5 Years After (Book 2.5): Smoke & Mirrors

by Correll, Richard

  Rebecca carefully pocketed the single key in her jeans and felt a sense of camaraderie with the woman she had never met. The secretary, the lonely forgotten cog in the wheel of corporate conspiracies and con games, she gave a silent prayer for her safety. After all, we secretaries have to stick together. The thought brought a sly second of a smile.

  “Baker, Charlesworth and Nestleton.” She whispered the words and had to laugh out loud. It had all been so automatic just a few weeks ago. The phone rang. She answered it with that old familiar phrase. Pavlov would have been proud.

  “Hello?” the stunned reply. “Hello? Who is this?”

  Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh. What came out of her mouth was like nothing she had ever heard, a cackle, a huh-huh-huh-huh, it was her, but a new her. I guess that’s how you laugh now that you are a queen. Sure freaked out the lady on the other end, though.

  Rebecca had applied for the secretarial position as a way out of her life. The money was nothing, but the time away from home was priceless. She had those parents. One would say something and someone would have to talk back. The volume quickly escalated and the shouting began. Rebecca thought about intervening;

  “You guys argue about the same shit all the time.” She could see herself standing between them, the voice of reason among the mad. “Just one night, can you just not drink so much and fight?”

  What would have happened if you spoke up? Be real here, her eyes wandered out the window and searched for a familiar landscape to grasp on to. They would have turned on you and then argued about who was the better parent. Is that what happens when the love gets used up between two people? Her grey blue eyes turned upward to the Milky Way galaxy swirling above this now dead world. The stars were like glitter swirling about in a glass of water. There were so many of them now that they had no competition. Now, they all came out to dance in the night time sky.

  Love and stars, they both eventually burn out. Stars sometimes fade away into the darkness and become mere shells of what they were. She had seen that in people, they would barely acknowledge each other under the same roof. Then, some stars would feel the tremendous collapse of their core and explode, with nothing but empty space in its way the explosion would go on forever, a raging fire in the night sky. Rebecca heard their explosion every night, late into the evening until she had long fallen asleep. Nova sounded like such a beautiful word. She hardly felt it described her home life.

  It felt strange to even think of them now. The job had been a means of escape, a bit of cash and a way to be somewhere else when the drama started. Rebecca remembered coming home on the train and thinking how her parents were like clockwork. They would be yelling at each other down the single hallway of their two bedroom apartment right now. The TV would switch off about eleven. The fight would continue into the bedroom. Now that they were closer, in more intimate surroundings you’d think the volume would begin to lower. Rebecca was still miles away on the train but she knew explosions don’t dial back. They continue on and on until all of the energy is expelled. Just like exploding stars in the night time sky. Finally, over time the fires would flicker from exhaustion. The explosion had finally exhausted itself. The night sky had a brighter spark, to be pondered by sages and worshipped by the fearful. Her parents, they had tomorrow night to start up all over again. Nova, no it wasn’t the right word here.

  She studied to learn what it was to be a legal secretary. It sounded so important. The people in her office found Rebecca’s talent at paperwork incredibly useful. The lines all had edges and defined boundaries. Everything had simplicity about it when you wrote it out on a word processor or longhand. The worst situation that any of their clients went through or complained about lost its anger in her paper world. If only I could find a way to put mom and dad in there, it was a strange and hopeless dream. After work, she studied in a library or at her desk. The silence almost became addictive.

  She curled underneath the desk and wrapped the sleeping bag around her. She was like a cat looking for a small space. It felt right, like a crawlspace. There was a distant noise. It was clumsy, lost in the dark, but raptorial and carnivorous just the same, the hallway. Yes, it was coming from the hallway near the fire escape stairway. A few had followed her up here, drawn by her scent.

  Strange, she thought, the back pack was now a pillow, the gun close by. They rarely come up here. It was like they were afraid of heights. But then again, looters were the same way. It was like they both possessed a kind of two dimensional awareness of the landscape. Even after five years, you could still find treasures like these. She slipped a coy arm into the back pack and retrieved the liquor bottle. In the starlight, she read the label; Glenfiddich. She carefully unscrewed the cap and took a sip, mmmmmm, good.

  It felt warm as it settled into her stomach. Definitely have to save you for a special occasion. Rebecca replaced the cap and kept an ear out for the noises by the stairwell. They were predacious hunters just like she was. But they were clearly lost in the dark, for a moment they seemed to wander about the office mazes of the cubicles but gave up quickly. Perhaps the dirt and dust had masked her trail. It could be they were nervous about being so far from their pack. Large groups seemed to make them more comfortable. The cubicles crossed Rebecca’s mind for a second and lingered.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you, Mr. Man.” Her tone was apologetic. On an impulse she reached back into the bag for a second drink of Glenfiddich. It was just as luxurious as the first, mmmmmmm. It had become a kind of observational hobby when she found bodies to try and figure them out. How did you get this way? What was it like in your last few minutes of life?

  The money, the gun, the place, it seemed a trifle odd when you broke it all down. Another sip, the warmth returned as her eyes started to grow heavy. She carefully screwed the Glenfiddich cap on tightly and wrapped a rag around it for extra protection. She would sleep on the fate of Mr. Man, her imagination excited by the taste of a beverage that was as rare in this landscape as she was.

  *

  “Sorry about this, father.” A soldier with a weapon pointed toward the ground muttered when they were close. He was like most soldiers he had seen. Massive shoulders that were born from heavy burdens and voices that betrayed they had seen too much.

  “It’s not your fault.” The Deacon struck a fatalistic tone for a need of conversation and information.

  “Well, someone should apologize.” They had landed to refuel the helicopters. The elegant, darkened shapes of concrete were in the distance. “This is my show, so it might as well be me.”

  “Thank you,” The Deacon gave him a half smile and then paused before continuing. “Tell me, why do you need me? You could do this for yourselves.”

  “We did.” The smile from the soldier was gone. “It didn’t go so well.”

  “I’m sorry….”

  “We’ve tried it a couple times,“ he leaned a little closer, his conversation quieter. “It started to dawn on us we needed to try something new.”

  “I see,” The Deacon brought his voice down as well. He probed further. “Did you see anyone while you were there?”

  “Not a soul,” The soldier replied as his attention was drawn to the obelisks in the distance that marked New York. “We didn’t have time to look around. The hostiles were everywhere the minute we touched down.”

  “I see…..”

  “What was supposed to be a recon was a pure fire fight from start to finish.” The soldier turned back to the Deacon. “It was a total fuckin’ FUBAR.”

  “If I could ask a question,” The Deacon’s tone was polite, classy as always. “What do we do when we find someone?”

  “You don’t really think there are people in there, do you?” It had taken the soldier a minute to unpack what the Deacon had asked before he replied. “It’s been five god damned years.”

  “I have done missionary work for the lord in some dark, desperate places.” The Deacon mused for a minute. “Life finds a way to survive.”
>
  “Huh…..” The soldier nodded as he digested the information.

  “So what do we do if we find them?” The Deacon put the question to the soldier as he pondered this potential turn of events.

  “Truth is, I don’t know, father.” The soldier had not even considered it. “We had to put this together because of that lady reporter and her story.”

  “Molly Hunter.” The Deacon spoke her name and tried to keep a smile from his face.

  “God damn liberal media, always coming up with some story,” There was a hint of disdain in his voice. “I just thought the mission was to satisfy everyone that she was wrong, that it was some kind of hoax.”

  “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” The Deacon offered.

  “Yeah,” His mind was turning, the Deacon could see that.

  “Perhaps some helicopter ambulances for quick evacuation.” The Deacon carefully suggested.

  “You really think people could still be alive in there?” The soldier was summing up his thinking.

  “I think we should always be prepared when dealing with these things.” The Deacon wanted to defend Molly, that she would never perpetrate a hoax. But people believed what they wanted to believe these days, regardless of the proof before them.

  “Yeah,” The soldier crossed his arms in thought for a few seconds and then nodded to the Deacon before turning around and heading back to the refueling helicopter. “I’ve got to make a few calls.”

  *

  It almost felt nostalgic. Rebecca used the toilet in the morning in the executive washroom, there was even toilet paper. The water pressure had long since gone away, but it was the act of actually using one again that put her in a re-collective mood. It was an office just like this one, grander perhaps. The man she worked for at Baker, Charlesworth and Nestleton had a fireplace.

  The natural gas fireplace kept her warm, gave her a feeling of safety while she listened to the epilogue of a city. Day after day, gunshots, screams and sirens filled the air. There would be the sound of an automobile crash, glass shattering and a slow sensation of a cities equilibrium breaking asunder. Rebecca never ran to the window to see what was going on, she just hid deeper and deeper into the office.

  It made sense to her after a while. She had always avoided the looming disasters in life by hiding. Rebecca handled a family in crisis by hiding at work or in the office. A school issue or social problem saw her take flight. Choose your battles? Maybe or perhaps just not fight at all.

  It started as a knot in her stomach that grew as the days went on. It was emptiness in the pit of herself, the aches in her muscles grew day by day. Try not to think about the hunger, coffee, water or anything that was around.

  Then one day……..silence. It was like a passing of an epoch. She felt like Alice passing through to the other side of the looking glass.

  The silence only lasted for a morning. Then, something triggered a police cruiser siren to awaken. The bizarre sound made her step closer to the window and peek through the drapes. The day was grey, foggy and cold. The familiar buildings were now half hidden shadows that echoed the cry up and down the street. The battery of the cruiser was slowly running down, the siren slowed noticeably as the echoes down the canyon of concrete replied. It was like wounded wolves answering each other on a moonlit night.

  WOOOOOOOO……………………..WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO………….WOOOOOO……RRRRRRRRRRR.

  You’re really alone now………………………….

  *

  It felt like they were flying over dead, cursed territory. A place they were not allowed to desecrate, a plague or cancer had taken this place. It was best to forget and move on. The helicopter weaved its way through the street. The buildings were passing by now at eye level. You could really see it at this distance. Row after row of vehicles stretched on like the dead husk of a massive creature. The dust, dirt and refuse of the last five years had caked on to the windshields and made every car a dirty brown grey. The buildings were like cemetery mounds, spaced perfectly. Centuries from now scientists and conspiracy theorists would gather around and try to translate such mathematical precision in a wasteland. Rust, decay and desolation were the weapons of nature to reclaim this tiny piece of Armageddon.

  “What do we do now, father?” The soldier shouted over the whirling blades just a few feet above their heads. When the Deacon looked at him in surprise, the soldier added: “Hey, you’re the expert.”

  “I guess we keep our eyes open for a place to set down,” The Deacon was making it up as he went along. This was nothing like Louisville. “Watch out for any signs of activity.”

  “Activity, sir?” The co-pilot chirped up. “What kind of activity are we looking for?”

  “Anything alive,” The Deacon replied into the mic this time so the co-pilot could hear. “Anything that looks like someone is alive.”

  “Roger that,” the co-pilot answered, still unsure of what he was looking for. He was mildly positive it was one of those things that when you saw it, you knew what it was.

  *

  “I ain’t gonna hurt ya…….” a month after the silence a ragged male voice with foul breath woke her one morning with hands searching for the folds in her shapeless clothes. Rebecca’s breath stopped half way up her windpipe. The voice was trying to be soothing. “Just lie still, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

  Fear, cold fear, Rebecca felt her fingers start to shake. She couldn’t feel her legs. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. She was lying in front of the fireplace and suddenly the warmth of the natural gas flames were unable to penetrate her frigid skin. His hands were finding her belt, do something ……do something …..do something. ……….

  “Stop!” Rebecca sat bolt upright with a single muscle reaction. Her hands flailed to her side for balance. Her left hand crashed into an arrangement of fireplace tools. They were for display only with natural gas feeding the flame, but something felt heavy in her hands. She brought it down hard.

  The collection of rags that had crawled on top of her reacted defensively, bringing his hands up to cover his head. Rebecca withdrew quickly a few paces and brought the heavy metal in her hands down hard again.

  “OH!” It was a cry of surprise and pain. It felt like a switch had turned on her adrenalin, again and again she swung with a feeling of……….,

  What was that word?

  Power…….

  The door to the office of Baker, Charlesworth and Nestleton swung open wider now to reveal a man in a suit that had seen better days. It was tattered at the knees and hips from age. The necktie hung loosely from his collar and the black on black shirt and tie ensemble glistened like wet leather with blood and rain. It was the first time she had ever seen one of Them.

  Now, it was just a target for destruction. A roar filled her ears and the room. It was invigorating to hear herself make a noise like that. The fireplace poker made contact with the side of the thing’s head with enough force to send the walking muscle and bone machine staggering about the room. By the time it had righted itself, Rebecca had wound up for another swing. The contact sounded like a watermelon cracking in half. It was on its knees, there had been damage. Motor synapses weren’t firing anymore, disconnection in its puss yellow eyes. Awareness had suddenly become an occasional thing, it was vulnerable now. Rebecca brought the heavy poker above her head and drove down hard with muscles that suddenly felt alive. The skull caved slightly under the blow and the body became a lifeless sack of skin.

  The door………

  Rebecca checked the lock and found that it had only been picked and maybe damaged. She still had the bolt lock above the door handle, her eyes wandered through the dank, half-darkness of the office she used to spend half her life in and saw nothing. But she heard them, they were near. They were following her scent. The door closed and the lock snapped into place. The thing that had found her was lying on the carpet with a crater where the crown of his head used to be.

  He looks like the death
star. It was a weird, random thought.

  But what about the other thing, it’s your turn now. Rebecca felt electricity in her fingers, the poker morphed into a sword of vengeance as she started to move toward a writhing figure in front of the fireplace. It was like watching a slug traverse the floor. It was unaware of its ugliness to the rest of the world, oblivious to the danger circling from above.

  “You touched me,” her breath was like fire, she spat out each word in a scolding, poisonous whisper. “Don’t you ever touch me,” The poker was above her head in an instant. A second later it made contact with the back of the crawling man’s head. There was a scream, oh god, there was a fucking scream!

  She wanted to hear him do that again, the poker came down harder this time. Rebecca feeling the power that only she could make him scream like that. He did it again, the thrill consumed her. He fucking screamed again! Something clawed at the door. It was like an audience cheering her on.

  Make him fucking scream again!!!! Rebecca roared and let the adrenalin in her veins go wild. He started to plead for his life. Fuck, it was beautiful. Listening to him cry and beg and then scream in agony as she brought the poker down on his writhing form again.

  And again……..and again! And again! And again! God fucking yes!

  Rebecca listened to her lungs panting for air and she knelt down to catch her breath. There was a wild thrill up her spine that seemed to spread though out her body, it was hardcore……..god, fucking yes. God, fucking yeah. Ohhhhhhhhhh, god,

  Rebecca wasn’t sure how long he had been dead while she kept up the beating. It didn’t matter. It felt way too good to stop. She held up the poker to the misty morning light, blood was dripping off the black, sharp end. It was his. On impulse she licked it off the end of the metal, rapturous. She felt the thrill again. Her hands were running along his wounds, his blood staining her fingers. Rebecca raised them to her lips and tasted his blood again. It was salty, wet with a texture she suddenly hungered for.

  There was an awakening in her stomach, days without food and now a saline taste from her fingertips. She opened his clothes and searched for more blood. In his belt there was a knife with a six inch blade, she held it in her hand and felt the rage take control of her muscles. The meat around his ribs came away easily. She took a shank of it and skewered it with the poker and cranked the fireplace up while the euphoria burned on. The fire made the skin sizzle. It was magical to watch the fat burn away from the meat. The blood for now kept her fed but in breathless anticipation of her first kill as a hunter. Consuming the life force of your enemies gives you their power, she had heard that somewhere and wanted to believe it. This power rush, sensual electricity racing through her veins, she had to have more….more….more