Sam backed up against the wall, breathing hard. She barely felt the pain in her bloody knuckles as she tried to calm the out-of-control tempest which raged within her.

She looked over at the prisoner. Tony’s face was a bloody and swollen mess, but she was thankful that he was still breathing. She’d come very close to killing him. Sam was on the verge of losing complete control of her anger this time.

She turned away from the unconscious man who made her stomach turn. What the hell have I become? She immediately pushed the thought back down beneath the cold place which kept her alive these days. I just bought him another day to live, she thought grimly, trying to justify her brutality.

There was another knock on the door. That would be Micom.

Sam took a deep breath, straightened her clothing, and tried to collect herself. Careful now, Sam. Don’t give that clever bastard an opening to expose you.

She opened the door and was greeted by a tall man in well-pressed green army fatigues and a matching ball cap. His name was stenciled on the right front breast pocket: MICOM

The man wore a plastered-on smile, which never faltered, surrounded by a well-groomed beard. Sam had never seen Micom lose his cool—she hoped to never see it.

Just behind him stood a shorter man with a bald head and sunglasses which looked too big for his face. Copperfield, as he was called since no one ever learned his real name, studied Sam from a distance with a blank expression on his face, his hands resting on his belt buckle within easy reach of the katana he wore discreetly beneath his forest-green trench coat. Although Micom never said so, it was assumed that Copperfield was his personal bodyguard.

“Good evening, Samantha,” Micom said. He stood patiently by the door with his arms folded behind his back. “I’m told we have an unexpected guest who arrived this evening.”

Sam smiled and said, “Yeah, I was just finishing up with my interrogation. I was going to tell you about him after I gathered his story.”

“I see.” Micom nodded and gave her an unreadable expression. “I would like to speak to the prisoner before the Gathering this evening.”

“Shit, Micom. That’s a problem at the moment. You see-”

“I’m not finished,” he calmly said, studying the face of the former police officer.

Sam looked away under his hawkish gaze.

“It’s important that I’m informed about any new happenings in the camp… immediately. It’s important, because I am responsible for the safety of everyone here and it’s my responsibility to pass any new… variables… up the chain. Micolad will need details, details which you should have provided me long before any interrogation, which I will add was not authorized.”

“I’m sorry, Micom,” Sam said. “Old habits die hard. I stumbled upon this guy out on patrol and felt it was my responsibility to get answers and a complete report before troubling you… or Micolad. As head of security here, anything less would be sloppy work on my part.”

Micom considered this and said, “There’s no need to apologize, Samantha. I understand. It’s Micolad who may not be as understanding.” He let the statement hang for Sam to chew on. “I’d like to see the prisoner now.”

Sam sighed heavily, moving aside to let him into the dome.

Micom took one look at the unconscious man and shook his head. “This is not good, Samantha. How am I supposed to talk with this gentleman if you beat him half-to-death?”

Okay, here we go. “He was causing trouble and tried to attack me. He’s clearly ill and I suspect he’s been wandering the wilderness alone for quite some time. When I tried to ask him basic questions, he became incoherent and babbled on about his dead family and how he just wanted to die. I had to beat him… a little… just to get him to calm down. Then he started threatening me and becoming increasingly violent. I’ll admit, I probably got a little carried away, but when I mentioned where he was and told him that he would be meeting you, he made promises that he would kill me, Jenkins and Orosco… and then he threatened to kill you as well.”

Micom laughed. “He actually said that?”

“Yes. So I had to… correct his attitude a bit.”

Micom studied her again and nodded. “I see. Did you get any information out of him? I’m particularly curious as to how he got in here without incident.”

“Like I said, he was out of it. I’m hoping to have a reasonable discussion with him after I tend to his wounds. I think after a good night’s rest and a little food and water in his system, he may be more cooperative.”

“So, you’re telling me you got nothing out of him.”

Sam sighed, feigning disappointment. “If you would allow me a little more time, I promise you I’ll make him tell me everything he knows… and then see to his disposal myself for threatening you.”

Micom smiled and looked at her like a misguided child. “Sam… Sam… that isn’t necessary. Surely this poor soul had no idea what he was saying. If I can forgive him this outburst, don’t you think you can as well?”

Sam looked to her feet. “You’re right. Of course.”

He turned back toward the prisoner. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done this evening. Clean him up and let him get his strength back. No more interrogations. Leave that to me tomorrow.”

“Alright, Micom.”

“Have you arranged a security detail to watch the prisoner?”

“Yes. I have two of my best men heading here now to guard him overnight.”

“Very good,” Micom said. “As you already know, I’ll be needing you in attendance this evening at the Gathering.”

“Of course,” Sam said, a little too eagerly.

Micom studied her again and laughed. “You don’t fool me, Sam. I know you don’t approve of them.”

Shit. He’s on to me.

Before she could find a suitable lie, Micom continued. “I don’t fault you for it, though. You were a police officer and your job was to maintain law and order. To someone in your line of work, the Gathering must appear barbaric, chaotic… unlawful. Yes?”

Just go with it, Sam. He’s trying to bait you. “Truthfully, the Gathering is hard for me to stomach… but I don’t question the wisdom of Micolad, even if I don’t understand his methods. He’s kept us alive… that’s what counts in the end.”

Micom’s smile widened. “Samantha, you are a gem. I appreciate your brutal honesty. It’s a testament to your loyalty to both myself and Micolad. If only others… from the beginning… had understood as you do, then maybe there would’ve been less blood spilled to get us here now.”

Sam frowned. “Yes. That was unfortunate.”

“But necessary. Yes?”

Sam looked at Micom and tried to hide the fact that she wanted to rip his face off. “Yes. There’s too much at stake for individuals to take matters into their own hands. It was right… and just… for Micolad to punish them. It’s for the greater good.”

“Indeed. I’m delighted that you understand this.” Micom was satisfied… for now. He headed for the door and stopped. “So, I will see you tonight?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“And tomorrow, we talk with our new friend, find out what he knows, and then take him before Micolad.”

He’s so fucked. “As you say. I’ll have him ready for you tomorrow.”

“Very good,” he said, exiting the dome.


Jenkins returned with Orosco, the black man who was on patrol with them when they first found Tony. A young quiet girl named Mary, one of the clinic nurses, also arrived with Jenkins. She brought a first-aid bag and dinner for the outsider.

“We waited until Mr. Crazy left before heading over,” Orosco said with a toothy smile. He took one look at Tony, gave Sam a disapproving glare, and finished. “Looks like we should’ve been here a bit sooner.”

“Spare me the lecture on police brutality,” Sam said impatiently. “Help Jenkins get him on the floor.”

They moved the big man to a sleeping bag Sam had prepared.

Mary patiently waited until Sam gave her a nod. She then knelt down beside Tony and tended to his wounds.

Sam looked to Mary, and then back to Jenkins. “Is she alright with this?”

Jenkins nodded. “She’s with us. Mary’s not much of a talker but the information she’s given us proves that she’s onboard with the plan. That makes twenty of us now.”

Sam frowned. “There’s still over two hundred civilians here, and that’s all we could get? It’s fucking tragic.”

“No, it’s pathetic. They will do anything that madman says just to wake up another day and still have three hot meals and the illusion of normalcy,” Jenkins said disgustingly. “Micom’s holding all the cards that they care about.”

“I know, don’t remind me.” She looked to Mary and said, “Patch him up as best you can, feed him, and then keep him awake until I get back. He has information we need.”

Mary nodded while cleaning Tony’s bloody face.

“Well… did he say anything before you beat him senseless?” Jenkins asked.

“He made it clear he was withholding information. Poor son-of-a-bitch is still trying to figure out if we’re the bad guys or not,” Sam said, pacing the small room.

“And all that tap dancing you did on his face probably helped him see the light,” Orosco said.

“It was necessary!” Sam pointed her finger in his face. “You know as well as I do that Micom would have had him standing before Micolad tonight, pretending that his death sentence wasn’t already decided. I bought us a little more time. Besides, if Tony had been conscious when Micom showed up, that slippery-tongued bastard would’ve made him spill everything he knows. This is the best shot we have… perhaps the only shot.”

Orosco held his peace. He knew she was right.

“So, assuming the prick talks, does that move up the timeline?” Jenkins asked.

Sam nodded. “It has to be tomorrow night.”

“That’s crazy!” Orosco said. “We don’t even know which-”

“I’m going to find that out!” Sam said. “He’s going to talk to me or so-help-me-God, I’ll kill him myself!”

Jenkins looked at his watch and said, “Better get going or you’ll be late for the show.”

Sam nodded and slowly headed for the door. “Mary stays here. You two keep everyone out until I get back.”

“And if he wakes up?” Orosco asked.

Sam held her arms out and said, “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell him who the real bad guys are and why that is.” She remembered the flyer in her pocket and pulled it out. “Give him this to think about. He should be kissing my ass and begging for another beating after you’ve told him how fucking wonderful this place is.”


Sam stepped out of the dome-shaped, fiberglass hut, which was assigned to her security team to serve as a detention center, and stared up at the bright pinpricks of light in the sky. She envied the stars above which lit up the night, flaunting their indifferent luster down on the camp. If only she could be up there and forget all the horrors down below.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the center of camp, past numerous other ten-foot tall huts, which lined both sides of many narrow paths, and made up their neighborhood of dome-shaped shelters where the remaining refugees continued to inhabit. The domes, which were solar powered, gave off a luminescent glow at night, providing dim light within the shelters and enough light collectively to sufficiently light up the whole camp. There were enough domes to house up to three hundred people. The high-tech shelters made up the outer ring of their circular camp. Just outside the outer ring was an eight-foot tall chain-link fence which separated their fragile community from the horrors of the dark woods beyond.

Sam exited the neighborhood of glow-in-the-dark domes and entered the second circle of buildings, which consisted of five Army-style barracks serving as the community mess hall/kitchen, a small library, a gym, a dry goods storage area, and a headquarters for Micom and his personal militia, loyal only to the cause: Micolad.

Just beyond the barracks was the inmost circle, where Micolad was located on a raised platform, near the center of a large general assembly courtyard, surrounded by bleachers.

Sam entered the courtyard and spotted Micom who stood on the platform next to Micolad. Directly behind Micom were several fold-up chairs in a line. The only one in use was occupied by Copperfield, Micom’s right hand man. No one knew what the little man’s real name was because he never spoke to anyone but Micom. He was called Copperfield because he seemed to appear out of nowhere as if he were everywhere at once. Some used the name jokingly to hide their nervousness whenever the little man appeared, while many secretly wondered if Copperfield practiced black magic. Regardless, whenever Copperfield showed up unexpectedly, it usually meant bad news for whoever was unfortunate enough to receive a visit from him.

Micom noticed Sam entering and waved her forward to the platform.

Sam walked around, ignoring the expectant and fear-filled faces of all the refuges who sat in attendance.

The courtyard was deathly silent. No one dared to utter a sound in the presence of Micom and Micolad. Besides, there were other things in attendance, just outside the fences.

The Shadow Dead, as they were called, came out after dark… and they desired blood. It was Micolad’s job to provide it and save the camp from being slaughtered.

Sam stepped up on the platform and took a seat next to Copperfield.

She nodded to him but Copperfield ignored her. His attention was fixed on the six-foot tall machine next to Micom.

To Sam, it resembled an ATM machine, but she would never dare say so. On the front of the machine, facing toward the crowd, was one word: M.I.C.O.L.A.D.

‘Machine In Charge Of Life And Death’, Sam thought. I sure wish I’d learned that fucking acronym on day one, when it was still possible to escape this nut house.

She looked toward Micom who had moved in front of Micolad and started messing with control switches. Yeah, his is even better: M.I.C.O.M., the fucking ‘Man In Charge Of Machine’.

And there it was: Every evening, all their lives hung at the mercy of a psychotic machine and the madman who attended it.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in her chair as an older gentleman was escorted out by two of Micom’s men and made to sit down next to Sam. His hands were zip-tied behind his back.

“Hey, Sam,” the man said, looking at his shoes. “I guess it’s official then, if they’re making you sit in. This barbaric Gathering wouldn’t be lawful if the resident magistrate wasn’t in attendance.” He turned and quickly gave her a wink and a smile.

Sam smiled back and then quickly turned away. His name was Ralph Emerson. Back in the old world, Ralph was an electrician who loved to tell entertaining stories. Ralph was an energetic, up-beat kind of guy who could always make anyone laugh. He was one of the first people Sam had met when she’d first arrived and they had become instant friends.

Unfortunately, Ralph had been discovered tampering with Micolad. His intent had been to shut it down permanently and force the camp to fight the monsters in the woods. He was always trying to stir up the pot and get people to stop cowering to a machine. Apparently, he’d had enough.

She couldn’t blame him. The so-called ‘savior’ machine had turned cold and cruel over the last few days.

It had been Copperfield who caught Ralph in the act.

Sam sighed. Yes, Micom requiring her presence tonight meant only one thing: Judgment and Sentencing.

Whatever show Micom and Micolad made of it tonight, Sam knew the end result would be the same as all the others. Ralph would be dead at dawn.

“I just wanted to say that I don’t blame you, Sam,” Ralph said.

Shut the fuck up, old man! Sam tried to ignore him. She didn’t need any more attention on her.

Copperfield was now looking at the both of them.


“You’ve always been good to me,” Ralph continued. “I bet you were a decent cop back before the world ended.”

“Be silent!” Sam snapped, fully aware of Copperfield’s interest. “You’re only making matters worse for yourself, Ralph.”

Ralph laughed, raising his voice enough to distract Micom. “Now that’s a good one, Sam! Like there’s anything worse than this hell-hole?” He laughed again.

Copperfield turned in his seat, signaling the two men who brought Ralph in. They quickly came over and laid him prone on the platform. Ralph continued to laugh until one of the men kicked him in the stomach. Ralph began to whimper silently.

Sam shook her head, hiding her disgust while feigning disapproval at Ralph’s outburst. She turned and looked right into the pale, beady-eyed face of Micom’s man. “Can you believe that shit?” she said to him. “Unbelievable.” She tried to ignore Copperfield’s probing gaze, as she turned toward Micom.

Copperfield finally did the same.

Micom looked back at Ralph and then turned toward Sam. “Is this under control?”

“Yes… go on, I’ll keep him quiet,” Sam reassured. One day, I’m going to stab you in the fucking chest!

Micom adjusted a final knob on Micolad’s console and then turned to address the refugees. “Hello and welcome, my friends,” he said, lifting his arms up dramatically. “I apologize for the delay, but we are ready to proceed with this evening’s events. First order of business is the judgment and sentencing of Mr. Ralph Emerson for the attempted murder of our beloved provider and protector, Micolad. Some of you have heard rumors while others are just hearing about this now. Mr. Emerson was caught trying to sabotage Micolad’s ability to communicate with the Shadow Dead across the river. If he’d been successful, the treaty between us and them would’ve been abolished, since Micolad is the only one who can speak to the dead on our behalf, and translate their terms of our continual existence here.”

This caused an immediate reaction of shock and anger among the crowd.

“Please… please… I know how you feel,” Micom said, trying to calm them down. “I was also shocked. Mr. Emerson was a trusted member of this community. That was how he got so close to fulfilling his act of terrorism against us. Mr. Emerson, thinking only of himself, desired to leave this world… at the expense of you and your families.”

Sam frowned. She understood how this game was played. Micom would keep goading the crowd until he had their emotions on edge. He’d hit them where it mattered most and have them hating Ralph Emerson long before Micolad issued the verdict. Sam was disgusted. She refused to look at Ralph for fear he’d be staring up at her and cause her to betray her own outrage at the real crimes which were being committed each night, sanctioned by a lunatic with a box that demanded blood.

She could feel Copperfield’s eyes drilling into her, trying to crack through her façade. Sam was convinced that the little man and the machine were a lot alike. They were both cold, indifferent, calculating murderers.

“As you all know,” Micom resumed, “life was hard in the beginning. We were all at the mercy of a wasted world where the dead continuously hunted us down. We were shown no quarter, no mercy—our own loved ones turned against us! But in here, we’ve found a peaceful solution, we’ve found a way to live among the dead and survive in a world which desires to be rid of us. In here, we have each other! In here we have Micolad!”

Several people cheered for Micolad while others were calling out for Ralph’s immediate execution. Many sat in defeated silence, waiting for another long night to be over.

As for Sam, she just wanted her part of the show to be over so she could get back to the prisoner.

Micom raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Now, as for Mr. Emerson, we will seek the wisdom of Micolad and discover what is just.” He turned and stood before the machine. Micom rotated a dial and typed something on a small keypad which activated Micolad’s audio receiver.

Micom pushed down on an intercom button and asked, “Micolad, please advise us. Tell us what to do with our wayward brother, Ralph Emerson.” He depressed the button and waited.

Coming out of a large speaker were amplified chirps and clicks followed by what sounded like an old dial-up modem starting up. Finally, a deep metallic sounding voice responded: RALPH EMERSON… YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF TERRORISM AND ATTEMPTED MURDER… PROCESSING… PROCESSING… RALPH EMERSON, YOU WILL BE BANISHED FROM THE COMMUNITY… PROCESSING… EFFECTIVE AT DAWN, RALPH EMERSON WILL WALK THE RIVER…. REPEAT… RALPH EMERSON WILL WALK THE RIVER…

Micolad’s verdict received mixed responses from the crowd. Some shook their fists in the air to show their approval while others shuddered at the thought of anyone condemned to walk the river. Some silently prayed for his soul while others openly wept for Ralph.

Everyone knew what ‘walking the river’ meant. The river was the primary feeding ground for the Shadow Dead. They would slowly tear him to pieces and eat him alive, saving one body part to be found near the fence line to kill off all hope that anyone might have survived the river.

Micolad brought their attention to Sam and said, “As always, I don’t want you to think that we are taking the law into our own hands. Samantha Petroskovich, an Eastlake Police Officer, is in charge of security here. She is a direct representative of the law and if she believes we are acting unjustly, inhumanely, or maliciously, then she will correct us and set us straight.”

That was her cue. Sam got up and stood next to Micom.

Micom turned to the crowd and asked, “What says you community, is Micolad’s judgment just in the eyes of the people?”

Together they answered with a resounding, “Yeah.”

He turned to Sam and asked, “What says The Law? Is Micolad’s judgement just?”

Sam hated this part. She’d always known why Micom kept her around long after so many others had been murdered. He needed her consent, as the only badge in the community, to proceed with the chosen means of execution. She answered, “The Law is… satisfied… and finds Micolad’s judgment sound.”

“So be it,” Micom said. “At dawn, Mr. Emerson will walk the river.”

“So be it,” the crowd chanted as one.

Just then, the man lying on the platform began to laugh.

They all turned to Ralph.

“I feel sorry for all of you,” he said. “You’re all going to die in the filth of your own fear!”

Sam quickly looked away before Ralph’s eyes found hers, condemning her with the rest.

Micom signaled his men to remove Ralph from the platform.

Ralph continued to laugh at them as he was escorted down. “Damn heartless fools, every one of you!” he blurted out.

Sam struggled to maintain her mask of indifference. Ralph was never approached to join her small insurgence mainly because he worked too closely with Micom and his people. As much as she liked Ralph, she just couldn’t take the chance that he’d turn them all in. It had always been difficult to know who to trust, especially with so much at stake. When Ralph was caught tampering with the devilish machine, it was far too late to do anything.

She finally looked over at him as Micom’s goons started to drag him off toward the barracks to provide him his final meal and a long, sleepless night of prayers to whomever god would listen before his death walk at dawn.

Goodbye, Ralph… I’m so fucking sorry.

Just then, the woods surrounding the camp erupted with horrendous growls and screams, as though the night itself had come alive and desired to consume them all. The crowd began to panic as they left the bleachers and moved closer to the platform, desperately seeking the protection of Micom and Micolad.

Micom held up his hands and said, “Have no fear, my brothers and sisters. We all know what is happening. Everything will be alright.” He quickly moved behind Micolad, and began turning dials and pushing buttons.

Even Copperfield looked on edge as he immediately moved in front of Micolad to watch the frantic crowd.

The men escorting Ralph turned around, looking to Micom for orders.

Sam moved over to them and said, “Go. I’ll watch him.”

They looked relieved, nodded, and joined Micom on the platform.

Sam helped the old man sit down.

“And here it is again,” Ralph said, speaking to the night. “The dance of death which no one questions. They come, they demand… we oblige in blood.”

Sam tried to block out the groans of the Shadow Dead which surrounded the camp. “Are you okay?” she asked him.

Ralph turned to her and smiled, not realizing she was sitting next to him. “Sam… Sam… Sam… how did we end up in such a fix… hmm?”

She responded with a crooked smile. “I don’t know, Ralph. Sometimes I think we’re already dead and this is hell.”

Ralph laughed. “You said that on the day we first me.”

Sam nodded.

“I’m going to miss you, Sam… but not much else,” he finished with a chuckle.

Sam smiled for his sake, but inside, she was screaming.

The machine began to make noises again.

“Relax, my friends,” Micom said. “Micolad is listening to them. Micolad will translate. Micolad will provide the answer.”

“Micolad’s a homicidal toaster,” Ralph whispered with a wink.

Sam cupped her mouth to hide her amusement. Noticing they weren’t being watched, she whispered, “I’m sorry… I didn’t know you were on the right side… I am, too.”

“Of course you are, Sam,” Ralph said. “That’s why you need to reach into my back pocket and take the slip of paper I placed there.” He turned so that his back was facing her.

Sam quickly reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small folded slip of paper.

“When I tried to break that mechanical maniac, I managed to hack its data base for a few moments. Made it print out what I saw,” Ralph said.

Micom’s men were coming back.

Ralph looked at her gravely, nodded, and said, “Watch your back, Sam.”

She quickly hid the paper as they escorted him off. Sam got up and turned in time to see Copperfield’s intense gaze on her.

What I wouldn’t give to rip that little shit to pieces with my bare hands! She nodded at him and smiled.

Copperfield ignored her and turned to look at Micom.


No fucking way! Sam thought.

The crowd was equally dismayed.

Micom held up his hands and said, “Be patient, friends. Micolad will find the answer. We must keep the peace or the Shadow Dead will come… like before…”

This immediately calmed the crowd.


“Micolad has spoken,” Micom declared. “Micolad will draw two names at random from those with children.”

Sam wanted to put a bullet in his head.


Micom reached down toward a slot and retrieved two slips of paper which resembled the one she received from Ralph. He read the first name. “Joanna Shipley, mother of Johnathan, age eight, step forward!”

Sam could hear the sobbing of the middle-aged woman as she stepped forward.

Micom read the second name. “George Harrison, father of Jacob, age six, step forward!”

A big burly bald-headed man, looking like death had called out his name, stepped forward.


Everyone was shocked as they looked at the big man towering over the woman.

“Hold up!” Sam could not remain silent. “This can’t be correct!” She stepped forward, driven by her anger.

Micom turned to her and calmly said, “Samantha, you may go now. Your presence is no longer required this evening.”

“You can’t command them to kill each other! My God, just look at them! It’s not even a fair fight!”

Copperfield approached her, retrieving his katana from his cloak. The little man smirked at her as if to say, “Oh, please, defy him… please… I would love to end you right now.” He pointed in the direction of the domes.

Sam could do nothing. She would only get herself killed pushing the matter. She turned and left the area.

“Micolad has given us the solution,” he said to the crowd, ignoring Sam’s objections. “Either these two fight to the death and spare one child, or all the children die!”

Sam winced as she heard the crowd egging them to fight… demanding it.

She refused to look back, unwilling to look at the monsters who dominated the assembly area.

Madness… fucking madness!

She remembered the slip of paper from Ralph. She retrieved it and read the print out.

Her eyes went wide and her heart began to race. “Fuck!”

Ralph had given her a list of Micolad’s scheduled executions for the week, starting tomorrow. There were many familiar names on that list, including her name.


Next Episode 18-3

Previous Episode 18-1


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“Chapter 18-2: Micom and Micolad” Copyright © 2014, 2015 Scott Scherr. From the Novel “Don’t Feed The Dark, Book One: Southbound Nightmares”.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission by the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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