Darkness on the Edge of Town (22 page)

Time passed. I wish I could say that one day blended into the next, but it wasn’t like that. Like I said before, there’s no telling the days from the nights when you don’t have the sun to guide you. Christy tried marking the passage of time by how often we slept, but she slept more and more often—sometimes thirteen or fourteen hours at a stretch, and then twenty or more. Pretty soon, she was waking up only long enough to eat and drink or go to the bathroom, and sometimes, not even then.

We stayed inside, forced into exile from the anxiety over T and Mario and Anna, and from all the other crazies now roaming the streets, and from the deeper, more primal fears of what lay out there on the edge of town, surrounding us completely. I repeated Dez’s story to Christy, Russ, and Cranston. I’m not sure how much of it they really believed, but Russ and Cranston had seen enough with their own eyes to know that the darkness was supernatural, and Christy’s terror was stoked by our own. Even though she still believed that we were dead and this was some fucked-up afterlife way station, she was scared enough not to leave the building.

We rationed our food and water, and tried to keep ourselves active and occupied. I started doing sit-ups,
push-ups, and jumping jacks, but gave up after a few days. Just like a New Year’s resolution to get in better shape, except this was more like an End of the World resolution. Christy and I read and played games and talked, until we were sick of all three—and of each other. Even when we made a concerted effort to keep our distance from each other and not interact much, we still fought and argued over the stupidest, most trivial things. The worst part was that we didn’t know if it was the darkness making us do it or just plain old cabin fever. Once again, we ended up spending a lot of time on different sides of the apartment—not just avoiding each other, but living totally separate lives. Secretly, I was relieved when she started sleeping all the time. Although I’d never admit it to her—especially not after what had happened at the pet store—there were times where I came close to killing her. I’m betting that there were times when she felt the same way toward me. I wonder now how many times she almost tried, and what I would have done if she had.

Cranston and Russ felt the madness, too, and as a result, we interacted less with them, even though they were prisoners in the building just like we were.

Cranston ended up moving upstairs with Russ. We nailed the windows in his first floor apartment shut and put thick sheets of plywood over them. Then we barricaded the front door with heavy beams, and chained the storm doors shut from the inside. If we needed to get out, we could—but T and the others would have a hard time getting in. We’d hear them before they did, and that was all that mattered. There was no hesitation in Russ or myself. The first person who crossed that threshold was going to catch a fucking bullet.

But that was okay. Murder seems to be par for the course in Walden these days. I remember when I used to sit in the living room and hear birds chirping or cars cruising past or kids playing down in the street. Now all I hear are screams and shrieks and gunshots. All I hear is madness and mayhem.

All I hear is darkness.

I can hear it right now, in fact. Coming closer. I need to finish this up and get a move on.

They caught Dez. We heard the commotion a few nights ago. One minute it was relatively quiet, and the next the streets were full of people shouting and cheering. I was instantly alert. My pulse raced, and my face felt flushed, but a strange sort of calm came over me. It was like that moment when the dark clouds that have been overhead for the last hour finally erupt into a thunderstorm.

“This is it,” I warned Christy. “They’re going to try to break in.”

But I was wrong. They weren’t. Not yet.

We ran out into the stairwell and found Russ and Cranston, who’d been coming to find us. Both of them had heard the commotion as well.

“You guys know what’s going on?” Christy asked.

“I was up on the roof,” Russ said. “Having a cigar. I need to finish them before they all dry out. All I know is that there was a fire off in the distance and there’s a whole bunch of people in the street.”

I frowned. “You don’t think they’ll burn our building down, do you?”

“I don’t know what they’d do. But the fire wasn’t that close. If I had to guess, I’d say it was down near the church where Dez was hiding out.”

“But someone already burned that church down.”

Russ shrugged. “Maybe it was another building close by there.”

The noise in the street increased, growing more frenzied. All four of us went up onto the roof and peered out over the side.

Cranston began to tremble.

Christy gasped. “Oh my God.”

I said, “Fuck me running.”

Russ said nothing. His expression was grim.

The crowd had Dez as their captive. We watched helplessly as they paraded him through the street. His hands and feet were tied together behind his back, and he dangled from a winch on the back of a tow truck. I stared at the vehicle. It was Tony’s tow truck—the guy who’d been parked out in front of our apartment in the tractor trailer. It was his stolen vehicle. I couldn’t tell if he was behind the wheel or not. Whoever it was, they drove slow—excruciatingly so. Dez twisted and spun. People spit on him and threw rocks, empty cans and bottles, and other debris as he went by. Anna led the procession, shouting Bible verses about witches and what to do with them. Our own little redneck, truckdriving, Bible-thumping version of Cotton Mather.

I glanced toward Dez’s shed. The fire was still smoldering, casting an eerie glow on part of the town. I couldn’t see what was burning, but I guessed that they’d set his shed on fire, and captured him when he tried to escape the flames.

The procession stopped right in front of our building. The driver killed the tow truck’s engine. Dez screamed at them to let him go. I scanned the crowd, recognizing several faces. In addition to Anna, I saw T and Mario. Ollie Griffin, the guy we’d given the batteries to at the grocery store, was there, too. All told, I estimated there
were over a hundred people in the crowd, with more on the way. They approached from side streets and alleys. Some were probably just curious about what was happening, but most looked angry.

“This is what the wages of sin brings us,” Anna shouted, pointing at Dez. “We all stood aside while this witch practiced the black arts within our town. He brought this darkness down upon us. Now we are being punished by God.”

“Stay here,” Cranston whispered to Russ and me. “I’m going to go downstairs and get the pistols and the rifle.”

“You?” I was stunned. “You hate guns.”

“True,” Cranston agreed. “I’m a pacifist. But there’s a time for peace and there’s a time for war, and right now, it’s time for war. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t bother,” Russ said. “We can’t shoot them all. There’s too many of them.”

“If we kill enough of them, then I guarantee you that the others will lose heart.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “They might be totally overcome by now.”

“Well, I’ll take the chance.”

Before we could respond, Anna’s cries grew louder.

“God punished the rest of the world, but he gave us a second chance. We must honor God. We must follow His law so that the darkness shall be lifted, and then we can repopulate the planet as Noah and his family did in their time. We must do as the Lord commands. His word tells us specifically what to do with witches.”

“Oh no,” Russ wheezed. “Oh, hell no…”

T poured gasoline into a two-liter soda bottle and tossed it into one of the sputtering burn barrels. The fire blazed quickly, erupting over the rim. The tow truck’s
driver started the engine and backed up slowly, positioning Dez over the barrel. He dangled there, shrieking as the flames licked at his feet. Then they lowered him into the fire. The flames raced up his pants, and then his shirt caught fire. Then his hair. It happened quicker than I thought it would. Looking back on it now, I have to wonder if they’d drenched him in gasoline beforehand. Despite the quickness, it took him forever to die. The rubber soles on his shoes melted and dripped. His skin sizzled and smoked. His eyes bubbled and steamed in their sockets.

Dez’s screams lasted a very long time.

The stench lasted even longer.

Not once did I consider helping him. I don’t think that any of us did, other than Cranston volunteering to get the handguns—and that was more out of self-preservation than a desire to help Dez. Maybe Russ and Christy thought about it, but if so, they kept it to themselves. Maybe you think less of me for that, but I don’t care. I’m done with trying to help people. There’s no point. I mean, what’s the sense in being a hero when there’s no one left to save? Oh sure, I could have saved his life—repaid the favor for him saving mine, but for what? So that he could slowly starve to death here in Walden?

Maybe by not acting, I did him a favor.

Or maybe it was just the darkness, chewing away at my spirit, trying to convince me to go to the edge of town and step into its hungry embrace.

I do know this. I regretted not letting Cranston get the guns before. We could have ended Dez’s suffering with one shot.

The crowd cheered and laughed. They hung around until Dez was nothing more than a smoking skeleton.
Then they slowly drifted away, talking and chatting with one another as if they’d just watched a high school football game or a movie at the multiplex. We expected them to storm our building that night, but they didn’t. Maybe their bloodlust was sated with Dez’s death, or maybe they honestly believed that once he was gone, the darkness would go away.

Of course, the darkness didn’t go away, and once they’d killed Dez, the mob grew a little braver. The crowd lurking around outside our home has grown since then. Each time I peek out the window, there are more and more of them down there, listening to T and Mario and Anna. Not the throng that turned out to roast Dez, but a solid group of core regulars who never seem to go home. I’ve considered that maybe Cranston was right. Maybe I should take a potshot at one of them from the rooftop, but I’m afraid that if I actually hit one of them, it will be like putting a match to a pile of gasoline-soaked rags. And besides, Russ says we shouldn’t waste our ammunition.

Chances are, we’re going to need it for what comes next.

Cranston turned traitor before the fire that consumed Dez had even died down. Maybe it was too much for him. I don’t know. We assumed that he’d gone to get the guns. When he didn’t come back, we searched for him. He snuck out through the storm doors before we could stop him. We managed to chain them up again before anyone got inside, but the damage was already done. The cracks in our facade were showing, and the mob seemed to gain strength from it. I figured they’d kill Cranston, but instead, they welcomed him into their midst. All he had to do was turn against us—right there in the street for everyone to see
his repentance at siding with us, the people who had assisted the witch in bringing the darkness to town.

Russ is right. We need to save ammunition.

I need to save at least one bullet for Cranston. That fucker deserves it more than anyone, as far as I’m concerned. He was our friend. We had his back. Now he’s one of them. One of the crazies. So yeah, one of these bullets has his fucking name on it.

And I guess I should save two more bullets for me and Christy.

Just in case.

Russ is finished packing—he’s traveling light—and Christy’s awake now, so we’re ready to go. I told them I needed five more minutes to finish this up.

The idea was mine. It’s not a good idea. But it’s all I could come up with.

Yeah, maybe I’ve given up on saving anybody else, but that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on us, too. I can’t. There’s a part of me deep down inside that would like to, but I just can’t do it.

I have to believe that Dez was wrong. Yes, the darkness is alive. I’ve seen that for myself. And yes, it does indeed seem to feed off us. There was nothing left of Drew and Clay and all the others. Hell, who knows? Maybe he was even right about the universe before this universe and all of that Labyrinth bullshit. Maybe all of it is true. Maybe God is nothing more than another villain—the biggest villain of them all. Maybe in another reality, I’m president of the United States of America. Or a rock-and-roll god. Or maybe Christy and I are married. Maybe we’re happy. It could be, right? I mean, Dez knew his shit when it came to keeping the darkness out of this town.

But darkness crept into town anyway, despite his
precautions. A different kind of darkness. Maybe it’s connected to the darkness outside or maybe it’s just the darkness of the human soul. I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. The fact is, the darkness will kill us if we stay here just as surely as if we left.

But there may be a way out. That’s what I’m thinking.

Dez said that the rest of the planet had already been consumed, right? That all the energy had been sucked out of it, except for us here in Walden. Now, I don’t know a lot about planetary physics and shit like that, but consider—if all of the planet’s energy were gone, wouldn’t we be dead by now anyway, regardless of whatever magic spell keeps the darkness at bay? Isn’t it energy that holds the planet together and keeps it turning? And then there are the stars. Russ said it was like the stars weren’t there anymore, but if so, again—wouldn’t we be dead? We orbit around the sun. If the sun were gone, then it stands to reason that it would be five hundred million degrees below zero right now. So, like I said earlier, what’s keeping us warm?

There has to be something left. There
has
to.

How do I know? Because we should be dead and we’re not. We’re not dead yet. If we were dead, then there would be no reason to go on. I wouldn’t keep fighting to survive, struggling against all odds no matter how many times I’ve swore that I’d stop. No matter how many times I wanted to throw in the towel and give up. If we were already dead, then I wouldn’t want to
live
so goddamned bad.