Where Light Dies

3. Meyers

"Do you even know this place kid?"

"Shhh... Get down!"

-- Dayton, Surface -- 2015 --

The sun shone a rich scarlet in the cloudless horizon, littered with the remnants of what was once a proud city blistering with life. The taste of bile coated her tongue, hunger finally kicking in at the noon of her fourth consecutive day on the surface. Fatigue pricked at her senses as she struggled to remain sane. An annoying partner was definitely not something Reyna could deal with now.

"It can't hear us any way," mumbled Samantha, tying up her dull red hair. They were crouched against a crumbling rock, hiding in its cover. Rabid footsteps echoed in the distance.

"If you've got a problem with my lead, you're free to leave," Reyna whispered, a rising temper hidden beneath her words. Sam felt a chill run down her spine as the girl's hazel eyes glared daggers at her.

Teenagers.....

She gave up, lowering her gaze. Reyna returned to her job, peeking over the rock carefully as the rest started to pray in silence. A small group of four darks scampered around the desolate city roads. A glint in some building nearby shook their attention, three of the monsters slowly shuffling over to the sparkling glass. One, however, lingered behind. Before she could get a good look at it, the animal's pitch-black eyes turned her way.

That one's not leaving. Can't alert the other darks either, Reyna thought as she realized that she didn't have much of a fighting chance. Not with these people who'd left their fates in the hands of something they didn't even know existed. Their muffled pleas slowly crept up her nerves, threatening to let loose the rage welling up with every moment that passed.

Who the hell are you begging to!

There never was a God.

Even if he did exist, he didn't deserve the respect of these people, the ones whom he ignored when they needed him the most. The Shepherd. The Almighty. The Creator, her mind reeled, disgusted as she peeked at the vile creature before her.

Like an animal that had been starved for decades, it scrambled about on all fours, clicking and groaning with every glimmer it saw. The skin looked so pale that she could nearly see the flesh underneath, ripped apart at every joint in its feeble looking body. Its face coiled as the scarlet rays shone upon its pitch-black eyes, a monstrous scream erupting from the void between its dagger like teeth that looked almost as if they were sewn onto its lipless jaws.

Some taste he's got.

"Anyone killed a dark before?" asked Reyna, her expression turning grave as she unsheathed a long knife.

"I'll do it," said a young man, giving his sister's hand a firm squeeze.

"One more."

"Might as well," said the redhead beside her as she flipped her knife, giving her a lopsided grin.

"Anne, I'll need you to carry the harvest with Michelle," said Reyna, tying up her golden locks of hair.

"Let's gut this bastard."

ԭ Բ Գ Դ Ԩ Ԫ Ԯ Ԭ Ü ß ԗ Թ Ֆ Ք

"I don't know what's up with Cart these days," said Sarah as she ruffled through the piles of paperwork. After the sacred seal fell to chaos, money lost all value. Since then it has been one thing for another, or in simple terms, barter. Over the course of seventeen years, ammunition and food became the main mode of exchange. Every camp standardized their exchange rates in barter statements. It varied from place to place and month to month, and maintaining it meant a lot of work. Being the head of Dayton base, most of that 'work' fell on Sarah's shoulders.

"It's the newbie," Blake answered, not lifting his eyes off the sheets.

Oh....

"Reyna isn't it. You might be right," she replied, thinking of how much the girl reminded her of a friend long lost. Why Carter took her under his wing was beyond obvious.

A sudden wave of static rippled across the dimly lit room.

"North...... Arbor Square...... East........ Find........ river...," the machine sputtered. Blake felt his chest heave, his heart pulsing in a troubled rhythm. The worthless pile of junk never once failed to tick him off.

"Has anyone one figured it out yet?" he asked, his attention now trained on the rusted receiver tuned on ninety-nine point one, the frequency that had been assigned to disaster management seventeen years ago.

The antique had been tuned into that channel ever since then, never once uttering anything other than these same six words. They'd scrounged every map in the city's archive in the first three years of the apocalypse, desperately holding onto their hopes.

There never was an Arbor square near a river in the north or the east, and no one dared to travel years on the surface in search of a foreign paradise. Their hopes eventually vanished into the damp tunnel air, where they still continued to live.

"Not even a clue," Sarah answered, her gaze falling on Beth who was now in front of her, practically dancing on her toes.

"You should think about turning it off," Blake muttered, knowing well what her reply would be.

"Not in a million years. Besides, why do you even bother to keep asking?" she snapped back.

"Keep Beth away from it," he whispered, his voice now barely audible.

"I don't find a reason to," Sarah replied, her tone just as cold.

Blake's eyes wandered over to the rusted iron door next to the receiver. His heart skipped yet another beat, the feeling of uneasiness sinking further in as a realm of nightmares unwound before his eyes. It was Sarah's icy voice that brought him back.

"What is it honey?" she asked her daughter, saving the paperwork for later as always.

"They're back mommy!" the girl exclaimed, leaving the door open as she ran out into the tunnels.

ԭ Բ Գ Դ Ԩ Ԫ Ԯ Ԭ Ü ß ԗ Թ Ֆ Ք

The pack returned as heroes, welcomed with applause as they showed off a harvest that was bound to last for a month at the least. However, three of them didn't make it back. All who returned were injured, and two of whom supported a blonde on their shoulders. Dirt smeared most of her dull maroon jumper, the strands of cotton now balled up in clusters from years of rough use. A fist sized hole in her plain black jeans added to her miserable form, the bleeding patch of red on her knee peeking through it.

'Bruised and battered as always,' thought Blake, his dull crimson eyes wandering over her exhausted frame. 'The one and only, Reyna Meyers.'

"I told you to stay back kid," Carter said, stomping his way to her.

"Got the job done," she replied through her cracking voice.

"Hey there! Silent guy!" she shouted, followed by a few hollow coughs.

"You're a pain in the ass," Blake replied in his usual monotone, crouching to examine her wounds. She wriggled on the floor as his finger grazed the gash on her knee. It was still fresh, only the outer coat had dried up. The wound was nowhere near fatal, but the skin damage seemed to be worse than it looked. Surface wound. Must be hurting like crazy, he thought, looking at the teenager beaming at him despite the pain tearing through her muscles.

"I'll be right back," he said, walking over to his cabin. He was back a minute later, holding a white ceramic bottle in his hands.

Blake shook the bottle of old aftershave, the scent of pure alcohol piercing his senses as he pulled the cork out. 'I knew this would be useful someday,' he thought, recalling how the others made fun of him when he picked it up on a surface run.

"This'll hurt," he said, raising the bottle.

"Try me."

He was glad that darks were deaf.

ԭ Բ Գ Դ Ԩ Ԫ Ԯ Ԭ Ü ß ԗ Թ Ֆ Ք