Out of the Dark (Light & Dark #1) (8 page)

“I’m going outside for a moment, Lilly.”

She looks up at me and then nods once before returning to her coloring.

I unlock the door, ready to take the bucket outside. I look over at Sarah as I leave, waiting for her to scoot off the stool and follow me.

I pour the pee away and then pull my cigarettes from my pocket and light one up. I haven’t smoked once since we arrived here—I haven’t felt the need—but I feel stressed today. Worry is eating away at me like cancer. The sun will be setting any time now, and the long stretch of night will begin. The night is our death sentence, when the monsters come out, hunting, screaming, searching. There is no escape from them in the night.

Sarah stands by my side and I turn to look at her, examining her features more carefully, trying to decide if I can trust her or not. I want to, but so many times I have been tricked, led to believe something that isn’t true. And now that I have Lilly, I don’t dare take any risks. I have only done that once since we have been together, and it turned out badly—very badly—and I vowed never to trust again.

“I used to have a child,” Sarah says quietly. “A little boy called David.” Her eyes are far away. Though she’s looking directly at me, she sees through me as she speaks. She looks down suddenly, breaking our contact with a soft shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

But I see her tears splat on the ground below, one landing on her white sneaker and loosening some of the dirt. I don’t want to hear about her little boy. I don’t want to learn anything about her. It doesn’t matter that she had a son, because he is dead, and I know that she probably let him die. That’s what most people did: they sacrificed their children for their own lives.

“You have to leave tomorrow,” I say, still watching her. Still smoking. Still unsure.

She nods, another tear falling. “I know.”

“What will you do?” I ask, suddenly curious.

She has no car—none that works, anyway. No vehicle to get from one place to another. We only have our car, mine and Lilly’s, already loaded up with our things in case of emergency, but she can’t take that. It’s ours.

“Can I borrow your bike?” she says sarcastically with a bitter laugh.

She kicks the wheel of the bike that’s leaning against the house. It’s rusty and old, but its tires are still inflated. Lilly had a brief go on it yesterday, though she was too small to reach the pedals. I pushed her around the garden until my back hurt. There’s a small basket on the front, it’s a light brown wicker and makes me think of my grandma and smile. Sarah looks up at me with a grimace.

“No,” I say, feeling childish.

Sarah looks up into the sky. “The sun is setting,” she says.

“Where will you go?” I ask, curious. Because I know the sun is setting, but I don’t know where this woman will go when I send her away, and I’m curious.

“I was headed to Colorado. I met some people a month or so back. That’s where they were heading.” She looks up, and this time it’s her examining me, seeing if I’m trustworthy. She must decide I am, because she continues talking. “There’s talk of a safe place, without the monsters. My husband was too sick, though. I couldn’t leave him and they wouldn’t let him come with us.” She frowns as she says it, as if she herself doesn’t believe her own words. “But he’s gone now, and if there’s safety, well, I’d be stupid not to go.”

I shake my head. “I’ve heard all this before.” I stamp out my cigarette, already wanting another. I’m not angry, not even a little, but it’s the truth: I
have
heard all of this before. I risked everything to find a safe place, and it got everyone I knew killed.

“Me too.” She shrugs in agreement. “But at least it’s a destination.” She looks away from me, across the yard, squinting directly into the sun hanging low in the sky. “It’s hope at least.” Her last words are a murmur, but I hear them all the same.

“Hope is what gets you killed,” I reply, softly yet defensively.

Sarah turns back to me. “No, hope is what keeps us alive.”

I laugh, a dark, low chuckle. “If you say so.” I light another cigarette, needing the nicotine to get me through this conversation.

“I can write down where it is for you, if you like. Just in case.”

I shake my head. “No, we’ll be fine here. We have our car out front packed with supplies, enough food in the house to last us a couple of weeks, and we have each other.” I shrug on a smile.

This is all I need to survive—not false hope and promises of safety.

Just Lilly. Just my car, and our supplies.

“But aren’t you at least curious?” she asks, looking genuinely confused.

I shake my head. “No. Not even a little bit.”

Chapter Ten.

#10. I don’t want to say I told you so…

The sun has begun to set, its orange glow dipping over the tops of the green trees, and worry has begun pooling in my tummy. We are all nervous, but we are all prepared—as we are every nightfall. We keep our weapons close and our shoes on, because you just never know.

Lilly has fallen asleep on the big bed, her soft curls splayed around her head like a halo. She sleeps fitfully tonight, and I hate that—hate that her only escape has been stolen from her. A child should be able to dream of faraway lands and fairies. Instead, her dreams are invaded by monsters with red eyes and nails as sharp as knives. I hate that.

I stand by the window. The curtains are closed, but I stare out of a small crack on one side. I haven’t heard their calls yet, their angry screams of hunger and hate. But I will, anytime now. Sarah is at the other end of the window, looking out of another small crack. She, too, seems nervous, and for the first time I’m grateful to have her here. Grateful that I don’t have to do this alone. The nighttime hours are long and frightening. They can drive you insane if you listen too intently, if you let the screams and growls of the monsters get inside of you. At least tonight I will have someone to share that burden with.

“Do you ever think where they came from?” she asks, still staring out the window. “Or how the virus started?”

I shake my head no, but then realize that she can’t see me. “No. Not anymore,” I answer. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Silence, and then: “I do. It’s in my nature to be curious, though, to try to find the pieces of a puzzle. I often wonder if we knew, if we could end it—end them.”

Her last words sound angry and bitter, and I understand that. I can make sense of the misplaced anger and bitterness that eats a person up. I have been there, and I have come out of the other side until I am now indifferent. I hate them, but without emotion, because I understand that it isn’t their fault. They don’t like this any more than we do.

But things are the way they are. And there is no changing that.

“I’m going to check the other windows,” she says, and turns to leave.

We have been taking it in shifts to check the windows, and it’s another thing that I’m glad to have help with. I wonder about asking her to stay with us longer, but then I change my mind.

“Keep quiet,” I say, without turning away from the window.

“Not like I’m going to be blasting music or revving the engine on your car,” she says back, and I hear the humor in her voice.

I like her humor. I like that she makes Lilly laugh and smile.

“I have the keys to the car with me, so no, you wouldn’t.” I turn to her and I jangle the keys in the air between us. There’s humor in my words—not much, but a little. And I’m shocked at myself.

Sarah smiles back, happy, I think, to see some other form of emotion from me than just indifference or distrust. She leaves the room without another word and I turn back to the window and continue to stare into the darkness.

It’s not long before the growls start—the long, drawn-out, piercing screams that punctuate nightmares. I imagine them running around in the night, their bodies glorifying themselves in the darkness, rolling around and embracing the touch of the black night upon their leathery skin. I look back toward Lilly and see her sitting up and staring at me.

“Are they here?” she whispers, her words carrying across the room to me.

“They are awake outside somewhere, yes,” I reply solemnly, hating that I have to say this to her. Just once I would like to say no. Just once.

I hear her swallow. The sound is loud in our darkness until another scream and growl cuts through it. I look back toward the darkness, hating the noise, hating that they fill each nighttime hour with dread. The darkness is everlasting, enveloping the house in its blanket of blackness, and even here doesn’t feel safe.

But we are.

Here is safe.

They can’t find us here.

I stare at the shadows outside, seeing them moving, and knowing that it’s just me—my imagination. Just the wind in the trees, blowing the branches and making the shadows move. The eyes glowing red are not real; the monsters creeping up the long path from the road are just my mind’s resurrection of my nightmares.

I stare into the darkness…

Staring, staring, staring.

Lilly’s hand touches upon mine, her warm fingers slipping between my cold ones.

“Mama?” she asks, looking out, and I pray that she never gets to see the demons that live inside my head. “Mama?” She shakes my arm, squeezing on my hand, her voice more urgent.

Teeth as sharp as knives, biting, tearing, stretching. The night brings everything to life. My visions burn my eyes and I want to join in the chorus of screaming outside.

“Mama?!”

I look down into Lilly’s face, reaching to pull her up into my arms. I kiss the top of her head, feeling guilty for my morbid thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Honeybee.” I kiss her again. “I’m sorry.”

She wriggles to free herself. “They’re here,” she whispers, and I stare into her face, my own features contorting in confusion. “They’re here.” She grips my face and forcibly turns my head to look out of the window.

I stare into the darkness, seeing the shapes moving, the red eyes glowing, and my heart freezes. They
are
here. They have found us. But how? I think of earlier, of helping to free Sarah from her car. I remember the pool of blood at her feet, and the way it had trailed down the hallway downstairs. The way it had dripped on the steps outside, across the lawn and down the path.

“Mama, they are here,” Lilly sobs.

“They are here,” I say back numbly.

I hear Sarah coming up the stairs. She rushes into the room, and I know that she has seen them too. She stares at me and Lilly, her eyes panicked, her breathing shallow.

“They’re everywhere,” she says on a whisper.

“My car—we need to get to my car,” I reply matter-of-factly.

“But how? They’re at the front.” She rushes to the window, as if to confirm the fact.

“We need to distract them, to draw them to the back of the house so we can get to the car.”

Sarah nods, her fingers gripping her knife carefully.

I look down at Lilly, her chubby face staring at me full of innocence and hope, and then I look at Sarah. I walk forward, Lilly feeling like the lightest thing in the world, but my heavy burden.

“Take her. I’ll distract them.” I try to hand Lilly over but she clings to me fiercely, her whimpers growing louder. “Lilly, you have to. I’ll distract them and run to the road, and you and Sarah will be there, waiting for me in the car. I’ll get in and we’ll drive away.” I look at Sarah to confirm and she nods.

I have to do this. Because I know that Sarah will not. And I will not risk Lilly. Sarah had a son, and she cares for Lilly. She’ll protect her as best she can. But if it came down to a choice between herself and Lilly, she would save herself. So I need to guide the danger away from us all. This is what I tell myself. The screeching outside gets louder as more monsters join the first ones. All drawn by the same thing: blood. Sarah’s blood.

Sarah reaches over and pries Lilly from me. I want to cry, because Lilly is scared—and I don’t like Lilly to be scared. I don’t want her to be sad. But she has to stay safe. I hand Sarah the car keys, our eyes locking as I try to get her to understand that she must look after Lilly for me, that she can’t let anything happen to her. That she must get rid of all selfish thoughts now, and protect this little girl.

“I love you, Honeybee,” I say, and head to the bedroom door. I can hear the monsters down below, scratch-scratch-scratching… They’re unsure if we’re still here, but they know we
were
, and that will be enough to make them stay.

“Wait!” Sarah says, coming forward. She hands me something: a piece of paper folded up.

I frown at it and shove it in my pocket, disinterested. There is no time to question it or wonder what it is.

I run across the landing to the back of the house, passing closed doors, until I reach the room farthest away. I’m not sure what I’m going to do until I get there, until I turn and see Sarah with Lilly on her back standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for me to cause a distraction loud enough and big enough to make the monsters move away from the front door.

I look around, seeing all the normal things that belong in a normal life: a dresser, a bed, a cabinet, and a lamp. I pick up the lamp and grip it in my hand, pulling the plug out of the socket, and then I go to the window. There are one or two down here, all sniff-sniff-sniffing for something. For us…for our blood. I take a deep breath, reach back with the lamp in my hand, and throw the lamp as hard as I can at the window.

It smashes through the glass, both lamp and window breaking simultaneously upon impact. The monsters all at once scream loudly for their brethren. With the window broken I can’t hear anything but their screams and growls, their nails scratching to get to me. I can’t know if Sarah and Lilly have made it to the front door, if they make it to the car, to freedom. I can only buy them some time.

I grab anything within reaching distance and begin to launch things out the windows: photo frames and artwork from the walls, ornaments that smash as they crash down below. I throw and throw until there are so many down below that the glow from their eyes is like the setting sun.

I back away from the window, wanting to run far and wide but needing to know that Lilly is safe first. I dart across the landing, making it back to our bedroom, and I run to the window and look out. I see the taillights of the car heading down the path and I pray that there are none left down there.

I clutch my knife tightly and run out of the room and to the stairs, and then I run down them, taking them two at a time until I reach the bottom. The noise down here is insane, the scratching sound of their nails on the walls and doors sounding like a million mice trying to gnaw their way inside my head. I get to the front door and open it, warily looking out, but see nothing but darkness—no glow of eyes to still my rapidly beating heart and freeze the blood in my veins. I step outside, the smell of the monsters hanging thickly in the air, and I’m about to run down across the lawn when one of the monsters slinks its way around the corner of the house.

It sees me and hisses, but it doesn’t scream for attention. It looks injured, and I remember how I once saw one monster eating another. It had been injured and dying, and its brother had clearly been starving. I realize that this one doesn’t call out for its brothers and sisters because it fears them as much as I do. However, it does not fear me.

It charges at me, diving when it is within reaching distance, and I lift my arms to shield myself from its attack. I collapse under its weight, its muscle mass pressing my back against the cold concrete steps as the air leaves my lungs in a loud
whoosh
. My head cracks against the steps and I cry out in pain as stars dance before my eyes. Its body is a limp, dead weight on top of me. Its mouth is agape, its sharp teeth centimeters away from my face. Its blood drenches me, and I’m frantic as I try to shift myself out from under its corpse.

I slide out from beneath its heavy body and realize my knife has pierced its belly and slid all the way up to its chest, and as I move, its insides tumble out on top of me. I think of the monster I killed when we first got here and for a second I think on what a peculiar coincidence that is. I stagger backwards, hearing the telltale scratching and clicking of nails on the path. The monsters can smell the blood, and they are coming.

I press my back against the wall of the house, willing myself to calm down, to be invisible and to not release the scream of terror I feel trying to tear its way up my throat as the monsters come around the opposite corner of the house. I blend myself into the shadows, the first time they have ever been my friend, and I pray. I pray for it to be quick, for my death to be immediate.

But they don’t see me. They are too busy with the dead monster at their feet—sniffing, scratching, biting, and tearing. They hold no mercy for anyone or anything; they are soulless beasts that only mean to destroy. I slide along the wall, my eyes fixed on them the entire time, my legs shaking with the urge to run away. But I hold steady and continue to slide my way slowly along, feeling the bricks digging into my back, until I reach the corner. I look away from the group of monsters for a split second and I peer around the corner, seeing nothing but shadows, and I slip around and out of their sight.

I run along the side of the house, not knowing where I am going to go but aware that I can’t get to the road by way of the front of the house anymore—not until the monsters go inside. Around the back, several of them have smashed a lower floor window and I see the tail end of one enter the house. They are inside now, inside what was once our home, and that thought makes me so angry. They have ruined everything. Again.

My eyes fall to the bike now lying on the ground. One of the monsters must have knocked it over, I decide. Its back wheel is spinning mindlessly, and I almost laugh at the irony that it is I that will be using the bike for my getaway, and not Sarah.

I hurry over to it, keeping low and out of sight in case any of the monsters look out the window. I pick it up quickly. It’s lightweight and I wheel it quietly away from the house and toward the bushes, where it is dark. They’re murky, and not somewhere that I want to enter, but as more windows smash, and I hear the screaming and growling of the monsters inside the house, I know my best bet is in the shadows—somewhere I have avoided for a long time now. I climb on the bike, sitting on the saddle, and I take a deep breath before pedaling away quickly. I stick to the shadows as much as I can until I am at the front of the house once more, and I pedal as fast as I can around the island of grass and down the long, gravelly road, following the trail of blood left by Sarah earlier today, staying in the shadows.