The Dark Trilogy (71 page)

“You promised me, George. You promised our girls.” There was a slight pause, a hesitation. “Things in the neighborhood … they’re bad. God, it’s bad here.”

Every word gashed George like a razor blade. His strong wife, the brave one who was afraid of no one and never backed down, was terrified.

“Helen. Listen to me.” The connection was fuzzy, but holding up for the moment.

“I need you to believe me, Helen. I will get home. I swear on my life. No matter what it takes, I’m coming for you.” George took a breath and looked around. There were hundreds of refugees packed in like sardines, and most looked as distraught as he did. A few people, bunched together as families, were making the most of it, like this was some sort of adventure, as they tried to keep their spirits up. Quite a few people were on cell phones having similar frantic conversations, while others were just trying to get a signal.

August 13
^th

George stood beside the old blue ash that had stood in the Caldwells’ yard for decades. It was a good thirty feet high with roots that he assumed ran beneath their entire lawn. As he brushed against its rough surface, he looked down the street. When his eyes rested on the front of his house, George’s heart raced.

It looked okay. There was plenty of damage in the neighborhood, and a few of the houses looked gutted. Not due to fire—George had seen no indication of burning, although several power lines were down. Mostly it was just shattered glass and gaping holes where doors once stood. But his house was in good condition.

A few other houses looked fine despite the weeds and wild grass overrunning the lawns. There were still a few cars on the street and in driveways, though it looked like most of George’s neighbors had abandoned ship early on.

He took one more look out onto the street. There wasn’t any movement. With no weapon except the plastic flashlight, George’s only option would be to run if he came across any trouble.

He steeled himself and shot across the street. He hit the Peraltas’ yard and crouched next to the large hedge spanning the front of the home. He paused and listened, but heard nothing.

Working his way to the back of his neighbors’ house, George was grateful there was no fence to contend with. That was why he had chosen their yard. He could get to his house with minimal hassle.

He moved closer to his home, maneuvering between his neighbors’ bushes and trees. He stood behind their shed and looked into his back yard.

It was as he had left it. Memories gripped him as he scanned the small deck and French doors Helen had him install a couple of years ago. The windowpanes on the doors were intact, and it was far too dark to see if there was any plywood nailed in place behind them. The other windows on the ground level of the two-story house were all dark. The desire to turn on the flashlight and have a closer look was tempting, but George resisted the urge.

The house was tan, but in the dark it looked more like a drab off-white. Even from this closer vantage point, the property still appeared to be in decent shape. George knew that was a good sign. There appeared to be no points of forced entry. He looked at the upstairs window and saw that the curtains were drawn.

“Daddy’s come home. I kept my promise.”

He could barely hear his own whispered words as he gazed up at the bedroom windows. The girls were probably up there. George could feel them inside the house. As he got closer, he was certain of it.

His eyes moved back to the deck and then below it. There it was: the window well. There were three total, with the other two on the sides of the house. This one was the easiest to reach without exposing himself to the street. They had taped black garbage bags over them years ago, and he knew Helen wouldn’t have bothered boarding them up. They were sunk halfway into the ground, and it was going to be difficult enough for someone limber to climb through, let alone one of the stiffs wandering the street.

July 1
^st

“I think some of our neighbors have been infected.”

George shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure? I mean, there are a lot of people going nuts. Maybe it just looked like they had the virus because they’d gone around the bend. It wouldn’t surprise me with some of the yahoos living in our neighborhood.”

“No, George. It’s not just a few people flipping out. Rob Kerr got mauled in his own front yard. Just as he was leaving with Kendra and the kids. It was awful.”

“Honey, people talk,” George protested. “They like to make up garbage. What? Did Angela tell you that? Rob probably got attacked by someone-”

“No! George, listen to me. I saw it with my own eyes. It was horrible! They were biting on him, and he was screaming. Kendra was beating them with a broom handle, and they just ignored her. There was blood everywhere. God … the blood.”

George’s confidence wavered, but he refused to be sucked in by the panic gripping his wife. “Well, did someone help them? I mean as these lunatics started chewing on Rob was there anyone trying to stop it?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t … I couldn’t watch anymore.” Helen stopped, and George knew she was trying to collect herself. “It was absolutely horrible! That anyone could do such a thing.”

George took a deep breath and tried to smile. His daughter would not see it, but it would help him maintain the pretense of being in good spirits. He was expecting Roxanne, the twelve year old, so he was surprised when he heard the bright and cheery voice of Deb, his younger daughter.

There was a pause. George was worried that at any moment the connection might go dead, and he wanted to squeeze in as much conversation as he could before it did.

“Daddy’s going to be home real soon, all right?”

“I know.” There was another pause filled with hissing and crackling as their tenuous connection wavered in and out. George didn’t speak, wondering if it was sadness he heard in his daughter’s voice or just the faulty connection.

“Daddy? When you get home, can we play Battleship again? I know I can beat you this time.”

George smiled. Of course Deb wanted to play a game with him. She was the competitive one in the family. Whether it was basketball, soccer, or just a board game, Deb’s dream was to beat her old man. She had a sharp mind and was naturally athletic, just like George. He knew it was only a matter of time before she was able to whip him at anything she tried her hand at.

A sudden rush of emotion choked him for a moment. George fought back the tears as he tried to respond. Before he could, he realized that Deb was already gone.

August 13
^th

The glass spiderwebbed, and a few shards tinkled into the basement. George tensed at the noise. The plastic flashlight had survived smashing the glass, but the noise had been louder than he expected. George turned so his feet faced the window and tried to delicately push the cracked pane of glass out of the frame. After a few seconds, most of it, except for a few small slivers, tumbled into the basement.

The black plastic sheeting that had covered the window now floated loosely about the opening. George listened carefully, wondering if the sound of broken glass might alert his family. When he heard nothing, he guessed they were on the top floor. There was no chance they would have heard something all the way down in the basement.

George plucked away the few remaining bits of glass on the bottom of the frame and poked his head inside. A small amount of starlight snuck past his broad shoulders, but he couldn’t see anything. He turned around and slid his legs through the window. As they dangled above the floor, he stopped and listened to the outside world one last time. There was no indication that his assault on the window had drawn any attention, so he carefully slid into the basement. He held his breath for a moment and waited. Still nothing. Moving fast, he pushed the tattered black plastic sheet over the hole he had made.

Heart racing, George flipped on the flashlight and maneuvered through his basement toward the stairs.

*

The decrepit creature had lived five doors down from George before she was bitten. In the past month, she had moved little, except when attacking a few of the neighbors in a nearby house. After that, the only thing there was to eat was a cat and the litter of kittens to which it had just given birth. The feline had been hiding out under a bush in the yard next to George’s house. After the ghoul fed, there had been little else to attract her attention, so she sat there, motionless, for several weeks.

Until she heard George breaking the glass to his basement window.

It was muffled, barely audible, and yet nearby. Her shriveled throat rattled as the pathetic wretch moved her jaws open and shut. A thick, oily substance lubricated her mouth. Soon, her desiccated tongue scraped at her lips as she moved closer to George’s house.

The foul monster saw no one, but there was a scent on the air. The smell of sweat and pheromones. Her eyes widened as she crossed to the door at the side of the house and moaned with excitement.

*

George didn’t hear the call of the infected outside as he crossed the basement to the staircase. He stirred up a layer of dust and pulled his shirt over his nose, worried he would start coughing.

As he set his foot on the first step, he envisioned Helen and the girls, surprised and overjoyed to see him. His heart was nearly bursting in anticipation.

As he reached the top of the steps, he heard the noise. At first it was barely noticeable. Just a faint tapping. It could have been anything: boards creaking, the house settling ... But George knew what it meant as he touched the doorknob, even before he heard the glass breaking at the side door.

He opened the door, the flashlight shining out onto his kitchen. He barely glanced at the piled pots and pans in the sink and the old appliances Helen had been nagging him to replace as he heard the moans coming from outside.

He sped through the kitchen. A brief glance at the door reassured him they were safe for the moment. There were a couple of thick two by fours nailed across the door over a piece of plywood. George could hear the hungry sounds of anticipation from outside and ignored them. There was probably only one of those things out there, but soon there would be others.

“Helen?”

The time for stealth was over. George rocketed through the family room toward the stairs leading to the second floor. He didn’t want to frighten his girls. The noises coming from outside would be upsetting, but the sound of his voice would reassure them everything was okay.

“Roxy! Deb! It’s me! Daddy’s home! I finally made it!”

He didn’t have much time. He had to get to his girls before the kitchen door shattered and a rush of stiffening bodies tumbled in.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, George hesitated, listening. Over the din from outside, there was another noise. Something trickling down from up above. The flashlight fell out of his boneless fingers, and George leaned forward, his hand gripping the banister. He held on tight, his legs weak beneath him.

His heart thundered as he heard the footsteps from up above, and George began to weep. He wiped the wetness from his eyes and tried to speak.

“I made it, baby. I finally made it home. I told you … I promised you. Nothing was going to stop me from making it back to you and the girls.”

George climbed the steps to his family.

***

July 1
^st

“So how are you going to get out of there?”