Sandcastle

A storm loomed on the horizon of the sprawling, violent ocean behind the Sandcastle Motel. The gale twisted the rainfall onto its side; the serpentine highway leading to distant, crooked mountains slipped in and out of darkness, as high-mast lights flickered nervously over a lone wanderer. When the light dared to shine on this poor soul, it swallowed the image back up, as if afraid of what the world might see. A legion of cables that hung from beyond clouds had long-since burrowed into this wanderer's skull. The devil that wore its warped face was complimented by an eternal, guttural growl that emitted past blood-dimmed lips. Those eyes clothed in madness brought no sympathy to erstwhile victims. Gripped in one hand, a heart-shaped locket brought to life by the squall. Along overgrown fields of carrion and wilted magnolias, closer to the motel, this horror journeyed.

Royce stepped out of his car into the hard weather, clutched his wind-possessed overcoat and hurried inside the motel. Dusty Chinese lamps adorned cheap wallpaper. Hazy air, scuffed floorboards and grungy oriental rugs. The receptionist sat behind her begrimed desk, cigarette smoke rising from behind a newspaper that warned of the A.I. Crisis. She was clearly no stranger to spending three-dog nights in solitary. Royce approached her. "Dobbs?" he asked, setting his briefcase down.

"That makes you Royce." she replied, her gaze still fixed on the paper. "Overpopulation, artificial intelligence that wants us dead, a crumbling government and that weather, am I right?" Royce beamed; her cynicism had ticked all the right boxes.

"You've evacuated everyone?" he queried, giving his coat a shake.

"As instructed, mister. Any idea when your friend is arriving?"

"Soon. Saw him coming from the mountains when I pulled up."

"Will he be spending the night?"

"We'll have to see, won't we? You should get going now too."

"Afraid not."

"You're aware of what my friend and his likes do to people?"

"As tumbledown as this motel is, it's family. How about telling me what you have planned?"

"A few rounds of buckshot ought to do the job."

"The last time I saw somebody take on one of those things with a shotgun..."

"Way it is."

"Alright then. Smoke?" Dobbs extended her pack of cigarettes towards the drenched man.

"I don't. That coffee fresh?" Royce motioned to the machine in the office behind her.

"Last I checked. How do you take it?" As she stood, the old chair's creak filled the room.

"Milk will do it."

"You'll have to take it black. Last cow got brucellosis. Nearly took me with it into the bargain."

"Not much sense having livestock all the way out here, with friends like ours roaming the highways."

"Tell me about it, mister. But then there's not much of that going around these days. Like you taking on this thing by yourself. Thought there'd be more of you."

"Just me."

"Far be it from me to be a doomsayer, but I don't know if just you is enough."

"Well, my superiors don't know about this one."

"Personal is it?"

"You could say that."

Returning with the coffee, Dobbs handed it to her visitor before sitting back down. "And what makes this friend in particular so special?" She asked.

"Used to know it."

"The smile on Dobbs' face relaxed. "When'd it happen?"

"Fort Vickers."

"Good lord. You were there?"

"I was."

"Sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"That's alright. Times like that jade a man. Talking about it doesn't stir up much worry."

Royce moved over to the window and peered out at the vast wasteland of overgrown meadows, diseased orchards and ancient farmhouses that once harbored families, simpler days that he read of in schoolbooks. There was a beauty to be found in the Outskirts. An innocence that people rarely got to see. Back home, the city, was a neon jungle, only the creatures that lived there were more dangerous than any wild animal. They were humans; killing one another over scraps of food, in the name of religion, or any form of greater good, while the government decided that controlled mass murders would solve the overpopulation crisis. The irony was not lost on Royce, nor was the humor. "Work this motel alone, do you?" he asked, trying to take his eyes off the view.

"It's hard dealing with some of the more unsavory tenants, but you get used to it."

"You wouldn't think about hiring some help? Could pay for a hunter, save you worrying about food supplies."

"Haven't gone hunting for near a decade now. Last time, me and my brother were set on rats as they were easiest to catch. Little did we know, a friend of ours had been tracking us. My brother wasn't a strong feller, but he was quick and nimble. Scrawny. Saw it coming for us over a knoll and he told me to hide next to some animal bones near a rock, promised me everything would be ok. Sid didn't really have a plan; he and our predator just went at it, tooth and nail. Fight must've lasted a good half hour before I realized neither of them would be doing much of anything once it was over. Ended when they ran each other through. Anyway. They toppled over onto one another and all I could do was walk away. Didn't want no last words. Didn't want my last memory of him to be one of misery. He lied to me, I knew he did, but it still didn't make it right."

"All that for a rat?"

Dobbs let out a hardy laugh. "If it weren't so long ago, I might feel insulted. Time heals all wounds, as they say."

"Depends on the wound."

"Well, Sid would have liked that remark, I think. Always had a penchant for the sour comedy."

"Here's to Sid." Royce raised his coffee cup and took a sip, the lack of aroma and taste perplexing him. "Last you checked...which was when?"

"The coffee? Comin' up twenty years I reckon." Dobbs said, snubbing her cigarette out on an old ceramic coaster. Royce sat the cup on the windowsill.

Outside, barbed lightning ran across the midnight sky. "Closer now." Royce muttered.

"You one of the lucky folk that remember their dreams?" Dobbs asked, putting her newspaper away.

"Sometimes. You?"

Dobbs' eyes widened; a genuine spark of excitement lit up inside of her. It had been so long since she had met someone who could still dream. "Same as most people, since these end times started up. What was your last one about?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, if that's good with you?"

She decided to let it go. Maybe next time.

"I don't mean to be rude." Royce said. "You can ask all the questions you like about Fort Vickers."

"Did you kill any there?" The excitement crept back across her face.

"Four. Though maybe I should've killed five."

"What's that mean?"

"The one making its way here. His name was Cal." Reaching into his overcoat, Royce took out a heart-shaped locket. "He bought two, one for each of us, some years back. Pretty sure his will still be on him."

"I know loss, but you shouldn't be the one doing this."

"Do you know shame? I'd known him all my life, been with him through hell and high water. And when it was time to test my mettle, when he was screaming my name for help, instead of going to him when he needed me most, I ran. The only reason I'm still here is because I knew I'd find this day if I sought it hard enough. So here I am, supping two-decade-old coffee and trying to trick myself into thinking I can pull the trigger when it counts."

Taken aback, Dobbs found it hard to look at the man. She had no words of wisdom and knew that this was probably the visitor's last night. "Sure you don't want that cigarette, mister?"

"No harm in it now, I suppose."

Dobbs coaxed out her upside-down lucky cigarette and handed it to Royce, along with an old lighter worn down to the brass. He lit it, the first puff caressed his throat and filled his lungs. "Been a while." he said, expiring a wispy cloud that twirled up into a cobwebbed ceiling fan. The two enjoyed the silence that came with smoking, until the lights in the room began to flicker. It was now or never. Royce picked up his briefcase and planted it on the reception desk, clicked open the locks and took out his twelve-gauge. Dobbs watched as large slugs clunked into place. Their eyes met for a moment, both revealing doubt. "I know it's a longshot, but one worth taking." Royce turned around and moved for the exit.

"I'll put some coffee on. You know, in case you want to come back."

"Death or bad coffee, hard choice that." Royce put the cordate locket around his neck, leaving it out over his drenched shirt.

"Think he'll remember?" Dobbs asked, but received no response. Instead, the man opened the doors, set on going back out into that furious hell. "Hey, mister!" she shouted over the storm. "You sure you don't want to tell me about that dream?"

Royce looked over his shoulder. "No." he smiled. "That one's for me."

The night groaned and howled at Royce, rain crashing on him like needles. He could see the cables now, like marionette strings drooped from the darkest of heavens, just behind a peak in the road. He knew that seeing Cal again would be like a firebolt to the gut, with hands gnawed to the bone with cold, and the shotgun heavier than usual, the odds were not in his favor. He stopped until the monstrosity finally rose over the tarmac dune about half a city block away. Its face twitched and jolted, before it too halted at the sight of the lonely figure, almost as if it had waited for this moment all its life. Royce thumbed the hammers back, readied himself as it began to close in. "What a terrible night to have eyes." he whispered and went on his way.