The Darkness

by W. J. Lundy

  Jacob pushed his hands against the electric motor and found it firmly in place, blocking the gable vent. He forced the knife blade into the mounting screws, trying to break them free but failing. Behind him, Laura dropped below then quickly returned before reaching out to pass Jacob his drill. He smiled as he took it from her and then, working carefully, he was able to remove the bracket and drop the fan motor to the floor. After working at one of the exposed vents with his knife, he felt it give as the plastic louver broke free and snapped off. He repeated the maneuver with two more of the louvers and was quickly rewarded with a slight drawing of the attic air.

  He looked back at his wife and could see her hair gently flowing up as cooler air from downstairs was pulled through the master suite and out of the attic window, the natural rise of the hot air creating a draft. The temperature decrease was subtle, but the moving air across their skin felt like heaven after sweltering in the sealed room.

  She smiled at him approvingly. Jacob moved his eye closer to the vent and peered through the gap created from the broken louvers. He pressed close and looked in all directions. Far in the distance, he could see billowing smoke from fires and abandoned cars at intersections. The streets were void of all traffic. Junctures that were normally busy stood silent with debris in the streets.

  Houses that still stood were closed up tight and had their window blinds closed. With cars visible in some driveways, he knew people were still around; they had to be. They can’t all be gone. The smart ones that followed the instructions are inside hiding the same as we are. They have to be, Jacob thought as he sat watching and listening. He heard his wife crawl up behind him, and she pressed close. Jacob eased out of the way so she could look through the louvers. He watched her jaw drop as she gasped over the scene of their small bit of neighborhood.

  “Oh my God. Jacob, this is really happening, isn’t it?” she croaked.

  He put his hand on the back of her neck, not speaking. She looked at him. “What are we going to do, Jacob?”

  “We just need to hold on.”

  She backed away from the gable vent and sat silently. A muffled cry from below caught her attention and Laura turned to look at the access hole. “I’ll check on her; don’t be too long,” she whispered as she crawled away.

  He turned back to follow her to the master suite. Moving across the attic, he paused and looked at the plywood floor filled with plastic bins and boxes. He pushed them aside and made his way to the pull-down attic access ladder. He found a long board and slid it through the handle, locking it into the up position. Jacob turned and moved back to the makeshift hole and, grabbing the joists, lowered himself back onto the closet shelving.

  He found Laura scooping a small paper cup of water from the bathtub. She used it to wet her hands before wiping them down the sides of Katy’s cheeks. She looked up at Jacob and said, “She’s burning up. I'm not sure what it is, but we’re going to need real food; all that’s left are some scraps, nothing solid.”

  Jacob bit his lip, knowing she was right. He could see Katy needed a doctor; he nodded his head. He stood in front of her, and although he was listening, he was thinking about their supplies. They’d used the last cans of soup already, having eaten it cold, and the fruit was gone the day before. As their luck would have it, everything had happened on the day before grocery day when the cupboards were already bare. He could check the kitchen again, look for something they may have missed in the pantry, but it wasn’t likely there would be anything there. Jacob walked through the bathroom and again stood by the bedroom window. He pulled back the drapes and peered across the street.

  Smitty’s house was a shattered mess from the mob attack a few hours ago, but maybe there was something left—a scrap of food in the kitchen or something. The house was directly across the street; if he moved quickly, he could cross without being seen. As if agreeing with someone, he nodded his head and moved to his dresser. He pulled out a black, hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans. He searched a desk drawer and removed a small paddle holster for his handgun. After pulling on his jeans and tucking the holster into his pants over his hip, he dropped in the Ruger pistol until it clicked into place.

  “What are you doing now?” Laura asked.

  Jacob quickly dressed in the rest of the new attire and dumped one of the backpacks they’d previously packed full of their clothing. “I’m going over to Smitty’s to see if there’s anything left.”

  “What? No, it isn’t safe; their house was attacked, Jacob,” Laura protested.

  “Maybe that’s what will make it safe. They might not come back to it.”

  “What if they do?”

  Jacob pulled the backpack over his shoulders. He removed and checked the slide of his handgun, dropped the magazine to make sure it was full, and then placed a spare in a small pocket at the front of the holster. He grabbed a black ball cap from atop the armoire, and then looked back at Laura. “You said it yourself. She needs real food.” Jacob picked up the drill, walked to the bedroom door, and stood there staring at the screws.

  “How do you know they’ll have anything?” Laura asked.

  “I don’t, Laura, but I have to try.”

  Shaking his head slightly, Jacob set the drill down next to the door and walked through the bathroom and back to the closet to look up at the hole in the ceiling. “Listen, if I come up empty, I’ll try another place, but that’s it. Then I’ll come back, okay? I won’t stay out long; you can watch me from the window.”

  He snugged the straps on his backpack then turned to hug her before he grabbed the shelves and pulled himself back into the attic.

  Jacob asked Laura to follow him as he worked his way back to the ladder hatch. He showed her how he removed the board securing it, and then lowered the ladder into the hallway below. Looking down, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He kissed Laura on the cheek and told her to pull up and secure the ladder behind him. She nodded reluctantly.

  When he poked his head out of the hatch, he could make out the stairway leading to the first floor. Jacob slowly descended the ladder and stood in the hallway outside of his bedroom door. He folded the attic ladder and let it ride back to the up position. Jacob drew his pistol and slowly approached the stairs.

  The rooms below were dark, the heavy drapes still in place. He crept down the stairs and entered the living room where he pulled back the curtains slightly and surveyed the front yard. Empty—nothing in sight. Jacob approached the front door; then, having second thoughts, he walked to the kitchen and used a side door to enter the attached garage. Going through the garage, he could exit out onto the back deck and sneak around to the side yard while staying hidden from view.

  Jacob opened the deadbolt on the utility door leading to the garage. He paused in the doorway listening before cautiously entering. He then locked the door behind him, placed the key in his pocket, and began to creep through the dark garage. The stall where the family car usually sat was empty—a grim reminder of the danger he faced. He moved to the back and quietly opened the door leading to the deck. A quick look in both directions and he moved outside, silently pulling the door closed behind him.

  He crouched low and hid behind the unkempt, overgrown evergreen bushes. Jacob was thankful that he’d failed to trim them for several years. He dropped to his hands and knees and followed the perimeter of his house until he entered the side yard. A tall wooden fence divided his yard from that of his neighbors, the Johnsons. He hadn’t seen or heard from them in days, but their home was still secure. They had either left or were locked up tight, the same as he was. He considered going to their door and asking for help, but more people would add complications; not to mention, they might turn him away—or worse, attract attention.

  “No, stick to the plan,” he whispered to himself as he moved to the front corner of his house. He could see Smitty’s driveway. His beaten and battered Lexus still sat parked in front of the garage. Smitty was always an arrogant prick and not someone Jacob would call a friend
. He knew the garage would be empty; Smitty parked the Lexus on the street so people would see it. He considered it a status symbol. Now it was a dented wreck with broken windows. Bits of the car’s glass lay covering the driveway, reflecting the sunlight.

  Crouched at the front corner of his own porch, Jacob eased his head out of the bushes and searched in both directions for movement. It appeared clear. He took one more deep breath and took off at a dead run, flying through his front yard, across the street, up the driveway, and past the Lexus to the garage door that was pushed inward and broken. Jacob knew all the houses on the block had a similar layout with a door leading to the kitchen from the garage, and Smitty’s would be no exception. He quickly ducked down and crawled through the broken hole in the overhead garage door. Catching his breath, he crept into the darkness and pressed his back against the wall.

  Looking back into the street, things were still as quiet as he’d left them. He looked up at the second story of his own house, just barely detecting movement of the drapes in his master bedroom. Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew Laura was watching. He flashed a quick thumbs up, then turned and ducked deeper into the garage. Jacob stepped over a dumped cabinet of oil and paint cans, then around scattered toolboxes. He rummaged through tools, searching for weapons or anything useful, taking note of things he may need later before finally making it to the small set of steps that led to the open kitchen door.

  He paused at the landing to listen, hearing only the rattle of window blinds blowing in the breeze as they scraped and scratched against the shards of broken glass left hanging in their frames. The house smelled dusty and earthy from the opened walls. Jacob took a silent step and peered into the kitchen. Looking straight through the long kitchen into the house, he could see into the dining room where the eight-seat mahogany furniture set was shattered and crushed into pieces. To the left and right, cupboards were knocked off the walls. The refrigerator was knocked from its place and lying across the floor. Slowly, Jacob moved forward and hid behind an L-shaped counter on the right that divided the kitchen from a family room with a small bar. He took light steps deeper into the kitchen and looked through the bar window into the family room. Focusing beyond upended leather furniture, he could see the home’s heavy oak front door had been ripped from its hinges and shredded like balsa wood.

  Jacob looked behind him in the direction of a stairwell and saw the body. The man’s naked legs twisted back to creep out from behind the railing. One foot was turned out, still wearing a black slipper. Unable to stop himself, he crept forward on the balls of his feet. He paused just in front of the stairs and looked down at Smitty’s broken form. His head was pulled as if dislocated from his shoulders, only hanging on by stretched and discolored skin. His left shoulder was green and grotesque, yet Smitty’s right hand still clutched a bloodied aluminum bat. Looking closer, Jacob could see bits of hair and fat sticking to the dented end.

  “You fought hard,” Jacob said.

  Suddenly repulsed, Jacob raced away and dry-heaved into a corner of the room. He wiped his watery eyes before staggering back toward the kitchen. Losing his balance on debris, he nearly fell but put a hand on the kitchen counter and took deep breaths to try to calm himself. He relaxed and dropped into a crouched position. Looking across the room, he spotted a large, red camper cooler. Jacob crawled through the space on all fours and popped open the lid.

  There wasn’t much inside, three bottles of sports drink and half a cooler full of water from melted ice, but he was happy to have it. Jacob quickly dropped the full bottles into his bag then looked around the kitchen for an empty jug. He dumped over a blue recycling bin against the wall, then rummaged through it and found an old water jug. Jacob opened it and filled the jug with the water from the cooler. If he had to, he could boil the water for drinking if he managed to build a fire, or at the very least, he could use it for bathing. He searched the kitchen, carefully stepping over bits of broken glass while trying to remain quiet. In a crushed cabinet, he found a half box of instant oatmeal, some canned sardines, several cans of soup, and a jar of bouillon cubes—his hope was renewed.

  Chapter 3

  Jacob looked into his pack one last time, taking inventory of his meager finds, before he glanced back at Smitty’s corpse. “It’s not much, but thank you,” he whispered.

  He pulled the sides of the bag tight and zipped the backpack shut. Turning toward the garage, Jacob froze as he found himself standing mere feet away from a young girl. She was alone in the doorway of the kitchen. She was missing a shoe and dressed in soiled jeans and a torn top. Jacob methodically dropped his hand from the shoulder strap of the backpack and let it find the grip of his still holstered pistol. He held his breath while trying to search beyond the girl and into the garage to see if she was alone. She looked familiar, but he knew she wasn’t part of Smitty’s family. She was looking away as if in a faraway place—not speaking, just staring into the floor space where a refrigerator had been before it was knocked to the floor.

  She took a soft step in the direction of Jacob, still looking down at the floor. She moved deliberately, like an animal; her feet plodded up and down, arms twitching as her neck stretched, examining the void between the cabinets.

  Jacob’s hand caressed the grip of the pistol; he squeezed it with his sweaty palm and let his finger drop straight over the receiver. He swallowed hard and in a low voice asked her, “Are you okay?”

  The girl’s pale head snapped up to face Jacob; her eyes were a deep, solid black. When she opened her mouth, it revealed glossy white teeth wrapped in dark-purple gums. Her mouth stretched wide, her bottom jaw quivered, and she went to scream just as the sound of a gunshot filled the air. The girl’s head twitched and twisted toward the garage, like that of cat quickly searching for prey.

  Jacob didn’t hesitate; he drew the pistol in a smooth motion and fired a single round into the girl’s chest. He saw that where the bullet punched through the girl’s light cotton top, black, oozing blood slowly filled the fabric. For a brief moment, Jacob feared he’d made a terrible mistake. His empty left hand reached out to help her, feeling regret for his actions.

  The girl’s eyes looked back at him with hate. She hissed, letting the last of the air escape her body before she fell back to the ground. Jacob lunged forward and bolted past her for the door. He heard another series of gunshots and, recognizing the sounds of his .22 rifle, he stumbled his way through the garage then charged headlong into the driveway.

  A teenage boy dressed in a T-shirt and jeans was searching the sky for the source of the gunfire as rounds skipped off the asphalt and smacked into the Lexus. Jacob looked toward the second story of his house and saw the shiny, blued barrel of the rifle poking out, accompanied by silver puffs of smoke wafting from the muzzle. The boy halted in place upon discovering Jacob. Its body turned in his direction and charged without warning as its mouth unhinged inhumanly wide, its black eyes showing no mercy.

  Jacob raised the pistol and fired as fast as his finger would allow. Multiple rounds scored several hits as the thing collided with him and knocked him to the asphalt. Anticipating the impact, Jacob rolled back and went with it, then flung the now dead boy off him. He continued rolling until he was on all fours. Not wasting time to look, he scrambled on his hands and knees onto the lawn, pulled himself to his feet, and bolted across the yard and into the street.

  He didn’t stop. Fleeing what was behind him, he ran for the side yard of his house and dove into thick bushes that scratched his face and cut into his hands while he clawed his way into the cover of the foliage. When it was too tight to crawl, he dropped to his belly and dragged himself ahead until he was tight against the foundation of the house. Jacob burrowed in and buried his face into the soft dirt. Clenching his eyes tight and trying to control his breathing, he lay there listening but struggled to hear anything above the beating of his own heart. Jacob pulled himself into a more open space near the wall and rolled over to face the street. Seeing nothing, he atte
mpted to stand, but then he heard footsteps. He froze, and letting his body go limp, dropped back to the ground where he again tried to become one with the earth. The gunfire had halted, and Jacob prayed his wife was wise enough to return to her hiding place.

  He cautiously lifted his head and laid his ear to the earth so that he could see the road. Several people were walking the street and scouring the area; their heads shifted from side to side as they searched for him. He watched as they left the street and surrounded the boy in the driveway. One lifted the dead thing and cradled it in his arms. With no emotion, it turned around and left, carrying the boy. Shortly afterwards, another left the confines of the house carrying the girl.

  Why take them and leave Smitty? Jacob asked himself.

  The Others loitered in the area for several minutes, not actively searching but clustered in the center of the street, as if they didn’t know what to do without direction. They moved to the edges of the street, standing near the curb looking out, their eyes watching the surrounding houses. Jacob heard no communication between them, no whispering, no orders, or commands; nobody seemed to be in charge. Eventually, they stopped moving altogether and stood motionless, frozen in the street.

  Jacob lay with his head in the soil, afraid to move. He could feel insects crawl across his neck, and leaves tickled his nose, but he didn’t dare move for fear that he’d alert the black-eyed things standing in the center of the street. Gunshots followed by a woman’s scream sounded far in the distance; the things’ heads lifted all at once as if a switch powered them on. In unison, they turned and took off in the direction of the sound. Soon after, Jacob heard the high-pitched wail that he knew was their call, followed by the rumble of an attack. He crawled along the perimeter of the house until he was clear of the bushes, then scrambled for his garage door.