Black Sun by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 6

Wandering the unlit streets, they tried to stay true to Abigail's mixed sense of direction. For Ryan, the streets of Watervliet were foreign, and he quickly realized that, by himself, he would surely become lost, in spite of the town's relatively small size. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” he asked. Again, Abigail's words were hesitant. “I’m not sure,” she replied. “But it’s in this direction.” Ryan couldn’t help feeling uneasy about her knowledge of the town and was left hoping that they were not wasting time. “So, how long until we get there?” he asked. “Maybe half an hour,” Abigail replied. “I’m not sure.” Her answer was far from certain, but Ryan thought that if they couldn’t find the arsenal, there would not be a great loss of time, and they could still backtrack to route two.

Walking onto route thirty-two, they made their way down several blocks to Tenth Street, staying close to the houses, occasionally dodging into a backyard. So far, they had not seen anyone, but Ryan wanted to be sure they didn’t have company, and when he was certain of it, they continued on their way. Now, having turned the corner, they found a large open area, flat and paved. Finding it blanketed by darkness, Abigail crossed the street and stared across the open asphalt.

“I think this is it,” she said.

“You think?” Ryan replied.

She turned towards him with a scowl. “You know, I have been here before,” she said. “But in the dark, it’s a little hard to see things.”

Not wanting to irritate her further, Ryan resigned himself to trust her instincts, and as she pulled him towards the field, he pulled back, slowing her down.

“Not so fast,” he said. “We don’t know if there’s anyone over there.”

Still irritated, Abigail stopped and informed him of the need to travel quickly.

“Look,” she began. “You wanted to come here, and you said we need to be in Albany before morning. Now, can we hurry up, already?”

Ryan heard his own words dictated back to him, but he was still leery of rushing into the darkness of a place he didn’t know. “You’re right,” he said. “But we need to be careful.” Abigail agreed, and they continued, not at a run, but a quick pace as Ryan constantly looked around for anything suspicious.

Within the next few minutes, a group of large gray buildings stood out from the darkness, and as Ryan and Abigail make their way around, they noticed a large sign only yards from the facade of a red brick building.

‘U.S. Army – Watervliet Arsenal.’

“This is the building I remember,” Abigail said. As they drew closer, the word ‘Museum’ also appeared. “So, I guess this is the museum,” Ryan said. “And the rest of these buildings must be the arsenal.”

Looking past the museum, Ryan looked down at the cluster of gray industrial buildings, as Abigail began to shiver in the rapidly cooling air.

“Can we please hurry,” she said. “I’m starting to get cold.” Ryan quickly took her by the hand.

“C’mon, this way.”

He led her through the darkness to a side door, but finding it locked, continued down to the back.

Rounding the corner, the found a loading dock and releasing Abigail's hand, Ryan jumped up and hurried to a large metal door. Stooping down, he grabbed its handle and to his surprise, it opened easily.

“I hope this is the right place,” he whispered. Turning back, he stretched out his arm, and after helping Abigail up, they entered the building’s black interior. Its concrete walls had grown cold, filling the building with a numbing chill, and as the two slowly made their way in, Ryan put a hand out in an attempt to search through the darkness.

“Shit,” he whispered. “I wish I had a light. This is pointless.” With her anxiety building, Abigail clutched his arm, and pulling slightly, tried to prompt him into abandoning his search. “Can we just get out of here? It’s too dark and I’m freezing.” Ryan knew they wouldn't find anything until it was light, but stepping forward, he was stopped by a sharp pain in his shin. “Jesus Christ!” he said.

In spite of the pain, he tried to keep his voice down, but as his shin began throbbing, Ryan was forced forward over onto a stack of what felt like heavy steel pipes.

“What the fuck is that!?”

Without light to guide his eyes, Ryan was unable to identify the neatly stacked canon barrels in front of him, and falling back from their cold steel, he landed hard on the concrete floor. “Fuck, that’s hurts like a bitch!”

Abigail reached down through the darkness, and grabbing his arm, tried to help him to his feet.

“C’mon,” she said. “There’s no point in doing this if we can’t see anything.”

As he got to his feet, both were startled by the sound of a steel door, as it broke the silence with an echoing crash. “Who’s there!?”

The voice was stern, yet trembled slightly as it called out again. “I said who’s there!”

Ryan and Abigail realized that, in spite of the circumstances, the arsenal was a military facility and an armed guard would not be a surprise. Looking back toward the open door, Ryan quickly came to believe that a hasty escape would only be possible if he could navigate through the black space standing between them and the safety of the shadows outside.

“I know you’re here,” the voice said. “Now c’mon out, or I’ll shoot!”

By this time, Ryan and Abigail had ducked down behind the well-organized pile of steel, hoping that any shots fired would simply fly off into the darkness. But the soldier stood, listening to the silence, trying to locate the sound of the trespassers and as a scare tactic, fired several shots towards the back of the building, it’s muzzle flash lighting up the walls. Now, terrified by the sound of gunfire, Abigail let out a scream. The last thing the soldier expected was to find a woman, and bringing the barrel of his rifle down asked her to come out.

“Okay!” she yelled.

Having a fear of guns, she flew into a panic, and in spite of Ryan trying to keep her close to the floor, she sprang up and surrendered herself.

“Just stop shooting!”

Standing up, Abigail stepped to the side, and although she was in complete darkness, she brought her hands up over her head.

“I’m right here,” she said.

Her voice quivered as tears ran down her face, but even though she remained silent about Ryan’s presence, the soldier’s instincts led him to the obvious conclusion that she was not alone. “Who’s with you?” the soldier asked. Abigail's hesitation further revealed the answer to his question. “Nobody!” she yelled.

Her voice had gone from quivering to crying, as the fear of being shot swept over her.

“I know you’re lying, now who else is there?” No longer able to see Abigail in tears, Ryan stood slowly and raised his hands.

“I’m here too!” he said.

The soldier remained cautious and questioned them further. “And it’s just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered.

Now, from where the soldier stood came the sound of a lighter, as a small flame sent the darkness scattering. “Alright,” the soldier continued. “Now get out here!” Ryan and Abigail slowly stepped away from the stack of canons and into the light of the dim flame, their hands still in the air. The soldier, ordering them forward, maintained his aim but lowered the rifle to his hip, seeing the look of fear on their faces. “That’s better,” he said.

In spite of the strength he displayed, the soldier’s voice began to tremble as he asked an unusual question. “Uh, do either of you know any first aid?” As he began to lower the steady flame of his lighter, Ryan noticed his hand was wrapped in a layer of bloody gauze. “Are you alright?” he asked.

The soldier’s words became garbled as light-headedness began to wash over him, and as his body began to drift from where he stood, the barrel of his rifle struck the floor. This prompted Ryan to run to his aid.

“Hey!” he said. “You alright?”

By the time Ryan got to the soldier, he had crumpled to the floor, and grabbing the lighter, brought it back to life. Quickly glancing at him, Ryan noticed two things. The soldier was younger than he expected, perhaps nineteen or twenty. The second thing to catch his eye was that both hands were wrapped in bandages, and heavily soaked with blood. As he knelt down, Abigail rushed up behind him, and seeing the soldier’s condition, covered her mouth in an attempt to hide her shocked expression. “What happened?” Ryan asked.

The soldier’s face broke out into a sweat as he stuttered a reply. “Everything went out,” he began. “I was texting...my girlfriend, and...my phone blew up. I couldn’t find a light, so I...just grabbed what I could find. Everyone...else just left.” Ryan handed the lighter to Abigail and, grabbing him by the arms, Ryan helped the young man to his feet. “Can you walk?” he asked.

The soldier recovered his strength, and getting his feet underneath him, struggled to remain upright.

“I think so,” he replied.

Ryan directed Abigail to walk in front of them, as they looked for a place to sit.

“Where were you before we got here?” he asked. “In the clinic,” the soldier replied. “I could barely hold my lighter, but I needed to get some bandages for my hands.”

With Abigail still leading the way, the soldier directed them to the arsenal’s clinic, not far from where he had been briefly held them at gunpoint. Ryan tried to keep him talking in order to prevent him from lapsing into unconsciousness, but as they neared the doors of the clinic, his body began to slump to the floor. Grabbing him under the arms and around his chest, Ryan dragged the young man into the clinic and hastily put him on the nearest bed. At a loss of what to do, he looked to Abigail for suggestions. “What now?” he said.

Neither had any training in first aid, but looking around at the cabinets, Abigail's instincts took over, and opening one of their glass doors, retrieved a pair of scissors and a few rolls of gauze. Leaving the cabinet open, she hurried back to the side of the bed, where Ryan was carefully removing the soldier’s bandages. “Here,” she said. “This is all I can find.” Sitting on the floor, Abigail watched as Ryan cautiously cut through the gauze that the young man had clumsily wrapped around his hands.

“So,” he began. “What’s your name?” The soldier winced and flinched in pain as the bandages slowly came off.

“Frank,” he replied. “Everyone just calls me Frankie.” Still trying to keep Frank conscious, Ryan continued with a bit of small talk.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Frankie?” he asked. With the remains of his hands and fingers throbbing, Frank stammered through his response.

“Illinois,” he replied. “She’s really hot. Long blond hair, almost down to her ass.”

A gentle smile appeared on his face, as though he was remembering her every curve of her physique.

As the last of the gauze pealed from his skin, Ryan and Abigail became horrified at the extent of Frank’s injuries. “Holy shit,” Ryan said. “How did you do this?” Beneath the bloody bandages, Frank's hands lay mangled on the bedsheet. Most of the fingers on his right hand had been explosively dismembered, while his left hand had been similarly torn from away from the wrist. As Ryan continued to examine the fleshy stumps, Abigail's sensitivities forced her to look away as she covered her mouth. However, in spite of the revulsion she felt, she managed to hold the lighter up, providing Ryan with the necessary light to work by. Her reaction immediately drew Ryan’s attention. “Abby,” he said. “You okay?”

Nodding her head, she kept her mouth covered, for fear of becoming physically ill. Ryan quickly convinced himself that she would soon recover, and turning back to Frank, continued to inquire about his injuries.

“So, what happened?”

Through the sweat and tension of anticipated pain, Frank provided the gruesome details of the event that now left him unable to carry out his sworn duties.

“I was messaging my girlfriend when the power went out. As soon as the light dimmed, my phone blew up. I wasn’t sure what had happened, and I couldn’t feel anything in my hands. Don’t ask me how I did it, but I got out my lighter. I almost passed out when I saw all that blood.”

Looking closer, Ryan saw that his thumb and forefinger had been reduced to nothing more than exposed meat and bone, while the fingers had been largely left intact, save for a few embedded shards of glass and metal. Seeing the grotesque nature of Frank’s injuries, Ryan wondered how he could still be alive. “How did you get these bandages on?”

“Well,” he began. “I figured I still had a few fingers left, so I used my teeth to get the bandages open and wrap them around my hands. I guess sometimes we just do what we have to do, ya’ know?”

Ryan continued the conversation as he snugly wrapped Frank’s hands.

“So, where’s everyone else?”

Now, Frank became somewhat angry, speaking accusingly of his former coworkers.

“Most of these guys were civilian workers. So, they took off once they figured out that everything shit the bed. Some of them were hurt too. A lot of the officers and enlisted people left too. So much for serving the country.”

With Frank’s hands wrapped in new bandages, Ryan offered that he come with them. Certainly, anything was better than sitting in the dark with fleshy stumps for fingers. “I can’t leave,” Frank said. “I took an oath to serve my country, and I can’t leave.”

Abigail, now recovered from the shock of seeing the shredded meat hanging from Frank’s bony fingers, looked on as Ryan tried to convince him to join them.

“Frankie,” he began. “Listen to me. Chances are pretty good that you’re going to get more people showing up. People who want guns, and they’re not going to be nice. Please come with us. There’s no shame in leaving. And your wounds will probably get infected.”

Frank listened intently, but in spite of Ryan’s portrayal of the world outside, he stood fast to the commitment he had made never to leave his post, in spite of the apparent breakdown of authority. Having heard Frank’s argument to remain, Ryan resigned himself to push the subject further. But, there was one more issue to address.

“Look,” Ryan began. “We think that this power failure might be a lot more widespread than just this area. So, if it’s okay with you, we’d like to take a few things, so we can protect ourselves.” In any other circumstances, the answer would have been no, but looking at Abigail, Frank made an exception, realizing what he would do to protect his family, as well as his girlfriend. “Sure,” he began. “Let’s see what I can get for you.” Lifting his back off the bed, Frank slowly threw his legs over the side and planted his feet on the cold concrete floor. But before rising to his feet, Abigail suddenly interrupted. “This lighter’s getting hot. Is there anything else we can use?” Frank paused to consider other options, and looking around the clinic, he came up with an idea.

“Ryan,” he began. “See that chair over there? The wooden one?” Ryan walked over to the chair and, bringing it back, set it in front of him.

“This chair?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Frank replied. “Now, I need you to break off one of its legs.”

Finding the chair too sturdy to break with his bare hands, Ryan raises it above his head and, with all his strength, slams it to the concrete floor, snapping off a long shard of wood. “How’s that?” he said.

“Perfect,” Frank replied.

Motioning a wrapped hand towards the cabinet, Frank asked Abigail to retrieve a bottle of alcohol, and getting up, she handed the lighter to Ryan. Once again, the darkness was dimly illuminated by its singular flame, but time was draining it of life, leaving it to grow smaller with each passing minute.

Abigail quickly found a white bottle of rubbing alcohol, and removing it from the stainless steel cabinet, took it back to Frank. “What are you gonna do with this?” she asked. Asking her to remove the cap, Frank began tearing open packages of roller gauze.

“Well,” he began. “If I manage not to light my bandages on fire, I thought I’d make a torch, ‘cause that lighter looks like it’s on its way out.”

Throwing the rest of the broken chair aside, Ryan was suddenly struck with a dangerous realization.

“Uh, I’ve got a question,” he began. “This is an arsenal, right? Does that mean there’s gunpowder stored here?” Not having considered the possibility of such a terrific event, Abigail was stunned by the idea that what could give them enough light to make their way around the arsenal, could also kill them. “Gunpowder?” she said. “There’s gunpowder here? I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

Now, Frank interrupted, trying to assure them that they were safe. “Actually,” he began. “We don’t keep that here. We just make everything.”

Both Ryan and Abigail let out a sigh of relief, and continuing to work, helped Frank roll the gauze around the broken chair leg. Securing the end of the gauze, they followed Frank’s instructions, pouring a bit of alcohol over it. The only concern Frank had now was that it would run down into the bandages on his hands, and he didn’t want to take the risk of burning his dismembered fingers. In order to avoid this, he tipped the torch down towards the floor, allowing any excess alcohol to drip off. “I think that’ll work,” he said.

Ryan approached with caution, as he brought the dying lighter close to the soaked gauze.

“So, you want me to just light it?” he asked. The only one among them who had done anything like this was Frank, having learned his survival skills in basic training. “Yeah,” he replied. “Go ahead.”

Touching the lighter to the wet gauze, its dwindling flame created a blue/orange glow that quickly surrounded the cotton covered end of the chair leg. Over the next few moments, it erupted to life, filling the room with a steady light, and illuminated the faces of those still strangers to each other.

Frank was the first to smile at what he saw to be a major accomplishment.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said. Now, all of them breathed a sigh of relief. But at the same time, were struck with how primitive their situation had become, having to create fire out of nearly complete darkness. “Awesome,” Abigail said. “So, what now?” Due to the intensity of the moment, Ryan had almost forgotten the reason for their arrival.

“Oh, right,” he began. “Look, Frank, we need a favor from you. I understand why you don’t want to leave, but we’re not gonna be able to stay. We’re headed to Albany. So, we need a couple of things, so we can defend ourselves. Do you know what I mean?” It didn’t take long for Frank to understand what they wanted, and glancing at Abigail, realized how vulnerable she must feel. And although he would not be defending her personally, he could ensure they had an effective means of protecting themselves. “Come with me,” he said.

Slowly, Frank rose to his feet, and after a few moments, felt the blood rush back to his head. As soon as his senses returned, he walked to the door.

“C’mon,” he began. “I’ll get you what you need.” Continuing out of the clinic, he led them to the right and down a long hallway. The light of their torch lit the walls of the corridor, creating living shadows that seemed to bounce and run along the walls. Ryan and Abigail were somewhat comforted by the fact that they would soon have the means to defend themselves. Looking down the hallway, the odd shadows that flailed in the darkness left them both with their imaginations ignited by visions of unseen things, dancing about them, watching their every step, and peering into their souls with invisible eyes.

“Over here,” Frank said.

Turning left, they walked down a short corridor and into a small room, and with the light of the torch still burning, Ryan and Abigail quickly found themselves stunned by a display of weapons, lined against the walls.

“Holy fuck,” Ryan said. “Who are you going to war with?” Abigail was as intimidated as she was fascinated, and stood silently among the cache of shimmering military hardware. “Oh, this is nothing,” Frank began. “You should see Fort Drum. They’ve got everything.”

Ryan wandered over to the closest wall, and in the dim light of the torch, put a hand on the cold steel of an AK-47. He had never handled a weapon, but the icy feel beneath his fingertips raised goose-flesh over his body as he felt the urge to lift it from its wooden cradle. However, as he put his curious hands on it, he realized that he knew nothing about such things, and turned to Frank for approval.

“Uh, is it okay if I pick it up?” he asked. “Yeah, sure,” Frank replied. “It’s not even loaded.” Lift the weapon away from the wall, Ryan was surprised to find how light it was, but making a closer examination of it quickly became lost as to how to use it. Noticing his expression, Frank passed the torch to Abigail and carefully taking the weapon began tutoring him in its use.

“Okay,” he began. “First, pull back the bolt, so you can make sure the chamber is empty.”

Hindered by pain and the limitation of his injured hands, he slowly demonstrated each set of instructions, as the room echoed with the loud click-clack of metal against metal. Reaching off to one side, he grabbed an empty magazine and, pointing the weapon toward the ceiling, thrust it into the locking chamber, just in front of the trigger.

“Now, this mag is empty, so you’re not going to shoot your balls off or anything. But after you put it in, pull the bolt back again. That’ll put a round in the chamber, and you’re ready to go.” Now, Frank brought the rifle up, and resting the butt against his shoulder, demonstrated the correct position for firing. “Just line up the rear sight with the front sight, take a breath and squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it, just squeeze.” Passing the rifle back, Ryan raised it against his shoulder, with his elbow back behind his ear, exactly as Frank had demonstrated. “Wow,” Frank said. “You catch on quick.” Ryan seemed immediately comfortable with the feel of the rifle, but asked one more question.

“So, what kind of bullets does this thing fire?” Walking to a different part of the room, Frank took out several boxes of ammunition and handed them to Ryan. “Here ya’ go,” he said. “Six boxes of thirty caliber rounds. You only need to fire one or two at a time. If you put it on semi, you’ll just waste them. Got it?”

Now, he thought about Abigail and, expecting she might also require a means to defend herself, opened a cabinet and retrieved a nine-millimeter pistol. He handled the weapons as though he’d been born with them. But the pain of his hands had begun wearing on him, and slipping from his bandages, the gun fell to the floor, crashing to the concrete with an ear-shattering clack. Frank began to crouch down to retrieve it, but feeling the blood, once again, leaving his head, he slowly rose with quickened breath and stumbled towards the wall.

Seeing Frank’s impending collapse, Abigail rushed to his side, but unable to support his weight, could only manage to help him slide down the wall as Ryan quickly assisted her. “Hey!” Ryan yelled.

He directed Abigail to help Frank to the floor, and laying him on the floor, shook him by the shoulders. “Hey, Frank!”

With the torch having fallen to the cold concrete floor, Ryan picked it up and, holding it away from Frank, examined his appearance. His skin was cool to the touch, while his face had broken out in a sweat. Shaking him by the shoulders again, he continued his attempt to rouse him.

“C’mon Frank! Wake up!”

But, Frank lay oddly still, and continuing to examine him Ryan noticed that the bandages around his hands had become saturated with blood, and had left a heavy trail of drops on the floor that trailed into the hallway. Suspecting the worst, he put a hand near the side of Frank’s neck, and using two fingers, tried to detect a pulse. Now, his suspicions had proven correct. Frank was dead. “Jesus Christ,” Ryan said.

Abigail was both shocked and confused. “What is it?” she asked.

Ryan had gone silent. Before his sudden collapse, Frank seemed to be holding himself together, in spite of his injuries. But with one of his hands mangled down to the wrist, it was only a matter of time before the blood loss would overwhelm him. “Ryan,” Abigail continued. “What’s wrong?” Abigail was near panic as she stared at Frank’s motionless body, looking for the slightest rise of his chest. “Ryan, please tell me he’s not dead!” Without a word, Ryan got to his feet, retrieved two rifles and the boxes of rounds from the floor, and hurried by the need to leave, he reached over to the cabinet for more. “C’mon,” he began. “We’re leaving.” Caught up in a state of panic, Abigail begged him for an answer. “What just happened!?”

Suddenly turning towards her, Ryan’s frustration lashed out as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the hallway. “Abby, he’s dead! And there’s nothing we can do about it! Now, let’s go!”

The torch was beginning to die as its alcohol-soaked gauze began to dry and burn. If it went out, they could be left to feel their way through the darkness, slowing their journey to Albany.

Having taken Abigail by the hand, they began to make their way out. But passing the clinic, Ryan spotted something he recognized, something he could use.

“Why are we coming back here?” Abigail asked. Pulling her into the clinic, Ryan reached over to the familiar shape. It was a small, green military pack, just big enough to throw over his shoulder, and with the torch continuing to die, he put the boxes of rounds in it. Now, hurrying back out into the hallway with the rifles slung over his shoulder, Ryan threw the bag’s canvas strap around his neck. As their torch began to flicker, they found themselves running for the open room, where the cannon barrels still lay stacked on the floor. Abigail’s feet began to stagger as she became consumed by fear and exhaustion. “C’mon,” Ryan implored. “We have to get out of here!” Running towards the stack of cannon barrels, Ryan could see the door of the loading dock, outlined against the night, and felt a slight breeze of cool air against his face. Moments later, they felt their feet hit the asphalt of the receiving area. They got what they needed, but it had come at the cost of seeing a young man, loyal to his country, die in front of them, having bled out from unrecoverable wounds.