Jeremy Finley - The Darkest Time of Night

Walking into the lights were people.

Even in the heavy snow, I could tell there were hundreds. They stood within each pillar of light, each wearing a hospital gown, looking up.

I knew with certainty that the basement to the hospital was now empty, and all those comatose people had risen for the first time. The power was out, so the door to the stairs was open. They had streamed out, a mindless mass, responding to the call.

I understood why. The closer we could all get to those lights, the better we would feel.

I reached over for the door handle when a large group of men in camouflage flooded past us, running to the hospital. I saw one point and sharply direct a few of his subordinates towards us.

Three soldiers broke off and ran to the driver’s side of the truck, pointing their rifles at us. As soon I focused on them, the calm feeling was gone.

“Oh shit,” Joe said.

“Put your hands where I can see them!” one of the men shouted.

One of the soldiers leaned into the glass and quickly spoke into the radio on his shoulder. “The boy and the old lady are in there. Do you copy? We’ve have them. They’re here.”

Drive, Joe! I wanted to scream.

“All of you, get out of the truck. Keep your hands up,” the first soldier ordered.

“Tell him his buddy made me too sore to move,” Roxy grumbled, her hands barely raised.

The soldier tapped the edge of his rifle on the glass. “Ma’am, we don’t have time for this! Do you hear me? Get out—”

Four beams of light shot down before the now-shattered entrance to White Crest. One beam was so close to the truck that Joe cried out. The soldiers turned, blinded by the searing light.

Seconds later, more shapes began to emerge from the hospital. All in the same stark hospital garb, all their faces calm and serene, walking towards the lights.

The feeling was so strong to join them that I opened the truck door, and heard Joe’s door ding, signaling he was feeling the same. William was already sliding across my lap to jump out.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Roxy cried out. “Drive, Joe! Dammit! And close the damn doors!”

“Shit,” Joe said, wiping his eyes.

“Don’t look at it!” I covered my own eyes. “Just drive Joe!”

Joe slammed on the gas. The pickup truck bolted forward, heading directly for the emerging masses.

“Turn!” Roxy yelled. The people in the light made no attempt to get out of the truck’s way. Joe spun the wheel and barely cleared a man and a small woman. Joe made another wild turn and drove directly towards two armored cars.

Again Joe turned, this time too late. Despite its snow tires, the truck slid into the front end of one of the military vehicles. We were all momentarily thrown forward, but Joe gave us no time to recover. He immediately took off again, driving down the row of vehicles and hanging right on the wrong way of a circle drive. He headed down a long road leading away from the medical center.

“Everybody OK?” Joe asked, out of breath.

“I’m gonna puke if you keep driving like this!” Verna said.

“Serves you right,” Roxy muttered.

“Whatever happens,” I said to Joe, “do not—I repeat—do not look into the lights.”

“What’s happening to us?” he asked, looking at me with genuine terror in his eyes, reaching out to touch the back of his head.

Knowing I couldn’t explain at this moment, I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Roxy, what happened to you? They showed me a picture of the van, they told me you’d been killed—”

A rifle shot suddenly sounded, and the back window of the quad cab cracked. I covered William’s head.

“Dammit,” Joe said, looking at his rearview mirror.

I turned to see three Humvees now following in the distance, their headlights beaming through the snow.

“Come on, Moses.” Joe pushed hard on the gas as houses started to appear. “Why are they shooting at us?”

“You think the government wants to you cruise on out of town to tell the world about this shit show?” Verna said.

“Aw, hell.” Joe took a sharp left down a side street. I was thankful for the chains I’d noticed on his tires. Otherwise, even on the recently cleared roads, we could have hit an icy spot and gone crashing into a building. Then another right, and another left, knocking down several snow-covered trash cans in an alley.

We heard another gunshot. “Can we get out of town?” I asked, feeling waves of carsickness.

Joe then swung another left and tore down the main drag, where he had earlier made the first pass in trying to clear the streets. Large mounds of snow lined the curb in front of the stores, making the street a single lane.

“They’ll chase you to the ends of the earth. They won’t let any of you leave,” Verna said.

I saw Joe’s jaw clench as he took a rough left turn. “Please don’t have locked the shop. Please don’t have locked it.”

“We’re going to your store?” Verna asked.

“Not my shop,” Joe grunted as he turned in an alley. “Ron’s place. When he’s slow on business, he lets me park the truck there if it’s gonna snow and I have to work late. I hope he’s not working on anything.”

The truck came to a sudden stop and Joe jumped out, leaving the truck running. “Roxanne, you’ll have to take off if they come. Got it?”

“Yep.” Roxy winced, touching her leg.

I held my breath, waiting to hear the engines of the Humvees as they tore down the alley. Instead, there was the small squeak of worn hinges as Joe opened two huge, metal double doors. Once he opened them as far as he could, he slid back into the truck.

He quietly pulled into the mechanic’s shop and turned the engine off, running back to close the doors behind us.

We sat in silence, looking back to see Joe peering out a rectangular window to the alley. We waited for military vehicles, expecting angry pounding on the door.

After several minutes of nothing, Joe crept over and leaned in the cab. “Stay in the truck,” he whispered. “Ron’s got the heat way down low. Don’t dare turn the lights on. You’ll stay warmer in there. I’ll keep watch out the window.” He shut the door.

I turned back to Roxy. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s not as important as what happened to you. William, I can’t believe it. You’re here. You’re really here,” Roxy said, touching his head.

“It matters to me,” I whispered. “I thought you’d been killed. Did you crash?”

Roxy shook her head. “These bruises are courtesy of one of this town’s finest after I got the van stuck. He was on me as soon as I slid off the road, like he knew where I would be. He didn’t like my response when he asked for my ID and proof of insurance. I knew I was a goner at that point. Things got ugly fast, and it became clear very quickly I was not supposed to walk away from that encounter. But he didn’t know how mean I can be. I even got his gun, can you believe it? But I’ve got terrible aim, and I shot up more of the van than him.”

I almost laughed in relief, then, thinking of the picture Deanna had shown me on her phone. It had been Roxy shooting, not the other way around.

“He got the gun back fast, but it was out of bullets. He was a sick son of a bitch too—started taking pictures of me laying in the snow, and the van, I guess someone wanted proof. I was in a real bad way when Joe rolled up and saw the guy using me as a punching bag. He underestimated Joe too. For an old guy, Joe used that crowbar in the bed of his truck and showed him who was boss—”

“Are you OK?” I reached over to Roxy’s swollen cheek.

“I hurt everywhere. My foot and face are the worst. But I insisted Joe get me back to you, and when we got to Miss Congeniality’s house, she was so bombed she could barely make it to the door. Joe thought some sudden exposure to this wonderful Colorado weather might perk her up, so we went for a ride—”