The Darkness (4 page)

Jacob
looked behind him in the direction of a stairwell and saw the body. The man’s
naked legs twisted back to creep out from behind the railing. One foot was
turned out, still wearing a black slipper. Unable to stop himself, he crept
forward on the balls of his feet. He paused just in front of the stairs and
looked down at Smitty’s broken form. His head was pulled as if dislocated from
his shoulders, only hanging on by stretched and discolored skin. His left
shoulder was green and grotesque, yet Smitty’s right hand still clutched a
bloodied aluminum bat. Looking closer, Jacob could see bits of hair and fat sticking
to the dented end.

“You
fought hard,” Jacob said.

Suddenly
repulsed, Jacob raced away and dry-heaved into a corner of the room. He wiped
his watery eyes before staggering back toward the kitchen. Losing his balance
on debris, he nearly fell but put a hand on the kitchen counter and took deep
breaths to try to calm himself. He relaxed and dropped into a crouched
position. Looking across the room, he spotted a large, red camper cooler. Jacob
crawled through the space on all fours and popped open the lid.

There
wasn’t much inside, three bottles of sports drink and half a cooler full of
water from melted ice, but he was happy to have it. Jacob quickly dropped the
full bottles into his bag then looked around the kitchen for an empty jug. He
dumped over a blue recycling bin against the wall, then rummaged through it and
found an old water jug. Jacob opened it and filled the jug with the water from
the cooler. If he had to, he could boil the water for drinking if he managed to
build a fire, or at the very least, he could use it for bathing. He searched
the kitchen, carefully stepping over bits of broken glass while trying to
remain quiet. In a crushed cabinet, he found a half box of instant oatmeal,
some canned sardines, several cans of soup, and a jar of bouillon cubes—his hope
was renewed.

Chapter 3

Jacob
looked into his pack one last time, taking inventory of his meager finds, before
he glanced back at Smitty’s corpse. “It’s not much, but thank you,” he
whispered.

 He
pulled the sides of the bag tight and zipped the backpack shut. Turning toward
the garage, Jacob froze as he found himself standing  mere feet away from a
young girl. She was alone in the doorway of the kitchen. She was missing a shoe
and dressed in soiled jeans and a torn top. Jacob methodically dropped his hand
from the shoulder strap of the backpack and let it find the grip of his still
holstered pistol. He held his breath while trying to search beyond the girl and
into the garage to see if she was alone. She looked familiar, but he knew she
wasn’t part of Smitty’s family. She was looking away as if in a faraway place—not
speaking, just staring into the floor space where a refrigerator had been
before it was knocked to the floor.

She
took a soft step in the direction of Jacob, still looking down at the floor. She
moved deliberately, like an animal; her feet plodded up and down, arms
twitching as her neck stretched, examining the void between the cabinets.

Jacob’s
hand caressed the grip of the pistol; he squeezed it with his sweaty palm and
let his finger drop straight over the receiver. He swallowed hard and in a low
voice asked her, “Are you okay?”

The
girl’s pale head snapped up to face Jacob; her eyes were a deep, solid black. When
she opened her mouth, it revealed glossy white teeth wrapped in dark-purple
gums. Her mouth stretched wide, her bottom jaw quivered, and she went to scream
just as the sound of a gunshot filled the air. The girl’s head twitched and twisted
toward the garage, like that of cat quickly searching for prey.

Jacob
didn’t hesitate; he drew the pistol in a smooth motion and fired a single round
into the girl’s chest. He saw that where the bullet punched through the girl’s
light cotton top, black, oozing blood slowly filled the fabric. For a brief
moment, Jacob feared he’d made a terrible mistake. His empty left hand reached
out to help her, feeling regret for his actions.

 The
girl’s eyes looked back at him with hate. She hissed, letting the last of the
air escape her body before she fell back to the ground. Jacob lunged forward
and bolted past her for the door. He heard another series of gunshots and,
recognizing the sounds of his .22 rifle, he stumbled his way through the garage
then charged headlong into the driveway.

A
teenage boy dressed in a T-shirt and jeans was searching the sky for the source
of the gunfire as rounds skipped off the asphalt and smacked into the Lexus.
Jacob looked toward the second story of his house and saw the shiny, blued
barrel of the rifle poking out, accompanied by silver puffs of smoke wafting
from the muzzle. The boy halted in place upon discovering Jacob. Its body
turned in his direction and charged without warning as its mouth unhinged inhumanly
wide, its black eyes showing no mercy.

Jacob
raised the pistol and fired as fast as his finger would allow. Multiple rounds scored
several hits as the thing collided with him and knocked him to the asphalt. Anticipating
the impact, Jacob rolled back and went with it, then flung the now dead boy off 
him. He continued rolling until he was on all fours. Not wasting time to look,
he scrambled on his hands and knees onto the lawn, pulled himself to his feet,
and bolted across the yard and into the street.

He
didn’t stop. Fleeing what was behind him, he ran for the side yard of his house
and dove into thick bushes that scratched his face and cut into his hands while
he clawed his way into the cover of the foliage. When it was too tight to crawl,
he dropped to his belly and dragged himself ahead until he was tight against
the foundation of the house. Jacob burrowed in and buried his face into the
soft dirt. Clenching his eyes tight and trying to control his breathing, he lay
there listening but struggled to hear anything above the beating of his own heart.
Jacob pulled himself into a more open space near the wall and rolled over to
face the street. Seeing nothing, he attempted to stand, but then he heard
footsteps. He froze, and letting his body go limp,  dropped back to the ground
where he again tried to become one with the earth. The gunfire had halted, and
Jacob prayed his wife was wise enough to return to her hiding place.

He
cautiously lifted his head and laid his ear to the earth so that he could see
the road. Several people were walking the street and scouring the area; their
heads shifted from side to side as they searched for him. He watched as they
left the street and surrounded the boy in the driveway. One lifted the dead
thing and cradled it in his arms. With no emotion, it turned around and left,
carrying the boy. Shortly afterwards, another left the confines of the house
carrying the girl.

Why
take them and leave Smitty?
Jacob asked himself.

The
Others
loitered in the area for several minutes, not actively searching
but clustered in the center of the street, as if they didn’t know what to do
without direction. They moved to the edges of the street, standing near the
curb looking out, their eyes watching the surrounding houses. Jacob heard no
communication between them, no whispering, no orders, or commands; nobody
seemed to be in charge. Eventually, they stopped moving altogether and stood
motionless, frozen in the street.

Jacob
lay with his head in the soil, afraid to move. He could feel insects crawl
across his neck, and leaves tickled his nose, but he didn’t dare move for fear
that he’d alert the black-eyed things standing in the center of the street.
Gunshots followed by a woman’s scream sounded far in the distance; the things’
heads lifted all at once as if a switch powered them on. In unison, they turned
and took off in the direction of the sound. Soon after, Jacob heard the
high-pitched wail that he knew was their call, followed by the rumble of an
attack. He crawled along the perimeter of the house until he was clear of the
bushes, then scrambled for his garage door.

He
made it inside then closed and bolted the door shut mere moments before losing
his stomach onto the cement floor. His eyes watered as he gagged and coughed
while pacing the room. He stopped beside the small steps leading to his house;
he sat there collecting himself, but when he went to wipe his face with the
sleeve of his hoodie, he noticed the boy’s blood. He looked down and saw it was
on his hands and clothing. It clung to his fingers. It wasn’t red or sticky, or
anything at all like he would expect the texture of human blood to be. He
quickly pulled off the black hoodie and tossed it to the center of the room. He
looked at his hands and saw that the black, greasy stains were still on his
fingers.

Jacob
grabbed a rag from a workbench and scrubbed his hands with a bottle of solvent.
The greasy blood clung to his skin and tingled. He used the rag and scrubbed at
his palms; the blood finally came off as a single rubber-like glob that then
curled back on itself. With disgust, he let it drop to the floor. Jacob’s
curiosity peaked and he quickly retrieved the sweatshirt. He looked at the rest
of the bloodstains, watching them shrink and retract like a heavy rubber film
that was dry rotting as he watched. After a couple minutes, he was able to grab
it by the edge and completely remove it from the sweatshirt. He lifted it and
dropped it to the floor where it changed from the greasy black to an ashen
gray.

“What
the hell?” he muttered as he scuffed the remaining traces of it away with the
toe of his boot. “What is this stuff?”

He
dug through his pocket for his keys and re-entered his home. He wanted nothing
more than to collapse into the comfy sofa in the far room and pretend
everything was back to normal. Jacob shook away the thoughts, knowing Laura and
Katy would be anxious after watching him disappear and not knowing where he
went. Jacob dragged his tired legs up the stairs and pulled down on the attic hatch
in a pre-arranged knock. After a moment, he heard the board slide away and when
the ladder dropped, he saw his wife looking down at him over the sights of the
rifle.

“I
thought I’d never see you again,” she said quietly.

Jacob
nodded and quickly climbed the ladder, pulling it up behind him and barricading
it. He reached out for her while still in the attic, grabbing her hands then
embracing her in a tight hug.

She
looked up at him. “I’m sorry I shot the gun… I didn’t know what else to do—its
eyes… they were so black,” she cried.

Hugging
her and trying to calm her, he said, “I know… You did the right thing, Laura.
There was another one inside; I might not have gotten away if you hadn’t
fired.”

They
sat silently in the attic until Jacob removed the backpack and indicated for
Laura to lead the way back into the rooms below. They moved into the bathroom
and sat on the floor, leaning against the tub while he dumped the contents of
the bag and separated the sports drinks. “It’s not a lot, but we can drink
water and save these for Katy. They’ll help with her dehydration; at least
until her fever drops.”

Laura
picked up the items, sorting them into piles. “She still isn’t speaking,” Laura
whispered. “I’m scared.”

“I
know; so am I. It has to be the stress. She has been through a lot,” Jacob said.
“She’ll be okay once we get out of here and to some place safe. We just need to
care for her and make her comfortable until then.”

Laura
nodded her head in agreement and tried to hide her tears. She wiped her eyes
with the sleeve of her blouse then opened one of the drinks, poured the liquid
into a small sippy cup, and left the bathroom. Jacob followed her out and while
Laura helped the girl drink, Jacob walked to the bedroom window. He saw the
rifle propped against the wall and looked down at the brass shell casings
littering the carpet. Jacob removed the magazine and locked back the bolt,
removing a round. He grabbed a yellow box from his nightstand, reloaded, and
charged the weapon before leaning it back against the wall.

“What
are they?” Laura whispered, not looking up from her task at hand. “Those
weren’t kids down there.”

Jacob
walked away from the window and sat on the bed, reloading his pistol. “I don’t
know. The girl… she looked familiar, but when I spoke to her… her eyes… and the
way she reacted to me. I didn’t even hear her until she was right behind me.”

“I
don’t know where they came from. I was watching the street and then all of a
sudden, they were there. I watched the girl go into the house. I wanted to warn
you… I didn’t know how. The boy—that was the Emerson's son. His little sister,
Mia, used to ride Katy’s bus. He looked up at us and I know he couldn’t see me,
but through the scope—I saw his eyes, Jacob, they were so dark, like there was
nothing behind them, and then his head darted to the house, like he heard you.
I was so scared… I fired; I didn’t know what else to do.
I shot him,
Jacob!
”
she said, holding back tears.

“It’s
okay. You did good, Laura. It’s okay.”

“Was
it Mia? The girl, was it her?” Laura asked hesitantly.

“Not
anymore; I don’t know what she was.”

“Did
she attack you?”

“She
would have. I’m certain of it,” he mumbled.

“I
heard your gun. Did you kill her?”

“I
don’t know; I watched them take her away.”

Jacob
sat down wearily. “I found some soup,” he said, changing the subject. “You
should eat.”

“You
haven’t eaten, Jacob.”

He
lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. “I’m okay… I just want to rest,” he
said.