by A E Faulkner
4700 Millenia Blvd.
Ste #175-90776
Orlando, FL 32839
[email protected]
www.indieowlpress.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living, dead or undead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
DARKNESS FALLS
Copyright © 2019 A. E. Faulkner
AuthorAEFaulkner.com
All rights reserved, except for brief quotations in critical articles
or reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the author.
Cover design by Michelle Preast
Indie Book Cover Design / Michelle-Preast.com
Interior layout by Vanessa Anderson
at NightOwlFreelance.com
Manufactured in the United States of America
ISBN-13: 978-1-949193-98-5
For Cinny
Without you, the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it once did. Sixteen years with you wasn’t even close to enough.
Miss you every day.
“For this world in its present form is passing away.”
—Corinthians 7:29-31
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Author Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Follow Her Work
Further Reading
Continued
Chapter 1
A shrill scream pierces the night. Shadows dance along the walls as my eyes widen, darting back and forth. Paralyzed with fear, I shrink under the flimsy blanket.
Riley and I duck away from the windows during the day and keep the lights low at night. No sense in inviting unwanted attention. For a wishful moment, I pretend that the TV in the living room is tuned to a horror movie and it’s just the actors’ dramatic shrieks assaulting my ears.
But the only sounds in the trailer are Riley’s deep breaths, my stifled gasps, and a charged silence. Retreating farther under the blanket, every muscle in my body tenses with anticipation. As I silently wish the night away, the next, and last, cry I hear is abruptly cut short. I’m not sure which is worse—the sound of someone’s pain and fear, or the silence of their extinguished existence.
Since we got to the trailer a week ago, my sister, Riley, and I have spent most of our time absorbing the endless streaming news reports. As low-tech as the 19” Toshiba is, it has been our only connection to the outside world. Thank goodness Aunt Grace insisted on getting it.
In what felt like an instant, our little world had shattered. And that was just the ripple effect from a greater tragedy that had destroyed many more lives. I am teetering on the edge of what has become a repeated loop of internal despair this week.
Sleep had been my only escape from the heartbreak, but now it brings no respite, only fresh nightmares. Squinting at Riley, jealousy trickles through me. She is practically unconscious; escape comes quickly when she closes her eyes. I can’t grasp peace like she appears to have—least of all, at night. Deceptive silence and sobbing have imprisoned my mind in a perpetual state of sleepless overdrive.
Focused on purging my mind of all thought, the tension seeps out of my body. Sinking into the squeaky mattress, my eyelids once again flutter closed. My mind drifts to happier times, but I’m powerless to stop the flashbacks of unwanted memories.
I’m back in my old bedroom, carelessly tossing clothes on my bed. Riley is next door in her room, doing the same except with much more restraint. I’m sure she’s over there carefully folding each shirt, tucking a coordinating bra and underwear set inside the fold. I’ll just be happy if I have enough clean clothes to pack.
“Try to finish up, girls,” Mom calls up the stairs. We’re setting our alarms for 6:00 a.m. so we can get an early start. Ugh. I know it’s a vacation, and we’re all looking forward to it, but why on Earth do we need to wake up as if it’s a school day? We’re staying at my aunt’s trailer in Delaware near the beach, so we can show up as early—or late—as we want.
Riley responds first, “I’m done, Mom. Just rechecking my bags to make sure I didn’t forget anything.” Of course, she is. She probably started packing weeks ago and just refolded everything for fun tonight.
“Yeah, I’m done, too. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget Riley’s zit cream or foot powder,” I add. No one acknowledges my snark.
“Alright, I’ll see you girls in a few hours. Goodnight, Riley. Goodnight, Quinn,” Mom says.
“Goodnight,” Riley and I both call at the same time.
Once again, I’m jolted awake, this time by a dream of the family I no longer have. I shake my head, trying to erase the dream. Another night has become a sleepless cycle of sorrow. I volley between shifting from one uncomfortable position to another.
Flipping to my other side, I peer in Riley’s direction. The ratty yellow blanket drapes over her thin frame just as it did the last time I woke, as if she hasn’t moved in hours. Strands of her long brown hair scatter across the pillow.
While Riley’s mind is probably journeying to a faraway world right now, I’m just waiting for oblivion to sweep me back under its dark veil. Reality wraps its spindly claws around my brain and replays the local news reports of our first days here over and over, like a playlist on repeat:
In breaking news, the Eastern seaboard suffered major damage today when a record-breaking, 8.2 magnitude, earthquake struck. While the West Coast has seen more than its share of earthquakes, this is not a common occurrence along the Atlantic Ocean.
Classified as a great earthquake, this seismic event has sent Delaware into a state of emergency. Additionally, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Jersey, and Maryland have also declared states of emergency. Massachusetts and New York suffered damage as
well.
Locally, Route One has sustained unprecedented destruction. A record-setting earthquake for the northeast region triggered the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal Bridge to collapse, plunging chunks of the bridge, as well as the vehicles on it, into the canal. Responders are still attempting to locate survivors.
Emergency crews are working day and night to dismantle the massive pileup, facing significant cracks and fissures in the asphalt. As part of the state of emergency, Route One is closed until further notice. It has not been confirmed, but we have received reports that most of the state highway’s 103 miles are in some way obstructed.
Unstable ground and road damage paralyzed traffic on the highway, causing mass confusion. The situation worsened when towers and sound barriers shifted with the land, some crashing into roadways. The resulting damage has left pockets of the region without cell phone and land-line telephone services.
First responders from surrounding states are sending assistance for Delaware’s rescue and recovery efforts, and the Red Cross has set up temporary shelters to aid victims of this devastating disaster. Also, military bases throughout the region are accepting those who have been displaced. Stay tuned for more information.
Reports got a bit more specific as the week went on, but mostly just kept repeating the same information. Eventually, Riley and I agreed that our minds had become numb to the news, and we could no longer keep processing the regurgitated reports. We turned the TV off at that point and unplugged it for good measure. Since no one in the trailer park knew we were coming, we decided to keep it that way for as long as possible. We stayed inside, avoided the windows, and used only faint lights at night, mainly the cracked red flashlight Aunt Grace stored in the junk drawer for emergencies.
Neither of us wanted to venture back out to the highway. For me, at least, if I didn’t have to see where our vacation had ended before it began, it was all a little less real. Maybe it was all a horrendous nightmare that I could still wake up from at any moment. Not even the lure of finding our cell phones, both missing since we got here, could drag us out to the wreck.
The trailer’s fake wood-paneled walls might as well have been prison bars. When your mind is swamped with grief, you don’t really care if your life is standing still. While we find some small comfort nesting in the trailer we’ve vacationed in with our parents for our whole lives, the reality that we can’t stay here forever has been bubbling up in our whispered conversations.
Caught somewhere between teenagers and young adults, neither one of us has taken charge of our situation. I’ll be turning seventeen in a few months, yet I’ve never felt so young, helpless, and afraid as I have these past few days.
At this point, we’re almost out of food, with no idea what the immediate future holds. I think Riley’s been counting on someone—anyone—to come rescue us. Mom and Dad can’t come back. Ever. Who knows what’s really happening in the rest of the world. It only took about 20 seconds for ours to crumble.
I force my eyes closed and settle back into the bed, praying for another day to be over.
Chapter 2
A thudding sound jars me from sleep. My groggy eyes land on the front door just as the pounding pauses. When Riley jumps up, scrambling to the living room, the doorknob starts shaking vigorously. Her alarmed brown eyes meet mine as realization dawns that our visitor is morphing into an intruder. With trembling hands, she wedges a finger between two mini blinds and peeks out. “Quinn, it’s Jim,” she whispers.
Ugh, Slim Jim. He’s a year-round resident who lives two lots away from our aunt’s trailer with his brother and their dad. His brother, Dan, is a nice guy. Their dad oversees maintenance for the park. Somehow this makes Jim think he owns everyone and everything within a one-mile radius. I throw my feet over the side of the bed and slowly rise, trying not to picture the greasy black hair that clings to his wide forehead, or his beady eyes that glare at me more times than not.
Motioning downward with my hands, I whisper back, “Let’s just ignore it. He’ll go away.” Cocking her head to the side, she contemplates my idea for a moment. When she scrunches her face in a pained expression, I know she’s surrendered to opening the door.
“He’s not that bad,” she says quietly. “And besides, we may need his help sometime…soon.”
As I open my mouth to object, Riley tugs on the door and hesitantly greets our company. “Uh, Jim, hi.”
He takes that as an invitation to come in and struts right through the door.
Riley awkwardly shuffles backward and bumps into the kitchen wall, eyeing me as she straightens herself.
His eyes rove to the kitchen and the other bedroom.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he says, rubbing his chin. “How the hell did you even get here?”
Stepping into the living room, my welcome is not as gracious as Riley’s. “Well, hello, Jim. Just make yourself right at home, why don’t you?”
At the sound of my voice, his shoulders sag noticeably.
We’ve never gotten along. Even as kids, Jim and I used to fight all the time, settling our disagreements with fists and force. I think I won more times than not. Not that he would ever admit that.
“Quinn,” he says sharply, nodding at me in acknowledgement. He mutters under his breath, “You’re here too,” but his words and message are clear. He’s always tried to avoid me while seeking out Riley, which is absolutely fine by me. I think it’s mostly because they are closer in age. Jim’s gotta be about twenty-two now and Riley’s almost eighteen. It might also have a bit to do with the fact that she may be just a tad nicer to people in general.
Turning back toward Riley, Jim leans forward, resting an arm on the wall above her head.
She must be uncomfortable being that close to him. I’m ready to jump out of my skin just seeing him that physically close to anyone.
“So, Riley, when did you all get here? You know, with everything that’s been going on out there,” he says, jabbing a thumb toward the front door.
Riley cocks her head to the side, glancing at me nervously. How are we going to explain that it’s just the two of us here? We haven’t said the words out loud yet, and Jim is the last person I want to talk to about it. “Well, um, Quinn and I got here a few days ago.”
He looks perplexed. I imagine he wears that expression several times a day. “It’s just you two?” He runs a hand through his slick hair and smooths out his mustache, which is so thin it should really be called a microstache. “Everything okay?” He looks back and forth between us, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, Jim, we’re fine,” I answer stoically.
Riley’s deep brown eyes drop to the floor.
We don’t need his help and we don’t need him thinking that we do. What we do need is for him to get out of here. “So, Jim, what’s going on? Did you need something?” He’s used to me being rude, so there’s really no reason to disappoint him.
“Well,” he answers, “Dan and I are going around checking on everyone. You know, we thought everything settled from the quake, but now we gotta watch out for the aftershocks.”
“What?” I ask before I can stop myself. He smirks in my direction. He loves this. I actually want information that he has. “Well, Quinn, after the quake, the aftershocks caused even more damage and deaths. Responders can’t keep up with it all,” he pauses for effect, drawing out the conversation. “You mark my words, Quinn. This is just the start. The start of all hell breaking loose.”
Riley’s breathing betrays her rising panic; her normally pale complexion fades to a ghostly white. “What? Jim, why would you say that? You think it’s going to get worse?”
I tug my hyperventilating sister to the couch. As she plops down, I shoot Jim a look that screams “Shut up!”
Following us to the couch, Jim settles in on Riley’s other side. “Hey, Riley, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. There’s just a lot going on and…I really just came over to make sure everything was okay here.”
A
t least he has the decency to sound apologetic.
Suddenly, my mind flits to last night and the shrill scream that woke me. I can’t ask about it in front of Riley. She’s already upset. Maybe I can find Dan later and ask if he heard anything. But first, I’ve got to get rid of Jim.
“Everything is fine here, Jim. Thanks for stopping by,” I say as Riley raises teary eyes my way.
Jim places a hand on her leg, turning her attention back to him. “Now, Riley, I hope you know that I’m here if you need anything. You know where to find me, right?”
Ugh. Message received.
I know Riley sees right through him, but she’s too nice to show it. I don’t mind being the one to rush this conversation. “Jim, thanks. Really. It’s nice of you and Dan to check up on everyone. I think we’re okay here, though. If we need anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
With that I stand, hoping he’ll mirror my movement. A drop of luck splashes in my direction and he rises from the cushions. Striding toward the door, I yank it open expectantly.
“Alright, then,” Jim says awkwardly. Walking backward toward the door, his eyes remain fixed on my sister. “Riley, you should probably stay put. You know, try and keep a low profile.”
She nods slowly, brushing long, thin locks of hair away from her face.
He crosses the threshold, calling out a final goodbye as I promptly swing the door closed. Turning the lock and leaning against the door, my gaze settles on Riley. When her narrowed eyes meet mine, I have a feeling I’m about to get a lecture.
“Quinn, you know Jim was just trying to help us. Why can’t you just try to be polite? Just a little bit.”
Riley attempts to wield guilt my way, but I’m immune. I keep my tone even; I don’t want to fight with her. “Riley, I don’t trust that guy or his dimwitted brother. They just like to throw their weight around. They aren’t checking in with everyone to offer help, they’re just being nosy—probably eyeing up supplies to steal.” How can she disagree with that? She’s got to know I’m right. “And,” I add for good measure, “I really don’t care if I hurt that slimeball’s feelings right now. I’ve got my own feelings to deal with and yours!”