The Darkness

THE DARKNESS

W.
J. Lundy

The Darkness

© 2014 W. J. Lundy

Phalanx Press

V2.19.15  

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters,
places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been
used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely
coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Chicago Suburbs

Day of the Darkness, Plus 5

Everything
was closed. Jacob’s co-workers jokingly called it a FEMA holiday, like a snow day
in the summertime. Office buildings were locked up and the government declared
a national shutdown with only essential employees required to report. It was
rumored that police officers and even medical professionals were starting to
walk off the job, refusing to report for duty.

Jacob
willingly agreed to working from home until the crisis passed, happy to avoid
the traffic for a few days. A long break from all the out-of-town travel would
be nice, and he could spend some much-needed family time with his wife and
young daughter. As the emergency progressed, internet connections and even the
phones began to fail. He tried to call in to the daily meetings at the factory
but received a fast busy signal and dead phone lines instead.

Grocery
stores sold out of everything as the mass hysteria slowly spread. Gas, milk,
eggs, water… everything was hoarded, or the prices raised beyond the average
person’s reach. By the time Jacob figured out something real was going on, it
was too late. He drove by the local superstore and saw armed guards at the
entrance of the parking lot where shoppers were required to show cash before
they could enter. The store delivery trucks didn’t even bother to unload their
goods as merchandise was being exchanged right out of the backs, like a shady
underground marketplace.

The
news just seemed so far away and foreign. It was something that happened in the
third world, not here in the suburban neighborhoods of Chicago. Jacob sat on
his living room sofa watching a looping satellite broadcast of the chaos in
Atlanta. The anchors warned that the rioters had already breached the lobby. Stairwells
were full of piled furniture and the elevators sat dead at the bottom of their
shafts, but still the rioters came and destroyed everything in their path—nothing
was left untouched. Not knowing what else to do, Jacob stared at the TV. The
loop always stopped at the enraged face of a man with pearly black eyes; the
image would freeze before the video re-started.

Jacob
turned to watch her pace the room while she dialed the phone over and over,
receiving the same steady tone as a response. He knew she was afraid; everyone
was. She wanted to go to her parents’ home near the lake, north of the city. It
was out of town and quiet there; maybe she was right, but how would they get
there? Jacob knew the city wouldn’t be safe—even the outer areas of Chicago
would be chaos—and he couldn’t risk it on the interstate, not with Katy. Laura
suggested the trains, but that was the last place he wanted to be stranded.

He
knew the phones were down, but she tried nonetheless. Once she realized she
would have no contact with her mother, she would blame him. He knew it was
unreasonable but something he would accept if it helped her. Jacob didn’t want
her to give up on him; he needed her to stay focused. He needed her and Katy to
be strong. He couldn’t do it alone.

“Give
it a couple days, Laura; if nothing changes, we'll try for the city.”

Day of the Darkness, Plus 7

“What
happened?” Jacob muttered, pulling his head away from the airbag. He tasted
blood from a broken lip and smelled oil dripping from a hot motor. Looking over
the dash and through a broken windshield, he could see a second vehicle with
steam still pouring from its radiator. Jacob could barely hear his daughter,
Katy, screaming over the weather siren. In the side mirror, he caught a glimpse
of a man in denim dragging his little girl from the car, then lifting her to
his chest before turning to run.

Jacob
strained and painfully pressed against the driver’s door, the metal screeching
as he forced it open. Losing his balance, he rolled from the car and onto the
street. His daughter’s screams faded. He felt anger rising, giving him strength;
he scrambled to his feet and ran after the screams. His daughter fought,
screaming and flailing her arms and legs while scratching at the man’s eyes and
nose as she struggled. The man dropped her and put his hands to his face, but
when he saw Jacob, he turned to lunge.  The man’s eyes locked on his, and he
howled while reaching for him wildly with oily, blood-covered hands.

With
his hands shaking violently, Jacob raised his Ruger P89 pistol and fired quick
shots from only feet away. The first rounds went low; the others, directly to
the man’s chest. Jacob twisted away and dodged as the man's momentum carried
him past before the body tumbled to the ground, landing on its stomach. Not
waiting to see if he was dead, Jacob turned hard and stepped on the man’s back.
Enraged, he fired one more shot into his head. The body stiffened before going
slack. Jacob’s terrified daughter screamed from where she lay on the pavement; he
scooped her up and ran back to the car.

On
the passenger side, Laura was struggling with a second attacker. The large man
was on top of her and almost had her pinned to the ground. Jacob sat Katy down,
ran full speed, and then, leaping onto the man’s back, grabbed him under the
arms. Rolling forcefully, they tumbled away from Laura and into the grass. The
crazed attacker was able to gain position on Jacob. Having the advantage in
strength and weight, he tussled and twisted until Jacob found his own back to
the ground. The man now stared down into Jacob’s face as his hands grasped
Jacob’s throat and began to squeeze. 

Looking
into the man’s dark eyes, Jacob saw no emotion that could be reasoned with. Like
a rabid dog, the man seemed to have no regard for Jacob’s life. Jacob pushed
against the man’s chest and gasped for air while struggling under the
attacker’s weight. The man suddenly dropped and fell limp over Jacob’s chest,
having taken a full kick to the side of the head from Laura. Jacob hoisted the
body up and rolled it off  him. Grabbing at the grass, he pulled himself away
and pushed up into a sitting position. He coughed and choked for oxygen as he looked
at the unconscious man. His attention was distracted when he noticed Laura was on
the ground, sobbing and pulling Katy into her lap.

The
attacker let out a moan and stretched an arm, reaching for Jacob’s ankle. Jacob
pawed at the grass until he found the pistol and then turned back to face the
man. Leveling the weapon, he shot the attacker once in the face, snapping back its
head violently, causing the girls to scream.

Staggering
back to his feet, he looked in both directions. Jacob's focused tunnel vision
faded enough to allow him to see everything. The sounds of the wailing weather
siren seemed to come back even louder than before. It was over; the threat
stopped. Suddenly exhausted, he struggled to stay on his feet as adrenalin pushed
spasms through his legs and knees. Jacob turned and looked around him; his
neighbors were standing on their porches, staring at him accusingly. He ignored
them and reached down for Laura.

“Are
you okay? Come on, get Katy back in the house,” he said, lifting Laura to her
feet.

Laura
looked at him in shock. “What happened?”

“Get
Katy back in the house, Laura!” he said over the sound of the siren.

Laura
looked at the dead man at her feet. She screamed, “What happened?”

Katy
began crying hysterically.

With
his heart still racing, he lifted Katy and handed her off to Laura. “Please get
her inside; I’ll be there in a minute.”

Laura
turned her head to look at their neighbors before backing away toward the porch.
She held Katy’s head to her shoulder in a belated attempt to shield the young
girl from the horror of what lay on the ground.

He
watched them move across the porch and waited for the door to close behind them.
Jacob’s head ached and the sound of the siren clouded his mind as he struggled
to collect his thoughts on what had happened. He stepped to the house and wearily
dropped to the porch steps. They were trying to flee to the country, or at
least get to Laura's parents north of the city—anywhere as far away from people
as they could get. He remembered pulling out of the garage and barely entering
the street before the speeding car collided with them. But the men… where did
they come from? They must have been pursuing the other car. Why did they attack
them?

Under
the spiteful eyes of his neighbors, Jacob stood and went to the other car.

“Thanks
for the help, guys,” he said under his breath.

He
ignored their stares and opened the passenger-side door, stretched across the
front seat, and checked the man’s bloodied wrist for a pulse. The driver was
dead; the lack of a seatbelt had allowed his body to thrust partway through the
windshield.

Looking
in the backseat, he found it filled with luggage. He saw a plastic grocery bag
stuffed with oranges and bottles of water. Jacob pondered them briefly before
taking the bag and joining his wife back in the house. Ignoring his neighbors’
cold stares, he shut and locked the house door behind him.

Moving
across the room to a window, Jacob parted the curtains and looked into the
street. The incessant wailing of the weather siren was better behind the plate-glass
window. Even with the power out, it wailed. Why had it not been shut off yet?
Jacob looked at the smoking vehicles in the street and saw his neighbors approaching. 

The
anxiety built up in his chest; he was sweating and he felt his heart racing. Jacob
was fighting off panic… and losing. He had to do something.

“Laura,
get everything and take it upstairs to our bedroom,” he said.

Laura
was in the kitchen, handing Katy a glass of water and still trying to calm her.
“Why? What are we doing?”

“We
need to lock ourselves in. I’m afraid they’re coming. We need to be ready.”

“Those
things we saw on the news? Here? Is that what that was?” she asked.

“I
don’t know. Laura, please… just get all the food and water upstairs. We don’t
have much time.”

Jacob
went to the garage and shut the overhead door before retrieving his cordless
drill and a box of deck screws. He made a quick pass through his home, locking
and bolting every door, closing every curtain.

By
habit, he went to arm the alarm by the front door, his fingers nearly touching
the buttons. With no power and the backup batteries long dead, the alarm was
useless. Jacob shook his head before running up the stairs, taking them two at
a time.

He
joined his wife on the second floor and followed her into the master suite.
Their bedroom was large and square; an antique armoire rested against an
interior wall close to the door. A single, long window faced the street,
opposite the entrance to the bathroom. A king-sized bed in the center of the
room, with a nightstand on each side, filled the rest of the space. Jacob moved
to the foot of the bed where Laura had placed everything and took a quick
inventory of their belongings. He nodded before turning away to bolt the heavy
hardwood bedroom door.

Jacob
had always been security conscious… or paranoid, as his friends called it. He
was on the road a lot for work, and he wanted his family safe when he was away.
Laura was against guns and refused to learn to use them, which meant Jacob's
firearms were kept in a closet safe when he was away. As a compromise—in
Jacob’s mind, at least—he’d installed a heavy exterior door at the entrance to
their bedroom. The heavy bolt he had added, to secure it further, effectively turned
their master suite into a safe room.

Jacob
stopped and looked at the door with the brass bolt lock, talking quietly to
himself. “Better than that damn security alarm I spent all the money on,” he
said. “More practical too… and passive, doesn’t require electricity like the
alarm. Nothing to train or learn and no fancy monitoring companies… a one-time
expense to install, and we have a barrier between us and them…”

He
paused when Laura asked, “Who are you talking to?”

Jacob
put his hand on the door again and rattled the knob. Checking the lock, he felt
the clunk of the steel bolt riding into the two-by-six stud frame.

“Nobody,”
he said.

Jacob
lifted the drill and a handful of screws. He drove the four-inch screws in deep—one
in each corner, two in the top, and two on each side.

“What
are you doing?” Laura protested. “You’re wrecking the door.”

Jacob
stopped and looked her in the eye. He could see she was in shock and not fully
comprehending the situation. She still didn’t believe it. In denial, she
blocked it out and ignored all of it. Even having felt the violence firsthand
in front of their home, she wasn’t getting the urgency of the situation. This
wasn't something that happened far away; the violence had reached their front
yard. People were killing out there, and nobody was coming to save them. They would
have to save themselves.

Laura
watched the same news reports he did—the attacks, the disappearances, the mobs,
the warnings from police to stay off the streets. At first, they’d compared
them to events expected with third-world mentality, like the massacres in the
Congo and attacks in Rwanda—even the LA Riots; they simply did not make any
sense.

The
newscasters relayed messages from mayors urging residents to
stay in their
homes and wait out the crisis. The government was working on it and the police
were organizing a response
. The National Guard mobilized and set up
evacuation centers. Although in some cases,  the evacuation centers were as
dangerous as the streets. Several reports aired news of them being
wiped out
…
everyone lost
…
everyone dead
. The warnings were shown on the TV
in long, repeating broadcasts before the power went out.

Secured
on the second floor, Jacob went to the window and observed the street. The road
was wide with tall shade trees on both sides and ran deep into the suburban
neighborhood. Well-maintained, cookie-cutter homes sat back from green lawns,
interrupted by the destroyed car that was still smoking from the collision just
beyond his own driveway. Some of his neighbors had left their porches and
gathered around it, talking and taking photos with their phones of the dead
men.

“What
are they doing? Damn it, they need to get inside,” Jacob shouted. “The news
said to stay in your homes. Did they not see those men? Something is wrong,
Laura; they were crazed and couldn’t be reasoned with! They need to get back
inside!”

Laura
went to the window to stand beside him and looked out. “They’re doing what you
should have done, Jacob! The right thing. You can’t just flee the scene—”

“No,
it’s too dangerous; I don’t know what they are. Bath salt nutters, zombies,
crazed maniacs… Laura, I’m afraid—”

He
was interrupted by a loud, blood-curdling scream from down the street. Jacob
strained and focused through the shade of the trees lining the road. A woman
was running barefoot toward them and screaming, her ripped clothing covered in
blood. She ran directly into a man standing by the wrecked cars. He tried to
hold the frantic woman, but she struggled and pointed back down the road. She
broke free of the man and continued to scream as she ran away.

Jacob
stared in horror when he saw what the woman had pointed at; the mob was just as
the newscasters described—crazy and bloodthirsty. Their black eyes stared
straight ahead and they shrieked as they filled the street from curb to curb,
charging fast like a herd of bulls. He saw the neighbors around the cars begin
to scatter while they fled back to their homes. The mobs broke up and
splintered to follow them up onto porches and crash through doors.

Jacob
grabbed his wife, pulled her to the floor and out of sight, and then put a hand
over her mouth to muffle her cries. He crawled across the floor with his wife
in tow and grabbed his daughter. He brought them both into the en suite bathroom
and sat them on the floor, holding them tight and urging them to be quiet.

“What’s
happening?” Laura sobbed.

“I
don’t know,” Jacob whispered back.

Jacob
waited for the noise to stop, the screaming and the pleas for help to fade. He
ripped down the shower curtain and, walking low, moved back into the bedroom.
He peeked cautiously through the window and saw that the street was clear. The
destroyed cars remained, but there was nothing else left. The mob was gone and,
with the exception of the dead man still poking through the window, there were
no bodies—even the two men he killed were gone. Tattered clothing littered the
street and lawns; blood streaks and drag marks showed where victims had been
pulled away. The things, whatever they were, seemed to have consumed everything
in their path. They recovered their dead and took away the living.