The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

  “Lady, what the hell are you doing? Mel’s not in here!”

  The words spilled out, blurted without thinking as George shrank back in his seat from the young woman, who likely weighed no more than a hundred pounds, bulling her way in through his window.

  She continued screaming, the words angry and irrational as she yelled for Mel and pushed past George. She reached and grabbed, her dirty and ragged fingernails scratching him as she did.

  “Stop it. Get the hell away from me, you crazy bitch!”

  The hard shove that accommodated the words knocked the deranged woman back out of the car and dumped her to the asphalt. To George, she felt like a bundle of dried sticks. He watched as she slid across the road and sat, stunned.

  He didn’t know what to do. His heart was racing and he felt guilty. Almost involuntarily, he looked around, embarrassed at his brutal response to her inane inquiries. It was foolish, but he was worried someone might have seen what he’d done. He put the car in park, opened the door, and stepped out. Holding out his hand, he moved toward the woman.

  “I’m sorry ma’am. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  As he moved forward, the disheveled woman scooted backwards, trying to regain her feet and stay clear of George at the same time. She was finally looking directly at him, and her eyes were much clearer now, focused. He wondered if she had snapped out of whatever daydream she’d been having. He stopped moving and kept his hands where she could see them.

  “Are you all right?”

  She lifted herself up off the ground. There were a few new scratches on her legs, but nothing major. George felt more guilt and wanted to help her up, but was afraid to get closer. Especially as he saw the look on her face.

  The sudden change of expression was unnerving. The transition from hazy bewilderment and befuddled determination to animalistic rage took less than a second. Now it was George’s turn to backpedal.

  “What did you do to Mel, you motherfucker?”

  The words were laced with acid, and spittle flew from her dry lips. Her fingers curled into claws, and her dingy teeth were looking more menacing by the second. There was hatred in her eyes the likes of which he had never seen before. A lunatic abhorrence reserved for murderers and rapists. Even Cindy had looked tame by comparison. The woman took a step forward.

  “Lady, I don’t know who Mel is, and I didn’t do a thing to him!”

  George slid back into the car. Any thought of helping this deranged creature was gone—chewed up and spit out with her instant mania. George almost fell back into his seat as she closed on him.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t turned off the car. Slamming the door shut, he rolled up the window. The woman came up to the window and glared at him with malignant eyes. George guessed that she wasn’t infected with the virus, but with a madness that was probably just as dangerous.

  Without preamble, she banged on the window and screamed. The words were laced with curses and profanity as she spit and scratched, screaming for Mel. George was shaking as he put the car back into drive. He flinched as the window vibrated under her blows.

  Even as he pulled back onto the road, the woman stayed next to the car, demanding to know where Mel was. George’s head swam as she cried out, shouting the name over and over again. He kept his eyes forward and tried to ignore her, but it was impossible.

  As the car continued to roll forward, he spotted movement off to his right. He took his eyes off the road long enough to make out several shambling forms inside the KFC. As he surveyed the area, he could see more movement from one of the gas stations and another fast food joint.

  George put on the brakes again. The woman, who had been picking up speed in an effort to keep up with the car, came to an abrupt halt and was silent for a moment as she was caught off guard. The Corsica’s idle wasn’t whisper quiet, but it was easy to hear the sounds of moaning at this distance.

  “Give me back my baby, you bastard! I’ll rip your eyes out if you don’t give me my baby!”

  George no longer feared the crazy woman; he feared for her. Driving away and leaving her alone in her madness was no longer an option. He braced himself as he reached for the door handle.

  His eyes never left her as he stepped free of the car once again. There was movement all over now, not just from the KFC or gas station. The woman’s voice and the sound of the car’s engine had carried, echoing up and down the highway. It was obvious that undead that probably had been hibernating for weeks were now awake, just like they had been awoken back in Manchester.

  George prepared for whatever attack this hopeless woman might launch at him. He pushed on the car door as she leaned against it, hoping to knock her back to the ground. The girl was more nimble than he expected and moved back quickly enough to avoid the door. As George stepped out onto the street, the madwoman continued to backpedal. Her eyes were livid, still filled with the mysterious anger that fueled her, but she also looked skittish, unsure of herself.

  George moved forward, not wasting any time with useless diplomacy. “You have to come with me, miss. Those things are coming.”

  George pointed back at where he had seen the shadowy figures as they dragged their carcasses out from their hiding places. The woman flinched when he moved, perhaps fearing he was planning to attack her. She kept moving backwards, shaking her head as she started to cry.

  “You killed Mel. Why? Why did you kill him? You killed my baby!”

  George shook his head, doing his best to roll with her vacillating emotions. Sweat trickled down his back. He crept forward, his nerves shot as his mind raced with different ideas of how to get this woman to climb into the Corsica with him.

  “Keep back! Stay away from me!”

  She looked poised to run. Her legs were bent, and if he continued coming for her, she would take off, away from him and into the arms of dead. She seemed completely oblivious to the danger she was facing.

  George froze and lowered his hands. He took one last look around the area and noticed that the only building in sight without bodies filing out the doors and shattered windows was the Taco Bell where the woman had been hiding. They were running out of time.

  “I didn’t kill Mel. I swear I did not kill your baby. But …” He looked her in the eye, hoping that she saw the sincerity in his gaze. “But if you come with me, maybe we can find him. Maybe he’s not dead.”

  George had no idea where the spontaneous lie had come from, but after he spoke the words, he held his breath, waiting and hoping for some kind of positive reaction. For a moment, there was a spark in her eyes, something like lucidity that hadn’t been there before. It was a brief shining instant, perhaps the only one this poor soul had experienced in a very long time, in which she was sane again, and understood what had happened to her and what she had become.

  The moment passed, and the haze that had gripped the woman fell upon her like the closing of a window shade. She turned and ran. George moved forward a few steps and screamed after her, pleading for her to return, but whatever moment of understanding she had gained was gone, and she was lost for good.

  She ran back to the Taco Bell, pulling the door open and sliding into the dark shadows inside the dead restaurant. Already, some of the ghouls that had been shambling toward the Corsica were changing course to follow her.

  George paused, his throat hoarse as he cried out to the woman one last time. The stiffs that hadn’t adjusted their trajectory were still headed in his direction. The path to the girl was already close to being blocked off. At least a dozen infected were already crossing the parking lot, while more than twice as many were headed in his direction.

  George could hear moans from all sides, but no screams. Not yet. His shoulders sagged as he turned back to the car and slid behind the wheel. He wouldn’t wait for the screams. Not this time.

  Part 2

  Six weeks earlier … June 30th

  “What’s happening? What the hell is wrong with everyone?”

  “I don’t know, honey. It’s
crazy everywhere. Everyone here is freaking out and wants to go home, just like me.”

  There was a pause. George tried counting his heartbeats, which he could hear as his hand quivered around the cell phone. He could feel the pulse beats in his hand, in his temples, and throughout his entire body. His head throbbed, but the pain was only a distraction. He could hear the fear in her voice. The strain. She was trying to hold it together … for him and the girls.

  “Helen? You still there?”

  After ten beats, he couldn’t wait any longer. He glanced at the cell phone to see how the coverage was. It had been spotty lately, with complete outages alternating with seemingly interminable busy signals.

  “I’m still here. It’s just that … I don’t know, George. Everyone in the neighborhood has gone completely nuts.”

  There was another pause, and George let out a quiet hiss of breath between his teeth. He stared at the walls of his hotel room. It was new, built less than a year ago. He had spent a few weeks in it over the past few months and liked staying there. The sink wasn’t rusty, and the wallpaper wasn’t peeling like the dive in which he’d been forced to shack up on previous trips to Gallatin.

  “Do you remember the Patels?”

  George shook off his reverie, the beige walls of his room fading into the background as he tried to think.

  “No … oh, wait! The Indian family that moved in down on Sycamore two years ago?”

  “Yes. They were attacked last night! In their home! God, George, I don’t know what happened, but Angela said it was a bunch of teenagers. A bunch of psychotic teenagers from around the neighborhood. She said that when the police got there, it was a mess. Mr. Patel was already dead, and his wife … I don’t even know if I can believe what she said happened to her.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “Huh?”

  George rubbed his temples. He was wound too tightly and was about to snap. Any time Helen told him about trouble when he was out of town, it was like this. Being helpless to do anything about it made him angry, and sooner or later he couldn’t hide it from her. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting backwards from ten.

  “Their kids. What happened to their kids?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. Angela didn’t say. God, I hope they’re okay. But with all the crazies around here, I hate to imagine.”

  George nodded, even though Helen couldn’t see it. He knew what she was talking about. The panic was palpable, thick in the air. The nutjobs weren’t only in his neighborhood; they were everywhere. Running around on the streets spouting tales of doom or spreading chaos, using the approaching storm as an excuse to do horrible things. It was like the LA riots from the early nineties magnified a thousand times over.

  Yesterday, when he had arrived in Gallatin, half the staff of the company he was working with was out sick. The Operations Manager had rolled his eyes as he told him about it. More likely they were playing hooky, using the worldwide mass hysteria as an excuse. His comment was, “Once this blows over, they’ll be back, embarrassed they got so freaked out.”

  This morning, George awoke to the sounds of sirens and fire trucks, bullhorns and helicopters. The local news teams were going nuts, reporting on flash fires and random acts of violence, not only in the city, but in the suburbs as well. The National Guard had been called in, and they were working with the local authorities to restore peace. Rumors had it that the virus had touched down all over the region. There were unconfirmed reports of infections in Cincinnati and Dayton, as well as Columbus. The government would neither confirm nor deny any of it, simply saying that they were on high alert and everyone in the medical community, both domestically and internationally, was focused on finding a rapid cure.

  “So how are you holding up?” He hated asking the question, knowing what the likely response would be.

  “Helen?”

  George could hear her breathing, so he knew they hadn’t been disconnected.

  “Helen, are you okay?” He was getting nervous. It was not just breathing he could hear; it was something else. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Helen was crying. She was trying to hold it back, but he could hear it over the hiss of the cellular connection.

  “I’m scared, George.”

  The words were a whisper. They stopped George, froze his lips shut. Helen rarely cried and never said she was scared.

  “I don’t know what to do. You’re not here, and Angela told me she and Hank are going to take the kids and head down to Lake Cumberland. Roxy and Deb are flipping out. It’s all happening so fast, I feel like I’m losing my mind …”

  George was antsy about everything he had seen and heard in Gallatin since arriving … and now his wife was telling him it was just as bad up in Wildwood. He’d called in to Raynor, the company with which he was contracted, at eight that morning, and there had been no answer. After three failed attempts to reach anyone, George left a message on the operations manager’s voice mail, telling the man to call him on his cell. It was ten now, and there had been no call.

  “Angela told me we could come with her-”

  “NO!”

  George was startled by his own vehement response. Angela and Hank, their next-door neighbors, were good friends of the family. Their youngest daughter was Deb’s age, so they had spent plenty of time together.

  “Look, I … I know things are screwed up right now. I know that! But I’ll get back home, sweetie. I promise.”

  “But the roads are already being shut down, George! It’s on the news. Time is running out. Hank knows a lot of back roads, and they have the camper. You could head down that way-”

  “No, no, no. Please listen to me! It’s dangerous out there. Way too dangerous for you to be bumming a ride with our neighbors. You know those lunatics attacking people in the neighborhood? Imagine what it’s like out on highways. Even on the ‘back roads’ Hank knows. People are desperate, Helen. Desperate and dangerous.”

  The words spilled out of George’s mouth at a rapid clip, and he was surprised at the level of derision in his voice when he mentioned Hank’s name. The man was a friend, but all George could feel was anger and distrust toward him, as if his neighbor were trying to steal his family away.

  A headache settled in behind his eyes as he tried to calm down. George was frightening himself with his words and couldn’t imagine what they were doing to his wife. But he couldn’t stop. He could feel his family slipping away.

  “Don’t go. I’m begging you, Helen. Please don’t leave! I’ll get back to you, I swear to God.”

  “Don’t you dare blaspheme, George Montgomery. Not even now!”

  George’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth for a moment. The abrupt criticism was a sharp slap. It was a reprimand only his wife would use at a time like this. Before he knew it, a grin was creeping onto his face. That was Helen for you.

  There was a pause in the conversation, as there always was after a stern reprimand. George knew Helen was composing herself, probably running her fingers through her fiery red hair. It was a habit she didn’t realize she had. There would be a tilt of her head, then she would latch on to a few strands and run them between her fingers. Once she was done, it was as if all was right with the world again.

  “So what do you suggest we do?”

  George slumped back onto the hotel bed. His breathing felt less constricted, and the stiffness in his neck was loosening.

  “Stay in the house—hear me out, please! I know everything is crazy around there, but it’s no better anywhere else. The world is … I don’t know a better way to put it than that it’s falling apart. I know you’re scared. I’m sure the girls are too. I sure as hell know I am. So the last thing you need to be doing right now is wandering around trying to find some other place to hide when your best bet is to stay right where you are.”

  Helen was quiet once again, digesting what her husband had said.

  “You only have to hole up until I get back home. Just a few days and we c
an figure out together what we should do. We’ll take the Explorer and go wherever you want. Hopefully things will have settled down by then.”

  “I thought you said everything was falling apart.”

  “I did. I don’t really know what to think right now. All I know is that it’s dangerous out there, and there’s only one place I know I can find you. Not in some cabin at Lake Cumberland, and not on some dirt road out in the sticks.”

  George heard his wife exhale. She still wasn’t certain, but she knew that his position made sense.

  “There’s enough food and water to last you a month or more, not that I think it will come to that. There are some boards out in the garage … now I know you won’t like putting big holes in the walls, but just to be safe-”

  “Okay! Okay! You don’t have to keep pushing; you’ve convinced me, you big doofus.”

  George felt a zing of excitement rush through him.

  “So you’ll stay?”

  “Yes! Yes already! I told you we would. What more do you want? For me to cross my heart and-”

  “Don’t say that.”

  George regretted the words as soon they were out of his mouth. He felt like slamming his fist into his forehead and cursing his stupidity as he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

  “Okay. Yeah. Okay, I won’t.”

  Helen’s voice was subdued, the playfulness he had heard moments before gone.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too. You know I do. Forever and ever.”

  “Come back to us, George. Please. Get home. Be safe—don’t do anything stupid, but get back to us as fast as you can.”

  “You know I will. I’m out of here in one hour. I should have never come here in the first place. You were right. It might take me a while, but you know it’s not far. I might have to take one or two back roads myself, but I will make it back to you.”