Darkness Falls (11 page)

22

Frost drove slowly, steering the cruiser through the thick layer of ash that covered the road leading out of town, to the north. She hadn’t been down this way since the first shift occurred, but other than the copious amount of ash painting the scenery in grayscale, the land seemed unchanged.

“How much further?” Griffin asked. He’d been pretty quiet since leaving the house. Frost didn’t think much of it. He was probably worried about Ava. But she was glad to hear his voice again. Strange how a day before, Griffin was just a good friend with the distant prospect of being something more. Someday. Now, she couldn’t imagine Refuge, or her life, without him in it. Not that things had moved any further. How could they? But she knew, without a doubt, that she desired a future with him.

She knew Julie Barnes felt similarly, and though that woman could flaunt her wares like no one else in Refuge, Frost believed Griffin could see past the curves and follow his heart before his loins.

Not that Frost wasn’t good looking. She just hid her looks while on the job, so the fellas in town would take her seriously.

“About a quarter mile ahead,” she said. “On the right.”

Griffin leaned forward, looking through the windshield, which was smeared with streaks of drizzle-soaked ash. “We should have Jimmy replace these wipers when we get back. Are the high beams on?”

“Yeah,” Frost said. “But it’s like the light is just being absorbed. Getting worse the further we go.”

She nearly missed the turn-off because the normally light brown dirt road was covered in ash. She hit the brakes, slid a few feet and then turned into the overgrown road, which was not so much a road as an old path, probably carved into the woods by loggers.

“I think I see something ahead,” Griffin said.

She could see it, too. While most of the world beyond fifteen feet was hidden in muted gray, there was a blue light up ahead, shining like an electric beacon.

As they got closer, Griffin whistled. “Was it doing this last time you saw it?”

The fifteen foot tall silver obelisk, surrounded by an eight foot fence topped with razor wire, glowed light blue, pulsing occasionally. The air around the object was free of falling ash, as was a thirty-foot circle of earth around it. With each pulse, the ash falling above it would billow out and away as though a gust of air had repelled it.

“I wouldn’t have forgotten about it, if it had been,” she said, slowing to a stop, fifty feet away. When she turned off the car, they could hear a gentle buzzing that crackled with each pulse of light. The thing was positively brewing with energy.

They exited the car, still within the falling ash. It clung to their shoulders and hair. Approaching the fenced-in obelisk, they stepped into its glow, past the clean cut border where the ash was kept at bay, and they felt a breeze. The ash covering them was swept away.

Frost’s skin tingled as they inched closer together. Ten feet from the strange object, she stopped. “I think this is close enough.”

Without a word, Griffin made a slow circle around the obelisk. “Each side is identical.” He stopped next to Frost. “Except...” He crouched down and picked up a grapefruit sized rock split in half. He dropped it and turned around, pointing to a fallen tree, now cleaved in two, and then beyond, to the forest, which had a five foot wide path carved straight through to the south.

Griffin stepped into the center of the path, reached out and took Frost’s arm, pulling her next to him. For a moment, she was distracted by being pressed up against him. Even put an arm around his back, grasping his shoulder, but then she saw what he was looking at.

The path disappeared into the rolling hills covered with trees, but there were two very noticeable details. The first was that she had an ash free view. Whatever force was repulsing the ash from the obelisk, was also traveling in a straight line, away from it. The second detail was that if she followed the straight line up, a single building came into view.

The church.

Or more accurately, the church’s steeple.

She glanced at Griffin, her arm still around his back, their faces close. She was about to speak, but Griffin’s hand, on the small of her back—
When did that happen?
—tightened.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

She remained rigid, panning her eyes back and forth, but unable to see what had tensed him. But she could hear it, a shuffling sound just behind the obelisk’s buzzing. A clunk as something struck the squad car.

“Slowly,” Griffin said, loosening his grip.

She turned around an inch at a time, fighting hard against the urge to spin quickly. But Griffin had yet to go for his gun, so they were not yet in mortal danger. But when she saw it, she nearly drew her weapon and opened fire.

It stood outside the light cast by the obelisk, as though held at bay by it, repulsed like the falling ash. The twenty-foot-tall, ash-coated creature swayed back and forth, eyeing them with its four obsidian eyes. Its forelimbs were long and slender. She couldn’t see a joint below its shoulder. The arms were like long, curved, black leather-coated blades. Its body was long and slender, ending at a pair of short hind legs. The body shape reminded her of one of those vintage bicycles, with the large front wheel and small rear wheel—a penny-farthing. Except deadly. And evil.

“It doesn’t like the light,” Griffin remarked.

Frost drew her gun. “I’m not sure I want to bet my life on this thing staying lit until the next shift, whenever that will be.” She opened fire, quickly emptying the magazine at the creature’s small, insect-like head. It twitched back as each round found its mark, ash and smoke billowing from the creature’s face and torso.

As Frost ejected the magazine and slapped in a fresh one, the monster shook off the assault and lunged into the light. One long stride brought it ten feet closer, but it shrieked when the obelisk crackled brightly. It stumbled back out of the light, stalking around the luminous circle. Frost followed it with her gun, but didn’t fire.

Griffin on the other hand, walked closer to the thing.

“What are you doing?” Frost asked.

“Head toward the car, slowly,” he said, moving toward the far side of the circle. The thing tracked him and then hurried around the light, toward the far side, where it appeared Griffin was going to exit. The creature bounced excitedly on its long front legs, punching craters into the ground.

Frost moved slowly, eyes on the creature, but it didn’t seem aware of her now. She quickened her pace and reached the far side of the protective light. The car was just a quick sprint away. She nearly shouted out, but thought better of it. Instead, she toggled the radio on her hip, pushing the button three times. She heard the three clicks of static from Griffin’s hip.

He held out a hand.

Three fingers extended.

Then two.

And one.

They acted as one; the plan worked out silently between them. Frost broke for the car, keys in hand, while Griffin sprinted straight back through the light. With a roar, the creature dove after Griffin, but threw itself into the light. With a wailing howl it reeled back, stumbling over its long limbs. It fell back, out of the light, just as the car roared to life. Griffin arrived a moment later, breathing hard. “Go, go, go!”

Frost tore down the dirt drive backwards and quickly reached the road. Neither spoke as they raced back to town. As they crossed onto Main Street, Frost said, “The radio station wasn’t much further from the town’s border than that obelisk. I hope Sam and the others found someplace bright to hide out.”

23

Laurie brought a fresh round of coffee to the few patrons who had ended up stranded at the diner. No amount of pie could salve the fear they all felt, but the coffee at least kept them alert. Though some had talked about leaving, Laurie had remained adamant about them staying put. Traveling without Cash’s halo seemed to be about the same as suicide. For most, the issue was closed when one foolish young man had finally had enough and left. His screams while hauled off into the darkness were enough to root the others in place.

She took a seat across from Wyatt and let out a tired sigh. She was worried about Cash. Older brother or not, she felt responsible for him. She knew that things had been tough for him lately, especially since that Julie Barnes lady had brought in outside contractors for all the new projects around town. She worried about the stress he now carried, and though he’d never let her see it, she knew he was angry and frustrated with his life of late.

She watched Wyatt draw quietly with crayons on the back of a paper placemat. He’d drawn a truck with a man standing outside and a kid looking out a window from within. The man appeared to be swinging something at another person. Wyatt was coloring the person black.

“Whatcha drawing?” Laurie asked.

Wyatt continued to draw without looking up. “Uncle Dana,” he said quietly.

Laurie’s heart sank. “He was a brave man,” was all she could think to say.

“This is the man that hurt him,” Wyatt said, drawing little black flames coming from the man’s body.

“What is that? Is he on fire?”

“No,” Wyatt said, still focused on his drawing. “It’s the black stuff that was on the bad man. Looked more like smoke, really,” Wyatt paused. “Like he was on fire, but someone put him out.”

Laurie studied the picture. She flinched when it looked as though the dark man moved. But it was just the paper, shifting in the breeze.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Then she looked to the broken window, where a curtain swayed. She was just about to dismiss it when the power flickered in the diner. She slowly tightened her fists, turning her eyes to the lights above. They grew brighter, and then all at once, they went out completely.

She nearly screamed, as something tugged on her sleeve.

“Laurie,” Wyatt said, pulling her down. She leaned over to him and felt his warm breath on her ear, as he whispered, “I think we should hide now.”

24

“Wake up!” Sam said, slapping Jimmy across the cheek. “Wake up, dammit!”

Sam knelt next to Jimmy, who lay on the floor in the broadcast room. He looked at the four puncture wounds that lined Jimmy’s chest. Each one was about the size of a fifty-cent piece. The two wounds on the left side of his chest were leaking blood, though not as much as one might expect. But the two on the right...the only thing coming out of them was black smoke.

Sam raised a hand to slap Jimmy again, but this time Jimmy caught it.

“I’m awake,” Jimmy said. “And that fuckin’ hurts.”

“Thank God,” Sam said, relieved. He looked over his shoulder to Kyle and Cash, who were both standing guard at the broadcast room’s door. “He’s awake,” Sam called out.

“None too soon,” Cash said. “They’re coming out of the woodwork. We need to get to the van.”

In the past minute, an army of shadow-walkers had slipped out of the woods and surrounded the station. They didn’t do anything. They just stood, smoldering and waiting. The ash-monster on the other hand, ran around the station breaking windows, tearing up walls and doing its best to reach them. Although the beast couldn’t get in, Sam knew that it was only a matter of time before the shadow-walkers strolled right on in through the broken front door. That they hadn’t already probably had something to do with the big-ass flashlight they’d used to ward off the shadow-hound.

“We need to get you up and moving,” Sam said.

Kyle ran over to give Sam a hand. Together they each grabbed an arm and lifted Jimmy into a standing position.

Jimmy pushed them away and leaned over. He puked.

“Guys, I hate to say it,” Jimmy said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m fucked.”

Cash looked back from the door worried. “They’re in the hall.”

Sam took a tight grip of Jimmy’s arm. “I already lost one friend, I’m not losing another.”

Jimmy yanked his arm away. “Nothing you can do about it, besides accept it. You saw what happened to Dana, same as I. And you got your boy to worry about.” Jimmy winced and looked down. Warily, he opened his shirt. Black veins covered his chest. His once red blood now ran black. “I can feel it inside me. It wants me to hurt you. Kill you. Eventually, it’s gonna win.”

Jimmy reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his Phantom. He took Sam’s hand and put them in it. “She’s yours now.”

Sam looked at Jimmy, his eyes filled with sadness. “I—I can’t just leave you. I won’t—”

Cash looked back to the three of them, his shoulder pressed firmly against the door. “Guys, whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it now. They’re almost on us.” He looked back to the door, through its window, and right into the eyes of a dark, flaking face. He screamed. The dark figure shrieked in return.

Sam turned back to Jimmy, but he was no longer there. He’d taken a fire extinguisher from the wall and was getting ready to break open the window.

“Jimmy, no!” Sam cried out.

“When I go…” Jimmy said, looking at Sam. “It’ll be fast. High-tail it back to the van.”

“Jimmy—”

“You’d do the same fer me,” Jimmy said. “Take care of your son. Do right by Tess.”

Sam said nothing. He couldn’t. He just watched as Jimmy hefted the extinguisher back and slammed it through the window. “Go! Now!” He jumped through the shards of glass that remained, oblivious to the jagged points poking his skin. He hit the grass and ran for the garage, yelling like a mad man. Countless black eyes snapped toward him, following his flight, and like cats hunting prey, they gave chase.

Jimmy didn’t see
the ash-monster, but he knew it was still out there with him. Despite his primal instincts revolting at the idea, he hoped it would take the bait.

He raised his arms and yelled as best he could. Each breath was more labored than the last, and he suspected one of his lungs had been punctured. He glanced back and was surprised to see a smoldering gang of angry forms bearing down on him. “Holy shit!” he whispered, and he tried to run faster. He was going to die. He knew that now, and he had accepted it faster than he would have believed possible, but he was going out the way he wanted, not as one of those fuckers. No way was he going to let his body be used to kill his friends.

He made it to the garage and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned against it, holding back the first shadow-walkers to arrive. The garage reeked of rotten eggs. He looked at the propane shut-off valve. The small fracture was now cracked open, hissing fumes into the air.

“Seriously?” Jimmy said. “
This
is the one thing that’s going to go right today?”

He dropped the fire extinguisher and reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out his cigarettes. He kept his back pressed against the door to keep it shut, bouncing forward from the occasional push. The fumes were making him dizzy, and his aching body felt slow. The wounds on his chest burned like hot iron brands, and in an odd way, he figured he
had
been branded.

He looked down at his smokes, happy to see a single crumpled stick poking out of the pack. He brought the pack to his lips and plucked it out, tossing the empty packet to the floor. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter.

He twisted it around in his hand and remembered the truth behind the old piece of junk. His father hadn’t really given it to him—that was just a story that he told others when they asked about the old, beat up thing. The truth was his father had thrown it out. Jimmy had fished it from the trash. It had, in a way, taken on the personification of the relationship he’d wanted with his father. It was always with him, and it always worked when he needed it to.

He thought of his father as he flicked the top open with its familiar metallic click. The sound reminded him of his younger days, when his biggest worries were zits and homework. Days when his father had still been his hero and someone he wanted to emulate.

He counted to sixty, and then he staggered to the back of the garage. The door crashed open behind him, but he didn’t care.
Over soon,
he thought, fighting the urge to close his eyes and sleep
.
He could feel the darkness within him, slithering around, as it wormed its way through his body.

He turned to face the front of the garage and wasn’t surprised to see the Dana-thing’s blackened face staring back at him. He knew it would be there. Felt it in the darkness. Inside of him. He brought the lighter up to his cigarette and placed his thumb against the flint wheel. He wanted to say something cool. Something like in one of those movies where the hero blows himself up. But nothing came to mind.

“Fuck it.”

Jimmy cupped a hand over his mouth, flicked his thumb, and watched as his trusty lighter sparked a tiny blue flame to life. He had time enough for a single drag.