The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

  “Promise me, George. Promise us.”

  “I promise, Helen. You and the girls. Tell them Daddy will be home soon.”

  Two minutes later, they were still saying goodbye. George was afraid to lose the connection, because getting one again was iffy at best, but Helen had to go. She was already talking about how she and the girls were going to board up the doors and windows to the house. She had to tell Angela they would not be coming with them and say their goodbyes. Toward the end, Helen’s voice sounded almost normal. She had an agenda, a purpose. Helen was not helpless; she was taking charge of the situation, which was when she was at her best.

  As he hung up, George stepped over to the window, pushing the heavy drapery aside and peering down at the parking lot. He had no idea how many cars would normally be at the hotel on a weekday midmorning, but was certain it was typically more than the three he currently saw. There were muffled sounds coming from the street, from the opposite side of the building—more bullhorns and sirens. George tried to ignore them as he gazed at the green Explorer. It was parked in the spot next to the hotel exit.

  He turned and moved over to the dresser, opening the drawers and pulling out the small amount of clothes he had in them, shoving them in the suitcase sitting on the end of the bed. As he packed, George whistled.

  Five minutes later, just as he was about to leave, he heard a loud knocking at the door.

  ***

  Now … August 13th

  George could hear the crickets outside the car. It was dark, the starlight casting a delicate glow that showed him the path he needed to take. He found a flashlight in the glove compartment—a gift from Ben that would come in handy. He covered the light with his hand as he flipped it on to make sure it worked. The red ring that formed on his palm confirmed that it did, and he switched the flashlight off.

  He had been hiding in the park near his house for several hours, waiting for darkness to fall. After seeing what had happened in Willowsburg, he was relieved to see that his hometown of Wildwood hadn’t burnt to the ground, even though it was full of the infected. His arrival had stirred up plenty of the stiffs, and he’d been forced to drive up and down a variety of residential streets for over an hour, in an effort to confuse as many of the ghouls as possible. When he was certain that most of them were clumped together behind the Corsica, he sped up and easily eluded their pursuit, leaving them confused and frustrated and, most importantly, out of his way.

  He then drove toward his neighborhood and stopped at a small park a little over a block from his house. It appeared abandoned, the swing sets and picnic tables standing solitary sentinel against the madness of the outside world. George pulled off the grass and into a small stand of trees as he waited for the undead townsfolk he’d stirred up with his arrival to settle back down.

  He could almost see his house from where he was parked. Being this close after all this time and not being able to return home immediately was agony. But George knew he needed the cover of night to hide his movements.

  When it grew dark outside, he opened the car door, leaving the keys in the ignition. He shut it fast so the dome light wouldn’t advertise his presence. Waiting, he listened for the sound of footsteps on the plush grass and heard none. He felt a prickle of fear, but did his best to brush it aside. His long journey was almost finished.

  George looked out across the park toward the houses in the distance. He saw no movement in the starlit night. The infected were not the only creatures he feared. His neighborhood had been filled with plenty of pets. He figured most were dead, eaten by their ravenous masters, but was sure a few had escaped that fate and had gone feral, scrounging for food wherever they could find it. Images of wild packs of dogs floated through his mind.

  George clenched his fists and shook his head. It was a stupid thing to worry about. No stray dog was going to keep him from his family. He would stay quiet and stick to the shadows. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

  He moved in the direction of his house.

  ***

  July 1st

  “Honey, I don’t know how long I have. I’ve been trying all day to get a hold of you. I doubt the connection will last very long.”

  “Oh George, thank God! Where are you? We got the boards up. We nailed the doors shut and covered all the ground floor windows. We should be safe now. When are you going to be home? We need you here. Now.”

  George rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. Getting in touch with Helen was only a minor relief right now. He perched on his stiff cot and tried to blot out the noise of the other refugees in the gymnasium. He needed to focus on his wife.

  “I … I’m still in Gallatin, honey.” He sped on before she could respond. “Listen to me. The National Guard took me out of my hotel about thirty minutes after we hung up yesterday. They didn’t give me any choice. They wouldn’t listen. They don’t care that I have to get home. They were holding machine guns on us. They shoved us in a truck and brought us here. I was strip searched and tossed into a high school gym along with about four hundred other people, as best I can guess.”

  There was silence on the line. George moved his fingers down to his eyes, which ached from the nagging headache that would not go away. The gym had gotten too crowded, and they were still putting up more cots. His efforts to talk to the military personnel guarding them had met with discouraging results. The National Guardsmen inside the gym had no information and refused to let anyone speak to an officer above the rank of sergeant. All he could get out of them was that things would settle down in a day or two, and then they would be able to go home. For now, they said, it was best to just stay calm and relax. No one was allowed to leave the confines of the school—things outside were dangerous, but under control. Despite the reassurances of the young soldiers, the safeties were off on their weapons, and they were getting edgier by the minute.

  “I WILL get home. I swear it. You know I will, Helen. Nothing will keep me here longer than absolutely necessary.”

  “You promised me, George. You promised our girls.” There was a slight pause, a hesitation. “Things in the neighborhood … they’re bad. God, it’s bad here.”

  Every word gashed George like a razor blade. His strong wife, the brave one who was afraid of no one and never backed down, was terrified.

  “Helen. Listen to me.” The connection was fuzzy, but holding up for the moment.

  “I need you to believe me, Helen. I will get home. I swear on my life. No matter what it takes, I’m coming for you.” George took a breath and looked around. There were hundreds of refugees packed in like sardines, and most looked as distraught as he did. A few people, bunched together as families, were making the most of it, like this was some sort of adventure, as they tried to keep their spirits up. Quite a few people were on cell phones having similar frantic conversations, while others were just trying to get a signal.

  George had to get out of this place.

  “Do you believe me?”

  He waited, the seconds ticking away. He feared the connection was lost as he spoke again. “Helen?”

  “I do.”

  George heard the words clearly. He loosened his grip on the phone and found that he could breathe again.

  ***

  August 13th

  George stood beside the old blue ash that had stood in the Caldwells’ yard for decades. It was a good thirty feet high with roots that he assumed ran beneath their entire lawn. As he brushed against its rough surface, he looked down the street. When his eyes rested on the front of his house, George’s heart raced.

  It looked okay. There was plenty of damage in the neighborhood, and a few of the houses looked gutted. Not due to fire—George had seen no indication of burning, although several power lines were down. Mostly it was just shattered glass and gaping holes where doors once stood. But his house was in good condition.

  A few other houses looked fine despite the weeds and wild grass overrunning the lawns. There were still a few cars on the street and in dr
iveways, though it looked like most of George’s neighbors had abandoned ship early on.

  He took one more look out onto the street. There wasn’t any movement. With no weapon except the plastic flashlight, George’s only option would be to run if he came across any trouble.

  He steeled himself and shot across the street. He hit the Peraltas’ yard and crouched next to the large hedge spanning the front of the home. He paused and listened, but heard nothing.

  Working his way to the back of his neighbors’ house, George was grateful there was no fence to contend with. That was why he had chosen their yard. He could get to his house with minimal hassle.

  He moved closer to his home, maneuvering between his neighbors’ bushes and trees. He stood behind their shed and looked into his back yard.

  It was as he had left it. Memories gripped him as he scanned the small deck and French doors Helen had him install a couple of years ago. The windowpanes on the doors were intact, and it was far too dark to see if there was any plywood nailed in place behind them. The other windows on the ground level of the two-story house were all dark. The desire to turn on the flashlight and have a closer look was tempting, but George resisted the urge.

  The house was tan, but in the dark it looked more like a drab off-white. Even from this closer vantage point, the property still appeared to be in decent shape. George knew that was a good sign. There appeared to be no points of forced entry. He looked at the upstairs window and saw that the curtains were drawn.

  “Daddy’s come home. I kept my promise.”

  He could barely hear his own whispered words as he gazed up at the bedroom windows. The girls were probably up there. George could feel them inside the house. As he got closer, he was certain of it.

  His eyes moved back to the deck and then below it. There it was: the window well. There were three total, with the other two on the sides of the house. This one was the easiest to reach without exposing himself to the street. They had taped black garbage bags over them years ago, and he knew Helen wouldn’t have bothered boarding them up. They were sunk halfway into the ground, and it was going to be difficult enough for someone limber to climb through, let alone one of the stiffs wandering the street.

  As he crossed the yard and drew close to the window well, he gave one last look up at the second floor.

  “Soon, babe. I’ll be with you real soon.”

  ***

  July 1st

  “I think some of our neighbors have been infected.”

  George shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure? I mean, there are a lot of people going nuts. Maybe it just looked like they had the virus because they’d gone around the bend. It wouldn’t surprise me with some of the yahoos living in our neighborhood.”

  “No, George. It’s not just a few people flipping out. Rob Kerr got mauled in his own front yard. Just as he was leaving with Kendra and the kids. It was awful.”

  “Honey, people talk,” George protested. “They like to make up garbage. What? Did Angela tell you that? Rob probably got attacked by someone-”

  “No! George, listen to me. I saw it with my own eyes. It was horrible! They were biting on him, and he was screaming. Kendra was beating them with a broom handle, and they just ignored her. There was blood everywhere. God … the blood.”

  George’s confidence wavered, but he refused to be sucked in by the panic gripping his wife. “Well, did someone help them? I mean as these lunatics started chewing on Rob was there anyone trying to stop it?”

  “Yes! Of course there was! Several of the neighbors who were outside came over to help.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  George silently counted down from ten. “And then what happened to Rob?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t … I couldn’t watch anymore.” Helen stopped, and George knew she was trying to collect herself. “It was absolutely horrible! That anyone could do such a thing.”

  “Do you know who it was who attacked him?”

  “How should I know? They were smeared in blood and … Good Lord; there was so much blood …”

  “Okay, okay.” George placated her, knowing the conversation was going nowhere. He switched gears.

  “The house is set, right?”

  “Yes. I told you we took care of everything.”

  “I know, but I want to make sure my girls are all safe until I can get out of this stink hole and get back home.”

  “Speaking of your girls, one of them wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay, put her on.”

  George took a deep breath and tried to smile. His daughter would not see it, but it would help him maintain the pretense of being in good spirits. He was expecting Roxanne, the twelve year old, so he was surprised when he heard the bright and cheery voice of Deb, his younger daughter.

  “Hi, Daddy!”

  “Hey, baby! How are you guys doing?”

  “We’re okay. Roxy’s … we’re all okay.”

  There was a pause. George was worried that at any moment the connection might go dead, and he wanted to squeeze in as much conversation as he could before it did.

  “Daddy’s going to be home real soon, all right?”

  “I know.” There was another pause filled with hissing and crackling as their tenuous connection wavered in and out. George didn’t speak, wondering if it was sadness he heard in his daughter’s voice or just the faulty connection.

  “Daddy? When you get home, can we play Battleship again? I know I can beat you this time.”

  George smiled. Of course Deb wanted to play a game with him. She was the competitive one in the family. Whether it was basketball, soccer, or just a board game, Deb’s dream was to beat her old man. She had a sharp mind and was naturally athletic, just like George. He knew it was only a matter of time before she was able to whip him at anything she tried her hand at.

  “You bet, honey. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  As George envisioned the smile on his daughter’s face, his own grew.

  “I love you, Daddy. Get home soon, okay?”

  A sudden rush of emotion choked him for a moment. George fought back the tears as he tried to respond. Before he could, he realized that Deb was already gone.

  Before Helen got back on, he whispered a response to his daughter’s plea.

  “Daddy will be home real soon, sweetie.”

  ***

  August 13th

  The glass spiderwebbed, and a few shards tinkled into the basement. George tensed at the noise. The plastic flashlight had survived smashing the glass, but the noise had been louder than he expected. George turned so his feet faced the window and tried to delicately push the cracked pane of glass out of the frame. After a few seconds, most of it, except for a few small slivers, tumbled into the basement.

  The black plastic sheeting that had covered the window now floated loosely about the opening. George listened carefully, wondering if the sound of broken glass might alert his family. When he heard nothing, he guessed they were on the top floor. There was no chance they would have heard something all the way down in the basement.

  George plucked away the few remaining bits of glass on the bottom of the frame and poked his head inside. A small amount of starlight snuck past his broad shoulders, but he couldn’t see anything. He turned around and slid his legs through the window. As they dangled above the floor, he stopped and listened to the outside world one last time. There was no indication that his assault on the window had drawn any attention, so he carefully slid into the basement. He held his breath for a moment and waited. Still nothing. Moving fast, he pushed the tattered black plastic sheet over the hole he had made.

  Heart racing, George flipped on the flashlight and maneuvered through his basement toward the stairs.

  *

  The decrepit creature had lived five doors down from George before she was bitten. In the past month, she had moved little, except when attacking a few of the neighbors in a nearby house. After that, the
only thing there was to eat was a cat and the litter of kittens to which it had just given birth. The feline had been hiding out under a bush in the yard next to George’s house. After the ghoul fed, there had been little else to attract her attention, so she sat there, motionless, for several weeks.

  Until she heard George breaking the glass to his basement window.

  It was muffled, barely audible, and yet nearby. Her shriveled throat rattled as the pathetic wretch moved her jaws open and shut. A thick, oily substance lubricated her mouth. Soon, her desiccated tongue scraped at her lips as she moved closer to George’s house.

  The foul monster saw no one, but there was a scent on the air. The smell of sweat and pheromones. Her eyes widened as she crossed to the door at the side of the house and moaned with excitement.

  *

  George didn’t hear the call of the infected outside as he crossed the basement to the staircase. He stirred up a layer of dust and pulled his shirt over his nose, worried he would start coughing.

  As he set his foot on the first step, he envisioned Helen and the girls, surprised and overjoyed to see him. His heart was nearly bursting in anticipation.

  As he reached the top of the steps, he heard the noise. At first it was barely noticeable. Just a faint tapping. It could have been anything: boards creaking, the house settling ... But George knew what it meant as he touched the doorknob, even before he heard the glass breaking at the side door.

  He opened the door, the flashlight shining out onto his kitchen. He barely glanced at the piled pots and pans in the sink and the old appliances Helen had been nagging him to replace as he heard the moans coming from outside.