The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

  The man was hulking. A huge gut protruded outward, and the arms, which had a multitude of bite wounds running up and down their length, wobbled as he came at the young boy. To say that the man was obese was the understatement of the decade. It would be more accurate to say that the man was of a size befitting a carnival freak. George estimated he weighed at least four hundred pounds. The wattle of flesh hanging from his chin had been chewed on, but only half devoured. The free-floating skin and greasy fat beneath flopped and slapped against the open wounds on the man’s shoulders as he moved closer to Jason. There were stains running down the front of his shirt and onto his pants. Normally George would assume it was blood that soiled his clothing, but wondered if the behemoth had been caught mid-meal and now wore the remains of his last supper as a human being.

  George closed the distance quickly, gripping the shard of metal in his hands. It was thin, but the broken end was sharp and could spear someone pretty savagely. Knowing that there were others coming, he didn’t want to lose the sliver on his first attack.

  The huge man noticed George and shifted its massive girth in his direction. No sound came from its mouth, but a bubbling hiss emanated from the wound in his throat, and green goop spewed forth from it as the man silently growled. George rushed forward, launching his foot at the beast’s chest, sending it backwards. He was surprised at how incredibly heavy the man was, even in death. It toppled into the arms of one of the creatures following it.

  Moving past the tangle of arms and legs on the ground, George lashed out with his metal weapon at a teenage girl. The metal bent, but the force of the blow knocked her to the ground. The girl had no lips or eyelids and looked cartoonish with her rictus grin and bulging eyeballs. Two more stiffs were behind her, but George could see no others following them. Those last two were still a few feet back.

  The final two ghouls were moving slowly enough and were far enough back that George had time to raise his heel and send it down with the full force of his weight onto the head of the girl he’d just smacked with the metal framing. A sickening crunch verified that he had shattered her skull, and he avoided looking at what he was sure would be a grisly scene beneath his foot. He could feel the ooze of mushy organic matter clumping to the heel of his shoe.

  George turned to glance at the two stiffs he’d knocked over and was happy to see that the smaller one’s legs were still stuck under the stiff he’d dubbed Gigantor. The diminutive one tried to reach out and grab for George, oblivious to the fact that it would have to extricate its legs from underneath the huge beast in order to reach him.

  Jason was back up and moving toward the fray. George waved him back, sending a well-placed kick to the skull of the ghoul trying to grab for him from underneath Gigantor. Its head rocketed to the side and sprayed the asphalt with teeth and what looked to be an eyeball. George looked at his handiwork and realized that, even with the head trauma he’d just caused, the thing was still moving. He kicked it several more times, until its arms stopped twitching.

  Gigantor was desperately trying to get up off of his back, but like a turtle that had been flipped over on its shell, he was having a hard time of it. He could wait.

  George turned to face the last two monsters that were closing in on him and Jason.

  They had been soldiers. The first’s uniform had been ripped off to the waist, and he was a few organs short, though his ribcage was still intact. Most of the visible meat on its arms had been ripped clean off, with only bones and ligaments remaining. The other one had one arm, and only two fingers remained on the mauled hand at the end of the appendage.

  Dropping the piece of metal, George charged at them. His fist nearly dislocated the first soldier’s jaw as it plowed into it. The blow knocked the creature back and gave George the time he needed to grab the other ghoul by its lone arm and spin it so its gnashing teeth couldn’t reach him. He sent the ghoul skidding across the pavement as he let go, leaving a trail of gristle behind. The one George had punched was already moving back for more, and the stench emanating from its open chest cavity was horrendous. He grabbed both sides of its head before it could react and drove the skull down onto his knee. Pushing the head away, he watched the body tumble before him. To ensure that the job was complete, George brought his heel down on the skull and then raced over to finish off the other soldier, who had managed to get back to his knees. A quick kick to its hindquarters dropped it to the ground again. George placed one foot on its back to hold it down while he stomped on its head with the other until his shoe was soaked with brain matter.

  George bent over, exhausted. He was going to have to deal with Gigantor still, but knew the fat man was probably still trying to get off his back. Filling his lungs with corrupted air, he tried to lower his frantic heart rate.

  Despite the grim chores he had just completed, George felt exhilarated. How these slow, stupid creatures had conquered the human race within just a couple of weeks was incomprehensible. Unless he had to face off against the entire horde on the street, he was certain he could manage just fine against them.

  Taking a deep breath, George turned, ready to deal with Gigantor. What he saw sent shockwaves through his body. He had already been stunned several times that night, but nothing compared to what he was seeing now.

  The boy who had been nearly catatonic only minutes earlier had managed to regain his senses enough to pick up the piece of metal George had dropped and beat the fat ghoul to death with it.

  After it stopped moving, stopped grabbing for him, Jason continued pounding on the head of the corpse, sending sprays of blood and some sort of black, oily discharge squirting out of it as the sharp piece of metal connected with it time and time again.

  The look George saw in the boy’s eyes was that of a stone-cold killer. There was no anger, no rage, just focus. He made no sound; no screams passed through Jason’s lips. He just kept beating on the dead man, obliterating the flesh and bone of his skull.

  George hesitated before moving closer to the boy. At that moment, he was afraid to try to separate Jason from the lump of dead flesh in front of him. All the bravado he’d felt at his meager victory against the ghouls slipped away in a heartbeat. It was like a cold splash of water to his face as he watched the twelve year old in his care take out all his frustrations on the monster.

  The boy was not just splattered with guts, he was drenched with them. Bone chips and a stringy substance, the identity of which George did not even want to guess, dangled from the boy’s tightly curled hair as he continued pounding on the corpse with the bent piece of metal.

  “Jason!” His voice carried over the muffled sound of battle out on the street. He used the same tone of voice he used when he was angry with his children. He prayed to God it would have the same effect on the orphan as it did on his daughters. George got what he wished as the boy stopped the gore-drenched piece of metal from descending into the innards of the ghoul’s head once again.

  “Stop that NOW!” George stood with fists clenched, trying to display an anger he did not feel, but needed to dredge up if he had any hope of saving Jason from oblivion.

  Jason looked at George for a moment, and then his eyes dipped back toward the dead man at his feet. After a beat, perhaps to ensure that the man was indeed dead, he looked up again. Lifting his hand, he offered the thin strip of metal to George. The look on the twelve year old’s face was the same hollow, shell-shocked look that had been there earlier, back where they had hidden in the bushes beside the high school.

  There was something else there too. Through all the dirt and gore that covered Jason’s face, George could see tracks of tears running down it, leaving a trail of purity in a field of blood-caked nightmare. The middle-aged man felt like crying as well, as he realized that despite all Jason had been through, the boy’s soul was intact. It was pummeled and damaged nearly beyond repair, but it still remained. But for how much longer?

  George held back the tears and gave Jason an affectionate slap on the back, smiling. His grin
had not returned, but he still felt relieved. They were survivors. More importantly, they were still human.

  George and Jason, Part 4

  The tears did flow as George sat in the room with the unread romance novel open on his lap as he relived those last moments standing outside of the church. He wept for Jason. He wept for Al and Jennifer. He wept for the family to which he still hadn’t returned. But mostly, he wept for a world that was lost forever.

  ***

  They managed to make it inside the church. The metal shard had enough left in it to shatter a window too high for George to crawl through. He boosted Jason up to it, and the kid was able to climb inside. He unlocked a lower window, and George climbed in and locked it behind him.

  The bright flashes of light from explosives and spotlights diminished as the night went on, so it was difficult for either of the refugees to see much inside the room in which they found themselves. The tiny desks indicated that they had made it to a preschool classroom. They didn’t feel up to exploring, so instead they huddled behind the teacher’s desk.

  The sounds of battle diminished, though George couldn’t help imagining more screams out on the street. The logical part of his brain knew he couldn’t hear them from where he was hunkered down, but that didn’t make the waking nightmares any less real. The only comfort was that the drone of the undead was greatly reduced and appeared to be getting farther away as the night wore on.

  George knew what that meant, but he tried not to dwell on it. The ghouls had broken through the last barriers and were inside the schools, tearing through the last of the living.

  We’re alone now. The cold, harsh thought stayed with George throughout the night.

  Dawn broke after a couple of sleepless hours. George was shocked when he realized Jason had dozed off shortly after they’d gotten through the windows and settled in behind the desk.

  Rooting around, they found a few rags and were able to clean off the worst of the gore that covered both of them. After that, they set out to explore the place and see what rooms they could barricade from outside assaults.

  George promised Jason that they would stay here for only a couple of days, until he figured out an escape strategy. The boy listened to the promise impassively, seemingly unconcerned about their current situation.

  They pulled down blinds on the windows that had them and propped a few cafeteria tables up in front of other windows that faced the road. They secured the exits as best they could, which amounted to little more than moving a few desks in front of the doors and praying the undead wouldn’t notice that someone was now inhabiting the church.

  A search of the premises revealed a small stash of food and drinks—stale crackers and juice boxes left over from the previous school year. The box full of bottled water was a nice bonus, along with a stash of junk food George found hidden in a janitor’s closet. It was better than nothing and would prevent them from starving if they were forced to stay for a while. They claimed their bedrooms on the second floor and hunkered down.

  After a couple of days with no attacks on the church, they were able to relax a bit and start monitoring the situation outside. The number of rotters roaming the streets was diminishing. George’s best guess was that with the lure of warm flesh gone, they had wandered into the schools, away from the blazing sun. A few emerged from the school buildings every now and then. George would watch them from the second floor as they stumbled around, picking at the Humvees and other vehicles that were now collecting dust.

  That was when George wondered if those sad creatures still had a shred of humanity left to them. He couldn’t help but compare them to the boy with whom he was hiding out with. Jason was acting more like some sort of drone or robot with each day that passed. Nothing George did seemed to break down any of the kid’s hard-earned barriers. The twelve year old spoke only when absolutely necessary. He followed George’s rules without question or complaint. He knew that they needed to be quiet; he knew that if he went to the first floor, he was not allowed to let any of the doors slam shut and he needed to stay away from the windows. But none of that came up too often, because Jason spent most of his time in his room up on the second floor, alone.

  Days passed and time crawled. George plotted different potential escapes. At the same time, he felt the strong need to keep Jason sheltered, to prevent him from sustaining even more damage. He prayed to God to give him an idea of what to do and when to do it. He stared out windows and went through different scenarios in his mind. Every single one ended up with the two of them being surrounded and devoured by those things. Time ticked by, and after a while, the ideas ran dry. George needed to get to his family, but he wouldn’t risk the boy’s life to do it.

  The slim hope that someone might come to their rescue disappeared not long after they arrived in the church. George had held out little hope for the Ninth Infantry to come blasting in or some Navy SEALs to sneak them away, but he tried to hold onto the belief that there was someone, anyone, out there and that they were trying to figure out a way to save the people who were trapped, like him and Jason.

  The thought that some savior might show up and save them was a ludicrous fantasy, but George couldn’t help thinking about it every now and then.

  Mostly, George slept. And when he wasn’t sleeping, he exercised. He did situps, pushups, jogged around the gym … anything to distract himself from the current situation.

  The weeks went by and the food continued to diminish, but nothing happened, either outside or inside the church.

  George was about to doze off after an aggressive workout when he was jolted out of his daze by Jason, who was peering at him through his bedroom door.

  It was shocking to see the boy; he never entered George’s room. Now here he was, leaning through the partially open door with a look George had forgotten could exist on Jason’s face: excitement.

  “Someone’s here.”

  It was all the kid had to say for George to jump up and get moving. No questions, no skepticism. Those two words were the most he had heard from Jason in several days, and the emotion he displayed in the few seconds it took George to rush through the door was more than he had shown since they had arrived at the church. Jason waved him on, pointing toward one of the small windows at the end of the hall.

  “Okay, okay,” George said as Jason grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to the window.

  The windows faced the street and were spaced far enough apart that the refugees couldn’t see directly below, due to the roofline of the building, but they were able to see most of the street. Jason pointed out the left window, frantically jabbing at something down below.

  “Over there!”

  George moved up to the window and saw what the boy was so excited about. It was some sort of van slowing down in front of the high school. It was blue, and he could see the silhouette of a driver, who appeared to be staring at the sign posted nearby that stated:

  GALLATIN EMERGENCY SHELTER. ALL FAMILIES AND INDIVIDUALS REPORT TO THE GYM FOR REGISTRATION.

  One suitcase per family, clothes only. No pets! All food and water is provided. All food and water brought on the premises will be confiscated. NO FIREARMS! Please have valid state or federal ID available for inspection. Thank you for your cooperation.

  George had memorized those words and even dreamt about tearing down the sign on more than one occasion. It felt like a mass grave marker to him, a sign painted in the blood of dead soldiers and refugees.

  George could see that the driver was a man. He wore a t-shirt and a ball cap. Other than that, it was hard to tell much about him through the dirty window of the vehicle. The man gesticulated at a passenger as the van slowed to a stop.

  The vehicle had been through the ringer. It was banged up and splattered with gore. The rear windows were tinted, and it was nearly impossible to tell if there were any passengers besides the one to whom the driver was talking. Got room for a couple of hitchhikers?

  “Should we open the window and yell down to
them?”

  George shook his head at the excited plea as he continued watching the dark blue minivan inch down the street.

  A cynical side of George did want yell out at the fools to tell them that they had picked the wrong street to cruise. But mostly, he felt like he had just been shocked by defibrillation paddles. His heart was racing and his pulse was going through the roof with insane hope. Less than one hundred yards from where he and Jason stood were the only living beings they’d seen in ages.

  The van came to an abrupt stop at the sign. The driver had probably read it, but was still jabbering at the passenger. What in the Lord’s name are those two squawking about? What could be so damnably important? George was getting irritated just watching the scene unfold below. He noticed Jason glancing over at him and realized he was mumbling, talking to the driver. He slammed his mouth shut, and both he and the boy returned to looking at the vehicle.

  “No.”

  “Huh?” Jason responded to the whispered word as he continued staring out the window. He jumped when George exploded a moment later.

  “No, God dammit, no!”

  George slammed his fist against the glass, rattling it in its frame. Jason was surprised to hear the supposedly religious man with whom he’d shared this place lash out with blasphemy.

  Looking back out the window, he knew why George had lost his composure. Dead people were surging out of the schools on both sides of the road.

  The van shot forward, and Jason wanted to scream along with the man next to him, yelling at the driver to come back. The vehicle moved out of sight down the road past where they could see them.

  Their rescuers were going to leave before they even knew he and George were here.