The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

  “You gonna answer me or you gonna puke yer guts out, Nancy?”

  George felt the edge of the sharp metal press down harder.

  “No. NO! I don’t … have any … guns on me. I swear!” He hacked his way through the words, feeling like his mouth and throat were buried in six inches of water.

  George heard the sound of something skipping over the pavement. The pressure from the shotgun disappeared in an instant. Even with it gone, his nerves continued to sing with terror, fear gluing him in place.

  “There, now leave him alone! I’m the only one with a weapon, you asshole! No one else has anything on them!”

  The feet of the man who had been next to George moved away, toward Megan. There were more footsteps. In the background, George thought he could hear someone rooting through the van.

  “Well, well. Looks like we got ourselves Dirty Harriet here.”

  Someone else snickered at the lame joke, and George discovered he could breathe again. The tone of the voice sounded casual. He tensed as he waited to hear what would happen next.

  Megan saw a shadow block out the blinding sunlight from above. An old work boot splattered with dirt and grass stains moved near her face until it blotted out everything except the shifting shadows at the periphery of her vision. She could feel more than see the man crouching directly above her and smelled the stale reek of liquor on his breath.

  “So, honey, you the leader of this little gang here? You the one callin’ the shots? That gun of yours looks a mite big for such a petite thing.”

  The voice was quiet and kept creeping closer to her ear as the man spoke. When his hand touched her back, it was as cold as ice. She squirmed beneath it, but found she could not move. One of the man’s knees was right above her butt and had her locked down. Stale Breath laughed at her predicament and continued to hover over her.

  “So none of you boys have any weapons, huh? You let your woman take care of things for you, right?”

  The comment hung in the air, unanswered.

  “Hey, Frank! It looks like we found the rest of their weapons.”

  The voice came from behind them, and they heard a pair of rubber soles hit the ground. Megan felt the hand and knee leave her back as the man moved away. She relaxed somewhat but focused mostly on controlling the shivering that threatened to jar the teeth from her mouth.

  “Nice!”

  Their voices dropped as they continued ransacking the van. Jeff shifted on the ground, attempting to push his twenty-five-caliber pistol deeper in his pocket with a turn of his hip, hoping the small weapon would not be found.

  After several endless minutes of waiting on the ground while listening to Frank and the other man hoot and holler over their newfound treasures, they heard another voice.

  “Gentlemen … and lady. I apologize for this treatment. I know it doesn’t look like we’re all that friendly, but given current conditions, I hope you’ll understand our reason for taking a few precautions.” The voice was cool and commanding, the speaker confident of himself.

  No one moved. Jeff did a mental count of what they were up against. He remembered seeing two men in front of the van and two in back. At least two others were drivers of the blocking cars. They were armed with rifles, shotguns, and handguns … and now they had the rifles from the van as well. He rolled his forehead against the hot asphalt and cursed their luck.

  “You can get up now. I think we’re sure nothing … unfortunate is going to happen.” The voice was cheery, as if the man were welcoming guests into his home.

  When Jeff lifted his head, he saw six of them, as he had calculated. As his gaze circulated around the group, it locked on the man who was clearly the leader. Unlike the rest of his small troop, he was decked out in camouflage. It looked more like surplus than standard military issue, but the man wore it well. Rugged black boots completed his forest-green ensemble.

  He cut an impressive figure. He was about the same height as George, but slender, not stocky. Fit and muscular, he looked young, perhaps in his late twenties. His dark hair was neatly groomed, and he was clean shaven, unlike the rest of the group. He was handsome, with a strong jaw, well-defined cheekbones, and a twinkle in his eyes. Jeff could see no scars or defects and, more importantly, the leader of the other group did not have the hollowed-out look everyone seemed to acquire as a fringe benefit of being a survivor.

  For all the physical traits that distinguished him from the others, it was something else about him that drew the eye. He was the one carrying the M16 that had been pointed at them earlier. Currently, it was slung across his back.

  The man raised his hand in greeting, a smile creasing his face as he looked over the little ragtag quartet. “The name’s Michael. I’m the leader here.” He spoke with confidence as he turned to the others surrounding him. “Let me introduce you to my men.”

  Frank and Marcus were good ol’ country boys, toting shotguns and spitting tobacco in a constant brown stream that stuck to their ragged beards, and both were leaning against the van they had just ransacked. A looked passed between Michael and his two henchmen, and the duo forced smiles onto their faces, though their eyes were filled with mistrust for the newcomers.

  They wore dirty jeans and ripped t-shirts that looked like they had been worn for years. Their hair and beards were a wooly mess. Frank had a sizeable beer gut while Marcus, the shorter of the two, was reedy with a darker complexion. They mumbled and laughed at each other as Michael introduced the rest of his crew.

  Ray and Teddy, the two teenagers, had their weapons aimed in Jeff and George’s direction. They ignored Jason and Megan, despite the fact that she had been the one with the .357 Magnum. Their guns were pointed at the ground, but it was clear they were still nervous about the newcomers.

  Ray carried a 9mm Beretta and seemed less than comfortable with it. The hand holding the gun bounced against his leg constantly. He was a pimply-faced kid who was perhaps sixteen. His feeble attempt at growing a beard had resulted in swirls of hairs sticking out of red welts at random spots along his jaw line. His flat, dull brown mop of hair was thick and covered his ears. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses poked out of the mess and kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. He absently pushed them up repeatedly and wiped away the sweat glistening on his face in between each attempt. His poorly chosen wardrobe was responsible for the excessive moisture. An oversized pea-green jacket covered his chubby frame. His choice of bright red sneakers made it clear he had not been going for the camouflaged look.

  Teddy was slightly less agitated, but perhaps it was because his weapon, a rifle, was too heavy for him to maneuver easily. He grasped it awkwardly, holding it as if he were standing at attention. His arms would slump downward as they grew weary, and after a few seconds of rest, he would stand at attention once again. He was smaller and perhaps younger than Ray, but it was hard to tell. He was maybe an inch or two less than five and a half feet tall and could not weigh more than a hundred pounds. Like a lot of smaller kids his age, he seemed to have energy to burn, and one of his legs performed a spastic dance as if he were waiting for a starter gun to go off. Though he was hyped up, his eyes were steady. Ray’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men in front of him, but Teddy’s gaze never left George, his target.

  That left Ben. Even George couldn’t compare to “Big” Ben for sheer bulk. He appeared to be the one least concerned about the new group. Michael ordered him to sort through the van and do an inventory. He quietly went about the assigned task without complaint. The van groaned in protest and dipped a couple of inches closer to the ground every time he slid inside.

  Ben was a giant of a man, likely tipping the scales at well over three hundred pounds of what looked like mostly muscle, and was more than six and a half feet tall. He had a sizeable gut, but even that looked intimidating. He was also quiet. As Michael introduced him, he nodded but did not speak. Once the introductions were made, he went back to the business of cataloguing the goods in the van.

  “It�
��s regrettable that we had to be so rough, but desperate times …” Michael gave a little shrug, which made it clear that Jeff and the others should expect no more of an apology. The two rifles Jeff’s group had commandeered from Fred and Bobby were slung on the backs of Frank and Marcus, and Frank also had Megan’s .357 tucked into his belt.

  They heard a sound from the van and saw that Ben was pulling the removable middle row of seats out and tossing them to the pavement. The inventory of the van continued as Michael waited, smiling.

  His eyes moved smoothly from Jeff to George and then to Megan. They lingered there, and he gave her a smile. She responded with a dark glare. Michael broke eye contact with her, and his gaze traveled back to George, where it hovered expectantly. Jeff glanced at his friend and saw he looked almost ill, as if the stare of the other man were causing him physical distress. George’s eyes dropped quickly.

  “Well, I guess we can understand the need to make sure we’re not psychos or maniacs. No worries on that account,” Jeff piped up. He smiled as Michael’s eyes moved over to him.

  The chisel-jawed man scanned Jeff up and down. After a moment, his smile grew brighter than ever as he nodded, recognizing Jeff as the official spokesman for his group.

  “Well, why don’t you introduce yourselves, and then let’s get off this road to a safer area. We have a camp about a mile south of here in the woods.” Michael stared at Jeff expectantly, and suddenly all eyes were upon him.

  George and Megan did not protest when Jeff started the introductions with Jason, who nodded shyly at Michael. He looked less nervous than the two teenagers, but when Michael grinned and shook his hand, appreciation bloomed on the kid’s face. It was obvious he liked being treated like an adult.

  Jeff introduced George next. A dark expression that might have been contempt passed over Michael’s face as he moved closer to the group’s oldest member. It was gone in an instant, but Jeff thought he had seen it. Michael’s dazzling smile was back in place too quickly to be sure.

  He saved Megan for last. Seeing the expression on her face, Jeff tensed as he made the introduction.

  “And this is Megan.”

  Michael’s hand came out, and his killer smile shone down on the diminutive woman.

  “It’s a privilege, ma’am. Please accept my sincerest apology for how my men acted. I especially regret how you were treated.”

  The slap sounded like a small firecracker going off. Michael’s face twisted to the side, and his hand flew up to touch the spot where he had been hit. He stared at Megan in shock.

  Frank hooted with laughter, but the short braying sound cut off as Michael glared at him. No one else spoke, and expressions ran the gamut of shocked disbelief to chagrin.

  Megan moved in for the kill.

  “Fuck you and your apology. You drag us out of our car and take our things, and you’re sorry? Your limp-wristed stooge shoves a shotgun to the back of my friend’s head and does his best to humiliate us, and you’re goddamned sorry? Screw you!”

  Frank made a move toward Megan, his anger instantaneous.

  “You little skank! I’m gonna beat the shit outta you.” Before Jeff or George could move to protect Megan, Michael reacted.

  The punch was quick and efficient, connecting with Frank’s nose. Michael kept his palm flat and drove it upwards. Frank’s head rocked back, and blood poured from his face. He slumped to his knees, his hands grasping at the damage.

  “Jesus Christ! I think you broke my nose, man! What the hell? I wasn’t gonna hurt her, Michael. I was just gonna scare the shit out of that little bitch.” The words were pinched, painful and honking.

  Michael’s punch had been on a pivot, but now he faced the other man. Frank was busy squeezing his nose and didn’t see the foot before it drove into his shoulder, knocking him flat. In an instant, Michael was on top of him, a large knife that seemed to come out of nowhere at Frank’s throat. The nose forgotten, Frank’s eyes bugged out, and his hands dropped to his sides in a supplicating gesture.

  “If you threaten her or anyone else like that again, I’m going to feed you to one of the stiffs.”

  Michael pressed the razor-sharp knife down on Frank’s throat. A trickle of blood, a small echo of the one coming from his nose, formed a line where the knife pressed against his skin. The fat man looked as if he wanted to melt into the pavement as his eyes remained glued to the maniac on top of him. He blinked away the tears and gagged. He nodded, careful not to move the knife still pressed to his flesh.

  Jeff gaped, dumbstruck. Megan backed up and bumped up against him. He put his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady.

  Michael, apparently satisfied, got to his feet and extended a hand to Frank. Like a dog that had been whipped too many times, Frank flinched at first. When nothing happened, he reached out and got to his feet with Michael’s assistance. He turned from the others, moving toward the far side of the van. Michael slapped him on the back as he left. The other man stiffened for a moment, his expression hidden and his back ramrod straight. Then he started moving again.

  Michael shrugged. Everyone was staring at him like he was some sort of alien, especially Megan. He smiled at her as he pulled a small cloth from his pants pocket to wipe his blade clean of Frank’s blood. Afterwards, the knife found its way into a sheath attached to his left wrist hidden by the long-sleeved shirt he wore.

  He moved forward slowly, carefully.

  “As you can see, I don’t tolerate insubordination.”

  Michael’s eyes were stern as he glanced meaningfully at Jeff and then down toward Megan. They softened slightly.

  “I feel as if all I’m doing is apologizing. Now for Frank’s actions. He’s a loyal man. I’m sure you’ll find this hard to believe, but he’s a good man as well.” His smile widened even as the look of trepidation on Megan’s face grew.

  She detached herself from Jeff, regaining some of her composure. He tried to hold her back, but she wriggled free, her eyes flashing angrily as she did. Sullenly, she faced Michael.

  “Well I don’t like him and I don’t know that I like you much either.” She stared him down. “And I’m not apologizing for slapping you.” Megan stood with her hands on her hips, daring him to challenge her.

  Michael continued to smile, unfazed by the terse statements. “I wouldn’t expect you to. All I can ask is that you give us a chance to prove our hospitality.” His gaze encompassed all four of them. “I think you’ll find we’re a bit rough around the edges, but we’re not really all that bad.”

  They stood waiting. Jeff noticed Ben leaning against the back of the van. Jeff was not sure how long he had been watching, but the smirk on the brute’s face indicated that he had probably seen everything. Ben caught Jeff looking his way and, without hesitation, winked at him. Jeff did a double take and tried to smile at the huge man, but he was already looking elsewhere.

  “Okay! Let’s get moving! Boys, you’re on foot. Ben, you drive. Marcus and Frank! Move the cars out of the way so we can get rolling.”

  Jeff gritted his teeth. Whether he liked it or not, they were headed to the lair of this small group of survivalists. And as he looked over at Megan and George, he knew he wasn’t the only one who was nervous about the idea.

  Chapter 2

  Everyone jumped into action. Michael ushered the newcomers toward the minivan, and Jeff felt a simmering of resentment at the loss of the vehicle, but forced it down. As they climbed on board, he noticed Ray and Teddy running in the flat field behind the gap between the buildings. They were south of the railroad tracks already and making good time as they scanned the area. Jeff did as well and was surprised to see no infected anywhere.

  With the second row of seats removed and the back row folded down, the vehicle resembled a cargo van. All the supplies they had collected were stacked to the roof in the very back. Michael took the passenger seat, which forced Jeff, George, Jason, and Megan to sit on the floor behind him. Frank and Marcus took off to move the car in front of them out of the
way.

  Ben started the van, and soon they were heading in the direction of one of the gravel parking lots on the south side of the road, out of the corridor of vehicles. They avoided several other abandoned cars and moved toward the flat grassy space behind the buildings. Ahead was a set of train tracks elevated by a patch of gravel. Ben carefully drove the van over the tracks and followed a makeshift road that had been carved into the dry earth of the barren field beyond. Rocks and other debris had been cleared away, and two barely visible ruts gave the van a runway down which to roll. Ben pointed the van in the direction of a wooded area about a mile from the road, and it looked like they would run right into it if they stayed the course. There were no visible breaks in the tree line, and Jeff wondered whether they were going to have to get out and walk before they got to whatever hideout Michael had set up.

  At the last moment, Ben turned the van at an angle as he brushed up against the stand of trees. At first, the view remained the same, with trees to their left and an open field to the right. After a few moments, Jeff saw a gap in the woods that seemed to sprout up out of nowhere. It was more than wide enough to accommodate the van, and he saw the tire ruts making up the “road” they were following merge into the opening.

  As they made their way down the narrow tunnel of trees, he wondered out loud about something that had been bothering him for a while.

  “How come there aren’t any of those infected bastards around here?”

  Michael turned and looked at Jeff. “Oh, they’re around all right. They’re in town, to the south, to the north ...” He grinned as he waved his hand in every direction. “We’re completely surrounded.”

  Jeff stared at him, but before Michael could elaborate, the van came to a stop.

  “Welcome to our humble abode.”

  Michael’s smile took them all in, but his eyes focused on Megan as he said it. She felt uncomfortable with the attention and looked away.

  Michael and Ben opened the doors, and they all piled out.