Sunfall (Season 2): Episodes 7-12

by Tim Meyer

  “Say the word vampire again, dude,” Chuck said, “and I'll kill you.”

  “Guys, please,” Bob said. “Matty, I of all people appreciate your advice, but Jarvis has a point. We don't need to take any unnecessary risks.”

  “But it's not—” Matty started to say, but Bob waved him off.

  “We'll travel by night, seek refuge during the day. A hotel is a great idea, if we can find one. We'll stick to the map and see if we can catch up to the rest of the group.”

  “Sorry, pal,” Chuck said. “But I have no skin in this game, so I think we're better off not setting off on a wild goose chase. None of us are Indian trackers, right? Unless they left us a trail of bread crumbs, finding them will be like trying to hit a bullseye blindfolded.”

  “It's imperative we find Dana and Becky,” Bob said. “I understand it's not your number one priority and no one is forcing you to come along. But I should warn you there is safety in numbers and you might find surviving alone challenging.”

  Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. Bob was right; there was safety in numbers. If he hadn't been alone when Malek and his crew of crazy assholes came knocking on his door, then maybe they wouldn't have abducted him so easily.

  “I'm in,” Jarvis said. “You guys helped me out back there. I'm all yours. I'm just not too keen on this whole afternoon stroll idea.”

  The others agreed.

  “No one is traveling by day. Although I'm sure Matthew has good evidence to back up his claim, we're not going to risk anyone's life.”

  Matty looked like he wanted to speak, but Lilah grabbed his hand and squeezed. He looked at her and she smiled at him. She mouthed the words, “I believe you” and for the moment it eased him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and leaned toward her. She met him halfway and he whispered in her ear, “I want to show you something.”

  As the rest of the group discussed their journey, Matty led Lilah away, back toward the store.

  -6-

  The moment dusk settled, Soren emerged from his tent and informed his followers the time had come to move on. The group packed their belongings quickly, but Brian, Shondra, Mouth, and the girls were slow to follow. When the group set off, they lingered, hanging back so they could discuss certain topics without having one of Soren's many ears eavesdrop.

  “We need to find out what his end game is,” Shondra said. “What he's hiding from us.”

  Brian shook his head. “He can't hide it forever. The truth will come out soon enough. Be patient.”

  “Why don't you go ask the almighty fuck yerself, Shondra?” Mouth asked. “Either that or close your mouth-hole because you sound like a broken record. Plus, all this Soren talk is giving me one hell of a headache.”

  Brian spotted Susan up ahead. She looked over her shoulder and whispered to another one of Soren's disciples. A few more heads rotated in their direction. He stared back at them, making sure they knew he didn't care for their secrets. His stern glare awarded him their phony smiles.

  “We can't talk to Soren,” Brian said, ignoring Mouth's request. “But maybe we can corner Susan. She's not as strong as she thinks she is. I can crack her.”

  Mouth nodded. “Boy, if you want to hear a fucking sermon or the gospel according to Soren's left testicle, you go right on ahead and strike up a conversation with that crazy broad. As for me, I think I'll pass. I'd rather stick my manhood in a wood chipper than to converse cordially with that nut job.”

  “Thanks for your blessing, Mouth,” Brian said.

  “No problemo. That's what I'm here for, sassy-pants.”

  “I'll do it,” Shondra said. Slinging her survival pack over her shoulder, she started forward. “The bitch doesn't scare me.”

  Hours passed before the group finally stopped to rest. They had reached a convenience store, a place called Melvin's Food Mart, and Soren demanded his disciples scope the place out in case cannibals or other crazed individuals were hiding inside. The small place took less than a minute to comb and the team returned with good news and bad news. The place being free from weirdos and flesh-eating maniacs was the good news; the bad news—the place had already been raided for supplies, water, and every other useful item.

  Susan told Soren she'd be right back. Although she didn't mention it, she couldn't hold her bladder any longer. Jogging into the woods, she located the first tree she could find, one with enough privacy from the others. Unzipping her dirty jeans, she squatted and rested her back against the tree. She sighed as her bladder leaked.

  “It's not safe on your own.”

  At first, her heart plummeted. She remained still as the last few drops left her. Once emptied, she stood up and yanked her pants over her hips. She fiddled with her button as the crunching of leaves grew louder.

  “Next time, I suggest bringing a bathroom buddy.”

  “What do you want?” she asked the shadow as it stepped into the small sliver of moonlight between the trees.

  Shondra chuckled casually. “Just to talk. Privately. Thought we could iron out a few details on the down low.”

  Susan eyed her like stranger candy. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Just listen then.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I've taken notice to your overall displeasure for my friends and I. I don't like it—neither do they—and I don't expect much to change, but I have to ask—what the hell is up with Soren? Since you're the only one going in and out of his tent, I thought maybe you could shed a little light on all the mystery.”

  Susan, clearly amused, vibrated as a soft chuckle clung to the inside of her mouth. “Isn't it obvious?”

  “If it was, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

  “This is the End of Days, child. This is Hell on Earth. God has turned the one thing that keeps this planet spinning against us. And Soren—he can't be burned by God's touch. So, what does that make him?”

  Shondra shook her head incredulously. “You don't believe that, do you? That Soren is some chosen one?”

  “He's not just some chosen one. He's the chosen one.”

  Snickering, Shondra waved her hand in the air. “That's what I thought.”

  “It's easy to ridicule something you know nothing about it. Are you frightened? You should be. God can be scary, but He is good too. Maybe not to a sinner such as yourself.”

  “A sinner such as myself?”

  Susan narrowed her eyes. To Shondra, she looked like a wolf approaching wounded prey.

  “Before he foolishly sacrificed himself, Clay Burrows said something very hateful to you, didn't he?”

  Shondra recalled the memory to her mind. She often wished she could go back to that moment and kick the shit out of Clay for the way he spoke to her. She never wished death on anyone, and certainly hadn't when it came to Clay, but she didn't miss the prejudice bastard either.

  “What's your point?” Shondra asked.

  “Was he right?”

  “About...”

  “Do you keep your hair short like that because you're a dike?” Susan asked.

  Shondra ground her teeth together. She almost fell prey to her instinctual reaction to rush the delusional woman and rip her throat out, but she knew nothing good would come of it. If Susan didn't return the same way she left, a war would start, and Shondra and the rest of her squad were greatly outnumbered. Instead, she submerged her anger and closed her eyes.

  “That word bother you? Dike?”

  Shondra shook her head, but she knew Susan saw that it had.

  “Homosexuality is a sin, Shondra. God punishes sinners. The gays will burn in the sun along with the murderers, thieves, dope fiends, and perverts. You'll see. God has a plan for you and your kind. A plan you will not enjoy. So I suggest, instead of sticking your nose in other people's business, to look in the mirror and ask yourself a few questions.”

  Shondra had dealt with her type before; equal rights parades, rallies, the celebration at town hall when the state of New Jersey passed the Sam
e-Sex Marriage Bill. Susan was the dark cloud hanging over those sunny days, a fraction of the crowd holding up signs that read “God hates fags” and “Gays will burn for this.” She was the type of hate monger who had probably organized those rallies, using God's wrath to fuel her misguided rage. Shondra had no time or patience for these people. They didn't understand what it was like to be different. All they understood was their own simple-minded hatred and how to spread it to anyone willing to listen.

  “Well, this has been a lovely talk,” Shondra said through gritted teeth. “But I think it's time we head back to camp. Wouldn't want anyone to think we're fucking out here, would we?”

  Susan curled her lower lip. “You're a vile woman.”

  “Funny,” Shondra said, brushing past her, “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Brian held his arms out, reading Shondra's expression. “No good?”

  “That lady is a fucking crackpot.”

  “What the hell did I tell you, woman?” Mouth said. “Did she tell you to say ten Hail Marys and five Our Fathers?”

  “Not quite.”

  Brian nodded. “Did you get a vibe from her? Like she knows what's happening with Soren?”

  “I don't think she knows, but I still don't trust her, or the others. We're better off on our own.”

  “No way,” Mouth said, shaking his head. He pointed at Becky. In the near distance, she kicked rocks into a small pond. “I promised Sam I'd look after his kids, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I go where they go.”

  “Bring them with us. Hell, we'll go find Sam and the others.”

  “And where exactly do we find them?” Brian asked. “We have no idea where Sam is. If he's even alive. And I'll be damned if we head back to Costbusters. We don't know how many of the cannibals are still out there. We can't head back. Becky left a note letting him know where we're headed. If he's alive, he'll head west. Eventually...”

  “Eventually what?” Shondra asked. “Do you know the likelihood we'll find each other again? Do you know how big the United States is? He'll never find us.”

  “He'll find us,” Brian said.

  Shondra shook her head. “It'll be a miracle.”

  Brian winked at her. “Trust me. He'll. Find. Us.”

  It took a minute to register, but she understood. “Okay.”

  Mouth shook his head. “Look, whatever you two are blathering about, I don't really give two tits. But that,” he said, pointing to Dana walking side-by-side with Soren, “is an issue.”

  The three of them watched as Soren put a fatherly hand on Dana's shoulder.

  -7-

  A few hours later, a rural town replaced the trees and stretches of forest on either side of the highway. They turned off Route 70 and walked along Main Street. Small shops and eateries stood vacant since the day the world ended. Above, a three-quarter moon provided additional light, their lanterns and flashlights aiding them in the good fight against the black sky. Four of the group's biggest men took the perimeter, keeping lookout for potential hazards; mostly desperate people seeking easy prey. No life had been met along the highway, which surprised many. They had found a few bodies, some charred to a blackened crisp, others just dead, murdered, stuffed in the backseats of abandoned vehicles or strewn haphazardly along the side of the road. Some were riddled with bullet holes, while others had so many stab wounds they looked as if they'd been dragged across a cheese grater.

  Soren kept his position at the point. Dana followed closely behind him, while Susan and the other disciples lagged behind her. The rest of the group followed, too afraid to explore other options. In less than six months, the world had changed forever, and most weren't ready to change with it.

  Brian, Shondra, Mouth, and Becky took up the rear, moving along at a pace suggesting they didn't really care if they ever got to where they were going. Shondra shook her head as she stared at the scene in front of her. Mouth noticed what she was looking at, and did what Mouth did best when things were uncomfortably quiet.

  “Probably just small talk,” Mouth said, watching Dana and Soren converse with each other like old pals catching up on past times. “You know. How was your morning, Soren?” he asked, mimicking a child's voice. “Pretty good, little girl. How about yours?” he said, deepening his tone.

  “Small talk with a twelve year old?” Becky inquired, leery-eyed. “Somehow I doubt it.”

  “Well, what the hell do you think it is? Think he's shaping her into the next Hitler?”

  Shondra and Brian glanced at each other, sharing their own bit of skepticism.

  “I hate to say it,” Shondra said, “but Dana seems addicted to the Soren Kool-Punch.”

  Although they all shared the thought, Becky didn't like hearing it aloud. The comment stung; here she was, solely responsible for her sister's well-being, without any parental guidance, and she couldn't even get her to walk with them. They had never been exactly close—the six-year age difference being the big factor—but Becky had expected to fit into the caretaker role in the absence of her mother better than she had. If this were a college exam, Becky would have failed.

  “Sorry,” Shondra said. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

  “Thanks for that,” Becky said sharply.

  “Do you think you can talk some sense into her?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don't you think I tried already?”

  “Maybe you should try harder.”

  “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

  Mouth jumped between them. “Okay, ladies. Pipe down. No sense tearing our own throats out now.”

  A few neutral parties spun their heads, wondering if the quiet argument would escalate. Both women listened to Mouth and ended their tiff, the curious onlookers' hopes of further confrontation squashed.

  Mouth parted his lips to ridicule the nosy bastards, but advised himself against it. He amazed himself with his own self-control. He started to chuckle when he noticed a pair of staring eyes, a wry smile resting beneath them.

  Susan narrowed her eyes to slits and blew Mouth a subtle kiss.

  Soren waved the group off Main Street, down Fox Trot Lane. They walked two more miles until they reached a retirement village. Soren led his group underneath the metal arm manufactured to keep unwanted cars from trespassing, though he never met one that could keep a speeding vehicle at bay. One by one, the group limboed under the gate and continued on, passing houses identical to each other, save for different siding and shutter colors. Lawns, once mowed bi-weekly, sat long and unruly, diseased with weeds and yellow dandelion heads. The street, once filled with the scent of freshly baked fruit pies, now basked in a moldy, wood-smoke odor.

  A few of his followers whispered complaints behind him, but he chose ignorance over confrontation. Each time they spoke a little louder, and he could tell they wanted him to hear. Still, he did nothing and pushed on.

  Canterbury Lane, the sign to his right read. Soren made the turn and in that moment, the crowd knew he was guiding them somewhere very specific.

  “Where the hell are we going?” someone shouted behind him, in a tone that couldn't be ignored.

  “What is this place?” another asked.

  “Are we going to stay here the night?”

  “I think I see people in these houses.”

  “Do you think they have running water? I could sure use a bath!”

  Soren abruptly turned to his followers. They stopped in their tracks. Fear took hold of the majority, like they expected their leader to set them ablaze with one wave of his finger, a dangerous display of his wizard-like abilities. They didn't know much beyond what they had witnessed, and the unknown frightened them. He knew it, and he would play that hand until they found a way to beat it.

  “We are here for something very specific. I cannot disclose all the information at this point, but I need you to trust me. I haven't let you down, have I? No? Good. Then keeping following and silence yourselves. Do not look at the people inside these houses. If th
ey come out, do not talk to them. Do not acknowledge them. For all you know, these people are ghosts. Treat them as such.”

  Soren spun forward and quickened his pace. His destination was on the right, a few houses down, standing much like the rest; a single family ranch, covered in white asbestos shingles, black shutters around seven windows, and gray roof shingles, curled and shoddy and needing repairs. It was the place all right, and Soren eagerly strode toward it, unable to contain his excitement for what was inside.

  Susan was about to put her hand on Soren's shoulder, hoping he'd let her in on the secrets he hid from the rest of them, but as if he expected it, he turned, raised his hand, told her, “wait here,” and trudged ahead, leaving the group to entertain themselves in the street.

  -8-

  Tina followed the sounds of an angry man packing for a cross-country journey. Something metal clinked rhythmically somewhere ahead. A can of tomatoes rolled across the aisle. Sam shouted, “Motherfucker!” and she sprinted the rest of the way.

  She turned the corner and found him sucking his thumb. He removed his finger from his mouth, then flapped his hand in the air with furious strokes. While doing so, he spotted Tina and rolled his eyes.

  “Having fun?” she asked.

  “Cut my finger,” he replied, placing his thumb back in his mouth.

  “Not supposed to do that.” She strolled down the aisle, chuckling softly. “You sure get hurt a lot. Bet you had some insurance policy before The Burn.”

  “If you're trying to be cute, you're not doing a very good job.”

  “You can be a real dick sometimes.” She was still smiling, but Sam knew she meant what she said. She walked toward him and attempted to throw her arm around his shoulder. He recoiled as if she were a snake lashing out with venomous fangs. “Whoa. I'm just here to help.”

  “I don't need help.”

  Tina sighed and took a seat on a crate of propane tanks. She threw one leg over the other and propped her hands on her knees. “Sammy, Sammy, Sam-Sam. When are you going to listen to me?”