by Brian Keene
“It has to.”
“Let me ask you something, Robbie. Since this whole thing started, have you felt the breeze on your face? Have you heard the wind? Anything like that?”
“No. I noticed that, too. I was thinking about it when we left the grocery store.”
“There you go. I don’t think the elements can penetrate the darkness.”
“Well, then how are we breathing? If the rain or wind can’t get through, then what about oxygen? I mean, shouldn’t we all be dead by now? We’ve got air. And people have been burning shit all night in their fireplaces and burn barrels. Where’s all the smoke going? The exhaust from the cars? How come that’s not floating around?”
“Fucked if I know,” he admitted. “Maybe it goes into the darkness, just like everything else. Maybe it can penetrate the veil.”
“If things can go into the darkness, then it stands to reason that they can come back out.”
“That’s not what happened yesterday. That woman and her baby. Those volunteer firemen. Everyone else that left. None of them have come back.”
“But that doesn’t mean they’re gone forever. Like I said, air must be getting through, at least, or else we wouldn’t be breathing.”
“I don’t know.” Russ stopped pushing the cart and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know shit anymore. Nobody does.”
“That Dez guy seemed to act like he knew something.”
“The homeless dude? Christ, Robbie. He’s just crazy. Nobody knows what’s going on—least of all him.”
“Just because somebody is crazy, it doesn’t mean they’re not intelligent.”
“True, but it doesn’t mean they are either.”
I took over for Russ again and wheeled the cart around a broken bottle. A teenage girl approached us warily, then asked if we’d seen a brown and white cat. Apparently it had run away and she was trying to find it. When we told her we hadn’t, she thanked us and quickly walked away.
“She shouldn’t be walking around out here by herself,” Russ said.
“No,” I agreed. “She shouldn’t. But getting back to what we were talking about a minute ago.”
“How nobody knows what’s going on?”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s the problem. Nobody knows what’s going on. And we don’t find out what’s going on because nobody’s in charge. Nobody is calling the shots. We’re all just running around like chickens with our heads cut off—worrying about ourselves but not thinking about the big picture. We need to get organized, you know? We can’t just have store clerks blowing away people and girls out looking for lost cats while there are armed people on the streets. We need to restore order, and we need to find out what’s really happened.”
“Well, hell. Why don’t you run for mayor then? Maybe folks will listen to you.”
Russ’s tone was sarcastic, but I ignored the good-natured taunt and continued.
“Maybe I will.”
“You got a plan to get us out of this? Because if so, then you’ve got my vote, Robbie. I’ll be your damned campaign manager.”
“I don’t know about a plan, but I’ve got an idea. Maybe it will work, and maybe it won’t. But at least we’ll be doing something besides sitting inside our apartments waiting to see what happens next.”
“What’s it involve?”
“Let’s get this stuff home first. Then we’ll need to find some volunteers.”
“And then?”
“Then we go back out to the edge of town.”
Russ stopped walking. When I turned around, he was staring at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“What?”
“You want to go back to the darkness?”
Yeah.” I nodded. “That’s my idea. For starters, at least. After that, we’ll see. It all depends on what happens when we reach the town limits.”
“I don’t like the way this sounds.”
“Just hold off,” I said. “Let’s go home first. Then hear me out.”
CHAPTER TEN
We made it back to the apartment building without anyone hassling us or trying to take our stuff. We knocked on Cranston’s door, but he didn’t answer, so the rest of us sat in my living room, and I told Russ and Christy what I was thinking. They were less than thrilled with my idea after I explained it to them. Christy tried for half an hour to talk me out of it. She was patient and understanding. Russ was a little bit more succinct.
“Fuck that noise,” he said. “You’re as crazy as Dez is, Robbie.”
They got me to agree to sleep on it and wait until the next day, but that was a little victory. My mind was already made up. I just didn’t tell them that.
After I gave him his gun back, Russ carried his share of the loot up to his apartment, leaving Christy and me alone. We went through our kitchen, cupboard by cupboard, setting aside everything with a short shelf life or expiration date so that we could eat it first, and then putting away all of the stuff from the grocery store. I felt a little better, knowing that we wouldn’t starve to death for a while. Christy must have felt better too, because she continued her efforts at persuasion while we worked.
“Just answer me this,” she said. “What’s the point? Why are you doing this?”
“I told you why.”
“No, I mean, what’s the real reason? Are you really trying to help everyone, or is this just to make yourself feel better?”
“That’s a hell of a thing to ask, Christy.”
“I don’t mean it like that. But think about it for a minute, Robbie. You feel guilty about yesterday. I know you do. And so do I. But helping people now isn’t going to bring that woman and her baby back.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Means you’d get your precious fucking car back again.”
She slammed a can of wax beans down on the counter. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that way. It’s just the…” I waved my hand in the direction of the window. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Remember, I’m feeling those things, too.”
“All the more reason to try this,” I said. “We need to know more about what we’re up against because right now, we don’t know shit. People died last night. Right here, in their homes. Everybody is tense and on edge. Now, sure, some of that could be attributed to the situation in general. When something like this happens, some people are gonna snap. But it’s not just the situation, and we both know it. There’s more to it. Something out there is making us feel this way. It wants us to fight. It’s making us hallucinate—showing us dead people in the darkness. And there’s more.”
“What?”
I told her about what Russ and I had discussed, how the stars were gone and the rain wasn’t getting through the barrier (because I’d begun thinking of the darkness as just that—a black barrier separating us from everything else).
“There’s no easy explanation for any of this, outside of Buffy or The X-Files. That’s why we need to learn more about it.”
“But you know what could happen. I don’t want you going up to it again. Not after yesterday.”
“This time, I’ll be careful. I know what it can do now. If my grandfather appears again, I know to just ignore him. Please, Christy. Somebody has to step up. Someone has to help us. And if nobody else is volunteering, then I guess I have to. It’s not like I want to go back to the dark’s edge. But I don’t see a fucking choice here, babe.”
Pouting, she began putting the groceries away again. The conversation was over, and I knew that I had won. She didn’t speak her approval. She gave no sign of consent at all. She didn’t have to. Her silence was all the go ahead I needed. Live with Christy long enough and you’ll learn that. Oh sure, it also meant that I was in the doghouse and that I wouldn’t be getting laid for the next two weeks—but she wouldn’t leave me over it either.
She didn’t argue about it anymore.
She also didn’t demand to come along with me again.
/> I’d expected her to. Prepared for it, in fact. But she didn’t, and that bothered me in ways I can’t even explain. I didn’t know why it bothered me. What, just because she’s my girlfriend, she was supposed to come along and watch me possibly die? That wasn’t fair to ask of her, but I felt like asking anyway. Instead, I stacked cups of instant noodles on top of boxes of oatmeal and tried to ignore it.
We worked that way for a long time, and neither of us said anything.
We didn’t have to.
We each knew what the other was thinking, and those thoughts were dark.
As he’d promised, Russ invited us upstairs for dinner. He tried inviting Cranston, too, but our downstairs neighbor wasn’t answering his door.
“You think he’s okay?” I asked Russ. “He seemed pretty freaked out earlier. I didn’t get the impression he’d just go wandering outside.”
“He’s probably asleep,” Russ said. “Or passed out.”
“Or too afraid to open the door,” Christy suggested.
While Christy and I made ourselves comfortable, Russ put a frying pan on top of the kerosene heater and fried up the steaks and pork chops. The chops got burned and the steaks were half-raw, but they were just about the best thing I’ve ever eaten. We complemented them with a loaf of bread, wanting to eat it before it went bad. Dessert was some fresh pears and peaches. We ate them unwashed—just rubbed them a few times on our shirts and then chomped down. They had a few brown spots, but otherwise, they were still okay. The juice dribbled down our chins.
After we’d finished, Russ turned the heater off. I was relieved. It was stifling inside his tiny apartment. My underarms were sweating, and I idly wondered what Walden would smell like once everybody ran out of deodorant.
Russ suggested we adjourn to the roof, but Christy balked at the idea. When we asked her why, she just shook her head.
“Come on,” I insisted. “It’s cooler up there.”
“I don’t want to,” she said. “The roof scares me.”
“Since when? You’ve been up on the roof hundreds of times.”
“You guys will just make fun of me.”
“No, we won’t,” Russ said. “What is it?”
She sighed. “If we’re up high like that, with nothing over our heads but sky, it just feels to me like the darkness is closer. Does that make sense? I’ll be able to feel it pressing down on me.”
We conceded that her discomfort was real enough and spent the evening playing cards instead. Christy went downstairs at one point, and returned with her bong and weed. There were only a few buds left in the bag, along with some seeds and stems.
“You ought to hold off, babe,” I said. “Who knows when we’ll get some again.”
“We’ll just do one.”
But we didn’t just do one. You know how it goes. We smoked and chilled, and talked about everything except what was going on outside. Russ insisted on saving the bong water, and poured it into an empty margarine container. He was really taking this conservation stuff seriously. When we’d all started to yawn, Christy and I excused ourselves and said good night.
“Your mind is made up already, isn’t it?” Russ asked as he walked us to the door. “You’re really going to go through with this tomorrow?”
Christy glared, waiting for my response. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She dug her fingernails into her palms.
Sighing, I nodded. “Soon as I wake up tomorrow, I’ll go out and find some help. Then we’ll give it a try.”
“How many people do you think you’ll need?”
“The more, the better. A dozen at least.”
“Think you’ll get them?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I sure as hell hope so.”
“Well, then make sure you wake me up. I’m going along, too.”
I promised him that I would. Inside, I was grateful. I knew that he was dead set against it, but the fact that he was coming along anyway meant a lot to me. I glanced at Christy, thinking she might change her mind now and volunteer as well, but she just thanked Russ for dinner and walked down the stairs. After a moment, I followed her. She stayed ahead of me, taking the stairs two at a time, and when I reached for her, she shrugged me off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”
“I’m tired. That’s all. It’s nothing.”
As we unlocked the apartment door and went inside, I heard a faint, mechanical rumbling sound from outside of the building. Wondering what it was, I followed Christy into the living room, trying my best not to bump into anything in the darkness. Without speaking, Christy went into the bedroom. A moment later, I heard the mattress springs squeak as she collapsed into bed. I walked to the bedroom. The mechanical sound was louder in there. I realized it was an engine—a big one judging by the sound. I stood in the doorway, staring at her silhouette. Christy was lying on her stomach, facing away from me.
“You sure nothing is wrong?” I asked, knowing full well that it was.
“Does it matter?”
I paused, taken aback by the question. “Well, of course it matters, hon.”
She rolled over and stared at me. “You’d already made up your mind about tomorrow. I asked you to think about it overnight, and you couldn’t even do that for me.”
“Christy…”
“Save it, Robbie. It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna do what you’ve got to do, right?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It sure as hell seems that way to me.”
“Somebody has to do something, Christy. I mean, what’s the alternative? Just sitting around here, getting high and waiting to see what happens next? No fucking thanks. You weren’t out there today. You didn’t see what those streets were like. People are fucking losing it, hon. It’s not Walden anymore. It’s like the Gaza Strip out there.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t turn away either. I shuffled closer, sat down on the edge of the bed, and stroked her hair. Slowly I felt her relax.
“What’s that noise?” she asked, changing the subject—something she often did when she didn’t want to argue anymore.
“I don’t know. I thought it sounded like a car engine. Want me to go check it out?”
Sighing, she shrugged. “If you need to. It’s not like I could stop you anyway.”
“That’s not true. If you don’t want me to look, then I won’t look. I’ll stay here.”
“No.” She rolled over. “Go ahead. It’s probably nothing. Just be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
I leaned over and kissed her forehead. Christy didn’t return the kiss. Frowning, I stood up. My knees popped. I walked to the door and glanced over my shoulder. She was facing away from me again.
I crept to the window, parted the shades with my index finger, and peered outside. There was a big rig parked along the curb in front of our apartment. It was just the cab; there was no trailer attached. Although the headlights weren’t on, it was easy to tell that the truck was still running. Exhaust belched from the pipes, and the windowsill vibrated from the idling engine.
“So that’s what it is,” I whispered aloud. “The fuck is going on, though?”
Wishing that I hadn’t given Russ his .38 back, I grabbed the flashlight and my wooden baseball bat. Then I crept down the stairs to the front door and stepped outside. The street was deserted, at least as far as I could see—which wasn’t far at all, given the absence of light. It was chillier outside than I’d thought it would be, and I shivered in the breeze. My arms prickled with goose bumps. I approached the truck cautiously, squinting, trying to see if there was anyone inside the cab. I saw a tiny orange glow and realized a second later that it was the tip of a burning cigarette.
I wondered what to do with the bat—hold it up and at the ready, or drop it to my side? If I held it up, whoever was inside would know that I was armed. But if they meant no harm, that would spook them. What if they
had a gun? I let it drop to my side, holding the tip loosely. Then I raised the flashlight and shined the beam through the passenger’s side window. The figure looked up and shielded his eyes with one hand. The cigarette glowed brighter.
I heard an electronic hum as the window went down. Then the person inside the truck coughed.
“Can I help you, buddy?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Just saw you sitting out here and thought you might need some help.”
“If you wanted to help, then what’s the baseball bat for?”
“Um…” I paused. “In case you wanted something other than help.”
The figure laughed, then broke into another cough. It sounded like he was about to hack up a lung. When the spell had passed, the laughter returned.
“Come on over,” he called. “But I’ll warn you. I’m armed. So no fucking around. Keep that bat at your side.”
“Fair enough.”
I crossed the yard and approached the idling cab. I noticed that the grass was dry. Normally, by this time of night, it would have been wet with dew. I wondered what that meant. As I drew closer, I got a better look at the driver. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, thin, with a sharp, angular face. His cheeks and chin had salt and pepper whiskers, and his eyes were dark. He wore a grimy, battered hat on his head with a faded Peterbuilt logo.
“Well,” he said, studying me, “I don’t guess you mean any harm.”
I shook my head. “I don’t. Like I said, I was just concerned.”
“Curious, huh? You know what curiosity did to the cat.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard.”
“It’s something to keep in mind, given what’s been happening. Wouldn’t you say?”
I shrugged. “Probably. But curiosity can also keep you from getting killed.”
“Too true.”
We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us speaking. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Climb on in, if you like.”
I hesitated. He must have noticed.
“Or don’t, if you prefer. It ain’t no skin off my nose, either way.”
“What are you doing out here, Mr…?”
