by Tim Meyer
Can't be.
Look, pal. Could be worse. Could be New Jersey.
Sandborough crawls his way out of the train car. He dangles his feet over the edge, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of life outside The Dish.
I was instructed to give you this, the man says.
From him, Sandborough takes the newspaper and reads the headline. ESTIMATED 10,000 DEAD IN MEXICO CITY EARTHQUAKE.
By whom?
Some guy. Deep voice. Sounded like Satan.
Satan?
I think he was using one of those voice-changing thingy-ma-jigs. The man laughs heartily. The shit they come up with nowadays. Soon we'll all be talking through computers and flying cars like in Back to the Future.
Back to the what?
Back to the Future? The movie? Never seen it?
I don't go to the movies.
VHS guy. I gotcha.
The man hands Sandborough a large yellow envelope. Wanting answers, he quickly tears the envelope open. A picture ID tumbles out. It's a driver's license, New Jersey issued, belonging to someone named Soren Nygaard. A social security card with the same name.
Who's Soren Nygaard?
You are, the man said.
That's not my name.
Is now. The portly man smiles. Made it up. Got it from that book.
Sandborough follows his fat finger to the corner of the train car. Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard rests on a small bale of hay. He turns back to the man. Did Aldo put you up to this? Are you his man on the outside?
The man scratches his head. Man, I don't know whose idea this is, but someone loves you. They're giving you a new life. Not a cheap purchase, I can tell you that much.
Sandborough digs through the rest of the envelope. A MasterCard. A birth certificate with a raised seal. Legit. Genuine to the touch. The last item is most important.
Any questions.
Just one. Sandborough plucks a cigarette from the new pack, pops it into his mouth. Got a light?
When he opens his eyes, all he sees are ghosts—
“EXODUS: PART TWO”
EPISODE SEVEN
-1-
NOW
“Are you listening to me?”
Soren Nygaard peered through the smoke of his cigarette and saw Susan glaring back at him, her eyes resting above her librarian glasses. The wrinkles in her mouth twitched even after she spoke. She was about the same age as him, but in the dim light provided by the camper's lantern she looked much older. She sat down on the rock across from him and threw one leg over the other like she intended on staying a while.
“Yes,” he replied, tapping his cigarette. Ash fell to the earth and landed like a gray, shriveled worm.
“It looked like you were daydreaming again,” she said. “Where do you go in that mind of yours?”
“Where do I go?”
“Yes. It sure isn't on planet Earth with us.”
He bit down on his tongue. “What is it you want to tell me, Susan? You have some pertinent information to relay? Because if you don't, I prefer to be alone with my thoughts.”
She pretended to laugh, but she wasn't fooling him. Folding her arms, she pretended his attitude didn't bother her.
“I think we should talk about the group.”
“What about them?”
“Well... where do I start?” She put a finger between her teeth and chewed her nail. “Two days ago, we left with forty people. We're down to almost half that.”
Soren nodded. She wasn't telling him anything he didn't know. Their numbers had dwindled rapidly. Unforeseen accidents had taken place, which tallied a few deaths. Wendy Forester, a school aide before The Burn, went for “a walk” the first night on the road and never returned. No one ever saw her again, but would have, had they traveled a good mile into the forest and found the small lake where she drowned herself. The one they called Mouth found Ted Banks, a retired construction worker, deep in the woods, hanging from rope pilfered from Costbusters. Dan Treadrow, a one-time investment banker turned freelance financial adviser, was found not too far from Ted, hanging from a branch of his own. These were good people. Smart people. People Soren assumed would make it to the end. No one was safe from the new world's unique effect. The sun had more than one way of eradicating life.
“I count about twenty-five,” Susan said.
Hearing the number, Soren winced. He set the Dan Brown book down on the ground. Susan scoffed at the title.
“Problem?” Soren asked.
“That book is preposterous and—for the lack of a better term—stupid. A man of God like yourself shouldn't read such filth.”
He shrugged. Instead of arguing with the intolerable woman, he chose to keep his mouth closed on the subject. He suspected she knew his intentions were not of a Holy directive. This was not a pilgrimage to God's promised land. God was as much behind Soren as Santa Claus. He didn't know how, but she saw past his deceit, all his untruths. She had grown suspicious of him the entire walk, her judgmental eyes suffocating him like a scorned lover's pillow.
Admittedly, she had been impressed when he walked into the sunlight and didn't combust. He had seen it on her face, the still expression of shock and awe. The same reaction was present from the rest of the survivors. But Susan's was different. Now he no longer mystified her. Now her face contained doubt, too much for his liking. Plus, she was clever—too clever—and that would not do. He could no longer manage her expectations, her thoughts, her beliefs. She would always question him. Forever skeptical from here on out. Such skepticism, he thought, was unacceptable—intolerable—especially when it could tarnish the loyalty he earned from the others. Nothing was going to change that. Not even the unwarranted skepticism of some doubting bitch.
“I thought you came here to talk about the group. Not about my literary preferences.”
Susan nodded. “Yes. Of course.” She composed herself, staring at him weirdly, like their meeting were a poker game and she couldn't read his tell. He would hint at nothing and returned her awkward glare. “In addition to the suicides and the missing, others have reported that some want to return to their homes. Back north.”
“So?”
“So... they left. Mort said—”
“Who is Mort?” Soren asked.
“You know him as Mouth. But I think nicknames are bit juvenile. Don't you?”
Disgusted, Soren cleared his throat. “Oh, that fool.”
“Yes, well I can't say I care for him either. But he's been useful at keeping the others motivated, at least when it comes to the Wright girls. He seems to be watching over them very closely. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Sam put him up to it.”
Soren nodded.
“Anyway, several people have abandoned our... mission.”
“Why do you say it like that?” he asked.
“I don't know how else to say it. You haven't exactly been transparent with us, Mr. Nygaard. It's one of the reasons I think some of the survivors changed their minds about Alaska. They're frightened of you.”
“And what of the twenty-five remaining?”
She paused. “Honestly, I think they're scared of you, too.”
“But it's not the same kind of fear, is it?”
“No.” She continued to chew her finger, squinting, still trying to get a read. “I can't figure you out. You're leading these people across country to a place that—for all we know—may not exist, but who are you?”
“Who am I? I'm the one who saved everyone from a band of killers. That's who I am.”
“No...” A sly smile wormed its way across her face. “No, that's what you did. That's not who you are.” She bit her lip as creases formed on her forehead. “You're not the second coming of Christ, that's for sure.”
“I beg to differ.”
“You may have spewed that religious zealot crap to the rest of them, but not to me. I'm a real Christian, mister.”
“Is that right?” Soren asked, amused. The game was starting to becom
e fun for him.
“Yes, I am.”
Placing a hand over his mouth to hide his growing amusement, he almost laughed.
“So who are you really?” Susan asked again.
“Who I am...” Soren said, “is of no concern to you. All that matters is the temple beneath the Alaskan tundra. It's where we can survive for the rest of our lives, free from whatever is happening out here.”
“And what exactly is happening?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Because you seem to be the only person who's immune to it.”
“I can't explain my anomaly any more than a zebra can explain his own stripes.”
She looked at him dubiously, not believing a word.
“Don't take me as a fool. That would be unwise.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
“There's a few more matters at hand,” she said, getting back on subject. “The group is tired. You've pushed them hard these first two nights. They need rest.”
“Four hours will suffice.”
She shook her head. “We found a nice safe place here; it's off the highway and the trees provide extra protection from direct sunlight.”
“I told you we can stop anywhere we please. The tents are adequate protection.”
“They are paper thin.”
“They are adequate.”
“Please, let them rest the entire day.” She was begging now, and he could see how much she hated it. “At this rate, they all might quit on you.”
Uncaring, Soren shrugged. “They won't.”
“Well, you sure have a strange way of seeing things.”
“Will there be anything else? I'd very much like to be alone now.”
“One more thing,” she said as if he were the annoying one. “Shondra.”
“What about her?”
“I don't trust her.”
“I'm finding trust to be a common theme with you.”
“I think she's plotting something. She's always staring at you. At me. She's always whispering in people's ears. I don't like a thing about her.”
“So... what are you going to do about it?” Soren asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
-2-
With a hunting knife he'd taken from Costbusters, Brian Waters whittled a fallen tree branch into a spear. He paused and whistled at Shondra Wilson, who was inflating an air mattress the old-fashioned way. Breathless, she glanced up at him. He nodded and she looked over at the woman she once compared to a desert buzzard entering Soren's tent.
“What do you think they're plotting?” he asked.
“Ways to kill us off.”
“I don't think they need much help with that.” He glanced around the camp, taking a quick census of the remaining party. “Vicki and Armando left before sunup and never came back.”
“Maybe they went looking for Wendy.”
He rubbed the blade against the branch more furiously with each stroke. “I think it's safe to say Wendy is not coming back. Neither are Vicki and Armando.”
“Think we'll find them hanging from a tree?”
Shondra's question went unanswered as he continued to forge his weapon.
“You think he's using us, don't you?” Shondra asked, changing the subject.
Brian winced. The blade slipped off the end of the branch and nearly sliced across his leg. “I think Soren's up to something, yes. What it is? Anyone's guess at this point. If Alaska is where he's truly setting his sights on, then he's not going to make it there alone. It would benefit him to keep a few of us around. The useful ones.”
“And the not-so-useful ones?”
He stared at her. “Notice how upset he is about the suicides?”
“Good point.” Shondra huffed. “That bastard. Wish we could do something.”
“No point trying anything now.” He touched the end of the branch. It was sharp, but it wouldn't pierce the flesh of a small animal unless the distance was short. He shaved the branch over and over again, eventually reaching his desired result. “Soren's got enough of these idiots thinking he's the second coming of Christ with that little magic trick he pulled. I'm willing to bet they won't let you within six feet of his tent. But here's a real scary thought: some of them might actually kill for him. Protect him at all costs. Those are the people I'm guessing he'll want to keep around.”
“Like that old buzzard in there.”
Brian chuckled softly. “Yeah. Like Susan. Soren has proven himself to be a great manipulator. Look what he did to Sam.”
“God, I hope he's all right.”
She turned and saw Becky and Dana arguing over who got the last inflatable mattress. As they were beginning to shout, Mouth cut between them, telling them to “shut their pie-holes”, that they'll have to take turns. Becky threw her hands up and stormed off, while Dana stuck her tongue out. Mouth said something about Becky having her “blood buddy” and Dana laughed, asking him to elaborate on his comment, knowing perfectly well what he meant. He stammered and told her to never mind. Smirking, Shondra shook her head. “Well, at least they're in good hands. I think.”
Finally comfortable with the penetrating ability of his spear, he tapped his pointer finger on the tip and yanked his hand back immediately, shaking it in the air. A small blood bubble formed and he stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking on the coppery taste and spitting it out.
“Christ on a crusty cracker,” Mouth said, approaching with his hands on his hips, his head swinging back and forth like an old porch door. “If anyone knows how to prevent two teenage sisters from clawing their eyes out, I'm all fuckin' ears.”
“I had a fifteen year old niece. It's not the most pleasant experience,” Brian said.
“You have,” Shondra corrected, giving him those you-know-better eyes.
He nodded. “Yes. I have.”
“Well, any time you two want to pitch in and give me a break, feel free. I'm about to tear what little hair I have left right the fuck out,” Mouth said.
“You're doing a great job, Mouth,” Shondra said, patting his back. “Sam would be proud.”
“Well that sumbitch better get his stubborn ass back here pronto, or Mort is going to have a major fucking meltdown.”
“Please refrain from using your name in the third person, Mouth,” Brian said, grinning. “It's weird when someone calls you something other than Mouth.”
“Sorry, fuckface. One of my many bad habits, which I'm probably never going to break, so go fuck yerself stupid.”
For the first time in three days, the three of them shared a laugh.
“What the hell are you all talking about anyway?” Mouth asked. “I saw you two staring down Miss Pissy-Pants before I had to break up the cat fight, so I assume it's nothing good.”
Brian looked over his shoulder, ensuring he was out of ear-shot from Soren's more faithful followers. There were a few close by, pretending not to look in their direction, but in the moment Brian glanced at them, he caught their shifting eyes. He turned back to Shondra and Mouth and shook his head, subtly nodding in their direction. Shondra took the clue and went back to inflating her bed. It took a moment for the hint to register with Mouth. As he understood, he rolled his eyes and pretended to yawn.
“Oh fer fuckhole's sake,” Mouth said. “You two!” He pointed at the two eavesdroppers and watched their eyes drift toward him. They didn't respond; they stood like statues, waiting for Mouth to continue. “Yeah, you two knuckle-fuckers! Don't you have something better to do than eye-bang the shit out of us? I mean, I know I'm working on a pretty healthy set of man tits over here, but come on.”
They regarded him like bad gas and shuffled on. Mouth found their disgust the highest form of flattery and released a series of thunderous laughs, causing his beer belly to shake. His outburst cut through an otherwise quiet camp, turning the heads of Soren's closest lackeys.
“Fuckin' chumps.”
Brian squinted. Mouth was treading a fine line. The leftovers f
rom Sam's side were clearly outnumbered. They were, for the lack of a better term, “guests” in Soren's house. If they became too much of a liability or a hindrance of any kind, there were trees waiting with their names on them.
“Mouth, as much as I appreciate your peculiar sense of humor, you might want to crank things down a notch,” Brian told him.
“What? Fuck those geese-feeders. Not like we're trying to make friends here.”
“That's my point.”
Mouth shook his head. “What? You want me to play nice-nice with these boneheads?”
“You don't have to offer them a back rub or cook them dinner, but pissing them off probably isn't in our best interest.”
“He's right,” Shondra agreed. “There's more of them than us. What's going to happen when they decide they don't need us?”
“Look, I know this crazy sumbitch is our best shot at surviving this goddamn debacle,” Mouth said. “But just because the sun's melting everyone's skin off except his, doesn't mean I have to get on my knees and suck his—”
Brian put up his hand and stopped him. “Like I said. We don't have to be friendly. We just have to co-exist and convince them we're worth keeping around. If we can't make Soren think we're useful, he'll have no problem feeding us to the sun.”
Shondra placed her hands on her hips and drew in a slow breath.
They turned to Mouth, hoping he'd go along with their plan.
He threw his hands up in the air. “Yeah, fine. I'll do my fuckin' best.”
Shondra squeezed Mouth's shoulder, thanking him.
Mouth smirked. “Guess that means I should go retrieve that small bag of deer shit I left outside of Susan's tent.”
-3-
3 DAYS AGO
He read the words for the four-hundredth time. Headed to Alaska. Each time he waited for them to change, to reveal their true identity. Headed just up the road or we'll be waiting for you at X. Something attainable, something real. Heading to Alaska didn't seem real to him. The words were an illusion and Samuel Wright thought the longer he stared at them, the sooner they'd show the truth beyond the dried ink.
