The Dark Trilogy 02 - Into the Dark Read online

  Into the Dark (The Dark Trilogy Book 2)

  Title Page

  Prologue…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part II

  Part I

  Part II

  About the Author

  A PERMUTED PRESS book

  published at Smashwords.

  ISBN (trade paperback): 978-1-61868-102-7

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-103-4

  Into the Dark copyright © 2010, 2013

  by Patrick D’Orazio.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Conzpiracy Digital.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  We hope you enjoy this release from

  Permuted Press

  Follow us online for more exciting fiction!

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  To my mom and dad, who taught me passion for reading, learning, and making sure I never do a half-assed job with anything. You have provided me with the guidance and encouragement that has made me the man I am today. For that, I am profoundly grateful.

  Prologue…

  Or What Came Before

  The end came for the human race with a whimper, not a bang. The mysterious virus engulfed the world in a matter of days. Everyone infected seemed to die… then rise again. Governments collapsed, armies disappeared, and entire civilizations turned to dust as the human race tore itself to pieces.

  Jeff Blaine managed to survive the first waves of destruction hidden behind the barricaded doors of his suburban Cincinnati home with his wife and children. But it wasn’t long before the hell that was outside broke through his defenses and destroyed all that he knew and loved.

  With his family gone and his life in ruins, the only thing left for him is bitter pain and anger. So he ventures out into the desolation with no better plan than to destroy as many of the monsters that stole his life away as he can before they destroy him.

  But it doesn’t take long for Jeff to discover that there are other survivors who aren’t willing to give up just yet.

  Megan, who has also been hiding out in her own house in Jeff’s neighborhood, is afraid of this new world, but gains strength from the idea that there are others out there who are still alive. When Jeff rescues her and they agree to join forces, their partnership is far from perfect, but after several harrowing experiences, their bond only grows stronger. During a near-fatal misadventure at an overrun emergency shelter, they meet up with George and Jason, two more survivors who have avoided death by hiding out in an abandoned church.

  George is a man who clings to the hope that his wife and two daughters are still waiting for him back home. Jason, a sullen twelve year old, finds it hard to trust anyone after everything he’s been through.

  Together, they journey through the wasteland their world has become and grudgingly agree to help George find a car that still runs so he can get back home to his family. Beyond that, the other three survivors only hope to find a place to hide away in the Ohio countryside and away from the hordes of plague victims anxious to destroy them. Along the way all they find are other refugees even more desperate than they are, and more of the undead.

  The quartet manages to make it to the small town of Manchester, which is somewhat removed from the dangers of the city and suburban landscape in its rural setting, with hopes of finding George a vehicle so he can take his leave while the others continue farther on down the road. As soon as they enter the deserted town, they are ambushed by a group of desperate men. With the travelers trapped inside Jeff’s van and staring down the barrels of an assortment of weapons, things look grim as they wait to see if this new group wants them dead or alive.

  Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs;

  Dead men have come again, and walk’d about;

  And the great bell has toll’d, unrung, untouch’d

  From The Grave by Robert Blair

  Chapter 1

  There was a blur of activity outside the van. The meager hope that the men outside were military was dashed when Jeff saw their captors' civilian attire. They were marched out of the vehicle and ordered to lie flat on the road in front of the van.

  “Do any of you have weapons on you? Answer me!” It was a different voice than the one they had heard earlier from inside their vehicle.

  George could feel the rounded metal point of a shotgun as it pressed down on the back of his skull. It pushed him flat to the pavement, and he thought he could hear the shallow breathing of the person holding it on him. “What about you, big man? You got a hog leg tucked up next to your prick?”

  Sweat dripped down George’s face as heat from the asphalt competed with the blazing sun at his back. He attempted to lift his head to give a negative response, fearing that speaking might exacerbate things, but the shotgun forced him to remain motionless.

  When George did attempt to speak, he discovered that his throat had closed up and saliva was pooling in it. He coughed uncontrollably, hacking and spitting, still trying to remain stationary as the man hovered above him.

  “You gonna answer me or you gonna puke yer guts out, Nancy?”

  George felt the edge of the sharp metal press down harder.

  “No. NO! I don’t… have any… guns on me. I swear!” He hacked his way through the words, feeling like his mouth and throat were buried in six inches of water.

  George heard the sound of something skipping over the pavement. The pressure from the shotgun disappeared in an instant. Even with it gone, his nerves continued to sing with terror, fear gluing him in place.

  “There, now leave him alone! I’m the only one with a weapon, you asshole! No one else has anything on them!”

  The feet of the man who had been next to George moved away, toward Megan. There were more footsteps. In the background, George thought he could hear someone rooting through the van.

  “Well, well. Looks like we got ourselves Dirty Harriet here.”

  Someone else snickered at the lame joke, and George discovered he could breathe again. The tone of the voice sounded casual. He tensed as he waited to hear what would happen next.

  Megan saw a shadow block out the blinding sunlight from above. An old work boot splattered with dirt and grass stains moved near her face until it blotted out everything except the shifting shadows at the periphery of her vision. She could feel more than see the man crouching directly above her and smelled the stale reek of liquor on his breath.

  “So, honey, you the leader of this little gang here? You the one callin’ the shots? That gun of yours looks a mite big for such a petite thing.”

  The voice was quiet and kept creeping closer to her ear as the man spoke. When his hand touched her back, it was as cold as ice. S
he squirmed beneath it, but found she could not move. One of the man’s knees was right above her butt and had her locked down. Stale Breath laughed at her predicament and continued to hover over her.

  “So none of you boys have any weapons, huh? You let your woman take care of things for you, right?”

  The comment hung in the air, unanswered.

  “Hey, Frank! It looks like we found the rest of their weapons.”

  The voice came from behind them, and they heard a pair of rubber soles hit the ground. Megan felt the hand and knee leave her back as the man moved away. She relaxed somewhat but focused mostly on controlling the shivering that threatened to jar the teeth from her mouth.

  “Nice!”

  Their voices dropped as they continued ransacking the van. Jeff shifted on the ground, attempting to push his twenty-five-caliber pistol deeper in his pocket with a turn of his hip, hoping the small weapon would not be found.

  After several endless minutes of waiting on the ground while listening to Frank and the other man hoot and holler over their newfound treasures, they heard another voice.

  “Gentlemen… and lady, I apologize for this treatment. I know it doesn’t look like we’re all that friendly, but given current conditions, I hope you’ll understand our reason for taking a few precautions.” The voice was cool and commanding, the speaker confident of himself.

  No one moved. Jeff did a mental count of what they were up against. He remembered seeing two men in front of the van and two in back. At least two others were drivers of the blocking cars. They were armed with rifles, shotguns, and handguns… and now they had the rifles from the van as well. He rolled his forehead against the hot asphalt and cursed their luck.

  “You can get up now. I think we’re sure nothing… unfortunate is going to happen.” The voice was cheery, as if the man were welcoming guests into his home.

  When Jeff lifted his head, he saw six of them, as he had correctly calculated. His gaze circulated around the group, locking on the man who was clearly the leader. Unlike the rest of his small troop, he was decked out in camouflage. It looked more like surplus than standard military issue, but the man wore it well. Rugged black boots completed his forest-green ensemble.

  He cut an impressive figure. He was about the same height as George, but slender, not stocky. Fit and muscular, he looked young, perhaps in his late twenties. His dark hair was neatly groomed, and he was clean shaven, unlike the rest of the group. He was handsome, with a strong jaw, well-defined cheekbones, and a twinkle in his eyes. Jeff could see no scars or defects and, more importantly, the leader of the other group did not have the hollowed-out look everyone seemed to acquire as a fringe benefit of being a survivor.

  For all the physical traits that distinguished him from the others, it was something else about him that drew the eye. He was the one carrying the M16 that had been pointed at them earlier. Currently, it was slung across his back.

  The man raised his hand in greeting, a smile creasing his face as he looked over the little ragtag quartet. “The name’s Michael. I’m the leader here.” He spoke with confidence as he turned to the others surrounding him. “Let me introduce you to my men.”

  Frank and Marcus were good ol’ country boys, toting shotguns and spitting tobacco in a constant brown stream that stuck to their ragged beards, and both were leaning against the van they had just ransacked. A looked passed between Michael and his two henchmen, and the duo forced smiles onto their faces, though their eyes were filled with mistrust for the newcomers.

  They wore dirty jeans and ripped t-shirts that looked like they had been worn for years. Their hair and beards were a wooly mess. Frank had a sizeable beer gut while Marcus, the shorter of the two, was reedy with a darker complexion. They mumbled and laughed at each other as Michael introduced the rest of his crew.

  Ray and Teddy, the two teenagers, had their weapons aimed in Jeff and George’s direction. They ignored Jason and Megan, despite the fact that she had been the one with the .357 Magnum. Their guns were pointed at the ground, but it was clear they were still nervous about the newcomers.

  Ray carried a 9mm Beretta and seemed less than comfortable with it. The hand holding the gun bounced against his leg constantly. He was a pimply-faced kid who was perhaps sixteen. His feeble attempt at growing a beard had resulted in swirls of hairs sticking out of red welts at random spots along his jaw line. His flat, dull brown mop of hair was thick and covered his ears. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses poked out of the mess and kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. He absently pushed them up repeatedly and wiped away the sweat glistening on his face in between each attempt. His poorly chosen wardrobe was responsible for the excessive moisture. An oversized pea-green jacket covered his chubby frame. His choice of bright red sneakers made it clear he had not been going for the camouflaged look.

  Teddy was slightly less agitated, but perhaps it was because his weapon, a rifle, was too heavy for him to maneuver easily. He grasped it awkwardly, holding it as if he were standing at attention. His arms would slump downward as they grew weary, and after a few seconds of rest, he would stand at attention once again. He was smaller and perhaps younger than Ray, but it was hard to tell. He was maybe an inch or two less than five and a half feet tall and could not weigh more than a hundred pounds. Like a lot of smaller kids his age, he seemed to have energy to burn, and one of his legs performed a spastic dance as if he were waiting for a starter gun to go off. Though he was hyped up, his eyes were steady. Ray’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men in front of him, but Teddy’s gaze never left George, his target.

  That left Ben. Even George couldn’t compare to “Big” Ben for sheer bulk. He appeared to be the one least concerned about the new group. Michael ordered him to sort through the van and do an inventory. He quietly went about the assigned task without complaint. The van groaned in protest and dipped a couple of inches closer to the ground every time he slid inside.

  Ben was a giant of a man, likely tipping the scales at well over three hundred pounds of what looked like mostly muscle, and was more than six and a half feet tall. He had a sizeable gut, but even that looked intimidating. He was also quiet. As Michael introduced him, he nodded but did not speak. Once the introductions were made, he went back to the business of cataloguing the goods in the van.

  “It’s regrettable that we had to be so rough, but desperate times… ” Michael gave a little shrug, which made it clear that Jeff and the others should expect no more of an apology. The two rifles Jeff’s group had commandeered from Fred and Bobby were slung on the backs of Frank and Marcus, and Frank also had Megan’s .357 tucked into his belt.

  They heard a sound from the van and saw that Ben was pulling the removable middle row of seats out and tossing them to the pavement. The inventory of the van continued as Michael waited, smiling.

  His eyes moved smoothly from Jeff to George and then to Megan. They lingered there, and he gave her a smile. She responded with a dark glare. Michael broke eye contact with her, and his gaze traveled back to George, where it hovered expectantly. Jeff glanced at his friend and saw he looked almost ill, as if the stare of the other man were causing him physical distress. George’s eyes dropped quickly.

  “Well, I guess we can understand the need to make sure we’re not psychos or maniacs. No worries on that account,” Jeff piped up. He smiled as Michael’s eyes moved over to him.

  The chisel-jawed man scanned Jeff up and down. After a moment, his smile grew brighter than ever as he nodded, recognizing Jeff as the official spokesman for his group.

  “Well, why don’t you introduce yourselves, and then let’s get off this road to a safer area. We have a camp about a mile south of here in the woods.” Michael stared at Jeff expectantly, and suddenly all eyes were upon him.

  George and Megan did not protest when Jeff started the introductions with Jason, who nodded shyly at Michael. He looked less nervous than the two teenagers, but when Michael grinned and shook his hand, appreciation bloomed on the ki
d’s face. It was obvious he liked being treated like an adult.

  Jeff introduced George next. A dark expression that might have been contempt passed over Michael’s face as he moved closer to the group’s oldest member. It was gone in an instant, but Jeff thought he had seen it. Michael’s dazzling smile was back in place too quickly to be sure.

  He saved Megan for last. Seeing the expression on her face, Jeff tensed as he made the introduction.

  “And this is Megan.”

  Michael’s hand came out, and his killer smile shone down on the diminutive woman.

  “It’s a privilege, ma’am. Please accept my sincerest apology for how my men acted. I especially regret how you were treated.”

  The slap sounded like a small firecracker going off. Michael’s face twisted to the side, and his hand flew up to touch the spot where he had been hit. He stared at Megan in shock.

  Frank hooted with laughter, but the short braying sound cut off as Michael glared at him. No one else spoke, and expressions ran the gamut of shocked disbelief to chagrin.

  Megan moved in for the kill.

  “Fuck you and your apology. You drag us out of our car and take our things, and you’re sorry? Your limp-wristed stooge shoves a shotgun to the back of my friend’s head and does his best to humiliate us, and you’re goddamned sorry? Screw you!”

  Frank made a move toward Megan, his anger instantaneous.

  “You little skank! I’m gonna beat the shit outta you.” Before Jeff or George could move to protect Megan, Michael reacted.

  The punch was quick and efficient, connecting with Frank’s nose. Michael kept his palm flat and drove it upwards. Frank’s head rocked back, and blood poured from his face. He slumped to his knees, his hands grasping at the damage.