Black Creek

by Dan Kemp

  "Please," he said. Jess shot him in the chest.

  The door behind her was sealed shut, but the door ahead opened easily. When it swung open, she entered into a large round room. Twenty six beds circled its perimeter, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

  Skye

  Two and a half weeks had passed since Skye visited James in his private sanctum. They spoke for a few minutes, the strange, unnervingly friendly man asking about her and her former life, before he finally asked what she wanted. Skye happily told him, and after a pensive moment he nodded, then sent her away without another word. She hadn't seen him since, and his cave remained dark and empty, the torch at its entrance extinguished.

  Her impatience gave way to disappointment, and at times to regret that she had gone to the man at all. Nothing changed for her though, and life in the Church compound went on as normal. If her master knew of what she'd done, how she'd broken one of the few explicit rules she'd ever been given, he didn't show it.

  On this particular night, as she reported to him one last time after dinner, before she retired to her quarters, another man stood alongside him. He looked older, perhaps in his late forties, but he bore his age well. Though his hair was streaked with gray and wrinkles showed at his temples, from the neck down he was nearly indistinguishable from any other bare-chested Chained in the Church.

  He stood a step behind her master as she approached, his head bowed slightly and his manacled hands crossed at his waist.

  "Sister Skye."

  "Master," she said, tilting her head down a bit before taking a seat on the floor across from him, a gesture the other two men matched.

  "This is Brother Lawrence," he said. "He has just joined us. You will instruct him in our ways, as I’ve been called upon to travel elsewhere for a time."

  "Yes, sir," she replied.

  "You've done very well, Skye. Our numbers are growing faster than ever, and we’re spreading further along the coast. Soon, the rest of the country, and then, the rest of the world. I have no doubt you’ll soon be called to take charge of your own encampment, as I have been." He turned to Lawrence. "You are in very good hands."

  A sense of pride swelled within her, but she suppressed any outward reaction. This was just the sort of recognition she deserved. She stood, and Lawrence did the same. "Mistress," he said.

  "There's one more thing, Skye," her master said. "A new recruitment cycle is beginning. You've been assigned to oversee it."

  She bowed to him one last time before turning to her new apprentice. "We'll leave at sunrise."

  Not long after, she lay on her bare bed. The room was dark, its only light being the faint bluish white glow which stole in through the open window. A cool night breeze blew across her legs. Through the thin walls she could hear someone else's snoring, but this room at least was hers alone.

  Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, and she tried to push them back, but sleep wouldn’t take her. She could remember full well the days she spent in that prison, before she learned the truth and joined the Church. Still, the prospect of returning there was unsettling to her for some reason. She had come so far, and yet the last several months were somewhat of a blur to her. The time before, in her past life, was much clearer, though it was a time she'd much rather forget.

  She was angry, and it ate at the inside of her like a poison. Angry at all those who refused to hear their message, who wanted to go back to the old ways, the ways of a corrupt world that brought humanity nothing but pain and unfulfillment. Angry especially at Dorian Black, though he was nothing more than a name to her, and his nerve to defy her so successfully. A city growing like a cancer under their own noses, people living in comfort with electricity, food, water? Perhaps she was angry most of all at herself and the Church for failing to stop him.

  Skye now had the sense that she was no longer alone in the room. She lifted her head from the thin pillow and scanned the darkness. She couldn't see anything, or anyone, there. There was only the soft flapping of the curtains in the wind. She pulled herself up in bed, still certain of the unknown presence she felt.

  He simply appeared then, first his bright green eyes and then the rest of him melting out of the shadows at the foot of her bed. Skye leapt up, her heart racing, but he simply gestured for her to follow and left the room.

  Skye slipped back into her prior day's clothing and followed him. The man led her downstairs, out of the three-story dormitory building and across the courtyard. The general headquarters of the Church was massive, buildings stretching in all directions. It had once been an Army base, quickly abandoned after the world ended. Most of the buildings were still unused. The stars and a full moon shone overhead as they crossed the compound, no other Church members in sight. The only patrols would be on the gates and walls.

  He led her to a small storage shed, the door of which was normally secured with a small padlock. The lock was gone and its latch hung free. They stopped outside.

  "What you want is inside," the man said. "Don't seek my aid again. If I need you, I'll call for you."

  Then he simply turned and left.

  She twisted the door handle and it swung open with a creak. A young man sat slumped over against the far wall, his wrists shackled to a pipe. The walls of the room were lined with shelves of boxes, tools, and other junk. The man was still at first, but stirred as she let the door close behind her.

  He looked up at her as she approached. "Please," he croaked. There was fear in his eyes, but she could see no sign that he had been injured.

  "Who are you?" Skye asked.

  "I'm Diego," he said with some hesitation.

  "I don't care what your name is. Did you come from Black Creek?"

  "Yes."

  "How do I get inside?"

  "What?"

  She knelt down next to him. "I want to be very clear about this. I need to know how to get into your town. When I finish talking, you should tell me how. If you don't, I will hurt you.

  He looked at her for a moment. "And if I do tell you?"

  Skye rested her hand on his shoulder and smiled. "We'll see."

  His lip started to quiver. "I don't know. I'm only a guard."

  She snatched a pair of pliers off a nearby shelf, pinned his hand against the floor and clamped down, tearing his thumbnail off. His eyes went wide and he shrieked, trying to pull his hand back to his body but unable to do so. She placed the pliers on the concrete floor in front of him.

  "Now. That's just not what I asked for.

  "I don't know!" His voice was more frantic now. "I can't open the gate alone. The walls are solid metal and brick and always under patrol. I can't help you, I'm sor—"

  His words were cut off by another howl as she drove the pliers into his groin, the man's reaction telling her she had hit the exact target she aimed for. He writhed and screamed but she only pressed harder. As she withdrew the tool he grew quiet and his eyes rolled back, his body slumping against hers. She slapped him out of his faint and he came to.

  "Last chance."

  He whimpered. "I don't know. Wait, wait!" She pulled back the pliers, which she'd begun to move toward him again. "It's just an idea. The power station, by the river. It drains water out through a big pipe. Somebody could probably climb through it, knock out the power station. The gate on that side isn't as strong. If any of them could be destroyed, that's the one."

  That could work.

  "Please," he said as she stood.

  Skye left without a word, back out into the cool night, letting the shed door close behind her.

  ***

  The van rumbled along the crumbling highway, rain splashing across its windshield. Skye sat on a bench in the back, her new apprentice across from her. Their chains occasionally jangled against the seats with a bump in the road.

  "Have you ever met James?" Lawrence asked.

  "Yes," Skye said. "Once. When I joined. Didn't you?" Of course, she omitted the other two times she’d met him.

  "I thi
nk so," he said. "But I don't remember it well."

  He appeared to be thinking for a moment before he spoke again. "How did you join?"

  "I came through one of the recruitment centers. The same one we're heading to now."

  "What was that like?"

  "Confusing. Frightening, for a while. But I was lost, like most of us were. Things are much clearer now."

  "Go on," he said.

  "It was like we were under a spell. We spent every day in comfort and luxury, obsessing about meaningless problems and meaningless people. People in my generation, even me, we had no memory of what hardship was. We were less than a hundred years removed from wars, diseases, famines that took millions of lives. Most of us had family who even experienced some of those things, but still we had no perspective at all. We were soft. All this," she said, gesturing out the window, where a looted and burned pharmacy rolled past. "It would have happened in some form eventually. What James did was show us that we couldn't be soft anymore."

  "Interesting," Lawrence said. "Do you ever miss your old life?"

  "Never."

  They were quiet for a while. "I came through the recruitment center too. Not this one, though."

  "Why did you ask what it was like then? I assumed you just volunteered."

  "No. I was just curious what it was like for you."

  The van slowed as they neared a gate, then passed through. A moment later, they came to a stop and Skye climbed out through the back door. It had stopped raining for now, but the sky was still gray and foreboding. This place felt familiar to her, though she had spent less than an hour here after leaving the prison. She couldn't distinguish the two big circular tents, couldn't recall which she had been in, but she figured it didn't make a difference.

  There was a general flurry of activity amidst all the smaller buildings as people ran to and fro. Skye paid them little mind overall as they made for the prison. She found the green-eyed Robe inside the tent, his massive Chained bodyguard alongside as always. The latter man was laughing as he looked over the other's shoulder, reading what the robed man was writing.

  "Yeah, that'll really fuck with him."

  The usually stoic Robe allowed himself a smirk as he set aside the paper slip he had written on, adding it to a pile of others. He looked up as she came near.

  "Sister."

  "Father."

  "This must be your apprentice, yes?"

  Skye nodded.

  "You are in good hands,” the man said. Skye is one of our most successful recruits."

  "Strange to see it from this side," Lawrence said, looking about the rounded hallway and examining one of the mail flaps. "I can't tell you how much time I spent inside wondering how you decide what to write."

  "I hate to spoil the fantasy, but there’s no great mystery. It’s simply whatever strikes my fancy. The more emotionally confusing or manipulative, the better. We wish to identify the candidates inside who stand out from the pack, who are best equipped to survive in our new world. And those who might have something to offer us."

  "What happens to the rest?"

  The Robe shrugged. "Some we leave inside for a while. If there are too many with no potential, we'll kill one. That's usually a good way to prompt something interesting from the rest."

  "When did this lot go in?" Skye asked.

  "Last night, most of them,” he said. “Still got a couple of openings. And two left from the last batch. Captives are getting harder and harder to come by. We’re having to ship them in from farther away. Just ain’t that many people left.”

  "Anyway," Skye said. "We should unload the van. Where are our quarters?"

  "I'll show you. Just let me finish here. I'm surprised they sent you in two groups."

  "Who else is here?" Skye hadn't heard of anyone else from the main compound being sent.

  "Your friend, the raptor trainer. We've just recently got a pen with three of them." The Robe looked practically giddy at the prospect.

  "Great,” Skye said, feeling decidedly less thrilled.

  If there was one thing the Church did that Skye didn't approve of, it was this. Trying to train those things was insanity. Sure, the man had seen some success so far, but it was only a matter of time before it went bad. Even worse, she'd heard rumors of attempts elsewhere at capturing a Tyrannosaurus. An absolute clusterfuck waiting to happen.

  "Where is he? I'll say hello."

  They left the tent in the direction the Robe described, which led them to the raptor pen. It was an odd square-shaped building with stairs leading up to the top of it. Lawrence followed silently behind as they climbed. They found the trainer on the roof, a small viewing platform overlooking the inside of the pen. Skye tried not to look down there.

  He was facing away, kneeling down next to a stack of crates, sawing with a pocketknife at the cloth ties which held one of them closed.

  "Hunter," she said, and he turned with a smile. It was his name as well as his preferred occupational title.

  "Skye." He offered a hand, which she shook.

  "Fancy seeing you here."

  "Likewise."

  "Still playing with your velociraptors, eh?"

  "They aren't velociraptors," he said, a note of irritation in his voice as he stowed the knife. "This isn't Jurassic Park. Real velociraptors were much smaller than these."

  "Huh," Skye said, chancing a peek over the edge. "So what are they?"

  It happened very fast. First, Skye felt a tug at her waist, the revolver holstered there suddenly being snatched away. A blast followed, and Hunter wavered for a second, his eyes wide and his mouth still partway open from speaking. There was a hole in his chest, and blood spilled out slowly and then in gouts. He staggered forward a step and then back one.

  "You killed my wife!" A man's scream from behind her, her new apprentice's voice. Another shot. Hunter sagged back, hit the railing and toppled over it, falling to the ground with a thud. Skye turned to face him, and he aimed the gun at her now. His usually meek demeanor was gone, replaced by a visible rage.

  "He and the rest of you people, you came to my home, you killed my friends, you killed my family. I had to watch my wife eaten alive by these fucking monsters. And then you throw me in a prison, torture me for weeks, and think I'll join you? Not fucking likely."

  Skye edged forward a step as he ranted, and then she moved. She turned her body out of the gun's path before raising a hand to deflect the gun arm away, her other hand slipping up on the inside of his arm. When she brought her hands together with a sharp twist, his elbow snapped. He howled and the gun hit the metal walkway, bounced once and then fell off the edge.

  Skye swept his leg out from under him then grabbed him by his throat, holding him against the railing. As he hung over the edge, the three raptors below leaped and snapped their jaws, unable to reach him. Thunder rolled overhead and the first drops of rain began to fall.

  "You're fucking crazy," he said. "You're brainwashed."

  She pushed him, and he fell off the ledge into the pen below. His anguished screams were brief, and Skye turned away.

  Skye felt like something had torn a hole in her chest; her breathing was suddenly tight, and her head seemed to spin in circles. She steadied herself against the railing. There was no time to recover though, as more gunfire erupted from the other side of the camp.

  She took the steps down three at a time and found her gun where it had fallen in the grass before sprinting back toward the big tent.

  On the other side, a battle had begun. An armored van had crashed through the gate and armed men poured through. Dozens of Church members in rags were scrambling to defend themselves or to simply run away. Most were slaughtered as they ran.

  She held only a revolver with four bullets, and the enemy stormed through the gates with automatic rifles. There was no cover, and the Church was already in full retreat. Skye turned and ran back the way she had come. She weaved between the small brick dormitory buildings, slipping behind a wall just as a man ran past.
When he had gone, she moved on. At the next building, a shotgun blast tore the door off its hinges, a crimson-ragged woman carried with it.

  Skye dove to the ground behind another corner. A man and a woman with guns ran out that same door and trampled over the woman's body, who moaned quietly and then went silent, her blood pooling in the grass. The attackers kicked in the door of another house and went inside. Skye pulled herself out of the mud and ran.