Black Sun by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 7

The torch, having extinguished itself during their escape, left Ryan and Abigail standing beneath the faint glow of a crescent moon’s thin sliver. Standing breathless near the loading dock, Ryan turned to Abigail and challenged her need to return to Albany. “Are you sure about going back to Albany,” he asked. “I mean, is an ounce of weed worth it?”

Still stunned by what she had witnessed only minutes ago, Abigail began to reconsider.

“I don’t know anymore,” she replied. “Alright,” Ryan said. “So, what do we do now? Do we keep going? Because I don’t have a fucking clue.” Abigail began crying as she slumped to the cold asphalt, her face falling into her open hands. Now, Ryan felt the regret of being a bit too harsh with his words, and letting out a deep sigh, sat down next to her.

“Abby, look, I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m not saying we should go back to Troy. If we do, we’ll probably end up dead. But, if we don’t keep going, what do we do?”

After a long silence, Abigail gathered her senses and suggested they continue to Albany. Puzzled, Ryan inquired about her decision.

“Is it still because of the weed?” he asked. “No,” she replied. “But, we have to do something. I mean, we can’t just wander around. We need a plan, don’t we?” Ryan was surprised at the clarity of her reasoning and agreed that they should continue. Once they got there, they could collect their thoughts and devise a new plan to move on to a safer place, one that would not carry the potential for a violent encounter. “Okay,” Ryan said. “But when we get there, we need to lay low for a while. You know, regroup, okay?”

Wiping the tears away from her eyes, Abigail nodded and proposed they keep moving while it was still dark, knowing that when morning arrived, they would need to find a place that would allow them to disappear from view, away from the eyes of those driven by violent desperation.

Getting to his feet, Ryan put out a hand and help Abigail up from the pavement.

“You okay?” he asked.

The bond between them had started as soon as they met, but having gone through their first crisis only strengthened it. And Ryan, on some level, knew that he could not allow Abigail to leave his side, and he was more than willing to protect her, even if he should die in the process.

“Yeah,” she replied. “We should get going.” With the rifles slung over his shoulder and the pack around his neck, Ryan led the way back to route 2. As the night still hung over them, they, once again, resumed their long journey to Albany. Hoping to arrive there before daylight, they would be able to use the darkness like a blanket, staying out of sight. So far, the damage they had seen was limited to Troy and Watervliet, but Ryan’s instincts screamed with a cautionary voice, that whatever had happened was far more widespread than the Capital District. Again, they stayed close to the walls, walking in the shadows, and returning to Tenth Street, hurried through backyards, attempting to minimize their presence. The silent darkness seemed to breed its own brand of fear, causing time to be perceived as an endless loop of sluggish eternity.