Out of the Dark: An apocalyptic thriller

by Ashlei Hawley

  Sam nodded, and the movement hurt his shoulder. The thoughts he was entertaining because of the boy hurt his head.

  “Alien invasion. That’s what you think this is?” Sam questioned pointedly as Austin helped him to remove his heavy jacket and slip out of his torn shirt.

  “Sorry,” Austin said as Sam gave a hiss of pain. “Can’t patch it up through the shirt, you know? Anyway, yeah. Yeah, something like aliens. If you were an alien and came to this planet, wouldn’t you take one look at us sorry lot and figure it was better to just kick the shit out of us early on? We’re a sorry species, man. A sorry species.”

  “Maybe,” Sam agreed as Austin began to work on his shoulder. “Something’s not right, that’s for sure.”

  Grunting around the pain as Austin pressed down with the wet cloth to clear off some of the blood, Sam considered the boy’s alien invasion theory. It wasn’t anything like he’d anticipated it would be, were they ever to experience alien contact, but had he really ever thought about it too hard before now? A hostile alien race would certainly be dissimilar enough from humanity that their warfare itself would be so completely unlike our own that we wouldn’t even realize what we were fighting at first. The thought was not a comforting one. Sam doubted there would be many entering his mind for the time being.

  “We’ll bandage it, and then wrap it,” Austin said as he pulled out a roll of the type of fabric Sam had used in the past to wrap a bum ankle or sprained wrist. “That should keep the bandages in place. They’re puncture wounds, so they can’t be stitched but the bleeding has slowed a lot. I think if you take it easy, there shouldn’t be any kind of permanent damage.”

  The boy talked like he knew something about medical situations, and Sam liked him more for it.

  “You’re good at this,” Sam said as a way of attempting to lessen Austin’s guilt over having put him in the current, bloody position.

  Austin blushed to the roots of his pale blood hair and said, “I want to be a nurse, like my mom. She’s good at what she does, even though she hates it. I like the work, and I’d like to help people. It’s what I chose as my major for college.”

  Sam wasn’t surprised by the boy’s admission. After he’d lost the stiffness in his behavior from the embarrassment and guilt over what had happened, he’d revealed a kind of sweetness of nature that most children-especially boys-sadly grew out of when their teen years hit. Sam was hoping his own boy wouldn’t lose what he now saw in Austin by time he hit those years.

  Thinking of Trevor made Sam’s heart pound painfully. He had to get home, and fast. Whatever was happening, his family’s well-being was still his top priority.

  “I have to get to my family,” Sam told Austin as the teen patted the wound dry in order to bandage and tape it. “Is there a car here that I can borrow?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Austin said distractedly as he focused on not giving Sam more pain during the bandaging. “My mom’s car is still in the garage. She went totally nuts and just ran outside, you know? I don’t know where she went, or if she’s coming back…” Trailing off, Austin tried to hide the bleak fear and sadness that entered his dark hazel eyes.

  “She’ll be back,” Sam assured Austin as the teen finished securing the bandage and the wrap around Sam’s shoulder, though he probably sounded as unconvinced as he felt. “She won’t leave you alone, kid.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know. I just…” The boy trailed off again, and he seemed much younger again. He continued quickly, forcing out the words as though he feared he might lose the nerve to say them. “Could I go with you, maybe? Just for a while. I could leave her a note, you know? And maybe she can meet us somewhere. You’re a firefighter. Do you think more of you guys will be teaming up? Like, maybe a bunch of police and stuff are going to hole up at a station or something, you know? I could tell her in the note that I’m going with a firefighter and trying to get to a place where people are going to be together. Just for safety. She wouldn’t worry then.”

  The words poured out of Austin in a rush, not giving Sam any time to interject either a positive or negative response. The boy was scared shitless, Sam thought with extreme sympathy. Though he disliked separating family in a time of emergency, he would also not forgive himself for leaving the teen alone without protection.

  “Sure, kid,” Sam agreed. “Sooner the better, though. Write your note, grab some stuff and we’ll hit the road, okay?”

  Austin’s eyes filled with relief and something that had been absent from them since Sam had first seen them from the cracked door: hope. He didn’t believe his parents were coming back, that’s what his expression told Sam. And he supposed with how willing he was to take the teen along, Sam really didn’t believe it either. It was a sobering thought, but it was not something Sam was going to dwell on.

  “Come on, kid,” Sam said as he stood. “I’ll help you pack.”

  Chapter Six

  As the survivalist he fancied himself to be, Sam’s home was already well-stocked with provisions and equipment; he just needed to get back there. With this in mind, he indeed helped Austin pack, and the items he included were minimal. Two changes of clothes, the rest of the contents of his mother’s first aid kit, simple things like a toothbrush, other sanitary supplies including deodorant and a very few miscellaneous items Austin packed for himself without Sam’s direction or input.

  The last thing Sam saw Austin grab was a framed photo from the wall, a picture of his family together. Sam didn’t debate the necessity for Austin taking it, nor did he say anything about the photo at all. Austin didn’t say anything about it, either, merely slipped it into the bag he had previously used for school supplies along with all the other things he planned to take with him.

  “Car keys?” Sam questioned after they had everything prepared to leave.

  “They’re on a rack by the garage door,” Austin answered. “Or at least they should be. Mom’s bad about putting things where they go.”

  The comment made Sam think about his own wife. Laura was the opposite in that respect. It seemed she knew where everything you needed to know was, even if she didn’t see where you put it. Organized was putting it lightly for Laura.

  He wanted to get back to her, and to their kids. Every thought that concerned them made the desire stronger.

  The keys were on the rack as they should be. Austin made sure to leave his note in a prominent place on the kitchen table, though Sam got a good sense of how futile the boy thought the measure was.

  “You put my address on there,” Sam reminded the boy as a way of reassuring him as they entered the garage. “Best case scenario is we never have to leave my place until all of this blows over and they’ll meet us there in a couple of days. A week at most.”

  Austin nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond to Sam’s attempt at reassurance. His lost little boy expression softened Sam’s heart toward him even further.

  “Well, hop in,” Sam said as he clicked the automatic lock button to unlock the doors. “It’s not far to my place but I’m definitely glad I don’t have to walk it.”

  Austin put his pack in the backseat and silently buckled himself into the front passenger. The look he gave the garage as Sam opened the door with the automatic opener was so morose and full of loss that Sam couldn’t focus on the kid without beginning to feel desolate and hopeless himself.

  In that moment, Sam began to understand the new darkness in a way he hadn’t before. It was not a simple lack of light, it was lack of hope. Not the dark of a quiet night, but the shadows that filled a widower’s empty room at midnight. It was the darkness of not only losing, but also of forgetting good things altogether. The thoughts were frightening to Sam, and he shivered because of them as he put the car in gear and backed out of the garage.

  Sam backed the silver Aveo out from the garage and was grateful his large black truck with its extended cab and four wheel drive was waiting for him at home. Driving through whatever sort of catastrophe was happening in the tiny Aveo didn’t seem
merely unsafe, but completely emasculating, as well.

  Out of innate courtesy, Sam pushed the button to close the garage door of Austin’s family’s home. The falling of the door seemed to seal the home in a forgotten dimension, one Sam and Austin would never be able to return to.

  Hoping the boy didn’t feel that same bleak sense of loss and abandonment, Sam checked the street before he reversed into it. Clear, as he knew it would be. The Aveo slid smoothly into the street and they drove away.

  Less than three minutes into the drive, when Sam was now hoping they wouldn’t see anyone else and would therefore be allowed to proceed to his home without incident, Sam encountered the second living person of the day. To Sam’s discomfort, this one seemed in much worse condition.

  With a deepening sense of disquiet weaving itself around him, Sam slowed the Aveo and rolled down his window as the panic-stricken young woman approached the vehicle. She was carrying a small, soft-looking blanket that from the dry tip she clenched in a death grip used to be predominantly the color of butter. The rest seemed to have been dipped in brick-red paint that had dried to a tacky stiffness.

  “I-I-I…” the young woman stammered as she stopped beside the car.

  Sam took a quick inventory of her; her pale blue eyes were wide with and probably paler than their normal hue, her blond hair was disheveled, her bed clothes were wrinkled and had obviously been worn the night before. She moved jerkily and couldn’t seem to form her words into sentences. Sam recognized the symptoms of deep shock, and spoke soothingly as he checked his mirrors now and again to see if anyone was coming up behind them.

  “Calm down there, sweetheart,” Sam said. “What’s wrong? Do you need help with something?”

  “I-I…” the woman stuttered again and this time her mouth hung open after she spoke. She stared glassily through Sam, clutching that little blanket. The thing was disturbing the hell out of him.

  “Is there someone around who needs help?” Sam tried. “A family member or a child?” He hesitated to say the last, fearing the worst for the owner of that blanket.

  The young woman’s eyes cleared marginally and her gaze locked on Sam, seeing him for the first time. She whispered, “My baby…” and then quickly sank back into her state of shock.

  Sam wanted to curse. He wanted to roll up the window and drive away. He wanted to know his family was safe and, because he already felt a strong pull of attachment and responsibility for the boy, he wanted Austin safe, as well. However, responsibility was not something Sam Walker was in short supply of, and it was this that made him slide the Aveo into the driveway the woman had walked out of.

  She followed them out of the street in a daze. Sam hadn’t known for sure if she would but he was glad she wasn’t standing there waiting to get hit. Of course, there was still not a soul to be seen on the road no matter which way Sam looked.

  Rolling up the window so he couldn’t be heard, Sam spoke softly to Austin before getting out of the car.

  “Can you drive?” he first asked the teen without preamble and Austin responded, “a little.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “Good. You know my address. If I’m not out of this house in fifteen minutes, you take this car and you drive to my place. My wife’s name is Laura, my son’s name is Trevor and my daughter is Melissa. Laura, Trevor, Melissa. Knock on the front door and ask for them by name and they’ll know they can let you in. It’ll do you no good to sit here waiting for me if something happens to me, kid. Just take the car and go.”

  “You think something’s wrong in that house,” Austin said in a tone Sam would have applied to a faux psychic trying to spook gullible clients.

  “I know something is,” Sam admitted before he even knew what he was going to say. Apparently, the unease wasn’t felt by the boy alone. “But I have to go in, anyway. It’s my job to help people and someone’s hurt in there. But I won’t risk you to do my job. Fifteen minutes, then you cut and run.”

  “I got that,” Austin said, and he sounded like he was trying to convince Sam of some deeper, more important thing. “My dad’s a cop, you know. I know all about doing your job to help people. A nurse and a cop. I know all about it.”

  The admission indeed gave Sam a deeper perspective into the boy’s life, his sense of morality and his family. His parents were helpers; they were like Sam. No wonder Austin reminded Sam so damn much of his own boy. The same sense of purpose and ethics had been instilled into them both just by being around the parents who had raised them.

  “I know that you’re a good kid,” Sam told Austin, rousing a tired smile from the teen. “Fifteen minutes,” he reminded as he pointed to the clock and then stepped out of the vehicle.

  The young woman was standing next to the car, staring blankly at the home Sam assumed was hers. She still tightly gripped the bitty blanket and Sam wanted to tear it from her hand. Instead, he rubbed her arms briskly, trying to bring her focus back to the present time and current location.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? What happened in there that makes you not want to go back in?”

  She didn’t answer at first, and Sam continued rubbing the frigid skin of her upper arms. He could feel the chill through her thin night clothes and disliked it. Being in shock was as hard on a body as it was healthy-for the short term, at least-on the mind.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Sam insisted gently. “I want to help, but I want to know what I’m walking into, as well. Do you understand, honey?”

  “My baby,” the young woman whispered again, and Sam judged her age by her voice to be barely under twenty. She seemed even younger than that, but trauma probably played its part in causing that impression.

  Tears sprang to those pale blue eyes and slipped down her porcelain cheeks. She looked like a pretty doll, full of emotion but void of life.

  “What happened to your baby, sweetheart?” Sam pressed as he continued to rub her chilled skin.

  “My baby…can you help my baby?”

  She locked eyes with Sam, fixing him with a desperate stare that held more of her than her previous expressions had.

  “Can you help my baby?”

  Sam sighed and gave a quick nod. “Is there anyone else in the house?” he asked, because he was trained to and a habit like that had a way of sticking.

  Before the young woman had finished saying, “my baby,” again, Sam was moving toward the cracked front door. A wellspring of information the traumatized young mother was not, and Sam felt he’d wasted enough time trying to get anything useful out of her.

  “Where’s the baby’s room, sweetheart?” Sam asked as they entered the unnatural stillness of the house.

  “The…” Trailing off, the young woman merely pointed in a direction and Sam moved the way her finger was aimed.

  He passed a kitchen on his right; a closed door he assumed was a pantry or bathroom on his left. In the back was a laundry room, and attached to this was a hallway that branched to the left. Down this hallway, Sam passed an open door-empty bathroom, he saw-and then approached the last door to his left. This one was closed, and Sam assumed it was the young woman’s bedroom.

  On the quick trek through the house, Sam had gotten the feel of a much older presence, and figured the young woman was a single mother living with her parents. Multiple pairs of shoes by the front door, a man’s jacket draped on one of the kitchen chairs, family pictures on the walls and several other small indicators had brought Sam to his conclusion. It made him wonder where the young woman’s parents were.

  The door was closed, and Sam hesitated before opening it. The young woman gasped quietly when he put his hand out to touch the knob, and made a sound of pain low in her throat when he turned it. Neither reaction helped to lower Sam’s sense of unease.

  When Sam eased the door open, it didn’t cast any revealing light on the interior of the room. The hallway was dark, having no windows and no lights on, and the inside of the ro
om was cloaked in shadows thanks to black out curtains. Without the lights on inside the bedroom, it was like stepping into the mouth of a cave and not knowing if the first few feet would drop you into some bottomless pit or underground lake.

  Sam fumbled a hand to his right, seeking a light switch. He met the smooth surface of bare wall at first, and then moved his hand lower until he found the switch. He flicked it up, and the room revealed itself, though it seemed hesitant to do so to Sam. The light was weak, not one of the newer ones that burned more brightly for longer, but the older, yellow-hued variety that never fully chased away the night.

  The room was very obviously a girl’s room, but seemed suited to a female much younger than the one standing behind him. Posters littered the walls in lieu of papering, makeup was scattered over the surface of an old, abused dressed and on the floor, the blankets and sheets on the bed were a screaming mess of pink leopard print and bright neon green tiger stripes. It looked like the domain of a rebellious teen trying to convince herself and everyone else that her identity was the wild child.

  Shoved into the back corner, almost as though it was trying to be forgotten, a mini-crib was set up. The colors of the crib set were androgynous, pale greens and yellows. A hanging mobile allowed butter yellow suns and pale blue moons with faces to smile down on the infant within. On a smaller dresser than the one Sam assumed was the young woman’s, there were tiny diapers and a compact changing station. The soft yellow color did not give a nod to gender either way, and as Sam approached the crib, he still didn’t know whether to expect the woman’s son or daughter to be looking up at him from it.

  Sam moved in a way he thought was reserved for bad actors in cheesy horror films. His breath felt caught in his throat, and he was sure each step took him half a minute. He had his hands half-raised, as though to ward away blows from some invisible enemy.

  “You can hear them,” the young woman said in a confessionary tone as Sam continued his snail-crawl pace approach toward the crib. “If you listen, they’ll speak to you, and they’ll tell you what you want to know. They’ll tell you secrets. Secrets about people, secrets about you.”