The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

None of the people with whom he traveled now knew his real name. When he was dubbed “Big Ben,” he latched onto the name change like he had been thrown a life preserver. It was not as if anyone would recognize his real name, Shawn Horton, but Ben just felt right. The world had shifted on its axis once again, so Shawn Horton—who had also been known as Bloodthirsty Rick Roberts—was again adopting a new name to suit his new existence.

  No one in Cincinnati other than family and friends had recognized him when he returned home from Atlanta. Being one of the masked bad guys helped ensure that was the case. When he stepped out of the ring—and more importantly, out of the spotlight—it was the first step toward abolishing all the ugly things that permeated his existence for years: the botched marriage to Becky, all the broken bones, and the part where he had sold his soul for a little bit of glory.

  The final step, or so it seemed, was becoming Ben: just some big dumb guy who knew how to handle himself in a world where the dead decided to get up and start walking around again.

  When Ben thought back on things, he knew it all began and ended with Isaiah. Isaiah Ezekiel Jones, head of IEJ Wrestling Enterprises, promoter extraordinaire and manager of one of the largest stables of professional wrestlers in the United Wrestling Federation. Isaiah was a retired wrestler and was slick and smart enough to have grabbed a share of the profits made with his body back in the sixties and seventies, when he was in his prime. There was not nearly as much money in it back then, but Isaiah was smart enough to invest with a chain of fast food restaurants that had a presence throughout the southeast. Isaiah was the one who discovered Shawn Horton, an ex-marine and wannabe body builder, and turned him into one of the most highly paid bad guys in the sport of professional wrestling.

  Shawn had been too damn big for his own good when he was in the Marine Corps. He had seen some action in Desert Storm and had been dubbed “mountain” by the other jarheads. Not just because of his size, but because he was as quiet and immutable as stone. He obeyed orders and was surprisingly light on his feet, but had little interest in showing off his exceptional strength to everyone around him, which left him isolated for most of his tour of duty. So when his four years were up, Shawn was glad to be done with it.

  He returned to the states and decided to make a go of things in Atlanta. One of the few guys with whom he had made friends in the corps told him how great a place it was to live, so he thought he would give it a shot. Not really knowing what to do with himself, he bluffed his way into a job as a personal trainer. The gym was where Isaiah discovered him.

  Shawn cut a pretty impressive figure, and despite his shyness, Isaiah saw potential in the big lug. He wasn’t “pretty,” so a mask took care of that. Later would come tattoos, a bald head, and a devilish goatee. Isaiah dazzled Shawn with promises of easy money and a lot of fun along the way. He introduced him to several other wrestlers who coaxed him to take a shot at life inside the ring.

  Six months later, he was Bloodthirsty Rick Roberts, one of the masked superstars of the UWF. He signed a lifetime contract with Isaiah and was taught the ropes in the business. He dyed his beard pitch black, learned all the dirty moves he could, and created a few trademark catch phrases for the fans. He was on his way.

  Becky was one of Isaiah’s stable of hot girls that formed part of his traveling road show. She got paid to be one of the good guys’ girlfriends and to have the occasional catfight with one of the other girls up in the ring during introductions. It stirred up the crowd and gave the wrestlers ample reason to display what appeared to be real hatred for each other. She was a statuesque platinum blonde, and had a surgically enhanced body that could make a Playboy Playmate weep with envy. Ben was hooked on her before he even realized it, but Becky ignored him for the most part. Being shy, at least outside of the ring, he could barely talk to her unless it was part of the script, when he was trying to “steal” her away from her onstage boyfriend. It was not until he got to be a popular attraction that she took notice of him. Even then, it took him becoming one of the star attractions facing off against the other big-name talent every night before she actually deigned to speak to him.

  Perhaps it was his naiveté, or maybe it was Becky’s opportunistic nature, but Shawn’s timid efforts to court her turned into a whirlwind affair in no time flat. Three months after their first date, they were married. The ever-shrewd Isaiah turned the situation, to which he was originally opposed, into something he could promote in the ring. Becky became a cold deceiver, stabbing her good guy boyfriend in the back by becoming Bloodthirsty’s main squeeze.

  All Shawn knew was that he was happy and had found the girl with whom he would spend the rest of his life. Becky was brash and bold, exactly his opposite. The mask gave him enough courage to stand up in front of thousands of fans and growl at them, but Becky gave him the confidence to believe in himself outside the ring. Together they grew in popularity as one of the elite couples on the wrestling scene. Shawn knew they would be together forever.

  Forever lasted exactly one year.

  Much later, it was obvious to Ben that the affair had been going on the whole time he and Becky had been together. But at the time, when he caught her and Isaiah in bed, it was as if he’d been sucker punched by the deceit. For better or for worse, Shawn had trusted his little lady, and her deception had been complete. When he discovered them together, Becky tried to convince him that it was all some sort of big mistake, and when Shawn didn’t buy that, she told him she was sleeping with the boss for both of them, to help advance their careers.

  Shawn, who had become Bloodthirsty Rick but had yet to turn into Big Ben, didn’t listen to a word she said and nearly killed Isaiah that night. The old man had been a pretty good wrestler in his day, and was still in good shape, but he was no match for the massive ex-Marine, who broke five of the promoter’s ribs, three of his fingers, his nose, and his right arm.

  When Shawn finally calmed down, the police took him into custody and his face, his real face, was smeared all over the local and regional papers for the next couple of days.

  Becky divorced him, and Isaiah sued. In the end, Shawn was banned from wrestling for life and lost his three homes and all his other possessions to Becky. Most of his wealth, which Isaiah convinced him to reinvest in the wrestling operation, was gone as well. Shawn paid off his lawyers and washed his hands of it all. He took what little remained of his fortune and moved back to his hometown of Cincinnati, where no one had any clue who he had once been.

  That was almost two years ago. There was still a little money left over, and he didn’t have to scrounge for an existence. He could even afford a shrink, whom he visited every week for almost a year until the doctor told him that he had to do the talking if he wanted to get better.

  He bought a small, secluded cabin in Kentucky down on Cave Run Lake, where he learned to hunt and fish. It was comforting, being down there alone. Bow hunting became Shawn’s favorite pastime. He split his time between there and Cincinnati, where he took on a job hoisting boxes in a factory. The money was crap, but it kept him busy and physically active. Age and a lack of desire to hit the gym anymore began to turn Shawn’s ripped physique ever more pear shaped. Even with his diminished physicality, Shawn still cast an imposing shadow and was still just as light on his feet as ever.

  After a while, he got comfortable with this new existence, almost happy.

  ***

  When Shawn heard the first reports about the contagion that might spell the end of the world, his plan was to make his way down to his cabin, but things got hairy way too quickly. So instead he plotted ways to escape the city on foot, fleeing the thick knot of the dead that was growing larger every day.

  Military training and wrestling experience proved a pretty useful combination when it became clear that there were a lot more of the infected than there were of the living out on the streets of Cincinnati.

  Though Shawn was sure he could do okay on his own, he realized hooking up with some other people might enhance his chances
for long-term survival. When he met Michael and the small band of people traveling with him, he became Ben, the stoic giant who didn’t ask questions and did just about anything and everything to ensure that he and everyone else survived.

  Ben had no inclination to become a leader, so he and Michael got along just fine. For Michael, it was clear that having this huge ally around was going to come in very handy. For Ben, it was easy to accept his role in this new little society. While he wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around with the group forever, he did like the idea of being needed. The cabin could wait. He would make his way there when he helped the others find a permanent safe haven and they became self-sufficient.

  It was rough at first. The factory had been a really bad idea, and not one that Ben had favored, but he let that go because Michael believed it would work. After they fled from that nightmare, it was easy to see that the volume of infected in the vicinity of the city was going to overwhelm them no matter where they hid. They needed to migrate further east, toward the countryside.

  Ben never made any unsolicited suggestions, but the others, including Michael, began to rely on him more and more for almost everything. His ability to hunt and live off the land was invaluable to the group of city and suburban dwellers. He was the only one in the group not afraid to stalk the wilderness, to forge ahead and find new and safe places to go. The world at large was a fairly quiet place now, with no loud wrestling promoters or deceitful wives to mess with him. Just the shadow people. They might not like him, but he always knew where he stood with them.

  So when Michael brought up the idea of getting an RV in which to just drive off, Ben suggested they get several and find a place where they could hide them away from the rest of the world. It would be better than hiding out in some building they had to fortify and barricade to the point where they could never leave. They could circle the RVs up to offer a walled-in fortress and then flee in them if needed. Michael was skeptical at first—at least until Ben assured him that he could find someplace for them to station the RVs that would give them a chance to live unmolested.

  And that was exactly what he did.

  It felt good to be appreciated. Ben knew he was being used, just as he had been in the Marines and as a wrestler, but this was different. Michael was, for all intents and purposes, his boss, but he didn’t push. The others? Well, they just needed him, and they appeared to be grateful that he was happy to do everything they were unwilling or incapable of doing for themselves. They didn’t beg or wheedle, but smiled and were friendly, despite his reticence to say much of anything to them. Mostly, they were good people. Mostly.

  Of the adults, Lydia was his favorite. The sweet woman treated him with respect and appreciated everything he did. She didn’t have to thank him for everything, but she did—every chance she got.

  The little children she watched over were angels. Especially Sadie, whom Ben adored. He crafted little wooden dolls and toy soldiers, one of the few pleasures he could provide them. The fact that they were ecstatic with the results, despite the amateurishness of his efforts, made him feel all the more protective toward them.

  The two teenage boys were good kids, and Ben liked them well enough. They left him alone for the most part, and even when they moved into his RV, they understood that he needed his space.

  The new people were okay too, despite the instant dislike of Jeff that Michael and his two stooges clearly felt. Ben was tempted to suggest that Jeff just go with the flow and not push Michael’s buttons so much, but why bother? It was clear that both men were pigheaded, so nothing he said was likely to make much difference. It was easier to just sit back and watch what happened. Things would likely settle down within a few days between those two.

  At least that was what Ben thought before Michael’s screwed-up expedition.

  Ben wasn’t afraid of the stiffs. Not on a physical level at least. He was careful to wear a thick coverall when he went out on his little forays, and for the most part, the undead were weak and incapable of doing much to threaten him. What strength they had lay in their numbers and their boundless determination to devour everyone in sight. He could accept that challenge. Even though he was not fearful of them, he was no fool. He never assumed anything with the shadow people. They were dangerous, despite how pathetic they were.

  Taking them out had always been easy … at least after he got past the queasy feeling that came with his first execution, which had been one of his neighbors. Ben still felt a vague sense of regret as he eliminated the undead, but his priorities were always clear. He estimated he had “killed” several hundred ghouls, though he did his best not to keep track of the number. It was just a morbid statistic he had come to accept as a fact of this new life he found himself living.

  Ben respected Michael. The man had some good ideas, though at times he proved weak on his execution and needed a bit of assistance. He kept everyone organized and focused, and was a natural leader. Ben didn’t feel compelled to follow him, but it was clear that almost everyone still alive needed someone to take charge and assure them that it would all work out in the end. Michael was more than willing to do just that.

  Unfortunately, there were some annoying side effects that went along with having the young man as a leader. Michael seemed obsessed with testing the loyalty of those around him. It was as if he believed he was destined to build some sort of society that would somehow take back the world from the undead, and he needed faithful subjects willing to do whatever he asked of them to ensure his victory.

  So when the independent and opinionated Jeff came along, Michael felt obligated to put the newcomer in his crosshairs. That had to be the reason for the screwy food run. There was no other reason to send everyone out; Ben could more effectively procure food and other supplies for the camp alone than with a whole group of clumsy people following in his wake. Sending them all out was a power trip for Michael, pure and simple.

  Ben almost questioned Michael on the wisdom of his decision, but after seeing the confrontations in the camp before they left, he decided not to get in the middle of things.

  Now he was dealing with the unfortunate results of that hesitancy.

  ***

  Ben was angry. Angry he had not spoken up and suggested an alternative to this snafu and angry he had not kept a closer watch on the little expedition as it moved into town. Instead, he had gone deeper into Manchester, surveying the various buildings and streets to convince himself things were as quiet as they had been for the past few weeks.

  That was when he realized there was going to be trouble.

  The ghouls he saw as he slunk from building to building were agitated, aroused like they hadn’t been since the survivors had first come to the town, rolling the RVs down the road and pulling off into the woods. The infected wandered the streets, bouncing off one another, where they had previously been content to bury themselves in the deepest shadows they could find.

  Perhaps it had been the minivan that stirred them up when it had driven into the area the day before, and once again when it had been driven onto the road earlier, when the group going on the supply run had piled out of it and walked down the street toward town.

  After seeing how many stiffs now wandered the streets of Manchester, Ben knew he needed to get the group out of there before the ghouls could pinpoint their position. He signaled to Michael over the walkie-talkie, but by that time, the rest of the group had already left the van and taken off on their idiotic scavenger hunt.

  When he heard the first shots, Ben was already running at top speed, trying to get back to the group before it was too late—though he suspected it had been too late the minute the others had driven out of the camp on this fool’s errand.

  Finding Ray and Jeff as they were about to be overwhelmed had only reinforced that belief. He managed to save them, but given Ray’s condition and the shit storm that had been stirred up already, things were ugly and were about to get uglier still.

  ***

  Ben took off at a
sprint across the road. He had chosen an alternative path back to the camp, a route he had mapped out a couple of weeks earlier just in case something bad happened.

  Ray’s dead weight in his arms slowed him down only a little bit. He’d dealt with packs that were just as heavy under tense situations. He’d never faced a situation quite as perilous as this one, though. Ray’s lolling head and quiet whimpers as he bounced up and down were far more difficult for Ben to deal with than the challenge of bearing the boy’s weight on his shoulder.

  Ben could hear heavy breathing behind him. He slowed to a fast trot to allow Jeff to catch up, knowing that if the other man fell behind, he might give away their position. The moaning was far too loud, but was still quite a ways behind them. The dead would continue to seek them out, but if they lost sight of them and couldn’t smell them, they wouldn’t know where to go.

  Still, heading directly back to camp was a risky move. Finding a place to dig in and cover up for the night would probably have been the best thing to do. Ben had done that on a couple of different occasions—once just because he sensed the merest possibility that he’d garnered unwanted attention on one of his forays. On both occasions, the coast was clear by morning, and he never knew for sure if his ploy had been necessary. Even if he was overcautious, waiting things out guaranteed the camp would remain safe. So it was tempting to pull off into one the buildings he knew for certain was clear and wait things out with Jeff and the teenager.

  But if he did that, Ray would perish out here.

  The kid was dying. Ben was no fool and had no delusions that getting him back to camp would save him. The teen grew weaker every second, and in a few hours, maybe even sooner, he would stop breathing. Soon after that, perhaps within moments, he would turn into one of the shadow people, and Ben would be forced to smash his skull into the pavement or, at the very least, slip his hunting knife into the back of the boy’s skull. But if it was Ray’s destiny to die, he was going to die among friends, not in some dusty abandoned storefront.