by Sean Platt
And It would do everything in Its power to extinguish The Light once and for all.
It thought about Its moment of weakness back on the other world’s Black Island.
Darkness and Light had shed their mortal husks and fought in their pure forms. During that battle, It glimpsed something It had never seen — a peace that existed within The Light. A peace so tranquil, so promising, It was momentarily tempted to surrender to The Light, to forget Its own purpose.
But It couldn’t surrender.
It was not designed to acquiesce. And progress was rarely peaceful. It came in violent fits.
It wondered how long Its masters would continue to sit by and watch as It continued to lose control of the Ferals, which were running wild, killing at will both humans and Guardsmen sent into The Wasteland. It had to figure out how to reverse this situation and seize control of the collective before losing connection to all but those on the ship and The Island.
It stared at Luca’s image on-screen, knowing that he, or The Light inside him, held the answers. The Light would allow It to finally reconnect with Its collective. And once It had regained full control, and could finally evolve humans properly, It could break free of Its masters’ chains and be something more than the Pruhm or humanity ever dreamed they could be.
* * * *
CHAPTER 8 — Mary Olson
As the sun was setting, Mary knew some bad shit was afoot.
She could tell in the way everyone was looking at her. Could tell from Keenan, Boricio, and Lisa’s traded secret glances. Could tell from the way the girl seemed to have everyone wrapped around her little fiction: being able to telepathically connect with her father — even though the bitch had yet been able to do so.
What’s the deal? Is Daddy’s connection down? Maybe he didn’t pay his telepathy bill.
What utter bullshit.
Maybe the girl had fooled everyone else, but Mary refused to buy what the girl was selling.
Mary sensed the trap before, and figured they were still in its jaws, even if none of them had the sense to know better. They were like mice marveling over all the cheese they found on top of this conveniently placed wooden contraption. She wasn’t sure whose naiveté disappointed her more, Keenan’s or Boricio’s.
Keenan was a brilliant strategist, a former secret agent, and one of the deadliest close-quarter fighters she’d ever seen. He was also a skilled marksman. The full package. The guy you want leading your team, even if he was gruff.
Boricio was her closest friend, and lover. He was charismatic as hell and a lot of fun to bullshit with, even if he was an egomaniacal psychopath. He was supposed to have her back, without question or argument. That was the arrangement she thought they had. She’d defended him early on when some of the group had grown tired of his “beer-battered bullshit.” When they’d started to see glimpses of his past in their dreams, thanks to whatever the hell alien stuff was coursing through Luca.
Then there was Luca. He was no longer just a boy. He was two boys and an alien, who had claimed to have part of Paola in him, too, until Mary told him to stop telling her that. Mary refused to believe that any part of Paola lived inside him. It was a macabre joke, some game the alien was playing to manage their emotions — to make them think they’d not lost as much as they had. Maybe The Light was on their side, but The Light wasn’t human, no matter what, and as far as Mary was concerned, The Light couldn’t be completely trusted either, even if it was saving them. The question was — why was it saving them? To what end did it continue to keep them alive?
This was the kind of shit that Boricio said made her sound paranoid. But from her point of view, she was the only one thinking clearly these days. The only one who could see a threat.
To see this girl here, working them, made Mary sick to her stomach. Were they desperate enough for something to believe in that they’d give this girl carte-blanche access to their information, to their network, to their most secret of hideouts in hopes that she could get them to The Island?
Mary wanted to reach The Island more than anyone there. Wanted to see Desmond’s face when she slit him nuts to throat, watched his entrails, and perhaps the alien, spill out of his body. If she were being honest with herself, it was the only thought that pushed her to go on. But Mary wasn’t willing to put all her eggs in Little Miss Emily’s basket.
After dinner, when everyone sat silently around a large folding table, chowing down on the contents of tin cans over candlelight, Boricio approached Mary, his eyes saying they needed to talk.
She followed him to the roof where the cold wind was picking up and got in Boricio’s face, “So, what the hell’s going on?”
Boricio met her glare. “You’ve got everyone thinking you’re just three scenes from ‘Heeeere’s Johnny,’ and I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.”
She sighed, figuring this would be the topic of conversation. “Really?” she said, sarcastically.
“Yeah, who knew? Slit one kid’s throat, and the natives get restless.”
Normally, they’d have laughed, wondered why they were fighting, then got drunk and fucked. But this wasn’t a normal situation. Mary felt sure that Boricio was again about to prove he didn’t have her back.
“So, what do they want? To reassign me?”
“No, nothing that bad. But they don’t want you on their missions.”
“Excuse me? They don’t want me on their missions? Who’s this coming from? Lisa? That bitch never liked me.”
“I dunno where it started, but everyone agrees.”
“Everyone?”
Boricio looked down.
“You motherfucker!”
“What?” Boricio said. “You’ve earned some time off. Consider it a reward for a job well done!”
“Time off? What the hell? No one is punching a clock! I don’t need time off. You all need to pull your heads out of your asses! Do you really think that girl is an innocent victim?”
“I don’t think she’s part of some trap. Yeah, she was probably bait, but that don’t make her complicit … or deserving of a knife to the throat. And ain’t nobody gonna wanna run with you if they can’t trust you.”
“Yeah, because we all know there can’t be two wild cards on Team Boricio!”
“I never said I was the perfect team player, but I also don’t do shit that gets people killed.”
“Neither did I!”
“No, but this could’ve gone a lot differently.”
“So, you want me to do what? Stay at home, barefoot and pregnant, while the big boys and girls play army?”
“Come on, Mary, don’t be like that. This isn’t permanent. Just until shit blows over. You can stay with Luca and guard him.”
“Gee, thanks. You sure you trust me, especially if that girl’s staying with us?”
“Well, maybe she might have an issue with it. But we’ll cross that bridge when we need to.”
“No,” Mary said. “We won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m done.”
“Done what?”
“Done with this. We’ve been running in circles for four years, never getting closer to Desmond. The first time we do, we’re walking right into a trap. And I’m the only one who seems to see it. Desmond is getting closer to us, though. The next time, we might not be so lucky.”
“So, what, you want to be reassigned?”
“No, I’m going solo.”
Mary didn’t give Boricio time to try talking her out of it. She turned and headed back to the rooftop hatch.
“Wait! You can’t leave.”
“No, Boricio. I can’t stay.”
Boricio chased after her, grabbing Mary again by the elbow.
“You can’t leave! I’ll talk to them. We’ll straighten things out.”
Mary wanted to ask why he didn’t think to do that already but didn’t feel like arguing anymore. She had to do this, make a clean break, before she thought too much about it.
“No, I
think it’s time for me to go,” she said, looking away, lest she break down crying.
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“Sorry.” Mary shook free and descended the ladder.
Boricio followed, on her heels as she reached the ground, then followed Mary toward the exit. She could feel everyone watching, probably wondering what drama the crazy bitch was up to now.
“Mary!” Boricio shouted, a few steps behind.
She ignored him, pushing through the door and out onto the streets.
Boricio followed, his voice too damned loud in the evening’s quiet.
“You can’t go. Please, think it over.”
Mary turned, and saw that tears were welling up in Boricio’s eyes, too. Seeing those tears only hurt her more. She had to get away, now, before she changed her mind.
Mary turned and started to walk.
“Mary!” Boricio yelled.
“Please, just leave me alone. I can’t be around you all now. Just … just leave me alone.”
Mary broke into a run with nothing but her pistol and a blade on her belt, leaving Boricio alone and blindsided.
* * * *
CHAPTER 9 — Brent Foster
Brent had never wanted to be Boricio, but as he was led through gates that read, Welcome to Hell, he felt like he would have given anything to be the man now.
Sure, Boricio was a beast, but that beast would have already ended this. He wouldn’t have allowed so many bodies to fall and wouldn’t be marching into the monster’s maw with Sammy tied to his wrist.
Brent was too scared to so much as steal a glance at Sammy. His throbbing head was a constant reminder of what might happen if he stepped out of line. Teagan walked in front of him, her back to Becca, who was sharing a horse with an eye patch wearing old man who smelled like he had wrongdoing on his mind. Ben walked beside the old man’s horse. He’d tried looking back at his dad three times already and earned a smack on the head each time.
The group was led past the makeshift brick wall and into a cul-de-sac, where a half-dozen modest-sized houses made a horseshoe within the fortress walls.
He gulped, seeing four weathered shipping containers at the far end of the cul-de-sac, where the road was at its widest. The boxes were rusted, their red and blue paint flaking. Something ugly and desperate was likely waiting inside, and the five survivors of a roadside assault were surely about to find out just what that was.
The group was made to wait in an awkward circle. Curtains in the homes peeled back, just enough light within the houses — maybe candlelight, Brent thought — to reveal curious and unfriendly eyes. Brent sensed a flash of movement to his left, maybe a fluttering drape, and looked over without thinking.
“I told you to keep your eyes up front!”
Something crashed into the back of his head.
He nearly fell over from the pain but somehow remained standing, if a bit wobbly. He felt like if he did fall, it would make things worse. He’d be inviting the savages to attack more.
The old bandit with the eye patch got off his horse, bringing Becca and Ben to join Brent, Teagan, and Sammy.
The kids tried to hug Brent and Teagan, but the old man snapped, “Stand behind them. No touching!”
Becca cried.
“It’ll be okay,” Teagan said, even if it was a lie.
Again, Brent longed for courage he didn’t have, still wishing he could find the monster inside him, unleash the beast to save them all.
A handful of people spilled from houses and circled the containers, joining the mass of bandits already there.
Everyone was armed and painted with tattoos. Several bandits had stretched ears with objects stuck in the holes — a body mutilation that had never made sense to Brent. Before the apocalypse, he always wondered how people like that found a job. Now it seemed they ruled the world.
A man with a shaved head and a skull tattoo stared at Brent, his eyes gleaming with hate. He smiled, and Brent swallowed, wondering if that might be the man who would take his life.
He chanced a glance at Ben, wanting to comfort his son, knowing that might get them killed. The boy was holding Becca’s hand, offering her what little courage he had in him. Brent had never felt prouder of his son, nor more helpless to protect him.
“Tommy!” bellowed a man with tufts of purple hair sprouting from a receding hairline as he ran up to them, circling as he raked Teagan with his eyes. “Fresh meat. Just your type.”
Men multiplied. A few women joined the party, surrounding the three of them.
The air filled with whistles and slurps.
Brent could feel Sammy wanting to unleash his rage. But the big Italian kept his anger in check, which was good for all their sakes since they were so heavily outnumbered, not to mention outgunned.
Tommy looked like a hipster heroin rock star. Skinny, thick black eyeliner, leather pants, tattoos covering his body, and a chain running from both pierced nipples. He swaggered over to the man with purple hair. He licked his lips, ran his fingers through his thick, bushy dark hair, and stared at Teagan, his eyes bolted to her chest.
“Yummy.” He licked his lips again. “I got dibs.”
The purple-haired man said, “You can have the front. I’ll take the back.”
A general commotion erupted as the swarm surrounded them, arguing over who would be permitted to fraternize with whom.
The hairs on Brent’s arms stood on end.
Tommy reached out to touch Teagan. She flinched back.
“Don’t be scared, Sally.”
Teagan said, “That’s not my name.”
Brent wished she hadn’t.
Purple hair pulled a knife from his back, raised it to her neck, and said, “How about Tommy calls you whatever he wants, and you say ‘Yes, sir.’”
Teagan said nothing.
Ben began to cry behind them. Becca followed a second later.
Teagan reached out and grabbed Becca’s hand. The bandit beside her allowed it. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she said.
Tommy smiled then leaned close to Teagan’s ear and whispered, just loud enough for Brent to hear, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it ain’t nice to lie to your child?”
Brent thought again of Boricio and Ed, promising the Lord anything for their balls.
But who was he kidding? An armed Ed Keenan probably couldn’t get out of this jam. Even Ed would be dead.
Brent couldn’t afford the thought, so he shrugged it away. If he chose the wrong battle and was killed now, as he certainly would be, there was no way he could be there to protect his newfound family. Ben would never last in a place like this. Neither would Becca. He didn’t want to think about what might happen to Teagan if he died, though atrocities were sure to come whether he kept breathing or not.
Brent’s eyes drifted to the shipping containers at the end of the block. He rubbed the swelling egg on the back of his skull, trying not to feel like the coward he was.
He wasn’t an action hero and couldn’t just storm through the cobbled compound, disarming bandits and kicking ass. But he could be smart. He could survive. He could strike — when the time was right.
Brent might not be able to protect everyone now, but maybe he could mitigate the damage until opportunity smiled.
Maybe Marina would make it back to The City, could call in the troops to do what he couldn’t on her own. She could bring Ed and Boricio back to Hell, rescue them from whatever waited inside those containers.
Yes, they will know what to do here!
Brent smiled at the thought of unleashing Ed and Boricio on these sick fuckers. They’d destroy them. Boricio would laugh as he skullfucked the purple-haired one.
Brent stifled a laugh, thankful the bandits closest to him were looking at Teagan, not him.
As long as I can keep anyone from doing anything stupid, Marina will make it back. She will bring help. Then these fuckers will wish they’d kept on riding.
“All right, all right,” a new v
oice said. A tall, lean, muscular man with a jet-black beard began waving his arms. “Break it up. Dinner first, dessert later.”
Skull Tattoo said, “Looks like you’re going inside” then prodded them to march forward, toward the waiting containers. They were greeted by the old man with the eye patch, holding the doors open. He had no smile. No expression at all. Just a routine day of rounding up refugees and placing them in containers.
Skull Tattoo shoved Brent inside.
Two bright halogen lights were rigged on a pole just outside the container entrance. The old man turned them on to illuminate the squalor. There were four others, chained with wire by their collars, to pipes running the length of both sides of the twenty-foot-long, eight-foot-wide, and eight-foot-tall container. When the light came on, they threw their hands over their eyes, some crying out from the pain of the sudden light penetrating their darkness.
Brent was six steps inside, just in front of Teagan and the kids, still beside Sammy, when the door clanged shut behind them, and they were plunged back into darkness.
Brent gagged.
The room was thick with body heat. The stench of sweat, piss, and shit assaulted his nostrils. He forced his breathing into a regular rhythm, and swallowed vomit rising like a tide in his throat.
Ben coughed. “It smells like the outside bathroom in here.”
“You’ll get used to it,” someone said in the dark.
Brent couldn’t imagine that wasn’t a lie.
The door swung open again, and with it came the bright light. A trio of bandits stepped into the container. Because the light was directly behind them, their faces were cast in shadow, making it difficult to see if these were new people or some of the others Brent had already noted. Skull Tattoo, old Pirate Man, Purple Hair, Tommy, and of course, Marcus.
