Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending

by Brian Stewart

  “10-4”

  Eric kept his foot on the brake a moment longer as he pictured the layout of the marina. While he sat in contemplation, Max’s big head poked through the sliding window.

  “Are you ready?” Michelle asked.

  “Almost—just thinking . . . trying to narrow down our options.”

  He picked up his radio. “Walter, check me if I’m wrong here, but the two small buildings are solid and locked—no way in from the outside without a key, even for a smaller person, right?”

  “Yeah Eric, that’s correct. If the doors are both shut and locked, those buildings are clear.”

  “OK, and we know the store is locked down and secure.”

  “Yep.”

  “OK, that leaves us with your office and the boat storage warehouse, and from what I remember, both of those buildings have entry points that can’t be secured airtight, correct?”

  “That’s right. The front side of my office is a normal door—should be secure. The backside though, has the sliding garage door that goes into the old motor shop, and another sliding door that opens into the room where the big wooden picnic table is. Both of those sliding doors can probably be pulled open wide enough to give a small or skinny person a way in. And once they’re in, they’d have full access to the building. As for the boat warehouse, it’s just a pole building. The big sliding bay doors just run on tracks up top—you could pull the bottom open five feet or more easily—and there’s also several gaps where the tin doesn’t go all the way down to the foundation. I’ve had cats, coyotes, and even a big ol’ beaver come in that way.”

  “OK, that’s what I thought, thanks.”

  Max gave a small, excited whine, and then turned and licked Eric’s face. Swiveling his head to the right, he nosed Michelle briefly before pulling back through the window.

  Eric’s eyes narrowed in false disgust at the sight of Max and Michelle bonding, although Michelle’s barely hidden smirk showed that she knew the truth, perhaps more than Eric did.

  It didn’t take her long, “So, that little whine, does it mean your hairy mutt has to go pee-pee?”

  “No, it means he can sense the excitement of the hunt, and he’s trying to get the pack moving,” Eric replied with one arched eyebrow and the millisecond-late comprehension of what he’d just set himself up for.

  “So, you’re saying that Max considers me part of his pack now?” She was staring straight out of the windshield as she replied, but he could see the amused restraint that was forcing her flat line smile almost to the point of breaking.

  “Apparently.”

  “Hmmm . . . interesting.”

  With a shake of his head, Eric let off of the brake and drove slowly around the marina. Three laps produced nothing, and he coasted to a stop out where the gravel met the highway.

  “Walter . . . Sam—everybody else too—we didn’t find it, so here’s what I’m thinking; I’m going to drive down the road just to our initial contact point, and then I’m going to circle back and head up the driveway. Assuming we don’t see anything there, we’ll drive back down to the marina and make plans for our search. Everybody got that?”

  Three ‘Yes’s’ came back.

  They drove slowly out the road, weaving around several bodies that either Sam or Thompson had put down. Nothing else was visible, and they turned around just past the corpse in the ski jacket. The drive back to the marina and subsequent trip up to Walter’s house also produced nothing.

  At the top, Walter called them on the radio and asked them to hold up a minute. The heat blowing from the vent at the floorboard was just beginning to reach maximum temperature when Walter came out of the house and walked up to Michelle’s window. Max watched him, but stayed silent.

  “You OK?”

  They both nodded.

  “Do you think it’s wise to search for this thing at night?”

  “Honestly, no. But I also don’t think it’s wise to let it just run around, either. And we still don’t know if anything else is lurking out there in the weeds. Either way our choices suck.”

  “I hear that,” Walter said, “give me a minute to throw on a different pair of boots and I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” Eric answered—Bernice’s words still fresh in his mind, “I’d rather have you up here right now where you can help coordinate things on the radio.”

  Walter paused and stared at him. “Don’t try and protect me, Eric. I ain’t lookin’ for no favors or special treatment. This is my place, and it’s my responsibility to keep it as safe as I can. No matter what Bernie says.”

  “I’m not. As a matter of fact, I’m counting on you to keep this place safe. What I’m trying to avoid is having too many people crowded together in our little hunting party. Besides, there’s no telling where this thing is.” Eric motioned with his head back towards the wooded switchback, “It could be fifty feet from the first curve and heading this way right now, and if so, I’d rather have you up here . . . seriously.”

  Walter was silent for another moment, and then he slowly nodded. “Alright, I’ll be up here with the radio until you give the ‘all clear’ signal. Besides, I’m still working on my speech for the meeting at the store. Anyhow, take these.” Two boxes of 12 gauge buckshot were handed through the open window, immediately followed by a chrome plated pump shotgun. Attached to the magazine extension tube were two split rings. Walter tapped them with a calloused finger as he handed the weapon through, “These little clamps should fit your flashlight just about perfectly.”

  Eric took the Quark out of his pocket and snapped it into the retaining clamps. The hard plastic fingers held the light securely, but still left enough room to access the flashlight’s on/off switch.

  “Thank you.”

  Walter patted the truck door, “Be careful, both of you.” Without another word, he turned and walked back into the house.

  Eric drove back toward the marina slowly, swiveling the truck as much as he could within the limited width of the driveway to get the maximum coverage out of the truck’s lights. Again, they found nothing.

  Halfway there, Amy’s voice came over the radio, carrying with it several heated shouts. “Hey Eric and Walter, it’s Amy . . . we seem to have a small, developing situation down here at the store . . .” Several garbled, angry voices began to interrupt her transmission, and she keyed off for a moment.

  “She’s pretty amazing when it comes to dealing with people,” Michelle said.

  “Yeah, and we’ve left her alone in the lions’ den with a lot of scared people.”

  “A lot of the angry ones, also.”

  “Angry?”

  “Well, I think they’re angry because they’re afraid—most of them anyhow. But there’s a couple that are pissed because, so far, Walter hasn’t provided them with room service and a personal bodyguard.”

  Eric shook his head but said nothing. He was almost to the gate when Amy’s voice came back. “Eric, or Walter . . . is there any chance I can get one of you to stop at the store for a moment before you start looking for that thing?”

  “Walter,” Eric replied, “I got this . . . Sam, I’m going to make another loop or two around the store, and then I’m going to put the ladder back up. If you’re up for it, I’d appreciate your help when Michelle and I search for the feral.”

  “The last time I bailed off of a roof isn’t too fond in my memories, but I’ll give it another chance. What do you want Thompson and Scott to do?”

  “Same thing as before—one of them needs to stay focused towards the area where they all came from, and the other one needs to follow us from above. Just remember about shot placement, especially since we’ll have our boots on the ground. Everybody’s flashlight still juiced up?”

  “We’re good to go with that up here.”

  “Hey Sam, leave the AR up there for Scott, and bring down the shotgun with you.”

  “Got it . . . in position and waiting for the ladder.”

  Triple loops around the store,
office, and outbuildings kept their score at zero. They made a final pass from the gas pumps back to the store, and then Eric pulled up next to the downed ladder. They opened their doors simultaneously and got out, scanning the immediate area once again with their flashlights. Once again they saw nothing, so Eric grabbed the ladder and leaned it back against the store, holding the bottom as Sam came down.

  “Thompson or Scott, will one of you pull the ladder up on the roof with you?”

  Indeterminate hands grabbed the ladder, and a moment later it had vanished up and over the roof line.

  Eric hopped back in the truck and drove it twenty feet forward, parking it at the corner of the store and shutting it off. He left the keys in the ignition though—pulled out just enough that the reminder ding wouldn’t sound. The off-road lights were shut down, but the headlights were left on.

  In less than a minute, both he and Sam had loaded their shotguns while Michelle continued to scan the area. Another handful of the buckshot went into each of their pockets.

  “Max, guard the truck.”

  The bodies on the ground hadn’t moved, but as a precaution, they gave them a wide berth to avoid stepping in any fluids. Even so, their noses crinkled with the stench.

  “Not trying to be a potty mouth here,” Sam drawled, “but have you two noticed that every one of these things smells like shit?”

  Michelle shined her flashlight across the bodies, “Most people void their bowels after death.”

  “I know, but I mean even the ones I shot from the top of the semi truck smelled like a diaper, and that was before they were . . . dead.”

  Michelle put the light on the corpse of the old lady that she and Eric had taken down last. “Are you saying that they were dead before we shot them—that they had already emptied their bowels?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Do you really think these people were zombies?”

  Sam grinned his gap-toothed smile, “Hey, I’ve been divorced for nine years, so I watch a lot of television.”

  “Were you watching television at home the day they taught about gathering evidence and drawing conclusions at the academy?”

  “Probably, why?”

  Michelle put the light back on the old lady. “Look at her legs, they’re covered with feces.” A wave of her flashlight at each of the other bodies near the store showed the same—pants, skirts, or bare legs—all covered in defecation. “These people were processing waste material through their bodies continually. It just looks like they couldn’t keep it inside.”

  Sam used his own flashlight to scan the bodies. “Well, I hereby promote you to chief detective, effective immediately and for however long we stay alive.”

  Any further repartee was interrupted with a rapid knocking on the glass entrance to the store.

  “Somebody remind me to be nice,” Eric said as he headed for the door.

  Chapter 13

  Amy unlocked the door and let them in, rolling her eyes and gritting her teeth as she did. “Sorry to call you, but after awhile people get tired of listening to the same voice.”

  Small groups of standing people were scattered throughout the dimly lit, crowded interior. Many more were still huddled in groups on the floor, and it seemed to Eric like they all began to talk at once.

  Sam leaned in and mumbled into Eric’s ear, “You want me to wing a few of them to get their attention?”

  Eric suppressed a smile, “No, not yet anyway. Let me try to be diplomatic first, if that doesn’t work, then we’ll consider your alternative.”

  Eric raised his hand and stood there silently. Every shouted question was ignored; every attempt to draw his attention went unanswered. It took almost two solid minutes before the crowd realized that nothing was going to be said until they had quieted down. Two of the standing groups contained most of the worst offenders, and were the reason for the last thirty seconds of delay.

  Scanning the crowd slowly, he could see a definite divide in the sea of faces. Fear, anger, heartache, apprehension and doubt—it was all there. Especially fear.

  “Well, are you going to stand there with your hand up in the air like some royal asshole addressing his subjects, or are you just going to get back in your chariot and drive up to the castle on the hill where you have electricity and food?”

  It had come from a middle-aged man in a business suit standing with one of the groups. From Eric’s view, it looked like the man’s hair had been chiseled out of silver plastic.

  Eric took a breath to calm himself as he turned to face the man. “I understand that you’re . . .”

  “You don’t understand shit.” The man stepped to the front of his little group, buoyed by nods and agreements from others in the crowd. “You . . . and him . . . and those two,” he nodded toward Sam, Michelle, and Amy, “and all the other ‘special people’ are safe and protected up there in the house, and you’ve got us down here, locked up in the dark just waiting on your grace for food. We’re not your subjects, and we’re sure as hell not going to lay on the floor and be bait for your little safari out there.”

  Eric lowered his hand and forced several more breaths between his tightening lips as the crowd, spurred on by the man’s angry statements, exploded once again. A dark-haired lady standing with another group shouted over the din, “They’ve got a whole room full of food and guns up at the house . . . and they’re supposed to be lawmen. Seems more like jailers to me.”

  “Nobody is making you stay here, you can leave anytime you want,” Eric’s raised voice was loud, but barely pierced through the crowd before he was shouted down again.

  “I know that the old guy has a lot of barrels full of gasoline in that big warehouse. He flat out told me that he wasn’t going to give me any, though. I’ll tell you what I think—I think there’s enough of us like minded folks in here to convince him otherwise.”

  Each word that was said chipped away at the remaining threads of Eric’s patience, and with a quick spin, he long-strided over to the door—almost bulling over Amy in the process.

  She reached up a hand to his shoulder, and in a very tattered, worn out voice said, “Remember that saying about a few bad apples. There’s a lot of people in here who are doing their best to be on your side, but as usual, most of those people are not as outspoken as some of the ‘squeaky wheel’ groups.”

  His face still red with anger, Eric managed to give a quick nod of acknowledgment to Amy before continuing over and whispering to Sam. The questioning look that Sam shot back rated another whisper, and then Sam nodded slowly. Eric stepped back toward the middle of the fray, pausing momentarily next to Michelle. His whispered words brought a grim look to her face, and with a terse nod of her head, she shouldered through the crowd toward Sam and Amy—Glock in hand.

  The dark-haired lady threw out more curses at him before shouting, “Yeah, big people with guns and badges pushing the rest of us around. It’s just like Fargo all over again.”

  Eric raised his right hand again. This time the majority of the crowd quieted quickly, but interspersed derogatory comments continued to flow from the standing factions. Without saying a word, he dropped his right hand back to his side, and slowly lifted his left—pointing it toward the glass door. The crowd swiveled their necks at the sound of Sam’s key ring jingling, and even the standing groups became quiet when he unlocked the door and wedged it halfway open with his boot.

  “Now the bastards are kicking us out . . . I don’t think so. We deserve an explanation about what’s been going on, and I want it now. I’m not going anywhere—none of us are—until we get it.”

  A stout man with a pot belly and braided white beard stood up from a group that had been huddled in the corner. He wove his way through the crowd until he was standing midway between Eric and the abusive loudmouth. Turning towards Eric’s accuser, he folded his arms across his chest and said, “Sit your ass down and let the man speak. Everybody here is just as much in the dark as you are, but we’re getting pret
ty sick of hearing your nonstop bitching and moaning.”

  A trifecta of ‘amens’ detonated from around the room, and Eric used the ensuing stillness to jump in to the mix.

  “That door is open for two reasons. Number one, and most importantly—anybody, and I mean anybody—is free to leave at any time they want, as long as their departure does not put other people at risk.” He turned toward the stiff-haired speaker, “But let me be absolutely, crystal clear—you will be walking out of that door with exactly what you brought in. Any thoughts you’re entertaining about forming some ‘Frankenstein lynch mob’ and trying to take—either by deception or violence—any property that does not belong to you will be met with force.” Three of Eric’s strides put him right in the face of the plastic-haired man positioned at the point of the standing group. Eric raised his hand and pointed a stiff index finger at the man’s forehead. A rapid poke thumped him dead center between his eyebrows, and Eric punctuated his jab with, “Lethal force.”