Kyle West - Darkness

I strained my ears, listening for the slightest sound. There was nothing but maddening silence and total darkness. From somewhere beyond, I heard the clicking of metal on metal and the periodic drip of water. I could hear my own heart beating.

“Hello?”

My voice, so weak, seemed like a shout in the near silence. I tried standing again. I forced myself to my feet, finding that they, at least, were not bound. I stumbled, falling forward. I stretched out my bound hands, connecting with a cold metal wall. I coughed, the sound echoing loudly. My space was confined. I felt along the wall, and it took a moment and came back to where I’d started. I traced a small square around my cell, perhaps three paces by three paces in area.

I was a prisoner.

I started feeling along the wall again, hoping to find where the door was. After a moment, my fingers brushed along an indentation. Reaching out both hands, I found that two indentations ran in parallel lines up and down. It was definitely a door. I felt along the surface of the door, hoping to find a latch or knob. There was nothing. I pushed against it and heard the lock click in place.

I stood for a moment, feeling numb all over. There was nothing I could do. I had to wait until someone came for me.

Thankfully — or perhaps not so thankfully — footsteps approached from the outside. I stepped back against the far wall, as distant as possible from the door. I felt as if it were my executioner coming.

The door opened, letting in dim light, still too bright after being in the dark cell for so long. When my eyes adjusted, I saw a woman maybe in her late twenties. She had long black hair, held a candle, and wore a stained white dress. Even in the weak light, her blue eyes were wide, fearful, and haunting. Her face was thin, as was her form.

“Come with me,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

In her voice I felt a sadness such as I’d never known. Maybe that sadness was from the fact that she had lived her entire life underground and didn’t know anything different. Or maybe it was something deeper. The voice was almost…inhuman, as if all the life had been stripped from it. Could living here under the control of that man really be that horrible?

The woman led me from my cell. I followed her down a dark and closed hallway. Doors lined either side — additional cells, the doors of which were closed. I wondered if anyone else was being kept in them. For now, it was me and the woman.

“Where are you taking me?”

She didn’t respond. Her long dress hid her feet and gave her the ghostly appearance of gliding.

She reached a set of metal steps. As she started up, the only sounds were our footsteps — my heavy boots, thunderous in the close confines of the hallway, and the patter of her bare feet.

We reached the top of the stairs, entering what appeared to be a small rec room. The space was dark and obviously hadn’t been kept up. Fifteen years for dust to collect. Fifteen years for furniture to disintegrate.

Fifteen years for people to go crazy.

The girl quickly snuffed out the candle with two fingers, giving way to the interior fluorescent lights that shined weakly. They cast a sickly blue along the walls, the worn furniture. From the shadows of a corner stepped the man — the same one who had attacked us above. From instinct, my bound hands went to my side, finding nothing.

“Untie him,” the man said.

The woman rushed to obey. Within seconds, the rough rope had fallen to the floor. I rubbed my wrists, trying to work feeling back into them. The woman scooped up the rope and began to coil it for reuse later.

The man stood in the center of the room. He wore a dark denim coat with dark pants, and by the light I could see his features a little more clearly. He was surprisingly young — perhaps in his early thirties. Everything about him was dark — his clothing, his eyes, his hair, long and to his shoulders but still surprisingly kempt. He also had a beard, but it was short and trimmed. He was tall and fit and carried an aura of command. There was nothing cruel about his features — from appearance, he looked like a good person — stately, even. But I knew that this was not the case because of how he had attacked us earlier. It was his eyes that got to me most. Empty. Hollow. It was like staring into twin abysses.

I felt as if I were looking into the eyes of a man with no soul, or at least, a man who had buried his soul so deeply that the only thing left was…I didn’t know. What I did know was that he gave off a creepy, infectious vibe.

Then it hit me. Looking at him was like staring into their eyes.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” the man said. “You may return to your duties.”

As Elizabeth left the room, the man’s eyes turned on me. His gaze was piercing and seemed to see into my core. I didn’t falter, but met his stare head-on. A younger version of me might have looked away, but I had seen too much to be intimidated by this man.

“Forgive the confinement, Alex,” the man said. “We have never had Outsiders visit, but we take the safety and integrity of the Community very seriously.”

“The Community? And how do you know my name?”

“We are the Community,” the man said, gesturing around the empty room. He gave a small smile, in realization that we were the only ones here. “And I heard one of your friends speak your name.” The man paused. “We of the Community are close in heart and purpose. Whatever threatens that heart and purpose is darkness. Anything that stands in the way of the Ascension is darkness — the rebirth of the New Humanity upon the face of the world.” He paused to look at me closer. “I am Elias Greene, Voice and Prophet.”

I tensed at his use of the word “Voice” — it was too evocative of the Radaskim . And what he said before directly referenced the Voice. Did these people — this Community, as Elias called it — worship Askala?

“Where are my friends?”

“They are safe, I assure you. You cannot be reunited with them yet.” Elias fixed his gaze on me more intensely. “How did you come upon Bunker 84?”

At this point, I couldn’t see how any lie would serve me, so I offered him a version of the truth.

“I am part of a group of survivors,” I said. “We are a recon team looking for a place to shelter for the winter. We thought no one would be in here. According to our records, this place went offline fifteen years ago.”

“I did my job well, then.”

“We came here because we knew Bunker 84 was large. We need the space to accommodate everyone for the winter.” I sighed. “I guess that’s the least of my concerns now.”

“How many do you have?” Elias asked.

I paused. “Over a thousand.”

Elias blinked just once — a small sign of his surprise. He had not expected that, clearly.

“One thousand.” He paused, as if considering. “What group? The Raiders?”

So Elias did know at least something about the Outside. I would have to be careful about what I told him; information was power, and I did not want to give him too much of it, as he was already in a powerful position. Giving just enough to satisfy his curiosity forced me to walk a tightrope — balancing between too much and too little.

“Yes,” I said. “Raiders are with us, among others. Things have changed in the Wasteland. The Blights are starting to take over everything.” I paused. “You do know about those, right?”

Elias nodded. His eyes were more knowing than I would have thought. The glimmer of a smile came at hearing this news.

“The time is coming, then,” Elias said. “One day, all of the world will be united under the rule of the Voice.” He nodded his head, almost as if in a prayerful bow.