The Dark Trilogy 02 - Into the Dark

by Patrick D'orazio

  Jeff nodded wordlessly, afraid his voice might crack. Ray was fading, but might have a couple of hours left. The last thing the boy needed to hear was the fear in his voice. When the teen smiled, Jeff tried returning it, but was grateful when Teddy ran up. Ray’s eyes moved to his friend, and his smile widened as they clasped hands.

  “We need to get you up and into the RV,” Teddy said to Ray, and Jeff turned away, relieved. Taking a steadying breath, he moved next to Megan and the kids, another false smile painted on his face.

  Joey, the sandy-haired boy, was trying to look brave as Megan whispered to them. Nathan, whose flaming red hair stood out like a beacon, mimicked the older boy and did his best to stand tall. They remained close to Sadie, whose bright eyes were glued to Megan as the little girl clung to a ratty baby doll.

  As he got close, Jeff could hear Megan’s words. “So head on over to Michael’s trailer, okay? We’re going to take a little trip. Isn’t that exciting?” She looked at them, her eyes glistening. When Sadie nodded shyly, Megan ruffled her fine, silky hair. “That’s a good girl.”

  Megan looked at the boys. “Take Sadie inside the RV and get in the back. Just ignore the noise outside the camp; everyone will be in there with you in a minute. Now go!” She shooed them away. Each boy grabbed one of Sadie’s hands, and they ran to the RV. As the children entered the RV, the two adults watched it vibrate from the pounding it was getting from the opposite side. Jeff slipped a comforting arm around Megan’s shoulder.

  He looked around the camp. George and Jason had gathered the small amount of supplies from their RV and were back in the courtyard. Frank and Ben had already lugged several large duffel bags full of gear out of their trailers and dumped them in Michael’s. It looked like everyone was about ready to go.

  Jeff groaned when he saw Michael and Cindy speaking heatedly near the fire pit. Whatever the argument was about, it seemed to be coming to a close as Michael turned from his girlfriend and whistled to gain everyone’s attention.

  Jeff nudged Megan. “Our fearless leader speaks.” She snorted in derision. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned towards Michael.

  “It’s time to go. Time to say farewell to this place.” Michael shook his head and looked at the ground, his eyes filled with frustration once again.

  “There’s just one more thing that needs to be done before we leave.”

  Everyone stood waiting. Jeff could feel the tension in the air; they were all anxious to get moving and were growing tired of Michael’s little speeches. Jeff glanced at Teddy and noticed the boy had managed to get Ray up off the table. They leaned against it, watching their leader like everyone else.

  Michael took the M16 off his back and pointed it at the ground. “This place has meant a lot to us. We fought hard to get here, and it was my hope that we would be able to stay a while longer.” He looked up and smiled. “But it wasn’t meant to be. So now we leave, and hopefully we can make a fresh start somewhere else.” He raised the rifle up. “But first, we need to say goodbye to old friends who lost their lives helping us get this far.”

  He turned to face Ray and took aim.

  “Goodbye, Ray.”

  Chapter 22

  The bullet plowed through Ray’s right eye, blowing shards of his glasses along with globs of brain fragments all over the table on which he had just been lying. The noise exploded around the compound and was swiftly followed by screams and howls of shock.

  Teddy stared at his friend as he slipped from his arms and slumped, lifeless, to the ground. Jeff gaped at the corpse and then at the other boy, who could only stare down at Ray’s body, a blank expression on his face.

  The smell of cordite and shit permeated the air as Lydia ran over to Teddy, who was now kneeling down trying to speak to Ray. She glanced at Michael for a split second, a look of absolute horror and revulsion on her face.

  Michael spun, the rifle pointing at Ben. Jeff had seen a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, and apparently so had Michael. Ben froze, but the homicidal intent was still in his eyes. Michael held the rifle steady as he glared at everyone. Megan, who was one of the people who had been screaming, shoved her face into Jeff’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her, stunned.

  The only sound inside the camp now was of Teddy screaming as Lydia fought to wrestle him away from Ray’s body.

  “It’s time to move on, people! Ray was dead already,” Michael shouted. “We couldn’t take him with us, and you know it. Remember the rules! Once bitten, you’re already dead. There is no going back, no cure, no hope, and no prayers that can change things.” He looked at them with contempt. “Did you really think we could take him with us?” He spat on the ground. “WE CANNOT AFFORD TO BE WEAK, PEOPLE! If you plan on surviving much longer, you better accept that right fucking now.”

  His eyes burned into them. Teddy was still clutching at Ray, and Lydia had given up trying to pry him away. Instead, she leaned over him and whispered in his ear, rubbing his back.

  “Everyone, move out!” Michael waved the rifle and motioned the survivors toward the RV. No one moved at first, and he hissed in frustration.

  He went to Frank, who looked afraid of the other man. “Get them all aboard. Do it. Now.” He glared at his underling until Frank bobbed his head and walked away. The rotund hick looked relieved, as if he had barely escaped becoming Michael’s next victim. He waved everyone into the RV. They dragged their feet, a fatalistic look in their eyes.

  As Jeff moved toward the RV, his eyes stayed locked on Michael, who was holding Cindy by the arm and giving her a command. She appeared to be the only person besides the leader who wasn’t upset by what had happened. Jeff was not surprised. He watched her bob her head and run toward Ben’s RV. Michael turned back to the others after she left. He kept waving the rifle, urging everyone to move at a faster clip.

  Ben had regained his composure and moved over to Lydia and Teddy. He knelt over them and spoke to Teddy. The boy shook his head violently. Ben spoke again, and the boy’s thin chest hitched a couple of times before he finally nodded. Ben helped him up, and the three of them moved toward Michael’s Winnebago.

  A few moments later, several heads turned at the sound of Ben’s RV starting up. They had been on top of it only minutes before, and now it was rocking violently, the infected excited by the sound of the engine roaring to life. With the increase in volume, all hesitation disappeared. Everyone, including Michael, moved rapidly toward the door of his trailer. Cindy was right behind, running across the courtyard.

  Fear clung to everyone as they climbed aboard and moved to the back of the luxury cruiser. Cindy and Frank remained up front with Michael, each of them clinging to the remains of their small arsenal. When everyone was on board and settled, Michael shut the door and faced his crew.

  No one spoke, but the trailer was noisy as fists and other body parts smashed into the outer wall. The windows were still intact, and the shades were pulled. None of the survivors was interested in moving them to snatch a quick look outside. There was a large piece of cardboard covering the front windshield as well, making the trailer seem cold and dark once the door was shut.

  “We’ll wait a bit before we take off.” Michael’s words were a whisper. “Maybe some more of them will move toward Ben’s RV since its engine’s on.”

  The hailstorm of fists did slow, and the sounds of moaning dissipated after a few minutes. Frank had his ear to the passenger window, and when he moved away, he gave Michael a halfhearted shrug. That seemed to be good enough, as Michael reached down and slid his key into the ignition. He nodded at Cindy, and she tore away the cardboard on the windshield.

  Michael turned the key, and the diesel engine spit and growled. All that could be seen through the windshield was the back of Lydia’s RV. The right edge of its bumper was touching the right edge of Michael’s. To the left was their path to freedom along with a crowd of unsuspecting stiffs making their way toward Ben’s RV. Michael spun the wheel and flipped the gearshift into
reverse. The Winnebago was equipped with a rearview monitor, and he stared at it as he carefully backed away from Frank and Marcus’s RV, which was situated behind them. Several thuds indicated that a few of the ghouls had shifted direction and were coming back. Michael pressed down on the gas, feeding the vehicle more and more until the tires elevated, climbing out of their ruts. The protesting screech as the side of the RV grazed Frank’s trailer made everyone cringe. After easing back until they were clear, Michael twisted the wheel again and flipped the big machine into drive.

  He stared ahead at the world beyond the windshield. They were driving into hell, and everyone in the RV knew it.

  Michael slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and they rumbled forward, directly into a crowd of rotting bodies waiting for them with outstretched, welcoming arms.

  DARK

  STORIES

  I’m pleased you’ve stayed with my story thus far. Just one more book to go before this tale is complete.

  Thank you for reading the second installment in my trilogy. My guess is that you read the first book before picking up Into the Dark, so you already have an idea of why this section is entitled Dark Stories. For those of you don’t know, this is the depository of flashbacks and background tales of virtually every character besides Jeff Blaine. In Comes the Dark, I detailed Megan, George, and Jason’s stories… I even shed some light on a couple of tertiary characters as well. Here I focus on the characters introduced here, in Into the Dark, which includes Michael, Cindy, Frank, Ray, Teddy, and Ben.

  Originally, I had wanted these background tales included within the story told in each book. My hope was that they provided the audience with a thorough understanding of who these characters were and why they acted the way they did. Alas, it became quite clear after having friends and fellow writers review the first version I had written that these winding stories distracted from Jeff’s saga. It slowed down the action, even though these extra tales helped explained why folks like Michael, Cindy, and Ben act the way they do. While I acknowledged the need to keep the main storyline moving at a fast clip, I felt these tales had merit, and they needed to be shared. So when my trilogy was first published, I created a fourth book entitled Dark Stories that was added to the e-book version release of the trilogy. But now, with this version of the saga, each tale is back where it belongs, within the pages of the individual books.

  So here are a few more of them, just like at the end of Comes the Dark. I hope that knowing these characters in greater depth adds to your enjoyment of this book, but I will warn you that what appears beyond this point may change your perception of them, for better or for worse. So read on at your own discretion… and don’t say I didn’t warn you!

  Patrick D’Orazio

  Michael, Frank, and Cindy

  These initial ruminations of Michael’s take place shortly after the arrival of Jeff and his crew at the RVs. I know that a lot of who Michael is remains hidden throughout the second book in the trilogy. What appears below will likely shed a bit of light on why he acts the way he does and what drives him to be a leader.

  He knew being with her was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everything up to this point in his life had been regimented and controlled, structured to allow for the greatest amount of success. Even when civilization crumbled, he had adapted and maintained control over the situation. Now he was the leader of a small, but growing tribe of people. The bloody lines on the map he looked at every day spoke of his triumphs: where he had come from (where they all had come from) and where they were heading. They would continue heading east, away from large population centers, and find even more people to join them. His power would grow as more people relied on him and trusted his leadership. It was all working out as planned.

  But all those visions, all those dreams, had been disrupted. He still wanted the power, but there were other, darker things crossing his mind these days. They hadn’t been there before. They had been planted there recently.

  Perhaps that was an excuse. Maybe they had always been there, and it took the right—or more accurately, the wrong—person to trudge them up. So maybe if that person was out of the picture, maybe all those dark, hideous desires inside his head would disappear along with her.

  Either way, he was sure that Cindy had to go.

  * * *

  Michael had been groomed for greatness by his parents from early on in life. Private boarding schools, Princeton, and then Michigan for his MBA. Business first, then politics. There had been a stint in a corporate training program for Proctor and Gamble. That was after they had wooed him and offered him the best compensation package amongst a slew of elite employers. There were several rapid promotions leading to the executive level. He was the youngest Vice President in the company and was expected to go much further with them, if he chose to stay. The plan was to build relationships with various lobbyists, business leaders, and politicians, working those connections to his advantage. His father was highly respected not only in Connecticut, where Michael had grown up, but had politicians in his back pocket from all across the country. Between his own burgeoning relationships and those of his father, Michael would be ready to run for office either in Connecticut or Ohio shortly after turning thirty. From there the sky was the limit.

  He was to marry first, of course. There had been a few respectable girls in Cincinnati he’d dated, but they were of the disposable variety. Most were young and attractive, but interspersed with them were a few women of more… experience, who had helped him along his career path at P&G and with his political desires. But he was from old money and the expectations were that he would marry old money. There just was not enough of it in Cincinnati for his or his father’s liking. So he had been shuttling back and forth between Cincinnati and New York on weekends for the past few months so he could court Ms. Penelope Warden. Her father was a business associate of Michael’s father. More importantly, Penelope’s family had political connections that ran up and down the east coast and it certainly didn’t hurt that as an only child, she was due to inherit substantial holdings in several Fortune 500 companies when dear old dad kicked the bucket.

  That was about the time when things went haywire and the blasted virus came into play. At first Michael reacted like everyone else, in a complete panic. His world came crashing down around him. His downtown Cincinnati condo was in jeopardy almost immediately and he found himself barricaded inside it as the city tore itself apart thirty stories below. He tried to contact his parents and younger brother, but they were out of the country, somewhere in the Mediterranean on the family yacht. When he couldn’t get a hold of anyone else back home or even any of the other P & G executives to see if he could snag a ride out of town on one of the corporate jets, he realized he was on his own. He didn’t bother trying to contact Penelope. Despite claims of undying love for him, she wasn’t going to be much help from over six hundred miles away. In a way, it was a relief. She was an insufferable bore and a hypochondriac that complained incessantly. Michael could tolerate a lot to achieve his objectives in life, but having her at his side during the apocalypse terrified him.

  As the world crumbled around him and he was certain his demise was eminent, Michael recalled something his father had said to him repeatedly as a young boy: “Life is what you make of it. When things go bad and you get knocked down, dust yourself off and get back up. You were born with my blood running through your veins and I’ve never been a quitter. So don’t bother with the excuses, because I’m not interested in them.”

  Thinking back on it those words, they seemed trite and unimaginative to Michael as an adult. But to a child of ten, they sounded far more impressive and scary. It really was not the words anyway—it was how his father had backed them up. He pushed Michael into every activity the private schools he’d attended had to offer. Every sport, every extracurricular activity. He was never allowed to quit or perform at a subpar or average level. He was expected to have stellar grades, leadership roles, and top notch girlfriends f
rom well-to-do families. Of course, nothing was ever good enough for dear old dad, and Michael spent much of his early life sniffing at his father’s feet for any sort of praise he could get.

  There was no sob story attached to his upbringing. Michael did not freak out, rebel, or ever climb onto a therapist’s couch. Sure, Dad had his mistresses and because of that, Mom was a functional alcoholic and pill popper, but none of that ever played out in public or really caused any uproar. It was simply par for the course for an upper crust family.

  Instead, he grew up knowing he was better and stronger than everyone else. If for no other reason, because of all the sweat he had to pour into all he did. His childhood had been hard, but he knew anything worth having in life was hard. His father’s philosophy had carried him this far and he knew it would carry him further still.

  The sense of helplessness he felt while watching the city burn evaporated once he concocted a plan. The fear left him, and things became clear. He grabbed the camouflage outfit he’d bought for some retreat he’d gone on with other executives at P&G. For three days Michael had played paintball, got drunk out in the woods, and howled at the moon. It had been an absolutely worthless experience, but at least he got some useful duds out of it. He also grabbed the rather large knife he’d bought out of a catalog after training with edged weapons in his martial arts classes. Tai Kwan Do had been studied more for keeping in shape than for self-defense, but now it appeared that he would have the chance to put that training and the knife to good use.

  For one last time he scanned his place; all the expensive decorating touches he had spent top dollar for. He glanced over at his wine collection and the few pieces of artwork he’d bought at auction. The accoutrements of wealth and success. It was all kindling for the bonfire that humanity was being tossed into now, nothing more.