One Candle From Dark
Short Story
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The following story was written when I visited my brother in Kansas. The setting was obviously influenced by the environment. This story has appeared in a couple of anthologies. It still remains a favorite of mine due to the negative character arc that Jane goes through. She gradually deteriorates while simultaneously showing more and more strength of character. It’s left up to you to decide what happens immediately after the story ends. It could go either way, as you’ll see.
Namaste!
Eric
Copyright © 2017 by Eric S. Martell
Visit the author's website at www.ericmartellauthor.com
Second Initiative Press
5831 Wilson Road Venice, Florida, USA 34293-6885
Printed in the USA
Preface
Who isn't fascinated by the idea of the Apocalypse? The Carrington Event in 1859 involved a solar flare that was so powerful it destroyed telegraph equipment all over the globe. If such an event happened today, it's been estimated that nine out of ten people would be dead within the year. The survivors might not be so lucky, either. Here's an example.
One Candle From Dark
She'd been angry when Tom bought the case of candles. Each one of the thin white tapers seemed a nail in the coffin of their slowly dying marriage. At first, she'd thought his penchant for storing emergency supplies was cute, but then, when money became scarce, it had seemed stupid and paranoid. Now she was glad that she had the candles. They kept the ghosts at bay.
All of the supplies were running low. It was only a matter of time before the little lights were gone, and the ghosts would get her.
The wind was starting to pick up. Jane stood on her front porch and looked at the dark southern sky. A storm was coming. From the darkness and the flickering lightning, it was going to be a serious one. Perhaps it would cool things off. It had been unseasonably hot since the flash.
She glanced over her shoulder into the darkened house. The lace curtains in the kitchen were blowing in the wind coming through the screen. It blew in strong gusts every day but gradually died down as evening progressed, leaving the nights to swelter in the unusual heat.
She entered the house, bypassing the kitchen, taking one slow step at a time, glancing at the dark corners. She wearily trudged up the stairs to the master bedroom. There she looked out the window, down at the distant road.
She thought about lighting a candle. She'd always hated the dark, and now that the ghosts were here, she hated it even more. It was winning. The blackness would eventually conquer everything. As far as she knew, she was the sole point of light left in the world. She looked at the candle box for a moment.
Returning her attention to the south, she sighed deeply and hoped no one would start up the long driveway toward her house. The area behind the barn wasn't a place she wanted to visit again, but she knew she'd have to go back there eventually.
Tom had gone off to work as usual on the last normal day. He drove over to the Cummins' house to pick up George. The two men worked at an aircraft plant almost one hundred miles away. That was the best employment available near the lightly populated, rural area. The commute had seemed worthwhile, given their debts and reduced income.
Jane had watched Tom drive down the hill from their house. She had seen George climb in from where he'd been standing by his mailbox. The pickup had turned onto the main road trailing a cloud of dust, and vanished. She'd gone about her daily chores, feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, and then tending to the garden behind the house.
The garden was Jane's primary interest. The vegetables were thriving, even though it was still early in the year. Now that the unseasonable weather had set in, it seemed like the corn shot up inches every day. It wouldn't be long before the ears were ripening. She'd never seen as productive a growing season. Maybe it was the heat. The sun seemed brighter, somehow.
She'd been bent over, weeding the potatoes, when the flash happened. She wasn't sure what had occurred, just that it suddenly grew brighter. She straightened and looked around, puzzled. It was almost like the sun had been shaded by some high clouds that had suddenly disappeared. She shrugged, then turned to the house. It was time for a break, and she was thirsty.
The lights wouldn't come on in the kitchen. Irritated, she checked the other rooms. It looked like the power was out. The stupid electric company couldn't seem to keep the service going. It went off at irregular periods, and she was used to that. It'd come on eventually.
Jane continued working on her chores until lunchtime. She threw some greens to the chickens, checked on the two goats, and worked some more in the garden.
The power still wasn't on when she went in for lunch, so she made herself a ham sandwich, closing the refrigerator door quickly to conserve the small amount of cold that was still in the machine. If the power didn't come on soon, she'd start to lose food. That irritated her, and so did the fact that the phone was out. She couldn't even call to report an outage.
At two pm, as on every weekday, she walked down the hill to check the mail. The box at the end of the mile-long drive was empty. Either the mail carrier hadn't come, or there was no mail for them today. That made her happy. Most days, the thought of the bills waiting in the mailbox was depressing. The absence of mail was pleasant, and the long journey back up the hill to the house seemed easier as a result.
Tom was due home by eight. She hated the dark house and the dark corners of the rooms, but it would be better when he returned unless they started fighting again. The arguments were wearing her out. No, the arguments were erasing their love; that was what was happening. Their discord was slowly putting out the light in her life.
She'd lit a candle as dusk gradually morphed into night. She was beginning to worry since he still hadn't arrived.
She tried to dial his number, but the cell system was down, or perhaps her phone wasn't working correctly. It was off, and she couldn't get it to start. She thought about charging it, but the power was still off.
It was a long, hot night. The wind had died, and the still air held more heat than was usual for this time of year. She tossed fitfully on top of the sheets in their second-floor bedroom. Tom's absence made her nervous. Their relationship had been deteriorating for months due to the financial stress when she'd lost her job, but she still relied on his presence. Something about his quiet competence made her feel secure.
He wasn't back by morning. Jane was forced to consider the idea that he might have had an accident. She had some cereal for breakfast. Might as well use up the milk before it went bad. The refrigerator was now no more than a storage cabinet. She cleaned out the spoiling food, shaking her head at the waste.
Somewhere Tom had a solar-powered radio. That might help with her isolation. She dug around in the spare room upstairs. That was where he kept the bulk of their emergency supplies. Eventually, she found the radio. It was still in the original packaging, hidden from view behind some boxes of ammunition.
The sun was shining brightly, and the radio powered up quickly, but there was nothing to receive. Turning up the volume only resulted in static. There weren't any stations broadcasting. She couldn't find anything from one end of the dial to the other. She went back inside and sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.
She watched the wind blow the lace curtains, her mind blank. After a time, there was a faint noise. She could hear a shrill screaming blowing up the hill, carried on the wind. She laboriously climbed to her feet and looked out the window.
The sound was coming from the Cummins' house across the road. It shouldn't have carried to her, but some trick of the wind seemed to waft it into her kitchen. Jane scrounged around for her binoculars. She used those for bird watching, but now they seemed perfect for spying on her neighbors.
She couldn't clearly see what was going on. Their house was too far for that, but she could see that it was on fire. Smoke was carried down the wind at an increasing rate. The fire seemed to be out of control.
She stiffened attentively as two figures came out of the house and trotted down the sidewalk. As they walked away, Mary Cummins came out of the house, stumbling across the porch. One of the figures turned back and raised something in its hand.
Jane heard a shot. Mary Cummins tumbled forward off the porch, rolling down the steps in a flurry of arms and legs to land, unmoving, on the front walk. The two figures turned and continued toward the road.
Jane watched for a moment, trying to hold the binoculars steady although her hands were shaking. The next obvious target for the two marauders was her house. They were coming directly toward her drive. She was ready to panic, but then she found a degree of control in the thought that the two were on foot and it would take them several minutes to get to her door. She dropped the binoculars and dashed for the gun case.
That was another thing that she and Tom had fought over. He owned more firearms than she felt necessary or even prudent. Now she was glad that he'd forced her to learn to shoot the light hunting rifle. She could manage its smaller caliber, and it had a good telescopic sight. She located the gun, fumbled for some cartridges, and loaded the magazine.
It took three attempts for her shaking hands to insert the magazine into the well on the bottom of the weapon, but it finally clicked in. She released the bolt lock. The mechanism slammed shut with a solid, metallic sound, carrying a cartridge into the chamber. The rifle was ready. Was she?