The Darkness

by W. J. Lundy

  Murphy held on until the thing stopped moving then rose above it, continuing to stab at the base of its neck. When the black-eyed man finally stopped twitching, he pulled his arm away and rested back on his ankles. Jacob struggled below them and pulled himself clear. Murphy dropped back to his rear and scooted until he was across the kitchen, pressed against the refrigerator. Jacob continued to crawl away toward the light then rolled to his back and looked up at the ceiling.

  Breathing hard, he pushed himself to a sitting position and nursed his wounded hip. The thing’s head was turned in his direction; its blank eyes seemed to glare at him as the black, oily blood drained from its neck onto the tile floor. Jacob looked across the kitchen at Murphy, who reached up and ripped a decorative towel from the refrigerator handle then used it to wipe the blade of his knife.

  Murphy rolled to his knees and climbed to his feet. He pulled open the refrigerator door then looked away as a stench hit him. He looked back and, cupping a hand over the end of his flashlight, looked through the fridge again. Pulling out a bottle of water, he closed the door and twisted the cap from the bottle. He drank half of it and, on his return to the living room, tossed the rest to Jacob as he walked past him.

  “Get up; we’ve got to move,” Murphy whispered.

  Chapter 8

  The solar light went out and stayed out. The house and yard were dark—no sign of the things. Murphy moved them to the front of the house where they hid on a large, open front porch. A wood swing hanging from the rafters squeaked as the wind moved it.

  “There,” Murphy whispered, pointing in the distance.

  Murphy held out his goggles and put them to Jacob’s eye. Jacob blinked and let his vision adjust to the optics. Up ahead, on the opposite corner, a light flashed. Jacob dropped the goggles. Looking in the same direction, he now saw nothing.

  “You can’t see it without the NODs; it’s infrared. I have one just like it,” Murphy whispered while removing a small chip holding a tiny bulb. Murphy manipulated the device connecting the battery then held it over his head. “He’s in the scrub brush. How well do you know that area?”

  Jacob looked back at him confused. “I… I don’t know it at all. I mean, it’s just a few empty lots… was supposed to be developed—”

  “Buddy, I don’t need a real estate lecture. Do you know what’s on the other side of it?”

  Jacob looked back to the distant tree line. “It moves out from here. There is a railroad bed at the back of the lots; that’s the reason they never sold… I mean, there’s railroad tracks back there, then past that and through the trees is a two-lane highway.”

  “Route 30?” Murphy asked.

  Jacob nodded and watched as Murphy pulled a small spiral notebook from a pocket on his sleeve. He began to sketch their location, then scribbled notes that Jacob couldn’t make out. Murphy folded over the page and stuck the notebook back in his pocket. “Okay, that should bring us out on the approach to the safe zone. You ready to move?”

  “What about the motion light?” Jacob asked.

  “Well, either those things are gone, or the battery died. You can’t go home, and we can’t stay here.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good; I’ll run with you to the corner and stop. You keep going and head to the trees. Slow down to a walk when you cross the street; Stephens will find you.”

  Jacob nodded as a response. Murphy slapped him on the shoulder and climbed to his feet. Slowly, the soldier led them off the porch with his rifle up. They moved quietly, walking a narrow path leading from the stoop to the main sidewalk. Jacob’s eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, and he could see a good distance in all directions. Murphy picked up his pace, and Jacob followed, running along and staying just behind Murphy’s right shoulder.

  Just as he’d said he would do, Murphy stopped at the curb and quickly turned to cover the direction they’d traveled. Exactly as he was told to, Jacob ran past him. Continuing into the street and running for the wooded lots, his footfalls echoed off the pavement. Halfway across, gunshots erupted from behind him. He continued on his way and sprinted for the cover of the woods. When he hit the grass—instead of stopping as instructed—he kept going, the adrenaline pushing him on. Muzzle flashes from deep in the trees ahead blinded him as tracers cut just to the right of his path.

  Jacob ran on, his foot catching in a hole and causing him to tumble forward. He dropped into a shallow embankment. He instinctively lowered his hands to try to cushion his fall, only to have them cut open on the sharp gravel. He ducked his head as he rolled, crashing through a thorn bush at the bottom. Gunfire continued as Jacob crawled forward deeper into the lot. Feeling cuts to his hands and face, he dragged his battered body away from the sounds. Suddenly, a hand from behind lifted him back to his feet and he heard Stephens’ voice.

  “Run!”

  Wet branches slapped his face; thorns tore at his shirt and dug into his skin. He ducked and turned, running for the open ground he saw ahead and praying it would be the railroad bed that would provide cover. Bullets snapped around him; the sounds echoed off the canopy of the trees as the muzzle flashes confused his vision. Jacob took long staggering steps, struggling to put one foot in front of the other as his lungs burned and he gasped for air.

  He hit the railroad bed and again fell to his hands and knees. Scrambling to the top of it, he ran across the first rail, tripped over the second, and rolled down the other side. He crawled forward; disoriented, gasping for air, bile in his stomach begging him to vomit. He fought the urge to collapse as his arms and legs cramped from fear and exhaustion. He crawled on until Murphy moved up beside him. He felt himself being pummeled and pressed to the ground as someone dropped on top of him, and a gloved hand cupped his mouth, forcing him to take whistling breaths through his nose.

  “Shhhhh, quiet,” Murphy whispered in his ear.

  Jacob closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. A crash of footfalls tumbled over the summit of the railroad bed; stones clanged against the tracks as they ran across and into the brush on both sides. Jacob’s body flinched uncontrollably from fear and adrenalin. Murphy pinned him to ground tighter, and Jacob, putting trust in the soldier, resisted the urge to break free. He forced his eyes closed, allowing his face to be pressed against the dirt and tasting the leather glove held tight over his mouth. The things ran to the left and right of him so close, he could feel the breeze off their legs racing by as bits of mud and grass were kicked onto his cheek.

  They slowly faded away with the sounds of the breaking tree limbs, moving farther east. Murphy rolled off him and popped up to a knee. Jacob saw that Stephens had joined them in a small depression at the base of the embankment. Murphy and Stephens held their rifles steady as they slowly scanned the area. Jacob lay silent, still catching his breath, trying to control his heartbeat, and pushing back the pain radiating through his body.

  After what seemed an eternity, Murphy looked down at him and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Hell, no. I’m not okay,” Jacob responded.

  “Good.” Murphy handed Jacob a plastic bottle. “Drink some water; we’ll be moving shortly.”

  Jacob took the bottle and pushed himself up to his knees, then rocked back to a sitting position. The rifle was still over his shoulder and he’d somehow managed not to drop the pistol through all of it. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Murphy looked at him, scowling.

  “Finish it; you never know when you’ll get another chance,” he said.

  Jacob tipped the bottle back, gulped the remainder of the water, and then let it rest in the weeds beside him. He put his hand to his hip and moved his fingers over the medical tape, feeling the curled edges and the dampness of the bandage. Jacob knew it had come loose in one of the falls he’d taken, but it could wait; he wanted to keep moving and make it to the park as soon as possible.

  Without saying a word, Stephens got to his feet then dropped a hand to pull Murphy up; in turn, Murphy reached a hand to Jacob.
They stood silently. For the moment, the woods seemed safer than the neighborhood; the tall trees provided concealment for their movement. Stephens, again, led the way, slowly stepping through thick cover until he located a game trail. Jacob watched as he took careful steps, lifting his feet and cautiously putting them down to avoid branches and leaves.

  They stopped often to listen, sometimes kneeling in the brush and vegetation waiting for a suspicious sound to fade. They could still hear the black-eyes moving, although they were far off. Jacob could hear the distant snapping brush and splashing of water as the things continued searching for them. Stephens pressed forward until the trio reached the two-lane highway, where he dropped to his belly and crawled to the mowed shoulder of the road.

  The moon was high in the sky now; its bright face lit the blacktop surface of the road, making it easier to see. Murphy pushed Jacob ahead, and soon the three of them were shoulder to shoulder at the highway’s edge. It was surprisingly empty and devoid of vehicles. Jacob expected abandoned cars and a deadlocked traffic jam; instead, he looked over a silent roadway. The buildings on the far side all appeared to be empty and surprisingly untouched. The road rose away from them and off to the right. At the top of the hill sat a police patrol car blocking the road.

  Stephens had his rifle to his eye while inspecting the vehicle. He pulled his eye away from the rifle’s optics and whispered, “There’s people in the car.”

  Jacob twisted while trying to get a better view of the vehicle that was a hundred yards away, but it was hard to pick out anything in the dark. Backlit by the horizon, the light bar on the top made it stand out from the grey-blue sky behind it. Jacob squinted; he could just barely make out movement from inside the vehicle. Murphy scooted back away from the shoulder, and then started to crawl in the direction of the car.

  “What are you doing?” Stephens asked.

  “Let’s check it out. Stay close behind me.”

  Murphy continued crawling in the direction of the patrol car. Jacob felt a pat on his back and looked back at Stephens who motioned for him to follow.

  “You heard the sergeant; we’re gonna check it out,” Stephens whispered.

  Chapter 9

  It was slow going crawling through the tall grass toward the patrol car. Jacob watched Murphy and tried to mimic his motions—every movement deliberate and quiet as they slipped through the blades of grass. Murphy held his rifle in his right hand by the sling, near the barrel. He would push his arm forward then slowly allow the rest of his body to crawl ahead. He’d stay motionless, listening, and then lift his head to survey the area before moving his rifle arm again to repeat the movement.

  One arm length at a time, they moved along the depression at the side of the road. Jacob didn’t dare lift his head to look. He stayed as low to the ground as possible, trying to become one with it, and wishing he were thinner so that he could bury himself in the weeds. Every time he pushed himself ahead with his feet, he felt the wound on his hip grind against the soil.

  Keeping the pain to himself, he didn’t yelp or cringe. He didn’t want to be a burden or give the soldiers an excuse to stop. Jacob desperately wanted to reach the evacuation site, and he knew he couldn’t do it without the men escorting him. Jacob reached an arm out ahead and slapped into Murphy’s calf. In his agony and trying to push his thoughts aside, he hadn’t noticed that Murphy had stopped. Jacob pulled back his arm and waited.

  Jacob heard the clunk of a car door opening and heavy-soled shoes strike the pavement. They were close now, and he wanted to look but didn’t dare. He didn’t want to give away their position. The feet moved away; another clunk and another man caused sounds of metal clinking together while heavy feet slapped the pavement. Jacob listened to the sounds of the doors slamming shut.

  Murphy didn’t move. Jacob could feel Stephens behind him, lying almost on the back of his legs and could hear the soldier breathing. Suddenly Murphy rose up to a kneeling position all the while concealed in the high grass and the cover of dark. Stephens slowly crawled past Jacob and rose up next to Murphy. Jacob remained lying in the grass, not wanting to move as the two soldiers set out ahead, walking much faster now while still crouched in the grass.

  Frustrated and not wanting to be left behind, Jacob lifted himself to a push-up position and brought his knees forward. He climbed up and followed the other two. He could see the patrol car clearly now. It was empty. Whoever previously occupied it was gone. Murphy and Stephens moved quickly along the shoulder, then cut diagonally across the pavement and crouched near the patrol driver’s side door. Jacob knelt by the brush guard at the hood of the car while Murphy circled it and Stephens moved around to the passenger side to look through the window.

  “Keys are in it,” Stephens whispered just as they heard heavy shoes striking pavement in the distance and moving back in their direction.

  Jacob ducked behind the grill of the patrol car. Without speaking, Stephens and Murphy moved back to flank him, where they watched and waited. As the footsteps grew louder, Murphy stood straight up, holding his rifle in front of him, the stock in his shoulder and the barrel still pointed down at the street. Stephens did the same, side stepping and using the vehicle for cover. Stephens looked down at Jacob cowering. “Stand up fool; get your weapon out,” he hissed under his breath. “And be ready, just in case.”

  Jacob forced himself to his feet and raised the small rifle in the direction of the footsteps just as two figures emerged from the shadows. Both were police officers wearing black body armor; one cradled a shotgun, the other walked with an empty holster. They continued moving forward then stopped as they saw the trio formed up around the patrol car. The officers didn’t speak, or even as much as look at each other to communicate.

  Their movements were jerky. One stepped awkwardly to the left, trying to focus on them while the one with the shotgun took a quick step forward and brought the weapon up in his arms.

  “Stop; we’re with the Army,” Murphy said in a commanding voice just loud enough to be heard.

  Without any warning, the unarmed officer ran at Stephens, a scream erupting from the man’s mouth. Frightened, Jacob stepped back as the other officer raised the shotgun and fired. Jacob could hear and feel the buckshot zip past his head. In tandem, Stephens and Murphy brought up their weapons and fired. Jacob watched the soldiers’ rounds tear holes through the officers’ vests. The policemen dropped to the ground dead; the shotgun clacked as it hit the pavement.

  “What the hell was that?” Stephens said, moving forward and kicking the weapon away.

  Jacob quickly rounded the vehicle where Murphy was already leaning over one of the officers.

  “Holy shit, you guys just killed two cops!” Jacob said.

  Murphy looked back at him shaking his head. “I don’t think so,” he said, lifting his gloved hand. The black oily blood clung to his fingers and dripped off in thick strings, like heavy paint.

  Stephens pulled out a knife and cut a long gash down the other officer’s arm.

  “No! Ahh, what the hell are you doing?” Jacob gasped in disgust.

  The skin split open, revealing a dark oozing gelatinized flesh. “Yeah, these ain’t cops. We gotta get the fuck outta here, Sergeant.”

  Hearing the sound of tree limbs snapping, Jacob turned his head toward the woods. More were coming, obviously attracted by the sound of gunfire.

  “I said we gotta go,” Stephens repeated as he ran back to the patrol car.

  Jacob turned and ran after him. Stephens was already in the driver’s side with the car running before Jacob jumped into the backseat. The passenger’s door closed with Murphy slapping the dash and yelling. “Go, go, go!”

  Stephens hit the gas, the tires spun, and the car pulled away before the first of them broke the tree line. Jacob watched out of the passenger’s window as several of them ran onto the road and turned to follow the patrol car. They passed deserted cars rolled to the sides of the road, houses with broken windows and doors left to hang open, and
the occasional abandoned body on a sidewalk. Stephens drove at high speed with the lights off until he hit a side street and quickly slowed to make the turn in time, the engine roaring with every maneuver. He drove for several more minutes, pulled to the curb of an empty road, coasted to a stop, and cut the engine.

  Jacob looked out and knew they were only blocks from the park. There were no homes here; it was a long, empty street. A river ran parallel to the road on the left and he knew they would cross a bridge ahead that would take them to the park’s main gate. To the right stood a high “noise pollution” fence that sheltered the high-priced homes on the other side from the traffic sounds.

  Stephens pressed a button, and the cars doors all locked simultaneously. “Looks like a nice enough neighborhood, but why take any chances.” He grabbed the CB radio, clicked the mic, and scanned through all of the channels only to receive interference and static. “Nothing; we can’t get our comms on this radio without the frequencies loaded. Cops must be off the net,” he said, clicking it off and letting the mic hit the floor.

  “What the hell happened back there?” Jacob asked.

  Murphy looked at him over the backseat. “I’d say we got away. Were you hit?”

  “No, I wasn’t hit… but he shot at us!”

  “Yeah, they do that sometimes,” Stephens whispered. Keeping his hands on the steering wheel, he continued looking straight ahead.

  “What do you mean, they do that sometimes?” Jacob asked, frustrated.

  Stephens shook his head and leaned back in the seat. “It’s like some of them know. Like if they was cops, they keep doing cop shit. They get smarter the longer they’re out there. I’ve seen soldiers still holding their rifles and walking patrol while surrounded by more of the darkness. Carpenters holding hammers. Butchers with knives. Most of ’em are like what we saw back there, you know… like zombies or something, but sometimes… yeah, sometimes they shoot at us.”