Black Moon Rising

Black Moon Rising

A Story by Dixie Carnley

The world has been destroyed by war, yet humanity lives on. Born into a world of soldiers and war, Salem Locke has the makings to be a great soldier. But anger and betrayal stabs her in the back, and


The stench of death and illness overpowered the other scents of the abandoned city, laying thick over the buildings and streets like a thick blanket.  It was almost visible as I ventured further into the city, my eyes jumping from shadow to shadow.  My lithe body maneuvered between trash and cars that filled the cracked road, the length empty and barren.  Though, if one thought this city was empty, they were sorely mistaken.  There, crawling around in the gutters, were all manners of creatures.  A trio of rats fought atop a nearby newsstand, its prize- the remnants of a human hand- forgotten to one side.  Mangy dogs and cats dug through trash heaps, their ribs protruding, tails permanently stuck between their hind legs.  As I ventured closer, they beasts yelped and took off down an alley, nails skittering on the stone.  

 “Locke, come in Locke.”  I tried to ignore the static-filled voice, but my name kept blaring across the line.  When it was screamed through in anger, I nearly jumped out of my skin.  “Locke, where the hell are you?”

As I pulled the boxy piece from the belt at my hip, I caught my reflection in what remained of a shop window.  The full body suit fit me like a second skin, white as snow, with gray patches of thicker material at my elbows, forearms, and knees.  The patch symbolizing my rank within the Order seemed to glare at me from my left breast, royal blue against the brightness of my suit.

“LOCKE!”  Throwing my head back in frustration, I wanted to throw the radio as far as I could and leave it. 

“Locke here,” I spoke, making sure my voice was sugary sweet.  I stomped my way down the street, ignoring the way my white boots sloshed through rancid smelling puddles.

“Where are you,” was the quick spoken, hot reply. 

I suppressed my smile, knowing well that they knew my coordinates.  The chip in my forearm made sure of that.  “Tristan, I don’t know why you’re freaking out on me.  All you have to do is type my number in the system, and that’s that.  Poof, you know my exact location, in just a couple seconds flat.”

Kicking an old coffee can down the street, I kept to the middle of the road, shadows forgotten.  I guess if I had been paying attention, I’d have known I was being followed.  As it was, I didn’t realize it until two seconds later, when something hard landed in between my shoulder blades.  I hit the ground hard, all the air in my lungs whooshing out in one gust.  It left me breathless and momentarily stunned.  All I could do for the time being was stay with my cheek pressed against the nasty asphalt, gasping like a fish out of water.

“Locke, are you there.”  My radio was somewhere in front of me, out of arms reach by the sound of it.  “Locke, what the hell are you doing?”

I heard footsteps around me, heavy and slow, about three sets.  I closed my eyes, trying to gain my bearing, but my body was too busy recovering from the hit.  When the steps stopped, I dared my eyelids to open and found a pair of nicely scuffed combat boots a few feet from my face. 

“Locke, so help me god, if you don’t answer this f*****g radio, I’m going to kick your a*s!”  Tristan was really mad now, but there wasn’t a whole lot I could do at the moment.  I was surrounded on three sides, and the bigger men had the advantage of size, position, and surprise.  “There have been enemy sightings in the area, Salem.  I need you to report in now.”

Fat lot it does for me now.

I hear a scuffle of feet, before the radio clicks.  No one says anything, but that one click was all Tristan was waiting on.  “Thank god.  Listen, there have been multiple detections of enemy parties-“

“Yeah, she knows,” this voice was rough, like gravel grating together.  It held a strange hint of an accent that I couldn’t place, almost as if the man had a bit of a lisp.  “And now, you’re going to quit talking, or Miss Salem here will get the dirty end of my weapon.  Understand?”

The silence on the other end of the radio was deafening, stretching out for what seemed like hours.  As I lay there on the ground, I began to regain my strength.  My breathing finally evened out, and though my hands stung where they took most of the impact of my fall, they were no longer numb.  I didn’t move my head as I looked around, shifting my sight to figure out where I was at.  I could see the corner piece of a building, which meant I was near some intersection.  The angle of the watery sunlight overhead told me it was quite large of an crossing.  I could only see one man fully, though his face was out of my line of sight.  He definitely fit the image of a Rebel well enough.  Worn fatigues, combat boots, stained t-shirt, all in their tell-all, signature color of black.

“Sir, this is Commander Thompson.  I understand you have one of my subordinates in your possession.”  I had known Commander Thompson for years.  She fought with my parents during the Fall, and had presided over their burial five years ago.  I never knew her voice to sound so cold, so foreign and dangerous.

“Aye,” was all my captives muttered.  I accessed more of my situation while I waited, supposedly weakly.  I could vaguely make out the person standing at my feet.  The only thing I could make out about him was his size, which was pretty damn big like his friends. 

“And what are you demands?”  I began counting in my head as she spoke.  One…  “She isn’t worth much, just another soldier.” 

Two…  “Can’t even fight worth a damn.”

Three…  “She’s nothing to me or the rest of my command.”

My counting faltered.  I knew she didn’t mean it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.  The way she said the words was as if they were true. 

“Demands,” the man on the mike laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.  “What makes you think we want anything from you?  We just needed a little bit of communication, that’s all, so you’d know just how your little lackey here enjoyed her last moments.”

I felt hands wrap around my feet, flipping me onto my back.  I glanced at the leader of the trio, who was tying a piece of cloth around the talk button to keep it on.  This eliminated any chance of Commander Thomas or Tristan to contact me, but I could contact them.  I started screaming out details of my attackers, while trying to fend them off.

“One: blonde hair, blue eyes, scar above left eye.”  I suffered a punch to the side of the face and took a second to recover.  The hit left me blind momentarily, and my body, while stunned, was able to move at their convenience.  My legs were spread apart, and I had the vague notion of a knife being whipped over.  My vision cleared, giving me the brilliant view of attacker number two.  “Two: black hair, black eyes, tall, chunky.”

I arched my back, fighting at the hands that held my wrists above my head.  I watched wide eyed as the blade of a pocket knife edged towards my chest.  I couldn’t see attacker three, as attacker two was straddling my waist.  I froze when the knife nicked the skin of my throat.  Head tilted, I gave him what I hoped was my best glare.  He started ripping my suit.  Being the thin material that it was, it split fairly easily from throat to belly button, able to be peeled back like the skin of a banana.  As damp, summer air hit my beasts and stomach, my insides began to churn.  They were going to rape and kill me in the middle of an abandoned street in a destroyed city.  It wasn’t the way I always imagined dying, but then, I don’t suppose you got to pick your time.

© 2013 Dixie Carnley

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Added on October 7, 2013
Last Updated on October 7, 2013


Dixie Carnley
Dixie Carnley

Mountain Home AFB, ID

I am a novice writer originally from southern Alabama, though I now call the Treasure Valley of Idaho my home. My passion is writing and reading, though if you really want to get to know me, put me a.. more..

Marunae Marunae

A Story by Dixie Carnley