The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  Shopping carts lay scattered everywhere, along with dead shoppers, their bodies eaten away. But it was the sight of the children that was the most heartrending. Mothers’ bodies lay over them protectively, but they were nevertheless dead.

  At the front entrance we saw the shattered glass. Looters who had long since fled.

  Inside, the fluorescent lights shone bright. I needed a charger for my cell phone. Warnick stayed close, scanning the aisles as we made our way to the electronics department. We noticed something moving in the distance.

  “Hang on,” Warnick said.

  It was a lone dragger. He was big, like a bear. As he came closer, I recognized him—Detective Van Gundy. His left arm was gnawed off up to the elbow. He still wore the cheap grey suit and mustard-stained striped tie. Everything was covered in dried blood. His face was pasty, fresh blood on his ragged lips.

  Warnick noticed the look on my face and seemed to understand. He raised his AR-15 and fired several shots, which tore half the cop’s face off, causing him to fall backwards into a circular rack of clearance summer wear. After everything that happened, I wondered if he ever figured out the truth about Missy, Jim and me. What did it even matter now?

  We made it to the electronics department without further incident. I tore through the racks and glass cases, looking for what I needed, as other soldiers searched for survivors and gathered supplies.

  “See if there’s a charger for my phone,” Warnick said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said after locating both chargers.

  All was quiet outside, which unnerved me. The other soldiers brought out nonperishable food, water, clothing, batteries and first-aid supplies. In the distance, I noticed draggers who used to be shoppers wandering between cars like they’d forgotten where they parked. Because they were far away, they hadn’t spotted us.

  Rather than mess with the undead, we decided to leave. Never fight if you don’t have to, I remember Warnick saying. But as we drove away, we heard a car horn. Warnick stopped the vehicle.

  “What?” I said, but I already knew what he was thinking.

  “It could be someone trapped in their car.”

  “Then again it could be a swarm of draggers.” I saw the look on his face and stood down. “Hey, I know,” I said. “Let’s go check it out.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  The others waited in their vehicles as Warnick and I made our way through the parking lot. We didn’t hesitate to shoot any draggers we encountered. Our objective was to find the car.

  Then we saw it. Way off in a corner of the lot, under a tree, sat a silver Volvo Cross Country, its emergency lights flashing. Half a dozen draggers milled around it, interested in its contents. We waited. The horn went off again.

  “Someone’s in there,” Warnick said.

  I scanned the parking lot, looking for other draggers. Springer and Popp ran over to assist. Warnick signaled for them to surround the car.

  Inside, a terrified woman looked at us with pleading eyes, and behind her was what looked like a rear-facing car seat with a baby in it.

  “I hate it when you’re right,” I said.

  Each of us targeted a dragger, careful not to shoot at the ones closest to the vehicle. As we picked off those on the outside, others took their places.

  “Aim away from the car,” Warnick said.

  We saw that the draggers had been teenagers who dressed in ripped jeans, shorts, T-shirts and flip-flops. It made me sick to shoot them. I had to remind myself they were already dead.

  Popp’s AR-15 jammed as a dragger descended on him. I ran to him and used the butt of my axe to cave in the dragger’s head. I pulled Popp away and finished off the thing with the blade.

  “Thanks, bud,” he said.

  When I looked up, I saw thirty or forty draggers heading our way, attracted by the noise.

  “Unlock the doors,” Warnick said to the woman inside.

  “Hey, guys? Any time,” I said as Springer, Popp and I faced off with the approaching horde.

  When I looked back, Warnick was helping the woman out of the car. Once she was free, he flung the back passenger door open and tried to unbuckle the car seat. I heard the baby bawling. The draggers were close now.

  “How’s this thing work?” Warnick said.

  The woman pushed him away, unfastened the harness and removed the car seat with the baby still in it.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Warnick said.

  The draggers decided we were sitting ducks and rushed us. Springer, Popp and I created a line of suppressive fire as Warnick took the woman back to our vehicle.

  “Wait, my bag,” the woman said as Warnick placed her inside.

  “Forget it.”

  “There’s formula in there.”

  “Dave, get the bag from the car,” Warnick said.

  By now the remaining draggers were on us, but the rest of the soldiers had heard the gunfire and came to assist.

  My eyes on the draggers, I ran to the car and grabbed the diaper bag. Most of the mewling creatures were down, but more came out of the darkness. One grabbed Warnick’s arm, and he knifed it in the eye with his bayonet.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Warnick ordered one squad back into the store for formula and diapers. The rest of us piled into our vehicles and got out of there. Springer and Popp sat in back with the woman. I looked at the woman and her baby. The infant was quiet as she cooed to him and kissed his head.

  “How long were you out there?” I said.

  “Since this morning. My car wouldn’t start. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You’re safe,” Warnick said.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  I thought the baby smiled at me. “What’s his name?”

  “It’s a she. Her name is Evan. I’m Nina Zimmer.”

  “Dave Pulaski,” I said, then introduced the others.

  Nina looked to be around thirty. Attractive, with chestnut hair and violet eyes.

  “I prayed that someone would find us. Do you believe in God?” she said.

  “Funny you should ask,” I said.

  * * *

  It was late when we arrived at the Arkon building.

  Warnick touched Nina’s arm to wake her. “Stay here while we check this out.” Then to me, “You want to stay here?”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said.

  “Popp, stay here with Nina.”

  “Copy that.”

  The front doors looked secure in the streetlights. Two teams of soldiers ran around the building to make sure no draggers were lurking anywhere and no entrances had been left open.

  I followed Warnick to the rear, where we found the loading dock. A bobtail truck was parked next to the dock. The driver was still in the cab, his chest carved out like a Halloween pumpkin, his skeletal hands still clinging to the steering wheel, his entrails draped over the gearshift knob.

  “I remember this building,” Estrada said. “We secured it weeks ago.”

  We jogged back to the front. Warnick signaled a soldier to get something from one of the vehicles. The soldier returned with a small kit and proceeded to pick the lock.

  “Why not shoot it open?” I said.

  “That’s the movies,” the soldier said. “If we did that, we wouldn’t be able to lock it again.”

  Once inside, teams of soldiers checked every floor for signs of draggers or nailheads. Warnick and I joined a team checking out the first floor. We found that the electricity still worked, which meant the elevators were operational. I wanted desperately to charge my phone, but we needed to make sure the building was secure. Checking the restrooms, we found that the plumbing worked as well.

  We took the elevator down to the basement, our weapons ready. When the doors opened, I almost fired on a group of people who looked like draggers.

  “Is it over?” one of them said.

  There were at least thirty civilians staring at us, holding in their scrawny hands anything t
hey could find to use as weapons.

  The hallway was filled with trash. Rats and cockroaches feasted on the mess. The smell was sickening.

  We brought the people up to the first floor in small groups and gave them food and water. Some had to be carried. For a moment I thought Holly and Griffin might be among them. But these people had been down there a long time, most of them starving. A few had died. None of the dead had turned, though, having never been exposed to the virus.

  Nina sat among them, feeding Evan.

  “Why did you stay down there?” Warnick said to one of the men as he gulped down bottled water.

  “We were ordered to by your guys.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Hard to remember. Two weeks?”

  They’d stayed alive by drinking water. The food from the vending machines had long since run out. Most ate very little, their appetites nonexistent. As I watched them, I saw their bleeding gums and dry skin. They were ragged and weak, like survivors of a concentration camp. I recalled in high school seeing black-and-white photos of prisoners liberated from World War II camps like Auschwitz and Treblinka. That’s what these people looked like, hollow-eyed and skeletal, with swollen bellies.

  They were saddened to hear that the undead still infested the town. We gave them medical care and set them up in conference rooms and cubicles to sleep, promising to guard them.

  Why had they stayed down there so long? Was their fear that paralyzing?

  Once the building was secure, I got out the phone chargers and took Warnick’s phone. I found an outlet and plugged in both phones. As mine turned on, I found I had one bar. Then voice mails and texts poured in.

  I played each voice mail. They were all from the past, most of them from Holly. One was from Ram and another from Aaron. Strange hearing those voices again. It was the same with the texts. Nothing recent. Nothing telling me that Holly and Griffin were safe.

  Though I wasn’t sure Holly had found a way to charge her phone, I sent her a text anyway. Are you alive?

  The message went through. I waited for a few minutes, hoping that Holly would answer. Nothing. I texted her the name and address of our building in case she and Griffin could make it there.

  Once my phone was charged, I pulled Warnick aside. “I need to find Holly and Griffin.”

  “Tomorrow. You need rest.”

  He was wrong—I was ready. I tried to sleep but couldn’t, so I checked on Nina and the baby. I found her in the lunchroom on the first floor changing Evan’s diaper. The baby seemed calm and happy, gazing into her mother’s eyes the whole time.

  “How much stuff have you got in that bag?” I said.

  I took a seat at one of the small, round tables and watched as Nina put her baby’s clothes back on and washed her hands in the sink. She carried Evan to the table and sat across from me, stroking the baby’s cheek.

  “You want to know what I was doing there,” she said.

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “It was stupid, I know. But I needed formula and diapers.” Her eyes teared up. “I knew I should’ve left with the rest of the neighbors, but I was so scared for Evan. I didn’t know what I’d find out on the road. So I barricaded myself in our condo.”

  “Till you ran out of food,” I said.

  “I thought Walmart would be deserted and I could run in and grab some supplies. Like I said, it was stupid.”

  “Well, you succeeded.”

  “Right. Then my car wouldn’t start.” She laughed, embarrassed. “Next thing I know, I’m surrounded by those things.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at me. “We’re not going to make it, are we?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I could’ve been a man and given her a big speech. But it was a question that nagged at me too, one I kept pushing from my mind as I thought about Holly and Griffin.

  “I don’t know,” I said. She nodded, almost in relief. “Where’s your husband?”

  “In San Francisco. We separated for a while.”

  “Doesn’t he care about you?”

  “He tried coming back, but the roads were blocked. I need him here. What about your wife?”

  I told her what had happened except for the part about me cheating on Holly.

  “Holly’s lucky,” Nina said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks, Dave. For saving us.” She kissed my cheek and left the room.

  Sleep came immediately. The last thing I remember was sitting at the table and looking at my cell phone. Hoping to hear it ding. Praying that a long-awaited message from Holly would reach across the nightmare and give me strength.

  * * *

  When I awoke, Warnick was making coffee. I rose stiffly and checked my phone. Still no text from Holly.

  Warnick and I stood by the large windows in the reception area, watching the morning come. Soldiers patrolled outside, and I felt safe. It was getting light out as I sipped my coffee. Warnick must’ve sensed that I was anxious to leave.

  “I can’t go with you,” he said. “I have to be here with these men to make sure they stay on task.”

  “What you mean is, you don’t trust Estrada.”

  “She’s still on probation. I’ll assign a couple of men to go with you. That’s all I can spare.”

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Start with where we were originally picked up by Chavez’s men. The girls might still be nearby.”

  “Okay, that sounds good. Hey, make sure you keep your phone with you so I can contact you.”

  “Sure.”

  “What if I run into any nailheads?”

  “Make sure you don’t.”

  Brilliant blue daylight streamed through the adjacent buildings as I went out to the loading dock with Springer and Popp. Another soldier followed us to the door, ready to lock it once we were outside.

  We took a Humvee. As we drove onto the main road, I looked up at the building, wondering if I would ever be back. In addition to Holly and Griffin, I thought about Nina and her baby and the other civilians.

  That was the worst thing about these dark days—the uncertainty of every moment. No one ever thinks when they go somewhere that it may be the last time they’ll see their home or their loved ones. I’ll admit, there’s a certain feeling of freedom to it, not being tied down to anything. It’s how Jim and I saw Life in the thick of our drinking days. But it was a lonely feeling too.

  I didn’t know what we would find out there. Part of me wanted to stay inside and survive with the others. Start a new life. The other part wanted to find my wife and the young girl whom I now thought of as my family.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sweat Bees Don’t Lie

  What was worse than draggers and the trail of death they’d blazed as they devoured the town was the low state the nailheads had gotten to. I used to think there were good people and bad people. What I learned in this tragedy was the eternal lesson of good people going bad.

  Not that Ormand Ferry was ever good. He was one of those men who pretended to be your friend while screwing your wife. Over the years he’d built up a loyal following of the disillusioned and the disenfranchised. People like Steve Pinkerton. He fed them, comforted them and gave them guns. Then in their weakened, soup-fed state he preached to them. And they listened.

  In the world according to Ormand, or at least what I gathered from his sidewalk sermons, the “affliction” had been sent down from on high. God was using His winnowing fork to separate the chaff from the wheat. The strong and the pure would survive—no one else. And he, Ormand Ferry, would lead the chosen to safety. Tough words from a certified nutcase.

  We traveled at night, counting on the darkness to keep us safe. As we neared our destination, we decided to ditch the Humvee and hike in. I took in every detail of our surroundings and listened to every faraway sound. The night and its secrets weighed on us, the air stifling. Taking our weapons and ammo, we made sure we weren’
t being watched and headed out. After a few blocks, I was drenched in sweat.

  As we pressed on, we saw draggers in various states of decomposition. The fresher ones—if a dead, stinking body could ever be considered fresh—traveled in packs. The older ones, the ones near total collapse, wandered alone, no longer able to hunt. Eventually these pathetic corpses lay by the side of the road, looking up at the moon with unseeing eyes, waiting for what? Death? I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.

  “I think it’s down here,” I said.

  As we entered a familiar alley, I saw Ben’s motor home and remembered the day Holly and Griffin escaped, a million years ago. My heart leapt at the thought of finding them alive. Why didn’t we bring more men? It was stupid to think that three of us could keep ourselves safe.

  Someone had set fire to the motor home. It was now black and burned out from the inside, a rotting hulk that offered no protection or escape. Beyond the wrecked vehicle was the door Holly and Griffin had used to escape.

  Springer pushed the door open and peered inside. Then he went through, signaling for Popp and me to follow. It was black inside, so we had to use our flashlights. We listened for movement of any kind. Anything could be in there, and we had to be ready.

  We had agreed in advance to use hand signals instead of speaking. Good thing, because as Springer walked towards a hallway he was greeted by a dragger, a partially eaten hand hanging from its mouth. It glared at Springer, as if angry that we’d interrupted its dinner.

  Springer didn’t fire. He and Popp had attached bayonets to their AR-15s, and Springer raised his weapon and ran the knife through the dragger’s head before it could strike. The creature fell with a groan and stopped moving.

  We found the emergency stairs and started up. I don’t know how I ended up in front. Right away I noticed that the peeling metal railing was wet and sticky. I shone my flashlight on my hand and found blood. Then I heard something and directed the beam up the stairs. I was face-to-face with a horde.