The Dark Trilogy 02 - Into the Dark

by Patrick D'orazio

  It was rough at first. The factory had been a really bad idea, and not one that Ben had been in favor of, but he let that go because Michael had believed it would work. After they fled from that nightmare, it was easy to see that the volume of infected anywhere near the city was going to overwhelm them no matter where they hid. They needed to migrate further east, toward the countryside.

  Ben never made any unsolicited suggestions but the others, including Michael, were beginning to rely on him more and more for almost everything. The combination of his military training and the time he spent learning how to hunt and live off the land down at his cabin was invaluable to the group of city and suburban dwellers. He was the only one in the group not afraid to stalk the wilderness, to forge ahead and find the group new and safe places to go. The world at large was a fairly quiet place now, with no loud wrestling promoters or deceitful wives to mess with him, just the shadow people. They might not like him, but he always knew where he stood with them.

  So when Michael brought up the idea of getting an RV to just drive off in, Ben suggested they get several of them, and that they find a place where they could hide them away from the rest of the world. It would be better than hiding out in some building they had to fortify and barricade to the point where they could never leave. They could circle the RVs up to offer a walled-in fortress and then flee in them if need be. Michael was skeptical at first; at least until Ben assured him that he could find the perfect place for them to put the RVs that would give them a chance to live unmolested. And that is exactly what he did.

  It felt good to be appreciated. Ben knew he was being used, just like he had been in the Marines and as a wrestler, but this was different. Michael was, for all intents and purposes, his boss, but he didn’t push. The others? Well, they just needed him, and they appeared to be grateful that he was willing to do everything they were unwilling or incapable of doing for themselves. They didn’t beg or wheedle, but smiled and were friendly, despite the small amount of talking he was willing to do with them. Mostly, they were good people. Mostly.

  Amongst the adults, Lydia was his favorite. The sweet woman treated him with respect and appreciated everything he did. She didn’t have to thank him for everything, but she did—every chance she got.

  The little children she watched out for were angels. Especially Sadie, who Ben adored. Making them little wooden dolls and toy soldiers was one of the few pleasures he could provide them, and the fact that they were ecstatic with the results, despite how amateurish his efforts were, made him feel all the more protective over them.

  The two teenage boys were good kids and Ben liked them well enough. They left him alone for the most part and even when they moved into his RV, they understood that he needed his space.

  The new people were okay too, despite Michael and his two stooges’ instant dislike of Jeff. Ben was tempted to actually suggest that Jeff just go with the flow and not push Michael’s buttons so much, but why bother? It was clear that both of them were pigheaded, so nothing he said was likely to make much difference. Instead, it was easier to just sit back and watch what happened. Things would likely settle down within a few days between those two.

  At least that was what Ben thought before Michael’s screwed up expedition.

  Ben wasn’t afraid of the stiffs. Not on a physical level at least. He was careful to wear a thick coverall when he went out on his little forays, and for the most part the undead were weak and incapable of doing much to threaten him. What strength they had lied in their numbers and boundless determination to devour everyone in sight. He could accept that challenge. Even though he was not fearful of them, he was no fool. He never assumed anything with the shadow people. They were dangerous despite how pathetic they were.

  Taking them out had always been easy… at least after he got past the queasy feeling that came with his first execution, which had been one of his former neighbors. Ben still felt a vague sense of regret as he was eliminating the undead, but his priorities were always clear. He estimated he had “killed” several hundred ghouls, though he did his best not to keep track of the number. It was just a morbid statistic he had come to accept as a fact of this new life he found himself living.

  Ben respected Michael. The man had some good ideas, though perhaps he was weak on his execution of some of them and needed a bit of assistance now and then. He kept everyone organized and focused, and was a natural leader. Ben didn’t feel compelled to follow him, but it was clear that almost everyone still alive needed someone to take charge and assure them that it would all work out in the end. Michael was more than willing to do just that.

  Unfortunately, there were some annoying side effects that went along with having the young man as a leader. Michael seemed obsessed with testing those around him; testing their loyalty in particular. It was as if he believed he was destined to build some sort of society that would somehow take back the world from the undead, and he needed faithful subjects willing to do whatever he asked of them to insure his victory.

  So when Jeff came along, someone who was a bit too independent minded, Michael felt obligated to put him in his crosshairs. That had to be the reason for the screwy food run. Ben knew there was no other reason for sending everyone out; he could more effectively take care of getting food and other supplies for the camp alone than a whole group of clumsy people following in his wake. Sending them all out was a power trip for Michael, pure and simple.

  Ben almost said something about it to Michael, questioning him on the wisdom of his decision, but after seeing the confrontations in the camp before they left, he decided not get in the middle of things.

  Now he was dealing with the unfortunate results of that hesitancy.

  * * *

  Ben was angry. Angry he had not spoken up and suggested an alternative to this snafu and angry he had not kept a closer watch on the little expedition as it moved into town. Instead, he had gone deeper into Manchester, surveying the various buildings and streets to convince himself things were as quiet as they had been for the past few weeks.

  That was when he realized there was going to be trouble.

  The ghouls he saw as he slinked from building to building were agitated, aroused like they hadn’t been since they’d first come to the town, rolling the RVs down the road and pulling them off into the woods. They were bouncing off one another, wandering the streets when before, they had been content to bury themselves in the deepest shadows they could find.

  Perhaps it had been the minivan when it had driven into the area the day before, and once again, when it had been driven onto the road earlier, when the group going on the supply run had piled out of it and walked down the street toward town.

  After seeing how many were stiffs were wandering the streets of Manchester, Ben knew he needed to get the group out of there before the ghouls could pinpoint their position. He signaled to Michael over the walkie-talkie, but by that time the rest of the group had already left the van and were on their idiotic scavenger hunt.

  When he heard the first shots, Ben was already running at top speed, trying to get back to the group before it was too late, though he suspected it had been too late the minute the others had driven out of the camp on this fool’s errand.

  Finding Ray and Jeff as they were about to be overwhelmed had only reinforced that belief. He managed to save them, but given Ray’s condition and the shit storm that had been stirred up already, things were ugly and were about to get uglier still.

  * * *

  Ben broke free of the last building and took off at a sprint across the road. He had chosen an alternative path back to the camp; a route he had mapped out a couple of weeks earlier just in case something bad like this happened.

  Ray’s dead weight in his arms slowed him down only a little bit. He’d dealt with packs that were just as heavy under equally tense situations. No situation quite as perilous as this one, though. Ray’s lolling head and quiet whimpers as he bounced up and down were far worse to cope with for Ben than
the challenge of having to carry the boy’s weight on his shoulder.

  Ben could hear heavy breathing behind him. He slowed to a fast trot to allow Jeff to catch up, knowing that if the other man fell behind, he might give away their position. The moaning was far too loud, but was still quite a ways behind them. The dead would continue to seek them out, but if they lost sight of them and couldn’t smell them, they wouldn’t know where to go.

  Still, it was risky heading directly back to camp. Finding a place to dig in and cover up for the night probably would have been the best thing to do. Ben had done that on a couple of different occasions, even when he only suspected he’d garnered unwanted attention on one of his journeys into Manchester. On both occasions, the coast was clear by morning and he never knew for sure if his ploy had been necessary. Still, waiting things out guaranteed the camp would remain safe. So it was tempting to pull off into one the buildings he knew for certain was clear and wait things out with Jeff and the teenager.

  But if he did that, Ray would die out here.

  The kid was dying. Ben was no fool and had no delusions about getting him back to camp being the way to save him. The teen was getting weaker every second and in a few hours, maybe even sooner, he would stop breathing. Soon after that, perhaps within moments, he would turn into one of the shadow people, and Ben would be forced to smash his skull into the pavement, or at the very least, slip his hunting knife into the back of the boy’s skull. But if it was Ray’s destiny to die, he was going to die amongst friends, not in some dusty abandoned storefront.

  Ben had heard the van when it had departed without Ray and Jeff. The others, or at least everyone besides Marcus, had made it out of that mess alive. Ben hadn’t seen that bastard Marcus’s corpse, but could put two and two together. Jeff had been wielding the dumb S.O.B.’s shotgun and as the old saying went, the only way something like that happen was if he had pried it from Marcus’ cold dead hands. As far as Ben was concerned, Marcus’ death was nothing to be sad about, but that wasn’t how Frank or Michael would see things. They would be out for blood once they knew what had happened… even if the dipshit had gone and gotten himself bitten and the others had been forced to brain him to protect themselves.

  Nope, things were about to get very messy back at camp, and not just because an entire town filled with undead were all riled up.

  Acknowledgements

  This book, along with the other two I have written in this trilogy, did not come about without a tremendous amount of support and insight from a great many people. I thanked many of them in Comes the Dark, but that appreciation deserves to be reiterated here, along with my gratitude to a few other folks.

  Many thanks to the following people, who have helped make this dream possible: Mike West, aka “Dr. Pus,” Michelle Linhart, Philip Rogers, Kody Boye, Steve North, Tim Long, Ben Rogers, Beth LaFond, David Dunwoody, Tony Schaab, Amy LaRoche, Steve Vonderhaar, Joe Roman, Matt Nord, John Boehm, Mike Olsson, Rob Cima, David Ravitch, Lee Hartnup, Felicia Sullivan, Jacob Kier, Stephanie Kincaid, many of the folks on the various online forums I skulk around on, and all the other authors and folks who love zombie stuff of all kinds who have offered up their encouragement to me over the years.

  Some would assume that appreciation for one’s family goes without saying, but it certainly cannot go without saying here. To my mom, dad, and sisters Gina and Denise, I love you all for everything you have done for me throughout my life. Your encouragement and praise mean more than you know, and the fact that you were all willing to kick my ass when it needed kicking helped a great deal as well.

  To Ali, my gorgeous daughter, who I fear is growing up too fast, keep watching Glee and know that I take it as a compliment when you cried after reading one of my stories and were too afraid to read another one. To Zack, my dreamer boy, keep creating new worlds and keep coming at me with all those crazy ideas you have for stories; you are an inspiration to us all. And to Sheli, my incredible wife, I can’t tell you how much you inspire me to do better each and every day. Your words and love mean the world to me.

  Thank you, one and all.

  About the Author

  Patrick D'Orazio resides in southwestern Ohio with his wife, Michele, two children, Alexandra and Zachary, and three spastic dogs. A lifelong writer, he decided a few years ago that attempting to get published might be a better idea than continuing to toss all those stories he's been scribbling down over the years into a filing cabinet, never to be seen again. Over twenty-five of his short stories appear or will be appearing in various anthologies from a wide array of different small press publishers. He has dipped his toes into a variety of genres, including horror, science fiction, fantasy, erotica, bizarro, western, action-adventure, apocalyptic, and comedy.

  Into the Dark is Patrick’s second novel and is the second of a trilogy.

  You can see what Patrick is up to via his website:

  PatrickDOrazio.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part II

  Part I

  Part II

  About the Author