Darkness Follows

by L. A. Weatherly

  The footsteps drew closer and stopped. The doorknob rattled as someone tried it.

  A hesitant knock.

  “Excuse me?” called a voice. “Is…is somebody in there?”

  Claudia. I caught my breath. Ingo and I didn’t move. I stared at the window, sickly aware that the stove’s flames were bathing the room in a warm orange glow.

  A long shadow fell across the floor as she peered in. I’d thought we were hidden. We weren’t. Claudia gaped at the scene – at Ingo, at me, at both of us wearing Guns’ uniforms – and then turned and ran.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ingo lunged to open the door. I shoved past him after Claudia, bursting out into the cold slap of night. The stars were a million icy pinpoints – Claudia a dark, running shadow ahead.

  “Escape…escape…” she panted.

  Hatred and fear surged. I somehow put on a burst of speed. I brushed her tattered coat with my fingers; I yanked hard and she stumbled and I tackled her, taking us both down in a flurry of gravel and snow.

  She shrieked, tried to scramble to get away. One of her flailing fists hit the side of my head and the world dimmed. Her mouth was wide open; she was about to scream for the Guns – no!

  With a frenzied lunge, I slammed her head against the ground – then again. Claudia slumped and went still.

  “I’m glad you asked that, Tom,” murmured Gunnison in the sudden silence. “Growing up on the farm, I thought a lot about justice…”

  For a second I wondered if I’d killed her, but her chest gently rose and fell. I sat up shakily and shoved away from her. We’d been lying as close as two lovers, and the feel of her skin sickened me.

  Only seconds had passed. Ingo appeared, clutching his side. His expression as he stared down at Claudia was wild, fevered.

  Our eyes met. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: our plan depended on getting away undetected hours before the morning counting. There was only one thing that could guarantee Claudia’s silence.

  “Come, we have to get her inside,” said Ingo finally.

  Even in the dim light, I could see his wince, his sudden paleness as he crouched down and took Claudia’s arms, and I cursed her even more. We carried her into the laundry. Sprawled on the floor in the furnace’s glow, she looked more like a rat than ever: brown hair, sharp face and elbows.

  Ingo stared down at her grimly. He prodded her with his foot. “Your informer?”

  “Yes.”

  He snorted. “I can tell. She looks better fed than most.”

  The shard of glass lay in my flight jacket’s pocket along with the matches. I reached in and touched its razor sharpness. “She was curious about where I was going tonight,” I said. “I thought I threw her off my track, but…obviously I didn’t.”

  A heavy pause. Ingo and I looked at each other, weighing what we had to do. In a flash I saw Melody’s limp body again as it dropped from the platform.

  I swallowed and let go of the glass, hating Claudia all the more. “I can’t do it,” I said softly.

  Ingo rubbed his scar as if it bothered him. “No, me neither,” he said finally. “More fool us.”

  We had to use the twine we’d found to bind Claudia’s ankles and wrists – then we gagged her with a rag that she’d probably sell for extra food when she finally got free. We dragged her into a storage closet and jammed the door shut with a chair.

  “That won’t hold for long,” muttered Ingo. “A few good thumps from the inside and she’ll be out. I can think of a hundred ways she might attract the Guns’ attention from in here.”

  So could I. “Maybe she’ll stay passed out until morning,” I said.

  “I wish that even the tiniest part of you believed that.”

  The plan had been risky enough before; now I felt almost sick with dread. “If only there were some other night we could try it,” I murmured. “We could go back, pretend she was making it all up…”

  “Don’t be stupid; it’s tonight or nothing,” said Ingo bitterly. “Did you forget? We burned our other clothes.”

  The enormity of this fact hit me like a lead weight.

  “That’s that then,” I said finally. “I guess we’d better take our chances.”

  The camp director’s house sat on a hill, lit up as if on fire. Music throbbed faintly from it. Apart from distant, raucous shouts, quiet lay over the camp. Gunnison’s voice had faded – though when I glanced back, his screen image stood laughing with a soldier.

  Whether we lived or died, soon I’d never have to see those films again.

  As we neared the gate that led to the Guns’ quarters, dread filled me. “You’re sure there’s no other way?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Yes,” Ingo said shortly. I couldn’t see his mouth under the scarf, but his eyes had a darkly reckless glint, as if we’d passed the point of no return. I supposed we had.

  “It’ll be fun,” he said.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Yes, why not? Everyone should be crazy once in their lives.”

  He gasped as he said it, and I realized to my alarm that he was fading fast. His forehead looked clammy below his fur-lined hat; he walked hunched, holding his side. My gaze flew to his coat. I wondered uneasily if the wound was bleeding through.

  “Are you all right?” I asked in an undertone.

  “Stop asking me that. I’m fine.”

  Another whooping shout came from the distance, and inspiration struck. “No, you’re drunk! Like half the Guns here.” I put my arm around Ingo’s waist. “Lean on me,” I said urgently.

  He pulled sharply away. “If I can’t make it, you’ll leave me. That was the deal.”

  “There was no deal that said I couldn’t help you.”

  “I told you, I can walk! Amity, you’re skin and bones; you’re hardly any stronger than I am.”

  “We’ll support each other then,” I hissed. “Don’t be an idiot! If you’re captured, they’ll take me too.”

  Ingo gave me a quick glance and succumbed then, putting his arm around my shoulders. I could feel the relief in his muscles as we walked in a shambling duo towards the open gate.

  Two Guns stood nearby, guarding. I saw the red glow of a cigarette and heard their laughter as we approached. Somehow our feet didn’t hesitate as we walked through the open gate.

  “Evening,” called out one of the Guns. She strode loosely towards us. I stiffened – it was the blonde Gun who’d shot Natalie that morning. She nodded at Ingo, her expression friendly. “What’s with him?”

  We stood in half-shadow that felt hideously bright. Surely she’d recognize me, even with the scarf? I shrugged. Ingo was tense against my side. He’d dropped his cheek against my shoulder, hiding his scar.

  “He’s fine.” The words were muffled and she looked at my scarf. My blood cold, I slowly tugged it down a little. She didn’t react.

  “Too…too much happy juice, that’s all,” I said.

  The Gun gave a guffawing laugh and I realized how drunk she was. “No such thing! Especially tonight, eh? Here, let’s see if you can catch up with your friend.” She grinned and handed me an open flask.

  I managed a smile back and took a quick gulp, turning my head away. Whisky burned down my throat.

  “Thanks,” I gasped out as I handed the flask back.

  “Been to the party?” she said cheerfully. “Listen, it’s in full swing now, you can sneak in and they’ll never know if you’re off duty.”

  I longed to pull the scarf back up. I swallowed. “No, we’ve just been having our own party…but maybe we’ll sneak in later.”

  The other Gun approached through the shadows, even drunker than she was. “Elsie, come on, I thought we were having a target contest!” He spun suddenly and shot at a tree. He missed wildly, staggering, and whooped with glee. “Hey, we should get some prisoners over here to aim at!”

  Elsie rolled her eyes. “You know I’m already in trouble for that. Bit of fun this morning,” she added to me with a conspirator�
��s smile. “But honestly, you should have heard her sing!” She and the other Gun collapsed into giggles.

  “That bad?” I said after a pause.

  I couldn’t laugh, couldn’t even sound as if I were smiling. I stared at the Gun’s pistol and imagined the warm weight of it in my grip. He was so close. I could grab the pistol and hold it at them both. Shout at them to sing, no, louder – SING!

  Ingo’s arm tightened warningly. “Time for bed,” he mumbled.

  The Guns laughed. I tried to smile.

  “Goodnight,” said Elsie, steering the other guard away. “Hope you make it to the party after you get your friend home. We’d better get back to ‘guarding’.” She said the word in quotes. She sounded nice.

  Nice.

  When Ingo and I were far enough away, he sagged out a breath and studied me briefly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your nerve, after fighting you so often.”

  I was still shaking. “What nerve?” I snapped. “I didn’t do anything! I wanted to grab that pistol from him and…” I trailed off. “That woman killed one of my hut-mates this morning,” I said. “Just shot her, for no reason.”

  Ingo’s look was laced with bitter understanding. Our footsteps mingled with the distant music from the party.

  “We’ll get away or die trying,” he said. “That’s all that counts. And you got us through the gate.”

  He straightened a little and dropped his arm from my shoulders. “I think I can walk now,” he added. “It was a cramp…thank you.”

  Neither of us spoke for a while, apart from quick, whispered consultations about direction. We steered our way through the Guns’ enclosure by the stars and the dark outline of the nearby woods, until we were walking down a long road that we hoped backed onto the fence near the mines.

  The rest of Ingo’s information had to do with the processing plant beyond the mines. Whatever it produced was packed into canisters, then loaded onto a small fleet of snow-trucks by the male prisoners. Ingo had been recruited to help many times – and at the end of each day he’d seen the fully-loaded snow-trucks drive off across the snowy fields towards what he knew must be the Guns’ section of camp, to be stored overnight.

  Strangely, the Guns often spoke freely around us. They seemed to literally see us as sub-human. One afternoon, straining to help lift one of the heavy canisters, Ingo had overheard a driver complain about how early the trucks left each morning, to get to wherever they were going – and how much of a pain it was to have to stop halfway and shift over from snow-runners to tyres.

  “They leave before the first counting,” Ingo had whispered to me when he’d first told me the plan. “And the only way to get to the trucks is through the Guns’ section. They don’t search there when someone escapes; I’m sure of it. If we can be hidden on one of those trucks when they leave, we’ll be taken away from here.”

  “To where?” I’d asked, and Ingo had shrugged.

  “Somewhere warmer, with roads,” he said. “We can steal an auto, maybe.”

  I’d stared at the barbed wire of the men’s section for a long moment before saying, “Should I state the obvious?”

  “State away,” Ingo had replied curtly. “It’s a risk we have to take. Either come, or don’t come.”

  I hadn’t said it. And here I was now. But we both knew that there was a chance the snow-trucks were simply transferring the canisters to another prison camp: Harmony One, Two, Three or Four.

  The music had faded behind us, yet I was taut, certain that our every footfall would attract Guns who’d discovered Claudia. Finally we rounded a bend and saw a lit area ahead of us, illuminating large, boxy buildings with huge doors.

  For a fleeting second I thought of aircraft hangars, but no: these were garages for snow-trucks.

  Our steps slowed. Ingo had that do-or-die glitter in his dark eyes again. “Second thoughts, Wildcat?” he said pointedly.

  “No. It’s a bit late for that.” I glanced at him, irritated. “I wish they’d given you a nickname in the press, since you keep harping on mine.”

  He turned back to the enclosure. “Well, no prizes for guessing what it would’ve been.”

  My gaze flicked to the burned half of his face, wrinkled and mask-like in the shadows. Scarface. I didn’t say it.

  A high chain-link gate stretched across the road. We’d had no fresh snow in days, and to my relief, the enclosure was trampled with footprints. Our own wouldn’t give us away.

  We pressed against a tree and watched. No movement.

  “Shall we try it?” I said finally.

  Before Ingo could answer, a monotonous drone wailed through the air. We froze; my veins turned to ice.

  “A counting,” I breathed. Why were they doing a counting now?

  Claudia.

  Ingo swore in Germanic. “Come on!”

  He lurched towards the gate and I followed. I’d been hoping to pick the padlock; there was no time. The fence shook as we scrambled over it, digging our toes into the chain-link diamonds.

  I staggered a little as we dropped onto the snow-covered pavement. Ingo was already propelling himself towards the nearest garage. It wasn’t locked. We rattled the massive door open and ducked inside.

  We pulled the door closed. Darkness. Ingo fumbled at the wall and the garage burst into light. A snow-truck towered over us: a giant metal insect with a huge grilled mouth and curved feelers that would skim over the snow. The cab sat high off the ground.

  Outside, the sirens had stopped. I felt like throwing up. Everyone in the camp was lining up to be counted now, palms out.

  Ingo clutched at his rib, his face a sickly greenish hue. “Quick, under here,” he gasped.

  He ducked under the snow-truck into the shadows. Tall caterpillar runners crouched to each side. Above was the floor of the truck’s bed.

  Ingo muttered feverishly in Germanic, sweeping his hands over the metal overhead.

  “What are you saying?” I cried in frustration.

  He banged the “ceiling” with his fist. “I’m saying, where the hell is it?” Then he saw something nearer the cab and darted over. “Here, here – see? There’s a compartment.”

  His long fingers prised at a trapdoor. It swung open, revealing a dark space. I joined him and peered upwards. A tyre almost as large as we were was attached by bolts.

  “It opens from inside the truck’s bed too,” said Ingo. I heard him swallow. “I checked once when I was loading the canisters. There’s space above the tyre; we’ll both fit if we squeeze together.”

  I gripped the edge of the trapdoor. “Isn’t this one of the tyres that they’ll swap for the runners halfway?”

  “No. Those are in compartments on the side, easier to get to. This is the spare. Come on, climb up.”

  “You’d better go first,” I said, glancing tensely out at the garage. I could see snowsuits hanging limply on the wall, with goggles drooping over them like dead eyes. “I’ll turn off the lights. Then once I’m in, I can stretch back down and shut the trapdoor.”

  “I’ll do it. I have longer arms than you.”

  “I know, but you’re hurt.”

  “Pot, meet kettle.”

  My patience, never great, snapped. “For crying out loud, Ingo, will you stop arguing?”

  Unexpectedly, he flashed a quick one-sided smile. “You sounded just like my sister then. All right, fine. You’re right.”

  With a grunt of pain Ingo hefted himself up onto the tyre; his long legs disappeared in a flurry of wool coat. I ducked out and turned off the lights, then groped my way back to the truck.

  I scrambled up into the compartment, then managed to dangle down and shut the trapdoor. I lay flat on the tyre beside Ingo, breathing hard. The ceiling – some part of the truck-bed – was almost touching my nose. If either of us had been a normal weight, we could never have fitted in here.

  The darkness was total. I could feel Ingo pressed beside me, hear his shallow, uneven breathing.

  “Are you all right
?” I asked finally.

  “Yes. But I wish you’d quit asking me that.” To my surprise, Ingo sighed and added, “Sorry about calling you Wildcat before. I can be a dick when I’m nervous.”

  “Accepted,” I said after a pause. I craned to hear outside. Still only silence. “Is that why you’ve been a dick nearly every time we’ve met?”

  “You don’t make me nervous, if that’s what you’re implying. But being in this place, finding a man murdered, breaking into the World for Peace building…”

  “Point taken,” I said. “I haven’t been at my best for a long time either.” The understatement was so vast that I almost wanted to laugh.

  The dark shadow that was Ingo shifted. I felt his wince of pain. “Anyway, look,” he said hoarsely. “My sister has a…kind of code phrase that she uses to let me know when I’m out of line. You could always use it too.”

  “Go on.”

  “She says, ‘Fuck off, Ingo.’”

  Despite everything, I gave a small chuckle. “I think I like your sister.”

  Ingo started to respond. He fell silent as another siren started up: the quick, pulsing one that meant prisoners were missing.

  Neither of us spoke.

  “I like her too,” he said finally. “I hope I’ll get to hear her tell me that again.”

  We lay in the cramped darkness for what seemed like hours, staying mostly silent. I clutched the shard of glass. It wouldn’t help much if we were caught, but I was glad to have it anyway.

  Finally we heard footsteps outside. I stiffened, gripping the glass. The garage door rattled open. “…so what do you know, the bunch of bored idiots got lucky, for a change.”

  I flinched at a sudden loud clanging: the back of the snow-truck being opened. Footsteps came from above; another voice floated down: “Three gone though. Bet that shocked them.”

  “Ah, the scum probably waltzed out the front gates under their drunken noses… Yeah, everything looks good.”

  My bones seemed to melt. Almost inaudibly, I heard Ingo’s release of breath. Three gone. They hadn’t found Claudia yet. The counting had been random; the Guns didn’t know that we might have breached their domain.