THE CONTINUANCE AGENCY

The threadbare basement couch was so inviting, Daniel had to lay down on it for a moment.

He certainly did not plan on falling asleep. All he needed was twenty minutes to recharge. Cleaning out his parent’s basement, in exchange for tickets to an NFL game, had been enticing when his dad extended the offer yesterday. It had been a warm October for New England, and forecasters predicted perfect football weather.

His Saturday was dwindling away. Every fiber in his body groaned with each new task, souring his mood. The payoff—taking his fiancée Colleen to her first big game—would be worth the work, and he was not about to quit now, but damn, he was exhausted. His dad was a hard-ass and would not accept a poorly done job. In fact, Daniel was certain his dad would not give him the tickets if he did not fulfill his side of the bargain, even if it was ninety-nine percent complete. It was all or nothing. He merely needed a quick siesta.

There were no windows down here and only one door at the top of the stairs which led into the kitchen, so the basement was hot and extremely stuffy. It was like working in an oversized sauna. He stripped out of his soggy shirt and stretched out on the couch that was exceedingly more comfortable than its dilapidated condition suggested, and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Daniel awakened feeling as if only a few minutes had gone by, but somehow he intuited it had been much longer. He cursed himself and stood up to begin rearranging the heaps of boxes, power tools, books and appliances that were still haphazardly strewn about the basement. His body trembled, and his neck creaked as he began to sluggishly move about. He did not feel right. His head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and his nose was running. He grabbed his shirt and wiped viscous snot from his upper lip. He looked at the shirt and saw a smear of red where he had wiped his nose.

What the—before he could finish the thought, his mother started screaming.

The sound of it drove a cold spike of fear into Daniel’s stomach. He had seen his mother cry on a couple of occasions, and he had heard her squeal in fright when she spotted a particularly large wolf spider in the kitchen, but this was something altogether new. It was a scream of unprecedented horror. His mouth went dry. Whatever was going on upstairs had to be really bad. Daniel bolted for the stairs, and found that his legs would not obey his brain, and he went sprawling face first onto the floor, barely able to get his hands underneath him to minimize the impact. Still, while managing to avoid knocking any teeth out, his nose flattened and uttered a horrible crunch, spewing bright red blood onto the floor.

Daniel cried out in pain, but his mother’s screaming had not abated, but rather increased in intensity until her cries drowned out his thoughts. He could no longer concentrate on anything but getting up those steps to help her.

He was terrified. His mom needed him, and that was the only thing keeping him from curling up into a ball and wishing it would all go away.

He pushed himself up and started for the stairs again. Time slowed until he felt as if he was running underwater. The screams from upstairs became elongated, the pitch becoming deeper and slower. The faster he moved, the longer it took to get anywhere.

Finally, and with great effort, he crashed through the kitchen door straight into a nightmare.

Dad was on the floor gasping for air, face black and swollen, his fingers clawing uselessly at his throat. Mom leaned over him, still screaming, long hair obscuring her face.

Colleen was nowhere to be seen, but he wasn’t sure if she’d yet arrived. Daniel spied an inky substance retreating through the cracks under the doors and into the vents.

He cried out to his mother. “What happened? What’s wrong with Dad?” he said, trying to sound calm for his mother’s sake, and not pulling it off at all.

He looked down at his father and his heart leapt into his throat. His dad’s face was cracking, skin peeling off of his skull in tattered black flakes like the pages of a burning book scattered by the breeze.

His mom looked up, and Daniel saw with mounting terror that her eyes were bleeding. “You did this,” she hissed, her mouth leaking dark blood. “Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy! He killed us all, he killed us all!”

Incredulous, Danny shouted, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep! I swear I was going to finish the basement.” He could not understand this dialogue, and the feeling he was trapped in a vicious nightmare became more certain. “I didn’t do anything, mom. What the hell is happening?” His voice was coming from his mouth, but the words were not his own.

“Find the Christmas ornaments, Danny boy!” his mother howled. “Feed the worms with your bones!” She began to sing in an eerie Irish brogue: “Oh Danny Boy, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes they are a-callin.’”

His mother had gone mad, so he decided to try to help his dad. Ignoring her ravings, he dropped to his knees by his father’s side, unsure what to do. So much black foam and dark blood poured from the man’s eyes, ears, mouth and nose that his face looked like a bloody mask.

His dad thrashed in agony. He was a big man, and strong. Daniel struggled to hold him down, to keep him from hurting himself.

And then, with a wretched gasp like an old porch roof collapsing under a heavy snowfall, his father’s body twisted up into a gnarled, convulsing horror show and disintegrated in a puff of black ash.

His mother still cackled madly. She fell down, rolling around on the kitchen floor as her body began to twitch and shake. She screamed and bled and laughed with chilling glee.

Daniel went to her. She was like a feral cat, trapped in a corner, ready to launch at him with lethal intent. Her face turned red and darkened until she was the very color of sickness and degradation itself. When her head started to cave in on itself, Daniel turned and ran.

He had to find Colleen.

But what in the fuck was happening?

A terrorist-attack, he thought. This has to be a dirty bomb or some shit.

It made sense, but then why was he still alive?

He ran to the living room, where his parents still had a wall mounted phone. No dial-tone. Nothing.

He slammed it against the wall, dashed through the house, desperately trying not to break down in histrionics, searching every room. He banged through doorways and down the hall, into the bathroom.

As he approached the end of the hall where his bedroom was located, he thought he heard quiet sobbing

Daniel walked over to the bedroom door and the sobbing moans grew louder. Slowly, his heart threatening to burst, he pushed the door inward and walked inside.

She was in there, standing beside his childhood bed, looking at a photo of Daniel as a boy. Colleen looked up, her reverie broken by Daniel’s entrance. Her emerald eyes were bleeding, and her hair was drifting off of her scalp. Strand after strand of her beautiful, fiery red locks falling like lazy feathers to the carpet. She blinked, forcing several droplets of blood onto her cheeks, her porcelain skin darkening as his parent’s had.

Daniel’s chest heaved. A jagged sob exploded from him.

Colleen staggered, lurching forward, but Daniel’s reflexes were good. His paralysis broke in time for him to lunge forward and catch her before she could collapse to the floor. He swept her around and onto the bed. He managed to bite back the screams of horror.

She was fading away, but Daniel could not accept it. He was planning on asking her to marry him at the game tomorrow. They had been sharing an apartment for almost a year now and had grown to know each other so deeply . . . how could he lose her?

Colleen reached out a shaking hand and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him closer to her face, struggling to speak to him. Her words were barely audible, “Daniel, please don’t ever give up on me. Find me, please.”

“But you’re right here, baby.”

“Find me, Danny. I’m so alone in here.”

And then she was gone. Her body shivered violently. It disintegrated into a pool of smoldering black goop.

The flirty little yellow sun-dress she’d been wearing had always made his heart beat harder.

His heart was thundering like that now, pounding louder and louder. He looked out the window and what he saw threatened to pull the rug of sanity out from under him for good.

The world had gone insane.

People had emerged from their homes and were screaming in the streets, running from swirling wraiths of the inky shit that had been in his house. The things zipped in and out of the blackened skies enveloping and pulling some people from the ground while dispersing others in puffs of ash, seemingly at random.

Bang Bang Bang

His heartbeat grew louder, more irregular, banging harder and harder until finally it escalated to a nearly unbearable volume and . . .

BangBangBang

Daniel bolted upright in bed, bathed in a sheet of sweat, a scream dying on his lips. Like always, the dream had felt insanely real. He clutched his blanket in a death grip. He frequently had variations of this particular dream. It was a recurring nightmare, one which never lost its bite. For instance, his parents had already been dead when he had burst through the door from the basement into the kitchen. He had been sleeping down there which had probably saved his life.

Also, Colleen had not been at his parent’s house that day.

The day the black skies had killed pretty much everyone.

He had no idea where she was.

The banging sound came again, and Daniel realized it had been a real sound all along. Someone was knocking on his door.

He jumped up and ran stealthily through the house, toward the window beside the front door. Sure, there were innumerable threats outside these days, but this sounded like someone who desperately needed help. Daniel felt a surge of adrenaline the likes of which he had not felt in a long time.

Daniel peered out the window, and saw his visitor was a frightened man with wild eyes darting in all directions, tears streaming down his face. “Please help!” he cried. “They’re coming! Is anyone in there? Please, let me in!”

Daniel’s excitement was soon replaced with dread as a twisting trio of dark specters emerged from the blackness above. They swirled around the doomed man, as if toying with him. Daniel stood motionless, watching through the peephole as the man was gradually enveloped by the sinister shifting shapes.

He would remember the horrific screaming as long as he lived.

Daniel watched the ghostly offshoots of the death cloud transmogrify into a single entity and push the man down onto the ground. The shrill cries grew less pronounced, and then there came a ripping which ceased them altogether. The whirling, black masses unceremoniously ascended back into the death cloud, drizzling blood in their wake. There was nothing else left of the man.

He looked at the porch where the guy had been standing and saw the manila envelope lying there.

A minute later, Daniel sat trembling at the kitchenette trying to convince himself that none of it had happened.

He was so lonely. He had no idea how long it had been since the end had come. He often found his thoughts straying back to the day it happened.

After the cloud had retreated further into the sky, Daniel had ventured to his and Colleen’s apartment only to find it empty. There was no trace of her. He had dared to search the streets. In shock and no longer concerned with his own safety, he had run through the suburbs shouting her name.

Finally, he had given up and returned to their apartment, defeated.

Days had passed and he had only seen a few people. Only one had been sane enough to have a conversation with. The guy had been wandering through the apartment complex’s courtyard, and Daniel had rushed out to greet him. His name was Russell Dobbs and had been ecstatic to accept Daniel’s offer to join him for some cold beers and conversation.

They had returned to the apartment, where Dobbs had advised Daniel he was—or at least had been—a Navy pilot. When the end came, he had been immersed in an antigravity chamber, which he used for meditation purposes. When he had emerged from the capsule, everyone was gone and the sky had been replaced by the black shit that still hovered above the earth.

Dobbs had had little knowledge about the event that was of any use. He had known only that the phenomenon had apparently happened simultaneously across the entire planet. Daniel had shared with him how he had been in the basement asleep when it happened, and he had always assumed that the room must have been pretty airtight for the poison black substance to have not taken him, too. Dobbs concurred with him. It had been so nice to have company, but after guzzling several of Daniel’s beers, he had told Daniel he had to be on his way, and had made his exit. Daniel had tried reasoning with him, pleading with him that they might be the only two survivors. He had offered to let Dobbs live in his home, but the guy just was not interested. Daniel had pled with such intensity that he must have looked insane. He couldn’t blame the man for running off.

The mental anguish of the situation had, at times, caused Daniel to lose his grip on his sanity. But he wasn’t going to let himself fall apart. He was a survivor, plain and simple.

And now this guy had just been ripped to pieces by the evil sky just so he could what? Deliver this envelope? What a waste.

A few days passed, he did not know or care how many, since the doomed visitor had left the envelope on his stoop. The envelope lay on the porch accusingly, and Daniel was too afraid to open the door to retrieve it. He went about his routine, his food supply dwindling, the generator’s fuel steadily depleting. He knew that he would have to go out eventually. He had to replenish his supplies or he would die. After what happened to the stranger at his door, every noise made him jump in fear. His heart rarely slowed enough to allow sleep. He had sleeping pills—he had any kind of medicine he would ever need, for that matter—but was reluctant to take them, too afraid to surrender control. It was simply out of the question.

He reasoned that if he had been able to survive a day of running around in the open, a quick step out on the porch, and right back inside was pretty trivial, and thus gathered the courage to retrieve the envelope.

There was a single slip of paper with a handwritten letter inside. That poor man had suffered an unthinkable fate so he could deliver this? He read the letter over and over.

To all survivors:

Please join our coalition at the Independence Building downtown. You are not alone. We extend to you a welcoming hand to join us in our quest to find a cure for the sickness which has befallen our world. The fact that you are still alive while so many died is of great curiosity to our team of scientists, who have rationalized the survival of such a select few bears vast significance to the continuation of our race. It has come to our attention through many months of painstaking research and experimentation, that there are certain people who carry a gene which lends them immunity to the black plague. We must urge you to come forth and help us gain understanding once and for all. We must stand together, or die. Time is of the essence. We must find the answers, and we are so close, but there are too few of us here. We NEED your help. Please do not disregard this message, for if you do, all may be lost.

For Humanity,

Edward Jenkins

The Continuance Agency

Daniel took a quick bath, ate a can of Dinty Moore beef stew, and shaved his unruly stubble, grateful the gas powered generator gave him enough power to perform these simple tasks.

As if on cue, the generator sputtered and clanked, calling for a refill that would most likely never come.

Daniel swished a generous amount of Listerine and spit into the sink. Everything he now owned had been lifted from neighboring homes and stores. So far, he had not strayed more than a mile from home and had not even dared to return to his parent’s house. Today, everything was about to change. He was more excited than he had been since everything had gone down the drain.

For a long time he had forgotten what it felt like to be alive, really alive, purposeful.

He did a walk-through of his apartment, lingering here and there where memorabilia sparked emotions within him. The unknown awaited him today and he was as prepared as he was going to get. Was it really possible that today he would make a contribution to the preservation of humanity?

It was a surreal notion, and one he knew had to be a lunatic to believe. But there was the letter, and the hope it had given him.

Anything could have happened since the ill-fated man had delivered the letter. What if the Agency had been overrun by malignant black demons and everyone there was already dead? He cursed himself for having waited so long to open the letter.

On the wall beside the front door hung a framed portrait of himself and Colleen, one of his favorites. Daniel stared into the frozen image of those long gone emerald eyes, longing for the full pouty lips that now only mocked him with “you will kiss me no more.” It was time to move on.

He walked out into the witching twilight, unconsciously pushing in the lock before closing the front door. He was glad he had dressed warm, for it was freezing outside. He no longer knew what month, or even what year it was. It was always cold, an eternal winter. His nostrils began to burn immediately and Daniel instinctively held his breath against what he feared might be toxic fumes.

He surveyed his immediate surroundings and saw no signs of recognizable danger in any direction. All the same, he was nervous, for danger was all around. He knew that venturing outside in this new world could prove deadly. He owned plenty of firearms, but had chosen the nine millimeter to bring with him today. There was an automatic rifle in the trunk of his Mazda as well. One could never be too armed.

He did not take a breath until he was inside the car, where the putrid atmosphere was only marginally less offensive. He was still alive, though.

He grasped the modest engagement ring he had never given to Colleen tightly in his fist, kissed it for posterity, and promised Colleen’s spirit he would make a difference, or die trying. He then let the ring fall back to his chest where he had kept it on a silver chain with the hope that one day he would be able to slip it on her finger.

His thoughts returned to his mother. She had force fed the Bible to Daniel his entire childhood, but it had never stuck with him. He had found the stories to be mildly diverting as fiction, but unfathomable as facts. The story about Daniel in the lion’s den, however, had been a favorite, as well as the Book of Revelation, which had proven at least somewhat prescient.

He checked the mirrors and threw the car into reverse backing sharply out of the driveway and onto Union Street. He put the accelerator to the floor and burned up the road.

Adrenaline thrummed through his body, his scalp tingling as if beset by a plague of methamphetamine-fueled lice.

Prior to the apocalypse, Daniel had been a conservative driver (unlike his dad, who had been an absolute maniac behind the wheel), but he was under no obligation at this point to obey traffic laws. He drove with sheer abandon and, for a few minutes, he was filled with a previously untapped ecstasy which sent waves of chills through his body.

The delight was tainted, though. The interstate was desolate, populated only by its own incorrigible ghosts, as if it yearned for all the thousands of travelers to come and utilize it once again. Daniel traveled the lonely and litter-strewn highway that looked as if it had been specifically constructed as a set piece for his own haunted memories.

The black cloud of death hung above, implacable. As he drove on, the urge to stare into the tarry squalor inhabiting the heavens was nearly irresistible. Daniel stole a glance into the alien darkness and wondered what it was, why it had come here and when—if—it would ever go away. He knew answers were likely never to be had, but his questions persisted nonetheless.

The black cloud stretched far as the eye could see, completely unfazed by Daniel’s curiosity.

Daniel drove like a bat out of hell, trying to remain focused on the road ahead. He rolled down the window down to let the wind blow through the car, swirling his long brown hair around his head.

Everything proceeded smoothly while he encountered only a few deserted cars here and there. As he got closer to the city, however, it became clear the going was not going to be quite as easy as he had hoped, the road becoming nearly impassable as he approached the first exits to downtown.

He navigated the little Mazda through clusters of tangled wrecks and burned out husks of unidentifiable vehicles until the horizon filled with skyscrapers that no longer scraped anything. Now they were simply being swallowed by the blackness of the sky.

Fear gnawed at Daniel as he entered the city. There was too much he did not know. What if a sinister tendril swooped down from that swirling blackness like Satan’s fingertip to end him? Or worse?

Daniel left the highway, winding his way through the city streets until finally he pulled into a parking garage directly across the street from his destination. There were only a handful of automobiles inhabiting the dark foreboding place.

Some of the shorter downtown buildings huddled with tops still visible beneath the gloom, but The Continuance Agency building was not so lucky. Daniel’s pulse raced as it dawned on him that the upper floors of The Agency were inside the blackness.

I’m not really going in there, am I? He had come too far to turn back, he knew, and tried to brace himself for whatever might await.

He was scared, but the gun in his waistband gave him a small amount of reassurance. He stole an anxious glance up into the inky maelstrom which swirled like a smothering blanket in the callous hands of a murderous God.

He pushed the big glass door, and of course, it didn’t budge. He almost rammed his face into the glass. Cursing his stupidity, Daniel cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his face to the glass to see inside.

As his vision came into focus, there was a loud tone. The big door he was leaning against swung inward with a whoosh, causing him to stumble inside. Two stocky security guards, heavily armed, greeted him in the lobby.

Daniel was barely able to suppress a grin. It had been so long since he had seen another living human being that he almost started babbling at the two men like an idiot.

But he stopped himself. He had no information about these people, and only a letter guiding him here. Absolutely anyone could have typed it up.

“Welcome.” Better late than never,” The guard said, his demeanor the epitome of stoicism. He quickly ushered Daniel further into the lobby, shoving the door closed behind him.

The place was enormous, every sound ridiculously amplified. Daniel felt a moment of self-consciousness as the echoes of his footsteps thundered around him. Except for the relative ruckus he was creating, the place was deathly quiet.

There was a smiling young lady busy with clerical duties at a desk in the corner. She beckoned him with one hand while writing on a note pad with the other. Daniel noticed her fingernails were chewed to the quick, and scratches and pimples covered her face and arms. The unblemished sections of her skin was so pale, it was disconcerting.

Like a corpse who has seen its own ghost, Daniel thought, and shuddered.

“Welcome to The Continuance Agency. You must be Mr. Sharpe.” She batted her eyelashes at him coyly, causing Daniel to flush. Despite her many imperfections, she was still the most beautiful girl he’d seen in a very long time.

“That’s correct,” he blurted, his social skills long since vanished. “I’m Daniel Sharpe. Here to save the world. Or what’s left of it.”

She smiled toothily, revealing age lines that surprised Daniel. Upon closer inspection, he realized she was much older than he had first thought.

“Well, that is just delightful, Daniel, can I call you Daniel?” she asked.

“Um-” Daniel started, feeling quite awkward. “Sure. And you are?”

The girl looked embarrassed all of a sudden, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. “Sorry about that. I’m Constance Smith. You can just call me Connie.”

“Nice to meet you, Connie.” Daniel stuck his hand out and Connie shook it without much enthusiasm.

She motioned for him to sit in an overstuffed armchair across the marble floor on the other side of the lobby.

Daniel thanked her, and headed toward the chair. Connie got up and walked to the opposite end of the lobby and disappeared through a door into the darkness. He sat and took inventory of his surroundings.

The room was impressive in every sense of the word. A twinkling crystal chandelier the size of a small bus dangled fifty feet above the floor. It would have been amazing, had it actually been lit. A few low wattage lamps had been placed randomly about. Rather than providing light, they only served to deepen the shadows.

They must be using generators sparingly to keep whatever electronics they used for research operational, he figured.

There was a suspicious feel permeating everything around him, though. Surely not many visited here, the formality felt contrived. Shouldn’t someone be immediately available to explain what was going on?

Several minutes passed and Daniel began to fidget, his nerves wrecked. He wondered exactly what would be expected of him here, but guessed it really did not matter.

He was here now. There were people. What else could he hope for? He would do whatever they needed.

Connie appeared before him.

“Follow me, please, Daniel.”

He rose and followed her. She ambled toward the nondescript door she had disappeared through earlier.

Daniel’s boots clop-clopped along, echoing in the massive chamber, his imagination running wild with the possibilities of what might be awaiting him.

Connie opened the door and they entered a claustrophobic corridor that appeared to stretch on forever. The floor was made of concrete and the ceiling was lined with rows of fluorescent lights that flickered spasmodically, creating an eerie ambiance.

Although nothing was funny, Daniel suddenly felt an urgent need for levity. “Thank goodness I’m not epileptic,” he quipped.

Connie giggled, but did not slow her pace. “This building is secure, but this part always makes me nervous. I’ve always been afraid of the dark.” She shot him a grave look, and he saw a glint of fear in her eyes.

It was all deeply disturbing, but Daniel kept his composure.

They approached a nondescript office door with an “Administrator” placard affixed to the frosted glass window. This was the first door Daniel had seen in the corridor, but it was possible the fluttering darkness could have masked others.

He kept his full attention squarely focused on his guide. He was afraid she might vanish if he did not keep his eyes on her, leaving him alone in this awful place.

Connie glanced back at him enigmatically and opened the door, motioning for Daniel to enter. She did not follow and closed the door quietly behind him.

The Administrator’s office was neat and well lit, replete with a water cooler and wall calendar. Normal. It was such a stark contrast to the previous corridor that Daniel had to blink his eyes to make sure it was real.

Behind a mahogany desk sat a plump aging man with a shock of silver hair, pork chop sideburns, and a fat cigar stuffed into the corner of his mouth. Like Connie, the man’s skin was disturbingly pale, nearly as silver as his hair. A halo of stale smoke floated a foot above the man’s head.

“Welcome Mister Sharpe. Please have a seat.” He pointed a sausage finger at the wooden chair on Daniel’s side of the desk.

Daniel sat. There was a sharp pain as the gun in his waistband wedged uncomfortably into his back. In his wonder, he had forgotten he had brought the piece in with him.

Through the haze of smoke, the old man looked like the dealer at a back-room poker game. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but possessed an air of knowledge that betrayed his stodgy appearance. Those eyes penetrated Daniel like twin polygraph machines. Daniel shuffled in his seat in a vain attempt to get comfortable. “The name’s Edward Jenkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you, son”

Daniel sat and waited for Jenkins to say something more, anything to break the ice. It was two minutes of nerve-wracking anticipation.

“We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it . . . especially after Darryl never returned,” Jenkins finally said.

Daniel remembered the screaming man who’d shown up at his front door and realized he’d never even thought about his name.

After a minute that stretched on for a thousand eternities, Daniel responded, “That man . . . Darryl . . . made it to my house, but . . .” he reached within to find the words to finish the sentence, but it was too horrible. He simply shook his head sadly.

Jenkins waved his hand in front of his face. The motion corrupted the doughnut-shaped smoke cloud into a hundred swirling ghosts.

“I’m glad he made it. I am deeply saddened he lost his life in the process. He was a brave man, not unlike you. He was like us, he survived. He got to you, and that was his mission.”

Jenkins’ tone was so solemn that Daniel thought the man might break down in tears.

Rather than speak, Daniel simply nodded his head in the affirmative.

Until this point, Jenkins’ countenance had been impassive, stoic even, but at last, he broke into a hearty, paternal smile. Wrinkles creased his features like his face had broken out into canyons.

“My dear boy,” Jenkins beamed, “it is a great moment in your life. Making the decision to contribute to our species’ survival, rather than cowering in the corner hoping the big bad wolf doesn’t blow your house down, is not only the right choice, but the noble one.”

Jenkins puffed his cigar and then his eyes opened up wider than they had yet. “Forgive me, Daniel. I forgot my manner. Would you care for a Cohiba?”

Daniel considered it for a moment, but he had never been a smoker, and now probably wasn’t a good time to start. “No thanks.”

“Your loss. I’m sure you have lots of question for me?”

Daniel was all nerves now. Sweat had beaded up on his forehead and leaked steadily from his armpits. He lifted a hand from the arm of his chair and saw a wet print left behind. He was embarrassed.

“Daniel?”

There were many questions that came to mind, but one outweighed all the others.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked.

“Good question, my boy.” Jenkins appeared to relax a little bit. It was the question he must have been waiting for.

Daniel reminded himself that this could all be a ruse, but he could not come up with a reason to truly believe that.

“You see, we didn’t know where you were. We’ve sent scouts out for the last few months because we have all been through the tests and we still haven’t come up with anything tangible yet. I’ll let the Doc fill you in on all the medical mumbo-jumbo. But we’ve been running recon missions for some time now. Darryl swept your neighborhood one day a few weeks ago and reported that he had observed you coming out of Long’s Hardware Store and had followed you home. We sent him back to your place last week and he never returned.”

Had it only been a week? It felt longer than that to Daniel. He tried to count how many showers he had taken since the scout had perished while he had watched through the window. He could not do it accurately.

“So, have you found anyone else?” Daniel asked. He made a mental note to ask Jenkins how the people in the building had all met in the first place.

“We have found a few, Daniel. There were more survivors than we had hoped for out there.” Jenkins chuckled with a noticeable lack of humor at his own comment.

“So the others,” he asked, “are they still here?”

“Yes, they are.” Jenkins said. “Actually, they aren’t all here, still. Two of them, a couple I might add, a husband and wife of twenty years, just turned around and walked out. We never saw them again. That was a month ago. They were the first ones we found. Everyone since them has stayed here. And you’re welcome too, of course.”

Daniel was listening to Jenkins politely, his underarms dripping sweat in anticipation of whatever experiment was to come. All of a sudden he had to know what they were planning to do to him.

“Well, I’m here. So what happens next?” he asked. He didn’t want to be impolite, but they really had not provided adequate information in the invitation.

Jenkins chuckled. He stood and rounded his desk, a task that appeared to require considerable effort.

“My dear boy, I think it’s time you met the team. What do you say? They can fill you in on all the details.”

There was no turning back now. “Okay. I’d like that a lot, Mr. Jenkins,” Daniel said. There was a contingency plan in place. He would not act too suspicious right now, but if things got weird, he had his gun, and he would not be afraid to use it.

“Please, call me Ed, son.” Mr. Jenkins said. He held his meaty hand out and Daniel shook it, aware that he would be engulfing the man’s hand in a sweaty glove, but what the hell?

As an afterthought, Daniel asked “Place looks deserted. Where is everybody else?”

“Well, there are two men, Andy and Tom. They both reside on the second floor which most of the staff calls home. Then there is the girl. I can’t think of her name, but she stays on the first floor. We have high hopes for her, as she has proven quite the specimen. We just need to find a male that shares the same traits. That’s the best way I can explain it. Now we just have to hope your labs produce similar results, and we might just have our answers.”

Daniel let this sink in. His mind was reeling.

Jenkins was leaning with his posterior against the desk, two feet away from Daniel now, his cigar clogging the air.

“I hope so, too, sir.”

There was a knock at the door, and a mousy-looking man entered without waiting for an answer.

He was a small man with wild, gray hair and wilder, gray eyes sunken into a gray face shrink-wrapped to his skull. Although meager in build, he had a firm, square jaw and a gaze that could melt Sherman tanks. He was wearing a fuzzy sweater with a jolly snowman on it.

“All right, my boy,” Jenkins said, “Please follow my assistant. He’ll take you to the lab for the tests.”

“Thanks for everything, mister—uh, Ed. Thanks, Ed.” Daniel felt stupid, but he was summarily swept out the door by Ed’s ham hocks and he found himself in the seizure-inducing corridor with the skeleton man.

“After many attempts to understand the origin of the cloud, we have come up with nothing, I am afraid. The how and why are baffling questions. However, our scientists have been more concerned with discovering ways to help what’s left of the human race adapt to the new environment.”

Daniel struggled to keep pace with the assistant. It was dark, and he didn’t know the terrain, so he had to watch his step. Deeper down the corridor all the lights were out and darkness encroached. Way off in the distance, a green EXIT sign glowed though the gloom like a mirage.

The relief that single green word brought was enormous.

The sign was stationed over a narrow wooden door that had been blasted with a shotgun at some point. Once again, he was uncomfortably aware of the pistol rubbing against his back.

The assistant pulled the door open on a brightly lit room. As Daniel’s eyes became more accepting of the light, he took in a sterile, starkly illuminated laboratory.

The lab was huge. It was the size of a high school gymnasium, packed with tables cluttered with beakers and test tubes and all sorts of machines Daniel could not name. It was an impressive sight. Half a dozen white coated men and women—presumably scientists—scurried here and there, involved in all manner of important-looking tasks. This was not exactly what Daniel had expected to see. He was not entirely sure what it was he had expected, but he had envisioned less, for some reason.

“I see my tax dollars are going to good use.”

One of the white-coats looked up with a smirk. He strode over to greet the new arrival.

“Forgive me,” he blurted, “I was so busy I almost didn’t notice you there. My name is Herbert Dawson, and I am in charge of research here.” He was a wiry man with a bald head and a fuzzy gray caterpillar snuggling on his upper lip. He smiled and shook hands.

“Daniel Sharpe. Nice to meet you.”

Dawson nodded at Jenkins’ assistant and said, “James, always a pleasure.”

James grunted and walked away. He wandered over to a refrigerator in the corner and began rummaging around.

Herb Dawson was a full head taller than Daniel, but thin and wispy, fragile even. He swept a long arm towards the many workstations in the lab and beamed. He was obviously proud of the work they were doing here.

“My colleagues are involved in their work right now, so forgive me for not making formal introductions. These folks have worked tirelessly to understand the nature of what we are calling ‘the black-out,’ for lack of a better term. All of them hell-bent on finding a way to reverse the situation and begin the daunting task of bringing back society as we remember it. Only, it has not proven easy. I don’t know if we’ll ever know the answers to those questions, but we do hope to unlock the mystery of why some of us were able to survive.”

He did not wait for Daniel to respond, continuing on. “I have spearheaded the movement to bring us back from the dead as a planet. No small task, if I do say so myself.”

Daniel found himself at a loss for words. This was all too good to be true. “So, what’s the prognosis? I guessed from what Mr. Jenkins said that you’re close to a breakthrough of some kind, but you need me for some reason.”

“The young lady that came before you gave us much to be hopeful for. Now we just need to find someone possessing similar traits. I sure hope you’re the right man, that you have what we’re looking for, Mr. Sharpe.”

Daniel’s heartbeat accelerated, thumping against his breast bone as if it had suddenly realized it was trapped within a man’s chest and was now desperately attempting to break free. Dawson had said “the young lady.” He wondered if he would meet the “young lady” any time soon. That sounded nice.

“I’m so proud to be a part of it all. Let’s do this.” Powerful emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he was afraid they might dampen this powerful moment.

“All right, Mr. Sharpe. There’s no time like the present.” Without further delay, he turned and began walking quickly toward the far side of the lab. He led Daniel through the workspace and out another door with another green EXIT sign posted above it. They entered an unlit stairwell which led up into utter darkness. Here we go again, Goddammit, Daniel thought, grimly.

Dawson pulled a slim flashlight out of his coat pocket and turned it on. Although the thing was tiny, it emitted a powerful beam, illuminating a blue path for them.

Daniel was uneasy, but he climbed the stairs after Dawson.

He was sweating, fear knotting within him, when they arrived at their landing. His nerves already frayed, all he could think about was how they were ascending closer and closer to the dark death cloud. But Dawson and the others appeared unafraid, so he trusted they knew what they were doing.

The door opened onto a floor much like a hotel hallway, rooms spaced at regular intervals. An ornate carpet stretched the distance of the corridor, busy with depictions of different tropical fruits and palm trees.

They approached the first room in the hallway and Dawson turned and regarded Daniel solemnly.

“Please, Mr. Sharpe. Your room awaits.”

Daniel beheld the singular most stunning layout he could have imagined. The room was furnished with a king-size, four-poster bed as its centerpiece. There were bookshelves and armoires adorning the walls. All of it looked really expensive. The bed was lavishly adorned with satin sheets, oversized pillows, and a comforter that looked like a person could drown in it. The walls were floor to ceiling monitors depicting scenes from another lifetime. The canals of Venice were displayed upon one. Another boasted a view from the apex of Mt. Everest. Yet another revealed a staggering view of The Grand Canyon. They all featured dazzlingly blue skies and sunshine in the background.

Dawson was clearly overjoyed by Daniel’s reaction. “Comfort is the key here, Daniel. In case you were wondering why we don’t run all the lights in the rest of the building, well . . . now you understand.”

“It’s breathtaking, Dr. Dawson.” Daniel was intoxicated. He had not seen the sun in so long, he could not remember. He was suddenly struck by the fact that he really did not know what year it was, which made him giggle.

Dawson bustled around the room, checking for things Daniel did not bother wondering about. He had discovered the ceiling and stared transfixed at it. Here was another giant screen, displaying another blue sky, this one with puffy white clouds drifting lazily by.

Dawson looked pleased and slightly anxious, a bad mix that contorted his features. His giant mustache twitched.

“Okay, Mr. Sharpe. Please undress and leave your clothes on the chair over there by the far wall. There is a gown lying there; put it on, and make yourself comfortable on the bed.”

Daniel undressed slowly, covertly rolling his gun into the legs of his jeans. He was not sure but he figured there were cameras in here. If that were the case, there was no sense in hiding it, but he felt he had to. He was pretty sure he would not need the gun, anyway. He rolled his jeans around the pistol and left all of it where Dawson had designated.

The gown was a good fit, but he felt self-conscious with his bottom exposed, so he hurried over to the bed and climbed atop it.

It was pure luxury, and Daniel felt as if he could sleep here for centuries. A door opened in the only wall not currently displaying a majestic backdrop, and three women dressed in green scrubs entered the room.

Daniel was so comfortable he nearly fell asleep while the nurses took his vitals and attached him to monitoring devices.

According to the nametags, the nurses were Helen, Lisa and Sheila.

Helen was about fifty, pale like everyone else here, but her streaming blonde hair and radiant blue eyes made her a wonder to behold. These nurses were old enough to be Daniel’s mother, but he found them so alluring he nearly wept. He chalked this up to the fact he had not seen a woman in ages, and now he had met four in one day

“I’m going to give you a mild sedative now, Daniel,” she paused. “Is it okay if I call you Daniel?”

“Danny would be fine,” he said.

Helen smiled warmly, “Okay, Danny. What I’m giving you is going to induce twilight sleep. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, it simply means you will be under, but not as deep as surgical anesthetic would have you.”

Daniel was confused. “Why do you have to put me to sleep? Aren’t I only giving some blood samples?”

Helen nodded. “You are going to have blood drawn, but we are also going to be poking and prodding around a little bit and you’ll be more comfortable this way.”

She sensed his apprehension and squeezed his hand encouragingly. “There’s nothing to worry about, Danny. I promise.”

Daniel warily assented to the sedative. Sheila came around to the side of the bed and he felt a pinch and then a sensation like ice water pouring into his vein as the nurse administered the medicine through an IV. He loathed the idea of being put under, of losing control, of being oblivious to anything that might happen to him, but there was no option here. He focused on the hope that something good would come of it all. This was well worth it. He stared up into the virtual firmament above him and waited to go to sleep.

For Humanity, he thought.

Dawson returned, and approached Daniel’s side. He put a cold hand around Daniel’s wrist, checking his pulse. Satisfied with his findings, he dropped the wrist back onto the soft comforter.

As he turned to go about setting up for the test, Daniel felt the effects of the anesthetic start to take hold. The room’s temperature dropped sharply as a booming crash resounded from somewhere above. A palpable fear filled the room.

Daniel was confused. This place was supposed to be safe.

Unable to move or cry out in protest, Daniel stared in horror as the cloud bunnies and elephants that had been floating so benignly across the ceiling shattered. An explosion of glass shards fell downward, blanketing the room in glittering fragments.

The gaping hole in the ceiling transfixed Daniel even as the sedative took hold. He was greeted by the unfathomable, nothing mattered now but the void. He gazed deeply into the blackness and to his horror, saw the swirling movement within.

His mind scrambled for understanding before the darkness uncoiled out of the ceiling and the tendril whipped its way around the room. From within the spinning black, innumerable eyes stared back at him with detached coolness. Hysterics erupted around him, but there was no reason to care. He saw Sheila fall and stand up again, chunks of glass protruding from bleeding wounds on her face and hands.

The living darkness sucked the light from the room. It began to shred apart, wispy tendrils twisting around one another, playfully flitting about.

Daniel screamed inwardly as the darkness descended on him. All of his fears had materialized before him. His instincts had proven true. The building was no more secure than the wide open fields he had driven through to come here. The inky sludge surrounded him and he watched helpless as the door was flung open and the nurses went tumbling through it to escape. Daniel lost control of his bladder and felt the last bit of consciousness slipping away from him. He struggled desperately to fight against the medicine. Why had he agreed to be put to sleep?

The wraiths flowed in and out above his face for a moment, questing, and then, incredibly, lost interest in him. Without a noise, the mass coalesced and receded.

The doctor crouched in the corner, weeping. Daniel wanted to tell him it was going to be okay. It was going away, see ya later screwy!

Up until the very last moment, even Dawson even appeared to believe that. Then the black wave broke over him, sweeping Dawson violently into the air above the bed. His screams pierced through the Daniel’s veil of drugs, drawing him back into the real world.

The swirling blackness ripped the doctor to bloody bits, then twisted back out from whence it came. As the mass of madness swirled up into itself, Daniel closed his eyes and let darkness consume him.