The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel

by Dane Hatchell

  Patrick giggled and shook his head. “We can talk about trust later. Let’s get back on what I’ve observed. You people spend most of your time talking about pointless things. The ‘what ifs’ and the ‘maybes.’ You’re too afraid to take control and are waiting for Superman to come save us. That’s weak, and we need to be strong. The situation is too dangerous for us to hide like this. It’s more than that. We’re in a prison just waiting to become victims. We should go back into the real world and try to live as normal of a life as we can. Those things out there don’t change anything. Pioneers had to deal with wild animals and American Indians. We’ll have to deal with zombies. Your daughter likes me because she sees it that way, too. She thinks it’s foolish of us to hide and worry. The police guy’s idea about going north. Living out in the sticks away from everything. We should have done that the day after we met up here—before that army of undead gathered outside.”

  “But we couldn’t. We had Malinda and—”

  “And nothing. We could have brought her with us, and if she died, then she died. We risked everyone’s life by trying to save her. What did that get us? Steven’s death and Malinda dead anyway. We should leave now. No reason to wait. No reason to gather more supplies first. We’ll take what we have and get whatever we need along the way. This place… those things outside. They’re killing us. Just look at Steven. They’re tearing us down, and we don’t even see it. We need to leave. Telling me to back away from Debra won’t save her. Us working together will. You worried about Debra and Sarah’s safety? Then take them away from this place. I’ll be right there with you.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Drew balled his hands into fists.

  “Mr. Holy Roller has a temper, too.” Patrick ignored the threat. “You talked about trust earlier. That’s really funny because I know all about you.”

  “All about what?” The tone in Patrick’s voice made Drew’s heart skip.

  “Debra, she told me about her past.” Patrick clutched the sleeping bag tighter. “I’ve seen plenty of white people adopt black kids, but I’d never seen a black couple adopt a white kid. So I asked how that came to be and she told me.”

  Drew’s shoulders sagged, his fists falling loose.

  “That’s right,” Patrick said. “She told me all about her abusive mother and the kind of environment she grew up in. How her mother entertained men in her apartment for money. You were one of her mother’s clients. Sarah, your wife, still to this day knows nothing about it.”

  Drew lowered his gaze to the floor. “Because . . . because of Sarah’s issues we had some problems. I’m guilty of allowing the sins of the flesh to get the best of me. I’m not proud of what I did.”

  “Debra also told me when she was old enough that her mother sold her to other men for even bigger money.”

  Drew’s head snapped up. “I never laid a hand on Deb—”

  “I know,” Patrick cut him off. “She told me that, too. And how she watched one of her mother’s John’s beat her to death while she hid in a closet. When you found out, you came to her rescue.”

  “I knew her mother had a daughter, but I never knew she was prostituting Debra. When I read the story in the paper, I learned that there weren’t any relatives for Debra to live with. She was going to end up in an institution. I . . . I felt like God told me it was my responsibility—”

  “Oh, please, man. Again with the God stuff?”

  “Let me finish. I’m not preaching, damn it. I’m speaking my heart. I’m not perfect, but I do feel like God works through me sometimes. God presented an opportunity after my sin to do something good. Debra needed a family, and Sarah and I were in the perfect position to take care of her. We worked things out with the state, and after a couple of years, Debra became ours. Sarah and I love her very much and will do anything to keep her safe.”

  “Yeah, Debra told me how hard you had to work for the adoption to go through. You guys went to therapy with her every week for that two year period. She genuinely loves both of you. Debra said that even if her mother hadn’t sold her to men, she would still rather have you and Sarah as parents.”

  “She said that?” Drew’s words cracked.

  “She did. She loves you. And I love her. She loves me, too.”

  “But she’s sixteen!”

  “And in a little more than a year she’ll be eighteen. Look, life’s been hard on Debra and she’s a lot more mature than most sixteen year olds. She can make her own decisions right now. How you react to her decisions will affect how she feels about you. So if you don’t want to ruin what you have with Debra, then you’ll let her come to me.”

  “I… is that a threat?”

  “You can call it whatever you want, Drew, but I will say this.” Patrick stuffed the sleeping bag under his arm. “I have seen how your wife looks at Debra when she talks with Angie. Pulling your daughter away when you need to let her grow is—”

  “No one tells me how to raise my baby girl.”

  “That’s just it, Drew. She isn’t a baby girl any more. She’s a young woman.”

  “I know. I see her growing right before my eyes. I just can’t force myself to let go.”

  “You can’t protect Debra for her whole life. Take Angie, for instance. She and Debra have a similar past. It’s good for Angie to be around because they can relate, but Sarah keeps them apart. You and everyone else need to get your heads out of your fear-filled asses. We need to start building our lives again. Otherwise, we’ll all end up like Steven, letting fear become our master.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything. Let’s just get back and clean up before Rico and Quin return.”

  Drew nodded and wiped his eyes with his hand. He stepped off toward the storefront.

  “Oh, and Drew.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your secret is safe with me so long as my secret is safe with you.”

  Drew didn’t know why Patrick wanted to continue to play silly games, but right now, he was in no mood to discuss it. “Whatever.”

  ***

  The barrel of Steven’s gun poked Rico in the ass with each step to remind him it was still in his back pocket. The gun had been used just minutes before to take a life. He wondered why the thought of that didn’t bother him more.

  As Rico walked toward the tent, he kept thinking about what Drew and Sarah had said about love. How he needed to make a move on Angie before someone else like Quin made it first. He guessed the reason why he was so hesitant about it was because he wasn’t sure how he felt about Angie. Did he have feelings for her simply because they had survived for so long with one another as support? Or was it more than that?

  However, before Rico really had the chance to ponder the concept of his true emotions, he was standing in front of the tent. What he heard coming from inside answered all of those questions for him.

  The back of the tent bent and pulsed with the throbbing vibrations indicating what was happening inside.

  Angie moaned, calling out Quin’s name. Only, this wasn’t a moan like that of the dead outside. This was a moan of pleasure laced with unbridled lust.

  Rico didn’t know what to do. He just stood there. Anger filled him. The more he watched. The more he listened. It just rose up inside. He imagined himself ripping open the tent flap and shoving his pistol in the back of Quin’s head. He imagined seeing the look on Angie’s face, her body bare glistening with sweat. How she would be relieved to find Rico there to rescue her from her violent rapist. The gun would go off, splattering Angie across the face and chest with Quin’s blood and chunks of pink and red brain. The tall black man’s dreads flopping about as he fell limp to his death in the tent.

  ‘Thank you,’ Angie would say.

  However, Angie wasn’t saying thank you. She was calling out Quin’s name between gasping breaths of pleasure. A cry of passion no one could mistake for rape. Angie wanted it. She begged for it.

  Quin was inside of her, and she love
d it.

  Rico bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. Whatever he felt for Angie—or whatever he thought he felt for her—died in some way.

  The two were so engrossed in lovemaking they ignored the gun shot. Then Rico remembered seeing both Q and Angie with MP3 players and earbuds stuck in their ears. They were probably jamming to music while Q jammed it to Angie.

  He turned around and walked away before doing something stupid.

  It didn’t take long before he found himself with Patrick and Drew at the front of the store.

  “Where’s Quin?” Drew asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Rico brought a hand up and rubbed his forehead. “Let’s just do this so I can go to bed.”

  Drew looked over at Patrick. Patrick dropped to his knees and zipped up the sleeping bag with Steven inside. The two lifted the dead man from the front, and Rico grabbed the legs as he had done before with Malinda.

  The walk back to the dumpster had Rico thinking who was going to be next. If he had his way, Steven would be the last.

  *

  The entire time Rico lay in bed, unable to fall asleep, all he could think about was how Steven was the lucky one.

  Rico’s gun still felt heavy on his hip, even though it lay inches away by his side.

  Chapter 28

  The next morning, Rico was the last to arrive at the dining area. Patrick dutifully stirred a large pot on the side burner of the grill. Debra wrote in a notebook. Drew devoted his full attention to Sarah, who sat glassy eyed, staring into space. Quin sat next to Angie. He had a pocketknife out, scraping under his long fingernails. Angie had her arms crossed with her eyes closed while leaning on Q’s shoulder, earbuds in listening to her MP3 player. No one looked Rico’s way.

  Well, this is awkward, he thought. So much for a crisis bringing everyone together. Steven’s death had caused everyone to withdraw into themselves.

  Without any fanfare, Rico left for the break room. He took out six bottles of water from the refrigerator and put them in a bag. Why did the store still have power? There was no way to know, but he couldn’t imagine staying there for another five minutes if it didn’t. The experience in the CVS had taught him that. Rico had never been claustrophobic until the zombies had him and Angie boxed in with the power out.

  When he made his way back to the group, Patrick was dishing out oatmeal into bowls. Rico went about handing out water and giving a customary good morning with each delivery. Drew gave him a smile and a nod, Debra said thank you, Q lifted his nose in the air and took two, acting as if he did Rico a favor. Angie didn’t stir.

  Patrick passed out the bowls of oatmeal and joined Rico over by the grill where both stood and ate without exchanging words.

  Spoons hit against plastic bowls with occasional scraping noises. Bottles rose to lips with gulps of satisfaction. Everyone ate in silence, focused on their own little world. It just might as well have been a group of strangers randomly eating at a restaurant.

  Rico thought of a hundred ways to break the silence. From using humor, to giving a heartfelt speech, to giving a good ass chewing like he got in the military.

  Debra beat him to it.

  She cleared her throat, setting down her empty bowl. “Sure was good. Thanks, Patrick. Could have used a little dash of sugar, but I liked it.” She picked up her notebook and started writing again.

  Patrick kept his gaze straight ahead and acted as if he didn’t hear Debra mention his name. The Asian was one strange bird. Rico sensed something was just not quite right about him, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

  It was obvious the elephant in the room wasn’t going to eat itself. It was time to take a knife and fork to it. Rico put his bowl down and chugged the rest of his water. “Thanks for making breakfast, Patrick.”

  The Asian turned to him and gave a slight nod.

  “It’s really too bad Steven’s not here to share it with us.” There, he did it. Rico looked about to gauge reactions.

  Angie stopped eating—her mouth still open. Q set his bowl down and burped. Sarah didn’t flinch, and Drew looked up with sad, glistening eyes. Debra darted her gaze up from the notebook for a second but continued writing.

  “Guys, we can’t hide from what happened last night. Steven took his own life. I wish he had talked it out before making such a final decision. He didn’t, so there’s no second chance. I know he blamed himself for Malinda, but she would have died anyway had he done nothing. I don’t know if the drugs we gave him to sleep put him in a state of mind to kill himself. He was by the front of the store watching the zombies when he pulled the trigger. Steven took the easy way out.” Still not having everyone’s attention, Rico shouted, “Bam!”

  All eyes turned to his direction. Angie pulled out the earbuds.

  “In a split second, it was over. How about it, guys? You tired of all this shit, too? Ready to give up? I’m going to come clean and tell you I gave it some serious thought last night.”

  Angie gasped. Q chuckled.

  “Why do you think I had those thoughts? Because I spent my time worrying about the what if’s of the situation. Fear kept growing the monster sleeping under my bed to where the only way out seemed to be pulling the trigger and joining Steven and Malinda in the dumpster.” Rico reached down and pulled the pistol from the holster. “My gun was right there next to my bed last night. I took it in my hand and brought the barrel under my chin.” He lifted the gun and placed it under his chin. “All I had to do was pull the trigger—just like Steven. It’d be over in an instant. Bam! Dead. No more worries. No more anything.” He let his words hang in the air for several seconds.

  “But you know what? I was able to separate the what if’s from reality. What if the zombies get in? We die, right? What if we get bit? We turn into one of them. What if we run out of food and can’t get anymore? We starve. When I focused on the what if’s, I lost hope. But when I held the gun to my head, I had a grasp on reality. There were no what if’s concerning pulling the trigger. My death would have been certain. At that moment, I felt ashamed of myself. I felt ashamed for giving the power of my reality over to my fears. I put the gun down and slept with a clearer head than I have in a while. I want to live. I choose life.” Rico put the gun back in the holster. “And I’m going to fight believing I can win from this point on. If we hope to survive as a group, we all have to think the same way. Does anyone else feel differently? Let’s get it out in the open now.”

  Drew Finley looked back at Q and Angie. When they didn’t say anything, he turned to Rico. “I think it’s safe to say we’re all upset over Steven’s death. And we’d be fooling ourselves if we didn’t say our fears have a way of controlling our actions. I do like the way you addressed our situation head on. It does put it in better perspective and helps us think things more clearly. It’s time to focus. All we need is a plan.”

  “All right, let’s plan to move out tomorrow at daybreak. We’ll spend the rest of the day coming up with a plan we can all agree on,” Rico said.

  “I have one request,” Drew said. “Right now, Sarah’s having a hard time keeping things together. It’s going to make the move more difficult. Can we at least get her some medicine so she can have her wits about her during the escape?”

  “You know, that’s probably best. There are only seven of us now, and we’re all going to have to give one hundred percent if we hope to make it. We can go out this afternoon. Shouldn’t take but just a few hours. I . . . we owe Sarah that much if we expect her to help us.”

  Drew put his arm around his wife. “See, honey? You’re going to get your medicine today.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, eyes locked on her breakfast. “We’re all going to die in here.”

  Rico went to Sarah’s side and patted her shoulder. “No, we’re not. We’re going to work together and make it out. I promise.”

  “Okay, so, I was talking with Patrick last night and,” Drew cleared his throat, “Well, I mean, I was
talking at Patrick… and I think the idea of going someplace secluded is a good idea. Do you think we can get a map and another van today?”

  “I don’t know about the van, might have to take that SUV out in the back. It won’t hold as much as a cargo van, but it’s right there and we have the keys for it,” Rico said.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Since Quin and Patrick have gone out together before, I say we just keep it that way. Drew, you can stay here and watch over the ladies. I’ll tag along with them to help out.”

  “I want to go,” Angie said.

  “No,” Rico firmly said.

  “Yeah, peach,” Quin said, pecking her on the cheek. “You’ll be better off here, you feel?”

  She bit on her little finger. “Okay.”

  “Then it’s settled, yo.” Quin glared at Rico.

  “Don’t leave right now,” Debra said, stepping forward and taking Patrick by the hand.

  Drew went to say something but put himself in check.

  “We can wait, but the sooner the better,” Rico said. We need as much daylight as we can get. I say we go back to the CVS. It wasn’t that far away and I think I remember seeing some road maps by the counter.”

  “Hell, we got maps at the counter here, yo.”

  “I know, Quin,” Rico said, trying to act more civil to the man than he felt toward him. “I’ve already looked through them. All of those maps are gaming maps. Shows the layout of local lakes and hiking trails. Nothing that will be of much use to us. Trust me.”

  “Whatever, yo.”

  “Then I say we leave in a couple of hours. That gives each of us time to prepare.” Rico patted the gun on his hip. “I think I might break the pistol down and give it a good cleaning.” He turned to Q. “Do you know how much gas the van has right now? Wouldn’t want to get out there and find ourselves stranded.”

  “I don’t know, yo. I ain’t never checked. Bruce Lee is the one who normally drives.”

  “Gas… how much? Fuel? Petrol?” Rico said slowly to Patrick, using his hands to gesture pumping gas.