Sunfall (Season 2): Episodes 7-12

by Tim Meyer

  “Come on, Bri,” Shondra called. Mouth saw her eyes twinkle in the moonlight. “Please wake up.”

  Unable to see over Soren's lanky figure, Mouth stood on his toes and peered over his shoulder. Brian rested in the reclined passenger's seat, and he knew something was wrong. The man was unconscious. Breathing, but unconscious.

  “He woke up before we stopped,” Shondra told Mouth and Becky.

  Soren slapped Brian's cheek.

  Nothing.

  “What the hell happened to him?” Mouth asked.

  Soren rotated slowly, his movement lacking enthusiasm. “Your friend decided he wanted to go on a little dreamwalk and not return.”

  “The fuck?”

  Soren stepped aside, allowing Mouth an unobstructed gander at his friend. Mouth didn't care for the smirk tugging Soren's lips to one side of his face. Instead of dishing out another smart-ass remark, Mouth looked past him and eyed Brian's unconscious body. He didn't look dead or injured and Mouth couldn't spot any visible wounds. Brian looked...

  Asleep.

  “He said 'the rats' are coming,” Soren said. “Any clue what that means?”

  Dreamwalk.

  “Zero.” Mouth approached his sleeping friend and placed his hand on Brian's forehead. A little warm to the touch, but not enough to suggest a fever. “He doesn't look sick.”

  “He started foaming at the mouth and had a seizure.”

  Mouth glanced at Shondra, who disputed nothing. He rotated, pulling back from Brian's forehead.

  “So, let me get this straight—one minute he's dreaming, the next he's going all Linda Blair on you?”

  Soren didn't find Mouth humorous, and wasn't ashamed to show it. He bared his teeth like some primal savage, and Mouth—for a second—thought Soren might strike him with a closed fist.

  “I don't remember saying he was possessed.”

  “He was mumbling nonsense and spitting foam at'cha?” Mouth asked, counting the number of weird things on his fingers. “Sounds like possession to me.”

  “He wasn't mumbling nonsense.” Soren suddenly appeared haunted, his complexion matching the moon above, which worried Mouth because Soren didn't seem like a guy who scared easy. “He said, 'the rats will get us.'”

  “Well, you got a goddamn rodent problem? Maybe we should pull off the next exit and find our neighborhood exterminator.”

  Soren placed his hands on his hips. “We don't have time for this. The bridge is up ahead. We need to cover as many miles as we can while it's still dark. Besides...” He glanced at the trees off the highway. “We don't know what might be out there.”

  “What might be out there?” Mouth asked. “You expecting werewolves or something, fucknuts?”

  “No. Flesh-eating maniacs maybe. Or animals. Bears. Packs of wild dogs. God knows.” Soren looked to Shondra. She continued to stare down at Brian, worried and wishing he'd wake up soon. “I'll put him in the back for now. He's not dead, so he'll wake up eventually.” He didn't sound convinced of this last bit. “Susan, help me get him in the back.”

  Susan walked past Mouth, brushing shoulders with him. He knew her intent, but he didn't allow himself to fall into the trap. She wanted him to react harshly and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He smiled at her, hoping to plant himself deeper beneath her skin. She wrinkled her nose and Mouth won the small battle in what he knew would be a long war.

  As Mouth walked away, heading back toward the other vehicles so he could inform the others, he heard Soren ask Dana if she wanted to be his “little navigator.”

  Emphatically, she answered, “Yes.”

  -3-

  “Everything okay?” Becky asked, standing between the car and the passenger's door. Mouth shuffled back, his eyes fixed on the pavement. Although she hadn't known Mouth long, she could tell something was bothering him. He bit his lower lip feverishly. His eyebrows created waves on his forehead. Rubbing his chin, he glanced up when Becky repeated her question; “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, trying to play it cool. “Life is fucking peachy.”

  “You don't look like everything's okay.”

  He rolled his eyes, and Becky found the role reversal comedic and sad all at once. “Brian passed out and mumbled some nonsense, had a seizure, and everyone has their cocks in a knot. Other than that, everything is cream and sugar, baby, cream and sugar.”

  “Do you think Dana's okay?” She had decided to hang back and let Mouth investigate after all.

  “She's doing great. I think she got promoted to Satan's Little Helper.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” Mouth climbed back in the driver's seat and Becky plopped down on the warm seat. “SUV's fine. Bumper has a few dents and a splash of blood. I think there might be some damage below, but nothing to keep the bastard from running. We'll see though. Won't really know until we start moving.”

  Nodding her head, she pretended to care. In that moment she wanted to get out, run over to the SUV, and wrap her arms around her sister, tell her everything was okay, and to stop following Soren and Susan around like the brainless follower of some suicidal cult. Instead, she listened to roar of the SUV's engine and sat in the crimson glow of its brake lights. The SUV lurched forward and before Becky could decide, Mouth cranked the engine into existence and followed the SUV toward the bridge.

  Becky remembered what it was like the day of The Burn. How chaotic it had been. She recalled her father driving like a maniac, swerving in and out of traffic, almost killing them in the process. Now she was thankful for his aggressive driving skills; if he hadn't been daring, someone would find their bodies on the side of the highway, toasted pickings for famished night critters. As they drove, Becky spotted glowing eyes in the darkness to her right and wondered what creature they belonged to. Wolves? Bears? Mountain lions?

  Her thoughts pulled away from what might be lurking in the wilderness and she found herself thinking about Dana again. Poor Dana. Had the whole Soren/Susan problem been her fault? She guessed she could have been a little easier on her. Not so... bitchy. If her father was here he might have slapped her. She shook her head. It wasn't right to think that way. The slap had been a mistake, and he apologized for his actions. Although she forgave him, she still couldn't shake the memory. Even after everything, the countless bodies she had seen, the massacre at Costbusters, Chris Atkins, she still couldn't let that moment go. Her father hit her. Across the face. With his hand. On purpose. In front of her siblings. If she thought about it long enough she could still feel the burn on her cheek. I have issues. In the time she should have spent mourning the loss of her make-out buddy, she couldn't shake the awful memory from her thoughts. Her father's hand and her face becoming one and the mark it left. Yup, she thought, major issues.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mouth asked.

  Becky snapped out of her reverie and looked ahead, toward the bridge, its magnitude taking up the entire windshield.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About...”

  “Dana.”

  “She's fine. Other than being trapped with Captain Insane-O and the Evil Mistress, that is.”

  Becky wanted to smile, but her emotions would not allow it. Instead, she gave the bridge her catatonic attention and hoped Mouth would uncharacteristically keep his face-hole shut, an event unlikely to happen.

  “You know, Becky, if you ever want to talk, get anything off your chest, I'm here to listen.” He snorted. “I mean, hell, I have nothing else to do.” Other than Mouth, the drive had been extremely quiet. The only thing occupying the radio waves was static. They found a sleeve of compact discs above the sun visor, but whoever previously owned the Hyundai only listened to Bluegrass and Smooth Jazz and if it wasn't Led Zeppelin or Motorhead, Mouth didn't want anything to do with it. A saxophone sounded like dying geese and he preferred silence over that ruckus. “So, if you want to share your feelings, or talk about your little boyfriend—”

  “I don't want to talk about him,”
she snapped. “Ever again. Understand?”

  “Yeah, sure. I get it.”

  “I'm sure you do.”

  He flinched as if her sarcasm cut him. He parted his lips, thought better of it, then decided to open them again. “I know I come off as smooth as sandpaper and about as warm as a mausoleum, but I've been through some shit. Like real life shit.”

  She continued concentrating on the bridge, unimpressed with Mouth's encouraging tone.

  “I never bothered to tell anyone this—mostly because no one fucking asked—but I lost my wife in The Burn.” Mouth watched her twitch, his story clearly striking a chord. “She was home when it happened. On Hospice. Cancer got a hold of her, really fucking bad. Danced around her body for a decade. First it was in her tits and she beat that shit. Few years later, the bastard came back with vengeance and got into a place inappropriate to tell you, but you're a smart girl and I'm sure you can figure it out. Beat that shit, too. She was cancer free for over five years when it came back again, roaring like a hound from Hell, spreading faster than the Clap at an Atlantic City motel. They said it got into her spine this time, deep into her bones. Doctors—pssh, doctors, what a fuckin' joke—the doctors said she didn't have much time, gave her six months to cross out the last remaining things on her bucket list.” The tears came unexpectedly. He had gotten through his tale smoothly until that moment. They all came at once, streaming down his face. Becky was staring at him now, engrossed, her face begging for more. “Sorry. Didn't expect this to happen. Anyway,” he continued, wiping the tears away, “she loved to have the shades open so she could stare out the guest room window. The view faced a grassy meadow and a children's playground. She liked to watch the kids play because it brought her back to a positive time in her life, or some shit like that. The day of The Burn, I opened up the blinds, let the warm sun on her face, kissed her on the forehead, and headed down to your Dad's store to grab a few items. And I...” He stopped staring out the window, the massive bridge looming before him. Becky wondered if he was still paying attention to the road and before she could say something, he said, “And I wanted to take my sweet time.” A touch of guilt grabbed his vocal chords, squeezing his words. “When you're in that situation, and you spend every waking minute waiting on someone hand and foot, you don't get a lot of time to yourself. Fuckin' rare I got to get out of the house. Even when the nurses were there, taking care of my baby every step of the way. How could I leave her? I couldn't. I felt bad taking ten minute trips to the pharmacy, because I knew she was home, suffering, and I wasn't there to hold her hand, kiss her forehead, tell her everything was A-fucking-okay. But not on that day. That day, for whatever reason, I had enough. I wanted... some time. For me. I fuckin' deserved it, didn't I? I spent every waking minute catering to that woman, being the best damned husband I could. But I couldn't do it any longer. A part of me wanted to run away. Sure I loved her, loved more than most men love their wives, I'd wager. But I couldn't... couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't watch her die the slow death. The cancer ate my spirit the way it ate her bones. So I went to Costbusters, and turned a twenty-minute trip into two hours. I talked. And talked. Talked to every fuckin' person I could find. I talked to some old lady about cat litter for ten minutes and I never owned a cat in my fuckin' life. Talked to Brian about the bathrooms and how dirty they were, even though I never stepped foot in them. I even smoked a cigarette with Chris—um, one of the employees—and I haven't touched tobacco since 1989. Fuck...”

  Becky couldn't speak, although she wanted to. Tears brimmed her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  “Anyway, I left her. Left her for the sun.” He shook his head, suddenly wishing he hadn't exposed his dark secret. It was meant to unburden him, but the admission left him feeling like the biggest piece of shit who had survived The Burn. “The sun didn't kill my wife though. Wasn't the cancer either.” He looked to Becky, expecting her to agree with his logic. “I did. I killed her.” He sobbed, trapping loud outbursts in his throat. “I was her family,” he moaned, “and I was supposed to be by her side to protect her and make her feel safe, and I abandoned her.”

  She placed her hand on his shoulder and cried with him.

  -4-

  The bridge was no less crowded than the roads before it. Slowly, the caravan slithered along, squeaking between the gaps left by abandoned cars and trucks. Shondra's most pressing concern was discovering the road blocked with downed vehicles and no possible way around. There were so many obstacles on the road it shouldn't have surprised her. But a blocked road meant they'd either have to travel back and waste precious gas or hoof it, and Shondra was in no mood to walk across the country. She didn't know how long before the preferred method of transport ran its course, but she figured it wouldn't be long before they found themselves on foot again. She wanted to enjoy the time in the car, catch up on sleep, and relax. Think about nothing for a good long while, but she couldn't help staring at the eyes in the rearview mirror. Those dark eyes harbored secrets she wanted—no, needed—to know.

  (How exactly did he survive that stunt back at the Costbusters?)

  She watched the crow's feet under his eyes jiggle as his lips stretched into a subtle smirk.

  You proud bastard, she thought, hating Soren and what he was doing to Sam's youngest. Dana sat in the passenger's seat, running her little finger along the map, calling out possible routes and nearby towns where there might be gas and food. She had gotten as far as Kentucky when Soren laughed and told her not to get too far ahead of herself. He rubbed Dana's head and messed up her hair, but the girl didn't seem to mind. Soren chuckled like a father proud of his daughter's attempt at something beyond her capabilities. As he did this, he glared at Shondra in the mirror. And winked.

  A thought percolated: Shondra could remove her belt and wrap it around Soren's throat and strangle him to death before his faithful servant could react. Susan was long and slender, like a snake in a woman's body. Compared to Susan, Shondra was a horse. She figured in a fight to the death, she would snap the skinny bitch's neck with relative ease. Unless she deceived her in some way, like any good snake was prone to do.

  She fingered her belt buckle. She released the prong from its notch when Soren slowed the SUV like he meant to stop.

  They parked on the bridge's apex and looked down at the crowded declination. Just after the bridge where the road was flat again, several cars blocked free passage to the city beyond. They couldn't see exactly what caused the vehicles to congregate there, but a huge circle formed in the middle of the pileup.

  “What happened?” Dana asked.

  “Look's like a... sinkhole?” Susan replied, although she too was uncertain of the sight before them.

  Soren slipped the SUV into gear and rolled toward it. “I don't know. But let's get a closer look. There might be another way around.”

  Sinkhole, Shondra thought. She didn't like the idea of getting closer to it. They had a great vantage point from atop the bridge; even from the backseat she could see there was no way around it. “Maybe we should find another way around,” Shondra suggested. She didn't mean for the fear to bleed into her words, but they had and now Soren and Susan knew she was afraid. More ammo for them to sling.

  Soren glanced at her in the mirror. “Frightened?”

  “No,” she snapped. “But there's no need to get closer if we don't have to. I mean we all saw—”

  “We don't know what we saw. We were too far away. A closer look will tell us what to do next.” He spoke confidently, although for some reason Shondra thought his answer had been for show, a mask over his true intentions.

  Her thoughts turned to the belt again.

  “Don't you agree?” Soren asked, the tone of his voice uncharacteristically high.

  Mockery.

  Before she could protest, her eyes fell on Dana, the girl's head appearing between the two front seats.

  “Relax, Shondra,” she said. “Soren's got this.”

  Shondra faked a
smile. The muscles around her lips ached.

  They parked twenty feet from the fifty-car smashup. Soren stepped out first and Mouth was right behind him, waving his hands in the air like someone trying to pump up the crowd at a football game.

  “What the fuck are we stopping for now?” he asked, his voice shaky and lacking the intensity of his usual self. “Another piss break? You all got the bladders of a bunch of pregnant broads!”

  Soren ignored him and walked forward. He sensed Susan and Shondra following him and put his hand up. He waved them off and they obeyed his command. Squeezing between two vehicles extremely close to touching, Soren looked ahead, trying to seek a way through. He didn't locate any. He climbed an F-150 and hopped on top of the cab. He looked over the crowded mess and determined there was no way around. He knew there wouldn't be from their view from the bridge, but still, he had to see what had caused the obstruction. Soren hopped onto the hood of a burgundy Explorer. From there he jumped on top of a yellow Corvette, sandwiched between a gray Sonata and an old pale-green Impala. He made his way across the roofs of a few more vehicles until the giant hole in the ground became visible. He heard Susan call to him, yelling, “Be careful!” but he ignored her. He barely heard her over his own thoughts.

  Keeping a safe distance in case the sinkhole wanted to swallow more of the world, Soren stood on his toes and looked down into the dark, endless void. After he satisfied his curiosity, he turned to his followers. Almost all of them were out of their vehicles, watching him with anticipation. Some of them feared for his safety, while others wished the sinkhole would open and gobble him up like the mouth of some mythical monster. He carefully made his way back, being careful not to lose his footing on the vehicles' rooftops. Once he was safely across, he jumped back on the pavement and glanced at his following.

  “Just as we thought,” he said. “No way through or around.”

  “No fucking shit,” Mouth said. “I thought the sinkhole was pretty fucking apparent.”