Dark Days | Book 8 | Avalon

by Lukens, Mark

  He thought the bullying would end after high school, that people would grow up, but they didn’t. They were still bullies. Maybe not bullies so much in the physical sense, but maybe more psychological, hitting and hurting with words instead of punches and kicks, hurting with sly remarks, tasteless jokes, mean laughter, snide looks.

  But eventually he got sick of it, and he battled his way up through the company he worked for, becoming a mid-level manager. He’d fought his way up through the ranks; he’d grown a backbone, he told people what to do.

  And then the Collapse came and all he had worked for had evaporated overnight. He found himself afraid again, cowering when it came time to do the right thing. He had wanted to change places with Lanier on the platform when the Dragon made him choose someone to take the punishment for the failure of their team to get inside the store. He had wanted to take Lanier’s place in the stocks. Lanier was one of his men; Dawson had been in charge of the mission, not Lanier, not any of the others. It hadn’t been Lanier’s fault the mission had failed. Something had gone wrong with the mole. It was no one’s fault. But Lanier certainly hadn’t been the one to blame, the one to make an example of.

  Dawson touched the brand on his forehead, feeling the hard edges of the outlines of the letter D and the letter A, the crusty, scabby bumps. He remembered the pain when he’d gotten the brand, but he’d gone along with it because that’s what he always did, go along with the group. And he’d even allowed himself to believe the Dragon’s bullshit about helping humanity out of the darkness, about being a beacon of light, about sharing the wealth among everyone instead of small tribes squabbling over bits and pieces, constantly at war with each other.

  But all of it was a lie—he knew that now. He saw the monster the Dragon truly was; he realized that when the Dragon had made him choose one of his own men for punishment.

  Dawson had no idea why he’d chosen Lanier to come up to the platform and the stocks. He didn’t hate Lanier, didn’t have any beef with the man. But Dawson had been scared up on the platform with the Dragon watching him, the guards watching him, the Dark Angels watching him, the crowd of townspeople. He’d been scared and he just picked the man he’d been standing next to in line.

  Once again, when the Dragon told him to take out his knife and remove the brand from Lanier’s forehead, Dawson had almost volunteered to trade places with Lanier, to strip off his own clothes and allow himself to be locked into the wooden stocks, his hands and head immobile, helpless to any tortures the Dragon dreamed up.

  And once again, he’d backed down. Once again he’d followed orders. Once again he’d done what he was told to do. Once again he’d been a coward.

  But no more. Not anymore. Now, when he closed his eyes, he saw Lanier. He saw the blood running down the man’s face as he sawed the skin off his forehead with his own knife, the waterfall of blood steaming in the cold air, dripping down onto the floorboards.

  Lanier haunted his thoughts, his dreams. He could still hear the man’s screams, his sobs, the breath caught in his throat. He could still smell the slightly metallic scent of the man’s blood, the putrid tang of his body odor, the acidic scent of nervous sweat.

  And now Lanier was dead from the infection that had ravaged his bloodstream.

  I killed him.

  No more. Dawson knew he should be dead, not Lanier. And if the Dragon ruled the world—which seemed to be the way the future was headed—then this world wasn’t going to be a place worth living in, not for himself, not for anyone.

  If you had the chance to kill Hitler before he’d gotten too powerful, would you take it? he asked himself. Would you sabotage battles and missions to keep a monster like that from rising to power, from millions suffering, from millions being slaughtered?

  This was Dawson’s only chance.

  But he needed to be careful. He’d slipped up by telling Petra his plans. They would torture her, make her talk. No one could withstand the torture for long, and Dawson figured when they came for him, when they tortured him, he would talk too. He wouldn’t hate Petra for telling on him—she was only human. And if the torture didn’t make Petra talk, then the Dragon could worm his way into her mind, and eventually into Dawson’s own mind.

  So he had to keep playing his part for now, the part of a coward. But he needed to be ready if the guards suddenly came for him, ready for when Petra ratted him out.

  He shouldn’t have told her that he’d bring the others from her store back with him; he knew it was too dangerous. But at the same time he needed to give her hope. She would be stronger with hope, last longer. It might be her only chance.

  And Dawson knew a secret. He knew the Dragon was afraid of the people in the store for some reason. He didn’t know why the Dragon was afraid, and he didn’t care. If the Dragon was afraid of them, then maybe they were the only chance to defeat him, and Dawson had made up his mind to help them in any way he could.

  Little by little the Dragon’s empire was beginning to crumble, little cracks forming in the walls. Dawson knew that the airplane the Dragon had sent to the store hadn’t returned. Maybe the airplane had run into engine trouble, or maybe the two men in the plane had just decided not to come back to this hell town, just like a few of the troops of Dark Angels sent out to bring back food and supplies hadn’t returned. But maybe the most logical reason the airplane hadn’t returned was because it had been shot down by the people at the store. They had guns up on the roof—Dawson had seen them shooting. It wasn’t that difficult to believe that someone on that roof had shot the plane down.

  The Dragon was angry that the airplane hadn’t come back; he seemed to believe it had been shot down. Maybe he knew for sure like he knew the secret thoughts in people’s minds, like he knew their dreams.

  Dawson didn’t care if he died now; he was going to stand up this time, for the first time in his life. This was for his little brother on the playground, for his girlfriend in high school, but most of all it was for himself.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 6

  Ray

  In Ray’s dream he was back in Craig’s house, back in the garage where Craig had killed his own family. Ray was alone in the garage, standing near the door that led into the laundry room and then to the rest of the large home. For some reason Ray knew the door that led into the laundry room was locked. The two windows on the back wall of the garage were closed and locked, the two garage doors pulled down. It was cold and murky.

  But Ray wasn’t really alone—there were dead people in this garage, a car full of them. Ray stared at the Mercedes to the left of the SUV that had been backed into the garage. The SUV shouldn’t be there—they had driven it out of the garage when they had escaped the rippers trying to get into the house.

  Why was he here? Why was he back at Craig’s house in his garage?

  A low growl came from between the two vehicles; it came from Craig’s dog, the one he’d left outside the car while he ran it, flooding the garage with exhaust fumes that would eventually kill them all. Ray remembered seeing Craig and his family in the car, Craig’s wife and daughters tied up, their heads leaning against the glass of the windows, dried puke on their faces, eyes bulging and glassy and dead.

  The growl came again, louder and lower. Ray could sense the dog moving in the darkness. Ray stared at the Mercedes and saw the vanity license plate: Mr. Mercedes. That hadn’t been there before, had it? Craig didn’t have a license plate like that, did he?

  This is just dream . . . just a dream . . .

  The driver’s door of the car opened. Craig got out of the car, taking a moment to stand, like his body was frozen and he was working out the kinks. Ray could hear his muscles and bones snapping and popping with his movement.

  Ray wanted to run, to turn and try the door, kick it in if he had to. But he didn’t, he kept on staring as Craig walked toward the rear of his Mercedes, materializing from the gloom of the garage, the air still heavy with exhaust smoke. Craig’s dog still growled, but remained betwe
en the cars down in the shadows.

  “Ray,” Craig croaked when he got to the rear of his car, standing beside the trunk.

  Ray didn’t answer.

  “You think I knew what the hell I was talking about when I called you here? I was turning into a ripper by then, losing my mind. You have to know that, don’t you? I mean, deep down inside you must know that.”

  “No,” Ray whispered.

  Craig took another shambling step forward, slightly off-balance, a zombie moving forward from the smoky gloom. “I was speaking gibberish, just like your wife was before she died . . . before you killed her.”

  “No,” Ray said a little louder. He touched his hips, searching for the gun he kept on him, but it wasn’t there.

  “There is no Avalon, Ray. There’s nothing there. Just some shit I had on my computer. None of it meant anything. None of what you’re doing means anything.”

  “No, that’s not true.”

  Craig took another step forward, his eyes glowing now just like the Dragon’s eyes glowed in other dreams. “You killed your wife. You abandoned your daughter. And now you need to pay.”

  Ray heard Craig’s wife and daughters getting out of the Mercedes, snapping the ropes that had bound them, groaning and screeching. The dog was growling louder, barking now.

  Ray’s eyes popped open in the tent, his breath caught in his throat. For a second he wasn’t sure where he was. It was dark, but not too dark for Ray to see around him. He was at the store. It was run by a woman named Jo. They’d been on their way south when they’d seen an airplane shooting at someone on the roof. Luke had shot the airplane down and Jo and the others here had welcomed them inside. They were safe here for the moment. They had food here, water, guns, and ammo.

  Ray turned his head, looking at Mike. He was still asleep. Ray sat up and crawled out of the tent, trying to be as quiet as he could.

  The dream still clung to Ray and he shivered as he stood outside his tent. It was just beginning to get light, the gray morning light shining down through the skylights in the ceiling high above him. He exhaled a long breath, feeling a little better now.

  Today was Mike’s birthday; he was twelve years old. Ray had promised himself to start teaching Mike skills he would need to survive in this hellish new world, and today he would start that training—it would be Mike’s birthday present.

  He found Jo in her office. He knocked lightly at the door. She told him to come in and he limped inside. His ankle had healed up quite a bit, but it was still a little tender.

  “Ray,” Jo said, her face brightening.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No,” Jo said, getting up from her air mattress on the floor. “I only sleep for an hour or two at a time.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “No,” Jo said as she walked to her desk and sat down in the chair behind it. “I don’t think I dream much. I can’t remember them too much.”

  I wish I didn’t dream, Ray thought as he took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Jo’s desk.

  Jo frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Is this about your preparations to leave?”

  “No.”

  Jo looked a little relieved.

  Ray had begun the preparations, which consisted more of planning out a more detailed route to northern Georgia—he used a few maps he’d found in the store. He had an idea of where Avalon should be, remembering the map he’d drawn at Craig’s house, but he couldn’t be sure exactly where it was. But Emma said they would find Avalon—she said they were meant to find it.

  So far Ray had planned on leaving with Mike, Josh, and Emma. Josh and Emma said they still wanted to go to Avalon; Emma said they needed to go. Ray had tried to talk Luke into going with them, but he seemed committed to helping Max find a woman named Petra, a woman Luke had seen in a dream, a woman who had spoken to him in his dream and asked him to come help her. Ray would’ve loved to have Luke with them—his skill with firearms was invaluable—but Luke wasn’t swaying from the decision that he’d made to find Hell Town.

  “Are you okay?” Jo asked. There was true concern on her face. Her arm was still bandaged from the gunshot wound she’d gotten on the roof, but there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage, and no infection so far.

  “Yeah. Actually, if I’m counting the days right, it’s November 19th. My son’s birthday.”

  “It’s Mike’s birthday? How old?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Still sleeping. I’m going to get him up soon.”

  “We should have a party for him. We could try to make some kind of cake. We can’t really bake one, but we could come up with something creative.”

  Ray nodded. Smiled. “Thank you, Jo. I want to teach Mike how to drive today.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I promised him a few days ago that I’d teach him how to drive. He needs to learn how to drive in case something happens to me.”

  Jo nodded gravely.

  “And he needs to learn how to shoot.”

  Jo nodded again in agreement.

  “I’m going to use our van out back to teach him to drive. I’d like to have him drive around a little back there. I don’t want to take him outside the fence with all the rippers out there.”

  “Of course,” Jo answered, but she looked a little concerned.

  “We’ll be careful. When we leave, if there’s a remote area, I’ll let Mike drive some more, practice some more. But I need him to learn the basics first.”

  “Sure. I’m going up on the roof soon to take a shift. I’ll give you a walkie, let you know if any rippers are around the back area.”

  “Thank you, Jo. I’ll teach him to drive, and then I’m going to ask Luke to teach him how to shoot a rifle up on the roof. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  “I just wanted to run these things by you before we did them. It’s your store.”

  “It’s our store. All of us. I don’t own it. We all share it. I’d like us all to share it, to make our decisions together.”

  Ray made a move to get up from his chair.

  “You’re still sure about leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s . . . it’s just that I’ve got a bad feeling. Petra left with six of our people. They were going on one last run for supplies before winter set in.”

  “Seems like you’ve got enough food and supplies to last the winter.”

  Jo nodded. “Yes. I shouldn’t have let them go.” She paused for just a moment. “But we had a mole, a guy named Jeff, the guy we told you about. He set them up, made them believe his uncle had a home full of supplies and weapons. We always need more weapons and ammo to fight the Dark Angels.”

  Ray didn’t say anything.

  “I shouldn’t have let them go, but like I said, I’m not a dictator here. We all make our own decisions. They wanted to go, wanted to help, and now three of them are dead, shot right out there in the parking lot. There are still three others missing, and Petra is with the Dragon.”

  Ray could tell how hurt Jo was, how much she blamed herself. “I’m sorry, but we have to go. Avalon was always going to be our final destination. There could be something wonderful there, civilization still, a bunker of uninfected people, food, supplies, people who have plans, who know how to rebuild again. My supervisor at work, Craig, he wouldn’t have told me to go to his house, to find the information on his computer about Avalon if he didn’t believe in it, if he wasn’t sure of what was there.” He felt a twinge of guilt, remembering the dream he’d just had.

  Jo sighed and nodded. “I understand.”

  “There could be a cure there. Or some kind of vaccine that could protect children, or future children.”

  “After Mike is done with his training today, I want to have a birthday dinner and a cake for him,” she said, changing the subject. “Maybe a few gifts, if that’s okay.”

  “
That would be fine.”

  “I’m going to spread the word about the party, but we’ll try to make sure Mike doesn’t find out.”

  “Thank you, Jo.” Ray stood up. “You’ve been so gracious. So welcoming. You’ve helped us so much. And after we get to Avalon, we will come back here for the rest of you.”

  “I know you will. I can tell that you’re a man of your word.”

  And Ray could tell Jo was a woman of her word.

  He left Jo’s office.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ray

  “Mike, wake up.”

  Mike rolled over in his sleeping bag, his eyelids fluttering just a bit.

  “Come on, Mike. I let you sleep almost nine hours.”

  Mike groaned, burying his head deeper into the blanket and the sleeping bag.

  Ray hated waking Mike up. He hadn’t gotten much quality sleep since leaving Doug’s cabin a few days ago. “You know what today is?”

  “No,” Mike grumbled.

  “It’s your birthday. You’re twelve today.”

  Mike opened his eyes, staring up at Ray, coming fully awake.

  “Come on. Get up.” He slapped Mike’s hip under the sleeping bag. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it? Get up. Get dressed. Get your shoes on. Your coat too.”

  Mike’s excitement switched to fear. “We’re going outside? Are we leaving today?”

  “No. Not today. Would you just trust me and do what I tell you?”

  Mike sat up, looking for his shoes.

  Ray left the tent so Mike could get dressed.

  *

  Ten minutes later Ray and Mike joined Kate and Jo by the smaller back door near the rollup door. Brooke was with Kate—she hardly ever left Kate’s side. Brooke stared at Mike, another child, fascinated by him, like she thought there were no other children in existence.