Patrick D'Orazio - Coming the Dark

Megan glanced over at George and back at Jason. They looked as stunned as she felt at Jeff’s insane actions.

“I guess all we can do is wait to see if he can pull this one off,” she offered weakly. They sat and listened as the volume of the moans outside rose when Jeff let out a muffled war cry. Suddenly, the banging on the garage door lessened and they heard sounds of dragging footsteps moving away from it.

Megan listened to Jeff’s taunts that mingled with the moaning replies of the infected as he moved farther away. She turned to George.

“Okay. Well, the maniac has gotten them away from the door, I guess. I’m going to open it so we can get the hell out of here. George? Can you cover me?” She stared at the big man and saw the nervous look on his face, the rifle sat propped across his legs. Sweat was coming off of him in buckets and his already pale complexion was practically glowing in the semi-darkness of the van’s interior. He looked over at her, swallowed hard, and nodded. Jason looked more assured than George. For an instant, she was tempted to suggest that he take the rifle but dismissed the idea quickly.

Megan tried to focus on the garage’s interior. Lifting the heavy door would only take a second or two; then she would be back in the van and safe. It would be easy. She took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross as she pulled on the door handle and slid out of the van.

Moving backwards, she kept one eye on the side door and the two bodies on the floor. They exuded a foul stench that was potent in the enclosed space. George opened the sliding door on the van and pointed the barrel of the rifle toward the door through which Jeff had left. Megan turned to examine the garage door’s lock.

As she grasped the handle, there was a sound of wood shattering behind her and then a loud hissing noise. Megan jumped as a rifle blast echoed through the enclosed room. She turned to see four bodies spilling into the garage from the house. Cursing, she realized that they had forgotten all about the infected chasing Jeff across the interior of the home.

Megan fumbled for the revolver jammed in her waistband as George stepped out of the van and lined up another shot. She tugged at the gun as the second blast rang out. She was struggling with the.357’s hammer, which was snagged on her shirt.

Wrestling it free, she moved next to George. All four rotters were still closing in, and she aimed at the closest.

A puff of smoke came out of the barrel at the same time the bullet punched a hole in its chest. A spray of black mist came out its back and drenched the next stiff in line. Though stumbling slightly, it kept moving forward. Megan saw its mouth move, but the ringing in her ears blotted out its cries of rage.

George awkwardly rammed another cartridge in place on the bolt-action rifle and fired his third shot. Megan saw a puff of dust as the bullet went wild, striking drywall two feet from any of the targets.

“Get the bat!” she screamed, trying to steady her hand and take aim once again.

Her next shot passed through the upper cheek of her closest enemy, which was less than ten feet in front of her. It moved a half step forward, its head rocked backwards, and then it folded up like a lawn chair and landed on its back. The others were unfazed and continued coming. Megan took a breath and fired at the next, puckering its nasal cavity. A dangling piece of cartilage broke free from its nose as the body crumpled to the cement.

The last two were almost on top of her. Fighting rising panic and her shaking hands, she fired wide, blowing a hole in the third monster’s shoulder. Its arms were extended, reaching for her, and the fourth was beside it, ready to pull her down.

Megan could finally hear their excited moans as they got close. Eyes wide, she took aim as a clammy hand gripped her arm. She felt the dry, cold skin of the bony fingers wrapping tightly around her elbow, yanking the weapon off target.

Pulling the trigger, she felt a bolt of pain that was a combination of the recoil and the sensation of her arm being nearly yanked out of its socket. Suddenly, hands that had been reaching for Megan’s neck fell away and there was a white-hot burst of pain as she was knocked to the ground.

Tumbling sideways, she could feel the cold grip on her arm release as she was slammed to the garage floor. Doing her best to ignore the pain flaring through her shoulder, she rolled over and tried to raise the gun again.

As things came into focus, she saw George slamming the last of the infected up against the garage wall. Megan tried to take aim, but George was already charging at it like a lineman, a bellow of rage bursting free from his lips.

He connected, driving the monster into the drywall and creating a crater in it. George quickly backed up a few feet but continued bellowing taunts at the obscenity slumped before him.

Megan watched the madman encourage the rather rotund rotter to pull itself out of the new wall niche and stagger toward him. The first kick connected with its chest, driving it back into the hole. The second sent it to the ground, where George unleashed a flurry of blows to its head while it tried to grab at him. It obsessively scratched and pawed at the man looming above it until Megan heard a distinctive pop and saw its arms convulse and flop to the ground. George stomped on its head a few more times for good measure.

The battle over, he leaned against the wall above his handiwork, panting heavily. Megan let the hand holding the gun drop to her lap and took a deep breath herself. The other stiff, the one George had pulled off of her, lay nearby, its neck bent awkwardly where it had been brutally snapped.

A moment later, George loomed over Megan, his arm extended. He no longer looked frightened, as he had when he was wielding the rifle. His jaw was set, and she could see the determined look in his eyes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Megan nodded and took his hand. George pulled her up like she weighed nothing. She looked into the van and saw Jason in the doorway, staring out at them. The rifle George had discarded was in his hands, and his eyes held a tinge of fear.

Megan gave him a wink, and Jason responded with a nervous smile. She stuffed the revolver into her pants and moved toward the garage door. George stood watch, tensed for more action, peering through the shattered doorway leading into the house.

She pressed her ear to the wood and listened. There was a great deal of moaning, but none from nearby as far as she could tell. Jeff was still keeping the infected at bay. Megan leaned down to pull the heavy door up by its handle, certain that sooner or later one of his crazy stunts was going to end up getting him killed.

“If he isn’t dead already,” she mumbled under her breath.

Jeff spotted the van after it pulled out of the garage. Megan spun the wheel in a one-eighty so it faced the road and caught sight of him as he waved her forward. The infected were all over the yard, most falling all over one another in an effort to close on him as he pranced around and taunted them. He had taken the occasional potshot with the rifle, but the yard was a wide expanse and had given him plenty of room to maneuver and avoid the threatening embrace of the infected.

Megan drove in his direction, knocking aside a few stiff bodies attracted by the growling engine. As she drew closer, Jeff waved again, relief painted on his face.

The van skidded to a halt on the grass, and the sliding door opened. Jeff ran for it, and George’s beefy arm shot out, grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him in. Megan floored it, and they shot down the gravel drive, spraying rocks and dust behind them.

Jeff let out a cheer and pumped his fist as George glared at him. “Woo hoo! We made it!”