Black Sun by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 14

Leaving the cover of the woods, Ryan and Abigail started their cautious walk down the road, occasionally stopping to listen for anything that might force them back. But, other than the sound of their shoes skipping off the pavement, there was nothing, and it was the sound of nothing that frightened them the most. Yet, they needed to press on, and leaving the road, they ran to the side of the house, away from the open space of the cool morning pavement. Now, standing with their backs against the house's facade, Ryan inched his way to the edge of the nearest window and listened. Still, there was nothing. Even the morning breeze filled his head with a terrifying silence that he found nearly unbearable, causing him to struggle for his sanity and control. He would have to discard his fear for the sake of avoiding starvation, but having cleared his head, remembered that he was armed. However, the idea of killing someone over a bit of food and water seemed criminal. The last thing Ryan wanted was to give in to the same urges he knew everyone was capable of, preferring to survive by his wits, rather than through violence.

Having heard only silence, Ryan turned slightly and peered through the window, only to see stagnant shadows and dim light. He motioned Abigail down to the ground as they ducked below the window frame and moved towards the corner of the house, and quickly glanced around the corner, continued to be haunted by the emptiness he saw. Feeling a sense of panic beginning to consume him, Ryan took a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts as Abigail, relying on his strength, tightened her grip on his hand. As frightened as Ryan was, she was far more terrified, plagued with the strange notion that she had somehow been thrown into a horror movie and was about to walk into her life’s gruesome end.

Ryan took a second-deep breath and looked around the corner again, and seeing the same emptiness allowed his attention to drift towards the station wagon, parked in the driveway. This gave him the opportunity to further assess the house's occupancy. “C’mon,” he whispered.

Moving away from the house, Ryan began to walk towards the car, but was quickly held back by Abigail’s cautionary grip. “What are you doing?” she asked.

They were within only a few feet of the driveway, but in Abigail’s mind, it may as well have been several miles. Her previous life had been quite predictable – sleep, eat and study. Now, all of that was gone, replaced with chaos and fear. Now, it was the unpredictable that scared her, and with Ryan suddenly breaking away to examine the car, she couldn’t help feeling exposed and vulnerable. “I want to see how long the car’s been here,” Ryan replied. “I want to know if someone just got here, or if they’ve been here a while.” Abigail saw no sense to even approach the car, believing that if someone was in the house, it made no difference how long the car had been there.

“It doesn’t matter,” she began. “If there’s someone in the house, it doesn’t matter.”

Returning to the side of the house, Ryan quietly agreed and, glancing around the corner a third time, turned back to Abigail. “C’mon.”

Holding her hand, they rounded the corner and, quietly making their way to the rear of the house, stopped at the back corner. Again, Ryan looked around the corner and saw nothing. The overwhelming silence screamed in his head, and with eyes wide with fear, he continued and led Abigail around to the back door. Like the previous house, the door was left unlocked, yet with the car in the driveway, it wasn’t getting in that concerned him, but who might be inside and what they might do. Under the circumstances, any intruder would easily be seen as hostile and could become the victim of lethal force. The voice of desperation is often loud enough to drive anyone into committing the most grievous of crimes, and breaking and entering seemed to be the least of them.

With no steps to climb, Ryan carefully put his thumb on the black, rectangular button just above the door handle and with his, once again mounting, depressed it. The white aluminum door opened easily as a piston near the top let out a quiet hiss. Now, with the door wide open, Ryan looked through the window of the inner door, and again, saw nothing and bringing his hand to the doorknob, took a moment to collect his courage. He put an ear near the window, listening for anything that might indicate a human presence, but the only thing he could hear was silence. But hunger, once again, raised its growling voice, and somewhere through the sweat of fear and tension, Ryan discovered the nerve to continue and turning the doorknob, pushed gently. With only a few inches between the door and the frame, Ryan peered through, scanning everything he could see. Opening it further, he turned to Abigail with a finger crossing his lips. This turned out to be unnecessary, as she had been shaken into silence by the fear of being shot, or worse, by whoever might still be occupying the house.

Stepping in, the house seemed very much like the last with a similar kitchen that let out into the dining room, separated by a flight of stairs. With Abigail close behind him, Ryan paused to get a quick look around and saw that the kitchen was fully stocked, a fortunate happenstance for them both. Abigail was overjoyed with the sight of so much food, but Ryan remained cautious, knowing that in spite of their bountiful discovery, something was still amiss as the house was still quiet. Now, with light steps, Ryan and Abigail slowly walked from the kitchen and to the bottom of the stairs. Still, the house was filled with a haunting silence, absent of even the slightest footsteps. One might wonder what could be more terrifying, the sound of an oncoming attack by a complete stranger, or the maddening silence of an unfamiliar place.

Investigating further, Ryan took a few steps up the stairs, listening, while Abigail stood at the bottom with crossed arms, her face stricken with fear. But, she was also struck by something else. Call it instinct, an odd feeling, or perhaps, a premonition, yet something drew her attention away from the stairway and into the living room. Now, with Ryan exploring the stairway, Abigail, pulled by the attraction of something she could not explain, slowly wandered into the living room. Moments later, she let out a terrified scream, bringing Ryan running back down the stairway, nearly falling to the fall on the way. Darting around the corner, he found Abigail pale and sweating as she stared across the room in horror.

“What is it?” he asked.

Her mind had quickly retreated, searching for the smallest fragment of sanity, leaving her without so much as a single tear. Looking across the room, Ryan realized that no response was needed as he, too, began to feel the dizzying effects of mental shock. Standing in the doorway of the living room, their eyes had become transfixed on the body of a large woman, sitting back on the couch, a gun resting in her lap. On the coffee table in front of her was an empty pill bottle, its cap tightly locked in place.

Her head had been violently thrown back, with wide streams of blood having burst from her nose and mouth, now dried by time to her pale yellow skin. Behind her, the wall was glazed with blood and brain tissue, with skull fragments embedded in its surface. To the inexperienced eyes of Ryan and Abigail, it looked like a scene penned by a horror master and was graphic enough to send them both running for the back door, vomiting violently. Strangely, there was no odor, as advanced decomposition had not yet set in. Meanwhile, at the back door, Ryan and Abigail, weakened by their sudden illness, briefly discussed the idea of going back inside, in spite of the horrific scene that awaited. “I’m not going back in there,” Abigail said. “I can’t handle that.” Tears came to her eyes as the image burned its way into her brain. In time, she would be able to cope, but for now, her mind was a prisoner to it, relentless and unforgiving. “We still need food,” Ryan replied. “So, if you want to stay out here, I’ll go back in. But only as far as the kitchen.” With his stomach still in spasm, he got to his feet but hesitated as he put a hand on the side of the house, steadying himself on trembling legs.

Again, he opened the door and, stumbling in, quietly cursed to himself.

“Jesus, fuck, I never want to see anything like that again.” Letting the door close on its own, Ryan searched the kitchen, finding the cabinets overflowing with canned and boxed food. But, it was the refrigerator where he discovered what they really needed. Water. On the shelves inside its open door were, at least, a dozen liter bottles of spring water. Taking all of them, Ryan returned to Abigail, whose emotional shock quickly turned to relief as she took one of the bottles, quickly enough to leave a slight scratch across the top of Ryan’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Unscrewing the cap, she brought the mouth of the bottle to her lips and, tipping her head back, drank deeply. The last two days had brought on the first signs of dehydration, but between their death inspired vomiting and the lack of water, it was only now that they realized how close they were to being dangerously ill.