Patrick D'Orazio - Coming the Dark

Except that it was still alive.

They watched the animal with a sad intensity that would have seemed odd just a few weeks back. But that was before the plague had come. The four survivors could only guess at what the virus did to animals with which it came in contact. They had no idea if it simply killed them or caused the same sort of psychosis evident in infected human beings. Only one thing was certain: someone who turned into one of those monsters would attack any living creature it could get its hands on. Most domesticated animals hadn’t stood a chance against them.

Jeff turned back around, but his three passengers continued to stare at the horse until it was out of sight. Jason smiled briefly, proud of his discovery, but his stony countenance returned as they went over a rise and the field faded from view.

A few minutes later, Jeff glanced at a sign telling him they were leaving Clermont County. They were out of the metropolitan area now, although there were still plenty of smaller population centers to contend with down the road. But Jeff knew if they could avoid backtracking or heading north, where George’s family and a thousand others just like them were, they might live to see another day.

Jeff was still thinking about where they should go when something caught his eye.

“There ya go!”

“What?”

Megan had been relaxing when Jeff’s excited statement broke the silence. She jumped up and looked out the window, fearful of what she might see. After no boiling mass of stiff bodies appeared in front of the van, she let her heart rate slow a bit. Scanning the horizon, she saw no obvious dangers and pursed her lips, trying to figure out what had gotten Jeff so worked up.

There was a large field off to their left that ran parallel to their route for about three quarters of a mile and stretched about the same distance back from the road. A dirt path led to two squat structures in the middle of the barren field that appeared as little more than tiny dots from where they sat.

Jeff stopped the minivan. “That’s the ticket, lady and gents.” He turned to face the others. “We can park our butts there for the night.”

George slid over and shared a window view with Jason. “It certainly looks abandoned.” He was already scanning the area for anything that might give them trouble. The flat field stretched away from the homestead on the three sides they could see, and it looked like the tree line behind the buildings was far back from it as well. The vantage would allow them to detect anything that tried to get close long before it became a viable threat.

“Guys, I don’t know…” Megan hesitated.

“Megan, we have to find a place to stay,” Jeff insisted. “I’m not all that interested in staying in the van tonight. I’d rather find a comfortable bed, or even a dirt floor, and just spread out and relax for a while. I’m sure George and Jason would agree.”

“You’ve got my vote,” Jason piped up.

Jeff nodded and then looked at George. The blond man shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the idea. Jeff turned back to Megan.

“I’m all for it too, but I just think there might be a better place to stay than this.” Megan waved her hand at the shacks dismissively. “They don’t look like much.”

“Well it’s not the Hilton, that’s for sure,” Jeff agreed. “But if we set up a watch, we can make sure none of those bastards sneak up on us. We can probably see for a couple of miles in all directions from those windows. That’ll give us plenty of time to take off if things go wrong.”

George slowly nodded in agreement as he listened to Jeff’s argument. A resigned look appeared on Megan’s face.

“Okay, but just for one night.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jeff said and grinned at her.

There were a few moments of silence as they all looked across the field together, sizing up what they hoped would be their new residence for the rest of the day and on through the night. There was still no movement that any of them could see.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” Jeff flipped the van in reverse and backed it up to the crossroad. A quick glance up at the sign told them the road on which they were turning was Shiloh.

Several nondescript houses sat opposite the field to their left. They were anonymous, weathered ranch-style homes that were small, faded, and lacking in any sort of character. The yards were burnt in spots, scorched from the blazing sun and lack of water, while other patches were choked with weeds and overrun with tall grasses. There were cars in a couple of driveways, one with both doors hanging wide open. It was an old Dodge Aspen that looked half devoured with rust. Jason spotted what looked like a human skeleton, or part of one, wedged underneath the car, the legs only partially sticking out. Other than that, there were no signs anyone had ever lived in the area.

“Clean as a whistle. Looks like no stiffs to deal with here. Nice,” Jeff said.

As they turned onto the dirt path that would lead them to their goal, he was surprised to spot a small amount of water in several deep ruts on the road and tried to recall the last time it had rained. It was no more than a filmy muck, and he navigated around a couple of the potholes that looked deep enough to bottom out the van.

Telephone poles were strung on the north side of the lane, and the wires led directly to a modest house on the property. It looked to be an unpainted cottage with a single window facing their direction. Overall, the property looked well tended. Next to the house was a small whitewashed shed with its doors hanging open. Behind the two buildings was a grain silo. That was what had drawn Jeff’s eye to the property in the first place. It soared above the house and was hard to miss. A few trees dotted the landscape, looming like leafy guardians in contrast to the emptiness of the surrounding fields. A rusted-out tractor out back put the finishing touch on the quaint scene.

The van made its journey down the rutted road, and Jeff guided it past the craters that could knock it out of commission. As they got closer, they spotted a few more details that took away from the Norman Rockwell look of the place. The first was a BMX bike leaning up against the house and what appeared to be a hurriedly constructed grave marker next to it.

The van inched closer, and everyone stared at the wooden cross. It was two pieces of plywood wrapped in twine and painted with illegible symbols across the horizontal board. Jeff squinted in an attempt to read the wording. The paint had run, and it was hard to know for sure, but he guessed the letters spelled out a name. The other board looked as if it had been hastily jammed into the ground and had a slight lean to it.

Everyone was still focused on the cross when a man stepped out from behind the shed, pointing a hunting rifle at them. Megan let out a small gasp, and Jeff slammed on the brakes. The two rear passengers, who had been leaning forward in their seats, lost their footing and slipped to the floor.

“What the-” was all George could get out from down on the floor before Jeff cut him off.

“Stay down!” he hissed through gritted teeth. He wanted to follow his own command and duck beneath the dashboard, but the hunting rifle was trained on him. Instead, he shifted the van into park and slowly raised his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Megan holding the revolver, but she had not raised it above the dash just yet. He could sense more than see that she was waiting for something, perhaps a signal from him, to make a move. Jeff gave a slight shake of his head. She lowered the big handgun down between her legs and clamped them shut around it. When she raised her own hands, a small stitch of tension went out of Jeff.

“Both of you stay down. I don’t think he saw you.”