Deadman - Book 2 Chapter 30: The Black Sand that Whispers and Seeks Flame

Book 2 Chapter 30: The Black Sand that Whispers and Seeks Flame

It was two more days of walking before I had any indication that I was making progress. The radio had gone from having two stations I could listen to, down to one, then back to just static. On the horizon I saw a thin black line, that I initially thought was just the edge of my vision, but as I approached that black line grew thicker, and thicker, until in front of me was a desert of black sand. I remembered then what the Pilgrim I’d met had said.

Through the forest of teeth, across the metal wastes, walk without rhythm as you cross the abyss, they will notice you otherwise, the black sand whispers and seeks flame, do not give it what it wants. Follow this path and you will find paradise.

This must’ve been the black sand that whispered and sought flame. I’d already assumed that it would be what I’d encounter first. The words were based on him traveling to my side of the Cut, so for me going in the opposite direction, the lines and directions were reversed. Once I fully passed over into the area of the black sand I bent down and slid my hand through it smelling it as I let it sift through my fingers. It smelled like iron, sulfur, and something else I didn’t recognize. I stood back up and focused on listening for a few moments, but heard only the sound of wind. It seemed that whatever the ‘whisper’ was I was meant to be hearing, I either wasn’t far enough in yet, or it was just a bit of mad raving thrown in for flavor.

I found myself going over the words in my mind a few times as I started to walk across the desert of black sand. There was something I found engaging about them that made me want to repeat them over and over. They sounded like a prophecy out of one of my books. I imagined how the Ren’s would interpret it, versus how the Khan, or STAR, or even Pott’s might have considered it. They excited me, in spite of myself. Made things feel more like an adventure than a mission. I didn’t used to think of things like that, I’d remembered my cynical feelings when I’d first met the Ren’s. I could add hypocrisy to my long list of faults.

I walked for roughly a mile, finding myself completely surrounded by the black sand, and unable to see where it ended. I smelled no life aside from myself, but kept my eyes and ears open in spite of that. Eventually, I thought I heard something. A kind of droning, repetitive, sound that was just barely audible. I strained my ears, continuing to walk in the same direction I had been. Eventually the droning noise became clearer, and I recognized it as an alarm of some kind. Beyond the alarm was another sound, a voice, though while I was certain it was talking I couldn’t make out any individual words.

I kept moving, continuing to strain my ears in an attempt to hear and understand what the words were. Eventually I started making out individual words.

“Command….Fire….Requesting….Confirmation.”

I kept moving, when the voice ceased again and I was once again unable to hear it. I moved back until I could hear it again, trying to locate its source. I knew I could just keep moving, ignoring the voice, and its mystery, but my curiosity took over. One of the reasons I’d wanted to travel across the Cut was to see things no one else had ever seen. I’d become an Undertaker because I’d liked to wander, then a Postman for the same reason, and now that I was a Marshall there didn’t seem to be a limit on how far I could go.

I pulled some maps out of my pack, thinking, and marking the path with the points I’d discovered so far, and jotting down some notes. As I looked at the map, and determined exactly where I was I realized something. Some time ago, before I was officially a Marshall, I’d killed some raiders near a town called Boon. I’d investigated a bunker in which they’d found the first lasguns I’d encountered. In that same bunker I’d seen a map, and that map had markings that had corresponded to every bunker location I’d seen so far. I’d memorized it before destroying it, and I remembered now, looking at my maps, that I was very close to another one.

I ignored the voice I was trying to find, and instead, made my way toward the location I’d seen marked on my map. It was hard to judge exactly where I was. The black desert seemed long and flat, but I’d always had a keen sense of direction, even when I was riding in a crate in the back of a wagon, before I was old enough to pull it myself, I was usually able to tell where we were headed.

I reached a patch of sand that looked subtly different than the sand around it. It was slightly depressed, as if someone had dug an inch or so deep in a six foot square. I crouched down and started to dig, eventually feeling the cold sensation of metal against my fingertips. I dug more, expanding the hole I’d created until I’d revealed a hatch. It was large, and tapping on it with my fist I could tell it was thick as well. Luckily, it was also very old, with rusted corners. I found a handle and pulled, letting a bit of red mist fill my vision as I did so, my ‘adaptive empowerment’ ability activating. I heard the metal groan a bit, and felt it start to give way, when suddenly it broke off entirely. I fell backward as the hatch swung open, the sound of the alarm I’d heard earlier blaring loudly the instant the hatch door opened, along with the full voice message I’d been straining to hear.

“This is Black 1 Command. Requesting secondary confirmation to fire.” There was a brief pause of roughly ten seconds. “This is Black 1 Command. Requesting secondary confirmation to fire.” Ten more seconds and it repeated a third time.

I brought myself to my feet. There was a red light oscillating in time with the ongoing alarm. I began my descent into the hatch, the red lights and repeating noise playing havoc on my senses and putting me on edge. I ground my teeth and made my way inside. The first thing I encountered was a skeleton. It was so old that I didn’t notice the scent of death before I saw It. What was left of the clothes resembled the remains of a military uniform. I moved further in, the hallway was long and it was a long time before it began to branch off into separate rooms, and spaces. There were dormitories, spaces full of computers and plans, a map listing bunkers, a copy of the one I’d memorized to find this one. I cut it out with my knife, and folded it, placing it into my pack.

I made my way deeper inside, and found a formerly sealed room above which was labeled “Ozymandias Project”. Inside was another series of computer rows, walls covered with diagrams, and several piles of corpses. Several were lined up against the wall, a single bullet wound through their skulls, with one body, a man with a large number of medals, standing maybe eight feet away, a hole in the back of his skull, the revolver still clutched between his teeth.

I pulled the revolver out, checking its condition. It was in relatively good shape, so I dusted it off and slid it into my pack before looking around the rest of the room. Behind the largest pile of corpses, I saw a door. I peeled all the bodies away from it, finding the door riddled with scratch marks and even hints of dried blood. I pulled on the door, feeling it strain, but not give. I found the lock, pulled the cerberus out, aimed it, and fired for a sustained five seconds. By the time it was done there was a red hot circle of melted metal. I tried to open the door again, and after only minimal effort, I was able to pry it open, though it groaned as it did so.

The message was loudest in the room, and unlike the others, in here I smelled the fresh scent of death. There was one massive monitor, with a console below it, and in the console was a single key, half turned in a lock. On the screen was the same message that was repeating over and over again. Next to the console was a body. This one was much more preserved than the others. He was wearing a long white coat, glasses still sitting on his face. One of his wrists hung limply at his side, cut lengthwise across the vein, a pool of dried blood beneath it, and in the other hand was a crumpled piece of paper. I pried the hand open, and removed it, unfolding it carefully.

If someone is reading this, then I’m gratified to know that I was probably right. My name is David Monroe. I was the head scientist on the Ozymandias project. The purpose of the project was to create a weapon capable of permanently disabling infrastructure on a wide scale. The nanites were based, in part, on the same technology created for the (there was a blood stain on the page). When we got the message that the nukes were off, and the other weapons all being deployed, I was called in here by the general to finish the launch process, but I couldn’t do it. I sealed the door, using a backdoor I programmed into the computers to keep it sealed. I suppose I’d thought about this more than once. If the project had gone out, everything would’ve gotten broken down. Cars, weapons, buildings, all of it turned to sand. I’m sure that general Hammond tried to activate it from the outside, but without the dispersal activation here, I imagine it just turned the base and nearby town to dust. If it worked in spite of that, I suppose I’ll never know. I just couldn’t imagine, after all the destruction we’d already unleashed, all that had been unleashed on us… Wasn’t it enough? Can’t we at least leave our enemies a roof? Not to mention that we still weren’t sure this wouldn’t blow back on us somehow… I’m rambling. I apologize for the long winded note, just trying to put something off I’m a bit afraid of. Goodbye…good luck.

I looked the note over one more time, folded it, and put it into my pack. I bent down, removed the man’s glasses and his eyes. Then I walked back to where the key was, turned it, and pulled it out. Suddenly I was back in the embrace of darkness and silence. I walked out of the bunker, and started walking again, across the black sand.