The Darkest Place: A Surviving the Dead Novel

by James Cook

  Moving quickly, I traversed the yard and went up the porch steps in two big strides. Knocking would have made too much noise, so I tried the door handle. Not surprisingly, it was locked.

  Now what?

  Glancing around, I saw a couple of windows on the ground floor. I walked to the closest one and peered through the glass at the little bronze clasp. It was unlatched. Using the crowbar, I wedged the flat end under the sill and levered upward.

  After pushing the window up and slowly releasing it to make sure it wouldn’t come crashing down, I peeked inside. A living room lay in front of me, complete with sofas, bookshelves, entertainment center, and a gigantic flat-screen TV. The bottom of the window was only waist high, allowing me to place the crowbar on the carpeted floor and step inside. Once through, I slowly eased the window shut.

  Now the problem was finding Phil and not eating a bullet for intruding. Shouting for him would have been the easy thing to do, but also stupid. Announcing my presence to a swarm of hungry ghouls would not do either one of us a bit of good. So I did what I always do: I fell back on my training.

  Room by room, I swept the house, starting with the ground floor. At each doorway, I gave a little tap of the knuckles and whispered, “Phil, it’s me, Caleb. Are you in there? I’m going to open the door. If you’re armed, don’t shoot.”

  The living room, kitchen, garage, and downstairs bathroom were all empty. Ditto for the three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. After clearing the laundry room, I stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, perplexed.

  “Did he take off already?” I muttered aloud.

  Back in the hallway, I looked left, then right, wondering where he might have gone. Finally, I looked up and realized there was one place I had not yet looked.

  A quick tug on the string popped the trap door to the attic. I grabbed the stairs and eased them to the floor as quietly as I could. “Phil?” I said, voice pitched just above a whisper. “You up there?”

  No answer.

  I set the crowbar down, drew my pistol, and eased my way up the steps. Under other circumstances, I would have led with the gun. But in this case, I had come to help Phil, not shoot him. So I kept the Beretta down by my hip. It seemed like such a small decision when I made it, but like many small decisions I’ve made since the Outbreak, it saved my life.

  When I was halfway up the steps, Phil stood up from behind a stack of cardboard boxes and raised his right hand in my direction. In his grip was a large, nickel-plated revolver.

  “Stop right there,” he said.

  I froze. “What are you doing, Phil?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” His graying hair stood around his head in a frazzled halo, framing his bald pate. His clothes were stained and rumpled, looking as though he had been wearing them for several days. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and I was guessing he probably hadn’t bathed either. “I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time.” He gestured behind me with his gun.

  I turned and looked over my shoulder. The space behind me was empty of boxes, the floor covered in blue tarps tacked down with roofing nails. At the far end, a very attractive, very naked woman was bent over a metal desk, arms and legs bound with duct tape and chained to eyebolts driven into the wall. For a moment, I thought she was alive. But then I noticed the mottled gray skin and the missing gouge of flesh on her left calf muscle. She bucked and thrashed, and made inarticulate growling noises through a ball gag. Around her feet lay several used condoms and empty foil packets.

  Slowly, as if my head were on a rusty hinge, I turned back to Phil. “Listen, man. What you do in your spare time is none of my business, all right?”

  He shook his head, a smile beginning to stretch his mouth. “You shouldn’t have come here. I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, now.”

  My mind raced. It occurred to me Phil couldn’t see my hands. If he could, he probably would have pulled the trigger already. Which meant I had one chance, but I would have to be quick.

  “Phil, I don’t care what you’re doing here. No one does. Maybe you didn’t notice, but it’s pretty much the wild west out there. There’s no reason not to let me just walk away.”

  “I’m curious,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “What brought you here?”

  “There’s a giant horde of infected coming this way. Soldiers too. The Army set up a perimeter around the north side of San Antonio, but they were overrun. My father and some of the others saw it; the troops there are in full retreat. Some of them deserted. If they come this way looking for food, I doubt they’ll take no for an answer.”

  “So you came here to warn me?”

  I nodded.

  “Very kind of you. Now I need you to go ahead and step on up onto those tarps over there.”

  “No.”

  The smile faltered. “I don’t think you understand, kid. I’m not asking you. If you’re not on that tarp in the next three seconds, I’m going to-”

  “You pull that trigger,” I interrupted, “and you’ll bring every infected in a mile radius down on this place.”

  Phil shrugged. “I have enough food to last for months.” He nudged a box with one of his feet. “Water too. All I have to do is pull up the ladder. Besides, I have all the entertainment I need. Now move.” He waved at the tarps with the pistol, a stupid thing to do when pointing a gun at someone. There’s your chance, Caleb.

  “My family will come looking for me,” I said. “Two former Green Berets, a Navy SEAL, and a Marine. They’ll kill you, Phil.”

  Another shrug. “I think you’re full of shit, kid. But even if you’re right, let them try. I’ll blow a hole in ‘em and feed ‘em to the dead.”

  If you only knew. I looked behind me at the reanimated corpse and faked a defeated sigh. “Fuck it. Nothing much left to live for anyway.” I looked back at Phil and said, “Listen, man, before you do it, would you mind if I … you know? Just one last time?” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at the dead woman.

  The smile on Phil’s face took on a ghastly light. “I don’t see why not.”

  I felt a familiar coldness start in my chest and spread to my hands and face.

  “You’re a good looking kid.”

  My eyes locked to the gun, the breath slowly leaving my lungs.

  “I like women, mostly, but I have a thing for fit young men too.”

  I kept my hand loose on the Beretta, finger looped over the trigger, arm relaxed.

  “You look like you’re in good shape. Bet you have a great ass, nice and firm.”

  He took a couple of steps forward. I watched and waited.

  “Maybe I’ll rub one out while you fuck her. Go on, give her a go.”

  He waved the revolver.

  There was no thinking. My eyes shifted from the gun to Phil’s chest, the world going gray at the edges. The Beretta rose, a heavy black star in an empty sky, the distilled power of death over life. Five reports crashed against my ears in the small attic, deafeningly loud. Phil jerked with the impacts, eyes widening in shocked surprise. The nickel-plated revolver clattered to the ground, followed by its owner. I stood still a few seconds, gun trained on Phil’s head. His eyes remained open, fat cheeks squashed to the side, his legs locking underneath him so that his buttocks protruded comically in the air. Behind me, the dead woman thrashed with renewed violence.

  “Time to go, Caleb.”

  My hand didn’t move. I counted backwards from five and let out a long breath. The gray began to fade from my vision.

  “Time to go, Caleb.”

  The desk rattled behind me, clanking and clattering against the wall. I imagined myself in the same situation and knew without question I would not want to be left that way. So despite the danger and my collapsing timetable, I stepped the rest of the way into the attic and approached the infected woman.

  Her bite on the gag was so intense her teeth had sunk into the rubber ball clear to the gum line. The muscles of her jaw stood out in striated relief, exerting pressure far in excess of wh
at any sane living person could have managed. She craned her head over her shoulder and glared at me with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

  I raised my pistol and centered the white dots on her forehead. “I guess your friends already heard me,” I said. “So one more shot won’t make much difference now, will it?”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  My first instinct was to run out the back door and sprint for the boat. However, when I reached the bottom of the staircase, I could see a knot of at least a dozen undead blocking the way.

  “Shit.”

  Think, Caleb.

  I knew they hunted by sound. I knew the blast of my pistol attracted them. I knew they would follow that sound wherever it led. The question was how keen was their tracking ability?

  With no other option, I made my way to the front door, stepped out onto the porch, and fired a shot in the air. All at once, a scattering of more than a hundred undead looked in my direction, eyes wide with inhuman hunger. One of them opened its mouth and let out a ragged GAAUUGGGHHGGHH, and began lurching toward me. Another followed suit, then another, and another, until in short order, they were all headed my way. From the back of the house, I heard an answering call and the sound of dragging footsteps.

  “Stay calm. Stand your ground.”

  I waited, although every instinct screamed at me to run. There is something about the infected, some primal response in the human brain, that incites panic in even the most rational and courageous of minds. Perhaps it is the reminder of our own mortality, or the prospect of becoming one of them, or the innate homo sapiens fear of being eaten. Whatever the cause, it is powerful.

  They drew closer. My hands began to sweat around the pistol and the crowbar. I thought about discarding the big hunk of metal, but decided against it. If things went south, at least I knew it would not run out of ammo.

  The infected from the back yard flowed around the sides of the house like sluggish lava. I thought about all the times I had gone fishing, and appreciated how the bait worms must have felt. Nonetheless, I stood still.

  The closest infected was ten feet away now. It had been a woman, once. Middle aged, long graying hair, medium height and build, bare feet torn and bloody, most of the meat of her abdomen and right leg eaten away, loops of intestine dangling from a gaping black cavity where her midsection used to be, flies and maggots swarming the blackened flesh. The smell reached me and forced me to swallow hard against a throat full of bile.

  I let her get to within six feet before I raised the pistol and put her out of her misery. Not because I felt particularly sorry for her, but because I wanted her dead body to form a trip hazard for the other infected walking up the steps. After she fell, I dragged her body so it laid at the most inconvenient angle possible, then ducked through the door and locked it.

  Peering through a window into the back yard, I saw it was now empty. I breathed a sigh of relief and stepped outside.

  And promptly pitched forward onto my face.

  Something had clamped down on my ankle with the strength of a vise. I threw my hands out to catch myself, and let out a surprised oomph as I hit the ground. The pistol went flying off the porch, tumbling into the grass ahead of me. I managed to hang on to the crowbar.

  Recovering, I looked behind me and saw something out of a nightmare.

  Its legs were gone. Not all of them—the femur bones, some muscle tissue, and a few tendons and ligaments remained—but everything from the knees down had been eaten away. It was male, dark skinned, rail thin, its scalp hairless, lips curled over bloody teeth. I let out an involuntary shout and tried to kick it away to no avail. Its grip was iron, its fingers like steel cables wrapped around my ankle. With incredible strength, it dragged my foot to its mouth and bit down on the steel toe of my boot. I stared in sick fascination as its upper teeth chipped and broke away. The spell was broken when it began thrashing its head back and forth like an attack dog.

  I swung the crowbar one handed, but it had no effect. The metal simply bounced off the creature’s head with a dull clunk. Sitting up, I gripped the bar with both hands, took careful aim, and brought it down on the ghoul’s wrist. There was a crunch, but its grip did not let up. I raised the bar and swung again, then a third time, a fourth. On the fifth swing, there was a wet snapping sound and the pressure on my leg finally released. I scrambled up, cursing and stumbling.

  “Rotten sack of shit.”

  Already, the crawler was pulling itself across the porch, a moan rattling in its throat, mouth gaping. I stared in horror at the pure, animal need in the things eyes—eyes that had once belonged to a man with a heart, and a mind, and a soul. I felt as though I were looking upon a profound desecration, an abomination of something once sacrosanct. I would have been less affected watching someone smear shit on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

  The crowbar rose and fell three times, and the crawler went still.

  *****

  Sophia heard the gunshots, but as requested, stayed on the boat.

  “What happened,” she asked as I hopped aboard, eyeing the gore-streaked crowbar in my hand. “Where’s Phil?”

  “Dead.”

  “Dead? How?”

  I tapped the Beretta in its holster. “I shot him.”

  “What!”

  “He tried to kill me, Sophia.”

  Her face froze. A bloom of anger started somewhere behind her eyes and spread in a red flush until it disappeared beneath her shirt. “Why?”

  I told her I only wanted to explain it once, so she would have to wait until we got back to the cabin. The others were waiting for me on the shore, evidently having heard the shots as well. There was a cacophony of questions, everyone trying to speak over one another. I waved them into silence.

  And then I told them.

  Lauren put her arms around me and wept and said she was sorry I had been through so much, so young. My father looked on, and I wondered how a man as strong and capable as he was could look quite so at a loss for words.

  The others left us alone.

  *****

  We took 2673 to 306 North.

  The idea was to put the lake between the soldiers and infected headed our way. Mike drove the lead Humvee, followed by Blake in his Jeep, Sophia and I in her father’s truck, Dad and Lauren behind us, and Lance bringing up the rear in the other Humvee. Lola rode in the back of the rear vehicle with Tyrel across her lap, still unconscious.

  We had loaded as much food, ammo, water, and medical supplies as we could into the five vehicles, but decided to leave the stolen Army Humvee behind, figuring the big fuel-guzzler would have been too much of a strain on our limited diesel supply. However, we did relieve it of its weaponry, including an M-249 SAW, a box of frag grenades, two LAW rockets, and several thousand rounds of belted 5.56mm ammunition.

  “Where are we going?” Sophia asked.

  I glanced out the driver’s side window at the rolling hills of burned and blackened trees. They reminded me of bristles on a giant, coarse brush. “Colorado would be my guess,” I said. “I overheard my dad and Tyrel talking about Pike National Forest last week. I think the idea was to lay low in Canyon Lake until things settled down, then head north.”

  “Would have been nice if they had disclosed that little tidbit of information.”

  “I’m sure they had their reasons for keeping it quiet.”

  “Of course they did. The wisdom of our collective parental units is incalculable.”

  “Hey, we’re still alive, aren’t we?”

  I felt her gaze on the side of my face. “I don’t like being kept in the dark,” she said.

  “I don’t either, Sophia. But what else are we supposed to do?”

  She was quiet for a couple of miles, then said, “I guess we don’t have much of a choice but to trust him.”

  “Who?”

  “Your father. He seems to be the one in charge.”

  “Only because no one else wants the job.”

  “Touché.”

  “He knows what he
’s doing.”

  “I hope so. It would really ruin my day if he got us all killed.”

  I turned my head and glared. “Careful. That’s my father you’re talking about.”

  The heat in my voice made her eyes go wide. “Caleb, I didn’t mean …”

  “Save it.” I put my focus back on the road.

  We didn’t speak for a while after that. Miles rolled under the wheels and the ash gray expanse of Canyon Lake grew smaller to my left. I snuck a few glances at Sophia from the corner of my eye and felt the old defenses begin to weaken. I had always been touchy when it came to my father and what people had to say about him. If the tone was negative, I was quick to mine the fields and zero in the artillery and man the machine-gun nests. In most cases, it was overkill. And worse, I was sensible enough to know it.

  Sophia sat with her legs folded in front of her, arms around her knees, face turned away from me. I studied the shadow under her jawline, the grace of it, the way it flowed seamlessly into the curve of long neck and delicate earlobe. Her hair was tied back, a few unbound strands falling loose along the side of her face, the tips barely touching her flawless skin. Looking at them made my hands tingle.

  “Hey,” I said.

  She looked at me, a vulnerability in her eyes I decided I never wanted to see again. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She put a hand on the center console, palm up. I covered it with mine and squeezed. “Let’s not do that anymore.”