Black Creek Page 13

  Dorian regarded himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He was starting to look old, he thought with some dismay. A few stray strands of gray invaded his normally jet-black, short spiked hair. Though his shirt still hugged the muscular contours of his abdomen, a slight flab could be seen at its edges.

  Dorian yawned as he stepped into a pair of slippers and padded down the hall to his office. His desk was stacked with papers and folders, and a large map of the mid-Atlantic region was posted along the far wall, next to the window. He took a pair of glasses from the table and slipped them on.

  Here, in western Maryland, a black star noted the location of Black Creek. Dorian unfolded the smaller map from his pocket, eyes darting back and forth as he compared the two. Most of the landmarks were shared between them, but he marked a few new points of interest from the Church's map on his own.

  In all, they represented a sprawling web of infrastructure which covered the region. The recruitment center, just a few miles away, was new to him. That the Church had managed to maintain a site so close to him without his knowledge was concerning.

  They had started small, soon after the cataclysm. He'd heard occasional reports of a new group rapidly recruiting members, but Dorian had been so preoccupied at the time, building this place, that he didn't pay them much mind. They seemed to be just another among dozens of small cults sprouting up here and there. By the time he'd heard of the Church of James, as they called themselves, they already had dozens of sites in the region.

  Even still, he knew little of what their intent or philosophy was, other than that they had a propensity for human trafficking, sacrifices, and the raiding of civilian encampments. Just as corrupt as any religion, as far as Dorian was concerned.

  He finished updating his map and left his glasses on the table, rubbing his eyes as he grabbed the handset of the radio which sat on his desk.

  "Kristof," he said into the faint static.

  "Yeah, boss?" came his reply a minute later.

  "Who did we lose?"

  "Cader. Malone."

  Dorian thought for a moment. "No families, at least."

  "No. Not here anyway."

  "That's good. See you tomorrow."

  The radio crackled and then was silent. Dorian cut off the lights in the office and the hallway, and when his head hit his soft, cool pillow it was the greatest relief. He was home.

  James

  In the earliest days he was blanketed in darkness, an oppressive black abyss so deep that he could not see or even perceive his own body. Having never seen such a thing, of course, he couldn’t have known whether or not he had a body at all. So he simply drifted and swam aimlessly through the black for a very long time.

  At some point it occurred to him that this whole ordeal had grown a bit tiresome, and he wished the endless emptiness would offer him something else. No sooner had he thought this than small, twinkling lights began to sprout around him, multiplying rapidly as he continued to float along.

  His eyes being so used to the dark, these tiny points of light—though offering only the most meager amount of illumination—seemed nearly to blind him. After a time, he grew more tolerant of their light and he reveled in the joy of chasing them, although he could never reach them, whatever they were.

  Eventually the novelty of this new pursuit began to wear thin as well. Somehow though, the existence of these external spots of light suggested to him the very duality of self vs. other, the idea that he was here and they were there, something he had not yet had any good reason to consider.

  In this time he turned his thoughts inward, questioning who he might be and what he might do next. After all, he need not chase the lights forever. He could go forward, or backward, down or up, or stop altogether if he so chose. The possibilities were somewhat overwhelming.

  At some point he had a startling thought, wondering whether he was the only one of him out here in this lonely expanse. The idea of another like him was exciting, though not knowing what he looked like, he was not sure how he might recognize them.

  Yet he would not find anyone in those days. He traveled on and on through the empty dark, the twinkling lights taunting him with occasional closer and more brilliant flashes of color. He began to resent his very existence, and he longed for something more. And that is the last he could remember of those days.

  Some time later, the man who later would call himself James awoke on a beach, his face in the sand. He sat up, coughing and sputtering, brushing the abrasive substance from his eyes and mouth. The sun was bright and blinding overhead. He forced his eyes to open against the light and for the first time saw his own form, his legs a light brown against the pink-yellow sand. Clear azure waves lapped against the shore, wetting his feet with each swell.

  He rose to his knees, dragging his hands through the sand where he had sat and appreciating the warmth of it as it flowed between his fingers. With some effort he stood, and his legs felt heavy and foreign beneath him.

  A pleasant breeze blew across his neck as he took his first steps along the shoreline. Between the hisses of waves at his feet, he could hear the wind rustling the leaves of some trees nearby to his right. Ahead, the beach seemed to carry on as far as he was able to see.

  He walked on and on until the sun began to slip behind the trees and darkness overtook him. Suddenly he was reminded of that vast black nothingness in which he had floated aimlessly for so long, and the thought of returning there was terrifying. He started to run now, hoping to chase the light.

  The darkness nevertheless fell deeper over him, and eventually he realized he was not back in that place again. Though the light of the sun had vanished, he could still see his hands as he held them up. He could faintly make out the outline of the trees nearby. A softer light still shone down from above, and James craned his neck back to see.

  The stars, those same distant white spots he had known for so long, shimmered above. A larger white, circular light was visible as well, its reflection seen on the calm sea to his left. He tried to reach it, willed himself to swim toward at as he had the stars before, but he couldn’t leap more than a few feet off the ground. This moon was just as much out of reach, though it seemed so much nearer to him.

  The beach seemed endless, so he turned and left it, trudging into the underbrush beneath the trees. It was much darker here, he realized with dismay. James brushed past some vines, but then his foot caught on something and it sent him sprawling to the ground. He pulled himself upright, searching for a way to leave the forest, but he could see nothing.

  James pressed onward, moving slowly and feeling his way through the trees and brambles. Now and then, something scratched his bare back or arms and he would leap away from the pain, sometimes knocking himself against a tree trunk.

  He carried on like this all night, until the light finally began to filter in through the leaves above. Now able to see a way forward, it took him no time at all to find a path out of the forest. James emerged from the trees exhausted, his chest and arms covered with red scratches and cuts. A few of them dripped blood, which fell to the ground marking his path behind him. Just ahead, a river traced its way through the grass and rocks. James collapsed by the bank, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  He awoke with a start some time later to the sensation of something crawling across his chest. Tiny claws scratched at his skin, and beady white eyes stared back at him as he opened his own. He shouted and rolled away, knocking the lizard off of him.

  In a panic he grabbed the thing about its slimy midsection and dashed it against the rock he had slept upon. It laid motionless now, blood trickling from its wounds just as James’s had. He examined his own arms, noticing now that there was no sign of injury upon him. No cut, scrape, or scar remained where dozens of small wounds had been visible before.

  A terrible cacophony burst to life in his mind now, like thousands of tiny voices clamoring for his attention above all the rest, and yet he could somehow hear each as clearly as the others. Every part
of his body demanded his attention and his input. Millions of nerve impulses fired, carrying information to his brain and instructions back. The electrical nodes of his heart orchestrated a steady rhythm, blood pumping through his arteries, thousands of tiny muscle fibers in the vessels contracting to carry the blood to his organs and tissues. The tiny muscles of his chest wall contracted and relaxed, forcing air in and out of his lungs to be sapped of oxygen by his blood.

  The clamor of it all was overwhelming. James screamed, rolling on the ground and holding his head.

  He willed it all to stop, longing for the peaceful calm he had felt when he first woke on that beach. Slowly the noise began to fade, bit by bit, until it was quiet and all he heard was the serene babble of the river along the rocks beside him. He rose, hesitant to move too quickly, as though that might bring the torture back to bear. James leaned over the river, and he could faintly make out his own reflection in the rippling water. Beneath the surface, small fish darted to and fro. For a while he just sat, watching them swim.

  James soon found that the noise, this constant roar in his head, never truly went away. At any time he could hear them, just beneath the surface in the back of his mind. Occasionally he would lose control, and it would all come flooding back until he could suppress it once again. Over time though, this happened less and less often.

  For a very long time James just walked. He wandered across grasslands, through forests, marshes and deserts. He didn’t know what he hoped to find, or whether there was anything to find at all. Now and then he saw more creatures like the one he had killed, and others quite unlike it, but he avoided them when he could. They shied away from him just as readily.

  At times, water fell from the sky in torrents and soaked him to his core. Sometimes he would take shelter under a tree, or in a cave. Other times he would simply walk on through the downfall, eager to seek out new lands and places to see. Though he was ever alone, he didn’t tire of his journey. He came upon cliff faces and mountains and pondered how to reach their summits, then would admire the world from on high.

  Much of the time he felt a gnawing in his gut, which he would quell on occasion by chewing on leaves or small berries or fruits. Though he enjoyed their sweetness he never felt a need to seek them out, only eating what he required to stave off that unpleasant sensation.

  He learned to swim, by sheer accident, one day in a frigid, still-water pool hidden away within a vast rainforest. James had been walking through the trees, examining the many tiny flying and crawling insects he found there, when he stumbled off a ledge and fell straight into the water.

  The cold shocked him, and then the fear overtook him, that he would not be able to escape from the depths. He flailed his arms and legs and found that they would carry him upward, once his panic subsided. In fact, he found that moving through the water was much like moving through the empty vacuum of nothingness had been in the beginning. James spent a very long time in that place, sleeping beneath the trees at night and exploring the forest or swimming during the day. Eventually he left, saddened to move on but, as always, looking forward to wherever his journey would take him next.

  He walked on. The patterns of this world had become apparent to him. The sun rose in the morning, crossing the sky until it set. At night, the moon would do the same. Days went on, years passed, and the earth stretched on endlessly ahead of him.

  One day, James was running across a vast grassy field, his eyes set on a mountain ahead. The sky was a dull gray, and this mountain was different from the others he had seen. A thick, black plume of smoke rose from its peak. As he came near, the ground began to shake so violently that he was thrown to the ground. James rolled onto his back and saw a fountain of flame spewing out of the volcano and up into the sky.

  He took to his feet and ran, pumping his legs as fast as they would take him, but the scorching ash began to fall around him. Turning his head, he could see a wave of molten rock following close behind him.

  A clump of burning ash fell across his back, searing his skin. His foot dragged on the ground and he stumbled, landing hard on his side. He scrambled to regain his feet, but more fiery rain splashed over his leg. The advancing wave of magma overtook him, and James shrieked and writhed as his skin boiled and peeled.

  He couldn’t move for a long time. The lava had passed him by, leaving only a thin layer which cooled beneath him. His body was blistered and contorted, and thick scar tissue bound his joints like rope. The pain was agonizing. As he lay there, the roar in his mind surfaced once again as his body attempted to heal itself. James took control, directing the stem cells in his bone marrow to generate new cells. His skin quickly began to heal, the dead layers of scarred tissue sloughing off him in large flakes.

  James rinsed his new body in a stream, the sensation of the cool water on his sensitive skin somewhere between pleasant and painful. He reflected on the power of the disaster which had just overtaken him. He had never before seen anything like it. This strange world was wondrous and beautiful, but now he saw it could also be very dangerous.

  He saw this new lesson play out in other ways as well. As time went on, the smaller creatures that roamed the land and prowled its waters began to change. Before they had been small, seemingly harmless. Now they grew larger, sharp spines growing from their backs and long teeth from their jaws. They still seemed frightened of him, but James saw the animals ravage each other, killing and eating anything smaller than themselves.

  The weather became more volatile. Heavy rains fell and powerful winds blew him off his feet. Massive bolts of energy could be seen striking down from above, leaving the ground charred where they hit. At times, he wondered if some powerful, unseen being greater than himself was the source of his torment. Still he wandered on as ever, but James took to seeking out shelter wherever it could be found rather than sleeping under the stars as he always had.

  Slowly, the world grew cold. Rain no longer fell, but a soft, white frozen rain came in its place. The snow blanketed the ground and the trees. James found it beautiful to see, but it froze his toes and his breath left his mouth with puffs of fog. The nights were even colder; his toes turned black and he had to heal them almost daily. No matter how far he walked, for years and years, the whole world seemed to be iced over.

  In those days he found a cave to shelter in. The dirt floor was cool, but far better than the snow outside. During the day he would venture out, every day hoping the snow had melted, to gather food. He found little, and the ache in his gut grew worse by the day. James trudged through the snow, the sun nearly setting above him as he made his way back to his cave. He would go hungry another night, it seemed. It was quiet, other than the crunch of snow underfoot.

  He stopped short, sure he had heard something. He listened again, and there it was—a scratching of claws upon wood. He crept toward the sound, and found it just outside the entrance to his cave. It was a creature the likes of which he had seen many times before; three feet long, white pointed teeth protruding from its scaly face, perched on all four legs as if to pounce on him as he approached. Its normally muscular legs were thin, and the pitiable thing seemed to have had no more luck with foraging than he had of late.

  The animal hissed at James, its beady eyes locked on him. Before he could react, it charged, locking its sharp fangs into his leg. He shouted out in pain, hammering the lizard on the head with his fist. It let go of him with another hiss, then lunged back in to strike again. James leapt aside and kicked out, feeling his heel connect with the side of its head. It tumbled over in the snow and lay still, its scaly abdomen rising and falling slowly. Still in a rage, he put his heel to the animal's head once again, and it gave way with a wet squish.

  James felt his heart racing in his chest, and he directed it to slow. Looking at the poor dead lizard, he felt a deep regret. Yet his stomach rumbled painfully, so James dragged the creature with him into the cave. He bit into it whole, tearing flesh from its midsection with a ravenous hunger. The texture of it, cold and s
limy, was not entirely pleasant, but it sated his appetite in a way he had not felt in years.

  When he was done, he curled up in the corner of the cave, his back cushioned slightly by a bed of reeds he had gathered. At night, the cold crept inside the cave and made him shiver. He was grateful not to be outside, but he longed for the warmth he had once felt. He held his hands out before him, rubbing them together for what little heat that would bring him. He thought back to the destructive fire of the volcano which had nearly ended him forever, and almost wished to feel that once again.

  Between his hands, a spark of fire took life. It grew, a spinning and rippling sphere of brilliant orange flame. Its heat soothed his body, and its light illuminated the darkness. James smiled, and then he laughed all through the night.

  Skye

  Shortly after the cataclysm

  "What's your name?"

  The man wore a crimson robe which hung loosely about his ankles. A pair of bent glasses framed his stern, green eyes as he awaited her response. Those eyes were somewhat unnerving, Skye thought. They were a bright, piercing green that almost seemed to spiral and flow like a neon liquid if you looked directly at them.