Season 2 - Blogisode 2

CHAPTER TWO


The fire dances hot white across the beach illuminating the shore and reflecting red and yellow atop the waves as they glide up the line and back out to the sea. The fire stands some ten feet comprised of the shattered and dismantled remains of the hut once home to Kite and Christina.

Somewhere deep at the center of the flame, buried beneath the mess of brambles and plank is Kite’s body, or what remains of such, torn limb from chest and head from neck by the beast that had invaded their new world obliterating the tranquility held within it some two days past.

Christina could care less about the loss of her domicile; the hut had been a comfort from the wind and sea spray but was of no sentiment. The loss of the one man left on this God forsaken spinning rock that she gave even the slightest care for was what brought her to her knees now, is what brings her to tears now.


Persia makes effort to comfort her, falling in grace to her knees next to Christina by the blaze. She wraps an arm around the young woman and pulls her tight toward her chest.

“Honey I don’t know what to say.”

Between the thick sobs Christina manages a semi-audible response to the tone of “Fuck you.” Of course she doesn’t mean it, but she does.

Persia holds her tongue, understandably, but makes move back to her feet and steps to her husband’s side waiting just outside the shadow line away from the fire.

“I’m gonna hunt down that son of a bitch and cut his cold blooded heart out.”

“James we don’t even know for certain that Christian did this. Besides Christina’s about to drop that kid any day now and the last thing we need is for you to disappear too.”

James turns to his wife and inhales deeply, teeth grit.

“You know as well as I do that that freak did this. He’s been acting fucking beyond lately and now his best friend is dead and he’s nowhere to be seen. You tell me what I’m supposed to think? This is some kind of coincidence?”

The anger in his tone and expression evaporates confronted with Persia’s somber knowing gaze. “James.”

“You’re right I can’t go off on some revenge mission and leave you two alone here. Christina needs both of us here now that her… that motherfucker.”

Fireside Christina sits knees buried in the sand, her hands wrapped firm around the unborn child that rests inside of her, the last connection she now holds to the man whose body now flickers in ember behind the wall of flame to her front.

The tears that had flow so freely a moment past subdue and dry in small salt deposits on her cheeks turning them a chafed red, she has no more tears to shed, this world does not allow for prolonged moments of sorrow and reflection. Christina has known this for too long.

She makes motion to rise to her feet. James and Persia both rush to her side to aid her in her effort. Her head hangs low.

“Here why don’t you lie down in our cabin, get some rest.”

Persia escorts Christina silent to their hut some ten yards back the tree line.

James moves to the fireside, fishes a cigarette from his pocket and rolls the tip in the nearest flame lighting it.

“You don’t smoke.” Persia jogs back from the cabin to James’s side.

“I haven’t smoked in years. Found these in the cabin when we were taking it apart. Seemed like a waste to toss them, besides, if this isn’t a good time to smoke ‘em if you got ‘em then I don’t know when is.”

She snatches the smoke from his lips and takes a puff. “Maybe you’re right.”

“How is she doing anyway?”

“Asleep in an instant, she needs it.”

“No shit.” James lights another cigarette from the fire. “I found something else in the cabin when we were tearing it down that I wanted to show you.”

James fumbles in his back pocket producing a small black book, leather bound.

“I thought I had lost it back when the facility flooded, you know.”

Persia takes the small book and opens it to page one. Inscribed on the front cover are the words ‘CONSTANTINE’S LOG'.

“Where did you get this?”

“I thought I had lost it ages ago, I guess sometime between the flooding and the airport it left my hands and fell into Kite’s, I can’t imagine how. Maybe Dave took it from me when we… anyway it’s not important. The point it that I found it a few weeks before the exit date at the compound and I thought, just flip to the back page.”

Persia thumbs through the scribbler thick diary to the last page, etched in pencil is what appears to be a map, vague in definition it has the words ‘HAVEN STATION 3’ written above the image with longitude and latitude numbers written to its side.

“What is it?”

“I wasn’t sure until I read the rest of it and I’m still not a hundred percent but I think it sounds like a base or something. If you read through the damn thing comes off like a Garden of Eden, untouched by the disaster, saved from the plight. His words not mine.”

Persia flips though the passages of the diary, stopping here and there to read a random line or two.

“So what are you…”

“Christina’s having a baby in what, two months max? And this beach isn’t safe anymore with Christian, or whatever, stalking us out there. It just doesn’t make sense to stay here anymore. I say we go here.”

Persia looks back over her shoulder at the cabin where Christina sleeps, baby in belly. “I don’t know.”

“Well I do, and I know that she doesn’t want to stay here another minute longer than she has to. I say we get our shit together first light and move as soon as she feels up to it.”

Persia stares silent into James’s eyes for a brief second, searching for an appeasement to her concern.

“Trust me.”



The flickers of tinted yellow splash lightly against the back wall of the small cabin flowing in between the shadows, Christina watches the light dance, one eye open she puts in her best effort to pass to dream, useless.

Her lip trembles as the vision of her mate’s body torn in pieces, ripped from life and bloodied, splashes across her mind’s eye, terror. Her arms wrap protective around the fragile womb, the child held inside it she would soon bring to life.

There would be no rest tonight.