Final Awakening (Book 1): Dawn

by J. Thorn

  “Don’t tell them anything, Isaac.”

  The Screamer wrapped his hand around Chloe’s throat and slammed her against the wall. She closed her eyes and raised her hands to her throat.

  “I said okay. Stop hurting her. I’ll tell you where he is.”

  The Screamer looked over his shoulder to Isaac, his hand still choking Chloe. The man grinned, and his eyes flared. The Screamer dropped Chloe, and she fell to the ground, gasping and coughing.

  He grabbed Isaac and shoved him into the wall.

  “Tell me where he is. Now.”

  44

  “Goddamnit.”

  Dax had pulled the starter cord several times, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. He tossed the screwdriver into the toolbox and backed away.

  The rain fell steadily now, contributing to the rising floodwaters. The tools had slipped twice from his hands, numbed by the cold water, and the odor of the lake forming around him made Dax lightheaded. Now, the sun had dropped lower in the sky. His stomach rumbled as he emptied the last of his water bottle into his mouth.

  Dax felt a shiver course through his body.

  Something’s wrong.

  He looked around but hadn’t seen another person since he’d arrived at the house.

  Something’s off with the group. With Chloe.

  Dax bit his lip and grabbed the wrench from the toolbox. He turned his attention to the motor again.

  “Think, motherfucker. This ain’t the first engine you’ve ever worked on.”

  He wiped the rain from his face, took hold of the starter cord and pulled hard and fast.

  Nothing.

  And again.

  And again.

  “Start, you son of a bitch.”

  An ache settled in his bicep and his fingers burned, blisters forming on his palms. Dax reared back and gave the starter cord one last yank.

  The plug fired and then coughed, and the motor came to life. Blue smoke seeped from the side, and the engine stuttered. But it was running. He saw the fuel gauge at a half tank and grabbed the ten-gallon gas can, setting it inside the boat.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Dax pushed the boat off the trailer and into the water, maneuvering it toward the chain-link fence at the back of the yard. He jumped inside, sitting at the stern near the motor. Even with his added weight, the water had risen enough to where the boat didn’t bottom out. He accelerated and the boat moved toward the house, coming to a stop before crawling through the gate and out into the street.

  He smiled as he reached the corner and turned.

  He thought again of Chloe and the kids. Neil and Isaac. It was time to get them the hell out of the city.

  But he had one stop to make first.

  Dax slowed as he approached the crazy woman’s house, but she was no longer sitting on the roof. Dax wondered if the rain had finally forced her inside. He knew it was probably not a good idea to stop. He hadn’t known the woman, and she acted like a lunatic—she wouldn’t last long on her own anyway. And yet, he couldn’t leave her. Neil, Chloe, Isaac—they at least had each other. This woman had nobody.

  He docked the boat in front of her porch, securing it to the banister with the padlock and chain he’d found in the tool shed. Dax kept the engine running. The sound of the motor, even at an idle, would draw attention so Dax would quickly check on the woman and get back before anyone else could get to the boat. He hopped out and walked up onto the porch. A puddle had formed, rising up from the crawlspace and through the cracks between the wooden slats.

  Dax cupped his hands and looked through the front window. When he didn’t see anybody through the curtains, he went over to the front door and knocked.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Dax knocked again, harder this time. The door creaked as it opened.

  Water surged over the threshold as Dax entered the house. His feet splashed on the linoleum floor. He scanned the living room and saw nothing except piles of mail on the coffee table and cardboard boxes stacked on the floor. Several tied trash bags sat next to the couch.

  “Hello? Is anybody here? Ma’am, are you around?”

  Dax waited for several seconds until a sound came from the rear of the house. He clicked on his flashlight and went toward the noise, past the kitchen, and down a narrow hallway to the last open door on the right. Dax stopped next to the door, standing with his back against the wall as he listened.

  A gentle moan sounded from inside the bedroom. It definitely came from a woman, and it was almost sexual in nature. Dax wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t. He took hold of the Glock on his hip and then turned into the room.

  The woman stood in the corner with her eyes rolled back in her head and her arms straight out, both of them shaking. In front of her stood a man with ripped jeans and no shirt. He had tattoos on his back that crawled up his neck and onto his shaven head. He turned around to look at Dax with glowing orange eyes.

  Dax raised the Glock and aimed it directly at the Screamer’s head. But he hesitated, worried that his shot would miss and hit the woman. Or, his shot would hit his target and the woman.

  The man screamed, and then the woman cried out, as well, a piercing howl that echoed off the walls and rattled Dax’s teeth. He dropped both the gun and the flashlight in a desperate attempt to cover his ears.

  The man’s bare feet slapped against the floor, and when Dax looked up, the Screamer was rushing straight at him. The man punched him in the stomach and wrapped both his arms around Dax’s waist. They both crashed through the door, and the man landed on Dax, driving him straight into the floor.

  Dax felt the back of his head slam against the thinly carpeted floor. He blinked as the room twisted and his vision blurred. He tried to talk, but a second pain ripped through his head, and he could do nothing but lay on the floor.

  The Screamer knelt over Dax and punched him in the jaw.

  Don’t pass out or you’re dead. Don’t pass out.

  Dax sat up and threw a long punch at the man’s head. The Screamer deflected it with his forearm, letting loose with a shrill cry and grabbing Dax by the straps of his tank top.

  “He’s been looking for you.”

  His ears were ringing, and his head was cloudy, but Dax had heard the Screamer’s words.

  “Who?”

  The man turned Dax’s arm and pinned it behind his back as if he were about to handcuff him.

  C’mon, Dax. Dig deep.

  He spun and shifted his weight to the left. The Screamer stumbled and let go of Dax’s arm. He bent down and grabbed a sharp-edged piece of wood from a chest of drawers that had broken. Dax stood up, leaning against the wall to keep the room from spinning.

  The Screamer ran at him. Dax kept the makeshift dagger at his side, raising it at the last minute. The man’s orange eyes shot open as he crashed into Dax, who looked down and saw the stake had pierced the man’s chest and skewered his heart.

  The Screamer’s face froze. He let go of Dax and fumbled at the hunk of wood stuck in his chest, blood oozing out and around the stake and dripping to the floor. The man screamed, but this time it was more of a moan.

  Dax watched as the man fell to his knees, his face twisting into a grimace. The Screamer panted like a dog on a hot August afternoon. His eyes turned to Dax, and he watched as they flickered. The Screamer blinked, and each time his eyes morphed in color—glowing from orange to a dull brown and then returning to their normal color. The man’s shoulders dropped, and he looked into Dax’s eyes as if the two men had just met.

  “Help me.”

  The man rolled onto his back, arms sprawled out as he stared at the ceiling. Dax dropped to his knees and put his hands on the man’s chest.

  “Why are you like this? What happened to you?”

  The man blinked, and his mouth moved, but he didn’t utter another word, his now bloodshot eyes open and still.

  Dax took hold of the man’s wrist, searching for a pulse.

  Dead.

&nb
sp; He knelt down where the woman lay in the corner and felt her neck for a pulse.

  Also dead.

  Dax stood up and looked out the window as the rain continued to fall. The heavy storm clouds ushered in the night.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  Dax grabbed flashlight and the Glock off the ground and raced out the door.

  45

  Chloe jerked sideways as her captor carried her down a hallway. She heard the rain disappear behind a slammed door. The air tasted thick and musty. She blinked several times, but her head remained in darkness, covered with a cotton bag that smelled like dirty socks. The children were crying from a nearby room.

  She sucked in as much air as she could from the loose cinch around her neck. Her wrists throbbed where the zip ties cut into her soft flesh and sweat collected on her brow, causing her curly hair to stick to the front of her face. In her mind, she kept telling herself to breathe and stay calm.

  Another door opened, and she was marched down a set of stairs.

  She heard what sounded like heavy footsteps going in the opposite direction.

  “You’ll be fine,” she heard Isaac call out. “I got this.”

  Someone yanked her away, the voices of the crying children fading. She heard a fumbling of keys and then the sound of a deadbolt turning. Her captor swiftly pulled her upright. Her neck popped with the sudden shifting in her position. Rough hands grabbed her by the arms and pushed her down. She winced, smacking her tailbone on the cold, hard concrete floor.

  The bag flew off of her head, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust, even with only dim candlelight illuminating the space. A Screamer stood before her, his eyes glowing. Like the others, this man wore torn and soiled clothing. Hunks of food stuck in his wild hair. He growled at her and then walked toward the door.

  “Wait.”

  The man ignored her.

  “Please,” Chloe said, pleading. “There were three kids with me. Can you bring them here?”

  The Screamer stared at Chloe but said nothing. He walked through the door and shut it, the deadbolt beyond it turning with a click.

  “They’ll never listen.”

  Chloe jumped at the sound of the faint voice coming from a darkened corner of the room. She stared, seeing the outline of a person.

  “Who’s there?” Chloe asked.

  “The Howlers—those things—they never answer your pleas. They rarely talk, and when they do, it’s to each other.”

  Chloe’s eyes adjusted to the light in the room and she could see a shape. A woman, based on the timbre of the voice, turned toward her, strands of greasy black hair dangling in front of her face. Wrinkles appeared as black lines on her light skin. She appeared to be of mixed race, possibly Asian.

  “How long have you been down here?”

  The woman let out a small laugh, and she coughed. “It doesn’t matter. We’re never getting out—I can assure you of that, dear.”

  Chloe looked at the door, hoping to see Isaac and the kids appear at any moment.

  “Have you seen it happen yet?” The old woman pressed on, not waiting for Chloe to speak. “Have you watched them do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Feed.”

  Chloe had seen all she wanted to see in the old apartment building. The man with the black hoodie had murdered Neil with his bare hands.

  “One of them strangled my friend.”

  “Oh, honey. Then you haven’t. You’ve only seen them kill.”

  Chloe swallowed.

  “Their eyes, sugar. Have you seen ‘em do that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The old woman leaned forward and cackled.

  “You won’t ever get out. And they’ll make you do their work. You won’t be able to refuse them.”

  Chloe watched the woman crawl out of the dark. The cracks in her face made her look nearly a hundred years old, but she possessed much younger eyes. And they twinkled with an orange glow.

  “Don’t be afraid, my dear. I’m not ready yet. And I’m sure they’ll come get you before I am. They wouldn’t want to waste your pretty little flesh on an old hag like me, now would they?”

  The woman slunk back into the darkness, laughing as if she had gravel in her mouth.

  Chloe looked at the door and couldn’t decide if she wanted to be on the inside or outside of it.

  46

  Isaac looked through the open doorways as the Screamers led him down the hall. Dozens of orange eyes stared at him. His heartbeat quickened as he did the math. He estimated there could be almost a hundred of the things holed up in the building.

  As he passed one room, Isaac heard screaming. When he looked inside, he saw Screamers surrounding a woman. Her limbs went stiff, and she dropped to the floor. Men and women with glowing orange eyes stood over the body.

  He wanted to stop and get a better look, but the Screamers escorting him pushed him onward.

  At the end of the hall, they came to a doorway. The Screamer put a key in the deadbolt and unlocked the door. He pushed Isaac through, turned and slammed Isaac’s only exit shut.

  Isaac looked around the windowless room. A desk sat in the corner, and piles of white boxes and old newspapers sat on free-standing shelves. A steel folding chair sat in the middle of the room.

  The deadbolt clicked again. The door opened, and three Screamers entered. The third and last to enter, Isaac recognized as the one in the black hoodie—the one who had killed Neil.

  “I did not properly introduce myself,” the Screamer said. “My name is Serafino.”

  Isaac felt cold sweat breaking on his forehead. He looked around the room. The other two Screamers grinned, their eyes pulsing in unison.

  “What did you do with them? Where’s Chloe?”

  Serafino chuckled, and the sound made Isaac shiver.

  “What happens to the girl and the children depends heavily on how this conversation progresses—and the choices you make.”

  “Don’t hurt them. I’ll do anything you want if you let us out of here.”

  “And you will walk out of here—unharmed.”

  “How?”

  “You bring me the police officer. Alive. I know that he is a friend of yours. And I know you know where he is.”

  Isaac gave the Screamer a puzzled look. What did they want with Dax?

  “He isn’t any friend of mine. But I don’t know where he is, exactly. He ditched us a while ago. Seems like you should be able to find him without my help.”

  Serafino stood in front of the teen, staring through him with orange eyes. He reached down and grabbed Isaac by the neck. Isaac’s eyes bulged as he gasped, fighting for a single breath. The Screamer lifted him off the ground as Isaac’s feet kicked in mid-air. The man’s voice wavered, and dark circles appeared at the edges of Isaac’s vision.

  “That man seems to be able to mask his own vibrations, and therefore we cannot pinpoint his location. I know that you have seen him lately. He was with you in the building. Our scouts lost him, but we know he was with you. So do not lie to me. This will be your last warning.”

  The Screamer dropped Isaac, who fell straight to the ground, where he balled into a fetal position and rubbed his throat. After several moments, Serafino reached down and picked Isaac back up onto his feet. He grabbed him by his shirt and leaned in, his face only inches from Isaac’s.

  “You will find him and bring him back to me. He is not to be harmed. Do you understand me?”

  Isaac turned his head to cough, and then he looked back at Serafino. “What’s so special about Dax?”

  Serafino let go and pushed Isaac back with one hand. “You will bring him to me. If you fail to do so, you will never see the girl or the children again.”

  “And if I do this, you’ll let us all go?”

  The Screamer nodded.

  47

  Dax may as well have been traveling through the streets blind. Night had descended upon New Orleans, the clouds blottin
g out any light from the moon. Rain continued to fall, having just relented to a light sprinkle. The boat’s engine coughed and sputtered several times, but didn’t stall. The sound reverberated back to Dax off of the fronts of the empty buildings.

  He turned onto Jackson Avenue, and his focus shifted back to Chloe and the others. Dax had the boat and could get them out of the city now. All he had to do was go down a block to the apartment building, find a place to hide the boat, and then they could load into it first thing in the morning, presumably when it would be safer to travel. He wasn’t sure where they would go. Perhaps they could find where Neil’s sister and brother-in-law had gone to and join them. Or maybe head to Metairie, Kenner, or as far as Baton Rouge.

  As he approached the building, the rain slowed to a fine mist. He stared up at the windows and was surprised when he didn’t see candlelight flickering from inside. They had been sure to keep the light inside to a minimum, not wanting to attract anyone—or anything—but he knew where to look, so it should have been easy to spot.

  He steered the boat around to the back of the building, parking it behind a concrete wall which stretched across the backside of the property. No one would see the boat from the street. He grabbed some rope he’d taken from the shed at Neil’s sister’s house and tied the oarlock to a post so the boat wouldn’t float away. Dax hopped out then and trudged through the water, which had risen to his waist, heading to the front of the building. He tried not to think about the things that could be swimming around him—like more snakes.

  The water had forced the door open—or that’s what he told himself at the moment. The entire ground floor was flooded. Dax sloshed through the water and headed for the stairwell.

  As he climbed the stairs, he knew something was wrong.

  Silence.

  Kids are never this quiet.

  Dax reached to his waist and grabbed the Glock.

  “Hello? Chloe? Neil?”

  No reply.

  He continued climbing, shouting their names again toward the upper floors of the building in case they’d decided to take to higher ground.

  Dax headed straight for their hallway. He clicked on the flashlight, pointing the light into each room as he passed.