The Savage Darkness (Darkness After Series Book 4)

by Scott B. Williams

  In the burnt-out rubble of the house he found what was left of his gun safe, sitting right where it always had when the cypress-planked walls of his office had been there. Too heavy to move, it had survived the flames as it was designed to do, but not without extensive damage. From what he could tell, it didn’t matter anyway. Apparently it had been unlocked and opened before the fire. There was nothing inside it but soot and ash. He knew Mitch would have long since put the weapons and ammunition he kept in it to use. He would have needed them for hunting and for defense if he’d indeed made it back here from New Orleans. Doug had already noted that his AR-15 patrol rifle was missing from his battered work truck and he hoped Mitch was the one who’d gotten it too.

  Another hour of poking and digging around through the ash and debris convinced Doug Henley that someone had gone through what was left of the house and barn pretty thoroughly. Metal tools such as axes, hammers, wrenches, shovels and all the rest of such essentials needed on a farm were conspicuously missing, telling him they had been removed after the fire. He could only hope it was Mitch and Lisa that got them, but he wondered where they could be now and why they didn’t just stay here and set up camp nearby. The best reason he could come up with for them doing otherwise was that this was a deliberate attack and they had moved elsewhere to a better hideout to avoid more trouble. Now he just had to figure out where.

  He would start his search by checking every corner of his wooded 600 acres and then the banks of the creek in back of that. Mitch knew this land and most of the national forest that joined it like the back of his hand, and Doug felt sure he wouldn’t be too far from this place he loved so much unless it were absolutely necessary. As young as he was, Mitch was already a much better hunter than his father, probably because he was so passionate about it that it was all he ever wanted to do. Black Creek and the tens of thousands of acres of wild woodlands it flowed through would provide everything he and Lisa needed to live off the land, as well as plenty of seclusion to do it. Doug had every confidence in his son’s ability to survive—assuming he wasn’t the other person buried there. And if Lisa was alive and with him, Mitch would make sure she did too.

  His inspection of the house and barn sites done, Doug walked back out to the road to get Eli, knowing now he would have to lead him the long way around until he reached one of the back gaps in the fence that he could open without a key. As he walked down the road, he remembered the cattle bones he’d found earlier, and wondered if their demise was related to whatever happened here. It seemed likely that it was, considering the animals probably died around the same time.

  When he reached the gap on the far east side with Eli in tow, he found it wide open, which he’d not expected considering that the front gate was locked. Had Mitch turned the cattle out to let them forage in the woods beyond, or worse, had the entire herd fallen to whatever got the two out front? There was no sign of them near the gap, but when he mounted up and rode Eli along the inside of the fence to the back side of the property, he found cow patties that weren’t fresh, but certainly more recent than when the house and barn were burned. And further along, he found horse droppings too—quite a lot of them—much more than one animal would have left. Had Mitch somehow acquired some horses since the lights went out? It would be a reasonable thing to do; just as he’d done himself in order to get back here. But if he had, Doug was beginning to think neither the horses nor the cattle were on the property now. He rode on until he’d made a circuit of the entire fence line, but still he saw no animals and no Mitch or Lisa. He did find plenty of evidence that they’d been living on the land for quite some time after the lights went out though. Someone had been cutting lots of firewood with an axe—enough for cooking and other fire needs for months, Doug figured. But again, from what he could tell, it looked like that activity too had ceased around the same time as the fire. It was pretty clear that wherever Mitch and Lisa were, if they were alive, it wasn’t here on the land. They’d moved elsewhere and had either taken the cattle and horses with them or turned them loose. Doug sat down on a log and chewed on some venison jerky from his saddlebags while he pondered the possibilities.

  “Looks like we might not be staying here all that long after all, Eli. Sorry about that. You can enjoy the Henley place for a little while though. Not much use in asking you to come along down to the creek bottom. I can get through there faster walking.”

  He unsaddled the horse and slung a bag over his shoulder containing extra magazines for the rifle, as well as some water and the rest of the jerky. Eli would be fine here even if he were away overnight. The first thing Doug wanted to do was go down to the place on the creek where they kept their two canoes and see whether or not they were missing. He was betting that at least one of them would be, even if Mitch and Lisa were still nearby.

  Three

  MOVING INTO THE EDGE of the hardwoods that replaced the pines as the land sloped to the creek bottom, Doug came across more cattle droppings that were fresher than those inside the fence; maybe little more than a week old. There were hoof prints too, from at least a dozen of the herd. So now he knew for sure they weren’t all dead, and that someone had turned the rest out, just as he’d suspected. If he was still nearby, Mitch might have done it to give them more foraging options for the winter. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere with the creek running just a few hundred yards behind the fence line. And with little chance of a running vehicle coming by at speed these days, he wouldn’t worry about them wandering up to the road. The only other reason Doug could think of for Mitch to let them out was if he was leaving the area for good and simply freeing them to fend for themselves because he couldn’t take them with him. That was a possibility, as was the possibility that it wasn’t Mitch who’d done it at all. Every sign he found was a piece of the puzzle, but there were still many more pieces missing than not.

  As much as he wanted to simply call out loud to Mitch and Lisa, in hopes of them hearing his voice if they were in the vicinity, Doug knew it would be best not to be heard or seen until he knew what was going on, and who, if anyone, was in the area. He continued towards the creek at a careful, but deliberate pace; not quite stalking, but avoiding stepping on twigs or branches or making sudden movements that were so easy to spot in the woods.

  When he reached the bay thicket where the family canoes were always hidden, his hunch that he might not find them there was confirmed. Both canoes and the paddles and life jackets that were kept there with them were all gone. Checking the muddy ground nearby revealed no human footprints or drag marks, so he knew it had not been there recently. Doug continued on until he was standing on the bank overlooking Black Creek. There was nothing in the area to indicate anyone was around. The dark, tannin-stained waters for which the creek was named flowed quietly by through the near-pristine forest, as beautiful and peaceful as always.

  He’d hoped he would find Mitch and Lisa camped here at this place; which he knew was one of their favorite spots. They always launched the canoes from here and often walked down here to go swimming on those hot summer days when the school year was gladly forgotten. But if they’d spent time here at all since the blackout, they left no trace of it. Doug scoured the sandbars and every patch of bare earth he could find, looking for footprints, but found only the tracks of deer and raccoon. That there were still plenty of deer in the vicinity didn’t really surprise him. He figured Mitch might do most of his hunting farther afield rather than on their land. It would make sense in a situation like this as long as he could do it. The wildlife that made its home on and around the Henley property could then serve as an emergency reserve for the even harder times that were sure to come.

  Doug had thought about this often over the past year, and was really glad he’d acquired and kept his little herd of cattle on the place as a hobby even though they were often more trouble and expense than they were worth before. He knew Mitch wouldn’t slaughter any of his animals unless it was absolutely necessary, but having all that beef on the hoof
right there at home was good insurance. Doug knew too that Mitch would share with any of their friends and family members that might show up needing help. If Mitch and Lisa were there in the early days after the collapse, they would have been far better off than many, with the land and all its resources as well as the tools and hunting weapons that Mitch knew how to use as well, if not better than, his father. All this time during his journey, Doug had a mental image of Mitch and Lisa working hard and carrying on, holding out on the farm while waiting expectantly for the return of their mom and dad. But the reality that he saw there today was never a part of that hopeful image.

  Realizing he was still at a loss, he sat down near the water’s edge with the rifle cradled in his lap and began thinking back, trying to remember all of Mitch’s favorite hunting spots as he stared at the rippling current. He knew that the canoes being gone didn’t mean much. Mitch and Lisa could have moved them somewhere else long before the fire, or they might have loaned one or both to someone or they could have even been stolen. It was tempting to think they’d paddled downstream, as that would be the easy choice, but Doug knew the futility of making assumptions in this reality. Even so, he decided he would start in that direction. It would do no good to return to the house site and wait, because there was little reason for them to come back there now. Doug had nothing else in the world to do but search for his children, and if it took scouring every acre of Desoto National Forest or even the entire southern half of the state, then that’s what he would do. He would spend the day searching downstream, and tomorrow he’d go in the other direction. Once he’d covered everything within a five-mile radius of the farm, he would plan his next steps and go from there.

  The chill of early morning was giving way to a nice day now that the sun was filtering through the trees and he was sheltered from the wind. He followed the creek as it wound its way in a southeasterly direction towards its eventual rendezvous with the Pascagoula River. But the big swamps that far downstream were days away by canoe, and much farther for anyone trying to follow the creek on foot. Doug couldn’t think of a reason Mitch and Lisa might go that far though, when this area close to home was already one of the wildest and most remote parts of the state.

  Doug’s work in the world before the blackout kept him out in it, either patrolling the woods or creek or driving the local back roads year round. The only game warden in the entire county, he had 450 square miles to work alone, keeping a lookout for outlaw hunters and fishermen, as well as staying ahead of the criminal element running poaching and drug operations in the backwoods. There was nothing easy about Doug Henley’s job, but there was nothing he’d rather do and he did it so well that the word among the lawbreakers was that it was easier to ply their trade elsewhere. But as dangerous as it was at times it was nothing compared to what had happened since the grid went down. He’d never been one to take things for granted back then, but he’d never expected to see anything like this in his lifetime. Those years had prepared him better than most for what the survivors had to face, but even so he’d failed to bring his wife back home and had failed to return soon enough to save his home and protect his kids. The odds that such a thing as a catastrophic solar flare would happen the one time he and Suzanne were both away from the farm would have seemed impossible if someone had suggested to him before. But he was sure there were countless others like the two of them caught in similar circumstances as far and wide as the effects of the pulse reached. How far that was, of course, was still an unknown, though by now he had to assume that it was virtually worldwide, since conditions had only gotten worse.

  He had been in law enforcement for so long it was in his blood and it made him sick to see the ruin that had come to the country he loved and its laws he’d sworn to protect. He had done what he could in the beginning to help his fellow officers in Houston in those first days, but it soon became apparent that keeping the peace was a losing battle. And Doug had a wife with him he had to try and protect, as well as children more than 400 miles away he had to get back to. He had done his part to help and had intervened to save others more times than he could count, but ultimately his priority was to get back home. Enforcing game and fish laws and protecting natural resources from poachers and outlaws was a long-closed chapter of his life now, and Doug knew the rest of his days would revolve around the constant challenges of everyday survival. That would be the case throughout his search for Mitch and Lisa and afterwards as well, assuming he ever found them.

  He set out downstream along the creek bank, twisting his way through the bay thickets and cypress knees while scanning the ground for footprints. He was only one bend below the place where the canoes had been kept when he came to a small opening just up a rise from the bank where someone had been skinning and butchering deer. A stout pole was lashed horizontally between two trees and scattered antlers, bones and bits of hair nearby told the rest of the story. Looking a little closer, Doug concluded these animals had been killed quite recently, surely since the house and barn had burned, but probably a month ago. Looking at the evidence, he could not help but get excited. If this was Mitch’s doing, then he had survived whatever happened on the farm this winter.

  He picked through the bones, turning them over and looking for telltale signs of how the deer had been killed. This he had experience with from his long career as a game warden. It didn’t take him long to find a rib that had been sliced cleanly in two by what was likely a broadhead arrow—an almost sure sign that this was his son’s kill. Doug Henley had never in his life been so excited by a piece of bone. He checked them all and examined every inch of ground nearby, finding nothing else conclusive, but that didn’t matter. He had enough to give him hope. If Mitch had skinned and butchered those deer here, then he and Lisa had likely been camping nearby at some point after losing the house.

  Doug widened his search from that spot but found no more sign within a 200-yard radius, so he moved on downstream to the next bend. As he made his way to a point opposite a large sandbar on the other side of the creek, he suddenly stopped in his tracks when he spotted the stern of an aluminum canoe. It was their 17-foot Grumman, one of the two that should have been back at the spot where they always kept them hidden. Doug could barely contain his excitement as he realized what it meant. Mitch and Lisa could be right there, somewhere in the woods just across the creek! He pushed on through the undergrowth to get a better view, stopping when he reached the top bank. A paddle was leaning up against the side of the canoe, but otherwise it was empty.

  Doug waded straight into the creek, not worried about getting wet despite the cold morning, taking only the precaution of keeping his rifle high and dry when he hit chest-deep water at the deepest part. Once across he rushed straight to the canoe, where he saw in the bottom a fishing rod and reel that he knew wasn’t one of theirs. Examining the sand around the canoe, he saw boot prints leading up the bank and into the woods. Though he didn’t know for sure, they looked to be the right size and could belong to Mitch. They were easy to follow until they disappeared where leaves covered the ground, but they were clearly fresh—probably made that very morning!

  It was all he could do to contain himself and not call out Mitch’s name. But he wanted to try and follow the trail if he could. From the looks of it, his son had landed there that morning and had probably slipped into the woods to hunt. He didn’t want to frighten away the game if that were the case, so he kept quiet and tried to pick out where the tracks led. He had gone another fifty feet into the woods when he heard a muted metallic click behind him, the sound of a cocking hammer that he would recognize anywhere: a sound that stopped him instantly in his tracks. A gruff voice followed the click:

  “Set that rifle on the ground and turn around real slow, Mister, or I’ll blow your head right off!”

  Four

  IT HAD BEEN NEARLY two weeks since they’d buried Tommy Evans and Corey Stevens, and like every day since, Mitch Henley was once again slipping through the woods near the edge of the road that
bordered the Henley farm. He was there to check once more that the attackers had not returned. He knew from the tracks he’d found after the fight that at least two of the men involved got away, escaping on horseback after setting the fires that destroyed the house and barn. There were still old hoof prints and footprints remaining from the encounter, but the rain had continued sporadically and Mitch was looking for fresh sign that could have been made since he and his friends relocated to their new camp in the woods near Black Creek.

  Mitch knew that the men who’d come here and done this were part of a larger group that arrived from somewhere to the west. Benny had gleaned that much from their conversation while he was their captive, awaiting the certain death they’d promised him when the rest of the party arrived. But it wasn’t Benny who died in the end. The intruders had paid with their lives for their mistaken assumption that they’d found an easy target. Mitch doubted the rest of the group, comprised mainly of women and children, would risk coming here after losing so many of their men. Even if they weren’t deterred by the fear of meeting the same fate, there was little reason for them to come now that the house and barn had burned to the ground, along with anything within they might plunder.

  Still, despite what logic told him, Mitch knew from recent hard experience that one could never take anything for granted or be too careful in this harsh new reality into which he and his friends had been thrust. It disgusted him to think how quickly so many of his fellow Americans had plunged into the depths of depravity, resorting to savagery and violence to take from those who were weaker, unarmed and in other ways less prepared or willing to defend themselves. The killing had begun within days of the grid going down and had continued ever since. Mitch had seen enough of it in those first few days to know what was happening in the cities and towns and along the highways connecting them. He was sure the majority of those involved in the initial mindless rioting and looting had long since perished. But there were enough of the worst sort left that had not; and the most ruthless and violent of those had organized themselves into bands and gangs that were now roaming the countryside looking for resources that had long since disappeared in the cities. Those who had attacked the Henley farm while he was away hunting with Jason and Corey were without a doubt the largest such group he’d encountered thus far. Until it happened, he’d doubted they would have to face such a formidable force so far out in the boonies of rural Mississippi.