The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

  The fear turned into nervous appreciation as the two men traded introductions. After that, Frank’s story came out in a tumble, as if he were relieved to have the chance to speak to a live human being. He’d been stuck in his basement for several days and had been forced to “deal” with his wife, who’d been bitten early on. They had no children, so he had been all alone ever since. After a while, the itch to see what was going on outside as well as a chance to grab something beside the pork ‘n’ beans he’d been living on caused him to climb the stairs, pry open the door he’d nailed shut, and take a look around. Most of the stiffs out on the street had migrated elsewhere by then, since a lot of Frank’s neighbors fled in the first couple of days of the madness that had gripped the city. So he went on the hunt for food in his neighbors’ houses. That was when he happened upon Lila, the woman he’d been attacking when Michael wandered by. She lived a couple doors down from Frank. He entered her home and found her in the kitchen, snacking on Stanley, her husband. “I guess she wanted fresher meat, ‘cause ol’ Stan smelled a mite sour, so she went after me,” Frank said with a crooked grin.

  He rushed to leave the house, but Lila followed, smashing through the front door he’d slammed shut behind him, forcing him to deal with her out on the street.

  “I never liked that bitch much anyway,” Frank said with a nervous chuckle as his story came to an end.

  Michael patiently listened to the sweaty, smelly man’s tale and tried to ignore the fact that Frank looked like the type of person to whom he wouldn’t have spoken on a bet just a week prior, unless it was to pay him to do plumbing work or some other menial task … not that someone in Frank’s condition (even if he had showered and had on clean clothes) would have ever made it past the doorman of Michael’s building. But things had changed, and the need to adapt to this new environment, and to the people who remained in it, was imperative. There would be a need for men like Frank, as there always had been. He was the type who took orders and was willing to get his hands dirty … very dirty if necessary.

  Nodding politely, Michael did his best to seem interested in what Frank had to say as his eyes kept gravitating to the work truck sitting in the driveway nearby.

  Frank invited Michael into his house, and they shared a sparse meal of the beans remaining in Frank’s stash and a few of the candy bars Michael was carrying. He did his best not to cringe at the smell of the decrepit house, noticing all the while that Frank didn’t seem to mind the foul odor emanating from his basement. Michael’s guess was that Frank’s wife was still down there and his new acquaintance had grown used to the smell of her rotten corpse.

  It didn’t take more than an hour with Frank for Michael to make up his mind. Frank wasn’t too sharp, but he was malleable and appeared willing to do just about anything to get out of the stink trap in which he’d been living for the past week. The idle promise of some booze and the assurance that together they could forge a new existence for themselves and anyone else they found sounded pretty good to Frank. He was a pig, but Michael knew he would be a loyal pig, as long as he was given some mud to root around in on occasion.

  Before the day was over, they were on the road in the truck, which happened to be Frank’s, maneuvering past the most of the wrecks and areas crawling with mobile corpses as they headed east, away from the city.

  As they avoided the hordes of undead and the few clots of National Guardsmen still alive and still willing to fight, they passed their time by capturing a few of the individual ghouls they came across. Michael felt it was important to understand the enemy, to see if anything could be done to salvage these inhuman wrecks. He tried to see if they would respond to any stimulus besides warm flesh, and if, given enough time, they could be turned into some sort of slave labor or mindless work force.

  They would lure a single stiff into the back of the van. A dead dog or cat carcass was usually enough to get them moving in the right direction. The truck had a wire-reinforced barrier between the driver’s area and the back, which made it easy to collect specimens without fear of getting bitten. A couple of hockey sticks, a fishing net, and some padded gloves acquired from an abandoned sporting goods store were the only equipment they needed to manage the task, along with some stout rope.

  When every experiment Michael performed failed, he turned the monsters over to Frank, who enjoyed torturing the creatures. Michael suspected it wasn’t because of some twisted desire for revenge, but because Frank got his rocks off that way. Michael tolerated the behavior, though it repulsed him, because it gave his partner a little bit of joy in an otherwise dreary existence.

  Over the next few days, they had run-ins with both the living and the dead, and managed to come out on top in each situation, adding to their level of confidence as well as their arsenal. Frank laid claim to a double-barreled shotgun while Michael got an M16 and a 9mm pistol from some stubborn soldier who took a little bit of prodding before he gave them up. Not long after that, they were also gathering people: stragglers more than happy to let Michael take the lead in their efforts to survive. They ditched the van as their contingent grew in size, finding a small plastics factory that they could fortify until they could find more adequate transportation.

  The battle to survive was a daily grind. The group spent their time foraging for food, water, and other supplies that would help them make a go of it. Everyone who joined Michael’s group was thrilled to be with other survivors and asked few questions about his methods, which was just how he liked things. He doled out the responsibilities, and Frank made sure everyone did as they were told. It seemed that everyone was more than happy to be following orders; it gave their existence meaning, and the confidence Michael exuded gave them hope.

  Then Cindy came along.

  Michael couldn’t say that she ruined everything. To say that she had even changed his plans would be an exaggeration and a lie. He knew Cindy didn’t change one single thing about his vision for the future. They would still find a permanent home for the living that Michael preached about, and he would continue shaping everyone’s vision of the future. Each step they took as a group was still as he dictated.

  It wasn’t his vision that had changed with Cindy. It was he who had changed. After spending just a little time with her, he knew what she was. She was a succubus, taking great pleasure in draining the life force out of him bit by bit. But that wasn’t all. She was not so indifferent to his suffering that she wanted to take everything away until he withered and died. Instead, for every bit of him she took, she gave back a piece of herself. It was her gift. For every rational thought, for every piece of compassion he tried to maintain a grip on but lost, there was something new put in its place. Something dark that squirmed beneath his skin. It burned in his gut and made him feel like his bones were turning to ash.

  Cindy’s gift to Michael was her pure and unadulterated hatred for everyone and everything in the world. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he had to admit that a part of him liked the gift she had given him.

  Cindy stumbled into the factory a couple of days after they’d set up camp. She told some muddled story about a boyfriend with whom she’d shared a camper until he was bitten. The story was vague, but it didn’t bother Cindy that no one seemed to buy it; she stumbled over her boyfriend’s name, and she was even vaguer about her existence before the virus hit. It was easy for Michael to dismiss; several of the people with them found it hard to talk about their pasts. What was clear to him was that Cindy enjoyed the rough, harsh existence brought on by the plague, and didn’t have any problem killing infected. She was good at it. She was a strong, remorseless killer, and that appealed to him. Most of the people he was surrounded by had an almost crippling fear of the undead, but not Cindy.

  Almost immediately after being welcomed into the group, Cindy began the process of insinuating herself into Michael’s life.

  Despite her outward appearance as a tattooed, rebellious free spirit, Cindy was, in her own way, even more power hungry than Michael. She
recognized him as the person in charge and did everything she could to learn what made him tick. Michael, who had rubbed elbows with politicians and the well-to-do his entire life, realized too late that he had no built-in defense mechanisms to hold off the advances of someone so raw. Cindy had no fears, no boundaries, and a depraved, lusty nature that attracted Michael like a moth to the flame.

  She was his girlfriend before he even realized it. And from the first moment he did know it, he understood that he needed to devise a way to be free of her clutches.

  Cindy scared Michael. She could see right through him and knew from the get go that there was a repressed knot of rage buried deep inside that he rarely displayed. She massaged that rage to the surface, prodding him into directing his anger toward her. What scared Michael the most was that Cindy enjoyed it when he was mad at her. She didn’t stop there, and pushed him into getting violent with her when no one else was around. It was a sick trip, but the desire that burned in her eyes when she provoked him made it all the more frightening and appealing. When he tried to restrain himself, she would push harder. Lacing the violence with sex made it all the more confusing. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and felt like they were in some sort of sick symbiotic relationship; Cindy fed on his anger while at the same time encouraging more of it to grow inside of him so the supply she craved would thrive perpetually.

  The urge to resist Cindy weakened in time, though it never disappeared. There were far too many other things going on for Michael to worry about their relationship and what it was becoming. About a week and a half after they claimed the factory as their own, it was overrun, and several members of the group died as they escaped.

  Michael’s group was once again out in the open, and that was when the idea of getting a hold of an RV or two popped into his head. Ben, one of the newcomers and a massive giant of a man, suggested they get more than just a couple, and set out to find a place they could bring them that would keep the group hidden away from danger. He alluded at the fact that getting diesel to fuel those beasts would be tough, and might become next to impossible in the upcoming months, but they would be incredibly useful even if they weren’t able to go that far. They needed to find a defensible place to hunker down, and if they had enough RVs, they could create a barrier that would be difficult for the undead to penetrate.

  It took several days, but they found an RV dealership not too far away while Ben found an ideal place to park the motor homes near a small town called Manchester. Things got messy, and a few more members of the group perished during the process of transplanting the RVs, but afterwards they were safe again, hidden behind massive metal walls and buried in a wooded area that would keep prying eyes, both living and dead, from seeing their new home.

  As things settled down, Michael found himself with more free time, more time to reflect on his existence than he’d had since he left his condo in downtown Cincinnati. Marcus, who’d joined the group after they fled the factory, became Frank’s drinking buddy, which kept the lout preoccupied most of the time. Ben volunteered to collect the supplies they needed and spent much of his time beyond the walls of the RV fortress, hunting and scavenging around Manchester. Lydia, one of the more recent additions to the group, was more than willing to take responsibility of managing the food and water and tending to the children. All of this meant that Michael had more time to spend thinking … thinking about the future of the little civilization he was trying to create … and about how imperative it had become that he sever his ties with Cindy.

  It couldn’t happen yet, not with the batch of newcomers that had just arrived, but soon enough. No reason to give any of them any doubts about the stability of the pecking order in the camp. Even if he did find Megan intriguing.

  She wasn’t attractive … at least not at first glance. She was physically weak and sickly looking, with dark circles beneath sunken eyes and the pallor that was the norm for those who had spent the past few weeks either hiding or running in fear. And yet there was a sparkle in her eyes that was hard not to notice, and traces of what she might have looked like before her world had been shattered haunted her face. There was beauty hidden there, and given time and nurturing, it would return. And more important than any physical potential she possessed, she was a normal human being. Megan was feisty, no doubt about it, but she wasn’t a sociopath, which elevated her status dramatically in his eyes. She was a suitable match for him, and he doubted that anyone but Cindy would disagree with that.

  But that could wait. He could woo Megan after she, Jeff, and George understood their place in his little world. It wouldn’t take long for them to realize they were better off doing things his way, rather than resisting the inevitable, or they would suffer the consequences.

  Given enough time, Megan would regain the weight she’d lost, and a healthy glow would return to her skin. She would also come to her senses. Life was a struggle, but it would be much easier with Michael at her side. No amount of animosity she felt for him now would keep her from seeing the truth in the coming weeks.

  The only thing standing in the way of that vision was Cindy. She would have to be dealt with. It had to happen soon. Their relationship had grown more and more twisted with every day and night they spent together.

  Michael knew that “dealing” with her wouldn’t just be a matter of kicking her out of the RV they shared or telling her it was over between them. No. It would require something a bit more drastic than that.

  Perhaps a trip beyond the walls of their little fortress for just the two of them might be in order. A trip from which she wouldn’t return. It wasn’t as if anyone would miss her.

  As he ran his finger along the razor-sharp edge of the knife he kept strapped to his wrist, a nervous smile twitched at his lips. He could deal with her. He just had to work up the courage.

  Then everything would return to normal inside of Michael’s head. All the sinister urges Cindy had put in there would evaporate, disappear. The dark cravings would be gone, and he would become the leader he had always wanted to be, the one everyone admired and respected, not just feared. All he had to do was get rid of her vile influence on him and everything would be just fine.

  Soon. He would do it soon.

  Michael and Cindy, Part 1

  Author’s note: This particular piece takes place the first night that Jeff and his crew have entered the RV camp, after everyone has retired for the evening.

  He grabbed her coarse blond hair and pulled her head back. Biting at her neck, he listened as she moaned in pleasure.

  “You like it rough, don’t you, bitch?” It was a harsh whisper as his lips traveled up her neck and toward her earlobe.

  “You know it, baby.” The voice was unstable, shaky. If you didn’t know her, you might think she was afraid. But for the few who truly knew Cindy, of which Michael was the only one still alive, it was obvious there was no fear in the woman. She was pure adrenaline and rage bottled up in a healthy young female package. At twenty-three, she was already savvy enough to understand how things worked in the world (even this particular variation of it) and vicious enough to achieve any objective that she set her mind to.

  The tattoos on her neck covered up the hickeys and bite marks that Michael gave her. The scabs might be noticed, but no one would say anything. It was odd enough that Michael, a graduate of the Michigan School of Business and the son of extremely wealthy and prestigious parents, was shacked up with her in the first place. The additional wounds that adorned her seemed to stretch comprehension levels to the breaking point. Who would ever believe that the stereotypical boy next door was the culprit responsible for those?

  When Cindy had wandered into his little clan, it was clear to her that since Michael was in charge, he was the only person for her. He was far from her type, but everyone who was her type was dead, and that was just fine with her. He bit and scratched in bed, but only because she had taught him so well. She had unleashed his kinky side. Michael in turn had shown her that all men have one, it just to
ok a strong and harsh enough woman to pull it out of them, kicking and screaming if need be.

  Michael was all the power in the universe now. It was the only drug left to her after the last hit of ecstasy was gone well over a month ago. Cindy had been addicted, at one point or another in her illustrious career, to nearly every drug and intoxicant known to mankind. In essence, she was addicted to addiction.

  Michael was just as addicting as anything she had sniffed, drank, or injected into her veins in the past. He was a royal prick under his nice guy persona, and it tripped her trigger that she knew it and had known it from the moment she laid eyes on him. At first, she had repulsed him. It made no difference to her, and in no time, she was able wear him down. After all, geography might be the only thing they had in common, but that was all she needed.

  But some bony bitch had arrived in the camp and threatened to change the landscape drastically. She was sweet, she was demure, and she was everything that Michael would have found appealing in the past, before Cindy had corrupted him. Certainly the woman had the whole anorexia theme going, but beyond that, she was perfectly “normal.” Attractive even. The jealousy Cindy felt didn’t extend to any desire to be like that woman at all. It was strictly raw rage at a potential threat to her existence as the Queen Bee.

  That was not all of it. Not by a long shot. None of it would have bothered her (or so she had herself convinced) except that it was very clear that Michael had been eyeing the other woman. Within the first five seconds, the battle lines were drawn in Cindy’s mind. She knew her man well enough to know that when he fixated on something, it would not be long before he went after it. Michael was not one to take no for an answer. He had little inclination to deny his own base needs either. So far, he had been satisfying them with Cindy, but now that Megan was here, she would be his new candy.