The Darkness (3 page)

Jacob
turned away from her and walked into the attached bathroom. A small window was
positioned high on the wall at the end of the room that, days earlier, Jacob
had covered with a piece of cardboard. He carefully peeled back the material
and looked into the backyard. Dark, quiet, and no movement, but in the distance
he could see the yellows and oranges of a new day beginning. 

He
moved and took a seat on a stool near the bathroom vanity. He smiled, thinking
how he’d walked past this stool thousands of times, but never sat on it. He had
put it in here for his daughter; his wife would brush her hair here every
morning. Jacob had never bothered to admire the stool and how high it sat… nor
how uncomfortable it was. Now it was the only chair in this part of the house.

Looking
in the mirror at the bruise on his face from the airbag and the purple swelling
under his eyes, he thought back to the previous day—the day of the accident…
the look of hate on their faces… the dark, soulless eyes of the attackers…

Laura
whispering to Katy in the bedroom brought him out of his trance. He looked up
from the stool and deep into his reflection in the vanity mirror. His face was
stubbled. His hair was matted. Three days of holding out in the upstairs of
their home, with no showers and using a bucket as a toilet, told him they would
have to make plans soon. They couldn’t stay here indefinitely.

After
9/11, Jacob researched and studied survival. Although he didn’t become a
prepper or do anything drastic, he wanted to be educated.
Shelter in place,
food and water for three days, hold out and help will come
was the common mantra.
Jacob did his part, but help wasn’t here. Where were they? Why hadn't the
police knocked on their doors or the Red Cross arrived with food and water? He
feared they would never come.

Jacob
moved back to the bedroom. His wife was opening a package of crackers to feed
their daughter. She looked up at him disapprovingly.

“What?”
he said.

“Why
are we still here?” she asked. “This is the last of the crackers. Then what?”

“Are
you serious? Were you not around yesterday when we tried to leave? Or when I
killed those men to get us back into the house?”

“We
should have kept going,” she said. “Walked, ran… whatever we had to do.”

“Oh
my god, you’re impossible!” he said.

Frustrated,
Jacob walked to the far end of the room and sat at the head of the bed. He
grabbed the small battery-operated radio and clicked it on. There was static on
all stations but one—a local AM frequency that had been broadcasting the same
emergency message for the past forty-eight hours. The same useless garbage—
stay
off the streets
,
help will come
;
shelter in place
;
if you
must evacuate, go to the park
. Jacob shook his head and shut the radio off
before tossing it to the bed.

His
wife looked up at him. “We should do it. We should go to the park.”

“That
message is days old; how do we even know anyone will be there?”

She
looked at him while biting her lip. “I want to leave. I
will
go without
you!” she said.

“It’s
going to be okay, Laura.”

 He
knew she wouldn’t leave; she wouldn’t go without him. He got the message
though. It was time for them to go… but at what cost?
Why leave this piece
of shelter for the open streets?
Jacob got up from the bed and helped his
wife pack items into the bag. The action seemed to calm her nerves; although,
when she looked at him, he could see she was holding back tears.

“I
know,” he said, touching her cheek. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“How?
What if they find us?” she sobbed.

Jacob
held her and looked at his daughter on the bed. “I don’t know; they just
can’t.”

Chapter 2

With
late afternoon, came the sweltering heat. Jacob pulled the drapes away from the
window to try to allow a draft, but only hot air entered. He paced through the
room, sweating. He wanted to go downstairs and sit in the family room or
venture into the basement den where it was always cool. His wife was sitting on
the bathroom floor, fanning herself, when Jacob walked past her and entered the
walk-in closet adjacent to the room. He looked up at the ceiling and thought
about the attic. He knew it would be just as hot, but it was also vented and
with the window in the gable end, he would have a better view of the street.

The
attic access was in the hallway outside the sealed bedroom door. Not wanting to
compromise their security, he decided he would just make a new entrance. Jacob
retrieved a knife from his nightstand and climbed the tall shelves to the ceiling
of the closet. He jabbed the blade of the knife into the sheet rock. Dust and
bits of insulation poured down over his face and shoulders. He squinted to
protect his eyes and worked until he’d created a fist-sized hole. He then stuck
his hand in and broke away at it until he’d created a large opening between the
ceiling joists.

With
a hole large enough to enter the attic, Jacob stuck his head through and pushed
away the rolled bats of insulation. Looking in all directions, he could see
little; the attic was dark with only small bits of dust-filled light entering
through the vent. He dropped back down and called for his wife. When she
entered the room below, she looked at his body partway into the destroyed
ceiling, then looked up at him with wide eyes and her hand held over her mouth
. “What are you doing?”

“Get
me the flashlight,” he said, not answering her question.

“Why?
You’re not going up there,” she argued.

“Just
get me the light, Laura,” he said as patiently as he could.

He
heard rustling below him and looked down to see that she’d climbed the shelf
partway to meet him. She passed up the light. Jacob took it, clicked it on, and
then pulled himself into the attic. He crawled across the joists to a center
portion floored with plywood and filled with holiday decorations. He heard a
noise by the hole and saw his wife’s head looking back at him.

“Why
are you up here?” she asked again.

Jacob
crawled to the gable that was above their bedroom. Seated in the end was a
large louvered vent cap; it was normally pushed open by a thermostat-controlled
electric fan. The surface of the fan was enclosed in a cage and full of louvers
that were currently closed. “I wanted to see if I could get some air flowing,”
he said back to her.

Jacob
pushed his hands against the electric motor and found it firmly in place,
blocking the gable vent. He forced the knife blade into the mounting screws,
trying to break them free but failing. Behind him, Laura dropped below then
quickly returned before reaching out to pass Jacob his drill. He smiled as he
took it from her and then, working carefully, he was able to remove the bracket
and drop the fan motor to the floor. After working at one of the exposed vents
with his knife, he felt it give as the plastic louver broke free and snapped
off. He repeated the maneuver with two more of the louvers and was quickly
rewarded with a slight drawing of the attic air.

He
looked back at his wife and could see her hair gently flowing up as cooler air
from downstairs was pulled through the master suite and out of the attic
window, the natural rise of the hot air creating a draft. The temperature
decrease was subtle, but the moving air across their skin felt like heaven
after sweltering in the sealed room.

She
smiled at him approvingly. Jacob moved his eye closer to the vent and peered through
the gap created from the broken louvers. He pressed close and looked in all
directions. Far in the distance, he could see billowing smoke from fires and
abandoned cars at intersections. The streets were void of all traffic. Junctures
that were normally busy stood silent with debris in the streets.

Houses
that still stood were closed up tight and had their window blinds closed. With
cars visible in some driveways, he knew people were still around; they had to
be.
They can’t all be gone. The smart ones that followed the instructions
are inside hiding the same as we are. They have to be,
Jacob thought as he sat
watching and listening. He heard his wife crawl up behind him, and she pressed
close. Jacob eased out of the way so she could look through the louvers. He
watched her jaw drop as she gasped over the scene of their small bit of
neighborhood.

“Oh
my God. Jacob, this is really happening, isn’t it?” she croaked.

He
put his hand on the back of her neck, not speaking. She looked at him. “What
are we going to do, Jacob?”

“We
just need to hold on.”

She
backed away from the gable vent and sat silently. A muffled cry from below
caught her attention and Laura turned to look at the access hole. “I’ll check
on her; don’t be too long,” she whispered as she crawled away.

He
turned back to follow her to the master suite. Moving across the attic, he
paused and looked at the plywood floor filled with plastic bins and boxes. He
pushed them aside and made his way to the pull-down attic access ladder. He
found a long board and slid it through the handle, locking it into the up
position. Jacob turned and moved back to the makeshift hole and, grabbing the
joists, lowered himself back onto the closet shelving.

He
found Laura scooping a small paper cup of water from the bathtub. She used it
to wet her hands before wiping them down the sides of Katy’s cheeks. She looked
up at Jacob and said, “She’s burning up. I'm not sure what it is, but we’re
going to need real food; all that’s left are some scraps, nothing solid.”

Jacob
bit his lip, knowing she was right. He could see Katy needed a doctor; he
nodded his head. He stood in front of her, and although he was listening, he
was thinking about their supplies. They’d used the last cans of soup already, having
eaten it cold, and the fruit was gone the day before. As their luck would have
it, everything had happened on the day before grocery day when the cupboards
were already bare. He could check the kitchen again, look for something they
may have missed in the pantry, but it wasn’t likely there would be anything
there. Jacob walked through the bathroom and again stood by the bedroom window.
He pulled back the drapes and peered across the street.

Smitty’s
house was a shattered mess from the mob attack a few hours ago, but maybe there
was something left—a scrap of food in the kitchen or something. The house was
directly across the street; if he moved quickly, he could cross without being
seen. As if agreeing with someone, he nodded his head and moved to his dresser.
He pulled out a black, hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dark jeans. He searched
a desk drawer and removed a small paddle holster for his handgun. After pulling
on his jeans and tucking the holster into his pants over his hip, he dropped in
the Ruger pistol until it clicked into place.

“What
are you doing now?” Laura asked.

Jacob
quickly dressed in the rest of the new attire and dumped one of the backpacks
they’d previously packed full of their clothing. “I’m going over to Smitty’s to
see if there’s anything left.”

“What?
No, it isn’t safe; their house was attacked, Jacob,” Laura protested.

“Maybe
that’s what will make it safe. They might not come back to it.”

“What
if they do?”

 Jacob
pulled the backpack over his shoulders. He removed and checked the slide of his
handgun, dropped the magazine to make sure it was full, and then placed a spare
in a small pocket at the front of the holster. He grabbed a black ball cap from
atop the armoire, and then looked back at Laura. “You said it yourself. She
needs real food.” Jacob picked up the drill, walked to the bedroom door, and
stood there staring at the screws.

“How
do you know they’ll have anything?” Laura asked.

“I
don’t, Laura, but I have to try.”

Shaking
his head slightly, Jacob set the drill down next to the door and walked through
the bathroom and back to the closet to look up at the hole in the ceiling.
“Listen, if I come up empty, I’ll try another place, but that’s it. Then I’ll
come back, okay? I won’t stay out long; you can watch me from the window.”

He
snugged the straps on his backpack then turned to hug her before he grabbed the
shelves and pulled himself back into the attic.

Jacob
asked Laura to follow him as he worked his way back to the ladder hatch. He
showed her how he removed the board securing it, and then lowered the ladder
into the hallway below. Looking down, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He
kissed Laura on the cheek and told her to pull up and secure the ladder behind
him. She nodded reluctantly.

When
he poked his head out of the hatch, he could make out the stairway leading to
the first floor. Jacob slowly descended the ladder and stood in the hallway
outside of his bedroom door. He folded the attic ladder and let it ride back to
the up position. Jacob drew his pistol and slowly approached the stairs.

The
rooms below were dark, the heavy drapes still in place. He crept down the
stairs and entered the living room where he pulled back the curtains slightly
and surveyed the front yard. Empty—nothing in sight. Jacob approached the front
door; then, having second thoughts, he walked to the kitchen and used a side
door to enter the attached garage. Going through the garage, he could exit out
onto the back deck and sneak around to the side yard while staying hidden from
view.

Jacob
opened the deadbolt on the utility door leading to the garage. He paused in the
doorway listening before cautiously entering. He then locked the door behind
him, placed the key in his pocket, and began to creep through the dark garage. The
stall where the family car usually sat was empty—a grim reminder of the danger
he faced. He moved to the back and quietly opened the door leading to the deck.
A quick look in both directions and he moved outside, silently pulling the door
closed behind him.

He
crouched low and hid behind the unkempt, overgrown evergreen bushes. Jacob was
thankful that he’d failed to trim them for several years. He dropped to his
hands and knees and followed the perimeter of his house until he entered the
side yard. A tall wooden fence divided his yard from that of his neighbors, the
Johnsons. He hadn’t seen or heard from them in days, but their home was still
secure. They had either left or were locked up tight, the same as he was. He
considered going to their door and asking for help, but more people would add
complications; not to mention, they might turn him away—or worse, attract
attention.

“No,
stick to the plan,” he whispered to himself as he moved to the front corner of
his house. He could see Smitty’s driveway. His beaten and battered Lexus still
sat parked in front of the garage. Smitty was always an arrogant prick and not
someone Jacob would call a friend. He knew the garage would be empty; Smitty
parked the Lexus on the street so people would see it. He considered it a
status symbol. Now it was a dented wreck with broken windows. Bits of the car’s
glass lay covering the driveway, reflecting the sunlight.

Crouched
at the front corner of his own porch, Jacob eased his head out of the bushes
and searched in both directions for movement. It appeared clear. He took one
more deep breath and took off at a dead run, flying through his front yard,
across the street, up the driveway, and past the Lexus to the garage door that
was pushed inward and broken. Jacob knew all the houses on the block had a
similar layout with a door leading to the kitchen from the garage, and Smitty’s
would be no exception. He quickly ducked down and crawled through the broken
hole in the overhead garage door. Catching his breath, he crept into the
darkness and pressed his back against the wall.

Looking
back into the street, things were still as quiet as he’d left them. He looked
up at the second story of his own house, just barely detecting movement of the
drapes in his master bedroom. Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew Laura
was watching. He flashed a quick thumbs up, then turned and ducked deeper into
the garage. Jacob stepped over a dumped cabinet of oil and paint cans, then
around scattered toolboxes. He rummaged through tools, searching for weapons or
anything useful, taking note of things he may need later before finally making
it to the small set of steps that led to the open kitchen door.

He
paused at the landing to listen, hearing only the rattle of window blinds
blowing in the breeze as they scraped and scratched against the shards of
broken glass left hanging in their frames. The house smelled dusty and earthy
from the opened walls. Jacob took a silent step and peered into the kitchen.
Looking straight through the long kitchen into the house, he could see into the
dining room where the eight-seat mahogany furniture set was shattered and crushed
into pieces. To the left and right, cupboards were knocked off the walls. The refrigerator
was knocked from its place and lying across the floor. Slowly, Jacob moved
forward and hid behind an L-shaped counter on the right that divided the
kitchen from a family room with a small bar. He took light steps deeper into
the kitchen and looked through the bar window into the family room. Focusing beyond
upended leather furniture, he could see the home’s heavy oak front door had
been ripped from its hinges and shredded like balsa wood.