Out of the Dark: An apocalyptic thriller (9 page)

     “Stay inside the car, Amy,” Ray said in a voice he raised only enough to be heard. As the silence was penetrated only by his voice, he didn’t have to raise it very far.

     Amy’s sharp intake of breath was enough to let him know she’d heard him, but she followed it up with, “what’s in there?”

     Even if Ray had been willing to shut the trunk without looking inside, Amy’s question meant that he had to look. He didn’t want to. He didn’t know if the creature residing inside of him gave him heightened senses or if the smell of death was just becoming that pronounced and familiar to him, but he knew before he lifted the trunk that something once-living now occupied the space.

     With the trunk fully opened, Ray could see the mutilated corpse of a small dog. Possibly a puppy, but from the look of it, one of the small yappers that every other woman over fifty seemed inclined to own.

     The viscera were spilling from the torn stomach of the poor animal, and that was where the stink was coming from. He couldn’t tell if it was a weapon or something worse that had accomplished the mutilation, but the dog certainly hadn’t died a natural death.

     Before he decided whether he wanted to shut the trunk without removing the unfortunate pooch or just hope the smell wouldn’t be too offensive during Amy’s drive, Ray noticed something resting beneath the bloodied body that he couldn’t ignore. He sighed, because he knew he’d have to move the dog.

     Moving back to the supplies, Ray grabbed the first aid kit and hastily dug through it until he found what he was looking for. He slipped the latex gloves on, and they were slightly too tight. They would do for the job he had in mind, so he didn’t care about the bad fit.

     “What are you doing?” Amy asked, and she spoke in a hushed voice.

     Ray didn’t know why Amy was speaking so quietly, but he echoed her caution and responded in the same low tone, “There’s a dead dog in the trunk. I don’t want to get blood on my hands.”

     Amy fought not to whimper and stared determinedly at the steering wheel. She belatedly responded, “Okay,” before realizing Ray had returned to the trunk and his unseemly task.

     Ray lifted the pooch gingerly, trying not to get blood on his clothes, either. The internal organs stayed in the trunk, having been fully gouged out from the dog’s small body before whoever had done so had placed the animal in its ill-fitted tomb. Ray nearly gagged to see them tumble wetly away from the small creature, but was thankful they were on the opposite side of his true target.

     Moving a few feet away from the car and placing the dog in the grass on the side of the road, Ray wished he could’ve offered what had surely been a beloved family pet a better burial. He could not, however, and he didn’t spend too much time mourning the fact. His far more important concern was in the car, awaiting his return.

     Upon facing the trunk once more, Ray had a moment to consider whether or not to remove the viscera or leave it where it was. In the high summer, it’d not even have been an option, but this was deep winter. They wouldn’t begin to stink for a while, and Amy would be sure to find a better vehicle before it became an issue.

     Feeling an odd compulsion, driven by the insane thought that the dog in a ghostly, incorporeal form would somehow feel lost if its innards went to a different part of the state while its body remained here, Ray quickly scooped up the internal organs in both hands and placed them beside the body of the deceased. Queerly, Ray felt much better after the fact.

     He once more approached the trunk and grabbed what he was truly after: a heavy, four-sided tire iron. He hoped Amy wouldn’t have to use it, yet at the same time wished even more fervently that if she did have to, that she wouldn’t hesitate. Hesitation would cost Amy her life. Ray was almost certain of that.

     After slamming the trunk, Ray returned to the backseat and shut the door. He removed the gloves and rolled the window down to toss them out. It wasn’t like he was going to get a citation for littering, he thought to himself. When Amy put the car into reverse, all the doors locked automatically. Ray felt instantly better.

     He placed the tire iron on the passenger seat, and Amy looked at it as she would a snake.

     “What’s that for?” she asked with a measure of suspicion and unease in her voice.

     “If you’re attacked, you need to defend yourself,” Ray explained simply.

     The way he said the words made Amy nervous. It was like he hadn’t wanted to say “if,” but would have preferred to say “when.”

     Without responding, Amy switched on the radio. She’d hoped to hear a newscaster detailing the event, or even an official government statement urging people to stay inside or seek shelter at specific locations. She heard neither. Calm white noise greeted her across all AM and FM frequencies.

     “There’s not even one lowly radio broadcaster left?” Amy said in disbelief as she turned the radio off. “I thought those guys would be having a field day covering the end of the world.”

     “That’s the thing about the end of the world, I guess,” Ray responded bleakly. “Everything ends…”

     Amy caught Ray’s gaze in the rearview mirror, hoping he would smile and make light of his statement, but his eyes were as bleak as his voice had been. He really believed it was the end, and Amy couldn’t find much evidence to counter his argument.

     “It’s only about an hour’s drive, Ray,” Amy started hesitantly. “Maybe you could stay with me once we get more people around us.”

     “I doubt the freeway will stay open the whole way, Amy,” Ray responded. “You’ll have to drive slow, as is. And chances are, you’ll have to ditch this car, go a while on foot, maybe find another if the road clears. By dark, I can’t be alone with you. It just won’t be safe.”

     It seemed a stupid, childish curfew. Sun’s setting, time for bed. All the kids have to go home instead of staying out to play. Amy hated it; hated that the only living, friendly, non-psychotic person she currently knew would have to abandon her in what seemed a woefully small amount of hours.

     Trying to remain bright and steer herself away from her own defeatist thoughts, Amy smiled-brightly, she hoped-and turned the radio back on. The car owner was bound to have a couple of CDs for the CD player.

     While she searched, she said to Ray, “Okay, why don’t we just talk for a while?”

     Though his eyes were still desolate, his smile was warm when he replied, “What would you like to talk about?”

     “Surprise me,” Amy said back, to which Ray said, “All right.”

Chapter Eight

     While Ray talked and Amy drove, Austin and Sam were just pulling into the driveway of the Walker family home. Though Sam had cautioned himself against foolish hope that his family was safe and secure and untouched by the plague, his heart jumped into his throat and his chest swelled with unhampered joy just to see the forest green siding and neatly trimmed bushes that marked this house as his own. His night-black Chevy truck with its extended cab sat in the driveway, just where he’d left it. Dennis had picked him up on the way to the emergency summons. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago when it had only been the day before.

     “Nice place,” Austin said in his way that Sam had come to realize was innate politeness cultured with parental training. “It’s got a good look,” the kid continued. “Like good people live here.”

     “We like to think so,” Sam replied as he put the Aveo in park. He was already planning what could be packed into the tiny car if he and those in his care had to leave the house for some reason. There were always a hundred different possibilities, and Sam tried to be prepared for every one.

     Stepping out of the Aveo, Sam tossed the keys on the driver’s seat, slammed his door and was up the driveway before Austin had grabbed the keys up, stepped out of and shut his own door. He pressed the lock button as he followed Sam toward the front door and was satisfied when he heard the familiar beep indicating the car was as secure as he could make it.

     “Sam, wait!” Austin exclaimed as he joined the older man on the front porch. “Go slower. Be careful. I know that…”

     He was cut off when Sam thrust his key in the door lock and turned the handle, pushing it open before considering the potential situation he was walking blindly into. Austin was torn between putting his hands up in defense of whatever horror may launch itself at them in attack and turning back toward the car for a quick escape route.

     “Laura!” Sam called as he stepped into the foyer. He noted the number of shoes, same as there were when he left, and it buoyed his spirits incredibly. For hope to spring up in such a huge swelling, his secret fear of finding them all dead, gone or worse must have been greater than he admitted to himself.

     “Trev, Mel?” 

     As he nearly sprinted down the short hallway, Sam continued calling for his family. His focus was so great that he almost ran straight into the baseball bat that Laura swung at him from the end of the hallway, where she stood slightly beyond the entryway to the kitchen.

     Austin cried out a wordless warning, Sam ducked and Laura screamed something he couldn’t immediately decipher over the panicked demands for him to prove who and what he was.

     “Laura, Laura, calm down,” Sam started soothingly as he came up under the baseball bat, which she still held out defensively, and held out his arms to her. “It’s me. It’s Sam. I know everything’s going wrong, baby, but I promise it’s really me.”

     With a relieved sob, Laura dropped the bat and clung to her husband, speaking against his chest in a way that made it difficult for Austin to understand what she was saying to him. The possibility of immediate danger having passed, Austin turned back to the front door and made sure it was locked. Having someone or something sneaking up on them when it could be prevented was not high on his list of things he wanted to happen.

     “Where have you been?” Austin finally heard an intelligible question from Laura. She touched his face and shoulder with a horrified look and demanded, “What happened?” Then, with a quick look toward Austin, she asked, “And who is he?”

     Instead of the usual concern Laura would express for a young man in Austin’s position, Laura looked suspicious and hesitant to allow him into her home. Something must have happened to affect her deeply sometime in the night.

     “This is Austin,” Sam said. His tone was comforting as he pulled Laura toward the teenager. “I borrowed his mom’s car to get back to you. He patched the shoulder up. Austin, this is my wife, Laura. Now, where are the kids?”

     As Laura tentatively shook Austin’s hand, Sam moved from the kitchen entrance into the other parts of the house, seeking his children.

     Melissa came first, launching herself at her father and burying her face against his neck. The corruption Sam knew existed inside him tried to fling itself from within its host, desiring nothing more than to attack the small, trembling girl. Sam kept the shadow creature at bay, vowing he would not allow it to hurt his daughter.

     ‘Daddy, something’s wrong with Mommy. And…” she trailed off, her voice developing more of a tremor as Trevor entered the room.

     Sam put Melissa down but kept one of her small hands in his own. He appraised his son, and knew that something was wrong with him. It was not the same wrongness that infected Sam himself, or Austin or Laura. Both of his children were different from the others in the house; Mel because she wasn’t affected by the blight and Trevor because whatever was inside him was not the same as the other shadow infections.

     Trevor’s eyes were black. The warm brown had been totally enveloped by inky evidence of infection. Sam hadn’t exactly studied a mirror lately, but something told him his eyes did not look like his son’s.

     “Trev,” Sam said as he reached out to his boy with his free hand.

     The moment he touched Trevor’s cheek, his son’s eyes cleared of the blackness and confusion clouded them instead.

     “Dad?” he said softly.

     Sam pulled Trevor to him and gave him a tight, one-armed hug. “I’m back, Trev. How’s it hanging, buddy?”

     Still perplexed, Trevor wrapped his arms around his father and tucked his cheek against his waist.

     “I-I don’t know,” the boy responded. His voice seemed much smaller than the last time Sam had heard it.

     Laura came up behind them, wringing her hands concernedly. Sam wanted to talk to her alone about what had transpired in the night.

     “Sam,” she said, and her voice was full of questions she was hesitant to ask.

     “Let’s all go in the living room to talk,” he said, including Austin in that invitation. “There’s a lot we have to figure out.”

     The living room was on the opposite side of the kitchen, so Sam and his family walked back through, across the tile and past the white stove and refrigerator before they touched the chocolate brown carpet of the living room.

     Laura sat on the comfy blue couch, pulling Melissa to her so the girl sat beside her. Sam took the reclining chair, brown like the carpet and still plump with newness. The recliner had been a new addition this time last year, an early Christmas present from Laura to her husband.