbed his temples.

  “I think we’re going to be leaving soon,” said James. “We’re heading back to the church. I think you should come with us.”

  Josh shook his head. “I gotta get back home, Mister C. My parents are waiting for me.”

  “Well, you should at least check it out. I mean, you’ll have protection, and the soldiers can probably get you back to your folks if you want to leave. It might end up being a safer place for the lot of you.”

  Josh thought it over, considered the possibility he might find a doctor there, and said, “I can only stay for an hour or so. Then I have to get back.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo. Sure thing.”

  Josh thought of Sophia, lying asleep on the couch while sickness tore through her body. Yes, finding a doctor might be the best way to go, he thought, and his logic overrode his doubts. A sickening feeling slunk up his spine.

  “Okay, Mister C,” he said, trying to ignore it. “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  The thundering chorus of marching feet and slamming doors awoke Kyra from her slumber. She sat up and wiped her eyes. “What now?” she groaned. She had reached the point where sleep was all she wanted; she needed to wallow, to brood, and to suppress.

  From below her perch, voices woofed in imposing tones. These voices drowned out the laughter of children, which had been the noise that ushered her off to sleep earlier that morning. She cursed them all and threw off her covers.

  She inched her way to the railing and peered through the slats. Her fellow survivors, both civilians and soldiers, flooded in through the front door of the church, apparently done with the day’s pilfering. Those who had stayed behind parted, clinging to the walls to avoid the oncoming herd.

  The convoy thinned to a trickle as the last stragglers sauntered in, walking much slower than the rest, appearing to make an effort to take in the sights around them as if they weren’t sure if they would ever see their compatriots again. She recognized many of them from her countless nights at The Pit. Her mind took a roll call: Mike Studebaker, Scott McCray, Mo Thompson, James Conroy, and last but not least…

  She yelped and brought her balled fists to her eyes, praying they weren’t deceiving her. When her sockets were sufficiently sore, she peered through the railing again and her spirits lifted.

  There he stood. the one she had been seeing in her dreams, a man-child named Josh who had a shy streak a mile wide and hung out with a pair of loudmouthed yet mostly nice friends. Josh positioned himself apart from the pack, beside old man Conroy, his complexion as green as fresh seaweed. Even in that sickly-looking state, he appeared as beautiful and sensitive as he had in her sleep. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

  She crawled over to Stacy, who was somehow still dozing in the sleeping bag next to hers. She had to fight the urge to shake her friend awake. Everything in her wanted to unload on a trusted ear the thoughts that raced through her mind and the desire that bubbled between her legs, but when she looked down at her friend, whose eyes were shut tight, and then at Little Roger, who was cuddled up on her chest, she thought better of it. Instead she scurried to her knapsack, threw open the flap, and tore through its contents in search of clothes that didn’t smell like they’d been washed in pond water.

  Don’t be a fool, her pathetic inner voice admonished. You’re too old. You’re damaged goods. This might be the end of the goddamn world. Why in the hell would he want you?

  “Get out of my head,” she replied, and kept on searching.

  She finally found something appropriate. It was a navy blue, long-sleeved blouse and a pair of one-size-too-small jeans whose sides were lined with sequins. They were shoddy, but they didn’t reek. She stripped out of her sweats in record time. The cold set her body shivering. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  * * *

  Josh followed James Conroy through the church. People huddled in small groups all around him, most of whom he recognized. Children hid beneath the adults’ legs, watching the procession with wide, fearful eyes and shaking limbs. He empathized with how these little ones must be feeling. They’d been ripped from their homes and forced to dwell in this cold, stone refuge, with nothing but the shirts on their backs, and only a few had the familiar faces of their parents for comfort. He felt sick from the thought of their plight.

  The retrieval party maneuvered to the stage and gathered around. General Stack climbed the steps and conversed with his men. They handed sheets of paper back and forth; they whispered and passed furtive glances at the crowd. Josh leaned against the wall on the perimeter of the assembly. James Conroy stayed by his side. His hand remained on Josh’s shoulder like that of a supportive grandfather.

  “You’re sure?” Josh heard Stack say to one of the soldiers. The young man nodded. Stack faced the congress.

  “I’m going to make this short,” Stack declared. “The town is close to purified. My men have just informed me that only pockets of reanimated dead remain, and there are no Wraiths to be seen. This means that, with the firepower we have, we should be able to dispatch the rest of them by the end of the day. This is the first step, people. We are well on our way.”

  A thin, unshaven man stepped to the front of the civilian pack. “What about the Wraiths? Where’d they go?”

  Stack waved his hand, seeming annoyed. “I was getting to that. According to our intelligence, they’ve evacuated. The unit trailing them said they have gathered in a township quite close to here. Berwick, Maine, to be exact.”

  “Why?” someone else inquired.

  “I don’t have a clue,” snapped the General. “Could be they’re preparing for another strike. Maybe they’re in full retreat and simply gathering supplies, like we were. Who knows? I don’t give a fuck either way. All that matters is that they’re all in the same place, which means they’re ripe for the picking.”

  Stack’s lips curled up. “Anyone else?” he said with a sarcastic tone. When no one spoke, he glanced at the slip of paper in his hand and said, “Then that’s it. After the supply excursion today, we’ll have enough provisions to last at least a couple of weeks. Three-quarters will be loaded into the vehicles we intend to take on this mission. The other quarter will stay here. Alice Carpenter and Judy Gould have volunteered to oversee housekeeping duties while we’re away. All of those who stay behind will be expected to assist in these endeavors. As for the rest of you…” He pointed to the young soldier beside him, the one who had handed him the sheet of paper. “Sergeant Davis will debrief you all on what’s required. Weapons training, rudimentary field medicine—whatever you need. We’ll be taking small groups to the Sacristy over the next couple hours for this very purpose. Please be patient.”

  He paused and dropped his eyes. When Josh caught them again, they glimmered with arrogance. “We will be departing at oh-three-hundred, people,” he announced. “We’ll get them at dawn. When they least expect it.”

  The crowd exploded in a chorus of gasps and cheers. A few women started crying and pleading with their husbands or boyfriends or sons, who in turn did their best to calm the hysterical women down. The General turned on his heels and exited the stage, apparently disinterested by this display, and disappeared through the door that led the back room.

  Josh couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It seemed not only unreal, but unfeasible. Everything inside him insisted that he should panic, but that otherworldly calm he’d felt earlier, while he was maneuvering through the ruined streets of Dover, reared its head again. You have to think of your family, it said. This is not the place for you. It isn’t safe here. He glanced at James and saw that the old man was frowning.

  A woman’s voice rose above the crowd, calling James Con
roy’s name. The sad eyes of his friend sparked with new life. He waved across the sea of people at a frumpy old lady with dyed, pitch-black hair.

  “Who’s that?” asked Josh.

  “My wife.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I ever met her. Sandra, right?”

  “Yup. She’s my rock, kiddo. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “So, what are you going to do? I mean, with this militia and all.”

  James looked at him. There were tears in his eyes.

  “Join them,” he said.

  Josh nodded and thought of the war stories Mr. Conroy used to tell him, and also the twinkle of memory that would flash in his eye as the old man remembered friends long lost.

  Of course you are, he thought.

  * * *

  Kyra watched Josh from across the room. She noted each motion he made while he spoke with James and Sandra Conroy, from the way one corner of his mouth rose when he laughed to the odd angle his posture took on when he seemed uncomfortable. She wanted more than anything to march over to him, grab him by the shoulders, and kiss him. She felt like she used to when she was a young girl, when she would sit and stare at whichever young boy had caught her eye, all the while wishing he would notice her secret passion because she was too afraid to tell him herself.

  She reached down and caressed her thigh. Her insides tingled at the touch, even through the denim covering her legs, sending invisible bolts of electricity that entered the pit of her stomach, coursed through her abdomen, and ignited the passion below. She closed her eyes and pictured them lying naked together, their bodies moving to the same unheard beat while the sweet aroma of their combined odors filled the air. A groan parted her lips. She moved her hand inward, an act that the socially conscious part of her sensed was inappropriate. The opposing part, the corner of her being that had seen his face during sleep for much of the past week, thought differently. There is nothing wrong with a little excitement, it said. Everyone needs some affection now and then. You deserve some happiness.

  She thought of the dreams. They were variations on a single theme: the two of them together, meandering along sparkling ocean water in a nameless tropical paradise. She could almost feel his hand in hers and experienced the combined strength and softness of his fingers. I want this. I need this.

  Kyra gulped, swallowed whatever apprehension remained, and started walking. She didn’t care if it all turned out to be nothing but fantasy. She had to give the possibility, and the hope, a chance.

  It was all she had left.

  * * *

  Excited butterflies suddenly fluttered in Josh’s gut. It was an odd sensation, as if he’d fallen asleep and now floated through space on a separate metaphysical plane than the rest of humanity. He went with the feeling even though there seemed to be no reason for it, enjoying the lightness until a painful poke in the arm interrupted his trance. It brought him back down to earth as quickly as he’d left.

  “Huh?” he said, dazed.

  James gazed at him, cockeyed. “You still with us, kiddo?”

  Josh shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. You were saying?”

  “We’re heading out back,” said James as he took his wife’s hand. “Are you sure you’re not going to stay?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.” He shook his coat. The bottles of liquid trapped in his pocket swished. “I’ve asked around. There’s no one here that even resembles a doctor, and I have to get this stuff back to Sophia before she gets worse. And besides, this place is honestly a hell of a lot less comfortable than the cellar. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true.”

  “It’s all right, Josh. We have to take care of our families. I get it. But how’re you going to get back?”

  “The soldiers pretty much told me no way, so I’ll hike it, I guess.”

  James shook his head. “No. That won’t do.” He reached into his pocket, took out a set of keys, and handed them to Josh. “My car’s parked down the hill. Take that. It’ll be safer.”

  “The Volvo? Really? But you’ve had that thing for years. It’s your baby.”

  The old man winked. “For you, kiddo? Anything.”

  “Thanks, Mister C. I owe you one.”

  James smiled and then he and Sandra walked away. Josh felt fidgety as he watched them depart. It had been no more than an hour since they’d arrived in the place, and yet that already seemed too long. He observed those around him and felt disconnected. Depression overcame him. In a space jam-packed with people, he’d never felt so alone, or so uncertain.

  I have to get going…in a minute.

  He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. Deep down, he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d never see Mr. C again. The weight of this threatened to crush him. It felt like his brain had been locked in a Chinese thumb-torture device—the harder he tried to yank the sadness out of him, the greater the pressure became. He couldn’t keep hold of a consistent line of thinking, such as remembering the way home. I just need to rest, he concluded, amazed he could hold this thought before it drifted away. I haven’t slept right in weeks. Once I get home, once Sophia’s better, I’ll pass out for a month. I’ll go Rip van Winkle on their asses. That should do it.

  A tender substance that felt like satin brushed against his neck and he smiled. For a moment he forgot where he was and began to drift. He gazed at the stars in the darkness behind his eyelids, a sensation of flying overcoming him.

  Outside, in the real world, another force beckoned him to come back to earth. It came in the form of a spoken word, his name, the tone soft and sweet.

  “Josh?”

  He opened his eyes slowly, and when his hazy vision brightened he saw a female face. The hair surrounding that face was wavy and the color of a rusty Radio Flyer wagon, and the lips were full and slightly chapped. Creased lines of age surrounded two intense, green-blue eyes. These eyes stared at him in a quizzical squint.

  He knew the face, and the hair, and the lips, and the eyes. A serene sort of reverie came over him. Just seeing her, he found it hard to think of anything else.

  “Hey, Kye,” he said, his voice sounding far away.

  She nodded in response, but didn’t say anything more. Neither did he. They simply gazed at each other, handing out well wishes and thank-God-you’re-okays without need of sound. Here she was, a woman he had barely spoken to over the two years he’d known her, and yet he felt captivated, almost trapped by her presence. He sensed the quickening beat of her heart and the faint whisper of air as it passed through her lungs, soothing and constant. He wondered if she could sense the same things in him as he sensed in her.

  Josh blinked, and the wistfulness crumbled. Kyra shivered, her once-relaxed shoulders tensing. Josh forced a grin. His head was still in a fog and he suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Kyra reached out and brushed his shoulder with her fingers. He trembled and let his eyes wander downward, noticing the smooth line of her neck, the rise of her small breasts, and the exaggerated curve of her hips. He remembered how hard it had been for him in the past to speak with her, and realized that she intimidated him with her overt sexuality. Many nights he would fantasize about her before falling asleep, creating scenarios in his mind where she gave in to his every desire. He recalled cursing those thoughts but also welcoming them, and fully accepting the guilt that followed.

  Now, however, he felt none of that. There was no shame. There was no nervousness. There was no fear. All he felt was a hushed, irritating confusion, as if some cosmic hypnotist had coaxed his mind into compliance.

  “Are you okay?” asked Kyra.

  “Sure,” he said. His voice again sounded faint.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  “Same here.”

  She pulled her hand away and stared at him again. Her head tilted and she bit her lip. She seemed to radiate disappointment.

  Don’t be a dope, a small inner voice said. You always told Colin how much you thought of her. Go
get her. She’s obviously into you. What are you waiting for?

  He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her small body into his. Her curves pressed into his chest and pelvis and she gasped. Josh smiled and put his lips to the nape of her neck. Savor this. You need it.

  Savor it, he did. Her soft flesh tickled his dry lips. He breathed through his nose, smelling the blended aromas of sweat and perfume. She swayed in his grasp, snaking her hips as if dancing to a Latin beat. He surrendered to it, forcing back his despair and misgivings through carnal delight.

  After a while he pulled back, held her by the shoulders, and gazed at her smiling face. Tears ran down her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. In that moment he realized she had needed that touch of warmth, that touch of ardor, as much as he.

  “Hey,” he said. His cheeks flushed.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “It’s been a while, Kye.”

  “Too long.”

  “So…what have you been up to?”

  “Nothing much. Hiding in the loft, I guess. Oh, and being scared shitless.”

  He chuckled. “I hear you on that one.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  For a split second, a part of him wanted to blurt out that he hadn’t thought of her once since this whole thing started, but he thankfully decided against it. “Me, too,” he said instead.

  Kyra removed his hands from her arms and leaned into him, pressing her face into his chest. “Holy shit, Josh,” she said. “I’ve been dreaming about you nonstop for a week now. It’s unreal that you’re here. Thank you.”

  The lingering euphoria he’d experienced only moments before dissipated. Her neediness made him uncomfortable. His sympathetic side wanted to reciprocate, to give her whatever she wanted, but his thoughts eventually turned to Sophia and his parents. They were all alone and awaiting his return. He didn’t have time for this. He pushed her away, gently, and held her at arm’s length.

  “I’m, uh, grateful, I guess,” he said. “But I have to go.”

  Kyra’s expression sullied. “What? Why?”

  “Sophia’s sick. My folks are waiting. They’re probably worried. I gotta get back to them.”