by Ann Bakshis
The Arliss
A Novel by Ann Bakshis
Copyright © 2019 by Ann Bakshis
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living and dead, actual event, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Published by Ponahakeola Press, 2019
Typeset in Garamond and Andale Mono
Dedicated in loving memory of my ‘work husband’ Doug.
I can't imagine a life without you in it.
Your big heart and contagious laugh will be greatly missed.
Rest well, gentle giant.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
One
One… two… three. One… two… three.
I hold my breath as I try to psych myself into moving.
One… two… three… go!
Nothing. I’m frozen in place, too afraid to look out between the cracks of the debris on top of me. Terrified at what the world beyond my cover looks like. I don’t remember what happened or how I even got here. I only know that my name is Sara, I’m covered in dirt and dust, and my legs are starting to spasm from being crammed into such a small space.
I can do this… I can do this.
I lean forward, position the metal sheet that is covering me between my shoulder blades, and push upward. The metal scrapes against other objects, but it does move… slowly. It takes several tries, and when I do free myself I quickly wish I hadn’t.
The scene in front of me is a type of destruction I’ve never seen before, or at least I think that’s true. Buildings of brick and metal lay in rubble on the ground. Those that are still standing have large portions missing, exposing their interiors to the bright red sky and harsh orange sun. Flames shoot high into the air from ruptured gas lines that poke up through the fragmented ground. Vehicles lay toppled and partially disintegrated along a strip of asphalt that must’ve once been a road. Ash-colored clouds wisp across the sky like brushstrokes. The air is slightly acidic, but surprisingly tolerable. I lift myself further out of the hole I’m in and start to cough as I disturb more dust around me.
I’m not sure if I was in a building or next to one, but beside the large metal sheet there are blistered bricks and melted glass. I glance down at my feet and notice that my heavy black boots have red splotches on them, but I’m not wounded as far as I can tell. My dark green pants have a rip in the knee, but there isn’t a corresponding injury behind it. Wrapped around both thighs are large caliber guns nestled in their holsters. My arms are bare, with the exception of thick, black leather bands around each wrist. My shirt consists of a black tank top, which is tucked into the pants and fastened with a brown belt. Apart from the rip in the pants there doesn’t appear to be a scratch on me, which I find disturbing considering where I’m crawling out from.
I hesitate to leave my spot as I have no idea where the hell I am. I don’t see any signs of life, only a few body fragments that look fresh, strewn about next to the hole. I feel like I should be freaking out at the sight of them, but I’m not and it bothers me. I take another look around before climbing my way across the brick, concrete, and metal rods that litter the area. I plan the placement of my feet very carefully so not to injure myself and it takes a good five minutes to make it to an open spot in the road.
The harshness of the sun is starting to hurt my eyes, so much so that I have to squint just so I can see. I don’t know which direction to go, so I start walking away from the sun as it continues to climb higher in the sky. I glance into vehicles as I pass, trying to see if any of them contain something I can use to shield my eyes. I finally find a torn ball cap stuck under the backseat of one of the thousands of vehicles that line the desolate road. I pull my straight auburn hair behind my head and shove it through the opening in the back of the cap, making a ponytail. The bill of the cap does help, but not a whole hell of a lot.
The landscape eventually gives way to brown grass and rusted fences. I catch a glimpse of the occasional house in the distance, but they’re in the same condition as the area I just left. Fires burn at the base of a mountain range to my left. Something tells me those should’ve died down long ago. So why are they still roaring at full strength?
It’s close to an hour before I come upon a gas station that’s partially intact. The bell above the door rings when I open it, but no one responds. I’d have been shocked if someone did. I cross to the back of the store where three cold-storage units still stand. The glass is broken on all of them, which makes it easier to reach inside and remove several bottles of water. I have no idea if they’re any good, or contaminated with whatever destroyed the area, but my throat hurts so much at the moment that I don’t really care.
Though warm, the water in the bottle tastes fresh and unpolluted. I polish off two more before going behind the register to grab a bag to carry more. I should take some snacks while I’m at it, but nothing looks appealing. I know I’m being picky, given my current circumstance, but a little voice in the back of my head is screaming at me to only take the water. I return to the front door where I notice a rack of sunglasses leaning close to the windows. I grab the one good pair and slip them on as I go back outside and continue heading in the direction I had been. It doesn’t take long for my throat to dry out, so I’m forced to drink one of the bottles I was hoping to save for later.
Hours must have passed, yet I feel like I’m getting nowhere. The scenery hasn’t changed, except the mountain range is now directly in front of me. The fires have diminished, but ash and smoke still cling to the air. My legs are growing tired, and my stomach begs to be fed. I don’t want to sit down without proper cover now that the sun has moved straight above and my skin is starting to turn a blistering shade of red. I eventually come upon a small clutch of homes wrapped around a cul-de-sac, its lone road extending to the one I’m currently on. The houses look to be intact, but upon closer inspection many have holes in their roofs, windows missing, and trees trying to creep up through derelict driveways. These were obviously abandoned years ago.
I step through a cracked doorway and enter into a living room with moldy floorboards, rotted bookcases, and one couch tipped on its side. I step deeper inside until I’m in the kitchen, which has a chipped terracotta floor, discolored countertops, and rusted appliances. I check the rest of the house, mainly to make sure there isn’t anyone or anything hiding, but all I find is the same dilapidated furnishings throughout. I return to the living room, straighten the couch, and sit. My eyelids grow very heavy and it’s taking all my strength to keep them open, but I find I’m losing the battle so I lean on my side and fall asleep.
My heart races as I run. I know what I’m doing… at least I think I do. They’ll forgive me—eventually maybe, but not right away. I can’t live in a world knowing what I know. How can anyone, yet I’m keeping the secret to myself. No one would believe me if I told them anyway, so I might as well let the truth die with me. It’ll be better for everyone... especially those I love.
The bomb should be launching soon. I just hope I reach the city before it does. I’d rather be crushed to death than incinerated, which could still oc
cur depending on where the bomb is aimed. My squad is in the lookouts today, so they’ll see me die. I can’t help that… I need to leave this world for good and there isn’t anything or anyone that’s going to stop me.
The city looms ahead, its tall buildings shining in the harsh sunlight of our shattered atmosphere. My feet hit the curb separating the debris-covered plaza from the cracked road, causing me to trip and fall on broken glass, slicing a deep cut into my knee and scraping my hands. I quickly get back up and head deeper into the city, but it’s too late. The bomb has arrived, striking the burnt earth a mile in front of me, just outside the city’s limits. The force of the impact shoves me backwards and into a plate-glass window, cutting off chunks of my arms and ripping off my ear. As I crawl out of the building, the superheated gases hit me and disintegrates me to dust.
A harsh noise jars me awake. I’m startled by the darkness that’s suddenly enveloped me, as well as the nightmare I just had. I feel something heavy in my hand and that’s when I notice the gun, which I have aimed into the void that now surrounds me. I don’t remember taking it out of the holster, so it must’ve been an instinctive response. But what would’ve caused it: the nightmare or the noise? A scraping sound echoes around me, only this time it’s much closer. I stand and slowly make my way towards the back of the house, holding my gun firmly in front of me. The noise is replaced by a low growl, which is now behind me. I spin around, but because of the darkness I can’t clearly distinguish between the void and whatever is in front of me. The growling escalates, causing me to back into a wall. The thing charges and I fire the weapon multiple times. Silence takes over, but only for a brief moment.
“Sara!” someone shouts from a distance.
I step over whatever the thing is I killed and go back to the living room, but I don’t lower my weapon.
“Sara!” My name rings out, but much closer this time.
I stop a few feet from the front door, when I notice through the bay window a light bobbing towards the house. The door bursts open, the light blinds me, and I haphazardly fire my weapon.
“Stop shooting!” a male voice yells.
“Then lower the light,” I say as my finger caresses the trigger.
He lowers the light, but I don’t recognize the face. The man, who had dropped to the floor when I fired, appears to be in his mid-twenties with a thin nose, short sandy-colored hair, and a strong jaw.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says, a little more relaxed this time as he stands.
I continue to stare at him, my gun at arm’s length.
“We thought you’d been killed when we saw the blast.”
My brain is working vigorously, trying to put a name to the face, but nothing will come. Nothing about him seems familiar, yet he knows me.
“Keegan!” a deep voice calls from several yards away.
“In here,” the man replies.
Three people enter the house, not one of them familiar to me. The first one in is a man in his mid-thirties, my height, with an olive complexion and wavy, shoulder-length black hair. The next man is in his teens, possibly sixteen or seventeen, with a significantly scarred face, is very thin, and with curly blond hair. The last person to join us is much older than the rest. He’s tall, bald, heavily muscled, and has a deep gouge over his right eye, which extends to the bottom of his cheek.
“Sara,” the older man begins as he puts a hand up and slowly reaches for my gun. “We’re not going to hurt you. I just need you to lower your weapon.”
“Who are you?” I ask through gritted teeth as I try to hide the tremble in my voice.
“What do you mean, who are we?” the man they called Keegan asks, with an astonished look on his face.
“Maybe the blast fucked up her head,” the man with the olive skin says, chuckling.
“It should’ve killed her,” the older man responds in a serious tone. He looks around the room, then gestures to Keegan to move his light over towards the kitchen. Lying on the floor is a large wolf with thick black fur and white foam covering a good portion of his muzzle. “Jules and Cody, go check the outside perimeter. Keegan, check the rest of the house.”
The three do as they’re instructed without asking questions. The older man turns his attention back towards me, his arm now lowered.
“What do you remember?” he asks after several minutes.
“Nothing,” I hesitantly respond.
“But you know your name?” he asks with a quizzical look.
“Yes, but that’s all.”
He glares at me, probably not believing anything I just said. I wish I did remember more, then perhaps I wouldn’t be in this mess. The clothing the four men are wearing is the same as mine, so perhaps I do belong in their group. But who are they and why can’t I remember?
Keegan returns a few minutes later, stating the rest of the house is clear. “You’re lucky only one came after you,” he says to me. “They normally travel in packs.”
“What is it?” I ask, finally putting my gun back in its holster, only because my arm is getting tired. I still don’t trust the newcomers, so my hand stays on the grip in case I need to use it quickly.
“It’s a Mulgrim,” the older man answers.
“A what?” I ask, not understanding the term.
“You really don’t remember what a Mulgrim is?” the older man asks, puzzled. “It’s a nocturnal wolf that can only be seen when a special light is cast on it.”
“Like this,” Keegan says. He removes another flashlight from his belt and shines it over towards the body, but nothing shows. Then he shines the light he used earlier and the beast is clear as day. “They move like smoke, which allows them to easily sneak up on their prey. The one you killed looks to have been rabid so it was probably abandoned by its pack, which is why it came alone.”
“Where do they come from?”
“They’re the result of decades of radiation exposure to the wolves that had called the Kai Mountains home,” the older man says. “They roam the territory freely now since we took over the mountain.”
As Keegan secures his flashlights to his belt Jules and Cody return, giving an all clear. Cody, the young one, is all set to leave, but the older man isn’t budging.
“It’ll be safer for us to stay here for the night,” the older man says as he leans his back against the wall.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Jules says. “We’ll be dead before the sun comes up.”
Keegan takes off a pack from his back and removes a metal box, which when opened contains an injector and several cartridges of a blue liquid. “I came prepared, sissy boy,” he says, displaying the contents for all to see.
“Give Sara an injection now,” the older man says. “We can’t take any chances with her.”
Keegan gestures for me to sit on the couch, which I do after some hesitation. He places one of the cartridges into the injector and is about to press the metallic device against my exposed bicep, but I pull away at the last minute.
“This isn’t going to hurt,” Keegan says, mocking me.
“It’s not that,” I respond. “How can I be sure what you’re giving me isn’t going to kill me?”
“If we were going to kill you, we would’ve done so already,” Jules says, shifting his rifle from one shoulder to the other.
Keegan rolls his eyes, places the device against his skin, and presses a button, which shoots the liquid into his body. He loads another cartridge and does the same thing to Cody, then Jules. I finally relent. The liquid is cold as it penetrates, and I can actually feel it coursing through my veins and then entering my muscles. The older man, who Keegan calls Wavern, is the last to be injected.
“Satisfied?” Keegan asks, packing up the kit.
I grin in response.
“Covering all entry points out here will be difficult so let’s move into one of the bedrooms,” Wavern says.
I pick up my bag of bottles and follow the group to the last bedroom at the end of the hal
l next to the kitchen. Once we’re all inside, Jules and Cody move a fractured dresser in front of the door while Keegan and Wavern cover the lone window with the mattress from a twin-sized bed. They have to use the metal frame of the bed to keep the mattress propped in place. We take seats at various points in the room. Everyone except me has their weapon out. It’s hard to see faces since the room is so dark, but Wavern doesn’t want anyone turning on a flashlight. None of the others question why, which bothers me. The door and window are covered, so I don’t see what the harm can be with having a little bit of light in the room. I’m about to ask when Jules speaks.
“Where’d you get the water bottles?” he asks me.
“From a gas station down the road.”
“And you think they’re safe to drink?” Cody asks, surprised.
“They taste fine and the bottles themselves aren’t compromised.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Jules says.
“Don’t scare her,” Keegan says, jumping in. “If the seals at the top are intact, then they’re fine. You know that material is made to withstand anything and everything. We’ll be long dead and that plastic shit will still be around.”
“Did you take anything else from the gas station?” Wavern asks.
“Just a pair of sunglasses.” I go to reach for them on the top of my head, but they must’ve fallen off when I was sleeping.
“Good. If you’d eaten any of the food we’d be burying you shortly,” he responds.
Silence falls between us, but I don’t let it last.
“What did you inject me with?” I ask Keegan, even though I can barely see where he’s sitting.
“It’s an antitoxin called Cymatilis. It’s used to prevent radiation poisoning, but the downside is that it only lasts in the body for six hours before metabolizing. This is why I carry refills,” he answers, directing the last sentence towards Jules.
“Then why isn’t she sick?” Cody asks, his voice cracking. “The bomb went off over twelve hours ago. The blast obviously didn’t kill her, so the radiation should have.”
