Darkened

by Bryan Smith

  He did see more bodies, but most of them looked to be dead demons. He wondered what possibly could have killed them all. Maybe something in the earth’s atmosphere was incompatible with their alien biology. A spark of hope flared within him at the thought, but he refused to allow it to grow into a flame. This remained a world that had come undone. There was danger all about. His close encounter with the stalk-thing at the motel was proof enough of that. This new development only meant the chances of surviving to see another day had improved to a very small degree.

  It occurred to him to wonder exactly where the hell he should be going. Maybe there were shelters and relief stations set up somewhere. It could be that new centers of authority were being set up even now.

  He turned on the radio and winced at the burst of static. He lowered the volume and pushed the Seek button. The digital dial hit every frequency on the FM band and returned nothing but more static. So he switched to the AM band and got the same thing until it landed on an EAS recording on the 1510 frequency. The message instructed citizens to remain indoors and seek a safe place, a closet or a cellar. It further advised listeners to remain tuned for further instructions. That was it. Short and not very sweet, in Zeke’s estimation. It played in an endless loop, that same maddening, monotone voice, a snippet of phony calm. He nonetheless felt compelled to listen to it several dozen times, hoping against hope that a live broadcast would begin, that some wondrous voice of salvation would come forth from the ether.

  But it never happened.

  At last, unable to bear no more, he turned the radio off and was soon consumed by the oppressive silence of this dying world. He drove for miles without seeing much of anything, save for the occasional dead demon. The road began to hypnotize him and he almost nodded off a few times. He began to think he should find a place to pull over and sleep for the night. What was the point of this aimless driving anyway? He didn’t have a destination in mind—not even a vague one—and he had a notion no single part of the country was any safer than another.

  Then he saw something in the road ahead, a small, pale figure staggering slowly down the center line. He slowed down, and as the figure drew closer he experienced a mixture of shock and excitement. It was a woman. She was nude and disheveled. A mass of tangled blonde hair hung to the center of her tapered back. She stopped dead in the road and turned to face the approaching car.

  He stopped the car and got out. “Lady, are you all right? Do you need help?”

  She stared blankly at him a moment, then dropped to her knees.

  Zeke rushed to her aid, kneeling next to her and placing a tentative hand on one slim shoulder. She was shaking, but not making a sound. Zeke figured she was fighting back tears of relief—so he was stunned when she lifted her face and revealed a wide, almost manic grin.

  Zeke frowned. “Um…is something wrong?”

  A loud internal alarm went off then. Every instinct in him urged him to return to his car, to speed away from this crazy woman at once. But he just couldn’t do it. Surely her odd demeanor was just a product of the trauma she’d endured today. Hell, he felt close to cracking himself. Besides, he was alone. And afraid. He craved the comfort of human company, a warm body to cling to in the dark night ahead. It dawned on him that she wasn’t unattractive, albeit in a redneck, trailer-trash kind of way.

  She laughed. “That’s a nice car, mister.”

  Zeke’s frown deepened. “Um…yeah. I suppose it is.”

  “I was hopin’ we’d get one like that.”

  Zeke started to say something, but jerked his head to the left at the sound of a snapping branch. A big, beefy man in dirty overalls and a green John Deere hat emerged from the line of trees beyond the road’s shoulder. Zeke’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. The man’s imposing size was scary enough, but what really made his insides curdle was the sight of the big shotgun propped over his shoulder.

  The woman’s gaze went to the man as he reached the road, the grin on her face becoming sly. “Hey, Billy. Thought you was never comin’.”

  Billy spit a wad of tobacco juice on the street. “Was takin’ a leak.” He glanced at the Thunderbird and grinned, displaying a mouth mostly devoid of teeth. “Well, looka that. That’s a mighty fine automobile, mister.”

  Zeke cleared his throat. “You can’t take my car.”

  The woman sprang out of her crouch and drilled a fist into the middle of his face, sending him tumbling backward. Before he could even attempt to stand, the woman pounced, kicking again and again at his crotch and midsection. He initially tried to ward off the blows, but she was so relentless that he finally curled into a ball and waited for her to be done.

  She kept it up much longer than necessary, cursing and screaming at him all the while. “NOBODY TELLS MARY LOU CRAWFORD WHAT TO DO, YOU SORRY SACK OF SHIT! YOU HEAR ME, YOU GODDAMNED COCKSUCKING SONOFAWHORE? I SAID DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!?”

  Just when he thought she’d at last decided to have mercy on him, she rolled him over, straddled him, and worked his face over like Muhammad Ali practicing on a punching bag. He felt blood burst from his lips and nose, felt the salty tang of it fill his mouth. He finally figured out the woman meant to beat him to death, and he could either lie here and take it or fight back. So he grabbed her wrists, gathered all his remaining strength, and shoved her backward.

  She fell flat on her butt in the road and loosed a scream of pure fury.

  Zeke scooted backward and prepared to defend himself against a fresh assault.

  Then there was a loud CLACK!, the sound of a shotgun shell being jacked into the chamber. “That’s enough, Mary Lou.”

  Zeke’s bleary gaze went to Billy. He was unsurprised to the shotgun barrel pointing straight at his head. “Okay, fine. Take the car, you want it that bad.”

  Billy’s brown eyes were flat and unwavering. “I reckon I ought to shoot you, boy. Can’t have you reporting that fine ride stolen.”

  Zeke couldn’t help it. He laughed. “That’s absurd. Who would I report it to?”

  Mary Lou was on her feet again. She stood with her fists clenched, glowering down at him. “Shoot him, Billy. Shoot the son of a bitch in the goddamn head.”

  Billy grunted. “Nah. Man’s got a point. There ain’t no more law left. Least not for the time bein’. And I ain’t one for killin’ a man ‘less I got to.”

  Mary Lou glared at the big redneck. “You fuckin’ pussy. Gimme that gun. I’ll do it myself.”

  Billy shook his head. “Can’t let you do that. Wouldn’t be right.”

  Mary Lou’s demeanor shifted then. The tension went out of her body and she slinked closer to the big man. Zeke saw that Billy’s gaze was riveted to her big, melon-like tits. She went up on her toes and hooked her hands around his neck. She pressed a bare thigh against his crotch. “Don’t you love me?” she cooed.

  Zeke figured his only chance might very well be a dash into the woods. Of course, he likely wouldn’t get far before a shotgun blast punched a hole through his back and sent his guts flying across the road, but he had to try. So he started to push himself up. In a moment he would leap to his feet and run like hell.

  But it was then that the situation took a turn he wasn’t expecting.

  Mary Lou tore the shotgun from Billy’s hands, jammed the barrel deep into the cushion of his big belly, and pulled the trigger. This all happened too fast for Billy to do anything but blink in surprise. Then he staggered backward, cupping his hands over the gaping red hole in his stomach. Mary Lou jacked another shell into the chamber and dropped him with one more blast, one that tore away the top part of his skull. The big man hit the ground with a thud and Zeke settled back on the road, all thoughts of flight temporarily forgotten.

  He felt sick.

  Mary Lou came over and placed the hot barrel against his forehead. “That’s what happens when a man don’t do what I tell him. He gets hisself shot.” She prodded his head with the barrel. “You ain’t gonna be that dumb, are ya?”

  Zeke�
�s mouth flapped silently for a moment, then he managed to say, “No.”

  Mary Lou smirked. “Tell ya what. I won’t kill ya after all, so long’s you do what I say. How’s that sound, boy?”

  Zeke swallowed hard. “Good?”

  “Good as it’s gonna get for you, least ways.” She tapped the top of his head with the shotgun barrel. “Here’s the first order I’m givin’ you. This here’s a test, boy. Pass and you get to live. Fail…” She jerked her head in the direction of the dead man. “Well, I reckon you know what happens then.”

  Zeke was shaking. He managed a nod.

  “Get on your knees.”

  Zeke did as she instructed.

  She licked her lips. “Now beg. Beg for your fuckin’ life, boy.”

  The barrel of the shotgun touched the middle of his forehead again. He saw her finger slip through the trigger guard and curl around the trigger. A vivid memory of what the shotgun blast did to Billy’s head flashed through his mind like a scene from a gruesome splatter movie. He imagined his own head blown apart like that, and thus did not have to fake the note of abject pleading in his voice when he said, “Please don’t kill me.”

  Mary Lou snickered. “That’s a good start, boy. But it ain’t good enough. I wanna hear you mewl like a fuckin’ baby.”

  Zeke’s eyes misted over. He thought of himself dead. A piece of rotting meat on the ground. Just another piece of doomsday detritus to be ignored by any other survivors who might happen by. Now the tears came. And the sobs. He tried to say the words he thought the woman wanted to hear, but they were rendered incoherent by the force of his emotion. Then she was laughing at him and it was worse. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could be so totally devoid of humanity.

  Mary Lou’s voice softened. “Okay. You passed the test, fucker.”

  Zeke’s only answer was another sob.

  Mary Lou chuckled. “Man, I’m gettin’ a kick out of this whole deal. I don’t ever have to work at fuckin’ Wal-Mart again. I can do whatever I want. I can kill your ass and nobody’ll ever do a fuckin’ thing about it.” She laughed again, this time at the look of horror that passed over Zeke’s face. “Don’t worry, boy. I ain’t gonna. Like I said, you passed the test.”

  Zeke sniffled. “Th-thank…you.”

  Mary Lou moved back a few steps “Whatever. Get the hell up.”

  Zeke needed a moment to reconnect with his body, to feel capable of movement. Then he braced his hands on the pavement and pushed himself up. He got to his feet and stood on legs so shaky he felt like he might keel over at any moment.

  Mary Lou waved the shotgun in the direction of his car. “Thataway. Let’s go for a ride.”

  Zeke looked at the Thunderbird. Though it had only been a matter of minutes, it felt like years had passed since he’d first spied the naked woman staggering down the middle of the road. He wished now that he’d driven on by. Of course, he couldn’t have done that. All he’d seen then was a woman in apparent need, and he wasn’t the kind of person whose conscience would allow him to ignore that. In that moment, Zeke wished he’d been born a sociopath. Or even an out and out fucking loon, like Mary Lou.

  The woman poked at the small of his back with the shotgun barrel and he at last began to move toward the car. He blinked against the glare of the Thunderbird’s lights. The keys were still in the ignition and the engine was running. He briefly considered whether he might be able to jump behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and speed away without getting himself killed.

  Mary Lou seemed to read his thoughts. “I’m gonna let you drive, boy, but don’t you dare try anything funny. I’ll start blastin’ the second I think you’re gonna act the fool.” She poked his back with the shotgun again. “Ya hear me?”

  Zeke sighed. “I hear you.”

  He moved around the open driver’s side door and slid in behind the wheel. Mary Lou kept the shotgun leveled at him as she moved to the other side of the car. Then she yanked the door open and dropped into the passenger seat. She slammed the door shut and laid the barrel of the shotgun in his lap.

  She grinned at Zeke’s look of distress. “I wouldn’t make any sudden movements if I were you, boy.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. Then her expression hardened once again. “Now let’s get this fuckin’ show on the road.”

  Zeke—very carefully—pulled his own door shut.

  Then he put the car in gear, and he and his captor moved deeper into that silent night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Harrisburg, PA

  September 27

  6:45 p.m.

  Jasmine Holtz remained where she’d been throughout that long day—slouched in Gary’s favorite chair in the living room of the house she and her husband had shared for the last decade. The only light in the otherwise dark room emanated from the television set, which showed only a rippling field of black-and-white static.

  She’d made no attempt to hide when the legions of hell (or whatever) had come forth to decimate the world. Still consumed with grief over Gary’s loss, she hadn’t mustered much fear of the screeching flying things she’d seen on television. She’d spent much of the day anticipating—perhaps even hoping for—imminent death, expecting one of the creatures to come crashing through the living room window at any moment.

  But it never happened.

  So she at last stirred from her spot in the living room for the simplest of biological reasons—she needed to pee. She got up and shuffled off in the direction of the nearest bathroom, which required her to move through the living room, through the kitchen, and into the bedroom. Though she still felt most comfortable in the dark, the darkness now was such that she had to turn on lights to move through her house. It amazed her that the power was still on. The outside world seemed dead, but that world’s tecnology—for the time being, at least—continued to function. She wondered in an absent way whether she ought to get on the phone and try calling some people. Or maybe power up her computer and see if she could talk to anyone on the internet. These were vaguely intriguing possibilities, but she did not feel up to pursuing them at the moment.

  She opened the bathroom door, blinked at what she saw there, and pulled the door shut an the same instant the thing perched on the edge of the sink launched itself in her direction. It struck the door and rebounded, landing on the tiled floor with a soft thump.

  Then she heard it scrabbling at the door, its tiny talons gouging grooves in the painted wood. Jasmine stood frozen there for a time with her hand clenched tightly around the door knob. The thing in her bathroom was a miniature version of the flying demons she’d seen on television. It was no bigger than the average housecat. But it had those same leathery black wings, those same dead red eyes, and those same razor-sharp talons and teeth. Despite its diminutive size, she had no doubt the thing could kill her.

  How did it get in there? she wondered.

  The bathroom had been closed. And she was sure she would’ve heard anything forcing its way into the house. One of those strange holes in the world must have opened on the other side of this door. A very small one perhaps, but large enough to allow her uninvited guest entry. The realization had the effect of swiping away the hazy gauze of disconnection that had hovered between herself and the dramatic events in the outside world.

  She grimaced as the thing threw itself against the door, making it rattle in its frame. Her breathing came in quicker bursts and for a moment she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Then she mentally berated herself for acting the shrinking violet. She was right to be afraid, but if she wanted to survive beyond this moment—as her instincts surprisingly indicated she did—she would need to think and act on a calmer, more rational level.

  Get your stuff together and think this through, Jaz, she thought.

  The thing in her bathroom, she decided, might well be as deadly as she imagined. But it was tiny. And she very much doubted it possessed the intelligence to figure out how to work the door knob. It could either bash its way through the wood or kill itself trying.
Either way, it would take time.

  So you have a head start, she thought. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe only seconds.

  So get moving.

  She let go of the doorknob and hurried out of the bedroom. She was in the kitchen when she heard the bathroom door splinter. The crackling sound of wood yielding to the creature’s furious assault grew louder, and Jasmine paused at the kitchen counter long enough to select a long carving knife from a wooden block. She heard a flapping of wings and whirled about in time to see the tiny demon come hurtling through the air at her. Instinct caused her to raise the knife, and the blade punched through the creature’s midsection. The thing screeched and flapped away from her. It remained airborne a few moments longer, fluttering weakly to the opposite side of the kitchen, where it struck the refrigerator, uttered a faint, almost pitiable screech, and dropped to the floor.

  Jasmine let out a big breath and put a hand to her chest. “Oh my God.”

  She crossed the kitchen and stared down at the creature. It lay on its side, with its tiny talons curled against the blade. It looked so pathetic—so much like an impaled baby—that she experienced a fleeting moment of pity for it. A thick yellow substance oozed from its wound and spilled down the length of the blade. An odor like spoiled food emanated from it.

  She was pretty sure it was dead. But she was just as certain her house was no longer a safe haven—if it had ever been one. In all likelihood there was a black space somewhere in the bathroom, a portal through which the dead thing at her feet had come. It stood to reason that it was only a matter of time until something else—perhaps something much larger—came through as well.