Darkness Falls

by A E Faulkner

  Chapter 50

  The jagged remains of a bridge hover at the edge of land, the highway they once supported simply gone. Concrete support columns rise from the water, leaning like dominoes.

  “I bet when that came down, it flooded parts of the town,” Wes interjects. Jeff backs him up. “And standing water is bad news. Maybe they wanted to keep people away from the bridge and away from any water that may have washed ashore.”

  “Well,” Aidan interjects. “If the town’s all gathered at this safe zone, then maybe we can just borrow someone’s house for a little while and no one will even notice.”

  Glancing at Wes, my heart stutters. A sheen of sweat glistens on his pale skin. He doesn’t even try to wipe away the salty beads running into his pained eyes. The bandage Jeff so carefully affixed over Wes’ gash bears more red than white. It’s bled through. Without one word of complaint, he continues.

  Slowly, the landscape of a neighborhood that ceased functioning on trash day appears. The acrid stench of decomposing food mingles with slightly sweet hints of dryer sheets and lemon peels. Torn garbage bags and fallen trash cans line the sidewalks, scattered rubbish dots lawns and the street.

  Jasmine pinches her nose, and for once, I’m right there with her. “Guys, I think we should get as far away from here as possible,” she suggests.

  “But wouldn’t a place like this be safer?” Aidan retorts. “I mean, if most people want to stay away from it, maybe that’s good for us.”

  When Wes stumbles, Jeff rushes over to him and wraps an arm around his waist. “Guys, we have got to stop,” Jeff says.

  “Maybe one of these houses has more bandages in it,” I say. “I know it’s not as good as a store, but we might find something that could help.”

  “Yes! Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Jeff states. “Quinn gets it.”

  “Alright,” Aidan says, glancing around. “Any house look better than the others?” Our eyes rove over the symmetrically-spaced structures that look like they were stamped from the same cookie cutter. Boxy two-story white homes sit just a few feet apart, their shutters and door color the only distinguishing features.

  Chris points to a house with dark green shutters on the corner of the block. “How about that one?” he says.

  Jasmine smiles and leans down to meet him at eye level, “That looks like the best one to me, buddy.”

  Eyes wide, my head snaps her way. It shocks me when she’s nice to someone.

  We scuffle down the street, trying to keep with Jeff and Wes’ slow pace. When we’re two houses away, Aidan weaves through our little parade and walks backward so he can face us. “I’m gonna go on up ahead and look around the house. You know, make sure no one’s inside,” he says. Before anyone can respond, he turns and sprints down the street.

  By the time we reach our chosen home’s front sidewalk, Aidan finishes his inspection and meets us there. “It looks empty, guys,” he says. “I think we’re good, but let’s go in quietly just in case there are any nosy neighbors around.”

  Aidan takes over shouldering Wes, so Jeff can dig out his knife. After a bit of maneuvering, he effortlessly snaps the lock and pushes the forest green door open, sweeping his arm out as if presenting the house to us.

  Chapter 51

  We quietly step inside, huddling in the living room that’s just inside the entranceway, and strategize. In hushed voices, we outline our plan.

  After locating a couch or chair to carefully deposit Wes on, Aidan will check the garage for a vehicle. Jasmine and Chris will find the kitchen and grab any food they can stash in their backpacks. Jeff and I will look for a bathroom medicine cabinet or closet, aiming to find ibuprofen, bandages, or really anything that might help Wes.

  With a plan in place, we disperse from the huddle in groups of two. I follow Jeff as he strides through the living room and turns down a hallway. As we creep along the seafoam green carpet, three doors await us. Two on the left and one on the right. Jeff motions that he’ll start on the left and I should take the right.

  My assigned room appears to be an office. As I peer through the open door, my eyes sweep across the room. An orderly wooden desk monopolizes the small space and framed certificates adorn the walls. Nothing looks useful in this room. As I turn to check on Jeff and see if he’s found anything, my eyes catch a coffee-stained white mug sitting on the desk. Before I can wonder how long that’s been sitting there, a small billow of steam drifts from its surface. My eyes widen in alarm. That coffee is fresh.

  Scrambling back to the hallway, rising voices reach my ears. Each word sounds louder than the last, like an argument is escalating. We are supposed to do this quietly. Jeff jumps into the hallway, throwing his arms up in confusion. We advance toward the intensifying commotion.

  The noise leads us straight to the kitchen. Jeff pushes the white swinging door open and plunges into the room. He stops so abruptly that I crash into him, which bumps him forward a step but stops my momentum.

  Other than Wes, we’re the last to arrive at this impromptu gathering. Jasmine, Aidan and Chris stand like statues while a middle-aged man fluidly swings a rifle back and forth, aiming the barrel at each of them in turn.

  “Whoa,” Jeff says. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me in response to our little crash or if he’s talking to the stranger.

  “There’s more of ya?” the man shouts as his eyes dart our way. His salt-and-pepper hair stands in tufts and his face twists in anger. His raging expression holds no compassion.

  Jeff raises his hands in surrender and somehow manages to keep his voice steady and calm. “Look, we were just looking for some medicine. We didn’t know someone was here. We’re really sorry.”

  The gun-wielding homeowner turns his full attention to Jeff. I liked it better when he wasn’t focused on anyone in particular. “Oh, so it’s okay to break into people’s houses and steal stuff as long as they aren’t home?” he taunts.

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Jeff starts, his hands still in the air.

  “I know what you meant,” the man shouts, aiming the gun at Jeff. Frozen with fear, I see slight movement out of the corner of my eye. Jasmine steps forward nervously.

  “Look, we didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Jasmine says in an uneven voice. Her hands twitch at her sides. When Chris starts trembling, I notice the silent tears trailing down his cheeks. “Please,” Chris pleads. “Just let us go. We won’t come back. Ever.”

  As the man swings the gun toward Chris, Jasmine shoots out like a bolt of lightning, jumping in front of the boy. “Stay back!” the man shouts. His eyes transform from anger to panic as the burst of a bullet flashes in my ears. Just as quickly, his momentary panic dissolves into a satisfied glare.

  An involuntary scream escapes me as my mind attempts to comprehend what just happened. Before the scream has fully left my mouth, Jasmine’s body jerks back, her eyes wide with shock, before she crumples to the floor.

  Chapter 52

  Before anyone can react, the man roars, “Get the hell out of my house or there’s more where that came from!” Venom spews from each word.

  He just shot a person and he’s not even sorry. Why is that the first thought to run through my head? We all snap into action, converging on Jasmine before this nut job changes his mind.

  The tears swimming in my eyes distort Jasmine’s prone form. Lying on the cream tile floor, her right hand clutches her left shoulder. Jeff and Aidan kneel down at her sides, trying to gently lift her. She starts to protest, asking “What the hell—” Jeff cuts her off. I can’t hear his whispered words over the rush of blood in my ears.

  “I said get outta here!” the man shouts again. I grab Chris’ hand and pull him toward the swinging door, leading him through and then holding it for the guys and Jasmine. She lets out a squeal of pain as Aidan tries to support her injured shoulder.

  The man follows us to the living room, rushing us along. As the guys lead Jasmine to the door, I grab Chris’ hand again and pull
him toward the couch. We’re the only ones left to help Wes. Even with all the commotion, Wes lies still on the couch, perspiration still beading on his forehead. I shake him hard, but he barely rouses.

  “Wes, wake up!” I pray he understands the urgency in my voice. “Chris, we have to lift him up. Now!” Just as Wes cracks an eye open, Chris and I lunge, lifting him from the couch. He groggily asks, “What’s happening?” We don’t bother to answer as we rush to the door. The guys are slow-moving with Jasmine, but they’ve made their way to the sidewalk by the time we catch up to them.

  No one talks, we just stumble down the sidewalk away from the raging man’s house. This street must be more populated than we thought. I see movement in some of the houses we pass. Curtains swish as neighbors back away from their windows. A toddler’s cry is stifled as we draw nearer to a house with a red and yellow playset in the front yard. People see us, clearly in need of help, but they stay hidden.

  Wind carries a few leaves and a discarded paper cup down the street. Maybe we’re just as aimless. Simply following the path, we’re pushed along.

  The farther we go, the slower we move. After too many blocks to count, commercial buildings start popping up. Signs jump out at us, touting the best nail salon, mom-and-pop hardware store, and laundromat around. As we near the end of the first block of stores, Aidan points and calls out, “Look, look around the side of the building.”

  “Holy hell,” Jeff laughs. “I think we finally found some good luck.” Like a beacon of hope, the last storefront on our left bears a red and white sign reading Emergen-Sea Care Ambulance Service.

  The last of my dwindling energy drains from my aching body. Adrenaline must have carried me this far, but now the weight of our situation and Wes’ slack body slow each step.

  Aidan and Jeff lead Jasmine to the curb and slowly lower her down. Her once-yellow shirt bears an apple-sized red blotch about four inches above her heart. Dots of sweat bead along her forehead and her normally dark skin appears pale. Aidan sits next to her, helping her stay upright. He talks softly and strokes her arm while Jeff dashes to the ambulance company’s front door. He throws his backpack to the ground and starts rummaging through it.

  Sweeping my gaze across the parking lot, I spot a trio of ambulances sitting dormant. I guess this place is out of commission. We could have really used medical help. But maybe if this place was in service, the ambulances would be out helping other people.

  Chris and I slog the last few steps to the curb and lower ourselves and Wes down. Instant relief sweeps through my legs and back. Jeff pops the door’s lock and slips inside the ambulance company. For a brief moment, Aidan’s eyes meet mine, mirroring the anxiety and exhaustion that I feel.

  “Wh-where are we?” Wes mutters. I’m so relieved to hear his voice that an answer rushes out of me. “We found an ambulance company, and we’re going to find some medicine for you and clean up your leg.”

  “And we’re gonna help Jasmine, too,” Chris announces. My shoulders hunch and my head bobs as I cringe. I don’t want to think about the bullet that either blasted through her or now resides in her shoulder.

  “What? What happened to Jasmine?” he asks. Why is he so out of it? Didn’t he hear the gun go off at that wacko’s house? I look to Aidan, but he shakes his head. Wes doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now.

  “Oh nothing,” I reply feebly. “Let’s focus on getting you feeling better right now.”

  With that, Jeff pushes through the front door and kneels down between me and Aidan. “Okay, there’s a back room with supplies in it, but it’s a lot of cardboard boxes, and I can’t figure out what’s up from down in there.” When we just stare at him blankly, he continues. “So, I found a bunch of keys, and I say we just go right to the ambulances and try to patch Jasmine up in there. Maybe we can even find something for Wes.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say. Aidan nods in agreement. “Okay,” Jeff says. “Just stay put and I’ll see which keys unlock which rigs.”

  Jeff jogs to the parking lot. Chris starts pointing toward the sky. “Look at those clouds. Do you think a storm’s coming?” Puffy gray clouds swirl in the distance. Their cotton-ball curves are well-defined, casting the landscape in an eerie black-and-white scene. I’m not surprised we didn’t notice it approaching. I know my eyes barely ventured higher than the pavement as we slowly trudged along.

  Aidan answers him, “Yeah, buddy, I do. We should probably hurry.”

  Jeff moves from one ambulance to the next, leaving the keys dangling from the one he’s managed to unlock. When he returns to us, he stops and scratches his head. “Okay, how about I help Quinn lift Wes and we take him to one rig. Chris, you come with us. Then I’ll be right back to help Aidan bring Jasmine to another one.”

  As the wind gusts around us, Jeff and I lead Wes to the closest ambulance. Once we get him settled on the stretcher, Jeff takes off again. After a moment of eyeing our surroundings nervously, I will myself to conjure up some courage and take charge. Jasmine needs immediate attention. Aidan and Jeff have to tend to her. What happens in this truck is all on me.

  Chapter 53

  Chris stands mutely, his green eyes questioning our next move. After just one deep breath, I shake the jitters free and squat to meet him at eye level. Grasping his shoulders, I explain my plan as he listens intently.

  Once we break, Chris sidles up to the stretcher and watches over Wes. His job is to make sure Wes doesn’t roll off the side. I step to the wall and start rummaging through the organized compartments that run along it.

  The truck is equipped with everything from latex gloves to alcohol swabs to all kinds of equipment I can’t identify. My first mission is to find medications, any sort of painkiller.

  As I start peering into white plastic bins resting on a metal rack, Chris calls for me. “Quinn, he’s really sweating, and his breathing is kinda weird.” Knocking a box of gauze patches to the floor in my rush, I hurry to Wes’ side. His forehead still beads with sweat and his eyes are cracked open. I spy an elastic bandage on a nearby shelf and grab it, using it to dab Wes’ face.

  “Hey, you just take it easy. We’re gonna help you feel better,” I say, leaning closer to him. “How are you doing?”

  “Been better,” he says, shuddering as he tries to stifle a cough.

  “Why don’t you tell me everything that’s wrong, and we’ll see if we can find something around here to help.” I try to keep my tone uplifting, but it comes out high-pitched and awkward.

  “Well,” he starts slowly. “I’m really achy and tired. I feel like I can’t get enough sleep. And my head is killing me. The only time it doesn’t hurt is when I sleep. So maybe it’s a good thing that’s all I want to do.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad.” I instantly regret my words when he shoots me a questioning look. “I mean, I bet we can find medicine for that, that’s all.” I motion to Chris to stay close to Wes, and I return to my exploration.

  As I rummage through a cabinet that’s built right into the side of the truck, I hit the jackpot. Clearly-labeled bins line the shelf, and I take a moment to marvel at the organized manner of every item inside this vehicle. I guess knowing exactly where everything is can turn seconds or minutes into lifesaving moments.

  I grab a small foil packet from the ibuprofen bin. That pretty much cures everything, I think. At least temporarily. Some of the bins are rigged with locks. Those must be the hardcore meds. I think we can survive without them.

  Now we need something for Wes to wash these down with. I close the medication cabinet and walk past Chris toward the cab. There on the floor behind the driver’s seat sits a waist-height refrigerator with a glass door. A few bottles of water stand at attention inside, along with labeled bottles of what must be medicines.

  After freeing one of the water bottles from its refrigerated prison, I rush back to the stretcher. “Alright, Chris,” I say. “Let’s sit him up so he can drink and take some pills.” Wes visibly perks up,
but I’m not sure if he’s more excited about the medicine or the drink. Chris and I flank each side of the stretcher and place our hands behind Wes’ back. On the count of three we slowly lift until he’s in a sitting position.

  “Okay, Chris, I’ll make sure Wes doesn’t go anywhere. You help him with the water and pills,” I instruct. Chris nods and gets to work.

  After he’s downed the pills Wes says, “Hey, I think these things recline. Can you adjust it, so I can stay sitting up?” I motion to Chris to switch positions with me. Wes strains to stay inclined while Chris concentrates on supporting him.

  As I’m fumbling around just under where Wes’ head previously rested, Chris speaks. “Hey Quinn, you should look at this. Wes has a bump on his back.” I stand and follow his finger as he points to a spot right between Wes’ shoulder blades.

  “Wes, I’m gonna lift your shirt in the back, okay?” I ask.

  “If you get me more of that water, you can pretty much do whatever you want to me,” he responds, attempting a snicker that sounds more like a soft cough. I make a mental note to send Chris up front for another bottle.

  I gently tug the white cotton T-shirt up to his shoulders, revealing his back. Chris calls out, “Hey, cool tattoo! I didn’t know you had one!” Just as quickly as Chris’ excitement inflates, my spirit deflates. A pea-sized black blob clings to Wes’ back. It’s perfectly centered within what looks like a black bulls-eye.

  Chapter 54

  At that moment, Aidan steps up into the ambulance. “Hey, Wes, how’d you get Quinn to undress you?” My face flushes as my eyes slide toward our visitor. I steal a glance at Chris, but he’s still marveling at what he thinks is a harmless tattoo.