Dark Days (Book 1): Collapse

by Lukens, Mark

  Kim gripped the golf club even tighter, ready to swing if she needed to.

  CHAPTER 14

  “You wanted to get me here?” Ray asked. “Why?” An idea was already running through his mind; Helen didn’t believe his story that he didn’t have any idea about what was going on. She knew he worked at the CDC, and she wanted some answers.

  And hadn’t he told a lie? He knew a little more about what was going on than he was letting on. He’d gotten the phone call from Craig who claimed to have answers at his house. But how could he tell anyone about that? Besides, maybe he’d heard Craig wrong. He’d only heard part of the conversation with the call breaking up so badly.

  “Could I offer you a cup of coffee?” Helen asked.

  “How did you make coffee without any electricity?”

  “I’ve got a small propane camping stove. Enough to boil some water.”

  Coffee sounded good; Ray could admit that he’d gotten somewhat addicted to his morning cups of coffee over the years.

  “Just a quick cup of coffee,” Helen said. “I really need to talk to you about something.”

  He nodded at her and followed her into the kitchen, grabbing a few chairs along the way to help put them away.

  In the kitchen, Helen poured Ray a cup of coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

  “Both please,” he told her.

  Helen spooned some sugar into the cup and stirred it. She had a small sealed packet of cream like they had at the restaurants, and she handed a couple of the packets to Ray along with the coffee.

  He wondered where she’d gotten the containers of cream from, but he didn’t ask. He was sure they had to be okay if they were still sealed. He opened the cream and poured it into his coffee, stirring slowly. The aroma of the coffee was wonderful and he wondered when he would drink another hot cup of coffee after today.

  “Something bad is happening,” Helen said.

  Ray wasn’t sure if she was making a statement or asking a question.

  “And I believe you may know more about what’s going on than you told us.”

  There it was; that suspicion was back. Ray didn’t answer, giving nothing away.

  “I’m not condemning you,” Helen said quickly, as if she meant no offense. “I might do the same thing in your situation.”

  Ray took another sip of his coffee. He was really ready to go now, already thinking of a tactful way to end this conversation.

  “I have a daughter,” Helen said. “Her name is Emma. She lives in a condominium in a complex called The Groves.” Helen got up and went to her purse on the counter. She rummaged inside and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She brought it back to the kitchen table with her and slid it across the table to Ray. “Please, take this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Directions to my daughter’s condo. I drew them up for you.”

  Ray was a little shocked, unable to hide it now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do you want me to have this?”

  Helen smiled. “I’m sick, Ray.”

  The sudden change in the conversation was making Ray’s head spin.

  “I’ve got stage-four cancer,” she continued with a wan smile. “I’ve tried everything: chemotherapy, radiation, nutrition and exercise.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Nothing worked for long. I’ve got maybe a few months left now. I need someone to take care of my daughter.”

  It was one shock after another for Ray. How could a woman he barely knew ask him to take care of her daughter? He had his own wife and children to worry about.

  But Helen continued on before Ray could even say anything. “Emma can help you when you leave.”

  “When we leave? Who said we were leaving?”

  Helen just smiled at him like it was already a foregone conclusion. “Emma can show you the way.”

  This conversation was getting a little too weird for Ray. He began to wonder if Helen was still in her right mind, and he hoped she hadn’t tampered with the coffee. He pushed the cup away and smiled politely. “I really need to get going.”

  Helen nodded. “Please, Ray. I don’t have much time left. And Emma can help you find Avalon.”

  Everything stopped for a moment, Ray’s whole world screeching to a halt. He just stared at Helen, his body and mind frozen for just a second. “Avalon,” he finally whispered. “How do you know about Avalon?”

  “I don’t know what Avalon is,” Helen said. “But Emma mentioned it to me. All I know is that she can help you find it when the time comes.”

  Ray got to his feet. This conversation was over now; it was all getting too bizarre for him. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

  Helen was on her feet, too. “Yes,” she said. “You should get back to your family now.” She had the folded-up piece of paper in her hand. “Please, take this.”

  Ray took the paper and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

  “Thank you,” she whispered like she believed he was going to grant the request she was asking.

  Ray was on Helen’s front porch a moment later. He could hear her locking the front door as he shuffled down the porch steps to the walkway in her front yard that led out to the sidewalk. It was still cold out here, but warming up quickly. Yet the cool air felt refreshing to him, helping to clear his mind a little.

  Nobody was out on the street. Everyone else must have gone back to their houses. He thought about what Donny had said, about the soldiers in gas masks guarding the entrance to their subdivision. He almost expected to see a military vehicle turn the corner to patrol their street.

  He hurried down the street to his house. He needed to get back inside, maybe try to sleep for a few hours. He hadn’t slept well last night and he just needed some time to shut his mind down for a while.

  As he walked down the sidewalk, he couldn’t get the strange conversation he’d just had with Helen out of his mind. He had the folded-up paper in his pants pocket with the directions on it. He had taken the folded-up paper out of politeness, taken it just to get out of her house, but he was going to throw it away when he got home.

  Are you? Are you really going to throw it away? Even if she knows something about Avalon?

  Where had that thought come from? He really needed some sleep.

  Ray was past the empty lot that separated his house from Helen’s house now, right at the front corner of his lawn. He looked up at the side window of their bedroom. The window was still open a crack, just the way he’d left it forty-five minutes ago when he’d left to go to Helen’s house.

  He heard a scream from the window . . . Kim’s scream.

  Ray bolted across the front yard; he’d never run so fast in his life. He was around the garage and to the “back” door.

  The door had been forced open.

  He heard Kim scream again from inside the house.

  CHAPTER 15

  When Tim left Helen’s house, he decided not to go home. Instead, he walked past his house to the main street that led towards the entrance of their neighborhood. He wanted to see if there really were soldiers guarding the entrance to their subdivision like Donny had said there was.

  Besides, it wasn’t like he had anyone waiting at home for him. His wife had left him six months ago, tired of his drinking and gambling, both of which had gotten worse over the last few months of their marriage.

  Hell with her. If he wanted to drink, then he would drink. She couldn’t tell him what to do. He hoped she was happy living back with her mother again, a woman who had hated him since the day that he’d married her daughter.

  You’re not good enough for my daughter.

  Well, she’d never actually said those words, but he could practically read her mind. He was sure that if his wife were still here, she would tell him not to go check out the entrance. She would tell him it was too dangerous. Hell, now everything had become too dangerous if you could believe what was on the news these days.

  He’d gotten drunk last night, drunker than usual, and the hangove
r now was pretty bad after only a few hours of sleep. The beer and whiskey used to help him sleep; it had been his excuse to drink for the last fifteen years, but now the alcohol wasn’t even helping him stay asleep very long anymore. He felt queasy right now, and shaky. His stomach felt sick. Maybe he was hungry.

  What if these are symptoms of whatever virus is supposedly out here, the one that’s turning people into animals, into crazed killing machines, into rippers?

  No. It was just a hangover. That’s all.

  Still, he’d been having some strange thoughts the last two days. And some really bizarre dreams. He’d never dreamed much in his life, or he didn’t really remember them if he did (his wife had always joked about his lack of imagination), but these last two nights he’d had some terrible nightmares, some real whoppers. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t slept very long; it wasn’t the alcohol waking him up, but the nightmares. He couldn’t remember the nightmares, but there was a man in the dreams, a man hiding in the shadows. And the man’s eyes shined in the darkness.

  Maybe he would go home after checking out Donny’s story and get a few hours of sleep. His leg muscles were beginning to ache just from this walk to the entrance. He wished now that he would have gotten his car and driven it down here. He had expected to see others from Helen’s house doing the same thing he was, checking out the entrance, but the streets were clear.

  When he turned the corner onto the main street—the street that separated their neighborhood into two major areas—he saw the military vehicles blocking the entrance and exit to the neighborhood. The entrance consisted of two roads, an in and an out road, both of the roads separated by an island of shrubs and flowers that the HOA took care of. He slowed his walk down, staring at the vehicles parked in front of the entrance; he wasn’t sure what kind of vehicles they were, maybe some kind of Humvee or even some kind of small tanks, but they were definitely military. Of course these days the police forces were using vehicles, gear, and weapons that looked more and more like the military.

  His curiosity was piqued, and his aching leg muscles and nausea were forgotten for the moment. He kept walking towards the entrance.

  As he got closer, within forty feet, three soldiers left their posts beside the vehicles to stand guard together, rifles in their gloved hands, gas masks over their faces.

  “Sir, please return home,” the soldier in the middle said as Tim approached. Even though he’d said the word please, it didn’t seem like a suggestion.

  Tim stopped when he was within a few feet of the soldiers.

  “Sir, there’s a curfew,” the soldier said.

  “Curfew. That’s only at night, isn’t it?”

  “Sir, please return home.”

  “I can’t leave the neighborhood?”

  “Please return home, sir.” The soldier’s voice sounded like Darth Vader through the gas mask.

  “Why can’t I leave? Are we being quarantined? Is there some kind of disease?”

  The soldier didn’t answer.

  “Why are you wearing those gas masks and rubber gloves?”

  “Just a precaution, sir.”

  “Is there some kind of virus that we should know about?”

  “The safest thing for you to do is to return home,” the soldier in the middle said, obviously the spokesman for the group. The soldiers on each side of him looked tense, their eyes wide behind their face shields.

  Tim took a few steps closer.

  All three soldiers aimed their rifles at him.

  Tim stopped, his hands shooting up in surrender. “Hey, wait.”

  The soldier on the left rushed up to Tim, aiming his rifle right at his head. “You need to come with us.”

  “No. Hey, wait. I’ll go home. I . . . I didn’t know the curfew was in the daytime.”

  The soldier lowered his weapon and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket.

  “No wait,” Tim pleaded. The nausea was back again, raging in his stomach, acidy vomit threatening to come up. “No. You don’t want me. Listen, there’s someone else. Someone you should know about. There are people in this neighborhood plotting against you.”

  “Wait a minute,” the middle soldier said, holding up a gloved hand to the soldier with the handcuffs. He turned his attention back to Tim and nodded, indicating for him to continue talking.

  Tim could barely catch his breath. This situation had gotten out of control so quickly. “There’s a . . . a woman. Her name is Helen. She . . . she had a meeting this morning. She was getting everyone together, trying to get everyone to fight back.”

  “Where is this woman?”

  Tim gave them Helen’s address.

  The soldier nodded.

  “There’s this other guy you might want to know about,” Tim said. “A black guy. His name is Ray . . . Ray something. I can’t remember his last name. I don’t know where he lives. But he works for the CDC. I . . . I think he knows something about all of this, something he’s not telling anyone.”

  The middle soldier looked at the other two, almost like they were communicating telepathically with each other. Then the solider looked back at Tim. “Go home, sir. If you try to leave we will have to detain you.”

  Tim nodded and turned around. He hurried back down the sidewalk toward the street his house was on, trying not to run, afraid that he would feel a bullet in his back at any moment.

  CHAPTER 16

  Ray bolted inside his house, his mind a blur of white-hot panic. He raced through the laundry room into the kitchen and then up the stairs.

  He wanted to call out Kim’s name. Call out for Mike and Vanessa. But he also didn’t want to alert the intruder (or intruders—there could be more than one).

  Kim screamed again.

  She’s still alive . . . Oh God, let her and the kids still be alive.

  He raced down the hall, time stretching out, everything in sharp focus like his senses were intensified.

  There was a crashing noise coming from the bedroom.

  Ray rushed inside their bedroom, squeezing past the dresser that was tipped over, but still partially blocking the door.

  Kim was on their bed, held down by a man in a dark shirt and baggy jeans. He had his hands around her throat. Even from where Ray stood, he could see that her eyes were bulging in her face. She was pulling at the man’s arms, trying to break his grip from her neck.

  Then Ray saw his children.

  They were alive—thank God, they were still alive.

  Vanessa was at the bathroom door, hugging the doorframe, watching the attack on her mother with wide eyes that were wet with tears. Mike was near the bed, the golf club in his hands, choking up on it like he was holding a baseball bat.

  “Get off my mom!” Mike screamed as he ran at the man, crying. He hadn’t even noticed that Ray had come into the bedroom. He swung the golf club at the man, hitting him across the back, a hard swing for an eleven-year-old boy.

  The man let Kim’s throat go and turned to Mike.

  Kim drew in a choked breath, struggling to breathe, barely clinging to consciousness.

  The man was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. His clothes and hair were filthy. There was what looked like blood caked around his mouth and on his hands; he’d left bloody smears all over the comforter on the bed, and on Kim.

  It was the look in the man’s eyes that frightened Ray—the look of an animal, of a wild beast. The attacker hadn’t noticed Ray either, and Mike’s focus was on the man in front of him.

  Mike backed up towards the bathroom. He still had the golf club in his hands, but he looked too frightened to use it now.

  Ray was across the room in a flash. He grabbed the man from behind in a chokehold, twisting him to the side, wrenching him off of his feet and slamming him down to the floor.

  “Get out of my house!” Ray screamed at the man as he picked him up, dragging him towards the bedroom door.

  The man was a few inches shorter than Ray and at least twenty-five pounds lighter, but he was surp
risingly strong. He was like a crazed animal. His hair, skin, and clothes stank of sweat and rot. He was growling like some kind of rabid dog.

  Ray tried to push the man closer to the bedroom door, but they were locked in battle.

  And what was he supposed to do once he got him out the door? Force him down the stairs? Force him all the way through the living room and then out the kitchen door, which was busted now?

  The man wrenched free from Ray’s grip in one violent twist and then whirled around like lightning, pushing Ray back and knocking him off balance. The man was like a tornado, his hands like claws.

  “Dad!” Mike called. “Here!”

  Ray looked at Mike. His son had already tossed the golf club through the air at him. Again, time seemed to slow down as Ray caught the club right in the middle of the handle.

  The intruder was running at Ray again.

  Ray turned with the club in his hands, holding it like a baseball bat, just like Mike had done. He was already swinging without even thinking about it.

  Most people might have stopped when they saw a golf club coming right at them, but not this man. It was almost like the man didn’t even realize what was happening . . . or he didn’t care.

  The club connected with the side of the man’s head, the impact making a sickening crunch. The intruder dropped instantly, his body crumpling down to the floor. He was on their carpet in the middle of the room, writhing on the floor, but still growling.

  “Hit him again, Dad!”

  Ray couldn’t do that. The man was down on the floor now, defenseless. If he hit the man again he could kill him.

  The intruder struggled back up into a half-sitting position, rolling over onto his side, pushing himself up onto his knees, trying to get back to his feet. He was still growling, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth, drool mixed with dark blood. The wound at the side of his head was already bleeding, matting his filthy hair to the side of his dented scalp. His eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything, but he wasn’t letting that stop him.