Out of the Dark: An apocalyptic thriller

by Ashlei Hawley

  When he came upon Austin and Trevor, Sam knew immediately that something had transpired between the two of them. Austin was paler than he’d yet been, and that was something hadn’t believed possible. The older boy was on his knees in front of Sam’s son, clutching his arm and staring in a horrified way at Trevor. There was blood.

  “Damn it,” Sam snapped as he bolted the last couple of steps to close the distance between them and him.

  Sam grabbed Trevor’s hand as he tried to simultaneously gauge the extent of Austin’s injury. As his son’s eyes cleared, Sam looked him over for whatever Trevor had used to hurt Austin and found nothing; no knife, no glass, nothing.

  “Was it claws-like the teeth? One of those phantom things like what happened between us?” Sam asked of Austin, but he boy was muted in fear.

  “Austin!” Sam nearly shouted. “Austin, answer me. Is it one of those things in him that hurt you?”

  “Dad, what’s wrong,” Trevor cut in. His voice was strained with bewilderment, fear and disgust. He’d never liked blood. “Dad, what happened? Did I do that?”

  “Trev, calm down. Calm down, bud. I have to figure this out and I can’t if you panic, too, okay? Just be brave for me right now. That’s it.”

  With his father’s gentle insistence, Trevor stopped trying to pull away from him, but still stared with fierce determination away from Austin. Sam was all right with Trevor’s avoidance, but he couldn’t have him running away.

  Kneeling between them, keeping one hand on his son, Sam reached out the other to touch Austin. The teen jumped back, visibly startled, and clutched his arm tighter against his chest. The shirt was going to stain with all the blood soaking it.

  “Austin, please, I’m trying and I’ll keep trying to keep you safe but I need to know what happened if I’m going to help. Tell me what happened, kiddo. Please.”

  It might have been the pleading that got him, or it was Trevor’s stanch resolve to stare guiltily away from the injured teen, but Austin finally was able to compose himself enough to respond to Sam.

  “Worse,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse with terror. “It’s w-worse than all that, Sam. The things inside us, t-they’re nothing compared to that. God, I want to go home.” He said the last on a whimper as he crumpled himself around his injured arm and began to weep.

  Nothing in the exchange had given Sam insight into what Trevor had done. Though he was frustrated, he didn’t take it out on either of the boys. Instead, he kept his hand securely on his son as he drew Austin close to him and held him against the promising strength of his chest. It was all paternal instinct could advise him to do.

  “Tie him to your back or something, Sam,” Austin advised in a trembling voice. “Just keep him touching you somehow. What’s inside him can’t be allowed to do what it wants. Please.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Sam promised.

  Judging by his expression, Austin either didn’t or couldn’t trust Sam’s words. He nodded, anyway.

  When Sam pulled away, he said to the teen, “Let Laura look at your arm. She’s not a nurse, but she is damn good at taking care of injuries.”

  “It doesn’t need stitches,” Austin said, and his voice was slightly less shaken. “It needs to be cleaned and bandaged, that’s all. First aid cream would help.”

  “We have it all,” Sam assured him. “Laura had her own say in what we stocked up on and first aid was a very big thing for her. Go talk to her about it.”

  Anxious to be away, Austin nodded again and stood. He moved back toward the kitchen as Sam addressed his son.

  Trevor was crying silently, as he sometimes did when he knew he was in ‘the big trouble,’ as he had addressed it since about the time he’d turned three years old. Sam scrubbed the silent tears away from his son’s face with his free hand and couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. They were all in the big trouble here.

  “I don’t know what to do yet, little man,” he admitted softly to Trevor. “But you have to stay strong for me. Can you believe in me for a little while longer, until I figure this out?”

  Trevor, a quiet kid as it was, had been nearly mute since Sam had returned. When he spoke, he sounded so young it hurt Sam’s heart a little.

  “I don’t want the dark to come back, Dad,” he whispered as he drew nearer to Sam and pressed his face against his father’s neck. “I don’t want it to come back ever.”

  “Night’s gotta come, bud,” Sam said. “But I’m here now. We’ll get through it together. I promise.”

  Trevor hugged him, and Sam felt tremors surging through his small frame. He hugged the boy back, hoping like hell that promise wouldn’t be the biggest lie he’d ever told his firstborn.

  Sam and Trevor, hand in hand, went to check on Laura, Melissa and Austin. Laura had patched up Austin’s arm, and though he lost some color when Trevor entered the room, Austin helped as much as any of them in the tasks of loading up the cars, bringing in extra wood for the wood-burning stove and barricading the doors.

  The afternoon had come by the time every task Sam had hoped to accomplish was finished. He sat at the dining room table, holding Trevor’s hand as they all ate a simple lunch of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup with crackers and crisp dill pickles. It was a lunchtime favorite around the Walker home, but none of the people at the table ate with any real gusto. They conversed quietly, but not with any real enthusiasm for the commonplace activity.

  As Laura began to clear the dishes, Sam heard a noise. He stopped her with a quick snapping of his fingers and hushed the rest of them with gestures and looks. They all stared fearfully at him as he looked up to the ceiling.

  There was something in the attic.

  Chapter Nine

  The Red Hot Chili Peppers poured pleasingly from the car speakers, at a low enough volume so Amy could still talk with Ray. She wished he could come up to the front seat, but the passenger door wasn’t reliable enough after the accident.

  “So I guess I’d say out of all of them, original Dracula has to be my favorite movie,” Ray was saying. “Amazing love story and amazing acting even from some underwhelming talent. I can watch it over and over again and never be bored with it. It’s a true classic in every sense.”

  “I can definitely agree on all levels. I’m a Dracula fan, too,” Amy commented, and the conversation felt very automatic.

  “This isn’t helping, is it?” Ray asked quietly. So quietly, in fact, that Amy almost didn’t hear him over the crooning music.

  “Sorry, Ray,” Amy said, and she meant it. “You know I’ve always liked our conversations. It’s just…all I can think about is how you’re going to be leaving me when night comes.”

  “A little bit before, actually,” Ray said, and he was quieter still. Amy turned the radio down so the conversation didn’t stall. “I can’t be anywhere near you when the dark comes, Amy. The thing inside me, it came with the dark and it’s stronger in it. I’ll be a threat to you, I know it.”

  “Right,” Amy said. This was the conversation they kept coming back to. Amy didn’t know how to keep her focus away from the fact that Ray would be abandoning her. For reasons noble or otherwise, he was going to leave.

  The first forty-five minutes of the drive had been relatively clear, though Ray and Amy had predicted the exact opposite. Apparently, all of the chaos had been where the people were, and after ten the night before, not many of them had been on the roads. That was not to say the freeway was absolutely free of signs of trouble; several wrecks had occurred and twice Amy had been forced onto the median to avoid still smoking pile-ups. It was mostly unobstructed, though, and Amy was incredibly grateful. She was thinking that if they reached Sam and Laura’s before afternoon even hit, Ray could be convinced by them to stay.

  “The road is going to be blocked eventually, Amy,” Ray said as though he’d heard her thoughts, and he forced his voice louder so she could hear him with ease. “Even if accidents haven’t done it, something will make sure your way isn’t
clear.”

  That made Amy uncomfortable.

  “They can’t know I’m coming, Ray,” she chided, though she wasn’t even sure of herself as she said it.

  “They don’t need to,” Ray said back, and his voice was sharper. “Only one needs to, and if one near enough knows, you’re in trouble. The one that wants you will know enough about you to try to stop you.”

  “That’s cryptic and creepy and I don’t appreciate it,” Amy muttered as she navigated a wreckage-strewn curve of highway.

  Though she was only going about thirty-five miles per hour, Amy knew something bad had happened the second she hit the twisted piece of metal she hadn’t seen because she’d been so focused on not hitting the car stopped halfway into her lane. The front passenger tire was pierced, and Amy had a moment to think what horrible luck that side of the car had before she was forced by the pulling of car to stop.

  “We have a flat and the bitchy part of me almost wants to say it’s your fault,” Amy declared with a sigh as she shoved the gearshift into park.

  The final stretch of the drive would have taken probably another twenty minutes to an hour, depending on Amy’s speed, which she had kept relatively low so far, and how clear the roads were. Now, if they didn’t find another car, Amy would be walking for a few hours before she reached her cousin’s home.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there was no spare in the trunk,” Ray said reluctantly. “Let’s look through these supplies and see if there’s anything light and important enough to add to your pack and then get walking.”

  “A tire iron but no tire,” Amy said. “That’s being prepared.” Her sarcasm made her voice uglier than intended and she didn’t like it. She sighed.

  “Don’t feel bad about being upset,” Ray advised. “This is a tough situation. Everything seems to be going wrong. If you try to keep everything from affecting you, it’ll all hit at once and you’ll end up a useless mess. You can’t afford that.”

  Searching through the bags beside him, Ray produced two long-handled lighters, a couple of flashlights with a closed pack of extra batteries, a heavy black pocket knife and two bottles of pills, Penicillin and prescription-strength Motrin. He thought both would be useful to have on hand. He also took all the small pill packs from the first aid kit, along with all the burn cream, antiseptic cream, alcohol wipes and bandages. The way Ray figured, one could never have too much of any of those things.

  Amy was hesitant to add much more to her pack, but the added supplies didn’t affect the weight too adversely and Ray offered to carry it while they were walking, anyway. She was grateful, both for his concern and his company, and the more she thought about the necessity of parting ways with him, the more she just wanted to sit down and cry. She didn’t know if her unusually strong reaction was just a product of the situation, or if the so-called psychic effect the Onset of this calamity had produced was warning her that to be parted from Ray would be a very bad thing.

  “Ray, what if you aren’t supposed to leave me?” Amy asked, getting her curiosity out in the open as they began to walk along the freeway.

  “What do you mean?” he responded with a question of his own.

  “Well, I get a sick feeling in my stomach whenever I think about it,” Amy explained as she gripped the shoulder strap of her pack. “What if that pseudo-psychic ability you hypothesized was a product of the phenomena is letting me know that it’ll be even more dangerous for me with you gone?”

  Ray frowned for a moment, considering.

  “Well, I guess it would make sense if it coincided with what I’m feeling,” he said slowly. “But I know for a fact that I can’t be around you come dark. You just feel uncomfortable with me leaving. I know if I don’t leave, it will lead to you getting hurt or worse. I think that’s the difference.”

  “Oh,” Amy said, and she sounded defeated. “Well, it was a hope.”

  “Maybe I’ll find you again,” Ray offered as he gave a car that had flipped and spilled its unlucky passenger onto the bloody, metal-strewn asphalt a wide berth. He grimaced and tried not to look too hard at the vivisected woman.

  “And maybe we’ll never see each other again,” Amy countered glumly. Already having made a practice of staring at her feet, Amy barely even noticed the luckless automobile driver as she and Ray moved beyond her wrecked vehicle.

  “Hey, don’t be negative,” Ray said encouragingly. “You have to keep your chin up. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but a lot depends on you.”

  “I don’t even like being the person you depend on to get notes when you miss a class,” Amy bemoaned. Ray chuckled.

  “You’re just going to have to be a big girl about it, Miss Amy. You’re important to this in some way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be going through this hassle to help get you back to your family.”

  Thinking of them, Amy said, “Ray?” to which he responded with a murmured noise of interested. She continued in a small voice, “I hope our families are all right.”

  “Me, too,” he agreed earnestly.

  “When was the last time you talked to them?”

  “About a week ago.” He shrugged. “I’ve been busy, I guess. Shit excuse, but there it is.”

  “Do you think you’ll try to get to them?” Amy questioned. “I mean, after we part ways.”

  “I think I might. They aren’t that far from your cousin. I’m really worried about my little brother.”

  “I’m worried about my parents,” Amy empathized. “I don’t know what my mom’s going to do when the power goes out. She’s technology and electricity addicted. She’s probably already insane without her social media and silly games.”

  “I doubt she’s worrying too much about them now,” Ray said, and the statement had a more ominous undertone than he’d intended.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Amy agreed, and she sounded more depressed than ever. She said a silent prayer for her parents and kept walking.

  Ray felt bad about making Amy think more negatively about her parents’ situation. He hadn’t meant to imply that they were dead or taken.

  “Maybe they’re both immune, like you,” Ray suggested, finding the silence uncomfortable the fuller it became with his guilt.

  “It’s not an illness, Ray,” Amy said, and her words were both a chastisement and a decree of defeat. “Whoever isn’t affected, it isn’t because of blood type or genetics. It’s as random as the lottery.”

  “Lottery’s rigged,” Ray commented, and that made Amy smile, at least.

  “You’re probably right. I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

  “Not much does,” Ray agreed.

  Checking exit signs, Ray deduced if they kept up a good pace, they had a fair chance of making it to Sam and Laura’s house sometime in the late afternoon. That was if nothing hindered their progress, which Ray still definitely believed would happen. It was no secret to Amy that Ray anticipated she would have to spend at least one dangerous night on her own, and was trying to come up with a plan to help Amy protect herself when that happened.

  One of the exit signs, which advertised several fast food places and two sit down restaurants made Ray aware that he hadn’t eaten anything since the day before. He was starving.

  “Have you eaten yet today?” he asked Amy, who shook her head. “Me, neither.” He frowned. “Do you think we could stop at one of those restaurants? If the power is still on, we could make some hot lunch. Get out of the cold for a little while.”

  “What if people were in there when everything happened?” Amy questioned. “Wouldn’t there be a chance they’d be…messed up? Like the people at the college?”

  Ray frowned harder. “Good point,” he said.

  “I have some jerky and trail mix,” Amy offered, bringing her bag around and opening it. She produced two plastic bags, one filled with nuts, raisins, and colored candy pieces and the other with smoked, peppered jerky.

  “Smart move,” Ray complimented her as he took the jerky from Amy’s hand. She
opened the trail mix and munched half-heartedly as they continued to walk.

  Ray bit into the jerky and a thought that was not his own invaded his mind. Fresh meat was better. Blood and tearing and warm red death. Before he could even swallow the first bite, the visceral imagery playing in his mind caused him such distress that he vomited. With the slightly chewed jerky came thin, yellow bile. Ray found he was no longer very hungry.

  “Ray!” Amy exclaimed worriedly as she put a hand on his back, having stopped walking when he started throwing up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “I guess eating isn’t such a good idea right now,” Ray said as he wiped his mouth. He wasn’t willing to tell Amy what the thing inside him had shown him, or how much it longed for Amy’s flesh to eat instead of dry, smoked jerky. That wouldn’t help the situation in any way. Besides that, it had scared the shit out of him. “Let’s keep going, okay?”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Amy asked, keeping both of her hands on his arm to steady him as he straightened back up. Her voice and eyes were both full of deep concern.

  “I’m good,” Ray assured her. “Let’s go.”

  They continued along the freeway, occasionally seeing evidence of what had transpired during the night. Several times, they saw crashed cars, their drivability destroyed by blown tires, crumpled frames or caved-in roofs. Others were flipped or wedged in areas impossible to remove them from without hours of effort.

  Though Ray always wanted to check them for supplies, Amy was too sick at heart for the missing or dead occupants to want to venture too near.

  “Sam will have plenty of supplies,” Amy declared finally. “All we have to do is get there.”

  Thirty minutes into the freeway walk, Ray stopped Amy with a hand on her arm. There was an overpass up ahead. What took seconds in a car would take at least a minute, even if they ran. There were shadowy pockets where an enemy waiting to ambush unwary travelers could lay in wait. It was like a fairy tale about trolls, Ray thought, and he and Amy were the would-be victims.

  “Ray, there’s no one there,” Amy told him, noting the reason for his hesitation to continue.