Dark Vanishings 2: Post-Apocalyptic Horror

by Dan Padavona

  “Couldn’t you have put a stopper or something inside the door to keep it from closing?”

  “I didn’t think of it.”

  “Life isn’t that complicated. It just takes some forethought to get it right.”

  “It looks like you did well for yourself, regardless,” said Amy. She looked up at the tall, glass roof, then her eyes meandered down the sunny walkway. “Well-lit, comfortable, and never ending supplies.”

  “But not very defensible,” Keeshana said. “You said two men threatened you yesterday?”

  Again Jeremy’s cheeks flared with red heat. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “I didn’t know what they intended, so I hid from them.”

  He thought they would laugh at him again, but Keeshana and Amy both nodded.

  “That’s the problem with this place. It’s full of stuff that people are gonna need. Same with the other stores next to the mall. You never know who is going to come through the door. Might be a mother looking for food for her kid. Might be someone else.”

  Jeremy’s stomach fluttered. Keeshana was right, of course. The mall seemed like the perfect place to reside, but the complex had too many doors and windows, and it attracted too much attention. He lived on borrowed time. The longer he stayed, the more risk he took.

  “We’re headed back to my hometown to look for my father,” Amy said. “It’s a little town called Chardray, if you know it, not far from here.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  Amy met Keeshana’s eyes, and the other woman nodded in silent agreement. “You’re welcome to come with us.”

  Jeremy hadn’t expected them to invite him along, and he wasn’t sure what to say. He had never fit in with other people; it seemed something always went wrong when he put his trust in anyone.

  “Whatever you do,” Keeshana said. “I wouldn’t stay here.”

  His eyes followed the familiar walkway, which had been packed with shoppers a week ago, past the wilting palms and potted plants, beyond the murky storefronts, past the paralyzed escalators. This evening, the inky blackness would spread out from the stores again, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around to watch.

  The mall complex seemed overwhelmingly large, its shadows the perfect hiding places for anyone or any thing. What if someone were camouflaged in the dark now, watching them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? With the huge mall’s many darkened stores, corridors, and hidden corners, he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to find they were not alone. From the far end of the mall, something banged loudly, the echo reverberating down the walkways. It could have been a bird flying into the glass. It could have been almost anything.

  “You’re right. I’ll come with you.”

  They helped him gather his supplies—a few changes of clothes and two cardboard boxes of food—and set out in the minivan, as the unrelenting southern sun burned down on them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Viper Goes to the Store

  Indigo to its core, the afternoon sky was undisturbed, save for a few wisps of ragged cirrus drifting like a mirror image of the ocean and its surf.

  As Viper stood back from the front steps of the beach house, listening to the wind rustling the palm trees and watching the Atlantic waves crash against the shoreline beyond the property, he realized he rather liked the little house. It was simple, clean, and small enough to not be a hassle. A small deck ran off the back overlooking the beach. How could he beat the location? The house was a ten-minute drive from the growing community of Florida Bliss—close enough for him to keep an eye on the neighborhood if trouble arose, but far enough away that he wouldn’t have somebody new knocking on his door every day, asking him how to change lawn mower oil. Hank Jenner was a good guy, and Viper would have preferred Hank to take his advice and grab a beach house, rather than risk becoming the community’s de facto fix-it man, but Viper could do without community living. All he needed was a fishing rod and a couple of cold beers, and he was good to go.

  The fishing rod was already taken care of, left to him by the former owner, a fifty-something male northerner who was probably single, judging by the few photos scattered about the house. I reckon the guy never had this much open beach when he fished.

  Viper was a bald-headed, Kansas-born bounty hunter. He felt as if he spent his entire life fighting—first against his alcoholic, wife-beating father, and then with the criminal element he brought to justice. He wondered if there was such a thing as justice anymore in this lost world.

  Viper first encountered Ricky along I-77 in North Carolina, tolerating Ricky’s volatile personality until they found Hank Jenner in South Carolina. The kid became consumed with Hank’s daughter, Amy, and attempted to steal Hank’s favorite photo of her. Viper ditched Ricky in Chardray and took Hank as his traveling partner. Now Hank lived in the recently discovered Florida Bliss community, while Viper preferred the solitude of the Atlantic coast. As long as he had fresh-caught fish and a few beers, he was happy.

  After sleeping until noon, Viper started his Saturday chores, which consisted of picking out a new ride. His Chevy Tahoe was a solid vehicle, but he wanted something faster, something more versatile.

  Walking two miles inland past upscale homes adorned with manicured lawns that looked like baseball stadium outfields, he entered a Harley-Davidson dealership, found a few demonstration models fully-fueled, and rode out on a sleek, black Iron 883. He motored northward, feeling the warm, salty air buffeting his face, until he located a large mega-market called Beachcomber’s Delight, its lot stuffed with unmoving vehicles. He angled the motorcycle into the lot and weaved between the rows, heat swelling off the blacktop like coals radiating.

  It was when he stopped the bike in front of the store that he noticed the sliding glass doors were shattered. A black crowbar lay amid the broken glass, the shards sparkling like dangerous gemstones. In an area as populous as the space coast of Florida, he expected a handful of survivors existed. But how recently had the damage occurred? Was the vandal still inside the store?

  Glaring through the glass frontage, the sunshine divided into individual beams segmented by advertisements plastered to the windows. Fresh pineapples, on sale for $2.99. 12-packs of Labatt’s and Miller for $9.99. Brown sugar-cured ham, only $1.99 per pound. The bright beams illuminated the cash registers and the first third of the aisles. As Viper stared through the glass, the back of the store faded into shadow.

  The hair stood on the back of his neck. Looking back at the Harley, the shattered glass, and the crowbar, Viper sensed eyes upon him. Nobody ever got the jump on Viper, but when he swung toward the parking lot, all he saw was a metal graveyard subdivided into neat rows. Shunted by afternoon daylight, shadows lurked directly under the vehicles. Except for a flock of gulls circling deeper into the lot, nothing seemed to be moving.

  He stepped over the largest pieces of glass shards. Small pieces crunched under the weight of his boots and scraped across the concrete sidewalk. Inside the shattered entrance, he squeezed between two rows of shopping carts. Boxes of specially-priced white rice and cereal were displayed in the front entranceway, grains and flakes spilling out of tiny box holes. Splotches of guano covered the floor and carts, and as he surveyed the interior, a huge crow whipped past his head, squawking and flapping its wings.

  While he moved into the grocery mart, the fluttering of bird wings echoed from deep inside the store, and something furiously scratched at a food bag in the next aisle. Gray shadows darted across the floor, probably mice or small rats. Walking cautiously, he left several feet between himself and the aisles. He didn’t think anyone was inside the store, but he knew better than to lower his defenses.

  Beginning in sporting goods, Viper chose a heavy-duty backpack. Moving from aisle to aisle, always keeping a watchful eye on the shadowed ends, he grabbed two hundred feet of rope, a flashlight, several packs of batteries, and a couple bottles of beer. His Tahoe back at the beach house would be useful for picking
up a case of beer and maybe a generator once he located a home improvement store. But the motorcycle was his go-to vehicle. The cycle didn’t obey the confines of the road; he could take it over all sorts of terrain. The 883 consumed far less gas than the Tahoe, and hell if it wasn’t a blast to ride.

  Placing the third beer bottle in the backpack, he turned in a circle. He stood in the cooler aisle now, far back in the store where the light quality was gray at best. At the end of the aisle, darkness bled off the walls. He stared into the black, forcing his eyes to penetrate its depths, listening closely. Critters scurried about just out of sight, and he heard their clawed feet climbing through bags, wiggling between boxes, and sliding on the reflective flooring. As he listened, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  Is someone around the aisle corner, crouched in the shadows?

  He strapped the pack to his back to free up his hands, which he balled into fists.

  Not entirely convinced he was alone in the store, he tired of waiting and headed for the exits, head moving on a swivel as he watched for movement. He passed down a narrow aisle bordered by boxes of sugary cereals, pancake mixes, and syrup. The light grew stronger toward the front of the store, the area near the registers lit like high noon. Crossing through the entranceway, he squeezed between the twin trains of shopping carts and made his way toward the busted doors, where he noticed a woman sitting on his motorcycle. A man stood beside the bike. The crowbar rested in the man’s hand.

  When the man saw Viper, he took a step backward and gripped the crowbar harder. The woman whispered something to the man, and Viper was sure she said, that’s the guy we’re looking for. The man’s lips curled into a grin, and his eyes shot daggers back at Viper. He was a younger guy, maybe in his mid-thirties, with wavy brown hair and a face of stubble. The woman, black-haired and hard-looking, hardly appeared concerned with her boots resting on the handlebars as she leaned back, tossing pieces of popcorn into her mouth.

  “Can I help ya?” Viper lowered the backpack to the sidewalk, the beer bottles clinking together like wind chimes.

  The man shared a glance with his girl. “This your bike?”

  “Yep.”

  “A real beauty. Looks brand new. Of course, it isn’t like anyone owns anything these days.”

  “Plenty more down the road where that one came from. But I’ll be taking my bike home.”

  “Oh yeah? You live close by?”

  The smug look on the man’s face grated at Viper. “Maybe I do. Who wants to know?”

  “Easy, big fella. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

  “You can start by getting your girl off my bike and putting down the crowbar.”

  The man smiled and raised his open hands toward Viper, still holding the crowbar against his side. “It’s all good. Hey, Lorna. Would you mind stepping off this nice man’s motorcycle?” Lorna rolled her eyes and climbed off the bike, running her hand along the leather seat and across the gas tank. “There. Now we can all be friends. My name is Will. We just came down from Iowa, looking for a little fun and sun. What’s your name, big guy?”

  Viper didn’t say a word, watching them with unblinking eyes.

  “He asked you a question,” Lorna said. “You deaf or something?”

  “I ain’t lookin’ to make friends.”

  “Sounds like you grabbed yourself a couple of brewskies.” Will nodded at the backpack. “Get a couple more, and maybe the three of us can have a little party. It’s not like you get to meet too many people nowadays. What if we went back to your place and—”

  “Not interested.”

  “Come on, man. We’re just trying to be friendly.”

  “You still ain’t dropped the crowbar.”

  Lorna raised an eyebrow. “What if we took your bike and rode away?”

  “I’d go get me another one.”

  Will grinned wide. “That’s right. Plenty of motorcycles to go around. You see, Lorna? He’s not a mean guy—”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I said I’d go get another one. Then I’d track you down and ride tire tracks up and down the both of ya.”

  “Easy, cowboy. It’s just a motorcycle.”

  “This ain’t a motorcycle thing. This is a me kicking your ass up and down A1A thing.”

  Will laughed, disdain flashing in his eyes. He shook the crowbar in Viper’s direction and said, “You forget who’s holding the power, Mr. Clean.”

  Lorna scowled at the motorcycle and strode to Will’s side. “That’s right, Will. And we don’t want his skanky bike, anyhow.”

  “Good choice. It’s time for the two of you to move along.”

  Will slapped the crowbar against his hand once, twice, three times, all the while grinning in Viper’s direction. “Sure thing. Maybe I’ll take my girl down to the shore to catch some rays and sing some Beach Boys songs. No sense causing a scene in front of this fine establishment.”

  Will winked at Lorna, and as he began to walk off with her at his side, the glass crunching underfoot, he swerved and swung the crowbar at Viper’s head. But Viper expected Will to try something, and he was ready. Ducking under the weapon, Viper slammed his fist into Will’s side. Will’s eyes went wide with shock, and then Viper hit him with a left cross that rolled his eyes backward.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lorna looked ready to leap at Viper herself, but instead she helped Will back to his feet. Will’s legs seemed unwilling to obey him, wobbling and bending like string cheese. As he shook the cobwebs out of his head, he glowered at Viper and turned toward the big man.

  “Mistake number two,” Viper said, waiting for Will to come to him.

  When Will swung wildly, Viper ducked under the blow with the smoothness of a prizefighter. In one quick motion, he lifted Will onto his back and threw him over his shoulder. Will crashed into the storefront’s brick facade and crumpled to the pavement.

  “You son of a bitch!” Lorna leaped onto Viper’s back, her nails raking across his face. Keeping the maddened woman from gouging out his eyes, Viper grabbed her wrists and pried them off his face. She bit the back of his shoulder, screaming and frenzied. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was strike a woman, but he knew she wouldn’t stop. She was a cornered animal, a rabid dog that wouldn’t cease until she tore him apart.

  He elbowed her off his back, and as she stumbled backward in a daze, he quickly circled around her and wrapped his arms around her head and neck. Pressing his forearm into her carotid artery, he held on as she flapped about like a fish out of water. She kept cursing, trying to reach up and gouge his eyes. He ducked his head below hers and held on, her struggles fading.

  “Don’t fight it,” he said, feeling her weaken.

  Her body went limp, and he carefully laid her on the pavement. Looking at his two unconscious attackers, he shook his head. He hadn’t wanted to hurt either of them, but they hadn’t give him much choice.

  The sun began its slow descent into late afternoon, the parking lot shadows elongating into dark stains. He strapped the backpack on and fired up the 883, a nagging thought eating at him that he had not seen the last of his attackers. Leaving Will and Lorna in crumpled heaps, he drove back to the beach house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ashes to Ashes

  Tension, the corrosion of life, threatened to bind Amy in place as she observed the gray line of I-26 stretching into the horizon toward infinity. A strange scent was on the wind, redolent of midnight bonfires but twisted into something wicked.

  “I don’t like this, Kee.”

  While Jeremy stood back at the minivan, Keeshana rubbed Amy’s shoulder, her eyes following Amy’s down the dark ribbon of asphalt. A green road sign grew out of a ditch a mile up the road, announcing Chardray as the next exit. Here, if the slim odds favored her, Amy might find her father. At the very least, a lifetime of memories awaited her return. But something felt terribly wrong. When the wind gusted into her face, it carried a dense charcoal scent. From this point on I
-26, she should have been able to see the Citgo sign rising over a thicket of trees. Or at least she thought the sign should be visible; she hadn’t been back to Chardray more than once or twice per year since college, and maybe her memory deceived her.

  “What do you want to do?” Keeshana’s voice knocked Amy out of her trance. “You’ll never know if your father is still in Chardray unless you go into town.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

  “I know you don’t mean that.” Keeshana turned her head toward the van. She nodded at Jeremy, and the young man climbed into the vehicle. “Let’s go.”

  Walking Amy back to the van, Keeshana started the engine and drove toward Chardray, the tiny village only two miles away. The van moved slowly, the speedometer below 35 mph. A verdant blur of weeds and grass moved along the periphery of Amy’s vision, the drive forward feeling more like a death march than a homecoming. More than once she was tempted to scream at Keeshana to stop the van and turn around, but the vehicle carried her toward an undefinable, black inevitability.

  The short trip down the interstate might have taken minutes or hours—Amy couldn’t be sure. The exit sign appeared so suddenly that she gasped, and then Keeshana veered off the deserted strip of highway, the van winding down a U-shaped ramp bordered by birch, spruce, and red maple. Once, when the trees shunted the wind and the sweet smell of spruce enveloped the van, Amy lost the charcoal scent and felt her dread slip away. She felt at home again, caressed by a wholesome familiarity. But as they approached the exit and the van drifted beyond the densely-packed fauna, the smoky smell returned.

  The Chevrolet minivan had just turned into Chardray when Amy screamed. Down the road, the Citgo sign lay crumbled and charred like a fallen titan, the gas station a hollowed out shell of ash. Trees rose blackened and skeletal, limbs singed and leaves burned off. Bits and pieces of burnt paper blew this way and that over the road, dancing to the whim of the afternoon breeze. Beyond lay a tunnel of devastation, houses reduced to coal, ash, and splinters, as though an enraged giant had torched the village.