Sunfall: Episode 1 Read online

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  GOOD MORNING

  Voices. Arguing. A man, and a woman. There was a third voice, but he couldn't determine to whom it belonged.

  “This is bullshit,” the man said. “We haven't stepped foot outside in months. Who knows? Maybe it's over.”

  “Damn it, Clay. You're a stubborn son of a bitch, aren't you?” the woman asked.

  Clay, Sam thought, rising from the inflatable mattress. He gathered his clothing, dressing himself urgently. The arguing continued, but Sam's mind traveled elsewhere. He glanced over at the picture on his desk, spotting it from the other end of his office. It was a family photo taken a few years back when things were good, when he was happy. Brenda was happy then, too; Sam could tell by the way she was smiling. And the kids, God the kids, they looked elated to be squeezed between their folks, despite being forced to dress in the ugliest of Christmas sweaters. It was his favorite picture, and every time he glanced at it, it made Sam chuckle.

  Thoughts of how happy he used to be were interrupted by more arguing. It had escalated to shouting, and Sam thought he better head downstairs before things got out of hand.

  Like last time.

  He walked out of his office, shutting the door behind him. Jogging down the stairs, he wondered if it was night or day. In the three months since The Big Burn, the new concept of time still hadn't caught on. Some of the survivors acclimated quickly, mostly those under the age of thirty. Older folks, not so much. Sam wondered if he would ever truly get used to sleeping during the day.

  He pushed open the double doors leading to the sales floor. Heading down the aisle, passing the electronics, he spotted Noah, one of Sam's more trustworthy employees.

  “It's Clay again,” Noah said. “He's getting worse.”

  Sam put up his palm, and Noah nodded.

  A few seconds later, Sam was standing on the outskirts of a small crowd. In the middle of it was Clay Burrows, ranting about how safe it might be to go outside. Tina Givens stood across from him, her arms folded beneath her breasts. She wasn't much older than Sam. Her lips were curled, her face reddening with each passing second.

  “Goddammit, Clay,” Shondra Lowe snapped. “Can't you just let it go?”

  “Shut up, dike,” Clay hissed.

  The crowd gasped. Shondra's short spiky hair and mannish figure gave the impression she might be gay, but it was an unspoken truth. No one had the balls to ask her about it, despite her having one of the friendliest faces in the camp. Not knowing made a few women uncomfortable, but they got along without any problems.

  “No one asked you,” Clay added.

  Whispers traveled amongst the crowd, none of which favored Clay's indignant remarks.

  “That was uncalled for, Clay,” Sam said, emerging from the audience. “Apologize.”

  “Well, look who it is,” Clay said, smirking. “The almighty king has stepped down from his throne. So happy you could grace us with your presence, your majesty.”

  “Cut the shit, Clay.” Sam stepped forward, an arm's length away from the wild-eyed man. He had been astonished when he found out that Clay was actually younger than him. He certainly didn't look it. Sam speculated it had to do with an unfit lifestyle and the carton of cigarettes he inhaled every day. “You're starting to freak people out. Don't you think they've been through enough?”

  Clay shook his head. “They should be scared. But not because of the sun. Not no more.” He licked his lips like a hungry wolf. “It's been three months since we've stepped foot outside.”

  “That's not true, Clay. We've been out plenty.”

  “Oh, bull-fuckin'-shit! Gallivanting around in the dark, looking for medical supplies, hoping to find other survivors—you seriously mean to tell me that that's going outside?” Clay snorted. “No, buddy. That's not going outside. That ain't living. I'm talking about going back to the way things were, Sam. I'm talking about going back to normal.”

  “This...” Sam said, motioning to Costbuster's interior, “is normal now, Clay. It's about time you come to terms with that. Peggy Williams used to be a psychiatrist. If you need to talk to someone, I'm sure she'll listen. Peggy? You around—”

  “I don't need a shrink, you fucking asshole.”

  “You can't keep doing this, Clay,” Sam said, gritting his teeth. “There are children here. They are scared. You understand that?”

  “There's no reason to be afraid anymore,” he repeated. “I'm going outside,” he said, raising his voice so everyone could hear. “Those of you who want to come with, are more than welcome. I firmly believe the worst is over. That the sun ain't gonna hurt us no more.”

  “What proof do you have?” someone shouted from the audience.

  “Look outside,” he said, pointing. “The world is still there, ain't it? Trees still stand. The cars in the parking lot haven't caught fire. The street lights haven't melted. The power lines haven't fallen. The world is exactly how it was the day The Burn happened. Nothing's changed.”

  Clay was right about one thing—the world hadn't changed. It stood exactly as it had prior to people bursting into flames and having their skin turn to char, reducing them to ash. But Sam didn't buy it. Things still felt wrong. Like the world would never go back to the way things were. The sun had become their enemy, the moon their sanctuary. Despite the darkness, nightfall offered humanity hope.

  “I think ya'll better double check who our leader is,” Clay said. “I don't remember electing Sammy-fucking-Wright President of Poopsville.”

  “This is his store, Clay,” Tina said. “He's been kind enough to let your grimy ass stay here. Why don't you show him a little respect?”

  Clay ignored her. “Why don't you tell everyone what ya'll discovered during your little midnight excursions?” The smile spreading across Clay's face made Sam wish the bastard did step foot outside. “Come on,” he urged. “Tell them. They deserve to know.”

  “We don't know everything yet,” Sam said.

  “Oh, sure we do!” Clay said happily. “If you ain't gonna tell them, I will.”

  “Tell us, Clay!” someone shouted. The crowd murmured in agreement.

  Sam felt his palms grow sweaty. He looked to Tina. She closed her eyes, wishing she was elsewhere. Noah stared at him, shrugging. Brian, former assistant manager, mouthed the words, “You need to shut him up right now.”

  Sam weighed his options. He could rush Clay, sock him in the jaw, hope it broke on the first punch. That would quiet him, but for how long? What would happen once the bones healed? Sam knew men like Clay. They could not be controlled or reasoned with. Clay was like those asshole customers that wanted discounts off everything, just because it was Tuesday or they were wearing a pink shirt. Or an employee who wouldn't do a damned thing that was asked of them, no matter how many opportunities they were given. People like that couldn't be coached. Couldn't change. Sooner or later, Clay was going to talk. Silencing him now would only draw negative attention to himself. The last thing Sam needed was a fucking revolution.

  Submitting, Sam lowered his head.

  A few more people begged for answers. Clay nodded, still grinning. Brian stepped backwards, disappearing into the crowd. Noah masked his face with his hands.

  “Last chance, Sam,” Clay said.

  Sam ignored him.

  Clay shrugged. “A few nights ago, we made a run into the city. We raided a small convenience store. What we found in the stockroom, well, you may wanna brace yourselves for this.”

  “Damn it, Clay! Just tell us already!” a man shouted.

  “People. We found people,” Clay told them.

  “Like, alive?” someone asked.

  He shook his head. “No. They were dead.”

  “Were they, all burnt up?” another asked.

  “No. They were murdered.”

  Some people gasped. Others groaned.

  “Whoever done it,” Clay started saying before temporarily losing the words that came
next.

  “Go on, Clay!” a man yelled. “You can tell us!”

  “Whoever done it,” Clay continued. “Ate them.”

  Collectively, people expressed their immediate concerns. They grumbled amongst themselves, talking loudly over each other.

  “Their necks were all chewed up!” Clay shouted. “There was lots of blood and everything! But I guess that's all normal now, right? That's the way of the world now, ain't it?”

  Sam stepped forward, grabbing Clay's shoulder. “Okay, that's enough.”

  “Get your hand off of me!” Clay barked.

  “Everyone, calm down,” Sam said. “I think it's pretty obvious why not everyone was privy to this information. First off, we don't know all the details. We're not sure if this was an isolated incident, or something recurring. We certainly haven't seen any evidence of the latter since. Secondly, I didn't want to start a panic for no reason.” He glared at Clay while he spoke. The bastard couldn't even look him in the eye. “You must understand where I'm coming from,” he addressed the crowd.

  “Do you think it's the same people who kidnapped Maurice?” a woman asked. “He never did come back.”

  “Sherry,” Sam said. “We don't have any evidence to support that. For all we know, Maurice is still out there. Surviving. Just as we are. If he's out there, we'll find him.”

  “I just miss him,” Sherry said. “That's all.”

  “We all do.”

  “What exactly are you guys doing out there?” someone asked. “I mean, we seem to have plenty of food and water here. Enough to last us a year, I'd say.”

  “Well, Wally,” Sam answered. “It's not enough to last us a lifetime.” Sam could feel sweat pouring down his sides. “Plus we need medical supplies. And you never know who we might find out there. There might be others that need our help.”

  “Yeah, like the cannibals!” someone shouted.

  “Yeah, who's to say you didn't lead them here!” another cried out.

  Sam shook his head. “We're very careful out there.”

  “Clearly not careful enough!”

  “Yeah, people are being abducted!”

  “And eaten!”

  Christ, someone save me, Sam thought.

  Clay stepped forward. “I think it's time we focus on what's important!”

  The crowd faced him, waiting for answers.

  “I'm going out into the day. Right now. And I'll prove that this is over.” He glared at Sam. “And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

  -2-

  “You didn't stop him,” Tina said.

  “I tried,” Sam said.

  “Daddy, you have to do something,” Dana told him. “He'll die.”

  “Relax. Everything is fine,” he lied.

  “Dad, really. You can't let him go outside,” Matty said, a Popular Mechanics magazine tucked under his arm.

  Sam stopped while Clay and his small band of followers scurried toward the tall sliding-glass door. Tarps hung over the glass, blocking the sunlight from entering the store. It had taken several men to accomplish that task without injury. It felt like only yesterday.

  “Where's your sister?” Sam asked his children.

  Dana shrugged.

  “I think she's with Chris Atkins,” Matty said.

  “Goddammit.” He shook his head. “Do me a favor. Find her. Stay with her. I'll get you when this is all over.”

  “What are you going to do?” Matty asked.

  Sam shook his head. “I don't know.”

  Another lie. Perhaps a half-truth at best. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to do nothing. Nothing at all. If his former marriage had taught him anything, it was sometimes words, even those filled with reason, aren't enough. Sometimes the call for irrational action is the more persuasive. Sometimes it's the loudest voice in the room.

  He felt the presence of someone standing at his side. “Thought I told you to find your sister.”

  “Dana can do it. Besides, somebody's got to talk some sense into them,” Matty said, watching Clay round up others for his cause.

  Sam rubbed his forehead. “There's no talking to these guys. They've made their choice. They won't be satisfied until they've seen it through.”

  “But they're going to die, Dad. Don't they get that? Can't they see it?”

  “Son,” Sam said, staring his son in the eyes, “sometimes when people are scared, they need something to make them feel safe again. They need something to believe in. And they won't stop believing until they see that they're wrong.”

  Matty looked at his father quizzically. “But you don't think it's safe to go outside. What if you're wrong? Will you believe it then?”

  With a smile, Sam placed his hand gently on his son's shoulder. “You're right. I'm scared like they are. And I very well may be wrong. It may be perfectly safe to go out into the light again. But I won't believe it until I see it. And neither will they.”

  -3-

  Clay stood in front of the door with three others—two men, one woman—of equally low IQ results. They looked to him for reassurance, and he nodded confidently. Clay turned back to the crowd, all of them looking on with grave anticipation.

  “Last chance, Clay,” Sam said. “We can talk this thing out.”

  “You're wrong, Sam.” He turned back to the door. “Open Sesame.”

  The two men accompanying him each took a door, wedged their fingers between them, and pulled. The door parted like heavenly arms, inviting them into the dim light. In the distance, the sun was beginning to lift above the horizon. Clay stepped onto the sidewalk, feeling the early fall breeze on his skin. Hesitantly, his three followers joined him. Clay raised his arms in the air, basking in the faint morning glow. After a few moments, smiles reached the faces of his faithful companions. They started laughing. Giggling. Clay turned back to Costbusters. They had already shut the doors behind them. However, he could see eyes peering at him through cutouts in the tarp.

  “See!” he shouted. “Prisoners no more! We're free!”

  The woman hugged one of the men. The other man slapped Clay on the shoulder, his eyes watering. Something surged through Clay's veins. It was a state of happiness he had never known before. Not once in his entire life had he felt that way.

  The sun was halved by the tree-cluttered horizon. Clay could feel the rays on his skin, his flesh warming. It didn't burn. It felt pleasant. But as the seconds ticked, a new feeling emerged. Clay couldn't quite place his finger on it.

  His followers felt it, too.

  “Clay, something's off,” one of them said.

  “I don't feel right,” the woman said. “Maybe we should go back.”

  Just when Clay was about to agree, the hair on his arms began to singe.

  TO BE CONTINUED...