C16 No End to the Night

In a hazy dream, he saw her again, back before the nuclear explosion, both of them lying in bed, dreaming of the future together. He tenderly caressed her hair, but unexpectedly, with a slight tug, he pulled off her long, black locks! He let out a cry of horror as she turned bald before his eyes. Her once smooth, fair skin seemed to be teeming with countless worms, breaking out in blisters of all sizes—it was both revolting and terrifying.

Horace's eyes snapped open to find his computer screen dark and his son curled up in his arms, sleeping peacefully. Glancing at his watch, he noted it was only one in the morning. He carefully transferred his son to his little bed, tucking him in without removing his clothes to avoid disturbing the boy's sweet dreams.

After shutting down his laptop, Horace made his way to the bathroom for a quick pee. Even without a light, he could navigate every corner of his home with ease. Once done, he scooped water from the bathtub beside him and flushed the toilet. The water, drawn from the Great Qing River originating in a neighboring province, had been tested for nuclear contamination and, though not potable, was deemed safe enough for flushing.

Back in the living room, sleep eluded Horace, a lingering bad habit from pre-explosion days when waking in the middle of the night meant staying awake. He used to relish standing on the balcony, admiring the sleepless lights of his neighbors and gazing at the star-studded sky, all while reveling in the refreshing night breeze—a sensation of pure comfort that now lived only in his memories.

Accustomed to the enveloping darkness and the heavy air of his sealed-off world, Horace considered heading to his study to boot up his desktop and watch a movie to while away the endless, tedious night. Instead, he felt a pull towards the balcony's sliding glass door and, fumbling, he drew back the curtains.

The complex lay in utter darkness, the silhouettes of the buildings barely visible, resembling colossal tombstones in the night.

He felt a reassuring sense of security. Standing on his own balcony each night, as darkness enveloped his surroundings, a profound sense of safety welled up within him.

Darkness, too, could offer a feeling of protection—a likely peculiarity of the post-nuclear world.

Survivors preferred the stark reality of the pitch-black, silent world over the false comfort of a brightly lit memory.

Horace sighed, about to draw the curtains, when a sudden unease crept over him. It seemed as though an unfamiliar presence was watching him from within the shadows he knew so well.

His scalp tingled with alertness. He swiftly drew his pistol and darted to the wall beside the window, cautiously peering out with just his profile exposed and his eyes narrowed.

Throughout his career as a scavenger, constantly skirting danger with his son, he had honed a sharp intuition.

He had always considered intuition a woman's domain, believing men to be creatures of reason—except when led by baser instincts. Nevertheless, he couldn't deny that this intuition had steered them clear of peril time and again.

Horace swept his gaze across the buildings, finding nothing amiss—just vague silhouettes.

He fetched his telescope for a closer inspection, now able to discern the contours of each "home" across the way, but details remained elusive. Anything inside the rooms was indistinct.

In such an abandoned neighborhood, even giant rats wouldn't bother to visit, and they only roamed the ground.

Other nocturnal creatures wouldn't dare venture near unless lured by the scent of humans.

As Horace watched, he wondered if he was just being overly suspicious.

But something wasn't right. The area he had just scanned...

He swiveled back, and within the telescope's circular frame, a shadow flickered.

Horace's eyes widened as he adjusted the focus amidst his quickened breaths, finally recognizing the trembling curtains blowing from an unsecured window...

Hold on. Sunshine Estates was his domain; he had been through every dwelling.

He distinctly remembered securing all the intact windows himself, and where windows were broken, he had removed the curtains to avoid this very kind of unsettling scenario.

So, the scene before him simply shouldn't be possible.

A shiver ran down his spine. Had someone invaded his home without him noticing?

Horace fiddled with the knob, straining to discern what was inside the window, but it was pitch-black and futile.

How he wished for a thermal infrared telescope, but the cost was prohibitive. He had never been able to justify the expense, but now it seemed he would have to tighten his belt and make the purchase.

His mind raced, analyzing who could have trespassed on his property. An Excavator? Certainly not a nuclear zombie; "they" had no reason to climb upstairs, and by nightfall, they vanished without a trace.

It had to be an Excavator. Maybe they had stumbled upon the warning line he had set and didn't dare to invade his home, opting instead to scavenge the house across the way. That wasn't much of a concern, but what if they were lying in wait, harboring ill intentions?

As the old adage goes, it's not the theft but the thought of theft that's worrisome.

The more Horace pondered, the more his anxiety grew. It was as if there truly were a pair of eyes in the opposite house, watching him.

Compelled by this notion, he decided to investigate. Since visibility was poor, he cracked the floor-to-ceiling window slightly to minimize any visual obstruction.

A blast of cold air hit him, sending a shiver through his body. Abruptly, a sharp, eerie whistle emanated from across the way, striking fear into his heart.

Horace shuddered, his primal instincts kicking in as if he'd encountered a predator, wanting to retreat. But then he remembered this was his home, his son was behind him, and there was no further retreat.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward, stepping out onto the balcony and closing the window behind him.

The strange sound had ceased, yet its echo haunted Horace's ears. With a telescope in one hand and a gun in the other, he aimed in the direction of the sound, toward the open window, nearly calling out, "Who's there?"

It wasn't a "who" – the sound was neither human nor reminiscent of a nuclear zombie or a giant rat. Horace was certain he had never encountered such a sound before.

Humans have an innate fear of the unknown, and Horace was no different. The stainless steel security net on his balcony was robust, and the hollow-point bullets in his gun were formidable. Yet, despite these defenses, his legs trembled ever so slightly.

This was the downside of solitude; when faced with danger, he had no choice but to confront it alone.

The curtains fluttered intermittently, and behind their veil of darkness, it seemed a shadow lurked, fixated on Horace. They were separated by a mere thirty meters, each peering at the other through the gloom.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly until, just as Horace felt his resolve waning, that same eerie sound echoed from a different direction. It trailed off into the distance, its speed astonishingly rapid.

Being outdoors, the sound was clearer to him. It was piercingly sharp, and even as it receded, it sliced through the air with a chilling keenness. The sound was part human, part animal – an enigma that Horace couldn't identify.