Black Sun by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 4

Sleep did not come easily for either of them. Abigail was accustomed to being in a more upscale neighborhood and was terrified of what she assumed were the everyday events typical of a high crime area. Ryan, however, experienced a different kind of discomfort, having not been in the company of a woman since the trauma of his divorce. But, after an uncomfortable sleep, he was awakened by a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ryan... Ryan, wake up.”

It was Abigail She had woken to the darkness of dusk, and reaching for a light, found the power out. “What is it?” Ryan asked.

Taking a breath of wakefulness, he sat up, and looking around the room, found Abigail's face, as she, again, stirred his senses into alertness.

“It's dark out,” she said. “Can we go now?” Shaking his senses back to life, he reflected back to the reason they were leaving.

“You really need to get this stuff, don't you? Is this for some kind of medicinal use?”

Abigail was hesitant in her response. “Well, no,” she began. “I just need it. Have you ever tried it?” Ryan remembered back to his youth, a time of self-proclaimed immortality, and in some cases, carelessness. “Well, I tried it once when I was about fifteen, but it really didn't do much.”

Abigail sensed the need to end the conversation or risk a lengthy discussion.

“So, I guess we should get going, huh?” she asked. By this time, Ryan had assumed that whatever had happened may have occurred on a much larger scale, and thought that if it became necessary to leave the area, going through Albany might provide them with food, and other essentials. What bothered him was the fact that they had to walk there.

Getting up off the couch, Ryan stood several feet from the closest window, and remaining silent, listened carefully. “What are you doing?” Abigail asked. He raised a finger to his lips and turned his ear towards the window.

“Listening,” he replied. “Do you hear anything?”

Abigail stopped and, listening to the cold, dark silence, heard only the sound of her heartbeat.

“I don't hear anything,” she answered. The conversation had been reduced to whispering, as they spoke briefly of the haunting silence of the streets below. “So, I guess that's a good thing?” Abigail asked. “For now it is,” Ryan replied. “Okay, you ready?” Abigail was suddenly overtaken by a chill of fear, but remained resolved in her intention to recover the ounce of marijuana hidden somewhere in her apartment.

“Alright,” Ryan continued. “You're sure you need this stuff?” She took a deep breath, trying to strengthen her resolve. “Well,” she began. “It would be really nice to have it. Besides, once we get to the university, we can go to the mall for a few things.”

Ryan was puzzled. Given what they had both witnessed, it seemed rather odd to be making a shopping trip. “I don't know if the mall will even be open,” he said. “I mean, with the power out.”

Abigail could hardly believe what she was hearing. She knew the power would be out, just as it was in Troy, but that was not the issue. They would need food and clothing, and under the circumstances, she believed it would be acceptable to break in for what they needed.

“Ryan,” she began. “If this is going on everywhere, then the shit's gonna hit the fan fairly soon, and people are going to start coming out of the woodwork, and God knows what they're gonna do.” Now, Ryan saw that she had put the pieces together, and had fully realized the seriousness of the crisis was only in its infancy. “Alright,” he began. “First, we go to your place. If we need to, we can stay there until night, and then get what we need from wherever we can find it. How does that sound?” Abigail smiled, knowing that, together, they were finally figuring out a plan. Now, they just needed to keep their heads together, so they could not only carry it out but continue it, step-by-step, with the goal of maintaining their survival.

Turning away from the windows, they walked quietly to the front door, and as Ryan grasped the doorknob, Abigail took his hand, and holding it firmly, asked one more question. “Ryan,” she said. “Whatever happens, please don't let go of my hand, okay?”

Holding her hand, he reached over with the other, and cupping his hands around hers, assured her that he would be with her for the entire length of their journey.

“Promise?” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I promise.”

Following behind him, they walked out and down the stairs. Having closed the front doors, Ryan cautiously cracked one open, just enough to see out onto the street. The sight of the silent street offered the comforting illusion of safety, but its heavy sensation also instilled a fear of the unknown, the unpredictable. But, they had to remain clear-headed if they were to traverse the streets and highways, always keeping their goal in mind, one step at a time.

Ryan slowly opened the door, and peering out into Troy's dark war zone, saw only shadows, places where even the moonlight dared not go. Stepping out onto the concrete stairs, he was struck by a cool spring breeze, made cooler by the blanket of night. As he continued scanning the cityscape, Ryan was suddenly startled by a whispering voice that had crept up behind him. “Is there anyone out there?”

Ducking back into the darkness of the hallway, Ryan gave Abigail a quiet, yet firm piece of advice.

“If we're going to do this,” he began. “You have to be quiet, okay?”

With an embarrassed expression, Abigail tipped her head down slightly, while raising her eyes to meet his. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Opening the door again, he stepped outside, and seeing only a slight wind rustling the leaves of a small tree, near the sidewalk, led Abigail out into the threatening quiet of the night. With his financial situation crippled by his recent divorce, Ryan had been left to the mercy of public transportation. However, as his job was in downtown Albany, he was more than familiar with the most efficient way of getting there. But, that was during the day, when the city was abundant with life. Now, the streets and facades had taken on an eerie, alien look of abandonment. Streetlights stood dark and lifeless, their glassy, vacant faces no longer standing guard over those fearing what may lurk in dark corners, and alleys – their comforting beams of security snuffed out by a crisis of unmeasured severity.

Leaving the safety of the apartment building, Ryan and Abigail made their way downtown, once again, witnessing the bodies of those who mysteriously collapsed, with open wounds no longer streaming across the streets and sidewalks. Ryan tried to be strong, while Abigail cringed with horror, unable to look into the faces of the dead.

“Do we have to go through here?” she asked. Ducking into the alley where he had discovered her, Ryan turned and repeated the stern words he had given not more than a few minutes ago.

“Listen,” he whispered. “There are probably a lot more people who've ended up like this, but there are going to be a lot more who are still alive, and if the power doesn't come back on, bad things are going to happen. Do you know what I mean?” Abigail, as a woman, was suddenly struck by a deeper realization of what was likely to become a threat to her life, and quickly resigned herself to follow Ryan's instructions without question. “Yes,” she replied.

Her answer was followed by a distraught expression as tears welled up in her eyes, prompting Ryan to grasp her hands, as his voice took on a gentle tone.

“Abigail,” he began. “Listen to me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'm going to be with you the entire time. If anyone's tries to hurt you, they're going to have to go through me, got it? Now, we need to get going.”

Both felt the presence of an immediate bond, as they resumed what would become a long journey of escape and survival.

Leaving the shadows of the alley, Ryan led Abigail by the hand as they ran down the street, dodging the bodies of the dead that littered the streets. But, after only three or four blocks, Abigail was forced to slow down, winded by their sprint through downtown Troy.

“Why are you stopping?” Ryan asked. “We need to keep going.” Now, Abigail had stopped, and with her hands on her knees, struggled to catch her breath.

“Just give a minute,” she replied. “Just a minute.” Taking her by the arm, he pulled her back to a standing position and impatiently told her to continue.

“Alright,” she replied. “But can we slow down a little?” A moment went by as Ryan considered her request. He knew that should they continue at their hurried pace, they would be less likely to reach Albany, as exhaustion claimed their resolve. “Okay,” he said. “We can stop once in a while and hide somewhere, but we have to keep going. Does that work?” Still breathless, Abigail nodded.

“Okay,” Ryan continued. “Let's find a place to hide, but only for a few minutes.”

Walking a few yards down King Street, Ryan found a small restaurant. As with the rest of the city, it was dark, yet its doors had been left unlocked. Fear mixed with caution as Ryan, leading Abigail to its facade, signaled her with a finger to his lips. She nodded with wide-eyed fear, while he opened the door. It moved only slightly, but its hinges gave out a terrifying scream that left them both feeling light-headed. The nerve-shattering squeal of rusted metal seemed to go on forever, echoing within the dark silence of one of the city's local establishments. Now, with heightened alertness, Ryan continued to push against the door, and as it opened further, it let loose a fading shriek until a cold, heavy silence took its place.

With fear slowly taking them over, they walked quietly into the empty restaurant, and as Abigail sat at a nearby table, Ryan directed her towards the back.

“I don't think we should sit near the windows,” he whispered. “Why not?” Abigail asked.

Glancing out the window, Abigail caught a glance of someone passing the restaurant. They were across the street, but she could see them well enough to notice the gun they were carrying. “Fuck!” she whispered. “There's someone out there!” Without looking, Ryan quickly took her by the hand and, pulling her to her feet, took her back to the kitchen, where they hid in the storeroom.

“Did he see you?” he asked.

“I don't think so,” she began. “But I think he was carrying a gun.” Now, they huddled together in a corner of the storeroom, as the quiet fear they first felt swept them over, and sitting in the dark, listened for any sound of entry.

“I don't hear anything,” Abigail whispered. Listening to the heavy silence, Ryan got to his feet and, stepping towards the door of the storeroom, peered around the corner. “Stay here,” he said. “I'm going to get a better look.” Taking a few steps from the storeroom, Ryan lowered himself to the floor, and crawling from window to window, saw only the quiet streets.

Night had fallen hours ago, leaving the asphalt cityscape an inky black. Even though Ryan saw no movement outside the window, he would not allow himself to place any trust in his senses, and returning to the storeroom, sat next to Abigail. “I don't see anything,” he said. “But I think the crazies might be coming out, so we have to be careful.” Fear suddenly showed itself on Abigail's face, as she was swept with the feeling of being trapped by whatever insanity might be lurking in the shadows, just beyond the door of the empty restaurant.

“What do you mean, 'careful'?” she asked.

Ryan chose his words carefully, so as not to alarm her by what he knew was inevitable, that others, one way or another, had survived the explosive wreckage, brought on by events he still did not fully understand.

“Well,” he began. “Look what's happened already. Anything with batteries in it is toast, and you said that person was carrying a gun. So, what do people do when things like this happen?” It didn't take long for Abigail to realize that during any large scale crisis, people tend to revert to their animal nature, be it a lengthy power failure, or a food shortage. Anything that could tip the scales of power away from authority often led to criminal behavior, and Abigail knew that she, especially, might become a target. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

Her eyes began to tear up, as her fear suddenly rose into terror, and as her breathing quickened, Ryan put an arm around her, pulling her into his shoulder.

“Listen,” he began. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We'll go to Albany. We'll get whatever you need, including your weed, and I think we need to see if the same thing is going on there. If it is, we'll come up with a plan, okay?” With tears running down her face, Abigail pushed her hair back and nodded.

“Okay,” she replied.

A pause filled the air as Ryan struggled for words of encouragement, but caught up in his own anxiety, he could find none.

“I can't imagine this happening,” he continued. “I know it's a bit soon to get into this, but if things are like this everywhere, we're going to have to travel at night, to keep from being seen.” Abigail had become tense, as tears continued streaming down her face.

“I don't want to think about that,” she replied. Ryan realized that he had spoken far too soon about what he thought might be possible, and not wanting to upset Abigail further, pulled her in closer.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I guess I was just thinking out loud.”

Getting to his feet again, he looked around the door frame, and seeing nothing, put a hand out to Abigail “Come on, we need to keep going.”

Taking his hand, she pulled herself up, and standing close behind, followed Ryan out through the restaurant. They stood off to the side of the glass door, as Ryan looked up and down the unlit street, and seeing nothing but the bodies of the dead, opened the door. Continuing to scan the streets, they walked quietly into the street. But the black, moonless night can hide many things, and continuing to hold her hand, Ryan tripped over one of the deceased that lay just beyond the door of the restaurant, taking Abigail with him.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “That's going to leave a mark.” Sitting up, Ryan crept away from the body that had sent him tumbling to the sidewalk, and feeling his nose filled with a warm sensation, brought his hands to his face. Bringing them back, he saw that his palms were filled with blood. Abigail, however, was unharmed, as her fall had been broken by Ryan's body, but having seen his face strike the sidewalk she became greatly concerned and went to his side. Examining his face, she reached the conclusion that he was largely uninjured and sought out something to stop the flow of blood.

“I don't think I have anything for the bleeding,” she said. “We'll get you cleaned up later.”

Taking his hand, Abigail helped him to his feet, and standing next to him, helped him to steady himself. “Can you keep going?” she asked.

With his fingers pinching off his still bleeding nose, Ryan nodded, but moments later, found himself grabbing his knees, as his head began spinning. With further concern, Abigail grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the lightless restaurant. “Alright,” she began. “Let's get you back inside.” Throwing the door open, its hinges gave out a brief creak, and as Abigail pulled Ryan to the nearest chair, she grabbed a handful of napkins from a nearby table.

“Put this over your nose,” she said. “Just pinch it off.”

Still dazed by his fall, Ryan blindly followed her instructions and after a few minutes, his bleeding nose slowed to a drip. As he recovered, Abigail ducked back into the restaurant's storeroom and returned with two bottles of spring water. “Here,” she began.

As his head began to clear, Ryan twisted the cap off the bottle and, bringing it to his lips, drank deeply. Only now did he realize how thirsty he was, having spent the last few hours asleep as the world outside slipped deeper into an almost alien darkness. “Slow down,” she continued. “You're gonna need that.” Ryan stopped momentarily to catch his breath. “I think we'll be able to find more,” he replied. “At least, for now.” With both her curiosity and concern peaked, Abigail inquired. “What do mean 'for now'?”

Ryan found himself thinking out loud again and chastised himself for what he now had to explain.

“Well,” he began.

His words were hesitant, as he tried to offer a response that would offer as little threat as possible.

“At some point, when people figure out that this probably isn't just another power failure, people are probably going to start breaking into stores, especially when they start finding a lot of dead people around. They're probably gonna go a little nuts, like the guy you saw with the gun.”

Abigail was suddenly lost, still not being able to fully understand the gravity of their circumstances. But after a lengthy pause, she was struck by a fraction of realization, and once again, became caught up in a fear of what had quickly become unpredictable. “We're in trouble, aren't we?” she asked. Ryan took a brief sip of water and, wiping the excess from his mouth, tried to be gentler in his answer. “Maybe,” he said. “I think it depends on how bad things really are. This could be temporary. Maybe in a few hours, the lights will come back on and a bunch of ambulances will show up and start taking people to the hospital.”

His answer painted a tragic picture with the brush of kind words, but Abigail's mind was still swirling with the sight of death, and the dark image she saw walking down the street. “I hope you're right,” she said. “But, what if this is just the beginning?”

Her eyes grew wide with fear, as her voice began to tremble. “What if this is it? What if the power never comes back on? We could be fucked. What are we gonna do?” Ryan interrupted, and taking her hand, tried to calm her. “Let's just get to Albany,” he began. “We'll see how things are there and go from there, okay?”

Abigail nodded as she wiped tears from her face. She hoped Ryan was right, but suspected that things were far worse, based on what she had already seen lying in the street.

Having washed the blood from his face, Ryan slowly got to his feet, as Abigail guided him by the arm. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked. “Yeah,” he replied. “C'mon, let's get going.” Recovering quickly, he led Abigail to the door, and opening it, peeked out into the street. The night air was cool and still, while the moonless sky cast a black shroud over the city, transforming it into a seemingly dead world. But, just before Ryan stepped out through the doorway, he felt the warm softness of Abigail's hand slip into his. He understood her need for security, yet the feel of her gentle grip stirred something in him, he had not experienced for far too long and pausing, he looked back at her. “Ready?” he asked.

Abigail tightened her grip and nodded, as she drew closer to him. As he slowly led her out, Ryan stopped and standing close to the building's facade, scanned the street again, and still seeing no movement, continued down the street. His first goal was to safely get to the bridge, crossing the Hudson River at Ferry Street. From there, they would walk route 2. Under normal circumstances, moving on foot would require over three hours, but under cover of night, and with the expectation of repeatedly witnessing death, strewn from place to place, their journey promised to take far longer.

Slowing occasionally, they reached the bridge after about twenty minutes, and standing at its end, looked across. Again, there was no movement, yet the bridge was littered with the wreckage of abandoned cars, their hoods blown off, with battery acid spattered over their engines. As Ryan searched down the span's pavement, he also kept a sharp ear to the black silence of the surrounding city. Abigail had crossed it many times, but while holding the hand of a stranger in the middle of the night, she was struck by a fear of the silence that now surrounded her.

“Do we have to cross the bridge?” she whispered. Ryan sensed her fear as her hand became cool and moist, but crossing the Hudson was the only way to reach Albany, and if they didn't cross here, they would have to do so elsewhere. “I don't think we have a choice,” Ryan replied. “So, let's just go slowly, okay?”

Abigail nodded as they took the first few steps, still holding his hand, and walking close to his side. As they proceeded, their eyes were drawn to a car that lay at an angle to the I-beams, jutting up from concrete supports beneath. Like the rest, its hood had been blown off, coming to rest on the windshield. Daring to move closer, they approached it for a better look, and to their horror saw what seemed to be a young woman, her face and bloodied, her left ear replaced by a deep pit. Without proper light, it was impossible to determine the severity of her injuries. But, as Ryan made a brief examination, he found that the only feature to indicate the woman's gender was her breasts. Her face had largely been disfigured by the charred remains of what was, not long ago, a working phone.

Feeling Abigail's grip tighten, Ryan thought he might lighten their situation with a bit of humor.

“Well,” he began. “I guess that's what happens when you text and drive.”

Abigail tried to avoid the grim scene, turning away with a hand over her mouth. But, in spite of a muffled response, Ryan could hear her remark loud and clear.

“Jesus, fuck, you're sick.”

However, in spite of the image of death that sat in the slightly damaged car, Abigail managed to exercise her own twisted sense of humor, as a faint grin came to her face. Ryan was quick to notice and teased her slightly.

“Oh, I'm sick?” he whispered. “I'm the one making the joke, and you're laughing about it? You're as sick as I am.” For a short time, they quietly bantered back and forth until startled by a faint rush of air. Abigail was the first to react. “What the fuck was that?” she whispered. “Did that person just breath? Fuck, this is starting to freak me out. Quick, check to see if they're still alive.”

Ryan heard it too, but managed to keep himself together long enough to lean into the car and put an ear near the mouth of the deceased. It only took a few seconds before he heard and felt another rush of air. This time, it was slower and quieter. Not having received any training in how to handle medical emergencies, Ryan reached down to feel for a pulse in the wrist. The first thing he noticed was how cold their skin was, and even in the dark, saw a faint tinge of blue evenly covering the hand and arm. Like Abigail, he had never seen death up close, and while he could not fully explain the rush of cold air escaping from the woman's body, he was convinced that she was truly dead.

Backing away from the car, Ryan got to a standing position, and turning towards Abigail, informed her of the woman's condition. “Uh, she's dead. I don't know what that air was all about, but she's definitely dead.”

Abigail's breathing quickened as her face paled with panic. “Oh my God,” she said. “Ryan, are we gonna see this a lot, 'cause I'm not sure I can handle this.”

Ryan stepped towards her, and gripping her shoulders, tried gently to present what could become a common sight. “Abby,” he began. “Listen to me. I don't think Troy is the only place where this has happened, and I don't mean to sound cruel, but we may have to get used to this kind of thing. But, I will never leave you, okay?”

He took her into his arms as tears, once again, streamed down her face. From that moment on, she would avoid looking at the faces of the dead, believing that doing so would act to separate her from their deathly expressions – their humanness. But, as they stood together on the bridge, Ryan felt her arms tighten around his waist, as Abigail laid the side of her face against her shoulder. Without thinking, he turned his face slightly into the side of her head and breathed deeply. It had been quite some time since he had experienced the scent of a woman, and like every woman, Abigail possessed her own sweet scent. But now, caught up in the moment, Ryan became aware of a growing discomfort, as his body began to relax, and in his mind, saw their sudden friendship taking a complicated turn. As he gently pulled himself away, Abigail, too, felt herself losing to a rising tension, and as Ryan backed away, she tipped her head up and looked into his eyes.

For both of them, the images of death had momentarily left their minds as their lips drew dangerously close. Ryan could feel the warmth radiating from her face as she became flushed, but not yet ready for an emotional entanglement, slid his hands down her arms, and grasping her hands, informed her of the need to continue. Whipping away the last of her tears, Abigail agreed that they should continue as quickly as possible before morning shown its first light.

“I just don't want to see any more of these people. I don't even want to look at them.”

Ryan, feeling just as haunted by the sight of death, agreed. “I think that's a good idea,” he replied. “Maybe we should both avoid doing that.”

Again, Abigail nodded in agreement, and continuing to stay close to him, they once again, began the walk across the bridge, and even though there were many cars stopped along the way, neither would stop to investigate. This was not out of heartlessness towards the dead, but as an emotional safety measure, one that would allow them to cope, not only with their journey to Albany but with what lay beyond. Death would become an ever-present companion as they traveled from place to place, while fear and confusion would lead the way.