Dusk Territories: Always Burning (3 page)

Crisium nodded. “That’s a pretty good insight from a person that shot at me. Trust-worthy man. Honor is…low these days.” She looked over to Tyrus. “Better get going, Ty.”
The dark man nodded, his eyes still weary on Graham. “Stop staring. It’s not nice,” she added, punching him on the shoulder. “We have seen much worse.”

Wordlessly, the two continued down where Graham instructed, leaving him alone in the dark corridor.

The only thing left was to leave. The exit was right in front of him. Even from here, he could see the broken glass and metal door pouring in red light from the outside. He took steps towards it in a slow, hypnotic fashion. The way they spoke made him feel like he had missed something. That something was world-changing. Murder seemed like the normal to them. Talk of mutants and madmen. Even his body had been affected. What was out there?

The closer Graham got to the door, it all started to settle in. He knew what he would find on the other side. No matter how slow he walked. No matter how he tried to believe something different. When he finally touched the cold metal door, bathed in the burnt scarlet sunlight, it all came together.
He pushed it open, the sound of the metal grinding against the ripped concrete. One glance, the first glance, was all that he needed.

Everything was gone and the sky itself was set ablaze in crimson.

2

Devil’s Cigarette

“The world was the devil’s personal cigarette, dancing in his mouth.”

Graham stared at the sky and the world around him, thunderstruck. The moment he entered into the world, he fell to his knees, eyes unable to absorb his surroundings. The building that he just exited from was a miracle, a half dead survivor amongst the wasteland. Irony of that bit him bitterly.
We have that in common,
he thought. All of it, every last dime of it felt like an endless nightmare yet he could not wake.

Before him, the land stretched into a scorched, desolate wasteland. Miles and miles of just dried burnt soil and leafless trees that barely stayed rooted in its soil. Any grass that Graham could see was brown, almost black. The buildings of the camp were all tumbled over. Some were slumped to the side, just skeletons of their old selves. Others were blown to bits, broken in thousands of pieces amongst the ground. Dirt and dust
swirled through the broken bones, weathering stone, wood, and metal alike.

The very air felt broken, even a whiff of it was like taking sandpaper in your mouth. Haze of the heat drifted back and forth in the distance. A part of Graham hoped that what he was seeing was some odd mirage. But, no, he had endured heat like this before. Never in North Carolina, maybe in some desert country, but never in the lush and thriving lands of his home state.

But somehow it wasn’t the bareness of the land that got him the most.

It was the sky, set aflame with hues of red, orange, and purple. Thick rainless clouds drifted sickly through their paths. The sun was high in the air, just a dim red ball of light. It was like the entire world was caught in twilight, even though it was obviously midafternoon. Whatever rocked the land had rocked the atmosphere itself. The world itself looked as though it had gone through a war, a war that Graham slept through. He never had a chance to fight back, defend this land. Instead, he was out
cold
in more ways than one.

Graham shifted into a sitting position, rifle in his lap. He stared at his decaying skin for a moment, then at his dirt-covered t-shirt. Blood seeped through the material. Quickly, he pulled off the shirt to meet yet another ghastly tale. Plenty of organs around his stomach were relatively exposed, he could even see a bit of them throbbing slowly. He looked back up, disgusted. No matter where he looked, that same level of disgust followed. Either he was going to look at his dead body or look at a dead world.

He put his knuckles to his mouth, trying hard to ignore the bone of his index finger. “W—“he tried to speak. No words could adequately describe what he felt right now.

All that was left was contemplation. How many months have passed? How was he alive in this state? What brought him back? What happened?

The last one hit him hard in the stomach. What happened? He
couldn’t even remember how he died. Could he even use the word
‘died’? Nevertheless, something killed him and he had no clue how. Was it relatively easy, did he put up a fight? He was a casualty of a pre-war strike. But where would he go now? The world was in a shattered shell of itself, and he had no clue where to start.

Graham had every intention to leave and go on his own. But, he soon came to another conclusion that it wasn’t the right idea. First off, he had no clue where he would go from here. Of course, he could maybe find a map and hit landmarks he vaguely remembered. That, however, would get him nowhere—except for a place back in the grave he belonged in. Secondly, if he met with a “normal” person, they would probably attack him on sight. He wasn’t going to risk the life of an innocent because he was confused. He wasn’t sure if he could convince any rational human being that he could be trusted. Tyrus was a good example of that. So, it was smart to wait for the people that already had tolerance than be gunned down by people that didn’t.

The waiting did give him a time to think and mourn in quiet. Seven good men, probably a lot more, was dead throughout the base. Good Marines who risked their lives each and every day for freedom. All of them were gone with nothing to tell their tales. He pinched his nose, wishing for the first time that he could cry. Right now, he couldn’t. He didn’t know if his tear ducts were gone or hadn’t been used in a long time, but they wouldn’t produce tears. Somehow, that fact made him feel worse.
You’re a heartless bastard, David,
he thought. But he knew that wasn’t true.

Graham meditated on that for a moment before carefully continuing on with his train of thought. There was probably a lot he needed to be answered. It was no need focusing on them. Instead, he focused on centering his emotions, wading through the thick sea of them. On the outside, he kept a calm face. Yet on the inside, he felt the emotions gnawing at him. It was always like this before a big battle. He would think about emotions and feelings before targeting them at an objective. Right now, the mission was survival. “Survive,” he repeated, hitting himself on the cheek. “Get it together.”

With his motives in mind, he reclined himself on the ground. Quite a few times, it crossed his mind to go back into the base and help the scavengers. He decided against it. Two people in a crumbling building were safer than three. He just hated doing nothing. Doing nothing meant inevitably trying to process this hell. And this hell couldn’t be processed.

It wasn’t until a half an hour later that Tyrus and Crisium appeared again. They had emerged from the base, spoils in duffle bags hanging loosely from their shoulder and packs strapped on their back. They looked relatively uninjured aside from a couple of bruises and cuts on the man’s shoulder. Tyrus didn’t seem too bothered by it though. Instead, his brown eyes had grown wide at the sight of Graham lying down on his back in the sand. He seemed oddly surprised by Graham’s appearance. Crisium did not. She held an expecting smile on her face, pushing back her raven hair in amusement. “Told ya, Ty.”

Tyrus grumbled something unintelligible before handing over his pistol.

Crisium flashed a smile towards Graham. “Got yourself comfortable.” Her face had no look of surprise despite the rather grisly scene of Graham’s upper body. “We,” she motioned to the rather uncomfortable looking man beside her, “had a bet. He swore that you would bail. I knew you wouldn’t. Now, I have his pistol. And he owes me a drink from his stash as well. Right, Mr. Banks?”

Again, Tyrus mouthed something of a curse.

Crisium stuffed her hand in her pocket, exchanging looks with Tyrus. A tickled expression laced her features but she said nothing. Mercifully, she turned her attention back to Graham. “You want somethin’ to cover those—“she searched for the word, “bad spots, hun?”

Graham craned his head up, and looked at the throbbing stomach and somewhat exposed intestines. There were even a few spots where the ribs were exposed. He looked over to Tyrus, whose comfort seemed to slowly melt at the sight. His grumbling intensified. Obviously, they were sharing the same thought:
this was pretty disgusting
. It was a small wonder that Tyrus didn’t vomit. Graham nodded to Crisium and she tossed him a military grade first aid kit.

“So,” Graham said, awkwardly as he tried to open the kit. “What’s going on?”

Crisium
cocked an eyebrow. She placed her duffle ba
g down, kneeling to Graham. He was obviously too frazzled to open a simple handle, though would easily deny that. “What do you mean?” She clicked it open before pulling down her black tank top. “Oh.” Crisium stood up again. She knew what he was asking. It was obvious. A once simple question had changed meaning so much. It was once used as a conversation starter. Now, it meant a lot more. She groaned, “It’s hard to explain. Ty.”

“Cris,” the large man responded, stepping a few steps back.

“Get your balls out yer purse, Tyrus. He’s not going to eat you,” Crisium growled.

A scowl appeared on Tyrus’s face. “How do I know that, woman? We don’t know what he is or what he needs to survive. I ain’t gettin’ near that, ya hear.”

Graham couldn’t blame him. If the situation was somehow reversed, he would have kept his distance too. He would have kept his gun poised at the beast at all times. Right now, they were acting on trust. They didn’t know he was a good man at heart, who treated his men and himself with respect. On outward appearances alone, that couldn’t be seen. All Tyrus saw was a potential threat that could eat him alive like a horror movie, but in broad daylight.

However, Crisium wasn’t going to let him slide. “You’ve seen worse, Ty!”

“That ain’t the point.”

“Do ya really think that I would just throw my trust at anyone? Just here you go! Take trust from
Crisium the Fool
. No. I’m not dumb. I gotta feeling about him. I feel it—“she pressed her fist against her chest, “Believe me, I’ll be the first to know if there was any danger.”

Graham silently watched as Tyrus processed that. His expression changed from unsettled to resignation. He knew that he couldn’t entirely get the trust of the dreadlocked man. Nor did he think that Crisium was entirely convinced of the trust either, but she had a hunch going for him. So for now, he would have to deal with what he had and hope that he could at least get through to figuring this all out.

“Do you think Drifter could explain what happened better than we can?” Crisium asked.

Tyrus thought long about it. “Yeah, if you can get him to concentrate long enough.”

“The Drifter?” Graham questioned, finally starting the tourniquet around his stomach.
Going to have to change this regularly,
he reminded himself
pushing through the train wreck of thoughts. “Is that a person? Or some sort of…” Heck, Graham didn’t
know
what to think. This all seemed incredibly insane.

Crisium picked up on his uncertainty quickly. “This must be a cockamamie load of crap for you, huh?”

Sure as hell, yes,
Graham thought. Instead, he nodded. He was used giving clear orders, thus receiving them in a similar fashion. It wasn’t much room for doubt or questioning in his line of work. Yes, adjustments had to be made. He had trained his mind to do so. But, he wasn’t used to fumbling around blindly. It was like trying to find a green marble in knee-high grass. A Marine didn’t have the pleasure or time for things like that. But right now, he had to make time.

“Well,” Crisium began. “In the same situation, I would think that what I’m gonna to say next is nuts too.” She dug into her pocket to pull out a cigarette from her tan cargo pants. Tyrus looked at her wearily as though slighted by the motion, but she hardly noticed. She placed it in her mouth, unlit. “Just deal with me
for a sec. The Drifter is a man, a powerhouse really, of these lands. A lot of people
dubbed him as the “Mayor” of this scorched piece of nothing
, but that’s a load of crap. That would suggest that he sits in some office, makin’ phone calls and laws. Hell if he would even make both.”

Tyrus tossed Crisium a lighter, which she caught without even looking back. “However, he’s a leader of the most powerful and supplied caravan in the Dusk Territories.”

Graham arched an eyebrow, “Dusk Territories?”

Crisium clicked the lighter, its flame erupting with a spark. She waved it against the white end of the cigarette dancing in her mouth. Somehow, the butt of the cigarette reminded Graham of the sky. The sky, in turn, reminded him that he was in hell. Maybe they were the devil’s cigarette right now, swaying in his mouth. That was oddly plausible. “Dusk Territories,” she repeated. “That is what they are callin’ this hell hole now. States…heck the whole country has been in shreds. No chain of command, no president, no nothing.”

This…is insane. All of this shit happened in what, months?
Graham thought. He could feel his already dry mouth become arid. “So…”

“So, we survived. There are plenty of people like the Drifter, but he’s one of a kind. He amassed a legion of people, followers. The old man probably never intended for it. However, he made an opportunity out of nothin’. He can be trusted. Power hasn’t corrupted his head, still sharp as an axe.”

Tyrus laughed. “His brain’s probably too banged up to realize how much power he has.”

“But he’ll protect what he has and what we have,” Crisium retorted.

“That he would,” Tyrus agreed. “He’ll help ya get yourself straight, Graham.”

“How far away is this…caravan?” Even saying it aloud, Graham thought it was crazy. But, right now, he couldn’t debate anything.

“No further than a few clicks from here. We normally do runs around broken up cities—usually smaller ones. A mutant or demon with every normal and we gather what we can.” Crisium shrugged. “They are probably expecting us back from now.”