This Darkness Light

by Michaelbrent Collings

  He pulled away before the too-perfect man could say anything. The tires spun a bit as the truck yanked itself across gravel, not fully gaining traction for a few dozen feet. Serafina looked at her sideview mirror and saw the other man, Dominic, standing in a cloud of gray that was half mist and half dust. He disappeared in both.

  Isaiah bounced across the unpaved area behind the church. He was driving blind as far as she could see, but within a few hundred feet the tires thumped onto a road. He followed it to an onramp, then picked up speed as he turned onto a freeway. A sign flashed by that said I-15.

  ʺYou know the way?ʺ

  He nodded. ʺSomeone gave me a map.ʺ

  ʺWho?ʺ

  ʺGuy named Jones.ʺ

  She jerked her head toward Isaiah. Could it be the same Jones? The same old man who had appeared out of nowhere and given her and John their SUV? Who had given them directions to Cedar City?

  Did that mean they had all been guided to a point where they would meet? That someone had wanted all this to happen?

  No. Thatʹs impossible. He couldnʹt know weʹd run out of gas then, or that Isaiah and the other men would come along.

  He knew that we would be where he met us in the first place.

  Still, itʹs too crazy.

  Is it? Look around.

  It would be a miracle.

  Sometimes miracles happen.

  (ʺOnde está a minha filha?ʺ)

  ʺWhat was that?ʺ

  ʺWhat was what?ʺ

  ʺYou said something.ʺ The priest shrugged as if embarrassed, as if he had been caught listening to her outside her window, spying on her as she dressed. ʺSomething in another language. It was pretty.ʺ

  She looked out the side window. The headlights reflected to the mist, and that in turn reflected to the glass. She saw her face. Only it wasnʹt hers, it was her motherʹs, looking for her through time.

  ʺIt was something my mom said. A long time ago.ʺ

  ʺIt was pretty,ʺ he said again.

  They drove in silence.

  They drove for a long time.

  interlude:

  POWERS

  ALONE IN THE DARK

  From: POTUS

  To: 'X'

  Sent: Saturday, June 1 10:02 AM

  Subject: When is the game?

  Iʹve got the football ready, but I donʹt know when were playing. also I donʹt know if we can play without the full team since they have the codes.

  Captain Peters

  MVP of The Final Game at the End of the WORLD!

  (and the crowd GOes WIldD)

  ***

  Richard Peters knew it had been over a day in the bunker, but time was still hazy.

  Sometimes he thought the men were talking to him. Other times he thought his wife was with him. She usually screamed at him about Patricia, and that was when he knew she was dead, too, because his wife had never known about Patricia. He was certain of it. Two things he had learned from his previous indiscretions: the importance of public penance and the greater importance of private precautions. After the last girl he had completely cut off his wifeʹs detail from his own, had agreed to her demands that they sleep in separate bedrooms, had all but divided their lives into two distinct entities.

  So when she appeared and bitched him out not only about Tristi and Jennifer and Dawn and a few others but also about Patricia, he knew she was dead. And that pissed him off because heʹd asked Gill–ordered the man–to keep Mrs. Peters safe.

  If you couldnʹt trust the head of your own service detail, what was the world coming to? Plus, that meant he was going to have to fire the guy. And since Gill was very likely dead along with his wife, it was going to be especially difficult to do that. He didnʹt know if the Senate was in charge of firing dead people or if that was an Executive Branch thing.

  Heʹd have to ask counsel. Lawyers knew everything.

  He looked at the light. The one light. The computer light. It was his only friend, the only person that didnʹt yell at him here in the loud bunker where the dead did nothing but scream.

  ʺYou know you could have stopped this.ʺ

  That was General Lawniczak. He never yelled like the others did, but he also hadnʹt shut up since he blew his head off an hour after he started coughing. Blood dripped over his forehead. Down his bulbous nose, over his lips.

  ʺYou know you could have stopped this.ʺ

  ʺShut up.ʺ

  ʺYou could have.ʺ

  Peters turned back to the computer. This was the real problem. Not the screaming, but the fact that he was supposed to play a game and he didnʹt have the codes. He was in the dark.

  And then there was light.

  He blinked, blinded for a moment by the sudden illumination. Then his vision cleared and he saw that, with the light, the dead had lain down and stopped their shouting, their accusations.

  He started to cry with relief.

  When he stopped he realized that someone was with him. Well, not with him, but watching him.

  To get into the bunker you had to take an elevator. Hundreds of feet straight down through earth, rock, concrete, lead. Then into a corridor, also steel and lead. Then through a security checkpoint manned by a pair of Marines who had guns and no sense of humor. Retinal scans and then you were into a big box that–theoretically–could resist a direct hit by a five-megaton nuke.

  There was only one way to see what was outside, and that was through a viewscreen next to the door. The door itself was sealed, and could only be opened by the retinal scans and codes of three of the men in the box. Since there was only one living person still in said box, the man didnʹt know how he was going to get out.

  But he wasnʹt thinking that far ahead. Just to the game. For which he also needed those damn codes.

  The viewscreen lit up. And Peters rejoiced, because he saw someone who was neither coughing nor wounded.

  Nice shoes, nice suit. Nice smile.

  ʺDominic!ʺ he shouted.

  The man on the viewscreen smiled at the camera.

  ʺHello, Dicky.ʺ

  If anyone else had called him this, Peters would have been upset. And, in truth, it did upset him a little that Dominic took this liberty. But only a little.

  ʺGet me out of here, Dominic!ʺ

  ʺI canʹt, Dicky.ʺ Dominic shrugged.

  ʺThen what am I supposed to do?ʺ he wailed. ʺIʹm hungry and alone and people keep yelling at me and itʹs dark in here!ʺ

  ʺIʹm truly sorry, my boy. Truly I am. But you do know what youʹre supposed to do.ʺ

  ʺPlay the game?ʺ said Peters. And suddenly, though it had been all he wanted only moments before, now he was afraid of it.

  ʺThatʹs right, Dicky.ʺ Dominic smiled. That perfect smile that had gained him entrance Petersʹ life in the first place. That had given him access, and that had gained him the manʹs trust.

  He had gotten so much from Dominic. Information, money, power.

  But what had he given?

  ʺYou know there are only two computers that work in here?ʺ he said. ʺHow does that happen?ʺ

  Dominic spread his hands, fingers wide. ʺI move in mysterious ways, my wonders to behold, Dicky. Thatʹs enough for you to know. Are you ready to play?ʺ

  ʺI canʹt play,ʺ he whispered. ʺI donʹt have the codes.ʺ

  ʺDonʹt worry about that,ʺ said Dominic. He waved his hand. In the viewscreen, where there was no blood and no dead laying in clotted blood or, worse, screaming accusations that were horrible and true. Everything looked fine. Right. Hunky-dory. ʺI can give you the codes.ʺ

  ʺBut…I donʹt really think I want to play.ʺ

  ʺOh, Dicky,ʺ said Dominic. And suddenly the other manʹs eyes changed. Grew smoky and dark and deep. The man knew there were worse things than being in a box with the angry dead. ʺItʹs too late for that. You owe me.ʺ

  Peters nodded.

  There was nothing else he could do.

  Not really.

 
The game would go on. Though not for long.

  five:

  THIS DARKNESS LIGHT

  CRUEL MERCIES

  From: POTUS

  To: FLASH, CABINET, HOUSE, SENATE, JOINTCHIEFS, PRESSCONTACTS, NATGOVASS, DNC, RNC, MAJORDONORSGROUP, …[42 more]

  Sent: Saturday, June 1 12:18 PM

  Subject: Big game at my pplace!

  Kay guys theres a big game at myplace be there or be square.

  Time: 3:14 pm sharp–???

  Pllace: You know the place

  BYOB

  RSVP, please. If anyone actually does the game might be called off.

  ***

  The mist was a constant companion, but it no longer seemed strange or frightening to Isaiah. Instead it seemed like the only way life could be. Just a confused trip on a road you could barely see, with traveling companions you had not near enough time to know, and going somewhere you understood not at all.

  Wherever they were going, he hoped he would see Katherine there. He doubted, but hoped.

  This, my son, is faith. To doubt, to fear, and still to continue.

  Nicholasʹ voice sounded in his head, and the ghostly words were a comfort. A day ago they would have pierced Isaiah, reminded him of all he had lost. Now…the loss was still there, but he also felt a measure of joy at the knowledge that Nicholas had never given up on him. That even to the end, the old manʹs eyes had smiled.

  Nicholas was good.

  Katherine was good.

  He sensed this woman beside him was good.

  Perhaps there were others.

  Perhaps life was a thing worth living for many, even for most.

  Perhaps his self-imposed penance had been something neither needed nor deserved.

  The mist parted when they needed it to. They saw the turns onto the I-70, the US-24. When gas was low they turned off the freeways and there was always a car somewhere nearby. Always full of gas, always with a key in the ignition or ashtray or center console.

  Serafina never tried to fight, never tried to run.

  In one of the cars they found peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a six-pack of Pepsi. They ate together. Serafina insisted on offering a prayer over the food. ʺBless us Oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.ʺ

  Isaiah drove. He did not say amen, but he listened, and did not break the bread until she had finished.

  They drove all night. Neither slept. Isaiah did not grow tired. He felt renewed.

  Eventually Serafina asked about his outfit. He told her. Not about why he was hunting her, but about Katherine. What he had done to her, and what he had done for her since then.

  He told her that Dominic and his men had her hostage, and required his servitude. He did not tell Serafina about the disease John carried, about her own part in this tragic play. That, he suspected, would come later.

  He called Katherine ʺhis daughterʺ again. It felt good.

  Serafina said she would like to meet his daughter.

  Isaiah said that he thought Katherine would like that. He meant it.

  ʺShe has beautiful blue eyes,ʺ he said. ʺShe used to, at least. Now oneʹs blue, oneʹs…not so blue.ʺ

  A leaden silence fell upon the car. He turned to Serafina. ʺYou okay?ʺ She laughed and he realized the ridiculousness of the question given their circumstances. ʺIʹm not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it,ʺ he said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. ʺI donʹt like Dominic any more than you do.ʺ

  ʺI know,ʺ she said. ʺJust that I think…I think I know Katherine.ʺ

  Isaiah almost drove them off the road. ʺWhat?ʺ

  ʺDoes she have red hair? Skin so white you can almost see through it?ʺ

  Isaiahʹs gaze jerked to Serafina. He nodded. ʺHow did you–?ʺ

  ʺI didnʹt put it together until you mentioned her eyes.ʺ She shrugged. ʺIʹm a nurse in an ICU. I see a lot of patients, a lot of sad cases. But I should have remembered her.ʺ She was quiet for a long time before she looked at Isaiah. He sensed her gaze, settling on him as closely and thoroughly as the mist around them. He finally looked at her. She was smiling, a strange smile, a sad smile.

  ʺShe was my first patient,ʺ said Serafina. ʺI was barely able to put in an IV, and there was a staffing shortage and a scheduling screwup so I ended up wandering around in the ER. First thing I know a gurney slams through the door and thereʹs this little girl, car accident, critical condition.ʺ

  She fell silent. Isaiah couldnʹt speak. He wanted to, wanted to tell Serafina to be quiet, to spare him the agony of reliving that night. But he couldnʹt. Whatever momentary lightness of spirit he had enjoyed, whatever feeling that he no longer deserved to suffer, disappeared.

  ʺShe was beautiful. Even through the blood, the injuries. So lovely.ʺ

  He had ended a girlʹs life. He had changed her forever.

  ʺShe was talking. When she came in.ʺ

  Isaiah didnʹt want to know. But Serafina continued. No mercy for him. ʺShe was singing. That ‘Jesus Loves Meʹ song. Then she stopped. She said she was missing her favorite cartoon.ʺ

  Isaiah felt a hand on his arm. He looked over. ʺStop the car,ʺ said Serafina.

  He did.

  She took his hands in hers. ʺShe said this, Isaiah. She said, ‘The sad man saved me. They would have killed me, but he saved me from them. He took me and saved me and prayed for me and I know heʹll stay with me forever.ʹʺ

  Isaiah started to shake. He couldnʹt stop.

  The words were cruel. Cutting. Hard.

  And in them he found, at last, mercy.

  TRAVELING COMPANIONS

  From: POTUS

  To: FLASH, CABINET, HOUSE, SENATE, JOINTCHIEFS, PRESSCONTACTS, NATGOVASS, DNC, RNC, MAJORDONORSGROUP, …[42 more]

  Sent: Saturday, June 1 1:18 PM

  Subject: Big game at my pplace!

  I waited and no one RSVPd. I cant do an evite because the internet doesnt work here so I cant do an evite. So your not evited. But if you want to come you still can. GAMES ON!

  ***

  ʺWhy have you been chasing us?ʺ

  They were almost there, and she had waited this long on purpose. Isaiah was different than she had expected. Not a rabid killer, but a man of great sadness, and one with great purpose in his life–even though at least some of that purpose appeared to be a mystery to him.

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. ʺMy daughter,ʺ he said. ʺI already told you that–ʺ

  She shook her head. ʺYou wouldnʹt do that. You wouldnʹt go so far to hurt so many if it was just her.ʺ

  He sighed. ʺThey said that John was some kind of soldier. That he was given a vaccine that would essentially protect him from all disease. Instead it mutated and drove him insane. He became a carrier of a deadly disease that would wipe out mankind of he wasnʹt stopped.ʺ

  She snorted. ʺThatʹs ridiculous.ʺ

  ʺIs it?ʺ Isaiah gestured, a whirling motion that took in everything around them. ʺYou saw what happened to Melville–that other guy who came after you. And Iʹve seen a lot of other people get sick, too. Some just died. Others….ʺ

  He left the sentence hanging. Didnʹt have to finish. They both heard the unsaid word: changed.

  She snorted again. ʺNo disease could cause this fog. Those weird creatures out there. And John was not insane. He had a problem with his memory, but he was about the sanest person Iʹve ever met.ʺ

  ʺWhat was wrong with his memory?ʺ

  ʺHe couldnʹt remember things.ʺ

  Isaiah shook his head. ʺWell he sure remembered enough to keep ahead of me. And not many people know enough to do that.ʺ

  Serafina laughed. ʺYeah, it was strange. He remembered things when they needed remembering, but then they left. He didnʹt know anything about who he was or what he was doing.ʺ

  ʺSo why head to Kansas?ʺ

  ʺHe had a mission.ʺ She shrugged. ʺHe nev
er told me what it was, but I got the impression it was important.ʺ

  ʺBut you said he didnʹt remember things. Did he even know what his mission was?ʺ

  Another shrug. ʺI trusted him.ʺ She glared at Isaiah. ʺAnd he wasnʹt insane.ʺ

  Isaiah thought for a while. ʺI believe you. Definitely more than I believe Dominic.ʺ

  ʺSo what are you going to do?ʺ

  ʺSame as before: go to Lebanon.ʺ

  ʺWhat are you going to do there?ʺ For a moment she felt afraid.

  He patted her leg. If just about anyone else had done that she would have felt uncomfortable, invaded. But with him it was reassuring. ʺNothing to you. Promise.ʺ He held up three fingers. ʺScoutʹs honor.ʺ Then he grew serious. ʺBut we need to figure out how to stop whateverʹs going on. We have to find answers.ʺ And his face grew grimmer still. ʺAnd I have to find Katherine.ʺ

  She nodded.

  And something smashed down in the road ahead of them. A tower of darkness. A huge column coated in blinking pinlights that hung on the ends of writhing stalks.

  Isaiah screamed a wordless curse. Spun the steering wheel to the side. The car fishtailed wildly.

  The thing disappeared, fast as it had appeared. Nothing behind to show it had ever been there, not even a vortex to mark its movement in the mist.

  ʺWhat was that?ʺ screamed Serafina.

  Isaiah didnʹt answer until the car stopped swerving all over the road. ʺI think it was the same thing that flattened the church,ʺ he said.

  ʺNo.ʺ She shook her head. ʺI saw that. It was maybe fifty feet wide. That thing looked like it was hundreds of feet across.ʺ

  Isaiah didnʹt answer. Serafina suddenly wished her mother was there again. There like the day she had come to find a wayward daughter, had come to a crack house to rescue a girl who had run away and been shot in the back for doing so.