“Fine by me,” Sam said, in no hurry. Dana nodded from the back seat, while Wyatt just looked thrilled to be coming along with the men.
They headed North on Main Street, the Phantom’s headlights set to low beam. Trying to see through the large ash flakes with high beams was like trying to see with a flashlight with dying batteries.
Sam watched as the flakes struck the windshield, broke apart and then flew off to either side. The occasional flake would stick, requiring Jimmy to turn on the wipers, but not the washer fluid, which would have caused an all out smear fest.
The purple-like haze created by the moonlight filtering through the ash, cast Main Street in an eerie glow, which was accentuated by how lifeless the town appeared. The empty businesses sat dark, while the street lights remained on, their built-in sensors detecting that it was still night.
As they drove by the Sheriff’s station, Sam thought he saw Helena Frost—now Sheriff Frost—standing by one of the windows, talking to someone he couldn’t see. He didn’t envy her. He was having a hard enough time understanding the current situation, let alone having to manage, and try to explain it all to an entire town. Although he suspected she probably knew more than he did at the moment.
The whole thing felt surreal. Many of the houses around town had their lights on, even some of the camps down by Ayers Pond. The town was alive and awake, but no one was going outside. And for good reason. They might as well all be sucking on Jimmy’s cigarettes. The taste of ash was already stuck to his tongue.
Despite the reassuring glow of power in town, there was something about the light that made him uneasy. There was light from the moon and from around town, and then there just wasn’t. It was as if some giant black wall had dropped around them, cutting Refuge off from the rest of the world.
Jimmy pulled into a parking lot, driving past the huge Jimmy’s Automotive road sign—a local landmark for most, due to its size and the happy cartoon mechanic on it. The shop was one of the larger buildings at the north of town, originally built by Joe Miller to service semi-trailer trucks back in the day, when Refuge was in its logging prime. After Joe passed, the place sat abandoned. Joe had owed back taxes and none of his kids wanted to pay them, so the place ended up becoming the property of the town, until Jimmy bought it.
“Back in a jiffy,” Jimmy said, getting out of the truck.
Sam watched as he made his way to the garage and then disappeared inside. Dana had nodded off, and Wyatt was watching out the back window, like he expected Jimmy to return in seconds. Sam turned on the radio and was greeted by static. He punched through the preset channels, found nothing and hit the ‘Seek’ button. The digital numbers scrolled past, never stopping. Before the scrolling numbers finished their first pass, a dark shape on top of the garage caught his attention. Something about it made his arms tingle. He turned his eyes without moving his head.
The hell is that?
Something sat on the peak of the garage, like a fat, misshapen weathervane. The longer he stared, the more it appeared to be alive. Could be a bird, he thought, covered in ash. Hell of a big bird, though.
Sam reached over and killed the headlights, hoping for better night vision. The shape moved, as if noticing the truck for the first time. He’d seen the way deer stood motionless at the first hint of encroaching danger. As his muscles tensed, he realized people weren’t all that different. Whatever was up there, he could feel it watching him now.
Before he braved another look, Jimmy came out of the garage and slammed the door behind him. Sam’s eyes went to the roof, half expecting Jimmy to be attacked. But whatever had been there, was gone now.
Jimmy opened the back driver’s side door, nudging Dana awake and handing him a cardboard box with two D-cell Maglites and spare batteries. Sam was surprised when he saw Jimmy climb into the front of the cab with his old Mossberg shotgun.
“Uh, something you want to tell me, Jimmy?” Sam asked.
Jimmy slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “I’d rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.” He put the truck in reverse, turned them around and headed out of the lot.
“Need it for what?” Sam asked.
“At this point…” Jimmy gave the others a nervous glance, “…anything.”
10
Jimmy turned on the Phantom’s high beams. The falling ash had slowed, but it covered the road and was slippery like slush, despite being dry. Jimmy was forced to drive at a slow pace. They headed north, out of downtown, making their way toward the WPOS station. They’d only been on the road for a few minutes, but from what Sam could tell, the darkness seemed to grow thicker the further they got from the town’s center.
The sinking dark reminded Sam of childhood summers on Lake Hudson. The shoreline waters were always clear and inviting, but they grew darker the further you ventured out. As a kid, the dark water frightened him. As an adult, he knew it was just water depth and rotting leaf litter that made the water look dark.
The dark is never as scary as people imagine it, he thought. Probably the same tonight. Or is that today?
“Hey,” Jimmy said, slugging Sam’s shoulder. “You still alive over there?”
“Huh? Yeah.” Sam said. “Just spacing out.”
Sam looked to the back cabin of the Phantom, where Dana and Wyatt talked quietly. Dana was telling Wyatt what he believed was the best way to grill a steak, and Wyatt was nodding in approval.
Sam turned back to Jimmy. He looked spooked. “What’s up?”
“Might be the wonky light playing tricks, or my imagination, but I’ve been seeing something just behind the trees. Moving. Like it’s following us.”
Before the words had finished coming out of Jimmy’s mouth, Sam regretted his decision to bring Wyatt along. He hadn’t seen anything dangerous since waking up. But Griffin’s story... What if one of those things from the desert was still in town?
He looked out the passenger window and watched the trees scroll past. The thick night was definitely darker out here, but the moon overhead cast enough of a glow for him to make out the passing roadside.
“I don’t see nothing,” Sam said, turning to Jimmy.
“Like I said, could be my ‘magination, but there’s something else that’s been troublin’ me.”
Sam noticed that Jimmy had his Mossberg propped beside him, muzzle to the floor. Ready for action.
“What’s that?”
“The houses…”
“Ya, what about them?”
“They’re all dark.”
Sam looked out his window. “They probably just never got hooked up to the new grid is all.”
“Okay,” Jimmy said, resting his hand on the Mossberg. “But where the hell is everyone? Shit, you know how the winters are out here, you’d think being this far out of town at least a few houses would have gennies runnin’, ya? Hell, even candles in the windows or somethin’. But look. Nothin’. Not a single light for the last two miles.”
Dana spoke up from the back. “Most everyone was over to Ashland for the fireworks…when the weirdness started. Place’s like a ghost town now.”
If anyone was still on the outskirts of town, they probably had no idea what was going on.
Jimmy cracked his window down and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and leaned toward his window, blowing out a jet of smoke.
“Jimmy,” Sam said, not hiding his annoyance.
“What?”
Sam raised an eyebrow, glanced at the cigarette and then back at Wyatt. “Seriously?”
Jimmy shrugged and took another drag. “I smoke when I’m nervous.”
Sam leaned back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t ask me for help when Tess cuts off your nuts.”
Jimmy flicked the butt out the window. “She’d keep them in a jar, right beside yours.”
Sam laughed.
Jimmy leaned forward over his steering wheel and looked to the right. He slowed the Phantom to a stop. “Think I just saw a light
.”
Jimmy backed up and came to a stop at the end of a driveway. The truck’s lights lit up a large billboard in the distance of an image of a grandmother wearing a brown apron. The pleasantly smiling grandma stood in front of a quintessential boxcar diner, holding up a hot apple pie in her right hand. There was a big arrow pointing to the left and the slogan read:
VOTED BEST PIE THIS SIDE OF REFUGE 10 YEARS RUNNING!
ONLY AT THE SILVER SPRINGS DINER!
OPEN 24 HOURS
Sam looked at the packed dirt and overrun grass Jimmy had indicated on the right. Definitely a driveway. Most driveways outside of town could be mistaken for old tote roads. Sam could make out the two tire ruts running into the woods that disappeared around a curve.
“Right there,” Jimmy said, pointing to the woods on the right. “You see it?”
Sam could see a faint yellow light peeking out between two trees. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, but for whatever reason, that single light in the surrounding darkness creeped him out.
“Whose place is this?” Sam asked. He knew most places in town, but had never ventured down this long drive.
“Ol’ Tom Mungovan’s,” Jimmy said.
“He’s still alive?”
Jimmy nodded. “Kind of a hermit now. At least, more of a hermit than everyone else in town. Think Soucey’s even delivers his groceries.” Jimmy put the truck in drive and turned the wheels a hard right. He started up the rural driveway, moving slowly, mumbling to himself about scratching his truck while he maneuvered around some low hanging branches.
A low crescendo of thunder boomed off in the distance, as if punctuating what Sam had been thinking. Since leaving town they hadn’t seen or heard another living thing. Sam watched as a few scattered bursts of purple light lit the horizon. He caught a glimpse of the distant Refuge water tower in his side-view mirror during one of them.
They came around a final bend in the driveway and Sam realized how long it was—longer than some roads in town. Must be a bitch to plow in the winter, he thought.
Jimmy parked the Phantom in a turnaround, next to where a little brown Honda was parked. The truck’s headlights lit up the front half of the house, giving it an elongated shadow, like something out of a horror movie. Spotty grass littered with pine needles poked through the ash on the front yard, where a rusted-out pickup sat on blocks, adding to the effect. A dull yellow light shone from one of the second story dormers.
“Homey,” Jimmy said, turning off the truck.
Sam turned back to Dana. “Mind waiting out here with Wyatt, while Jimmy and I go check it out?”
“I want to go with you, Dad,” Wyatt said, a little worried.
Sam shook his head. “I promised your mom.”
“We can play some tic-tac-toe,” Dana said to the boy. “Maybe this time you can let me win, though.”
Wyatt smiled.
“We’ll be back in a jiff, bud.” Sam pointed to the flashlights resting between Wyatt and Dana. “Hand me those.”
Sam clicked each one on and off, after Wyatt passed them forward, making sure they worked. He passed one back to Wyatt. “Keep this one with you, in case you need it. You know how Uncle Dana gets afraid of the dark.”
Sam closed the door and turned to Jimmy. “I’m scared shitless, how ‘bout you?”
“Like a fat-ass turkey on Thanksgiving.” Jimmy stepped toward the house. “Let’s go.”
11
Thunder rumbled again as Sam and Jimmy approached the house. Purple flashes sporadically lit the sky above the tree line. The air had warmed and smelled heavy with moisture.
“Might rain,” Jimmy said.
“Was just thinking the same thing.”
“I can’t imagine the mess that’d make,” Jimmy said, kicking his boot through inches of ash on the ground. He held his Mossberg at the ready. “There’s a lot more of it out here than in town.”
Sam shined the light on the old colonial-style house, as they approached the front porch. It was in better shape than he had expected, given the spotted grass and rusted lawn décor. The home had a wrap-around farmer’s porch, and was covered with red cedar clapboard siding, although most of the red had run out of the wood long ago, leaving it as gray as the ash falling from the sky.
Sam led the way up the front steps and stopped at the door, where a double-seated swing swayed lazily on its chains. They had seen the light on upstairs, indicating that someone might be home, but now, up close, the house appeared quite dead. Their footsteps cut through the silence. If anyone was home, they knew there were guests on the front porch…
“Go ahead,” Jimmy said, cradling the Mossberg in his arms. “Knock.”
Sam turned to the door and knocked. It swung open freely, swinging back until it struck the wall behind it with a bounce.
“Ahh, shit,” Sam said, and stepped inside. He searched the immediate area with his flashlight. The front door opened to a hallway that stretched to the back of the house, ending in a kitchen. To his left was a well-kept living room, complete with a large L-shaped sofa and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. To his right were stairs leading up to a second floor. “Tom! Tom, it’s Sam Lake. You here?”
Getting no reply, Sam continued further down the hall, hearing Jimmy’s footsteps right behind him. He stopped beside a door to his right and shined the light inside. It was a formal dining room, the type reserved for holidays and special occasions. A polished oak table with six matching high-back chairs sat in the middle, their places set as if in anticipation for the next event. A tall hutch with carefully displayed dishes rested in the corner.
“Hello,” Jimmy called out.
Sam jumped, like someone snapping awake before hitting the ground in a dream. “The fuck is wrong with you man? I damn-near pissed myself.”
Jimmy laughed. “You’re moving too slow. Figured I’d speed it up a little. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s here. The place looks deserted.”
A crash followed by the sound of footsteps came from upstairs. The footsteps were too quick and light to have come from a person.
Jimmy looked at Sam in silence, shotgun at the ready. “Or not. Maybe a dog?”
They made their way back to the bottom of the stairs.
Sam rested a hand on the newel post of the railing and turned to Jimmy. “Your turn, Rambo.”
Something sounded like it flittered across the upstairs floor again. It sounded louder. Closer.
Jimmy gripped his Mossberg tightly. “Keep that light front and center,” he said, starting up the stairs.
They climbed to the top and stopped after the turn at the second floor landing. Thickly rugged hallways ran through the center of the house. There were equal amounts of hallway to the left and right.
Sam shined his light down the right end of the hall, revealing several open doors and a window overlooking the back yard. Outside was dark, but he could see that the trees were now swaying in a breeze. He shined the light left and found a matching window overlooking the front. There was only one room off the left hall, and its door stood closed. Something scratched at it from the other side.
“Hear that?” Jimmy asked.
“Sounds like something trying to get out,” Sam said, remembering how Daisy would scratch at the laundry room door, whenever Tess locked her in there to keep her away from company.
“I knew it was a dog,” Jimmy said. “Poor thing. Probably gotta piss.” He started toward the sound and looked back at Sam, unsure. “Keep that light on me just the same.”
Sam nodded and followed, keeping the light aimed over Jimmy’s shoulder.
They slowly walked the length of the hallway. The scratching became more urgent as they neared the door. Whatever was on the other side knew they were there.
They stopped just outside the door. Sam examined it with his light, starting at the top and working his way down. It was painted white and solid wood—not one of those cheap ones contractors insisted on using to cut costs—a detail that Sam could appre
ciate. The jamb itself was cracked and splintered, as if something had slammed against it from the other side.
Sam followed the cracks in the door jamb to the floor where he let out a startled yelp. “Sonovabitch.” He backed into the wall behind him, training the light on the floor. He and Jimmy were standing on a patch of blood-soaked carpet.
“What the hell?” Jimmy said, seeing the red patch, but remaining calm. He knelt down on one knee, steadying himself with the shotgun. Reaching out, he touched the wet carpet with his index and middle fingers, then brought them to his nose.
“Don’t need to sniff that shit,” Sam said. “We both know it’s blood. And I can smell it from here.”
Jimmy paused, hand halfway to his nose. He thought better of it and wiped his fingers on a dry area of the rug. “It’s cold. Been here for a bit.”
“Human or animal?” Sam asked.
“Dunno,” Jimmy said, standing. “Given the amount here and that we’re inside a house… Well, let’s just say I don’t think it’s from the family cat.”
A soft whimpering came from behind the door. Sam aimed the Maglite and took a step back. They both stared, waiting for anything else to happen.
“Something’s fucked here, man.” Sam thought of Wyatt and Dana waiting in the truck, and he had the sudden urge to join them. But what if someone in there is hurt and needs help? “Fuck. Let’s check the damned room and get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
Jimmy nodded and stepped forward. He tapped the door with the barrel of the Mossberg several times. “Hello? Anybody in there? Hello?”
More whimpering.
Jimmy lifted the shotgun slowly, aiming it at the door. He looked to Sam. “On three.”
12
Wyatt drew an X in the upper right corner of a tic-tac-toe grid. “So what do you think is going on in there?”
“Not much I ‘magine.” Dana drew an O in the upper middle. “Prob’ly just lookin’ around. I doubt anybody’s home.”
Wyatt drew an X in the lower right corner and grinned. “Your turn,” he said.
Refuge Book 2 - Darkness Falls Page 4