Black Creek

by Dan Kemp

  The incongruous indulgence of the place clearly hadn't escaped Skye's notice either. "You fucking liars," she said.

  One of the crimson-robed men, who had neon green eyes like Skye, seemed to have just made his own realization. "Sister Skye?" he asked, mouth somewhat agape.

  "Don't fucking call me that," she said, striking him with the butt of her rifle. The man hit the ground hard, blood and spittle splattering the floor next to him. "We lived in the cold and the dark, and you live up here, like this?" The man merely whimpered, shielding his face with his hands.

  Skye strode over to the television, examining it for a moment before finding the power switch. The screen lit up with a low buzz, but only a blue screen and an ‘INPUT’ message appeared.

  “Looks like there’s some disks there,” Dorian said, noticing a handful of them next to the power outlet, where a handheld video camera was also plugged in.

  Skye grabbed a disk and slid it into the player. On screen, Martin appeared. He stood, smiling, atop a wall overlooking a dirt pit. Around the perimeter, cultists hooted and cheered, drowning out whatever Martin was saying to them.

  Down in the pit, a dozen or so people cowered as the crowd grew louder and louder. Finally, Martin raised his hands, and four raptors materialized among the captives.

  Skye ejected the disk just as the slaughter started, then sorted through the other disks, finally picking one out and holding it up.

  “‘Girl, 8’ this one says,” Skye said, sticking it in the face of one of the priests. “Is this what I fucking think it is?”

  The man whimpered, but didn’t answer.

  James suddenly turned his head as if he had heard something, and Dorian turned to listen as well. There it was again, a soft whisper. There was more than one voice now.

  Dorian followed the sound across the room until he stood in front of a floor-length curtain that seemed to cover nothing but wall. After looking back at James with a raised eyebrow, Dorian swept it aside.

  The faces of several children peered out at him from behind iron bars. Three boys and three girls, each no more than twelve years old, and naked. At the sight of him, they cowered and retreated as far away as they could within their tiny cell.

  "You sick fucks," Dorian said, turning back to the old men, who looked fearfully back at him from under their crimson hoods. "Where's the fucking key?" He whipped down one man's hood and yanked his head back by the hair at his forehead. "Where's the fucking key?" he shouted this time.

  "H—here!" another man answered, raising the key with a trembling hand.

  Skye snatched it away and tossed it to Dorian. "Thanks," she said to the cult leader, then put her revolver to his temple and fired.

  ***

  The van rumbled and sputtered exhaust as James and Skye lifted the children into the cargo hold. For now, they wore the cleanest rags they had been able to find among the dead. The adult prisoners followed the children into the back of the truck, then Dorian pulled the door shut.

  "Can I take the bike back, Dorian?" James's ever-youthful face looked more worn than Dorian had ever seen it. "I need to clear my head a bit. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere else."

  "Sure." Dorian handed him the keys, then patted him on the back.

  "It's over, man."

  "No it's not," James answered. "Not even close."

  Dorian tried a smile, then climbed into the cab of the van where Skye waited in the passenger seat. Without a word he pulled away and back onto the road, watching the Church's former compound burn in the rearview mirror as he went.

  ***

  The sun was just beginning to set behind the forest canopy as Dorian wound his way along the familiar country roads approaching Black Creek. In his side mirror, he could see James following close behind.

  When he rounded the final corner, with the truck running on the last of its fuel, he was so used to the sight that he almost didn't realize it was strange that the lights were on above the gates. They were though, the powerful industrial lamps flooding the ground ahead of him. Then, with a clank and a grind, the gates began to slide open.

  "The power is back on," Dorian said, mostly to himself.

  "Looks like it," Skye answered anyway.

  He parked the truck just inside, and James pulled the motorcycle alongside as the gates shut behind them.

  One of his men awaited him when he stepped down from the cab of the truck. "What happened?" Dorian asked.

  "Kristof, and the new police chief, sir," the guard said. "They came back with a generator, and another engineer. They had the power back on a couple hours ago."

  Dorian was more irritated than thrilled, though he smiled anyway. As they spoke, Skye had left the truck and was opening the hold. "We've got some people here," Dorian said. "Make sure they get clothed and fed."

  "Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. The rest are in the park. Celebrating." The guard looked somewhat forlorn. "Bring these people over once they're cleaned up. We don't need anyone on the gates for now."

  "Thank you, sir."

  The smell of barbecue smoke and the sound of music grew louder as Dorian approached the park. Whether Skye and James were close behind or hanging back, he wouldn’t have known. This celebration should have been his.

  He stalked into the park, fuming inside but with a bewildered smile plastered across his face. The scene was much like it had been that night after he led the assault on the Church's prison camp. Black smoke and an intoxicating scent wafted from the grill nearby. Up on the little stage, a makeshift band played some folksy tune Dorian couldn’t be bothered to recognize. Friends and families sat making cheerful conversation in the grass and dancing along to the music.

  This time, it wasn’t Dorian who stood on stage basking in the adoration of his people. It was Jess, wearing her officer's uniform, dancing onstage with her therapist girlfriend, drawing cheers and laughs from the crowd.

  The song ended and when the applause broke, Jess took to the microphone, then noticed him. She smiled, without a trace of insincerity, and announced his arrival to the crowd.

  "There's the man himself, everybody!"

  The crowd turned to him and applauded, and Dorian smiled modestly as he waved them off. James stepped up next to him, clapping him on the shoulder before disappearing into the mix of people. Dorian had no doubt the man knew exactly what was going through his mind.

  He spotted Kristof near the grill, chatting with the cook, who wore a comically-large novelty chef's hat someone must have found somewhere.

  "What happened?" Dorian asked him.

  "Hey boss, welcome back." Kristof finished off the last big bite of his hamburger. "There was nobody there, at the dam. Just Bruce." He pointed to a middle-aged man who sat nearby on the grass, two young girls next to him. "He knows his shit. We replaced the generator in no time."

  "Well, I'm glad it worked out. Congrats, man."

  He did mean that, at least partially. Dorian knew he shouldn't feel bitter. There was no reason to. The power was back on. James was back, and the Church was as good as dead. So what if Kristof and Jess had the glory this time? The people here still loved him. He wanted to be happy for them. So why the fuck couldn’t he be?

  "Everything go alright?" Kristof asked.

  "Yeah. Fucked up, though. Brought back some captives."

  "Anybody useful?"

  "I didn't ask," Dorian admitted. Kristof grinned.

  "You know we still need a shoemaker. Cobbler. Whatever the hell they're called."

  "Oh, fuck off," Dorian said with a laugh.

  They shook hands, and Kristof sidled off to chat with the new engineer. The band was playing a new song, and the crowd was clapping along. In front of the stage, James led Hope through a spin as they danced.

  "Burger, boss?" The chef asked.

  "No thanks, Tom."

  Dorian took a seat up against a tree and watched the people of the town enjoy themselves. After a little while, the children and the other prisoners from the Church arri
ved, all of whom seemed to marvel at the place in which they now found themselves.

  The party continued on until after dark. When the streetlights flickered on, a cheer went out. As Dorian absentmindedly watched fireflies bob up and down over the stream, he heard footsteps in the grass approaching. It was Skye, who sat quietly down against the tree trunk next to him.

  "I'm sorry," she said, after a silent moment.

  "What?"

  "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I know it's not enough. But I am. Seeing what you've built here... I can't believe I tried to destroy it. I would understand if you throw me out the minute James is gone. But either way. I'm sorry."

  "I haven't decided yet," he said, and that was the truth.

  "That's fair."

  "I believe you, though."

  She nodded, then stood up again and walked away, back toward the dwindling crowd.

  Not long after, Dorian stepped through his front door, sighing as he locked it behind him. The window in his living room must have been replaced during the day. He slipped off his shoes and collapsed, exhausted, on his bed where he lay face down for a minute before hauling himself back up.

  Dorian looked over the map in his office. He uncapped a thick black marker with his mouth, then drew a big X over the Church's headquarters. There was still work to be done, a complex web of sites that would need to be stamped out one at a time. This work would be easier though, and could wait for another day. For another silent moment he regarded the map, then tossed the marker aside.

  He was just about to head back to his bedroom when the radio crackled and hissed. He turned, waiting to see if someone would call. There was another hiss, then a shrill beeping noise. It sounded three times, and then a robotic male voice began to speak.

  "This is a message from the U.S. Government. Continue to seek shelter in place wherever you can. All those on the East Coast needing assistance, proceed to Richmond, Virginia."

  The message repeated once more, and then the radio went silent.

  Skye

  With every thrust from her crowbar, bits of crumbling brick and mortar fell to the ground below. Only a few rungs from the top of the ladder now, Skye looked down. The side of the thick wall, laid bare and left jagged by the blast, was now smooth beneath her. Above, only a foot or so of broken and uneven masonry remained before she was done.

  With a sigh, she returned to her work, chipping away and smoothing the wall as she climbed. A few minutes later, though it felt like an hour, Skye climbed over the last rung to settle atop the wall, her legs hanging over the edge. She set the crowbar down alongside her and wiped the sweat from her forehead, breathing heavily.

  She rested for a while, watching as the men below laid mortar and bricks along the other broken face of the wall, which she had already smoothed out. In between, a large metal frame—soon to hold the new gates—was just now being raised into place by a loud crane. Where it had come from, or how the massive thing was made, she hadn't a clue.

  Skye marveled to watch them work, a dozen of them each with specific skills, the basics of which Skye would surely struggle to grasp. Most of them were men, but Skye was pleased to see women among them as well.

  One was instructing a welder working at the base of the door frame. Another was the architect, who stood overseeing the entire project from the back. At the moment she was talking and laughing with Kristof, the engineer whom Skye could barely even stand to look at. Thankfully, the man had so far refused to look at her as well.

  A week had gone by since their attack on the Church's compound. She began each day much like this, with several hours of work under the scorching morning sun. The tasks themselves, mundane as they were, had a certain satisfaction to them.

  To simply be in this place, and to have left her own Church in ruins, still felt surreal. Skye felt free, and she would have been giddy but for the weight of all that she had done still wearing on her. To her, the still-healing scars on her wrists were a constant, painful reminder.

  With this though, came an ever-present fear of being found out. Thus far, most of the people in the town had been perfectly friendly. As far as she could tell, it was only the four others from the town hall meeting who knew the truth. James, she trusted. The woman, Jess, Skye knew little about, but she didn’t seem to be too bad.

  Skye was much more concerned about Dorian, and especially Kristof. If either of the men planned on spreading a rumor, at least he hadn't done so yet. The real danger of that, she knew, would be whenever James finally left. For now, both were rightly afraid enough of him to leave her alone.

  Skye, with nowhere else to go, had been spending a lot of time with James and his wife. As enigmatic as the man himself was, Hope was an even greater mystery to her. If she possessed any of the same fantastical powers as her husband, she kept them to herself. James had been going out beyond the walls each day and returning late at night, most times alone, although occasionally with new refugees for the town in tow.

  The men below were setting aside their tools and breaking for lunch, which was Skye's cue to quit. There was, after all, only so much she could do to help them without more training. Though Kristof had roundly ignored her, the architect told her she was welcome to come and go as she pleased. So Skye slid back down the ladder, which she then lowered to the ground before leaving.

  After a quick trip across town, she arrived at the house she currently called home. The two-story structure, with a big deck out back facing the trees, would have been unremarkable in most suburban neighborhoods just a few years ago. Now, it was pretty much the height of luxury in Black Creek. It was a place fitting for the apparently-divine best friend of their leader, but less so for someone like Skye.

  For now, she appreciated the cold inside air, which made her wonder how she could ever go back outside again. As she kicked off her boots, she spotted Hope through the window in the house next door. Skye waved to her. The gaggle of children who lived there recently had a few additions, and Hope spent much of her time there, especially when James was gone. Skye herself had never much cared for kids.

  Skye trudged up the stairs and into the guest bedroom where she stayed, eagerly peeling off her sweaty clothes and getting into the shower. The cold water streaming over her body was as close to bliss as she had felt in years.

  When she descended the stairs half an hour or so later, fixing her hair into a ponytail as she went, she found Hope sitting in the living room.

  "Hey," Skye said as she passed by her into the kitchen.

  "Hey, Skye. How are you today?"

  She took a glass from the cabinet and opened the freezer, which was empty aside from the one thing she was looking for. Ice. She dropped a few cubes into the bottom of the glass and then she filled it from the tap.

  "I'm good," she said, settling onto the soft couch cushions across from Hope. "It's hot as hell out there." Skye took a long sip before setting the glass down on the table beside her.

  "Yep," Hope agreed. "And only getting hotter." She closed the book she had been reading.

  "Didn't think you'd come home so early. Sick of the kids?"

  Hope laughed, but shook her head. "No. James will be home soon. He didn't have much luck out there this morning."

  Skye didn't bother asking how she knew that, but she was sure it was true.

  "What's he been doing out there?" Skye asked.

  Hope raised her hands up slightly, palms upright in somewhat of a hopeless gesture. "Whatever he can. Helping, healing. Fighting. What he's always done."

  "It's terrible to think that there must be a whole world out there like this, and he can only do so much."

  Hope smiled. "Yes, sadly. I've told him the same thing many times, over the years. He can travel anywhere, and there is a lot he can do. But he's still only one man."

  Skye drained the rest of her water. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure," Hope said, though something about her expression suggested she already knew the question to come.


  "What's your deal?"

  Hope laughed, a louder and more genuine outburst than Skye had ever seen from the usually reserved woman. If she had indeed known the question, maybe the phrasing had caught her off guard.

  "I do appreciate that about you," Hope said, rubbing a single tear from the edge of her eye. "You just get right to the point."