Patrick D'Orazio - Coming the Dark

Glad to get away from the stench of infection filtering through the windows and doors, he took a right into his office, trying his best not to look at the shattered door on the left side of the hallway and the carnage that lay beyond it.

Jeff rummaged through one of his bookshelves, found the souvenir mug he sought, then dumped its contents on the desk. He sifted through the coins, bits of paper, and other faint memories until he spotted a tiny key. After that, it was only a matter of retrieving the lock box from the top of the bookshelf, then he was staring at his gun. The tiny nickel-plated weapon with the black grip was still in its original box. Jeff looked at the etched wording on the barrel: MODEL RAVEN CAL-.25 AUTO. He picked up the small clip sitting next to it and slid it into the gun. He nearly laughed. It was a pea-shooter that carried a meager six bullets in the clip. He shoved it in his pocket and promptly forgot about it.

Now it was on to rifling through the desk for his pocketknife and Maglite. Once he’d found them, Jeff looked around his office. That was it. He sighed and shook his head. He was no survivalist, but he knew enough to realize that a baseball bat, a purse gun, and a heavy flashlight probably weren’t going to get him very far.

As he turned to leave, he spied something else on one of the bookshelves and stared at it for a moment. It was the photo of Ellen and the kids on their last vacation at the lake. Jeff remembered taking the picture. It had been early, maybe about six a.m. Ellen had been trying to drag the kids out of bed for ten minutes. They didn’t want to go out on the boat and didn’t want to swim. They just wanted to sleep. She started tickling them, and after a couple of minutes, the three were wrestling in a tangle of sheets, screaming and giggling. The photograph had been spontaneous; Jeff had grabbed the camera out of his bag without thinking. They were smiling, laughing, their eyes lost in a moment of pure bliss. When he showed Ellen the picture, she hated it. Her hair was a mess, and she had no makeup on. When he put it on display in his office, she was angry until he explained, “Everything that matters to me is in that picture. It’s you and the kids, happy. That’s all I care about.” She never said another word about it.

Jeff’s fingers quivered as he traced the outline of their faces. Another angry scream filtered from below, and he tore his eyes away from the picture. Cramming it into his pocket, he headed back downstairs.

It’s time to go.

The urgent thought beat out a staccato rhythm inside his head as he made it back to the main floor. Rushing into the garage, he could hear the roar outside. They were actually starting to throw their bodies against the side door now. The sound of them crashing against the house was nearly overwhelming, but Jeff ignored it and tossed his few supplies into the minivan. Snatching up the baseball bat, he ran back inside.

He was out of breath when he reached the front door. He bent at the knees and tried to suck in as much air as possible, tried to settle down. The noise wasn’t nearly as bad here. The mob had still not spread to the front door yet, which worked well with his hasty plan. He snatched up the hammer he’d dropped there a few minutes before and started prying at the two by four nailed across the door.

It took some effort, but within a couple of minutes, the board was down, and the only thing that stood between Jeff and the outside world was a deadbolt.

He dug into another pocket and pulled out the key to the car sitting in the driveway. Palming the dark plastic key fob, he pressed the red alarm button. The urgent honking cut through the tumult of screams and moans that had nearly driven Jeff’s family mad over the past few weeks. For a moment, it seemed as if this new noise, so shocking and ordinary, would overpower all others. But it was not to be. A tide of rage carried the volume of his neighbors above that of the horn as they began attacking the car.

“Stupid mother fuckers,” he snorted with disdain. After listening for a few more seconds, he pressed the red button again, and the alarm cut off, replaced with the sound of wet slaps on the hood of the Impala. Glass shattered, and Jeff could imagine a thick press of bodies trying to get at whoever had been honking the horn.

He strained to hear as much as possible. There was frustration and rage, but more importantly, he heard no one on the porch ready to punch a hole through the front door. Taking a deep breath, he scooped up the baseball bat and put his hand on the deadbolt. Jeff turned his head, allowing himself one last look around the house. He wanted to remember it as it had once been, not what it was about to become. Nodding to reassure himself, he tried to keep his breathing steady as he turned to face the door.

He flipped the deadbolt, then tensed as his hand slipped down to the knob.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

Jeff opened his front door.

A wall of sound washed over Jeff. The depth of the noise was profound, and he felt as if he were on a stage, the world around him vibrating with excitement. His skin contracted around every hair on his body all at once. The sensation was almost painful as the goose bumps puckered his flesh and the sound jarred his bones.

There was the smell as well. It had been out there before, when he had slithered through the neighborhood, but nothing like this. The stench, the miasma from a hundred infected and befouled bodies, had no discretion as it poured over him, baptizing him in its corruption.

Opening the door hadn’t drawn any attention, but as he let go of the knob, the door slammed against the wall, making a loud thumping noise. He flinched and swung his head toward the mass of stiffened bodies milling around his car.

The mob turned to stare at him. The sounds, the hissing and moaning, stopped as the corrupt shifted their gazes from the car they had been demolishing to face the man standing in the open doorway.

Not one was on the porch. They were busy climbing all over the car, trying to capture the little gremlin inside, terrorizing them with its bleating horn. Some shambled about on the front lawn, but were still a few feet away. Jeff’s heart raced, but he felt as though time had slowed. His vision dimmed, and the dread that had been pouring over him like warm molasses began to evaporate.

Move.

He caught something on the edge of his vision, beyond the crowded front yard. When he tried to follow it with his eyes, seeking out the blur of motion, it was no longer there. But it had been; he was sure. It was something that could move much faster than his neighbors. They were slow and sluggish, but whatever he had seen moved with a fluid grace.

Move!

There it was again, at the back of the crowd but getting closer. He could see glimmers of light flickering between the gaps in the mass of bodies. Whatever was making the shadows dance cut smoothly through the sluggish creatures on Jeff’s lawn as it slid closer. He heard a bloodcurdling scream.

“MOVE!”

He barely recognized his own voice. The fury of the word was jolting, setting him in motion as the mob surged forward, closing the distance to the front door. The first group of neighbors was almost there, close enough that two in front could nearly reach to take ragged swipes at Jeff. They missed as he quickly stepped back inside the house. Their groans merged with the others, but Jeff could have sworn he heard a different tenor to their gurgling cries. They were excited to be this close to someone still warm and breathing.

Turning, he ran to the stairs and jumped onto the couch he had hastily set in front of them, stepping on an armrest and vaulting over it. He stood watching as more bodies poured in through the front door, scratching and clawing at each other as they tried to force their way through the narrow opening. They were a crazed mob, frothing at the mouth and growling at him. The first few were already at the couch, trying to get over, around, or through it. They smashed, clawed, and tore at it, angry that something stood between them and their prey.