Dark Genesis (Shadow and Shine Book 1)

by Danial Hooper

  The soft sheet clung to the recently deceased as he carried her to her final resting place. By lifting the body, Asher would subsequently have to drop it. This realization added salt to his wounds. The body would make a thud, and Asher’s heart would break even more. The sound of her body falling would again ring in his ears. He tried his best to lower the body into the pit. Asher looked ridiculous with his slow precision as if to not wake up the sleeping corpse.

  His brother, Ben, could be watching him from his apartment window right now, judging him and feeling even more resentment toward his big brother. Ben acted like Asher could never do the right thing, and he was partially right, especially when it came to Lucille. Benny and Lucy met when they were freshman in college, after Asher started dating her now forgotten roommate.

  The two love birds hit it off instantly, allowing Asher to take the credit for their love at first sight. They used to finish each other’s sentences and were the fun couple to be around. Benny and Lucy truly started out as the match made in heaven, and then, all of a sudden, they weren’t. As they got older, Ben would go out drinking and not come home. Lucille stayed up crying herself to sleep. Ben would yell, and Lucille would cry more. Ben would ignore, and Lucille would stay away.

  This is part of the reason Asher moved into Salt Lake two years ago. He wanted to help Benny get his life on straight. He never would have guessed his baby brother would have allowed such a great relationship to fall into complete disarray, but he soon realized he was spending more time over at Ben’s apartment than Ben actually was. Ben said he was lost in his work, trying to make enough money to pay the bills. One bill was for a surgery to implant a healthy egg into Lucy for child birth, a secret Ben did not want Asher to know. Lucy had shared a lot of truths with Asher over the last few months. Ben became the heartless brother who abandoned his wife. Asher became the friend in Lucille’s loneliness. Ben was the busy husband, and Asher became the brother-in-law she fell in love with.

  In her final resting place, he still admired her beautiful silhouette. For all the lifeless weight, she still felt light in his arms. A man in love had to bury his brother’s wife. While a husband, by title, kept his distance in their one bedroom apartment.

  “I’m sorry, my love,” he said and began filling the grave.

  -

  “What do you mean?” Jenna’s voice cracked through her whisper. She pointed at the grilled cheese as if it were the evidence of his identity. “He said he was the chef! What do you mean he’s not? He has to be the chef.” Her voice got louder and louder.

  I told you, Jenna. You need to run. Get out of there. Now. Don’t waste any more time talking to this crazy little weirdo or with the freak in the basement. Run. Run.

  RUNNN!

  Jenna wanted to run. She wanted to get away, but her legs were betraying her. She could only stare at Edie and hope it was a sick joke. This wouldn’t be surprising from Edie. Jenna already had a taste for Edie’s sense of humor. There was an emptiness behind her beautiful eyes. It was as if she looked inside of you rather than simple eye contact.

  “Toppy is not the chef. Chef Giancarlo is Spanish, like from Spain. Toppy is the delivery guy for the soda company. He’s a weirdo. He probably murdered the chef.” She paused and looked towards the door. “He’s coming back. Seriously, be careful.” And with that, she closed her door and disappeared.

  Jenna, get out of here.

  Jenna shifted her eyes away as Toppy came to the top of the stairs. His wideness nearly touched each side of the doorway. He stopped there and said, “Now, I don’t really swear, but I swear I heard you talking to someone.” He licked his lips and shined with his ugly smile. Jenna felt more in danger now than while Robert and she ran through the crowd of people, and Robert had black spit all over his face. Then, she had at least the illusion of Robert protecting her. Now she has nothing but a crazy Korean lady hiding in a closet, waiting to watch her eventual rape and murder. What was worse? The monsters outside or the Monster holding the avocado bacon dip?

  “Hell-ooooo?” He waved his fat fingers in front of her eyes. “Were you talking to someone or was your dainty little club foot dancing around again?” Licked lips. Ugly smile.

  It’s not just ugly; it is evil.

  “No. I…I’m sorry. I was talking to myself. I’m a little shaken up, you know. I think I might be going crazy.” She let out a desperate, little laugh.

  “Crazy huh? Well, not all crazy people talk to themselves, trust me. I’ve been crazy for quite some time, and I barely talk to anyone — even myself!” Licked lips. “I do most of the talking in my head. That’s where I come up with all of these interesting and brilliant ideas for my gourmet cooking.” Ugly smile. He said gourmet like ‘goo-may,’ as if it gave his lie credibility.

  Well, you got yourself into this position. Now you need to play dumb. He still thinks you’re an easy prey. Now you have to pretend he is right, and then you’re going to have to kill him. When he’s least expecting it, you’re going to have to grab that knife…no! Don’t look at it!

  “Hey, listen, I’m sorry if I scared you running up those steps, or if I came off like I didn't believe you when you said you weren’t talking to anyone. And I know, I know, I look a little rough right now. One too many burritos will do that to a guy. It’s just that I had a long night too, and I don’t fully trust you yet. For all I know, you could be one of them, or, at least act like one of them. And I don’t want to scare you, but you scare me too. So maybe we got started on the wrong foot. How about you enjoy your sandwich, and then we can figure out a good game plan for the rest of the day?” He offered his hand to shake.

  Jenna returned the favor and refused to look at the knife hanging over the hibachi grill behind him. Toppy’s ugly smile was illustrated by his quivering lips. It was like he was trying to hold back from bursting out laughing, or maybe it was because the sweat mustache was tickling him. His fat hand nearly engulfed hers as they shook hands.

  She tried to sound natural in her reply but came off sounding more frightened than when he found her laying on the ground, “I… I think that’s a good idea. If you don’t mind, maybe we can start by telling each other a little about ourselves. That would break the ice, right?” Her beautiful smile reflected off of his. He held her eye contact for just long enough to make her uncomfortable.

  She looked away and grabbed her sandwich. She was supposed to be starving, after all. Each bite should have been delicious but felt like chalk in her mouth. She tried to chew up the gobs of bitter cheese before giving up and forcing it down with gulps of water. Jenna tried to smile again and show how delightful the sandwich tasted.

  He knows you are lying. He knows you know he’s lying.

  “I think that’s a fair idea, from a fair lady, I might add. There is no harm in getting to know one another, especially when we might be the only two living people left in this world. Ha! Who knows, we might be charged with repopulating the entire world. What do you want to know about me? Ask anything!”

  He wants to repopulate the world with you.

  Jenna forced the thought of being forced to procreate with Toppy out of her head and focused on the need to investigate the truth. She thought if she could manipulate him into exposing his lies, maybe, just maybe, he would let her live. “Ummm, how long have you been a chef?” He leaned his heavy frame onto the sink and considered the question. Sweat stains peaked out of his heavy armpits and faint shades of red peered out from under his apron. His stomach protruded beneath his chest, and she had the full view of the density of such a heavy man. Licked lips. Ugly smile. “Well, miss Jen, if I can call you Jen, I have pretty much been a cook my entire life. My mother was a fantastic cook. I too indulged in the fine culinary arts since I was a boy of,” he paused, “no less than eight years old.” Licked lips. He had probably rehearsed this before and was now proud of himself for pulling it off. “But I trained at Midian School of Culinary Arts. That’s really where I came into my own as a chef and moved away from using
butter in everything.” Ugly smile. “What about you, what do you do for a living? Are you a model?” He asked with a flirtatious wink.

  “No. No model, thank you though. I’m a simple college gal from NYU, majoring in marketing.” Her eyes briefly locked on the hanging knife between the two of them. Glancing away quickly, she tried to then focus on a rolling pin to disguise herself. “I want to be a fashion designer and run my own studio.”

  Grab it, and jam it into his neck! Do it Jenna. Do it!

  “Fashion at the end of the world? Sounds like you're due for a career change. You are probably really embarrassed you wasted your time on such a dumb dream.” Licked lips. “How’s your grilled cheese? Try the spread before you devour the rest!” He reminded her, pushing it closer to her plate.

  It might have poison inside. Or a rufie.

  “How did a pretty little thing like yourself survive last night? The psychos were everywhere, and with all due respect, it’s not like you can run.” Ugly smile.

  She didn’t try to smile back this time. He was taunting her because she couldn’t run away, and his ugly smile indicated he liked having her stuck near him. The knife above her swayed, just a little, taunting her too. She wanted to reach up and grab it, but it was too far. He was so much closer now.

  “I hid in my room. I heard them in the hallways and watched them outside. I was safer in my room.”

  Licked lips. “You’re right. You were safer in your room”

  Toppy swung his giant paw into her face knocking bits of cheese and bread out of her mouth. She could not feel the impact of her body collapsing on the ground. She heard him through ringing ears, but could not open her eyes to see. Her body folded over his boxed shoulders as he lifted her and grunted while softly caressing her legs. “There, there,” he said, “Toppy’s got you now, you’ll be safe.”

  Toppy latched the door to the basement and carried her down the stairs.

  -

  No matter how much dish soap he used, the dried mixture of dirt and blood latched onto Asher’s hands. He scrubbed to the point of being up to his forearms in suds. His brother, Ben, sat quietly on the only dining room chair unbroken, brooding over a bottle of bourbon behind him. Asher rinsed his soapy hands and tried to carve the dirt out from under his nails. Neither of the Blake brothers liked to get his hands dirty. They were better suited for white collar work.

  That didn’t stop them last night from being barbarians, fighting off the crazies in almost perfect synchronization. They killed forty-one of them. Neither man had formal training. The closest thing was Ben’s brief foray into MMA fighting, which lasted all of three classes (it was one, but Ben claims two others that never happened). Asher never pushed another man, let alone threw a punch. Yet last night, something awoke over the both of them. Ben believed it was survival instinct, while Asher believed it was too powerful and too complete. They were almost perfect in their ability, the only flaw coming at the death of Lucille. At one point, a skinny woman with a bad redheaded dye job was tear a hole into Lucille’s neck. Spurting blood silenced the room before Asher drove a butter knife into the attacker's ear. Ben kept fighting while Asher tended to Lucy before she bled out on the kitchen floor. Finally, the other’s stopped coming minutes before dawn. Ben watched them clean out the bodies from the courtyard and complex next door, but they never came into their building.

  The remaining bodies made a mess of Ben and Lucy’s apartment. People from all nationalities in all shapes and sizes were lying dead on the floor with nothing but blood and black liquid spewing out from their mouths. As the light rested on them, their skin broke down into an old ashy color. Despite their evil attack, Asher felt compassion for them. Not enough for him to carry their bodies out to the courtyard, but he would drop them off the balcony instead. Ben was not interested on why he would bury the bodies, but if he asked, Asher would tell him the truth saying, “I don’t know, it just feels like I should.” At his feet was an elderly woman who attacked his family like a ferocious beast fueled by the insatiable need to kill. The woman’s pitch black eyes took away her humanity and made her more like a wolf with her pack than someone’s grandma. Those eyes no longer possessed the same possession after Ben killed her, but they did not look any less sinister.

  Ben was too busy pouring another drink and staring off into nothingness with hopes of finding solace at the bottom of the bottle. The bottle was over half-finished. Ben wouldn’t even be able to stand up. Asher would be leaving soon, with or without his brother, to get revenge. Someone made these people like this. He would find out who. Ben could sit in his chair until time stopped, but Asher would make them pay.

  “What ya doing?” Ben asked.

  “Burying these bodies and paying my respects. They were people once, and I don’t want to forget that,” Asher said, holding back his desire to lecture Ben on his current behavior. Asher would never get through to Ben, but as always, he would try.

  Ben stood up and cut into his brother’s path to the exit. Asher stood four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than his smaller brother. He drank enough to pass out, yet his unwavering eyes made him look sober. This was the look of disdain Ben had given their entire lives. From backyard football to college graduation, Ben always had a bone to pick with Asher. Mom always said it was only his competitive nature. Dad said he found his rabbit to chase and wouldn’t stop until he caught it. Asher didn’t like being anyone’s rabbit, but whatever got the best out of Benny would be okay.

  Ben asked, “Why did you WASH YOUR HANDS when you were going to pick up all those dead ones?”

  Asher gave his brother a little smile. Hopefully this was a drunken outburst. Now was not the time to fight with his brother, not after burying Lucille. There was no sense in looking into his brother’s eyes any longer than he had to. He knew where that would lead. While they never argued to the point of physically fighting, Ben would barrage his brother with a fury of harsh words while Asher played the high road. It was Ben’s argument style and Asher’s way of dealing with it. You didn’t win arguments with Ben, you survived them.

  Instead Asher broke off and looked towards the door, “I don’t know, brother. I don’t know what I am doing, but I would love your help. I’m sorry about last night, but please don’t make this a drunk fight.”

  Ben responded with his shaking head. “You’re on your own, Ash. Good luck. Come get me when you’re ready to go out and hunt the rest of those things down,” he said as he sat back down and poured himself another drink. “And, um, I’m not drunk. I don’t even feel a little buzz. Can you believe it? It’s like I’m drinking old, flat soda. I’ll keep trying while you bury the people who murdered my wife.”

  Anything Asher said would push the argument down a very aggressive path. He acknowledged his brother and headed out to the backyard.

  “Oh, Ash, it’s best I tell you now: we’re going to hunt down every last one. I don’t care what it takes. They’re all dead.” He poured himself another glass. “And once I kill the creator, or the chief, or whatever the wolves call their leader…” He drank the liquor and quickly poured another. “Once there is no trace of any of those wolves alive, those monsters who killed my beautiful baby…” He took another heavy drink from his glass. “I’m going to kill you, big brother, for sleeping with my wife.”

  -

  Harry walked the familiar halls with an unfamiliar feeling. He was more alive than ever in the last twenty years of living at The Commodore, which was sad, since so many other people were now dead. This creaky, wooden floor in this creaky, old hallway was a great reminder of how different he was than the old Harry from yesterday. He was finished in his own apartment, never to return. This was the last of The Commodore for Harry. Finally, he found his revolver, now tucked into the back on his pants, and would soon find the necessary ammunition. No matter that he bought the gun with intentions of killing himself, the gun would have a fresh start outside of the walls too.

  Greg sat on the floor listening to Mickey r
amble about his high school days of being the clean-up hitter for the baseball team. “Two state titles and four grand slams to end my career. I coulda went pro too if it weren’t for being from a small school in the middle of nowhere.”

  Harry interrupted, “Well gentlemen, it’s time we head over there and find the women. They’re not going to come out and find us, so it’s best to get to work before nightfall.”

  Neither boy responded with more than a blank stare. Harry was the elder of the group and now the de-facto leader. These two were not exactly the ‘go-getter type,’ so Harry would need to motivate them too. He waited long enough for a response, “Well alright then. Get up off your butt, and let’s get out of here.”

  Greg first walked out the door and said, “I support the plan, but as soon as we find them, we go to the roof. I have everything I need for the radio, but it’s not going to work unless we get to higher ground. It’s more practical to go now, but I understand the need for numbers and to protect the women.”

  Mickey offered support, “I concur. Strength in numbers.” He nodded like the village idiot.

  The air was thick in Harry’s lungs as they entered the streets. It didn’t look smoky, but there was a faded color to the air like it was old. The sky seemed darker down off the roof. It couldn’t be later than midday, but the sun was nowhere to be found. The quiet blow of the wind was the only sound accompanying the three men as they entered into the Grand American. Harry used to joke about living across from the Ritz in Salt Lake. They threw away nicer meals than Harry had since his honeymoon with Brenda. They charged twelve bucks a glass for drinks that Harry could get up the block at his favorite dive for a five dollar bill. Harry only knew this because he stopped one day and stole one of their fancy, leather menus. It was purple, smooth, and perfect. No wonder the drinks were so pricey.