Day One (Book 1): Alive

by Michael McDonald

  DAY

  ONE

  _________________________________

  ALIVE

  BOOK 1

  A novel

  By

  Michael McDonald

  http://www.facebook.com/fromdarknessroams

  To Hell It Goes…

  No one really knows how such a thing happened or even when or where it started. It seemed to come out of thin air, catching us all off guard. For years we knew it was a possibility, we each toyed with it subconsciously in our minds, although the reality we now face is far greater than any lucid dream we could ever have imagined. Such things were what nightmares are made of, conceived in the darkest fathoms of the never ending night, in which we are all unable to awake. Stuck in this unfamiliar abyss, drowning in a sea of fear and regret, unable to change the way the world has become, unable to change ourselves.

  There is no going back now. No changing what we have created. No escaping the fate that awaits us in the shadows, around the next corner, and lurking right outside our very front door.

  The world burns and we can do nothing but watch helplessly.

  To hell it goes!

  Chapter One.

  The faint and very distant sound of thunder rolled across the darkened sky. I stirred from a peaceful sleep and opened my eyes. Flickering lightning entered the house through two narrow windows above my head, casting obscured shadows to dance momentarily across the bedroom before fading and allowing the darkness to return. I lie there for a few seconds until another rumble called to me, followed by even brighter lightning to which I sat up.

  I loved a good storm, always have. It was amazing how something so destructive, given the appropriate conditions, could relate a tranquil feeling to flourish within my soul. And with the approaching rain that would soon fall, I was certain that sleep would definitely find me again with no trouble. Oh how wrong I was. Fluffing my pillow a few times quietly, as not to wake my sleeping wife, I was about to lay down when a different noise cried out from somewhere in the silent house, a noise that was completely foreign to anything I had ever heard before. I shot up once again and strained to see through the blanket of night, looking for any movement, as our five year old had a habit of waking during a storm and getting scared. There were several times she would find her way to our room, yet quickly I was able to dismiss that notion, as she never made her way into our room. It’s just the house settling or perhaps something falling from one of the many trees surrounding the house, forced earthward from the high winds.

  Resting my head back upon the pillow and facing away from the box fan, which sat on my nightstand blowing cool air, my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness when I noticed something odd about my wife’s side of the bed and reached out to touch her. She wasn’t there.

  There were no alarms that went off in my head, no frantic searches undertaken in the dead of night, as she simply could have went to the bathroom moments before the storm pulled me from my slumber. I simply rolled over and looked at the alarm clock to see it was hovering near midnight and quickly counted the hours remaining until I would have to wake, dress and head off to work, coming up with four hours and some change.

  “Great,” I mumbled to myself. “It’s going to be a long day, I can see that already.”

  Again the faint noise lurched out of the darkness, but this time it had been loud enough for me to narrow the location down to either the living room or kitchen. Both rooms bordered each other and it would be difficult from where I was to determine the exact room unless I went and looked, but still easy enough for me to gather that she was more than likely in the kitchen looking for a midnight snack.

  There was a sudden burst of hunger that erupted from the pit of my stomach and I figured that I might as well join her since I was already awake. Maybe the rain would start before I finished and crawled into bed, which would surely serenade the throws of sleep back within my grasp.

  “Why not,” I said and got out of bed.

  I grabbed my trusty cell phone, to navigate the darkness through my daughter’s bedroom. Her room is attached to ours and is also the direction we take to our bathroom since her room is actually more of an office than anything else. I stopped a moment to look down at Kember, my twenty month old daughter. She was snoring faintly and looked at perfect peace. One leg hung out from under the light sheet and both hands were up above her head as though she were stretching in her dreams. Seeing her makes me smile, no matter what I am dealing with in life, she is the one true constant that keeps me going. I cross her room, turned right and opened the door, which lead into the kitchen near the back side.

  I took only two steps into the kitchen to see the refrigerator door open, the soft light from within cast out upon the dark room where I saw my his wife lying on the floor face up. A small figure hovered over her. She wasn’t moving, nor was she making any noise as she would normally do with her older daughter when they played together in the large expanse of the kitchen.

  “Honey, what are you doing? It’s nearly midnight,” I asked softly.

  The hovering figure, which I was certain, was the five year old, stopped whatever she was doing and looked in my direction. In the dim light of the fridge I wasn’t able to make out any facial expressions my step-daughter had, as she just stood there a moment looking back at me.

  To her. “Shouldn’t you be in bed little missy?”

  She rose and instantly ran at me. Several times in the past we had played chase through the house, growling at each other like wild animals, however, she had never chosen to be the aggressor by any means. There wasn’t an inch of aggression within her tiny frame. She was petit and soft-spoken. Not lewd and aggressive. I wasn’t in the mood to play at such a late hour and made a quick command for her to stop and return to bed, as she had school in the morning. She ignored my commands and continued toward me. Again I offered her a warning and dropped my tone a few octaves to show her I wasn’t playing.

  The Young Girl grunted as she approached and grabbed my left arm, but as I tried to pull away she bit me. Pain cascaded through my body and I could feel the warm blood erupt from the wound and fall to the hardwood floor. Instinct kicked in and I shoved her away with force, as I tried to keep from crying out in pain and grabbed the wound. She hit the nearby wall, bounced off and hit the floor.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted to her.

  She got to her feet and came after me again, this time the grunting was replaced with screams. I sure as hell didn’t want to get bit again, so as she darted my way once more I stepped back knowing that there was something violently wrong with her. If she was able to take me to the floor there were more than enough objects within the room she could use to inflict serious harm or worse. Fear formed in my throat and made it impossible to swallow. I watched as she scurried toward me. I had to put distance between the two of us and quickly.

  This cannot be happening! My mind thought, yet it was happening. Quickly I back peddled into my younger daughter’s room and slammed the door shut. The door groaned as the Young Girl plowed into it and began punching and kicking as she screamed wildly like a maniac.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  I locked the door. From there I made my way into the bathroom and flipped the light on to see the extent of the damage to my arm. It was bleeding freely and hurt like hell. Without so much as thinking, I grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and doused it on the wound. And anyone five state away was sure to hear my screams. To that I am positive! Next was a full bottle of peroxide, which began to boil as it killed things that could easily have been introduced to the inside of my arm. Bad things that could cause an arm to rot off… yes, I know I was probably being a tad bit melodramatic at this point, but dammit that sh
it hurt! The pain was less than the alcohol; however the initial sting was still winding through me with brutal consequences.

  Looking into the mirror I wondered what was going on. Wondered why the Young Girl I had been raising for the last three years would out of nowhere just up and attack me? It was at that same moment, my all too consuming thoughts shifted to my wife. She was still in the middle of the kitchen floor, unmoving.

  I shouted to her. No reply returned. There was only the violent thrashing at the door to fill my ears as I began to worry more and more with each passing second.

  I caught my reflection in the mirror and it didn’t look like me at all. I looked worn out and much older than an average twenty-six year old. My eyes were sunken in their sockets; there were bags under them as well. I looked like I hadn’t slept in weeks. The more I stared into the mirror the more I questioned who was truly looking back.

  More and more my mind raced about what to do. What was my next move? What had caused such a sweet child to suddenly turn so violent? Curiosity got the best of me and I opened the bathroom door slowly, as the sounds of the assault on the bedroom door still wailed. I crossed the room, hurried down the two steps in to my bedroom and quickly froze. Six feet away, to my left, was another door that led into the living room and it was standing wide open. How in the hell had I forgotten about that? How do you forget about something so important? Something that can decide if you live the next few minutes or die horribly.

  If the Young Girl realized this small possibility, which she would in a matter of minutes, she would have another shot at attacking me. That wasn’t going to happen.

  I used the cover of her assault on the one door to creep toward the second door and shut it. I had no more than turned to figure out what to do next when suddenly something slammed into the door and began screaming as well. Where there two of them now, I wondered or had my Step-Daughter simply attempted to enter through this new door and try to get me?

  “Think, Brandon… slow down and think!” My feeble attempts at calming myself were not working as I hoped that would have. I was still scared shitless.

  Away from the door, I shot my eyes to the narrow windows above the bed. They were large enough to escape through, although, with my younger daughter Kember in my arms there was too much of a risk of her getting hurt in the process. She could slip from my grasp, fall to the ground and break an arm or worse. No, I would have to find another way to vacate. One that held a greater chance of her not getting hurt.

  As it stood, I was trapped. Fear surrounded me, gripped me with eager hands and I began to worry for the safety of my daughter and that she’d never make it to see the next day. What the hell is going on?

  The wound to my arm began to throb and it hurt like a sonofabitch. Several steps through the darkness to my wife’s dresser would solve that problem. She had a bottle of painkillers and I downed a whole one, letting the sour taste corrode in my mouth as I continued to search for a way out of danger, It might be all in vain, but I would rather try and fail, then never try at all.

  At my night stand I opened the first drawer to see the pistol I kept for protection, sitting atop a few pair of new socks. Never in all my life had I ever imagined actually having to use it to defend myself or my family. It was simply a tool to make me feel more secure, yet if the situation ever arose, I’d be ready. Or so I thought. That situation was now unfolding before my very eyes and I was no surer of being able to use the pistol on anyone, as I would have to live with the consequences of my actions afterward. Not only that, but the one I’d have to use it on was my step-daughter… a child. There was no way in hell I could do that. No way!

  “Maybe I won’t have to use it. Maybe things will change,” I boasted, fully knowing that things would not change in the next few minutes, if at all.

  Gunshots from some distant place echoed out. I looked toward the window in Kember’s room and wondered what was going on. The shots got louder, but suddenly ended with a piercing scream. I tightened the grip on the Beretta 92FS, racked the slide rearward and let it go, chambering the first 115gr full metal jacket round. The sheer vigor of the weapon didn’t give me the confidence that the gun shop owner had said it would. In fact, I felt more vulnerable with it than without it. It was nothing more than an added weight that I would have to endure until things came into better perspective. And I hoped that the rest of the world got its shit together. And soon!

  The vicious assault on the bedroom door stopped. I could hear her continue to scream, yet also hear her frantic steps as she ran away from the door. Where was she going? Maybe around to the second door, hoping to find it unlocked and she could get through. I hurried to that door and grabbed the knob, trying to turn it, only to find it was still securely locked. I knew it would be, but sometimes double checking was better than guessing and letting your mind roam freely to create a paranoid or delusional state. A hint of relief flashed through me.

  The front door suddenly opened and I could hear it contact the wall loudly, followed by the screen door opening, and then slamming home. She had ventured outside and I figured if there was ever a chance to try and leave, that time was now. I moved to my daughter’s crib and looked down at her, and then to the right to see her diaper bag on the changing table. She was still asleep.

  Whatever we would need to survive for the time being, I could easily stash inside that bag. I quickly went about filling it with her items, running around her room in the half dark working from memory where everything was.

  More gun fire erupted and I could hear faint sirens cutting through the night. I thought about calling for help, how I hadn’t thought of it till then was anyone’s guess. Back to the night stand, I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Immediately the phone was busy, so I dropped it onto the bed and continued grabbing items for Kember. It probably wouldn’t make a difference anyway, I thought. With all of the gun fire that was going off, the police were more than busy at the moment and the likelihood of them showing up in a timely manner was slim to none… and slim left town hours ago.

  “Stay calm… just stay calm and get the things you will need. You can’t change what is happening, whatever that is, but you can dictate how things will go for at least a small amount of time. Think of your daughter.” My words came without thought and were the only reassurance to the fear that sliced me to the bone. I couldn’t shake it, couldn’t get clear of it and every time I tried it slammed me back to the ground. It was vicious and brutal, showing absolutely no mercy whatsoever.

  I grabbed the last of the diapers, a single pack of wet wipes and just threw some random clothes into the black and pink bag. Kember was twenty months old and had been without her binky for the last two months, yet I pondered for a moment if I should try and locate it or just leave it hidden amongst the toys that littered her floor. My mind kicked two moves ahead and I wondered how I’d get out the front door with the diaper bag over one shoulder, my Daughter in the other arm and a .9mm pistol in my right hand without dropping anything, being spotted and or attacked before I could make it across the porch and out to my vehicle?

  In that event, how would I deal with the threat without endangering my Daughter’s life? Too many questions began to form and if they didn’t stop altogether, any shred of courage would most certainly kill any need to try. I considered the idea of just barricading the front door and waiting things out. There was enough food to last for some time, heat against the cold night air and more ammunition in the closet, as well as a shotgun. However, as good as that sounded, the ever approaching fear told me that I would be trapped beyond all doubt and if one of those things got in here and I wasn’t close enough to react or was caught off guard, we’d both be dead. And that was not a risk I was willing to take, let alone think any more about. Leaving was the only choice she and I had left.

  “Staying here is a death sentence.”

  I opened the closet door and saw the four boxes of .9mm shells on the top shelf, grabbed and stuffed them into the bag, making sure to kee
p the extra magazine where I could get to them quickly. The Beretta had a 15 round mag, but I had no idea what waited on the other side of the front door. If my step daughter could become violent and attack without a reason, it would be safe to say that anyone else was a possible threat as well. Whatever was going on out there, it was probably not going to go away anytime soon, nor would it be confined to only my Step Daughter, but many others as well.

  Three gunshots erupted and seemed to be just outside of the bedroom window. I worried about the front door being wide open, as anyone or anything could wonder in and create an even larger obstacle for me to overcome when we were ready to leave.

  “I have to get us out of here right now, while I still can.”

  I returned to my Daughter’s crib and saw her still peacefully asleep and I shook my head with a fragmented smile. How could she sleep through everything that had happened so far?

  Lightning flashed through the bedroom windows and was followed swiftly by powerful thunder that sounded as though it was trying to rip the earth wide open. The windows rattled under the immense force and I swear I could feel the ground tremble under foot. The sound of falling rain was still not present, which meant I still had the time to escape and be able to see instead of blindly bumping into someone or something just outside the house. With that said I pushed forward and made up my mind to move.

  I moved the diaper bag to the bedroom door and set it there, glanced around one last time to ensure I wasn’t forgetting anything in my haste to leave, saw nothing and moved back to the crib.

  Someone entered the house. I could hear their footsteps on the hardwood floor as there were a few places near the door and couch that would creak as you walked upon them. I spun with the Beretta and waited for the assault to take place on the door. The .9mm was leveled at the door, where I thought the chest of the unseen person would be and forced my mind to give me control in the event that whoever it was tried to get in, I’d be in full control and could shoot.