Hello readers!
This is the third and final installment of this short fiction story. Be sure to catch up on the previous installments before going any further.
Raul sat with crossed legs on a worn wooden chair in the empty town hall reading a leather-bound book with no inscriptions on the cover. He closed it with a slap when we approached.
“Good to see you again, folks!” he said cheerfully.
“We thought it over and decided to camp her for a while.” Lauren twisted the corner of her shirt.
“Wonderful! Let’s get you down to see the others.”
We went back through the corridor to the tall doors. We descended deeper than before with the air getting cooler before it got cozy. In the underground cavern, which was several stories high, was a sprawling neighborhood of concrete homes decorated with beautiful hand painted tile in blue hues. The homes were well worn and broken in, as if there for a long time.
“This is Tom, he’ll be helping you get settled,” Raul said, gesturing toward a man with kind eyes turned down at the corners and rough looking hands.
“Pleasure,” Tom said with a quick nod to each of us.
Tom led us down the streets of the town, passed a potter forming bowls with clay. His graceful hands quickly drew a cylinder outward. We passed another home where a woman was painting tiles with a few children. Further still was a tiny house with a tall vase of wheat reeds next to the open doorway.
“This is yours. Give a holler if you need anything.”
The quarters were bare, but clean. There was a front room with wooden chairs, a few small pillows and a coffee table. The far left wall had a large sink with a few of the potter’s dishes and some utensils on the counter. The back room held a full bed on a sturdy wooden frame with fresh sheets. Dried flowers lay in small glass cup on the nightstand, still fragrant. A small wall separated a tiled area with a water pump and washing basin. Next to it, a squatting toilet.
“Shit. It’s better than home, at least,” Rachel scoffed.
“Yeah. Nice,” I said. But it was strange. If there was water, food, and community, who would leave?
“Maybe the previous resident died,” Rachel finally said, answering my thoughts.“Probably.”
I looked under the bed. Spotless.
We went out onto the street and light bathed the town from carved skylights above. Rachel rolled her shoulders and walked ahead of me. I lagged behind and looked around. Tradespeople dotted the town, amongst playing children, and languid readers. All open doorways, all pleasant faces.
We came to the home with the children painting tile and Rachel lingering in the doorway, speaking to the instructor. From afar, it was animated and joyful. It was the first I’d seen Rachel laugh in a long time and I cracked a smirk myself seeing it. A hand offered a cup of sloshing water and Rachel took it, disappearing inside.
Rachel asked to join the activity and the woman placed a new piece of tile on the table in front of her. Rachel painted a charming beach scene and scrawled her name and age in the bottom left corner. Just then, Tom appeared in the doorway.
“How do like things so far, Ray?”
“Oh they’re fine. The house is nice,” I nodded. “Though I gotta ask…”
I motioned for him to walk with me. I pressed my lips against my face, trying to find the words.
“Where do get all the water?” I whispered.
Tom smiled. “I knew you’d ask. You see, we moved underground before the fall. One of our founders worked for the government and knew about this reservoir. He had the presence of mind to well… steal the records and take a group to live down here. Over five years we built homes and learned to survive here. When the time came, only the lucky survived the initial blasts, starvation and depravity took others. Meanwhile we stayed down here, building a life without the surface, though sometimes we like the change of scenery. Populations thinned and scattered, slowly dying out, but we remained, thanks to the founders.”
Tom’s linen pants swayed and patted his ankles as he walked barefooted. We strolled in silence passed a lush garden of vegetables. Tom pointed toward a narrowing and darkened area of the cavern.
“Through there, that leads to the reservoir. Every so often, one of us goes back there to check it out, make sure it’s clean.”
I must have wrinkled my brow because he turned to me, concerned.
“What? What did you think was back there?”
“Bodies?” I joked awkwardly.
Tom threw his head back and cackled. “Oh man. No. We keep those in the kitchen.”
He patted my back. I hid a smile and nodded, looking down onto the rocky floor below.
“You can relax now.”
We lounged around the rest of the day, meeting more members of the town, and having our first meal out of the ground instead of a beaten can. A colorful mixture of vegetables floated in a flavorful and thick broth. That night we washed off the dust and curled into those cool sheets. Our slumber that night was heavy.
The next morning, after breakfast, Tom sent word that Raul wanted to see us in the town hall. We trekked up the steps and met Raul in the vestibule near the iron doors. Raul turned to us with a chiseled and sinister face. He looked up with dark eyes that pierced right through us.
Two burly men noiselessly crept behind us, flanking on both sides, each of them putting a hand on our shoulders.
“You killed Daniel,” Raul said.
My breath quickened and I swallowed hard. “How’d you know?”
“You stuffed him down one of our skylights,“ Raul said bitterly. “Now, Ray, I like you, but I like Rachel better. She’ll stay right here safe and sound with us, while you take Daniel’s place.”
“Doing what?” The man behind me dug his fingers into my shoulder.
“Hunting… for people.”
“And then what? Bring them here?”
“Yes.”
My mind swirled as I thought of how Daniel had wanted to take the car. Was he trying to get away or increase his chances of gather more newcomers?
“You need to get us people, Ray” Raul said, fondling a lock of Rachel’s hair. “Or else.” His face was laid plain with wide and innocent eyes. He briefly smiled, then turned toward the door with his hands clenched behind his back.
We were too far to reach for each other’s hands, but the air was suddenly thick with dust and heat. We struggled to catch our breaths. The man shoved me further down the hallway and I watched helplessly as Rachel’s swelling and tearful face was pulled behind the slamming door.
Out on the ridge, I searched for the spot where we’d buried Daniel and his body had already been removed. The heat beat on my back as I unfurled the heavy tarp and got in my car. The engine roared alive and I took to the road, scratched and scraped by blowing dust, searching. If I could just find a replacement, I would see Rachel again.
A woman shuffled out to a spice cabinet and threw open its creaky doors. The rub needed more garlic and salt. She topped off the colorful mix and blended it with her hand. She crouched above a large cauldron with hunks of meat inside.
“Michael, did you save the feet?” she called.
“Yes, Ma!”
The woman took big pinches of the rub, spreading the seasoning like a dusting of snow. She clapped her hands to release stubborn grains, hunched over with one hand on the edge of the cauldron, and massaged the meat with the other.
“That’ll do nicely.”
She covered the cauldron. The woman straightened up and cracked her back, weary from the day’s work. She shuffled out of the kitchen.
Lauren’s tan shirt lay blood-stained and crumpled beside a long metal table. Blood drops froze in their descent to the cold, smooth tile below.
In the long hallway of the town hall, next to the other painted tiles, Raul pressed in a new one into wet mortar: Lauren, 33.
Were you expecting that ending? I wasn’t either. It can be difficult to create a serial without a prior plan, but the challenge in picking up a story and bringing it to a logical close is probably what television writers face. It’s practice and the more I do it, the more I see upfront how to craft that story.
Each venture is one where I learn how I can do better. Could there have been more character development? Am I keeping the piece’s voice consistent? Does the plot make sense? They are all considerations and writing bravely (take that Brené), means doing that with you every two weeks.
Thanks for sticking with me.
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Have you heard the news? You can now read The FLARE in the new Substack app for iPhone. Android is in development, but you can get on the waitlist here. I’ve been trying it out this week and I love it! You’ll find my Substack in your inbox, as well as any others you subscribe to. No more email filters swallowing posts. And commenting is a breeze. No pressure, though! You can opt to keep your emails if you’d like. Also, the developers have been so open to feedback so I’m confident it’ll get better and better.
If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve heard that I was recently published by Bag of Bones Press for their 206 Word Story Horror Anthology. My story, “One Fine Day” has a cozy little spot on page 62. Hurray! I’m a distinguished, published author now. Please clap. But did you know I submitted a second entry that didn’t make it? Let me know in the comments if you’d like to see it in a future newsletter.
One more thing! I started a podcast/interview series with fellow Substacker Diane Hatz of Whole Health. We’re excited about what’s to come since we hosted a Twitter Space last month and really enjoyed the conversation. I’ll soon have the episodes cross-posted here, but for now, head over to Diane’s for a listen:
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You made cool buttons for navigation! I didn't know such a thing could be done 😄😏 I'm not tech illiterate, just a little slow getting started
I hope you're writing something for that cli-fi challenge 😏💰