End of Gray Skies: An Apocalyptic Thriller Read online

  Then came a day of heavy rain, and the sun threw colorful rainbows over their Commune. Afterward, a thick fog rolled in from the ocean and settled for the night, bringing back the salty stench for them to choke on. It was a sign, a small sign, and people had already begun to talk. Declan ignored much of what was said, uncertain of whether he wanted to care, or not. He saw the rainstorm, though. Everyone did. The storm turned the sky black and spat green lightning streaks that cut through the farthest reaches of the looming darkness. The salty air expanded in violent throes, hammering thunder down on them and pushing acrid winds that nearly turned over every part of their Commune. It was unlike anything they’d seen or heard.

  The first screams about the heavy fogs returning caught Declan’s attention. He listened as the leaders in the Commune tried to explain away the failed End of Gray Skies, but they were mere words, meaningless, and senseless to ponder, given that the life he’d yearned for was already over. Standing outside their Commune building, Declan stood alone, watching the thickness of the fog invade the skies. Clouds as tall as mountains lowered themselves to rest, like loved ones coming together for a long stay.

  “Sammi Sunshine,” he said aloud to anyone who could hear his voice. He said it again and again until every hint of the sunlight had disappeared from the face of the earth. The VAC-Machines had failed to turn their world back to its former self, but Declan found he didn’t care after all. It mattered nothing to him that the sunshine was gone. His sunshine had left him already, that day in the theater.

  ******

  The day after Declan turned eighteen, he decided to leave the safety of his home. He left the familiar sounds, smells, and routines of his Commune and ventured outside, in search of answers to the questions that occupied his mind. He wanted to know what had really happened to the VAC-Machines, and what the mysterious numbers were on the thick card of parchment that had been found in his mother’s satchel. He wanted to know about his mother and sister, too. But there was more: Sammi’s memory drove him to leave.

  His father objected, saying that while life in the Commune wasn’t ideal, it was key to their survival. His father promised to find the truth about what had happened to Declan’s mother and sister. He said that the answers couldn’t be found at a VAC-Machine, but that they were within the Commune, the leadership, the executive floors.

  But Declan also explained that he wanted to leave behind the pain of Sammi’s death. At that, his father just shook his head; he already knew the pain that Declan felt, but also knew that leaving wouldn’t make it go away. In his heart, Declan supposed he understood that Sammi’s death would be with him forever, and he wondered if, maybe, it needed to be.

  Declan said his goodbyes, and left his father and his Commune, stopping once to hug Ms. Gilly, and to touch Andie’s head. The classroom had never seemed so small and distantly insignificant than it did during that final visit.

  Declan followed the dotted morse line that led to the black sand beaches. Anticipation grew with the roar of crashing waves. His feet slipped in the loose sand, but he regained his footing, and settled in for a long trek. He felt compelled to go to the VAC-Machine. He needed to be near it, to touch it. He needed to learn of its ancient secrets, and he had to try to discover why all of the VAC-Machines had failed in the End of Gray Skies.

  As Declan traveled, he kept the sounds of breaking waves to his right. Tall, brown grasses sprouted from the sand on the path he’d chosen, draping against his legs and helping to guide him while he walked. When he was hungry, he ate what little food he carried with him. When he was thirsty, he drank some of the water he’d stowed on his back.

  When the sounds of Outsiders approached, he dug a shallow hole in the sands. He was absent most emotions, but he wasn’t immune to fear. Declan lay flat on his belly, quiet and still, hidden from the footsteps that passed a few hands from him. Salt burned the abrasions atop his fingers and stung the skin under his torn nails. Coarse sands reached every part of him, but the grainy wet discomfort was a simple annoyance compared to what the Outsiders might do to him.

  As sands passed under his feet, and with every kilometer traveled, Declan wondered if the Outsiders had already found Harold, already killed him. Although Harold had been thrown out of the Commune, exiled for what happened to Sammi, Declan’s gut told him that Harold was still alive. For the first time since setting foot on the sandy beaches, Declan questioned whether he’d really left his Commune to find the VAC-Machine. He thought, instead, that maybe he’d left his home to find Harold. He sighed, afraid of his admission, and then decided to leave it alone.

  On his coveralls, Declan wore the lock of Sammi’s hair. He touched it from time to time, as a reminder of why he’d decided to make this journey. It was a reminder to find the answers that he hoped would honor her memory.

  ******

  Gripping the lock of red hair pinned to his chest, Declan spoke to her in a voice he no longer recognized.

  “I’ve found it, Sammi. I’m here.”

  The giant VAC-Machine was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. His breath was lost to him in his wonderment at the size of it. There were no electronic photographs, no descriptions, and no classroom history lessons that could have prepared him for what his eyes saw. The veil of fog that covered the world lifted, separated, and all but disappeared from around the monstrous machine before him. He could see a thousand hands in every direction.

  To his left, the silvery beast of metal stretched farther than his eyes could see, interrupting the lands, cutting deeply into them, spewing vented steel-gray and white smoke. To his right, the machine reached deep into the expansive ocean waters, where waves rolled around it, ignoring it as it disappeared beneath the surface. Above him, the machine seemed to stretch endlessly, and for a moment, he thought that he glimpsed blue skies. The fog from which he emerged stayed just behind him, as though a barrier were preventing it from touching the VAC-Machine.

  The skin of the machine reflected the black sands in front of him, mirrored the skies and the ocean waves that swelled around it. It was magnificent. But when he saw the reflection of himself in the silvery skin, he stopped, then shuffled back a step, shocked and suspicious.

  How long has it been? he wondered, reaching for the image, disbelief weighing down his hand. The man staring back at him rubbed the scruffy growth on his face and ran fingers through an unkempt tangle of brown hair. He’d grown pale, almost ash-colored, blending in with the fog. His eyes were empty, his cheeks were sunken. He was thin—too thin. He was just a gaunt memory of who he’d once been, before he’d set out on this journey.

  He’d lost time; or the sense of it, anyway. Traveling with only the sight of the fog, and the sounds of the ocean, he’d lost his count of days. How long had he been traveling? How long had it been since he’d last eaten or slept? With the security of a Commune, and a family, and classroom, days were tracked; a calendar was commonplace. But on his own, there was no such thing. At once, fear and relief became overwhelming, and he dropped to his knees. If not for the seawater leaching through his coveralls and touching his skin, he’d think that all of this might be a dream. Or that he just might be dead.

  But it wasn’t a dream: the VAC-Machine suddenly heaved, swelling outward, then groaned. The sound was deafening; it shook the sands beneath his legs. There was an eerie silence then, followed by the distant sound of a metallic tremor. A dark, perfect square cut into the machine’s belly, revealing a door.

  Declan moved back, expecting another violent sound to crush his ears. From the center of the black opening, he saw the figure of a beautiful woman emerge: tall and slim, and dressed in a white gown. She wore a shimmering material with a smooth sheen that revealed iridescent waves of color as her body moved beneath the fabric. With nothing to protect her feet, she seemed to enjoy the touch of the wet sand, pausing once or twice to playfully flick grainy remains from her toes as she stepped toward him.

  As the distance closed between them, Declan realized that he
knew this woman. His heart leaped, and his breath stopped in his throat. He knew her eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. Her hair was free of gray though, and differed from the style in his memories, but the rest of her was the same—just younger, and fresher. He knew her voice, too.

  “Hi, Declan. We’ve been waiting for you,” the woman said, as she knelt down on the beach with him. The soft push of the black sands against his legs assured him that this was, indeed, real. As she took his hand into hers, Declan looked into his mother’s eyes. A million questions danced in his head. Some perched on his tongue, ready to spill with his next breath. But instead, he bit his lower lip, and let out the air that ached in his chest. He wanted to throw his arms around her, to take in her scent, and feel her warmth, but this had to be a dream. His mother was dead.

  “Who?” was all he could think to ask her. “Who’s been waiting?”

  His mother turned back to the opening in the machine’s belly and motioned with her long, slender arm.

  “All of us,” she answered, and then cupped the side of his face in her other hand.

  His mother’s smell was intimate, and the touch of her fingers on his face was warm. But at once, Declan felt a tingling sensation on his cheek. Soon, numbness blossomed and grew from where his mother had touched him. He looked in the direction she had motioned, and found his sister standing at the opening of the machine. As he brought his arm up to offer a hesitant wave, the world around him started to grow dim. More of his body disappeared from his consciousness. He was no longer aware of his hands or his feet, and, within moments, he’d also lost his legs. The sound of the ocean became distant, and the image of his mother and sister began to go gray.

  Before the darkness took all of him, like the fog had taken his world, Declan saw another figure come through the opening. It was a woman whose skin was as white as the garment she wore. Her hair was fiery red, with long tresses dressing her shoulders in errant sweeps. The sight of her stole his breath. As Declan stared at this woman, he unknowingly reached to touch Sammi’s lock of hair pinned to his chest.

  Then he heard his mother’s voice.

  “He’s ready now.”

  Blinded By Sight

  9

  “HE’S READY NOW.”

  Declan’s mother’s voice sounded strong, automatic, and seemingly void of compassion. He wanted to cry out to her, to beg for help, but found he could say nothing. Though most of his senses were gone, he was able to hold on to some of his consciousness. But even thoughts of help were fleeting, as uncertainty and doubt eroded the idea, like the waves breaking on the shoreline. I’m on the beach, he remembered. Surely this is a mistake… this isn’t real.

  He wondered if maybe he’d died during his journey from the Commune. Had he escaped the Outsiders? Had he buried himself deep enough into the sands? Had they walked over his body, passing him? Surely they must have. He remembered the days after his encounter, crawling along the shoreline, listening for their return. But he’d stayed alone; they were gone.

  Declan tried to remember the last time he’d had food, or fresh water. Just how true were the reflections he had seen in the machine? Was there a machine?

  I must be dead, he thought, and imagined his body far away, half-buried in the surf and black sands, with salt gnats burrowing under his skin while sand fleas invited themselves in for a tasty morsel.

  If he was dead, then the visions of his family and Sammi must have been his final moments of life. It was a simple idea, really. He’d experienced the moment of his death. While the effects were intense, the visions weren’t real. They were the last of his brain’s electrical impulses, fired all at once; a torrent of random energy volleyed to his brain’s starving neurons. The images were just a random sequence of what he wanted to see, what he needed to see. He hadn’t really seen his mother; he hadn’t spoken to her. And he hadn’t seen his sister waving back at him from the machine. None of it was true. And if none of what he’d seen was true, then he couldn’t have seen Sammi, either.

  With this last thought, he felt a deep sadness. Pain. But with death, could there still exist a feeling so intense? Did it matter? If Sammi was gone, then he had to be dead; he wanted to be dead.

  He heard his mother’s voice again, but with the world around him disappearing, confusion played tricks on his mind. In part, he’d considered the experience a dream, as though he were stuck in that vulnerable place before waking. And when the sensation of being moved came to him, he tried to lift his hands, open his eyes. He realized then that his eyes might already be open: but blind to what was happening to him, and around him.

  Whatever change started when his mother touched his face, he wanted it to be over. He begged for it to be over. The numbing sensation that bloomed from his cheek expanded over all of him, rendering him a living corpse. He was conscious, but then he wasn’t. He was aware, but only of the distant voices and scant images. He was a mere shell, and fear was evolving into the only feeling he recognized, consuming whatever sanity remained.

  Time passed, but he didn’t know how much. Without his senses, he wondered if what his mother had started had finally come to him, relieving him of all living duties: death.

  For a brief moment, there was a breeze touching him, and then the faint smell of the ocean. Death hadn’t come to him after all, yet more time had passed. Declan realized that he was skirting around consciousness, bouncing in and out of reality, like in a game of fast-tag where he was dodging whoever had been tagged. And, though muted, the rumble of a breaking wave followed, bearing hope and certainty to what he thought was real.

  The salty ocean smell told him that he was still on the beach, and that he was breathing. It also told him that Sammi was alive. She’d come to him at last, when his mother touched his face, and spoke those words. He tried to motion his hand, reaching for where his mother touched his cheek, and then thought he’d laugh if he could, envisioning his hand locked away at his side, where it had been since his senses left him.

  The sensation of being lifted came to him, the feelings of rising into the air and moving. But he didn’t feel the pressure of hands beneath him, carrying him. In fact, he didn’t feel anyone touching him at all. He was being carried into the machine; he was as sure of it as he was afraid. Distant voices spoke back and forth, but with his senses nearly orphaned, he was unable to make out what was being said.

  At once, he wanted to cry. He wanted to call out to Sammi and his family, to plead with them, to beg that they bring him back from whatever strange state of abeyance they had put him into. The world went black then. No more voices; no sensations of being carried; nothing.

  ******

  Declan never remembered sleeping so soundly, so comfortably. He opened his eyes, spurred by the tickle of Sammi’s long hair dangling above his chin and nose. While her laughing roused him, sleep kept his gaze hazy. She snickered excitedly and shook her head, brushing more of her hair over his face. Through the veil of red tresses, he found her green eyes, large and inviting. As the sleep in him faded further, he offered a contented smile.

  “About time you woke up; you’ve been sleeping for a while!” Sammi exclaimed. Leaning in, with her hair falling all around his head, she planted her lips on his and kissed him. For a moment, he was lost in her, but as the twilight of sleep waned, the reality of what was happening began to settle in.

  They were on a bed, but this bed wasn’t like the cots in their dwellings. The mattress was thick and foamy, and seemed to remember him as he moved. It was nothing like the wool-filled mattresses he’d helped sew and mend a hundred times; those were more give than cushion. And they were covered with a silvery blanket that reminded him of the strange coveralls he’d seen Sammi wearing on the beach. Images of his mother and sister came to him then: images of his mother touching his face, and taking away all of his senses.

  Alarmed, he pulled back from Sammi, questions pushing forward in his mind.

  “Where are we?” he asked, drawing in a sharp breath. He pulled th
e blanket up, as though it were protecting him from the unknown. For a moment, confusion and emotion took his words away. Uncertainty stayed with him, leaving him to wonder if he was awake or still asleep, dreaming. He squeezed the sleep from his bleary eyes, adapting to the room, bringing into focus this new reality.

  “Sammi? It’s really you?” he cried, and fought the urge to embrace her. Dropping the blanket, he moved his hands over her face, her shoulders, over her arms, and even to the injury that had taken her life. His mind told him how impossible it was, yet the touch of her fingers, her eyes staring back at him, and even her smell told him that she was alive. And when his mind was finally satisfied, Declan rested his hands in hers.

  He tried to speak. He tried, but a sudden rush of emotion hitched his breath, fumbling his words. With a settling breath, he struggled to push out the words. “But… how?”

  “Shhh,” she answered, pressing a finger to his lips. Sammi moved closer to him, and as she pressed her body into his, the sheen of the silvery blanket showed off her curvy form. She paused once, fixing her eyes on his. The warm touch of her skin was welcome. And as she feathered his eyes and mouth with her lips, her breathing deepened.

  Reaching under the covers and taking hold of him, she made certain he knew what her intentions were. A flurry of anxiety and excitement tumbled inside him like awkward lovers, causing him to pause. Declan searched her eyes, and seeing that she was a little nervous too, he motioned to ask if she was sure. She answered eagerly, and pulled him to her, parting his lips with her tongue, kissing him like she’d never kissed him before. He returned the kiss, engaging Sammi, whom he thought he’d lost forever.