by Brian Keene
Christy reached for my hand. I was shocked at first, surprised that she’d want anything to do with me after what had just happened. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. But when she reached for it again, more insistently the second time, I accepted. We walked together, holding hands. It was enough.
I noticed something else as we began the long trek home. The streets had been mostly quiet on our way downtown. No longer. There were all kinds of sounds indicating activity, but all of it was happening out of sight—in buildings and alleys and side streets.
In darkness.
We walked in silence, but all around us, the shadows were alive with screams.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For the next week, Christy and I lived together but apart. We stayed separated, afraid to get too close to each other in case one of us snapped and tried to kill the other. Oh, don’t get me wrong. We didn’t spend all of our time apart. We still talked and stuff. But for the most part, we kept our conversations short and focused only on noncontroversial stuff. Anything that might have sparked a disagreement between us, no matter how stupid or trivial, was avoided like dynamite. The only time we discussed anything more in-depth than small talk, was when we first got home from the pet store. That night, we discussed our feelings and emotions. I apologized over and over again, and Christy kept telling me that she forgave me. Thing was, I didn’t feel forgiven. Not by her, and not by myself. I could still see the fear in her eyes—a newfound distrust. I knew it well. I felt the same way about myself. I didn’t know me anymore. Didn’t like me anymore. Didn’t trust myself anymore.
Despite everything, Christy stuck it out. She apologized, too—for lying about her reasons for going to the pet store, for endangering us all, and for never telling me about Brandon. She insisted once more that she’d never slept with him, that it hadn’t been like that between them, and I told her that it didn’t matter.
And so we stayed, spending our days and nights together but apart. Or maybe I should say spending our nights together, since there were no fucking days. Time was just one big night. One big after dark. You know that old saying, “it’s always darkest before the dawn”? Well, it was true.
Except the dawn never came.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was a knock on the door a few days later. When I opened it, Russ pushed past me and dashed inside. He was out of breath and appeared nervous and worried.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He held up a finger, silencing me, and glanced into the living room. “Is Christy here?”
“Yeah. She’s pulling marijuana seeds out of her bag and trying to plant them in with the house plants.”
“Christ. Still with the weed? Even after the cluster-fuck at the pet store?”
I shrugged, then nodded.
“How’s she gonna grow them? There’s no sunlight.”
I shrugged again. “She thinks she can shine the flashlight on them a little bit every day. She’s desperate, you know? Somehow I don’t think our connection is gonna have any more weed for a while. In truth, I don’t even know if he’s still in town. And that Brandon douche bag is gone, too, I’d imagine.”
“Seems like a waste of water.”
“Yeah. But it keeps her happy. What else am I gonna do?”
“I don’t know. Do what you have to do, I guess. How you guys been holding up?”
“We’re okay. You?”
“Surviving. This separation shit is hard. I’ve been ducking out once a day, walking the streets and seeing what I can find out. It feels good to talk to people, even just for a little while.”
“What if something happens? What if they piss you off and you snap?”
“Then at least they were a stranger, and not a friend, like you guys or Cranston.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “Still dangerous though, dude.”
“Shit, Robbie. You have no idea.”
“What do you mean?”
Russ paused. He seemed to be debating whether to continue, so I prompted him.
“What’s on your mind, Russ?”
“I don’t know if Christy should hear this or not. Maybe we should go upstairs.”
“Why? Is it bad?”
“Hear what?” Christy walked into the kitchen, brushing potting soil from her hands.
Sighing, Russ plopped down in a kitchen chair and folded his hands on the table. His expression grew even more troubled. I studied him closely. He didn’t look good. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the whiskers on his face were turning gray. I tried to remember if they’d been gray before the darkness arrived. I didn’t think they were.
“Jesus, Russ,” Christy said. “What’s up with all the fucking drama? Who died?”
“Maybe us, if we’re not careful. I just talked to Cranston. He’s been sneaking outside, too. Not as much as I have, but a little bit each day. He sticks to our block. Only talks to people he considers safe. But he’s scared and pissed off. To be honest, I’m pissed off, too, after what he told me. Apparently, T and Mario have been skulking around outside, making noise about us and how we got their friends killed.”
“Who are T and Mario?” Christy asked.
“Two yo-boys who went with us when we tried Robbie’s plan to breach the darkness. They lived. Their friends didn’t. And now they blame us.”
“Fuck them,” I said.
“And I said the same thing,” Russ agreed, “but there’s more. Cranston says they’ve got new people listening to them now.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “Cranston didn’t know any of the newcomers. Just strangers. But they’re not just juvenile delinquents like T and Mario. There are other folks—older people. And they’re looking up to T like he’s some kind of leader. People are pissed off and scared and looking for someone to blame. And apparently, T’s got a few of them convinced it’s all our fault.”
“How many?”
“Not too many, so far. Maybe six, all told. But if it keeps up…”
Christy’s eyes were wide. “You don’t think they’d kill us, do you? From what Robbie said, what happened to their friends wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, but they don’t see it that way,” Russ said. “And we all know that the slightest seed of anger or resentment or any other negative emotion is like dynamite these days. So far, they’ve been content just to lurk out there in the shadows. Maybe they’re afraid to move against us. Bunch of little pussies—pardon my French, Christy.”
Despite this new fear, she grinned. “I don’t speak French.”
“But if they get some braver people urging them on,” Russ continued, “or if whatever is lurking out there in the darkness pushes them hard enough, who knows what kind of stupid shit they might try to pull?”
“They don’t have guns,” I said. “Remember? The day we went out there, me, you, Drew, and Clay were the only ones who were armed.”
“Yeah, but there’s all kinds of guns just lying around. Like the rifle I picked up. There are guns everywhere. How many people in this town went deer hunting every year? Christ, most places gave their employees the day off for the first day of deer season. Same thing with the high school. It was a town holiday. There are plenty of guns inside people’s houses. Plenty of ammo, too. And even if they don’t have a gun, one of their new recruits might.”
“Okay.” I paused, considering. “The best offense is a good defense, right? So let’s work on our defenses. We know the fire escape is secure. It doesn’t reach all the way to the ground. So we just lock the downstairs door—make it really fucking secure. Then we reinforce Cranston’s windows—maybe put plywood over them or something. He’s got the entire first floor.”
“He’s paranoid enough already,” Christy interrupted. “He’ll never go for that.”
“Yes, he will,” I said. “Cranston will understand. Either that, or he can find somewhere else to live. We do all that, and we make sure the storm door down in the basement is secure, and just sta
y away from our windows, and we’ll be okay. Right? They can’t shoot what they can’t see.”
Russ shook his head. “What’s to say they don’t try burning this place down with us inside? Or what if they get in somehow, and try coming at us with a knife, like that Anna woman did?”
I went to the cabinet, pulled out the tequila, and poured each of us a double shot. There wasn’t much tequila left in the bottle, and I’d been intending to save it for a rainy day, but this seemed like a good occasion. I was beginning to suspect it would never rain in Walden again.
“Speaking of Anna,” Russ said, after slamming his shot, “there’s more bad news.”
I grimaced as the liquor burned the back of my throat.
“Anna has been telling people what happened out there as well. But in her version, it’s all Dez’s fault. She’s saying that he’s some kind of devil worshipper, and that he’s the one who summoned the darkness. She says that you and I might have helped him do it, too. I reckon that’s on account of me fighting with her. She’s also saying that Dez is the one who burned the churches down.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said. “He lives in the abandoned shed behind the Lutheran church. Why would he burn the place down? That’s like burning down his own home.”
“I know, but that’s what she’s telling people, and they’re starting to believe her. Like I said, folks want someone to blame. No, it’s not even want. They need someone to blame. Anna and T are providing them with that. And the bad news is, you and me are the scapegoats. Christy too.”
“But I didn’t even do anything!”
I heard the fear in her voice. It reminded me of how she’d sounded when I confronted her in the pet store. I closed my eyes for a second, willed the memories to fuck off and take the guilt with them, and then opened my eyes and looked at Russ.
“So what’s Cranston intend to do about this mess? I mean, he lives here, too. Why isn’t he up here with us for this little powwow?”
“So far,” Russ said, “they’ve left him alone. I don’t know why, and neither does he. Maybe they don’t blame him the way they blame us. At least, T and Mario don’t. But if this keeps up much longer, he says he’s going to move.”
“Move,” Christy exclaimed. “Move where? He can’t leave town.”
“No,” Russ said, “but there are plenty of other places where he can hide.”
“Not without interacting with others,” I said. “Has he warned Dez?”
“No. Nobody’s seen Dez since…well, since what happened out there on the edge of town. If he’s still around, then he’s in hiding.”
“We’ve got to warn him,” I said. “It wasn’t his fault. He was the only one there who actually did anything useful. If they want to blame me, okay. I’ll take that shit. And they are welcome to bring it. But why fuck with Dez? Sure, he’s a weird fucker, but he knows more about this situation than anyone else. We can’t let them hurt him.”
Christy groaned, and Russ reached for the bottle and poured himself a refill.
“I thought you were done playing hero,” he said.
“I am. This ain’t playing hero. This is about keeping the one guy who might still be able to save our asses out of the hands of a bunch of angry, intolerant dipshits who want to blame everyone else for their problems. Face facts, Russ. Dez is the only motherfucker in this town who has a chance at getting us out of this mess.”
Christy shook her head. “But if you go out there, and T and Mario or this Anna person is waiting—”
“Fuck T and Mario. And fuck Anna, too. We’re not staying inside this place like prisoners anymore.”
“Why not?” Christy asked. “I mean, we haven’t gone outside in days anyway. Aren’t we already prisoners?”
“She’s right,” Russ said. “This ain’t a town anymore. It’s a goddamned prison.”
“This is different, and you guys know it. I’m gonna find him and warn him.”
Russ started to stand. “Then I’m going with you.”
He scooted his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. His knees popped.
I held up my hand. “Not this time. One of us needs to stay here and guard the building. Plus, I’ve talked to Dez more than you have. If he’s going to trust anybody, it’ll be me. And besides, what if we get mad at each other while we’re out there? What if whatever is influencing our fucking emotions makes us turn on each other? What happens to Cranston and Christy and Dez then?”
“Good point.” Russ sat back down with a sigh. “I don’t like it, but you’re right.”
“Okay. I’ll sneak out the back and head over to the church. Maybe Dez is still hiding out in his shed. If not, maybe someone has seen him.”
“And what are you gonna do when you find him?” Christy asked.
“I don’t know. Like I said, I’ll warn him, at the very least. Maybe invite him to stay here where it’s safer.”
Christy bristled at that. “I don’t want some weird homeless guy living in our apartment, Robbie. We don’t have enough food and water for the two of us the way it is.”
The darkness played my emotions, and I felt that familiar, sudden anger begin to rise. I wanted to shout, Well, maybe we wouldn’t be low on food if you didn’t sit around and stuff your fucking face all day, but I managed to squash the urge and bit my lip instead, hard enough to draw blood.
“I don’t want to argue, honey.”
“Well, there’s another reason, then. We’ve been stuck in here together, trying to avoid each other as much as possible so that we don’t fucking kill each other. How much harder is that going to be with a third person living in the apartment?”
“He can live in the basement,” Russ suggested. I wondered if he could sense the tension building inside of me.
“Exactly,” I said. “Nothing down there but mice and cockroaches. He’ll probably feel right at home. Hell, it might be a step up from that shed he’s living in now.”
Christy rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.
“What if he’s not there?” Russ asked. “What then?”
“I’ll leave him a note. Warn him somehow. Hopefully, he’ll see it.”
“Well, you should get going then.”
“Yeah. I guess I’d better.”
“You still have the handgun?”
I nodded.
Surprisingly, Christy didn’t argue anymore. Maybe she was busy trying to rein in her own violent emotions, as well, or maybe she just saw that I was right. In either case, she stayed quiet.
Russ made me wait long enough for him to run upstairs and get me some extra ammo for the pistol. I dropped the bullets in my pocket, and my jeans sagged a little lower. I hitched them up and tightened my belt. Then I kissed Christy good-bye and went downstairs, past Cranston’s apartment, to the basement door. It was dark and dank down there, and my flashlight barely penetrated the gloom. I didn’t care. By now, I was used to walking through darkness. What I minded more was the musty, cloying smell of mildew. It seemed to hang in the air like fog. I could almost feel it on my skin and taste it on my tongue. Water dripped somewhere in the shadows, and I thought I heard something scurrying—a rat or a bat, maybe.
I hurried over to the storm door and pushed it open from the inside. Flecks of rust rained down on me. Blinking, I brushed them away and then pushed the door the rest of the way. The hinges creaked and groaned, but the alley behind our building sounded quiet. I peeked outside and verified that the coast was clear. Then I climbed out. Muffled hip-hop music blared from the front street—which meant that T and Mario were probably somewhere nearby. Cranston had been right about that at least.
I tiptoed down the alley, giving our street a wide berth, and made my way to the church. I didn’t turn on the flashlight. Didn’t want to attract any attention if I could help it. I tried sticking to the shadows as much as possible, which was pretty easy, considering our circumstances. Everything was one big fucking shadow.
There weren’t many people on the street, and the on
es who were out and about looked dangerous or blitzed out of their goddamned minds. Each time I encountered them, I hid until they’d passed by or snuck around them as best I could. One guy wore a length of baling twine around his neck. Attached to it were about a dozen human ears—a grisly necklace. A teenage girl approached a fluttering bird with a broken wing. She carried a cinderblock with her, grunting and straining at the weight. The bird flopped around in the street, squawking with fear. The girl laughed as she smashed the cinderblock down on it. An old man stood on the sidewalk. Next to him was a plastic storage tub filled with nothing but Barbie doll heads. He’d reach into the tub, toss a head at the windows of a nearby house, and then repeat the process over and over again. He sobbed the entire time. A naked fat guy stood in the middle of the intersection at Second Street and Sycamore Lane. He was jerking off, literally yanking his dick so hard that I thought he might pull it off. He was so into it that he didn’t see the two people who snuck up behind him and then stabbed him in the ass with sharpened broomsticks. The man fell over, screaming. His attackers leaned on their makeshift spears and shoved the weapons deeper. I thought about getting involved—opening fire and putting them down like mad dogs, but I resisted the urge. I couldn’t afford the attention and didn’t want to waste the ammo. I saw a junkie shooting up with heroin. His right knee and lower right leg looked swollen—straining at the fabric of his dirty jeans. He stank—not just body odor but a deeper, danker reek. The smell of infection. Of rot. Then I realized that it wasn’t just him.