Darkness Rising

by Justin Bell

  “It’s been several hours since the last detonation, and all international and domestic air travel has been grounded,” the newscaster reported in her typical monotone. “Reports from Boston are indicating that the device may have originated in North Korea using retrofitted parts from their nuclear missile program. If this information turns out to be accurate, this could mean the start of a new era of global warfare, the likes of which the world has never seen.”

  “Turn that off, honey,” Rhonda said softly, coming up behind Bradley and reaching over him to flip the power switch.

  “They didn’t hit Denver, did they?” he asked, turning towards her.

  “We would have heard if they had,” Rhonda replied. “We need to worry about the things we can control. I’ll get you back to your mom and dad, I promise.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Brad nodded and walked towards the door, heading to the Honda minivan.

  ***

  Josh Nelson glared up into what should have been a cloudless, pale blue sky over central Utah, but as always the sprawling smoke from the Lake Side Power Plant obscured that blue with opaque curtains of slate gray. It was a sight he’d grown used to over the years, though being accustomed to something didn’t mean he liked it much. The truth was at this point in his life, the only thing he did like about his job was that he could work first shift, which was unusual in the security industry.

  He’d put the feelers out several times over the past five years, almost from the moment he started at Lake Side, but everything had required an adjustable schedule or a cut in pay that was just too drastic for him and his wife to bear. It was bad enough being a single income family, even with his eighteen-bucks-an-hour relatively cushy job with Pacificorp’s large natural gas facility just northeast of Utah Lake.

  Today was a gray day all around in Josh’s mind, his thoughts drifting continuously back to the events of this morning—the lives lost and the imaginings of what might come next. The minute he’d gotten to work, his supervisor had pulled him into her office and reassured him that they were safe, that Utah was far enough from the West Coast, that the initial fallout wouldn’t reach them, and that they had no reason to be concerned about additional attacks. Everything was fine and everything would be fine.

  Josh had asked her if they should consider additional security measures, and she had responded that she’d called Pacificorp and they had approved overtime for three additional security officers, but it could take a little bit of time to round up the personnel.

  That was a fair enough response in Josh’s book.

  He’d been in the security business for over ten years and had always wanted to join law enforcement but had just never gotten around to it. Before he knew it, he was forty years old and the prospect of going to the Police Academy with others half his age forced him to stay on the path he was on. It paid the bills and he usually enjoyed the work, but he also enjoyed the outside and he enjoyed the wilderness and walking the grounds of Lake Side. Watching the endless streams of smoke crawl up into the sky made him long for fresh air and a mountain breeze.

  He felt like he should have been there. In California. He should have been on the front lines, and maybe, just maybe, he would have seen something they hadn’t. He would have caught some sleight of hand, some small clue, and he could have stopped this from happening.

  But he’d never know. All he could do at this point is come to work every day and wonder if the tiniest radioactive particles were floating in the wind.

  “Nelson, what is your location?” the voice croaked from the radio strapped to Josh’s vest.

  He plucked the small radio from the clasp, releasing a coil of dark wire as he thumbed the talk button.

  “This is Nelson, I’m at the north gate making rounds, over.”

  “Roger, Nelson. We’ve got a vending delivery due this morning, should be here any time. Can you check them in, over?”

  “You got it.”

  “In light of what’s going on today, I need a visual inspection of the cargo. Can you do that, over?”

  “Roger, I will inspect the cargo, over.”

  “Make sure you call Grover in from the west gate, too, over.”

  “I’ll drop him a line now, boss, over.”

  “Let me know when it’s cleared, Nelson. Out.”

  Jeff clicked off the radio and returned it to the clasp on his vest and walked closer to the north gate. Lake Side Power Plant sat nestled northeast of Utah lake just next to some swamp lands and was made up of two individual stations, Lake Side One and Lake Side Two. A perimeter chain link fence circled the entire property with electronic access gates at key entrances. Jeff was stationed at the north side and would be all day by the sounds of it, though he hoped the three newcomers might offer a little reprieve.

  Continuing his wide strides towards the gate, he pulled off the radio again and pressed the call button.

  “Grover, this is Nelson, over.”

  After a few seconds he replied, “This is Grover, go ahead.”

  “Vending delivery at the north gate in about fifteen, boss wants a two man search. Can I get some backup, over?”

  “On my way, out.”

  Nelson returned the radio and looked out towards the road, a generally untraveled stretch of narrow pavement that didn’t generate much traffic except for shift changes. Deliveries were a regular occurrence, and occasionally he was asked to give a more rigorous inspection, but more often than not, his whole day was spent essentially watching a gate, waving people inside, then making rounds. Such was the life of Pacificorp security.

  Off in the distance, he could hear the low, dull roar of an approaching vehicle, and judging by the sound, it was most likely their delivery truck. Nelson glanced over his shoulder and saw a small golf cart approaching with a figure behind the wheel, and he knew Grover was en route.

  Moments later the white box truck appeared, rolling down the street at a moderate pace. An intricate logo was painted on the side of the truck for Alderman’s Vending, and Jeff picked up the clipboard at the entry gate, verifying that it was indeed the name of the approved delivery vendor. Quickly scrawling the time of entry on the clipboard, he punched in his code and activated the gate, watching it slowly lift to allow the truck entry.

  He could hear the tinny whine of the golf cart approaching behind him as he stepped forward and held up both hands to halt the truck for inspection. On command, the white box truck eased to a halt, then shifted into park, sitting there idling as the gate lowered behind it.

  Jeff approached the driver’s side and waved to the man behind the wheel.

  “Sorry for any trouble, boss, but we need to check out the truck.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You know with the stuff going on in California this morning, we need to take all extra precautions.”

  “Yeah, yeah, man, I get it. Knock yourself out. Let me get the door for you.”

  The driver eased the door open and jumped out onto the parking lot pavement, then closed the door behind him with a metallic bang. He followed Jeff around the truck as Grover stepped out of the golf cart and drifted towards the other side of the truck.

  “You have a copy of the shipping manifest?” Josh asked as they rounded the corner. The driver removed a keychain from his hip pocket and unlocked the door, then began lifting it.

  “Yeah, sure, in the back. Hop on in.” He clamored up inside the truck and the guard followed suit. The back of the truck was mostly empty, a large, dark compartment with only three shrink wrapped items strapped in the front right corner. On the wall, a clipboard hung off a bolted hook and the driver swept it off and handed it to Nelson.

  “Three whole new machines?” Nelson asked, running his fingers down the paper. “You mind if I verify this with food service?”

  “Not at all,” the driver replied, a wide grin on his narrow face. “Gotta follow protocol, right?”

  Nelson smirked crookedly and turned
away, thumbing the call button on his radio.

  “This is Nelson at the north gate, who's on shift for food service today, copy?”

  There was a moment of silence before a voice replied “I think it's Harvey today. You need him to call you?”

  “Yes, please. I've got a delivery for him at the gate, copy.”

  He clicked the radio off and unhooked the cell phone from his belt loop, then turned to face the driver.

  At first he wasn't sure what he was seeing, but a dark, black hole seemed to float there in mid-air, a blank eye staring deep into his soul.

  “What—” he started to say, but the silenced nine millimeter ended his conversation. And his life.

  The muffled whack echoed in the dead space of the nearly empty truck, the weapon discharging directly in Josh Nelson's face.

  “What the hell?”

  The driver whirled, completely forgetting about Nelson's back up. Grover jumped back as the man fired and kicked on his radio.

  “Shots fired! I repeat, shots fired at the north gate! We have a code silver active shooter situation!”

  In seconds, the driver was vaulting from the truck and circling around the cab, his weapon raised. Grover was running back to his golf cart and the driver adjusted aim and fired twice, the weapon pumping in his loose, one handed clasp. Both shots spun wide and the lumbering form of the squat security guard staggered onto the cart and gunned the engine.

  “Damn,” the driver cursed as he lowered the weapon. “Guess we do this the hard way.”

  In truth there was really no easy way, the end result was always going to be the same. In three long strides, the man reached the driver's side door and hauled himself up into the truck, then revved the engine and punched the accelerator, slamming the door closed as he did, sending the truck leaping ahead.

  He narrowed his eyes through the windshield, whispering a silent pledge as the truck bolted towards the main administrative building. The plant itself was sandwiched between the two concrete and steel structures, surrounded by secondary fencing, and the driver pushed that thought aside as he barreled towards the closest structure.

  Grover glanced back as he hopped off the cart, letting it bang into the side of the building, and dashed towards the security entrance to call emergency services. He saw the truck driving straight for the tall, gray building and wondered for a brief second why the driver didn't see where he was going. Then the front grill struck the side, crumpling like dry paper and the rear of the vehicle pitched up into the air, then burst into a searing, blinding, vacuum of brilliant light.

  The last thing Grover thought of before he went blind was that he hoped they wouldn't dock his pay for smashing the cart.

  ***

  The van rattled as it made the long trek back down the gravel road, and Phillip’s fingers clenched around the wheel. Rhonda took the passenger seat on the way down, her .357 hidden in her lap underneath her purse, her eyes constantly scanning the road as they drove.

  “Did you have to bring that thing?” Phil whispered under his breath and glanced at the rearview mirror, looking with some trepidation at the canvas bag nestled on top of their luggage in the back. “Not to mention that bag from the basement?”

  “If you think Lance Cavendish was some exception in this neck of the woods, think again. I’m not taking any chances with our kids in the car.”

  Rhonda watched out the window, focusing her attention on the familiar house on her side of the road, spotting the old 60s Chevy in the backyard and a pair of ramshackle vehicles parked askew in the front driveway. No other movement could be seen. Above the trees, the sky had settled into its early evening sheen, a cloud-filled slate, the sun long since hidden and making its way towards night.

  “We need to stop at Pete’s Market first,” Rhonda said. “Did you see it on the way in?”

  “Yeah,” Phil replied. He pressed a hand to the swollen lump on his cheek and winced with pain.

  “Can you see all right?” Rhonda asked, as if suddenly realizing that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to have the guy who just got punched in the face repeatedly drive the car.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Phil replied.

  Rhonda nodded, but did not say anything.

  “The town hall is right across the road. We need to check there, too. That’s about as close to a government office or police station that we’ll get here in Brisbee.”

  “Hell of a choice for a vacation spot.”

  “My bad. Next time we’ll just sit in our backyard and not use our expensive grill like usual.”

  “Can you turn on the radio?” Bradley asked. “I need to hear if Denver is okay.”

  Rhonda turned, trying to spread her kindest smile on her face. “We would know if it wasn’t, honey, okay?”

  “Just turn on the radio, mom,” Winnie replied, looking out her window.

  Rhonda thumbed the radio button, turning it on, but all that came back was a thin growl of static. She pressed the seek button, letting it shuffle through active stations, and when it landed on a brief static-free station, her heart leaped. She listened, drawing closer. A hollow, flat, female voice spoke back to her with no spirit and less emotion. One right after the other she spoke one number, then another, then another, a repeating pattern of useless, unnecessary numbers. She jerked forward and snapped off the station.

  For some reason the noise gave Rhonda a very ominous feeling, a certain sense of doom and gloom that even the reports of the explosions themselves hadn’t provided. She wondered if the television back in the cabin was still receiving a signal or if it was now dead weight as well.

  “What’s going on, mom?” Max asked. “Why won’t the radio work?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a numbers station,” Phil replied. “Government agencies use them to transmit encrypted messages to field agents. They talk about them in those ‘stupid Tom Clancy books’ I read.” He flashed a sideways smirk to Rhonda who kept her eyes on the road.

  The rest of the trip was in silence as the van rounded that final curve, bumped onto rough pavement, and leaned into the main drag of Brisbee, but the town was a far different place now than it had been even a few hours ago. As they rounded the corner, they immediately saw three empty cars, abandoned and left at the side of the road, half in the path of traffic, half on the sidewalk. Phil brought the van out and around them, then moved it back towards the sidewalk, sliding it into a narrow, unoccupied parking spot. Pete’s Market was across the street and down a block, and even from this distance, Phil could see a glut of cars collected in the lot and a thick cluster of people shuffling around inside.

  “Why don’t you take Max and Bradley to the store? I’ll take Winnie to the town hall. Let’s make this as fast as we possibly can. Sound okay?”

  Phil nodded as his wife skillfully shifted the pistol from her lap to inside her purse, and then zipped it up. Slipping out the passenger door, she looped the purse over her shoulder.

  “Go. Go while you can.”

  Rhonda swiveled, and her hand jolted inside her purse, but she just held it there. An older woman stood just ahead of her, reaching out with a wrinkled hand. “It’s the end of days. Take your family and go east while you still can!”

  “That’s the plan,” Rhonda replied, as kindly as she could.

  “It’s coming you know,” the woman continued. “The radiation. It’s in the air. In the wind. It’s already here!”

  Rhonda felt a hand clasp her wrist and she looked down at Bradley’s pleading, wet eyes.

  “Please,” she said softly. “You’re scaring the children.”

  “They should be scared,” she hissed, then wandered away, meandering down the sidewalk.

  Rhonda shook her head and moved towards the front of the van where Phil and Max were waiting. “You go with them, Brad,” she said, gesturing towards her husband. She looked over towards the store, narrowing her glare at the growing herd pressing flesh against flesh inside the small market.


  “Phil,” Rhonda said, calling him over. “Do you want this?” she asked, moving her hand around in her purse, fingers clenched around the handle of the revolver.

  Phil’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No. You keep it. We’re just going to get groceries.”

  “Be careful,” she warned. “If anyone over there is like that old lady, things could go sideways very quick.”

  Phil turned and looked towards the store, noticing the crowd around and in the store, and for the first time he noticed that even more people were listlessly shambling over the road and sidewalk, as if they weren’t quite sure what they should be doing next. At least six people were just walking in the middle of the road, faces slack in stunned silence.

  “What is going on, Rhonda?” he asked.

  His wife shook her head. She didn’t know and she wasn’t sure she was ready to think about it. It had only been a handful of hours since the news broke about the detonations and already almost this entire town was in shambles.

  What would it be like two days from now? A week from now? A month? She shuddered to think about it. She’d go insane if she did. One step at a time, and the first step was going into the town hall to see what she could find out. Watching Phil lead her son and her son’s best friend across the street, she held her breath and squeezed her hand around the pistol in her bag, wishing then and there she’d gone instead.

  But if they were going to survive this, she had to put her faith in Phil in ways that she never had before. All of their lives might depend on it.

  ***

  Phil stepped up to the sidewalk, glancing back to make sure Max and Bradley were following along. He looked past them and saw Rhonda and Winnie disappear into the Town Hall building. The low light of dusk threatened to cloak his wife and daughter from him, and none of the street lights were coming on, but he stood there and watched, just to make sure they made it into the building unharmed. He touched another gentle finger to his cheek and lips, moving his face to try and bring feeling back into the nerves. His entire face shifted from numbness to sharp stabs of pain, and at the moment, it felt like a thick slab of brickwork balancing on his shoulders.