Out of the Dark: An apocalyptic thriller

by Ashlei Hawley

  Out of the Dark

  Ashlei D. Hawley

  FIRST EDITION

  This book is a work of fiction. Any characters, places, or events are taken from the author’s imagination and represent no actual individuals, locations, or happenings. Any similarity to persons living or dead is completely coincidental and unintentional.

  These works are the copyrighted property of Ashlei Daylen Hawley, not to be redistributed, copied, or pirated in any fashion by any personal or commercial entity without the express permission of the author.

  Dedication:

  For John and Nathaniel – the light of my future and my hope in the darkness.

  For Melissa, who’s in my corner in everything I do, and has me in hers.

  To everyone who inspired, gave ideas, worked with me on editing, and always wanted to read more: thanks.

  OUT OF THE DARK

  ASHLEI D. HAWLEY

  Part I - The Onset

  Surely the Darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me… Psalm 139 Verse 11

  Chapter One

  Sam Walker had been on call for the better part of the most miserable night he’d ever had on the job. As he’d worked a twelve-hour shift just the previous day, he hadn’t been expecting a call from the station ordering him in six hours ago–after hardly any sleep and only a couple of hours of time with his kids and wife. It was now 2:12 a.m.

  Riding in the wailing behemoth with his partner and best friend, Dennis Johnson, Sam wore a firm frown. His brow furrowed over his polar blue eyes and lines of concern made the rest of his face seem to have worn many more than his thirty-seven years. His dark hair, which he wore short, was hidden beneath his fireman’s helmet and was soaked with sweat in spite of the chill of the night.

  The sweating was a reaction to nerves, not heat. Something was wrong with the night, with the whole damn world, it seemed. This was the fourth fire in the six hours since Sam had been called back in, and all had been at personal residences except one at a 24-hour Coney Island.

  Not only was the sheer volume of flaming destruction an indicator of something being seriously wrong, but the fires seemed to be moving from one side of the county to the other in a measured, leisurely pace, almost as though the ravenous flames themselves followed some pyromaniac Pied Piper.

  Sam knew they weren’t chasing some asshole with a blowtorch and cans of gas in his car. Nor were they on the trail of teenage pranksters gone bad. Every home so far had started burning seemingly of its own accord. The Coney Island patrons, what few there had been, had spoken with the glazed eyes and toneless voices of the shocked and disbelieving of a spontaneously combustive fireball forming from the kitchens.

  The victims of previous fires were all with police, as far as Sam knew, giving statements. Others were sent to stay with family, friends, or neighbors; whoever would take the displaced residents in for the night. Sam and his fellow firefighters went hopelessly from one incident to the next. They had the unerring sense that there would continue to be a next on this night no matter what they did or how hard they tried.

  “Some shit, isn’t it?” Dennis shouted over the wailing siren of the fire truck.

  “Certainly is,” Sam responded. He made sure to nod in case Dennis hadn’t heard his words.

  The truck began to slow. Sam could see the flickering, wavering indentations against the night sky, pressing against the black like false dawn. This fire was already well into itself, and burning merrily.

  Dennis hopped out of the truck first with Sam close on his heels. They’d been partners for the better part of a decade and had their routines down to science, whether it was when they ordered food from their favorite diner or waged another battle in the seemingly endless war of their job.

  Sam made sure both his and Dennis’s helmets were fastened securely and that the other man knew Sam would be following him in. Dennis gave a nod and thumbs up as four other men began the task of unraveling the long, heavy hoses.

  Dennis and Sam were always the front men for entering a burning building to search for injured or trapped individuals. The caller for this particular fire had been a woman that had frantically informed dispatch that her husband and daughter were still inside the house.

  Sam followed his partner through the front door, which hadn’t been affected by the flames yet. The back left side of the house was in the process of being consumed. Though the heat was a thick, nearly living thing against Sam’s skin, they didn’t need to go toward the more dangerous area of the house. The child’s room was near the front of the home, farthest away from the flames. The wife had told dispatch her husband had gone to get their daughter before urging her outside.

  The house was dark but for the occasional glimpses of fire through hallways and open doorways. The light was inconsistent, and Sam relied more on instinct, following Dennis, and both of their thick flashlight beams. They were steady and soothing, as much a partner to them as each man was to the other.

  One door and one open room were met and quickly investigated before they found the girl’s bedroom. The quaint living room and small bathroom were both entirely empty and were moved beyond with quick efficiency. After checking them both, a trill of sound reminded the men to check in. They both tapped the devices hanging from the underside of their helmets to verify they were still moving and had not been incapacitated.

  As the heat continued to build toward deathly crescendo behind them, Sam and Dennis reached the room they sought. The door was white with pink and yellow flowers, painted painstakingly by hand, scattered across, bringing joy to anyone who saw it. When Dennis swung it open, more pink greeted them. An expected motif for a young girl, the bedroom was done in frills and flowers, with stuffed animals spilling over the top of a dresser painted the same as the door had been and a bed done up princess-style.

  In all that pink perfection, the scene Sam and Dennis stumbled into seemed even more wrong, even more shocking.

  “Go get help,” Dennis exclaimed at once as he rushed forward and knelt beside the man who Sam assumed was the husband they were looking for.

  Sam backed up a few steps and debated for the span of only a couple seconds. He was not an indecisive man, and he stood firmly behind the credo both he and Dennis had had beaten into their heads: you do not enter or leave a dangerous situation without your partner.

  Moving back into the room, Sam checked the girl, who, shockingly, was still fast asleep in her bed. After giving her a brisk shake, Sam backed away and allowed her a moment to become aware of her surroundings and the situation.

  “Sam,” Dennis started impatiently, but wasn’t about to be angry with his partner for not leaving.

  “No time to waste just leaving him sitting here,” Sam said. He could feel the fire closing in. “We’ll carry him between us, keep the girl close.”

  Dennis nodded and turned the man over. Sam nearly lost what little lunch he’d managed to scarf down between calls earlier.

  There was no way to tell how it had happened, but the man’s throat had been torn to bloody ribbons. The pale grey nightshirt he wore was stained bright red with what seemed an impossible amount of the tacky liquid and had been torn away from equally-mutilated pectoral muscles. It looked like a bear had taken massive swipes at the man with ferocious claws, trying to tear through to his heart with animalistic enthusiasm.

  “Dennis, is he…?” Sam trailed off as the girl shimmied out of her bed and stood on carpet that squished beneath her small bare feet, wearing a blank expression.

  Instinctively, Sam shielded the girl from the gruesome sight on the floor. He didn’t want her seeing what had happened to her father, though she didn’t
seem perturbed by it initially. Sam figured she was deep in shock.

  “I’m not a paramedic,” Dennis responded quickly, and he looked as sick as Sam felt. “We get him out, and give him to someone who knows more than we do. Let’s get moving.”

  The check-in noise trilled again and Sam was so rattled by the man he and Dennis were now pulling up between them that for a moment he was confused by what he was supposed to do about it. Then he shook himself and regained his control and composure. Tapping the device harder than necessary, Sam noted that Dennis had suffered a delay, as well; only hitting his own after Sam had done so.

  “Got him,” Sam assured his partner as they secured their respective holds on the unresponsive man. “Let’s move.” Directing his next words to the girl, he said, “Come on, sweetheart. Keep close to us.”

  They had been in the home no more than five minutes, but already the fire had ravenously doubled the area of its consumption. When they left the girl’s room, they could see hungry tongues of flame licking along the walls near the front door. They weren’t getting out that way.

  “Other exit, side door,” Dennis said firmly. “Near the basement, the lady said.”

  They moved to the right instead of back the way they’d come. Smoke hung suspended from the ceiling in thick ribbons. Sam instinctively kept his head down and breathed more shallowly. The entire house had become too dangerous of an environment for his liking.

  The man hanging lifelessly between Dennis and Sam, though taller than either of them and pure dead weight, seemed lighter than he should be, causing Sam to wonder just how much blood he had lost. He had little confidence the man had been alive even when they’d entered the home.

  “Got the door,” Sam said as they came upon the stairs that led downward toward the basement.

  Twisting the handle and shouldering it open, Sam adjusted his hold on the man and caught Dennis looking down the darkened staircase.

  “Dennis, let’s go,” Sam demanded. His tone was sharp, his mood uneasy.

  “I saw movement,” Dennis countered. He took the girl by the arm and asked, “Honey, is there anyone else in the house? Pets, other people?”

  The girl remained mute and Sam again assumed the depth of her shock was extreme.

  “We don’t have time for searching,” Sam exclaimed in a harried voice. “The house is going to collapse or the smoke is going to get bad. Dennis, come on. We’ve got to go.”

  Dennis didn’t respond immediately, and it made Sam’s unease take another long leap toward true panic. Where were the other firefighters? Why hadn’t they started spraying the house yet? The check-in alarm sounded again and Sam snapped a hand against it to shut it up. Dennis ignored his.

  “Shit, man, let’s go!” Sam insisted. “And hit that thing before they send another team in here, damn it.”

  Before Dennis made any response, a part of the darkness down the stairs seemed to thicken and congeal into some poisonous-looking shade, a disembodied specter part smoke and part shadow.

  The thing leaped, and Dennis pushed Sam and the man he held onto alone back toward the hallway they’d recently exited. The girl fell back, as well, but kept her balance more easily than Sam, who purposely slammed his back against the wall in an attempt to keep himself from ending up on the floor.

  “What the shit is that?!” Sam screeched, half in panic, half in horror.

  “Get out. Get them out!” Dennis shouted instead of answering Sam’s frantic inquiry, looking for where the strange creature might come at them from next.

  “Fuck that, man,” Sam retorted as he used his free hand to shove Dennis toward the door. “Move your ass. Let’s go!”

  Though he wanted to stay behind and watch their backs, Dennis allowed Sam to push him toward the door. He still insisted the girl and his partner with his unfortunate burden go through first.

  Sam panted. Sweat poured in rivers down his face and every other body part. It felt to him like he’d fill his suit up with the acrid moisture and he’d drown in the liquefied expression of mortal terror.

  The girl was off the porch first, seemingly unperturbed by the hard, cold ground her bare feet landed on. Sam stumbled off after her, trying with monumental effort to keep a steady hold on the unmoving man. Sam almost guaranteed he was dead, and felt hysterically for a moment he had merely ‘rescued’ a life-sized doll belonging to the girl instead of retrieving the body of an unfortunate victim on a night fat and bloated with victims. The hysteria passed as Dennis made it out behind them.

  “Around to the front,” Dennis said, and his voice came out far calmer than Sam expected his own would be. “Let’s get back to the others.”

  Dennis went back to supporting half of the man and used his other hand to push gently on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he told her in a soft voice. Dennis had always been good with kids. “Let’s get you to your mama.”

  When they rounded the house, Dennis and Sam saw the truck had been abandoned. No one stood near it or sat inside it, and the woman who had made the emergency call was nowhere to be seen.

  “What the hell?” Sam asked incredulously. “Where is everyone?”

  “Doesn’t matter yet,” Dennis said grimly, though of course it did. “Let’s just get them in the truck. Warmer in there and we can get some blankets on them and call for backup.”

  “Man, we were the backup,” Sam hissed. Dennis didn’t respond.

  As Dennis moved toward the truck, Sam began to sense an even greater feeling of imminent catastrophe looming over them. It was impossible to breathe through, impossible to think around, and impossible to identify for the threat that it truly was. Something about the darkness was different, just like the thing in the house had been a shadow different from the other shadows. There was a layer of the world that had been revealed, and the revelation was something far darker and far more terrifying than anything Sam could have anticipated in his bleakest nightmares.

  Tears choked him, and they were not easy tears. They burned his eyes, closed his throat, and reverted him to the age of four; when he was sure that not only was there a monster beneath his bed, but it had tasted blood before and would again.

  As the girl bared teeth that looked more suited to the mouth of a wolf than a child and pounced on Dennis’s back, Sam was swallowed up by the new darkness and knew nothing more of the old world. Even in the unconscious state he slipped into, he could still feel the omnipresent, choking fear.

  Chapter Two

  Slightly after 10p.m. along America’s eastern coast, the wind was wild in the deep darkness of the night. It blew in frustrated fury like the breath of an asthmatic old man fruitlessly dueling a candle flame he wished to extinguish. Demanding entrance, it pummeled the siding of houses in great gusts, prying at the structures. No walls granted passage to the wind of the winter night, and the houses remained warm. Where the cold wind could not go, however, the Shadows slithered in.

  In one of the many small towns of southern Michigan, while an unnatural darkness claimed the eastern states one by one, a more expected fall of shadows had hours ago taken hold of the day. December had a way of abandoning the world to nighttime early on, and on the nineteenth at 10p.m. darkness had already possessed the sleepy town for several hours.

  Moody and pensive, Laura Walker consulted her chicken noodle soup as an herbal witch above her scrying bowl. She found no answers to her pertinent questions, which was no surprise to her. If she believed herself connected in any way to the supernatural (which she didn’t) she doubted the ability to foresee events and answer questions through the medium of liquid in a bowl would be hers to possess.

  She wanted to know if Sam was all right. Her husband’s well-being weighed most heavily on her mind. She’d been watching news broadcasts, mostly involving fires in their area raging out of control, for more than an hour. Her concern rose as each new story unfolded.

  Sam was out there, in the thick of whatever was happening in their town and, Laura belie
ved, in many others. The hour of devoting her attention to the news stations had caused Laura to suspect the situation in Michigan wasn’t unique, but what was closest to her heart mattered first and foremost. Sam was out there in it.

  Idly, Laura picked chunks of what were supposed to pass for chicken out of her soup. She didn’t know if she actually planned to eat, but she wanted to prepare the brew for her consumption if she did. She’d never liked the processed meat in chicken noodle soup.

  With a sigh, Laura agitatedly dropped her spoon on the saucer she’d carried the hot soup bowl to the living room on. She was edgy and frustrated. Doing something as mediocre as being picky about her chicken at such a time seemed downright foolish, possibly even unsafe. An insanity akin to cabin fever began to mount as she wished Sam was anywhere else except in the thick of things. The thoughts were pointless and angered her. She felt the need to do something, to be productive, or just to move.

  Brushing her short, tawny hair out of her almost copper-colored eyes, Laura became even more unreasonably annoyed. The new pixie cut flattered her face, but at the moment she wished she’d opted out of adding the messy bangs to the look.

  “Cool it,” Laura ordered herself out loud. She tried to banish the irrationally irritable thoughts as she reclaimed her spoon and returned to her task.

  She tried calling Sam again, and the voicemail requested her message midway through the second ring. Either Sam had continuously ignored her calls intentionally, or something was wrong with the phone system. With the scraps of viable information she’d been able to glean from the highly unreliable news channels, Laura harbored a suspicion it was the second option.

  Flipping the channel as she had periodically throughout the night, Laura caught another exchange between two attractive news anchors, each of them smiling as though their mouths had been molded into the expression with expert surgery or at the urging of some magical puppeteer.