Sunfall (Season 2): Episodes 7-12

by Tim Meyer

  “We are aware of that,” Hawk-Nose said. “To us, you're like flies on the wall. And we have plenty of swatters to go around.”

  One man dropped the end of his Louisville Slugger on the ground, the hollow thud of the barrel hitting the pavement grabbing their attention.

  “What is it you want with us?” Soren asked.

  Hawk-Nose smiled, displaying five teeth, the rest blackened with acidic erosion and rot. “It's simple: we want your cars, your coats, and your cunts.”

  The dirty boys cheered in agreement.

  -9-

  Hawk-Nose smiled, and the sixty-seven men behind him grinned and giggled, clearly enjoying the look on their prisoners' faces. Catching Shondra reaching for the pistol tucked in her jeans, Soren put his hand up. If she drew on them, their journey would end in gun smoke and bloodshed. He gave her the squint-eyes and her hand drifted away from the weapon and fell at her side.

  “I realize what I said may have disturbed you,” Hawk-Nose said. The psychotic grin never seemed to leave his face. “For that I'm sorry. You must understand—this tunnel has been home to these men since the purification.”

  “Purification?” Shondra asked.

  Hawk-Nose dropped his smile and glanced at Shondra, his lips quivering with disgust. “Who gave you permission to speak, cunt?” the man snapped.

  Shondra resisted the urge to reach for the gun again.

  “It's all right,” Soren said, stepping in front of her. “She didn't mean any... disrespect.”

  “You let your women speak freely?” Hawk-Nose asked him.

  Soren couldn't tell if the man was kidding or not. “Yes. Of course.” He surveyed the crowd of dirty faces. “Speaking of which, I don't see any women among you. Are there any?”

  “Why?” Hawk-Nose asked, insulted.

  “No reason. I find it odd not a single woman is present among you.”

  “What are you trying to say?” one of The Dirty asked. Grime had been worked into his cheeks, forever staining them black. A gash above his left eye had been stitched shut. “That we're a bunch of butt-fucking queers?”

  “No, not all. Just—”

  “You don't know anything about us,” the man growled.

  “You're right. I'm sorry—”

  This wasn't going particularly well. Soren wished he had a rewind button and could start over. Hawk-Nose glared at him like a prospective meal. The women continued receiving threatening stares. Eyes wandered over their bodies. The men licked their teeth as they examined their quarry. If it weren't for Soren and the other men of the group, who knows what would have happened already. One thing was certain: they couldn't stay in the tunnel. Not a second longer than necessary. Soren knew he had to get them through, and quickly. Whatever the cost.

  But where was there to go? The sun had already hoisted itself above the clouds. They were trapped in here, at least for the duration of the day.

  “Not sure I like your tone, partner,” Hawk-Nose said, with a southern twang that sounded phony to Soren's ear.

  “I do apologize, gentlemen. Just simply making conversation. I'm interested in your arrangements here.”

  “Why's that?”

  He nibbled his lower lip. “I'm curious how sixty-seven men survived almost half a calendar year underneath a tunnel, secluded from civilization. I've always been interested in humanity's struggles. Please. Enlighten me.”

  Hawk-Nose furrowed his brow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hasn't been easy,” he said solemnly. “But you do what's necessary to survive. Ain't that right, boys!”

  The Dirty cheered again, raising their fists in the air like a band of guerrilla warriors.

  “Well, I'm astonished. What have you done for food?” Soren asked, trying to buy time. There was no way he could keep the conversation going for the next twelve hours, but every minute they were talking about nonsense was one more minute The Dirty weren't trying to figure out which way to flay them.

  “We go shopping once a week. Closest market is about an hour from here. Most of the town is dried up. Plus, there are folks like you.”

  Soren squinted. “Folks like us?”

  The Dirty laughed collectively.

  “Relax,” Hawk-Nose said. “We don't eat people. We're not desperate. Not yet.”

  Laughter again.

  “We make trades with people. Food, water, whatever they got in exchange for free passage. Works for us. Works for them. And most of the time everyone is real nice about it.”

  “Most of the time?” Mouth asked.

  Hawk-Nose glared at him, opposing the tone of his voice. “Yes. Most of the time. There have been incidents. But if you want to talk business and be on your way peacefully, then we won't have any repeats.”

  Soren cleared his throat. “Why wait? Let's talk about business now.”

  “Sure thing,” Hawk-Nose said. “But business is usually discussed with The Boss.”

  “The Boss?” Soren asked. “You're not him?”

  The group laughed, but Hawk-Nose silenced them, thrusting his fist in the air. Soren could tell their laughter insulted him, the idea of him being their leader a joke he did not care for.

  “No,” he said, his lips twitching. “I'm not.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I'm Spencer. I collect the tolls.”

  “Of course.”

  “Let's get one thing straight—I don't like you or your friends. You don't fit in here. So I want to send you on your way as quickly as possible. Got it? Good. Now you pay the toll, or we're going to have ourselves a problem, and trust me, you won't like how problems get solved around here.”

  “We haven't discussed terms.”

  Spencer blew a wad of snot through his nose. “As I said: we want your cars, your coats,” he looked at Johanna like she were Little Red Riding Hood, and he were the Big Bad Wolf “and your cunts.” No one spoke. No one dared. “You have one minute to get your shit together.”

  From the shadows, a robed figure watched Spencer. He watched with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. He liked when Spencer commenced his collections. It was fun for him. Fun for the group. Fun for all. Things were seldom fun around here. Except for the nightly brawls, the only action they had was with travelers. Travelers never lasted long and that was okay.

  They made great use of short time.

  “Allow me a minute to discuss this with my group,” Soren said. When no one moved, he gritted his teeth. “Privately.”

  Spencer waved The Dirty back. They took a few steps away and although it wasn't as private as Soren would have liked, he knew it was all they'd give.

  “Okay, folks,” he said quietly. “Looks like we don't have much of a choice here. We have to comply.”

  “Fuck that!” Shondra said. She practically growled the words. Her eyes were wild, a side Soren hadn't seen from her before. “I'm not going anywhere with these... savages!”

  “Calm down,” Soren demanded.

  Susan put a hand on her shoulder, but Shondra only shrugged her off, shooting her a sour glance. She turned back to Soren as if she had expected Shondra to react that way.

  “What are you thinking, Soren?” Susan asked. “There's no way you can hand us over. You know what they want from us.”

  Soren knew. He knew exactly what they wanted. That's why he had to give it to them.

  “I know what they want. And I don't like it any better than you do, trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Shondra asked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I'm not going with these freaks,” Johanna spoke up, her voice cracking.

  Becky gripped Mouth's hand. “I'm not going either,” she said.

  Trisha, the quiet bookworm type, backed away from the group. “Fuck this shit,” she said. She took off, streaking toward the minivan. David, another traveler who had been in the van with her, reached out, trying to grab her hand.

  “Trisha, no!” David yelled.

  One of The Dirty stepped away from the group, r
aised a small pistol in his hand, aimed, and pulled the trigger. A bloody firework exploded from the girl's head, painting the side of the van with gory splatter. Her body hit the ground hard, the sound of her skull cracking against the pavement echoing throughout the tunnel.

  “What a waste of a good cunt,” Spencer spat.

  “You bastards,” David said, standing up. He stuck his chest out defiantly. He was a big man who had hit the gym hard every day of his life since his seventeenth birthday, but no amount of muscle and creatine supplements would help him take on the The Dirty alone. Individually, not one of them stood a chance against him, but he couldn't take on the entire army, not by himself. “You motherfuckers!”

  Spencer pulled a handgun from his black cloak. He aimed it at David's head. “Sit the fuck down, before I put you down. Permanently.”

  David's veins bulged on his neck and forehead, however he wasn't rage blind. He knew what would come next. Slowly, he found his seat on the pavement, his lips quivering with hate and fear.

  “What the fuck are we going to do?” Mouth asked Soren. “You can't possibly be considering this!”

  “We have no choice.”

  “We can all make a run for it,” Johanna said. “Back to the cars. They can't kill us all.”

  “Yes,” Dana said, tears sticking to her eyelids. “They can.”

  “Well it beats being raped by these savages!”

  “Even if we made it to the cars,” Soren said, “where would we go? They have the tunnel blocked off.”

  “We can get the SUV up to speed,” Hugh said. “Run right through the fuckers.”

  “I'm trying to work our way out of this with the least amount of bloodshed.”

  “Three... two... one...” Spencer checked his watch. “Time's up, kiddos. Guess you fuckholes want to do this the hard way. Boys, line up the men for the firing squad, and take the women back to Mole.”

  Soren shot up like a spring. “I want to see Mole.”

  Giggling, Spencer said, “You do, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  The man said, “Mole doesn't get seen. Mole sees you.”

  “I want to strike a bargain with him.”

  Spencer's face immediately twisted, his lips wrenching into a bestial snarl. His brows arched and eyes blazed with fervent rage. “I AM THE TOLL COLLECTOR!” he screamed, his voice going off like a gunshot. “I am the one you bargain with. I am in charge of the tolls and I will decide who passes...” He looked to the women. “And who does not.”

  “We want to comply with your demands,” Soren said.

  “Oh...?”

  “But I have some demands of my own.”

  “Forget the women,” Soren said. He looked Spencer directly in the eyes. Before he spoke the next few words, he glanced over his shoulder. His group was pacing around nervously, wondering what he and the toll collector were discussing. Shondra's look worried him the most. Something incredibly stupid occupied her thoughts, he was sure of it. “What if I told you I could give you immunity to the sun?”

  Spencer scoffed. “You don't really expect me to buy that nonsense, do you?” He laughed through his nose and patted Soren's shoulder. “Nice try, asshole.”

  Soren grabbed Spencer by the collar and hoisted him off the ground. He heard the shuffling of weapons and knew he was about three seconds away from eating a bullet sandwich. “I'm not fucking around.”

  Spencer waved The Dirty down. As instructed, they lowered their weapons.

  “Get your filthy paws off me,” Spencer said through his teeth.

  Soren almost laughed at the irony, and did as Spencer requested.

  “You better talk, and fast. I'm not having fun anymore,” Spencer told him, fixing his bent collar.

  “Immunity,” Soren said, ignoring his offer. “To the sun. I have it.”

  He snorted. “You think you can tell me lies in exchange for passage. That's not how this is playing out.”

  “I can prove it.”

  Spencer sneered. “You take me for a fool.”

  Soren produced a vial from his inner jacket, full of turquoise liquid. He shook it, and the liquid within sloshed, bubbling with anticipation.

  “This is the antidote. I'll give you two vials; that's a month's worth. In exchange you let us go. All of us.”

  Spencer studied him. “If what you say is true, I'll let you pass, but I'm taking two cunts and two vials. That's a fair price to pay.”

  “Two vials and one girl of your choosing.”

  A grin slithered across Spencer's face.

  “But not the young one,” Soren said. “You won't lay a finger on her.”

  Disappointed, Spencer wriggled his lips and thought about how he could include Dana in the deal. Before he could renegotiate, a shadow appeared on the wall behind them. Soren noticed Spencer's eyes shift and he turned. A figure in a long, hooded black robe stood ten feet away. The tunnel's shadows hid him well, and neither Spencer nor Soren knew how long he was listening to their secluded conversation. The figure stepped into the dim light provided by The Dirty's battery-operated lanterns which hung from the walls every twenty feet.

  “Sir...” Spencer said, fear tugging his vocal chords.

  “That's all right, Spencer. I'll handle it from here,” the figure said.

  “Mole, I was about—”

  “I said all right, didn't I?” Mole said. Under the hood, he glared at his associate. “Didn't I?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He turned and waved Soren on. “Come with me. And bring your magic elixir.”

  -10-

  The frail man in the long robe looked more like a monk than a depraved psychopath. He didn't speak like Spencer; he was articulate and precise and didn't seem to have the same interests in mind. There was an overwhelming sense of practicality to him, which Soren admired. Men like Mole had been lost in The Burn's aftermath, replaced by savages and simpletons relying too heavily on their primal instincts; the need to eat, kill, and fuck. Mole had other ambitions, a brighter future planned for him and his people. And Soren had what they needed to get there.

  Or so he hoped.

  “How does it work?” Mole asked. They were standing on the other side of the barrier, the long row of working vehicles separating Soren from the rest of his group. They were about as far away from them without being out of sight. Mole shook the vial and watched the turquoise liquid bubble as if he were expecting the contents to give away the lie. “Is it ingested, or it taken intravenously?”

  “Ingested. Works fast. Will grant you immunity for several weeks.” He kept looking back, making sure The Dirty were treating his people with respect. “As I was telling Spencer, I think two vials in exchange for passage is more than fair.”

  Mole smiled pleasantly. He pushed back the hood and revealed a bald head, purple burn marks marring the landscape from where hair would never grow again. The skin hadn't healed properly, becoming lumpy and freakishly uneven during the process. Some of the flesh had blackened over, a crusty reminder of the evil outdoors, unless dark. The marks occurred not so long ago.

  “Do I repulse you?”

  “I've seen worse.”

  “Usually people gasp when they see my disfigurement. They cover their mouths or swallow their condolences. The polite ones will stay stone-faced and say nothing about it, change the subject when I ask.” Mole studied him. “But not you.”

  “Life's too short to be polite. Want my opinion? You look like a freak.”

  Mole erupted with laughter. “I like you, Mr. Soren. You entertain me. You and your... elixir. Tell me, how did you come about it?”

  “I manufactured it. In a lab.”

  “You're a scientist?”

  “I was.” Soren sensed Mole didn't believe everything he was saying, even though he'd been more truthful with Mole than any one of his followers.

  “How much do you have?”

  He thought about it. There was a game being played; Soren couldn't put his cards on the table yet, n
ot all of them.

  “A few.”

  “How many is a few?” Mole asked with a shifty smirk.

  “Four.”

  “And you're willing to give up half of your inventory in order to pass through Thimble Shoal?”

  “Where we're headed, I'll have the ability to make more.”

  “And where are you headed?”

  “Alaska,” Soren said. “There's an underground research facility there. We plan to... claim it as our own.”

  “Ambitious.” Mole looked toward the tunnel's exit, hidden behind a bend in the road. “Alaska is a long way from here. Think you'll make it? Winter months are approaching. I thought the blazing sun would put an end to winter altogether, but the temperature keeps dropping. Got down in the 50's last night. Can you believe it?”

  “It's quite the anomaly.”

  Mole squinted and searched Soren's eyes for answers. “Can I be frank with you?”

  “Please.”

  “I don't think you're lying, but I know you're not telling the truth.”

  “Interesting observation.”

  “I can't tell which parts of your story are true and which are not,” Mole said, turning away from him. He walked over to the wall where a small cooler sat on the ground. He opened it, removed two bottles of water and a turkey sandwich. He tossed Soren a water bottle, unwrapped the sandwich, and handed him half.

  Soren waited for Mole to take the first bite.

  “Please,” Mole said, a hearty laugh escaping his mouth, “if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already.”

  Soren couldn't argue. He put the sandwich in his mouth and bit into it anxiously. It had been weeks since he had eaten something substantial.

  “Where do you live?” Soren asked. “Where do you sleep? I don't see much of a camp.”

  “In the walls,” Mole said. “Like rats.”

  Mole thought it was a funny thing to say, but Soren didn't find it as amusing. He remembered what Brian had said in his sleep; the rats are coming. Was it a sign? Despite imitating a preacher at Costbusters, Soren stopped believing in fate and divine influences a long time ago.