The Darkest Days (Death & Decay Book 0.5) Read online

  “Holy crap!” Andrew exclaimed. “How did they make it through the lunatics?”

  Wyatt looked over the two children. “Are you hurt?” he asked gently. The fair-haired boy jumped as people began to throw themselves against the glass doors. His eyes grew impossibly wide as they focused just over Wyatt’s shoulder and his sister a bit closer to him.

  The little girl’s silence was more heart-wrenching than her screams could have been. Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she could will the world away if she couldn’t see it. Tears streamed down her cheeks, a testament to her silent fear. Still clutched tightly in her small hands was the purple unicorn. She clung to it as tightly as she clung to her brother.

  “Look at me.” The command was gentle as Wyatt gave the boy’s hand a soft squeeze. His white shirt was no longer white, but dirty and covered in gore.

  As the boy’s gaze returned to him, he repeated the question: “Are you hurt?”

  “I-I don’t think so.” Both children were splattered with blood, but Wyatt couldn’t see any wounds on either of them.

  “Alright, go find a spot in the hallway and I’ll check on you soon.” He gave the boy a gentle nudge towards the long, wide hallway that wound through the building.

  The boy’s hand shot out and grabbed ahold of Wyatt. “Don’t leave us.” The quick gesture took hold of Wyatt’s heart. The boy was tough. To have survived the massacre outside, he had to be. But in the end he was still just a child.

  Wyatt squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I have to make sure we’re all safe in here. I’ll come find you soon. I promise.” After a moment, the boy nodded and reluctantly turned. The sea of people who crowded the hall almost instantly swallowed him.

  Wyatt turned back to the clatter at the windows.

  “How the hell do you suppose they made it through all of”—Andrew gestured to the rabid beasts on the other side of the window—“that.” Andrew’s forest-green eyes were wide and his chest was heaving. His hands ran through his chocolate-brown hair and he shifted nervously back and forth as he attempted to calm himself down. His summer-tanned skin glistened with sweat in the dying sunlight.

  Wyatt just shook his head. “Who knows.”

  Day 2

  1:03 am

  Wyatt rubbed his hands across his face wearily as he set down the phone. Hours earlier, the power had gone out along with the phone lines. The backup generator had kicked in, but most of the lights remained off in an effort to avoid drawing any attention.

  Still, he picked up the receiver every chance that he got, in hopes that the line would work. Sarah would have expected him home five hours ago, and he desperately wanted to hear her voice. He needed to know she and Ben were safe. Perhaps he could get ahold of them with his cell phone if it weren’t still sitting in the cup holder of his patrol car.

  After a moment, he pulled a small picture from his breast pocket. The edges were worn and crumpled. In the picture, Ben clung to Sarah as her arms gently enfolded him. Ben was no more than a few weeks old when the picture was taken, and though it was out of date, it remained his favorite.

  When the situation had started to spiral out of control, the chief had called all officers, including those off duty, to the station. He had been able to reach thirteen of the department’s sixteen officers. Only eleven had made it in. Of the eleven who had arrived to the station, only six had made it inside the station once the chaos had started. Many of those who were no longer present had simply vanished in the turmoil, leaving the others uncertain of their fates. That only left about 35 percent of their original numbers.

  Those who had been able to escape into the station were crowded into the hallway that connected every room in the small building. Those who were sick or who had been injured were being cared for in the holding cells. It was the only place where they could lay down to be treated, though the concrete slabs were hardly comfortable.

  The doors had been fortified with desks and chairs, which took up more space in the already crowded hallway. With the station barricaded, the officers had raided the armory. The chief quickly handed out loaded clips to what remained of his department.

  The radio sat silently on his hip. He had shut it off shortly after they sealed up the doors. The chatter had been nothing but the dying screams and pleas for help from officers across the city. Stuck as they were, they couldn’t help anyone, and the cries had only worked to break his already fragile nerves.

  The station contained a few precious suits of riot gear, but not nearly enough for everyone. The pieces were split amongst the officers. Wyatt considered himself lucky to have received one of the large, clear riot shields. At the very least, it could be used to hold the deranged at bay.

  The work inside the station never ended. Of all the people outside, only forty-seven had made it into the station. Many had been injured. Some only suffered from bruises and scrapes. A few had broken bones. Others had been bitten by the deranged.

  Though the holding cells had been converted into a triage center, only a few people knew even basic first aid, and none were trained doctors or nurses. Hopefully, they could make do until help could arrive.

  The officers had each spent some time in triage, helping tend to the wounded, and Wyatt was no exception. The bite wounds were nasty work. Initially, the veins and arteries around the wounds turned black. As the hours crept by, the blackness spread from the initial wound to create a patchwork of dark webbing across the infected area. Most recently, those with bites had spiked a fever. The fever was bad. Some had crept as high as one hundred and seven degrees Fahrenheit.

  Those with the highest fevers had become confused. One couldn’t remember his name. A woman whose husband sat next to her swore she had never been married. Trevor couldn’t remember the day he had graduated from the police academy. No officer ever forgot that.

  The whole situation was surreal. It was as if they had all been thrown into a nightmare. At any moment, Wyatt expected to wake up. But the nightmare persisted.

  With a quick shake of his head, Wyatt stood and made his way to the holding cells. It had been over an hour since he had seen Trevor. Perhaps it was time he checked on him again.

  “How’s it going?” Wyatt asked Trevor as he stepped through the open holding-cell door. Trevor’s brow furrowed.

  “I have never seen the sky so full of grass.” His words came out slowly, as if he were struggling to form them. Trevor’s skin was pale and glistening with sweat as he lay on the concrete bench. The black webbed veins now encompassed his hand and moved up his arm all the way passed his sleeve.

  “What?” Wyatt chuckled. “Are you quoting some movie? You know I have a terrible time with that stuff.” Trevor had always been a jokester. There wasn’t an officer in the department who hadn’t been on the receiving end of his pranks. Whether it was a crude joke, a silly prank, or a mood-lightening movie reference, Trevor took every opportunity he could to get a few laughs.

  “The dirt sings something horrible.”

  This time Wyatt frowned. “Stephen! Stephen get in here!” Stephen had been the primary caretaker for the injured for the last few hours. Prior to the academy, a decade ago, he had been an EMT. Unfortunately for him, this left him the most qualified to care for the sick.

  Heavy footsteps echoed through the short hallway. “What?” In the few hours since Wyatt had last seen him, Stephen looked to have aged a decade. Dark circles encompassed his eyes. His strawberry-blond hair stuck out from his head in small, oddly angled spikes. The stubble across his chin made him look exhausted.

  “Trevor’s not making any sense.”

  Stephen knelt down next to Trevor. “How are you feeling, Trevor?”

  “Bumblebees have carved a hole in my heart and the leaves can’t fix it.”

  Stephen nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Alright, buddy, just take it easy and try to get some rest.”

  With that, he rose and took Wyatt’s elbow. “Don’t say anything. Just come with me,” Stephen hissed as he steered
them hurriedly through the building. Eventually, they found themselves in a small office not far from the holding cells.

  “Go!” He motioned for Wyatt to enter as he yanked open the door. The instant the door was closed, Stephen began to nervously pull at his hair, creating more of the odd spikes.

  “What is happening?” It made Wyatt nervous that Stephen was unwilling to speak openly.

  “Things aren’t good.” The words fell out of his mouth like a dam that had suddenly burst. “Those people, the people who were bitten, are getting worse by the minute, and I can’t do anything to help them. We don’t have anything we need to help them, and this is way above my pay grade. Those who are the worst off, like Trevor, are starting to show signs of sever aphasia.”

  “Aphasia?” Wyatt interrupted.

  “Uh, speech problems. It’s linked to a specific part of the brain.” Stephen waved the question aside. “Whatever is happening is following a very specific pattern. First the wound necrotizes, then fatigue, followed by fever, memory loss, and aphasia. Every time.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Aphasia is usually caused by some kind of compromise in the brain, like a stroke.” Stephen rubbed his face exasperatedly. “But a fever always means a virus. A virus could cause swelling in the brain that could cause the aphasia, but I don’t know.” Stephen began to ramble. “I don’t know what type of virus does all this. I don’t know.” Stephen turned to look squarely at Wyatt. “We need to get them help and we need to get it fast.”

  “How? There is a horde of people outside that will kill us the second we step out the door.” Wyatt fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

  “Well, we’ve got to do something. If we don’t…” Stephen paused as he looked back in the direction of the holding cells. “If we don’t get them help soon they are going to die.”

  “We could—” A scream further down the hallway cut off the thought. With lightning speed, Stephen grabbed for the doorknob and threw it open. Together, they shoved their way through the people in the hall as they moved towards the commotion.

  “Go close the holding-cell doors,” Wyatt shouted to Stephen over the cacophony. “Make sure Trevor and the others are safe.” After a pause, Stephen turned to head in the opposite direction.

  As he neared the center of the chaos, Wyatt had to push past people running from the commotion. Wyatt’s heart raced as he approached the end of the corridor. He drew his weapon as he rounded the bend in the hall. It ended abruptly in a barricaded door, but the bend created a small alcove that provided a small measure of privacy in the cramped hall.

  The small section of hallway had descended into pandemonium. The panicked bodies obscured his view, making it difficult to pinpoint the actual cause of the uproar. As more people quickly fled, he finally saw a scuffle taking place in the corner by his desk.

  “She is just a child!” a woman shrieked. In her arms, she held a little bundle that violently thrashed and growled. The harried woman struggled to keep the writhing creature under control as three men stood over her. Near the woman’s feet lay a bloodied stuffed animal. A lavender unicorn.

  “That thing is trying to rip out your neck!” a large man with a hammer yelled.

  “What is going on?” Wyatt approached with his weapon ready.

  He must have startled the group because as the words left his lips, the squirming creature managed to twist around and clamp its mouth onto the side of the woman’s face. A wail of pure agony ripped from her lips as she and the creature fell to the ground in a tangled mass.

  Wyatt couldn’t get a clear shot. One of the men that had hovered over the woman leapt in. The other men wavered, hesitant to get near the creature. Without a second thought, Wyatt rushed in, pulled the creature off the woman.

  As he pulled the little monster away, he saw it. Its face was contorted in a gruesome snarl, but he knew it. Its golden blonde locks were stained and matted with blood. In that instant, a piece of his soul was ripped to shreds.

  The scared, timid features he recognized had been contorted into those of a savage beast. As the creature turned on him, he threw it against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. The creature began to stir the instant it hit the ground.

  Wyatt pointed his gun at the feral monster. “Stop.” Though the word was meant to be a command, it came out a useless whisper. As it regained its footing, for a brief second Wyatt and the monster locked eyes. Nothing looked out at him from those big green eyes.

  God, forgive me. He was not a praying man, but nevertheless, the thought crossed his mind. With just the slightest pressure he pulled the trigger. The little monster’s head snapped back and it crumpled to the floor.

  Wyatt fell down to his knees. As quickly as he hit the floor, he moved to the creature’s side. Gently, he disentangled the limbs from the unnatural angles they had fallen into.

  His heart ached as he looked upon the small, fair-haired child. He delicately brushed aside the golden locks that clung to her face. Death had softened her features. She was no longer the crazed monster from just a moment ago. It was almost as if she were sleeping.

  Black webbing crept out from under her shirt and up her neck, along the right side of her face.

  A bite. Hidden beneath her clothes.

  She had been bitten and then she had become one of them. One of the deranged.

  “Look! He’s alive!” Another one of the men shouted as he let out wild, ecstatic laughter. The man ran to the bloodied, prone body of the girl’s older brother.

  No, stop. The words could not reach Wyatt’s lips. The boy’s arm reached for the man as he rushed to help the gravely injured teenager.

  As the boy took hold of his savior, the contact jolted through him like an electric shock. His fingers clasped a fistful of the big man’s sleeve as the boy suddenly pulled the man to him. Surprised by the sudden and forceful movement, the man became unbalanced and fell forward onto the scrawny teen.

  Like a cobra, the boy leaned in and struck with a vicious snarl. His teeth buried deep into the man’s shoulder.

  Caught as he was, the man only gurgled as he fought to pull the boy off, but the more he struggled the harder the boy clamped down. The teen was seemingly stronger than his short stature and gangly limbs implied.

  Wyatt shuddered as more of the harsh screams echoed down the halls from the direction of the holding cells. If they had any luck at all, Stephen had already closed the cell doors, effectively separating those who were sick from those who weren’t.

  Wyatt jumped into the fray of men who were working to pry the boy from their companion. No one seemed to know what to do to dislodge the grip the teenager had on the man. There was only one way to deal with it.

  With a sense of purpose, Wyatt placed the barrel of his gun against the boy’s head, and pulled the trigger.

  The momentary silence that followed was shattered by a deep, guttural scream. Wyatt’s head snapped towards the sound. The people who crowded the hallway shifted nervously, unsure of what to do.

  The holding cells.

  Wyatt’s heart stopped. Down the long, straight corridor, through the crowds, he could see the cell doors hadn’t been closed. Right now they held the injured, not criminals. The processing area that contained the holding cells was separated from the rest of the department by a thick, sturdy door. That door stood propped open.

  The hallway suddenly descended into chaos as fear enveloped the survivors. Wyatt roughly shoved his way through as more of the gruesome cries echoed from wall to wall. A shot thundered from the confines of the small room. It was quickly followed by a second and a third.

  Wyatt burst through the doorway to find Andrew struggling against one of the motorized cell doors. The doors would slide closed after an officer swiped his badge and punched in the proper pin number. To avoid bodily harm, though, the doors would reopen if something were stuck in them as they closed, much like a garage door. Though the doors could be manually closed, Trevor struggled against Andrew
to keep it open.

  At this moment, though, this safety measure kept Andrew from closing the door. Trevor had thrown himself against the door and wedged his arm in the opening. No longer himself, he let loose another terrible, throaty shriek. Blood coated the small glass window to the cell as Trevor pressed his face against it. Wyatt rushed to help.

  “Go help Stephen!” Andrew nodded to the only other holding cell in their small station.

  Wyatt looked wearily between Andrew and the rabid beast that clawed viciously at him through the door. “Go!” Andrew shouted above the clamor. “He needs you more than I do.”

  The other cell door stood open. Grunts and growls emanated from its interior. Wyatt drew his weapon as he entered. A struggle was taking place on the floor.

  Stephen was pinned down. He used his asp to hold a man and woman back as they tried desperately to reach him. Both of his hands were occupied in an attempt to keep the monsters away, but this meant he couldn’t take up his weapon to end the struggle.