Patrick D'Orazio - Into the Dark

“Grab my bat, okay? Let the kid keep the rifle.” George looked down and spotted the bat where Jeff had dropped it. Teddy had already picked up his rifle and looked ready to move out.

The baseball bat seemed tiny in George’s oversized hands, and Jeff had to stifle a laugh.

“Get going. Get the hell out of here and head back to Michael and Frank. Ray and I are going to give you a head start.”

George and Teddy looked at Jeff simultaneously. Ray was hanging on him, looking as pale as a giant blob of rice pudding. The strips of Jeff’s shirt on his ankle were drenched with blood, and his glasses were close to falling off his nose once again. His eyes were open, but looked hazy.

Teddy was the first to step forward. He was shaking his head, but Ray spoke before he could say anything.

“Teddy, you have to go.” His voice, stronger than expected, hit his friend like a Mack truck. “You have to get back. Jeff and I will be fine. I promise.”

Teddy looked at him, the tears flowing freely down his face. “I’m so sorry, Ray. I screwed up so bad. It should have been me who got attacked, not you. It should have been me… ” He trailed off, giant sobs shaking his shoulders uncontrollably. George moved up and wrapped his arm around the boy.

“Teddy. TEDDY!” The younger boy looked up, his vision blurred as he stared at his friend. Ray looked mad and concerned for Teddy at the same time.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You watched out for me. You did everything you could. Now you have to go, bro. Go with George and get back to the van.” The anger was gone, and the smile crept back. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you.” Jeff adjusted, and Ray moved slightly higher up on his shoulder.

Teddy shrugged out of George’s grasp and moved up to Ray. He sniffled and fought back more tears as he hugged his friend gently. The bigger boy awkwardly wrapped the hand holding the pistol around his friend. They embraced for a moment, and the tears came for Ray as well, but he blinked them away furiously.

Teddy turned and moved back toward George. Neither boy spoke further.

“You don’t have to do this.” It was George this time, submitting his last-ditch plea to Jeff. “The four of us might do better together instead of splitting up.”

Jeff ignored the offer. “Go behind the buildings on this side of the street. Keep running and don’t stop. You can cut back onto the street if you see it’s clear. Just get back to Michael and to the van. Don’t wait for us.” When George heard the last sentence, his eyes widened in shock.

Jeff smiled as he moved through the parking lot toward the street. “Don’t worry about Ray and me; we’ll be fine.” Then he winked.

Jeff glanced back and saw a crowd of walkers coming their way down the street before focusing on the direction in which he needed to head.

George studied the back of the building. The ghouls out in the field had closed the distance to about fifty yards, and more were strung out in a long line behind the first small group. He looked to his left and saw a clear path in the direction he and Teddy needed to go, but their window of opportunity was closing fast.

Jeff and Ray kept moving toward the street, and Jeff looked back at George one last time.

“One more thing!” he shouted over the ever-increasing cacophony of moans. “Tell Michael that Marcus was bitten and turned. Tell him I had to put him down.” Jeff paused, letting the comment sink in. “Make sure you tell him it was me who did it.” He gave George a meaningful look and then turned back toward the street with Ray in tow.

“Go! Now!”

George sighed, feeling helpless as he looked over at Teddy. All the decisions had been taken out of his hands, so the only thing left was to do as Jeff suggested. He had to get Teddy to safety.

“Are you ready?”

The boy stared at him, his thin chest heaving. After a quick glance at the grassy field, he nodded. Teddy took a deep breath and bounced on his legs, getting into the starting position for a fast run. George gripped Jeff’s bat and surveyed their position relative to the nearest ghouls, who were already too close for comfort. They took off running, leaving several dismayed and puzzled-looking infected in their wake.

Undeterred, the decaying creatures followed, their stiff frames moving them forward at a slow but persistent pace. When they lost sight of the man and boy around the corner of a building, they sniffed the air and tasted it with their tongues, seeking out the stench of sweat, blood, and flesh. They plodded forward, tracking the scent as they marched onward on their endless quest.

Megan was a nervous wreck, doing her best to avoid both Cindy and Jason while she waited for George and Jeff to return. Lydia had delicately suggested she give Jason some space for the time being, that he would come around soon enough. Lydia promised that she would speak to the boy as a neutral party in the hope that he might actually listen to her. Megan agreed and steered clear of the RV after the men left.

It was fairly easy to avoid getting in Cindy’s way, because the skuzzy tart had no interest in guarding the camp like Michael had implied she would be doing. Instead, she had remained in her RV.

So for a while, Megan sat in one of the chairs in the courtyard and plotted an escape from the camp for her, Jeff, George, and Jason, mostly to preoccupy her mind. Otherwise, all she could think about was the others who were outside, risking their lives for no good reason. Those thoughts were offset by a fantasy that itched and tickled her brain involving Michael and Frank being eaten alive by a pack of the infected.

The camp remained quiet after Lydia’s brief visit with Jason. She huddled with the children inside her RV, and Jason remained hidden away as well. Cindy didn’t show her face, but Megan set up her chair to face the punker girl’s trailer door so she would know if the psycho decided to step outside.

Megan was alone for the first time since leaving her house. It gave her time to think. It gave her time to plot.

Her head was still swimming with secretive plans when she heard the first gunshot. Megan stood up so quickly that she knocked over the lawn chair. With fists clenched and teeth gritted in fear, she looked around, trying to get a fix on which direction the noise had come from. There were several more shots and then a pause. Megan looked over at the ladder leaning against Ben’s RV and ran to it.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Megan whipped around. Cindy walked into the courtyard carrying one of the rifles Michael had commandeered. There was a smile on her face that stopped Megan dead in her tracks, the same predatory smile that had terrified Megan earlier. She resisted the urge to run screaming as Cindy walked up to her.

When Cindy got close and moved to put her hand on Megan’s shoulder, the older woman couldn’t avoid flinching. Cindy hesitated, but her grin grew wider. To Megan, it almost looked like the girl was snarling at her-baring her teeth like some rabid animal. She dropped her hand on Megan’s slender shoulder and massaged it, almost like a man might do.

“It’s my job to climb up top and check things out. You need to stay out of sight.”

Cindy’s voice was smooth and did not match the look on her face. Her hand felt like a talon. She directed Megan back toward the chairs. Megan felt powerless to resist, her legs like rubber as she plopped down.

There was more gunfire, and they both looked up. Megan tried to stand, but Cindy’s hand was still on her shoulder. She winced as Cindy squeezed harder, holding her in place.

The hand finally left her shoulder, and Cindy looked down at her. More shots were fired in rapid succession. Megan still wanted to bolt, but Cindy’s eyes held her in place.