Patrick D'Orazio - Into the Dark

Or What Came Before

The end came for the human race with a whimper, not a bang. The mysterious virus engulfed the world in a matter of days. Everyone infected seemed to die… then rise again. Governments collapsed, armies disappeared, and entire civilizations turned to dust as the human race tore itself to pieces.

Jeff Blaine managed to survive the first waves of destruction hidden behind the barricaded doors of his suburban Cincinnati home with his wife and children. But it wasn’t long before the hell that was outside broke through his defenses and destroyed all that he knew and loved.

With his family gone and his life in ruins, the only thing left for him is bitter pain and anger. So he ventures out into the desolation with no better plan than to destroy as many of the monsters that stole his life away as he can before they destroy him.

But it doesn’t take long for Jeff to discover that there are other survivors who aren’t willing to give up just yet.

Megan, who has also been hiding out in her own house in Jeff’s neighborhood, is afraid of this new world, but gains strength from the idea that there are others out there who are still alive. When Jeff rescues her and they agree to join forces, their partnership is far from perfect, but after several harrowing experiences, their bond only grows stronger. During a near-fatal misadventure at an overrun emergency shelter, they meet up with George and Jason, two more survivors who have avoided death by hiding out in an abandoned church.

George is a man who clings to the hope that his wife and two daughters are still waiting for him back home. Jason, a sullen twelve year old, finds it hard to trust anyone after everything he’s been through.

Together, they journey through the wasteland their world has become and grudgingly agree to help George find a car that still runs so he can get back home to his family. Beyond that, the other three survivors only hope to find a place to hide away in the Ohio countryside and away from the hordes of plague victims anxious to destroy them. Along the way all they find are other refugees even more desperate than they are, and more of the undead.

The quartet manages to make it to the small town of Manchester, which is somewhat removed from the dangers of the city and suburban landscape in its rural setting, with hopes of finding George a vehicle so he can take his leave while the others continue farther on down the road. As soon as they enter the deserted town, they are ambushed by a group of desperate men. With the travelers trapped inside Jeff’s van and staring down the barrels of an assortment of weapons, things look grim as they wait to see if this new group wants them dead or alive.

There was a blur of activity outside the van. The meager hope that the men outside were military was dashed when Jeff saw their captors' civilian attire. They were marched out of the vehicle and ordered to lie flat on the road in front of the van.

“Do any of you have weapons on you? Answer me!” It was a different voice than the one they had heard earlier from inside their vehicle.

George could feel the rounded metal point of a shotgun as it pressed down on the back of his skull. It pushed him flat to the pavement, and he thought he could hear the shallow breathing of the person holding it on him. “What about you, big man? You got a hog leg tucked up next to your prick?”

Sweat dripped down George’s face as heat from the asphalt competed with the blazing sun at his back. He attempted to lift his head to give a negative response, fearing that speaking might exacerbate things, but the shotgun forced him to remain motionless.

When George did attempt to speak, he discovered that his throat had closed up and saliva was pooling in it. He coughed uncontrollably, hacking and spitting, still trying to remain stationary as the man hovered above him.

“You gonna answer me or you gonna puke yer guts out, Nancy?”

George felt the edge of the sharp metal press down harder.

“No. NO! I don’t… have any… guns on me. I swear!” He hacked his way through the words, feeling like his mouth and throat were buried in six inches of water.

George heard the sound of something skipping over the pavement. The pressure from the shotgun disappeared in an instant. Even with it gone, his nerves continued to sing with terror, fear gluing him in place.

“There, now leave him alone! I’m the only one with a weapon, you asshole! No one else has anything on them!”

The feet of the man who had been next to George moved away, toward Megan. There were more footsteps. In the background, George thought he could hear someone rooting through the van.

“Well, well. Looks like we got ourselves Dirty Harriet here.”

Someone else snickered at the lame joke, and George discovered he could breathe again. The tone of the voice sounded casual. He tensed as he waited to hear what would happen next.

Megan saw a shadow block out the blinding sunlight from above. An old work boot splattered with dirt and grass stains moved near her face until it blotted out everything except the shifting shadows at the periphery of her vision. She could feel more than see the man crouching directly above her and smelled the stale reek of liquor on his breath.

“So, honey, you the leader of this little gang here? You the one callin’ the shots? That gun of yours looks a mite big for such a petite thing.”

The voice was quiet and kept creeping closer to her ear as the man spoke. When his hand touched her back, it was as cold as ice. She squirmed beneath it, but found she could not move. One of the man’s knees was right above her butt and had her locked down. Stale Breath laughed at her predicament and continued to hover over her.

“So none of you boys have any weapons, huh? You let your woman take care of things for you, right?”

The comment hung in the air, unanswered.

“Hey, Frank! It looks like we found the rest of their weapons.”

The voice came from behind them, and they heard a pair of rubber soles hit the ground. Megan felt the hand and knee leave her back as the man moved away. She relaxed somewhat but focused mostly on controlling the shivering that threatened to jar the teeth from her mouth.

“Nice!”

Their voices dropped as they continued ransacking the van. Jeff shifted on the ground, attempting to push his twenty-five-caliber pistol deeper in his pocket with a turn of his hip, hoping the small weapon would not be found.

After several endless minutes of waiting on the ground while listening to Frank and the other man hoot and holler over their newfound treasures, they heard another voice.

“Gentlemen… and lady, I apologize for this treatment. I know it doesn’t look like we’re all that friendly, but given current conditions, I hope you’ll understand our reason for taking a few precautions.” The voice was cool and commanding, the speaker confident of himself.

No one moved. Jeff did a mental count of what they were up against. He remembered seeing two men in front of the van and two in back. At least two others were drivers of the blocking cars. They were armed with rifles, shotguns, and handguns… and now they had the rifles from the van as well. He rolled his forehead against the hot asphalt and cursed their luck.

“You can get up now. I think we’re sure nothing… unfortunate is going to happen.” The voice was cheery, as if the man were welcoming guests into his home.