The Darkest Place: A Surviving the Dead Novel

by James Cook

  “Or,” she went on, putting her hand down, “you enlist in the United States Army for a period of no less than four years. If you serve out your time and receive an honorable discharge, the charges against you will be dropped. If you do not serve the full term of the enlistment and are subsequently apprehended, you will be brought back into this courtroom, and if that happens, there will be no more deals. As it is, you’re lucky our docket is overly full and the Army so desperately in need of personnel, otherwise the court would not even be offering you this opportunity.”

  The judge sat back and rested her hands on the arms of her chair. “So what’s it going to be, Mr. Hicks?”

  I looked over at my defender, who had not said a word. He looked back at me and shrugged. “I’ve seen what happens to guys in the prison camps,” he said. “I’d take door number three if I were you.”

  I stared at the floor for a long moment. The two swigs of liquor I had drunk earlier were wearing off. My hands shook, but not from fear. I knew I would not survive a year of hard labor in a prison camp. Death no longer had the power to frighten me, but deep down in a place I had forgotten existed, I felt a spark of something. A stirring I had not felt for so long it took me a few moments to identify it.

  Hope.

  It’s a hell of a carrot, hope. Put it on a stick and dangle it in front of someone, even someone as low as I was, and you can walk them for miles. My dad served in the Army. So did Blake. They had never talked about it much, but how bad could it be?

  I looked up and said, “Your Honor, is there a recruiter in the building?”

  *****

  The Army could not take me in my current condition, so the judge ordered me into a treatment program. And by treatment, I mean they locked me in a cell, fed me two Xanax a day—one in the morning and one at night—to deal with the withdrawal symptoms, and an Ambien in the evening to help me sleep. This went on for five days.

  The Xanax helped, but it could only do so much. I was in agony. I could not hold down food. Horrible black bile poured out of me every hour or so, until I began to ponder where it was all coming from. I was not eating, and so wondered if I was shitting out my internal organs. It would not have surprised me.

  After the first five days, my heart stopped trying to beat its way out of my chest, the flow of high viscosity motor oil stopped, and I felt something I had not felt in months—hunger. Actual ‘I could seriously eat food right now and not puke it up’ hunger. The spark of hope in my chest burned a little brighter.

  Near the end of the second week, I felt almost human again. To my surprise, there were no cravings. When I thought about booze, I just got mildly nauseous and that was it. Now, two years after recovering, I can drink without feeling the urge to get wasted like I used to. I have a theory about this.

  Some people have a switch in their brains. When they take a drink, the switch closes, a circuit is completed, and they immediately want another drink. It is a phenomenon I have seen many times. For these people, once the booze train gets rolling, there is no stopping it.

  I do not think I have this affliction. I can have two drinks and call it a night. I think for me, the drinking was a deliberate thing. I did not particularly enjoy it, but it took less courage than putting a bullet in my head. So once I decided I wanted to live, the problem solved itself. Well … that and two weeks of being locked in a room with no access to booze.

  I doubt Judge MacGregor will ever know it, but I am grateful to her. She could have laid the hammer down, but she chose to give me a second chance. If I am ever back in the Springs, I will make it a point to find her and express my gratitude.

  Near the end of my treatment/incarceration, Tyrel came to see me. He seemed reluctant and surprised I had accepted his visit. The guard put a chair in front of my cell door so Ty could have a seat and walked a respectful distance away.

  “How’s it going, man?” I asked with a smile, my hands around the bars. “You doin’ all right?”

  He looked confused a moment, then said, “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I don’t think I’m a hundred percent yet, but I’m a hell of a lot better than I was.”

  “You look it.”

  “Thanks. Where have you been? I figured you would come to visit before now.”

  Again, the confusion. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  Now it was my turn to be confused. “Remember what?” The memory of waking in my cell with a swollen eye came back to me, and I groaned and said, “Oh, jeez, what did I do?”

  “We had a bit of a falling out.”

  “How bad?”

  “You took a swing at me.”

  My stomach dropped. “Did I connect?”

  “No, but I did. That was the end of it.”

  “God, Ty, I am so sorry. I was out of my head, man. Please don’t hold it against me.”

  He stood up and shook hands with me through the bars. “Water under the bridge, son. I’m just glad to see you’re doing better.”

  “I’m glad to be feeling better. You hear about what happened to me?”

  He nodded. “It’s a good thing the Army is so hard up for people. Otherwise you’d have ended up in a labor camp.”

  “No shit.” I sighed and looked down at my hands. “Looks like I’m gonna be a proper soldier soon.”

  “So I hear.”

  I looked at my oldest and best friend and gave a wan smile. “Any advice?”

  “Keep your mouth shut, do what you’re told, and don’t let your drill instructor learn your name. Aside from that, just remember the training we gave you and you’ll be fine.”

  A memory sparked in my still marginally dulled brain, and I said, “Speaking of my training, have you heard from Mike? Letters or anything?”

  Tyrel’s face took on a sad cast. “Got a letter about a month ago dated from December. Said he’d found his wife, but heard some disturbing rumors he wanted to investigate before he came home.”

  “What kinds of rumors?”

  A shake of the head. “He didn’t say.”

  “Does he … does he know about Sophia?”

  Tyrel shrugged. “I sent him a letter after I got his. The address was a trading post in Western Oregon. No telling if he got it or not. Those caravans that travel between here and the west coast lose as much cargo as they deliver.”

  I nodded, my heart aching at the thought of Mike learning of his daughter’s death. I wondered if he would blame me, if he would hate me for what happened, his daughter dying giving birth to his grandchild, my daughter.

  As if reading my mind, Tyrel said, “Son, it’s not your fault. What happened to Sophia was an accident. It ain’t nobody’s fault. We live in hard times, son. Bad things happen to good people. Sometimes you just have to accept it and move on. There ain’t always a moral to the story. Most of the time, there’s just what happens and how you deal with it.”

  I nodded, thinking about Sophia’s chestnut eyes and the daughter I would never get to hold. My throat tightened, and I felt the old despair begin to burn within me. There was a vise around my heart, squeezing tighter, and tighter, and-

  NO!

  You think you’re the only person to lose a child? When you get out of here, take a good hard look around. Everybody has lost someone. Everybody is hurting. You think you’re special? You’re not! Suck it up and get on with your life, you wimp. If Sophia is watching, she’s probably pissed at you for acting like such a whiny asshole. So summon your strength, firm your resolve, and for Christ’s sake, fucking live. It’s what she would want you to do.

  The voice in my head sounded so much like my father’s, I actually looked around my cell to see if he was in there with me. But he was not, of course.

  I think.

  Shaking myself to clear my head, I said, “Thanks for coming by, Tyrel. It’s good to see a friendly face.”

  He smiled and we shook hands again. “Take care of yourself, son. I know the Army will probably have you travelling all over hell and half of
Georgia, but if you get the chance, look in on me.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  As my old mentor began to walk away, I said, “Hey Ty?”

  He half turned. “Yeah?”

  “Just in case I don’t get another chance to say it, I love you, man. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  He stared a few seconds, and if I did not know him better, I would say his eyes reddened a bit. “I love you too, kid. You watch your ass out there, you hear?”

  “I’ll do that. Goodbye, Tyrel.”

  “Goodbye, son.”

  He left, and I stayed in my cell another day until it was time for a sheriff’s deputy to escort me to my container to retrieve my personal effects. I took Blake’s medallion, the picture of my mother holding me as a newborn, my father’s and Lauren’s wedding rings, Sophia’s locket containing a picture of her with her mother and father, and my spear. Afterward, I checked my things in with the quartermaster at Peterson AFP, took the oath of enlistment, signed the paperwork, and started my new life.

  The government seized everything else I owned as restitution for my crimes.

  I have not seen Tyrel since.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Hollow Rock, Tennessee

  “You were right,” Miranda said. “That did not end well.”

  Caleb glanced out the window. It was nearly dawn. “Took a lot longer to tell than I expected. Sorry.”

  Her hand caressed his face. “You’re the one deploying today. Apologize to yourself.”

  “Won’t be the first time I’ve had to function on zero sleep.”

  A silence stretched between them as the light through the window grew brighter. Caleb gripped Miranda’s hand and said, “So now you know all of it.”

  “Not all of it. What happened after you joined the Army?”

  A shrug. “Basic training wasn’t so bad. Had a hell of a time getting back in shape, though. I’d really let myself go.”

  Miranda’s fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen. “I never would have guessed.”

  “You didn’t know me back then. I’ve gained twenty-five pounds since I enlisted.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”

  “Yep. I was in pretty bad shape for a while there. As for what’s happened over the last two years, well … let’s just say it’s been ninety-five percent boredom and five percent abject terror.”

  Another long silence. Caleb knew he had to get up soon and get into uniform, but he was loath to leave the bed. Finally, he said, “So what do you think? You gonna run for the hills, knowing everything I’ve done?”

  “I’ll admit,” Miranda said, “some of it gave me pause. Especially the thing about the deserters that attacked you in Boise City. But honestly, I’ve heard of people doing worse. Much worse. And I’m not so innocent myself. People do what they have to do to survive. I know I’ve done some pretty messed up things since the Outbreak.”

  “That’s different. The Free Legion-”

  “I’m not talking about the Legion.”

  Caleb met her eyes. She looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You don’t have to. Ever.”

  Miranda rolled onto her back. “I might someday, just not today. I’m not ready.”

  “Well, when you are …”

  A smile. “You were right about what you said before, Caleb. The past doesn’t matter. I still love you. Some of the things you told me … I’ll need some time to process. But as far as you and me, we’re good. I’m glad you shared with me, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about all of it. Fair enough?”

  He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Fair enough.”

  “And about Sophia and your daughter … I’m so sorry, Caleb. No one should have to go through that.”

  Caleb sat up in bed and stared out the window. Across the street, a man stepped out of his trailer and began walking toward the north gate, a tool belt hanging from his right hand. “Miranda, so many people have lost children since the Outbreak it’ll be a wonder if the human race survives at all.”

  He felt her move behind him and slip her arms around his chest. “We will. Somehow, one way or another, we’ll find a way. And if we don’t, there’s no one else I’d rather live out the end of the world with.”

  EPILOGUE

  “I’ll give you one thing, you’re a hustler,” Caleb said. “How you convinced Captain Harlow to let you come along with us, I’ll never guess.”

  Eric Riordan grinned. Hicks sat beside him, the truck they rode in following behind an Abrams battle tank heading northeast toward Kentucky. As usual, he had fallen in with Delta Squad. Behind them, visible through the canopy’s aperture, lay Hollow Rock. In another half-mile or so, they would be too far away to see it.

  “I prefer to think of myself as a taker of carefully measured risks,” Eric said. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that.”

  “Keep spouting clichés and it’s gonna be a hell of a long ride. How’d your wife take the news about you coming with us?”

  Eric’s smile faltered. His wife, who until a short while ago had been the town’s only medical doctor, had not taken the news well at all. He thought about the baby growing inside her, his first child, and wondered if he was doing the right thing.

  “About as well as can be expected,” he lied.

  Caleb shot him a look from the corner of his eye, but did not press. “What about Gabriel? When there’s trouble afoot, you two are never far apart.”

  “He’s in the command vehicle with Captain Harlow. You believe that shit?”

  Caleb laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  Eric heard the distinctive thrum of a Chinook fly overhead, followed by the lighter drone of an Apache Longbow attack helicopter. The Apache was to leapfrog the convoy and land far ahead of them, close to where they would be meeting up with Task Force Falcon. The Chinook carried troops tasked with protecting the Apache while it was on the ground.

  For a significant portion of the ride to Kentucky, the convoy would be without air support. Eric was not worried. First Platoon rode in the company of an Abrams, two Bradleys, several Humvees equipped with heavy machine guns, and two big green HEMMTs carrying their gear. If that was not enough to handle whatever lay in their path, they were all dead men anyway.

  Eric sat up when he heard a thundering boom from somewhere in the distance ahead. He looked around, confused, as it was followed by the piercing sound of something approaching and descending at incredible speed. Beside him, Caleb’s eyes went wide.

  He drew a breath and shouted, “INCOMING!”

  The soldiers around them echoed the cry as they ducked and covered. Eric felt the truck’s brakes lock and the sound of gravel rattling against metal as it went into a controlled skid. He could not see for the press of bodies around him, but heard several booms and felt a series of hard vibrations thump his chest through the bed of the truck. In a flash of panic, he remembered a stretch of road not far from where he lay and the crack-BOOM of a LAW rocket detonating less than two-hundred yards away. The hollow feeling in his chest was nearly identical.

  “What the hell was that?” he shouted.

  “Get out of the truck!” Caleb answered. “Move!”

  Several more thunder claps echoed, followed by more thumps to the chest. To his right, he heard Ethan Thompson shouting at his men, and then was hauled to his feet and dragged along.

  “Come on!” Caleb shouted. “Run!”

  He hopped to the ground and followed the other men of First Platoon. They sprinted in the direction of the treeline, trying to get as far away from the truck as possible. As he ran, Eric spared a glance over his shoulder and nearly skidded to a halt. Had Caleb not been there, he would have reversed direction and ran back toward his home as fast as he could.

  “Eric, come on! We have to move!”

  Caleb’s iron fingers gripped his arm and dragged him along. Eric picked up his pace and felt tears sting his eyes as he looked away from the main gate. Please G
od, don’t let anything happen to Allison.

  In the distance, Hollow Rock was in flames.

  The saga continues in Surviving The Dead Volume 5: Savages.

  Coming soon …

  For more information, news, and updates on James N. Cook and the Surviving the Dead series:

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  Also by James N. Cook:

  Surviving the Dead series:

  No Easy Hope

  This Shattered Land

  Warrior Within

  The Passenger

  Fire In Winter

  About the Author:

  James N. Cook (who prefers to be called Jim, even though his wife insists on calling him James) is a martial arts enthusiast, a veteran of the U.S. Navy, a former cubicle dweller, and the author of the Surviving the Dead series. He hikes, he goes camping, he travels a lot, and he has trouble staying in one place for very long. He lives in North Carolina (for now) with his wife, son, two vicious attack dogs, and a cat that is scarcely aware of his existence.

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE DARKEST PLACE: A SURVIVING THE DEAD NOVEL. Copyright © 2015 By James N. Cook. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author and Amazon.com.