by Billy Farmer
After maybe ten seconds the roaring diesel faded, the void filled with a yet another round of intense automatic gunfire. After several minutes of that, there were three pops, followed by silence.
“That’s damn close ta Miley’s. Has ta be,” Sam said, trying to stand but struggling due to his injury.
“I say we go. If they’re there, they’re probably clearing that area,” Titouan said.
“I’m not sure how safe that’d be, walking into an area being cleared with gunfire --” I said, but stopping once I noticed Avery nodding off. I ran over to him and tried to shake him awake, but he was soundly asleep. I got within inches of his face and was yelling at him to wake up. Without warning, his eyes jerked open.
“How did the soldiers get here?” He asked.
“What?” I said, frustrated. “You scared me, dammit.”
Ignoring my terror, he repeated, “Where did the soldiers come from, and how did they get here? There are no land routes other than open tundra into Barrow. That diesel engine you heard almost certainly didn’t have anything to do with bringing those soldiers here.”
Titouan’s mind was made up. He didn’t care about Avery’s very valid point about how the military got there. He was ready to leave, and that was all there was to it.
Go figure. Avery and Titouan’s alliance was beginning to weaken.
I had serious doubts about leaving the maintenance building. Sure, if a group the size of the one that passed earlier had attacked, we would’ve been easy fodder for them inside the confines of the shack. But we were so banged up, especially Sam and his cut leg, that we were in no shape to run from the Grays, either. It boiled down to a single point. If more than one or two Grays attacked us, we would die, and it didn’t matter if we were inside the building or outside it. I made my decision based on a solitary reason. Keeping Avery up and awake.
***
The moment we left the building, I was assailed by the dark void that was Barrow. I felt like I was being watched from all directions. I was still having a hard time breathing. I was having a panic attack, so I did what I always had. I told myself what I was feeling wasn’t real. I felt in that instant almost exactly how I felt a good portion of my childhood and even in to my early adulthood: helpless.
I’ve never liked the dark. Much of this could be traced back to my youth, specifically to a camping trip with my friends. It was supposed to have been a great adventure, being that it was my first real excursion away from home. It was the first night I ever spent away from home, without family members, anyway.
We sat around the fire telling scary stories until deep into the night. When everyone had exhausted their repertoire of tales and was ready to go to sleep, my friends thought it would be funny if they made me sleep outside by myself. They knew I’d never spent the night with any of them, and that I was afraid of the dark to some extent, which is exactly why they did it. It was no fun otherwise.
I was so terrified, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. When they awoke the next morning, I was curled up into a ball just outside the tent, crying and having pissed my pants because I was afraid to get up and relieve myself. From then on out, I was Pee Pee Le Pew. I didn’t escape that nickname until I left Indiana. That pain I felt so many years ago seemed to reverberate that night, opening a well of emotions I’d repressed for so long.
Even before the camping trip, I was afraid of sleeping alone in my own house. My parents on numerous occasions awoke to find me on their bedroom floor. Not understanding what to do with me, they stopped me from sleeping in their room. They said I was too old to act like a baby. Maybe I was; after all, I was thirteen at the time.
A couple years later, my grandpa passed away. I didn’t really know him all that well, but what memories I had of him were good ones. So, I was excited to go stay a few weeks of my summer vacation with my grandma. The impetus of the trip was to allow me to get to know my grandma and help her cope with her loss. I was sure that another important part was to push me out of the nest for a bit of a test flight on my own. After all, my parents didn’t want to take care of me the rest of my life. They wanted me out of the house yesterday.
The first night I was there, I remember being really embarrassed to ask, but too afraid not to, for grandma to leave the light on. I’ll never forget the look she gave me. It wasn’t anger or embarrassment or anything bad. It was one of warmth, but also tinged with the look of someone who had been reminded of significant loss.
She came over and sat on the side of the bed next to me. “You knowed yer grandpa worked in the coal mines, didn’t ya?”
I told her I did.
“He hated ‘em, but they wasn’t much else fer a man ta do, and he had me and yer momma ta take care of.” She stopped for a few moments and gathered her thoughts. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. You hafta understand ‘at.” She smiled at me. “He went every day goin on thirty years… worked his hands bloody so we had ‘nough ta eat and a place to sleep. He was a good man. I wont you ta never forget ‘at.”
I nodded.
I thought she was finished. Instead, straightened her night coat, cinching it a little bit tighter. “Yer granddaddy was a easy goin man –A good man-- but not strong of mind, ya know. As bad as ‘at cramped dark hole in the ground was on ‘im, it was the other things. The long dark. ‘At’s what killed him.”
She hesitated, as if she might be telling my young ears too much. “Life wore on ‘im. He didn’t always know what ta do with all his feelins – couldn’t handle ‘em, ya know. He finally took up drinkin hard liquor ‘bout the time yer momma was in the third grade. People think drunks are weak. Hell, I like ta see some of ‘em people work in ‘em mines long as he did.”
She realized she had gone off subject. She gave me a toothless smile, and started again, “The drinkin didn’t help… Nothin did. The smile vanished as she finished, “William… son, as bad as thangs can get sometimes, it’s awful easy ta get ta doin things ta try to make yerself feel better. ‘Ey ain’t no outs – ain’t no easy fixes. ‘Specially drink. Don’t go down ‘at same road yer granddaddy did. You hafta find yer light and hold on to it tight. You hafta to find yer reason to live.”
I was sad because she was sad, but I didn’t really grasp what she was saying at the time. Three years later, after I had suffered my fair number of bouts with depression, and while going through my grandparents’ things, after she passed away, my mom told me how grandma was so worried about me. She told my mom, “The long dark is goin ta get ‘at boy.” Grandma couldn’t call depression depression. There was too much stigma attached to that word with people her age. You were just lazy or weak minded or worse. Instead, she called it the long dark.
Mom being mom, of course, gave me her opinion on things. “I got it. You just have to be tougher than it is. You probably don’t have it in you.” Mom should have been a motivational speaker.
It was a hell of a crazy time to be thinking about all of that, but it was all relevant. Before, I lived up to mom’s ultra-low expectations. I drank, took drugs, and all kinds of stupid shit, trying to run away from my demons. The only reason I did so well with Miley is that I craved the attention from someone who was strong and powerful. I did anything he asked of me, good or bad, and he rewarded me for that near endless loyalty. Even then, the fleeting attention only left me more desperate and confused about who I was and what I had or hadn’t become.
But that night, even with the uncertainty swirling around us, and the fact that much lesser things would’ve previously had me scurrying towards unsavory things, a strength I’d never felt began to swell within me. With that newfound strength, I was going to do everything in my power to make sure my friends were safe and sound. That was my new purpose: we were going to fight the darkness, and we were going to live.
“William,” I heard Sam anxiously whisper. “Snap out of it, son.” He pointed to our left, to a house just off Okpik Street. Someone was inside, and whoever it was had a lantern burning in one of the front
rooms. The lantern light and the person weren’t the problem. The several dark silhouettes milling outside of the house potentially were.
There was a small, dilapidated building adjacent to the house with the light on. We crouched behind it as we decided whether what was happening posed a threat.
“What do you guys think?” I asked.
Sam looked at the airport security fence to our right before saying, “Not much room ta maneuver, and nowhere ta hide if they up ta no good. I don’t know, boys. ‘Ey’ll see us if we try ta walk by.”
“The military is just down the street. I say we make a run for it,” Titouan said, agitated that we were waiting around.
“No, we’re not going to do that,” I said.
Titouan shot me a hateful look.
“Besides the fact that those are probably Grays attacking that house, do you really want to take off running towards a bunch of men with guns?”
Titouan looked away and sighed.
Whoever held the lamp carried it to a different room in the house facing us. A dark outline of someone could be seen just outside the newly lit window. As soon as the lamp light illuminated the rear window, the dark silhouette could be seen looking in through the window from the outside.
“Somethin is ‘bout ta go down, boys,” Sam said.
“We have seen this before. They seem to be coordinating these attacks. It is hard to cover all the entrances, so they attack multiple egresses. Fascinating,” Avery said.
“Did you wipe, boy? ‘Cause, by the look on yer face back at the buildin and house, you probably pooped twice. Fascinatin, my ass,” Sam said.
Avery popped his knuckles and refused to look Sam in the face. “Their behavior is what it is. I can separate my fear from my fascination.”
“Dammit,” I said, “not now.”
“Maybe the military is clearing that house?” Titouan asked.
Straining to see details that were simply not discernible from our distance, and due to insufficient ambient light, but remaining skeptical nonetheless that what we were about to watch had anything to do with the military, I said, “I doubt that very seriously.”
Suddenly, the shadowy figure smashed the window. There was a scream and then another, followed by the cries of what I hoped wasn’t a baby. There was a spat of gunshots fired out of the window; the flashes lit the room and created a supersonic pop as they sped past, too close for comfort. Whoever tried to get into the back room got a nasty surprise, but the safety of those in the house was as tenuous as the front door was capable of holding back the gaggle of bodies punching, pressing, and kicking at it.
“There’s yer answer, Tit. Ain’t no damn military.”
I checked the rifle, making sure it had a round in the chamber. I didn’t want the same thing that happened to Sam to happen to me. “Give me any spare ammo you have in that bag, Titouan,” I told him.
“What the hell ya doin, son?”
“Didn’t you hear the baby crying? I have a gun, and I’m going to help,” I said, putting the ammo Titouan gave to me in my pocket.
“What are we supposed to do?” Titouan asked.
“Get your asses to Miley’s. Even if those aren’t Grays attacking that house, and I’m pretty sure it is, the noise will draw them in soon,” I said.
“Which is why you shouldn’t do this, William, ya damn fool,” Sam pleaded.
“After what happened to Tom… I can’t just leave them to die. I’m going to try to help,” I said.
Sam tried one last time to stop me. “Son, don’t do ‘is. You can’t go comparin ‘is with what happened ta Tom.”
“It feels awfully damn close to me,” I said.
Sam spit. “You a bull-headed sonofabitch. Get yer ass ta Miley’s soon as ya can. I mean ‘at.”
“I’ll be right behind you guys. Now go before more show up,” I scolded.
I patted Avery on the shoulder and began walking towards the house. Between my girth and lack of anything that might hide my approach, I was perfect fodder for either a bullet or something much more dreadful. I had the gun up and ready. Twenty yards into my mission, I turned and took one more look at my friends. Sam was leading them away, just as I had asked. Not happy but doing it all the same.
I turned back towards my quarry. Some things dawned on me in rapid succession. One, I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Two, I was scared out of my wits. Three, I had just sent my friends off into the unknown, for people who I had never met and who might be dead by the time I got myself into a position to help. Four, I was majorly having second thoughts.
But then there was this weird channel that opened in my mind. All it was playing was the crying baby. Thanks, conscious – screwing me again. I said, “fuck it” and picked up my pace.
I was a mess, yet coherent and rational enough to angle my approach in such a manner I hoped the Grays on the porch wouldn’t see me. The smell part I couldn’t control, so I tried not to worry about it. I was close to the broken-out window. I didn’t want to have my brains blown out, so I kept out of viewing range.
I could clearly see the forms on the porch as I peeked around the corner of the house. Now what, I thought. I had five rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. I counted seven Grays on the porch. If I were extremely lucky, I thought I could hit three or four of them before I’d have to reload. I only had the one magazine in the rifle, which meant that I’d have to load the rounds individually into the mag. That wouldn’t work. I’d still be trying to reload when they were piled on me doing whatever it is they do.
Shit. The front door exploded. It was decision time. I didn’t have all day to weigh my options. It essentially amounted to run or gun at that point. I chose the latter.
Heavy footfalls pounded against the hard flooring inside. It sounded like at least one of them fell as they fought to get into the house, the floor creaking with every step. One of them bellowed in anger. There were curses and screaming followed by more pounding fists. Whoever was in the back room had barricaded themselves in, but for how long was anybody’s guess. If the front door was any indication, the answer was not long at all.
“Take the baby and go,” I heard a man pleading just inside the room with the broken-out window. A woman told him she wasn’t leaving. “You have to go now. Please,” he repeated.
The door was splintering and would give way soon. Without thinking and breaking the rule about not wanting my brains blown out, I ran to the window, and was about to yell into the house when there was a flash and a deafening blast or maybe blasts. I was disorientated. My left ear felt like it had exploded. I don’t remember how I had ended up on the ground; I just knew that I was. I checked all my parts to make sure they were still there and working properly. I'm not sure how the person had missed, but I was damn happy he or she did. I heard cursing in the room where the blast came from.
I rolled away from the window and managed to get to my feet. From the side of the window frame, I called to the people inside, “Don’t shoot, dammit. I’m trying to help.” Two more shots. A Gray, or at least I thought it was a Gray, wailed. “Go. I’ll hold them back,” came a man’s voice.
“Please let me help you,” I said.
Three rapid shots, followed this time by desperate words. “I only have a couple bullets left. You have to go!”
It sounded like a dresser or something heavy was being pushed across the floor, the sound of scraping wood, picture frames, and other knickknacks falling to the floor could be heard. “Go.”
I heard footsteps from behind me. And sniffing – loud sniffing. I turned only to see a big hulk of a Gray bearing down on me. He was on me before I could react. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, and he was on top of me, pounding the living hell out of me with his fists. I was disoriented from the heavy blows, but I knew I had to do something fast or I was dead. I reached for the rifle that had been knocked out of my hands, but it was out of my reach.
The dark cloak of unconsciousness began to envelope me like a fog,
bringing with it an odd relief.
I heard a muffled pop. The smell of death was in the air, but not mine. The veil that had enveloped me with peace had suddenly been ripped away. In its place came the piercing cries of an infant and heavy snowflakes falling on my battered face.
Using every ounce of strength I had left, I managed to push the limp body off of me. I struggled to my feet. I closed and opened my eyes, trying to get them to focus in the low-light conditions. A woman with a swaddled infant in one hand and a pistol in the other stood a couple feet away from me. A pistol that just happened to be pointed directly at me.
It had begun snowing heavily again.
I had my rifle pointed at the woman, but didn’t realize it until I followed her eyes towards it. I lowered it. The woman didn’t immediately return the favor with her pistol. “Thanks for saving me,” I said, nervously, not sure I was saved just yet. Only when there was a loud crash from inside the house did she finally lower her pistol.
The man cursed. The woman paused in indecision. She took a long look back towards the house.
“Don’t do it,” I told her. I labored under the two or three steps between us and grabbed hold of her arm and tried to drag her away from the house, but there was something slippery on her jacket, and I nearly fell on my ass as I lost my grip.
“We have to go,” I implored.
The baby was screaming. We were going to have every Gray in Barrow on us if she couldn’t stop the crying. First thing first, we had to get away from the house. The man was quickly losing the battled, and after they were finished with him, we’d be next.
I grabbed her wrist, which luckily wasn’t slimy like her coat, and pull her away from the window. After a few steps, she arrested her arm from my grip, obviously not trusting me, but nevertheless moved with purpose, never more than just a few steps behind me.
We hurried towards the dilapidated building where I had just moments earlier sent my friends off into the unknown. There was no sign of them. I hoped they were okay, but I had bigger problems. I was getting ready to tell the woman if she didn’t manage to quiet the child we were dead. Before I could utter the first word, the baby had stopped. I mean, she just stopped. No whimpering. Nothing.
