Out of the Dark: An apocalyptic thriller (39 page)

     The music was bothersome, as well. The screech of out of tune violins competed with the heavily stepping lament of the same three notes being played over and over again on what sounded like an old organ. Amy hadn’t played the game or watched the kids play it in quite some time but she knew that was not the typical background music it usually employed.

     Between the shadow, the extra avatar, and the music, Amy wanted Melissa to turn the game off.

     “Why don’t we play a different one?” Amy suggested as she grabbed Melissa’s carrying case in which she’d stored her device and some of the games she’d been given for it. The bag was a fanciful thing; bright pink in color with a purple unicorn stitched on both the front and the back pouches.

     “Amy,” Melissa said in a quiet voice. She pointed at the screen, and the older girl paused with her hand hovering over the game bag.

     Amy looked back at the handheld game and saw that Melissa’s character was running into the forest again. The only difference was that this time, Melissa didn’t have her hands on the joystick that was used to move the character. The foreign entity–the character that looked a bit like Trevor–seemed to float along behind her.

     The tempo of the music, and its dissonance, increased.

     From the front seat, Laura checked on the two girls. They both hovered over the game, with a pair of earbuds being shared between them. She didn’t like how stern and concerned their faces looked.

     “Everything okay back there, you two?”

     Neither of the girls responded. Laura checked her speed back a bit and stared at them in the mirror.

     Lost to the inharmonious music and strange sights the game was presenting to them, neither Melissa or Amy had actually heard Laura’s inquiry. Though they only used one earbud apiece, it seemed as though the music had flooded their minds, blocking out everything else from the sounds of the car to Laura’s concerned voice.

     “Look,” Amy whispered as she pointed to the screen.

     In some parts of the forest the character ran through, the scenery had begun to change. The temperate forest, which looked to exist in a summery land with warm weather, had succumbed to an unforgiving winter. Some beasts typical of their own world–deer, raccoons, rabbits, even a bear or two–lay on the quickly whitening ground. The snow seemed to ooze up from the ground, not fall from the sky, and from the creatures splayed out in death, blood seeped into the surface of the rapidly changing world.

     Other creatures, native only to the world of the game, were interspaced between the more typical forms. A horse-sized cat with a hovering crown of golden coins had been torn in half, though its golden mantle still floated in the air above its head. A pale gray dragon, smaller than the cat and with feathered wings instead of the more common representation of leathery ones had apparently been destroyed in a duel against a tiny creature which looked like a scorpion mated to a flowering tree. The dragon had collapsed on its back, organs and viscera clearly exposed from its slit open stomach. The effects of poison traced angry red and black lines all over the scaly storm cloud-colored flesh and threaded through the foamy silver feathers of its wings.

     Melissa’s character began to weaken in the knee-deep snow. She fell a few times. Once, after lying in the snow, unmoving for several seconds, one of her monsters appeared and helped her stand. The avatar cuddled against her for warmth but backed away from the shadowy form that came upon her from the snow-capped trees.

     “Run,” Melissa whispered to her game character self. She didn’t know what was happening in the game or even what the shadow creature was, but she knew enough to want her character away from the shadow-cloaked graphic representation of Trevor. Some wild stray thought convinced Melissa that if the shadow thing got her character, it would be able to reach through the game and snatch away the game player, as well.

     Either her character didn’t want to or couldn’t follow the six-year-old’s advice. She stood beside her in-game pet monster and faced off against the uninvited avatar.

     Dialogue appeared on the screen in a black and white box.

    
Toot: Growls.
    

     Though Amy wanted to laugh at how cute Melissa’s name for her monster pet was, her eyes were trained on what was happening in game. Something told her this was not a scene the game was programmed to perform.

     Another dialogue box arose as the previous one dissolved:

    
Trevor: Hello, Mel.

     Melissa’s reading capabilities weren’t the best, but she could recognize those words. “Trevor…”

     At hearing her son’s name, Laura became even more worried. “Amy, what’s going on?”

     As before, neither Amy nor Melissa heard Laura’s words. The speed of the Aveo had dropped to under fifty miles per hour. Sam had checked his speed back, as well, and shifted lanes so his driver’s side was against the passenger side of the Aveo. Because his truck was too tall, he couldn’t see into the car his wife was driving. He wanted to know why they were slowing down, but didn’t want to stop. They weren’t far enough away from the burning gas station yet for him to be comfortable with a stop.

     Amy read the next dialogue box that appeared from underneath its fading predecessor and hoped Melissa wasn’t advanced enough in her reading capabilities to do so, as well.

    
Trevor: No matter where you run, no matter where you go, someone will find you. Someone will bring you to me, and I’ll tear apart your insides. I’ll drag you down to Hell and you’ll burn forever. These stupid fuckers can’t keep you safe for long. They’ll have to get out of the car, go into the snow and the dark, and one of my legion will come. You’ll be stolen away and you’ll come to me as a gift, as simply a thing, a token of flesh to be burnt beyond recognition and devoured. I am here for your soul, Melissa Walker, and I. Will. HAVE IT.

     Though Melissa couldn’t read most of what the entity currently in control of her game had threatened, dread spilled into her chest like a choking river of stinking sewage. Heat bloomed in her eyes, in her head, and her vision blurred with tears.

     “Just don’t look at it, Melly Bean,” Amy urged as she tried to turn the screen away from the small girl. She didn’t want Melissa to see anything else that was coming, because she was sure there was more to be seen. Somehow, she hoped to learn about the enemy they were facing, the army they’d be hiding from, through whatever was communicating with them in a child’s game turned occult communication channel.

     Melissa wanted to do what Amy suggested, but she couldn’t take her blurry gaze from the computer screen. The last large set of nasty words had hovered on the screen for a long time. When they finally faded, Melissa saw that avatar claiming to be Trevor had become more of the shadow entity instead of a pixelated lookalike of her brother. It glowed with black and purple light and shifted upon itself. It produced a horned head, with a mouth full of fangs, and this image stayed instead of fading back into the vaporous form. Arms extended from the sides of the creature, hooked with giant talons and powerfully muscled.

     The shadow creature grew many times bigger, completely covering up the avatar which it had been attached to. Its clawed hands seemed to reach out of the screen, as though Melissa had the 3D capabilities of the device turned on. She never used them, though, so it seemed to both of the girls that the entity was actually trying to come at them through the screen.

     They leaned back together, both trying to avoid being touched by the demonic clawed hands.

     Instead of using a dialogue box, the creature coming out of the game actually spoke. The voice did not replace the dissonant chords but instead acted like a jumbled, jarring melody set atop the uneasy mood music. The creature’s hateful, purple streaked black eyes glared at Melissa, and then at Amy.

    
“You, the uncorrupted, will be offered as the final penance from the hands of man. There is nowhere you can run where we won’t catch you; nowhere you can hide where we won’t find you. I am the Bringer of Wounds and I will destroy your bodies, your minds, your souls. I will tear you apart and feed you to the dogs of this world, then present your souls to my Lord and Master. With your demise, the realms of man will crumble. Your blood will pen our writ, our passage, into the forsaken kingdom of God and we will bring despair and agony eternal. By the last of the last days, you will be taken into the dark.”

     The shadow claws receded. Within the game, the creature took Melissa’s avatar in hand and tore her apart. First one arm, then the other. Her torso was torn from her legs, with the lower half flung away into the snow-veiled trees. Now holding only a lolling head resting on the dismembered trunk in hand, the Bringer began to eat.

     Eyes finally able to be torn away from the screen, Melissa scrambled back into her booster seat, curled up, and began to cry.

     In the black truck, though the boy was still asleep, Austin and Sam heard Trevor Walker chuckle.

Chapter Thirty-Three

  
Armani’s journal

    
I think about the girl in the video, Jess. If she would have lived, if the video showed her escape instead of her demise, I might feel more promise for our group. As it is, we are the lost wandering through a maze within the realm of Perdition. I feel like someone will one day find this journal, and feel the same crushing depression on their soul as I have for the video of Jess. Am I chronicling our journey toward death, I wonder? Or does true safety finally await us somewhere down this road?

     After the butcher had been dispatched, gathering supplies from the bulk store was almost offensively easy. Gwen sat near her dead wife, stroking Molly’s hair and ignoring the fact that blood had pooled around them and soaked into her clothing. She could easily change into something from the store, if she planned to move from Molly’s side at any time in the near future.

     Armani hoped he’d be able to get her to change and to leave. He didn’t have an abundance of confidence that he’d be able to convince her to do anything, especially leave Molly’s body behind.

     He crouched down next to her and folded his hands between his knees. He made sure to avoid the blood.

     Gwen had refused to let Kirby cover the dead woman when he’d tried. She hadn’t fought or raged against him but the heavy burden of guilt, sorrow, and defeat in her voice made him hesitant to force the issue. He’d left her alone with Molly and her thoughts while the others gathered up all the supplies they thought they needed and then some.

     “You want to leave her here, don’t you?”

     Armani didn’t know Gwen had been aware of his presence. He nodded to answer her inquiry.

     “Can’t we bury her? Or do…something? I don’t want to just leave her here.”

     “Fire,” Armani suggested. “We could make a pyre to send her off.”

     Upon hearing the group leader’s suggestion, Kirby moved forward from behind the deli counter. “We can’t, Armani. We don’t have the time.”

     Armani gave the younger man a stern look, but Kirby held firm. “We have all we need. The sun is going to set soon. If you want to get to the church and have any hope of securing it even moderately before the night comes, we have to leave now.” Looking at Gwen, he said, “I’m sorry, Gwen. I am. I liked Molly. She didn’t deserve this and she doesn’t deserve to be left but if we waste any more time…”

     Kirby trailed off and stepped back. He’d made his argument.

     “Well,” Armani said. “What do you think, Gwen?”

     She leaned forward and kissed Molly on the cheek. A smear of blood came away on her lips as she moved back and stood.

     “I’m sorry, babe,” she whispered before she turned away and walked toward the clothing department.

     Armani sighed heavily and reached a hand out for the blanket Kirby held. Watching Gwen walk away, Kirby let Armani cover Molly as he murmured, “Damn,” under his breath.

     With their vehicles and fifth wheels stocked full, Armani’s group headed to the church. Though they’d only lost Molly, each of the trucks seemed to resonate with the mournful tones of her death. While they drove, the group members ate cakes and cookies, brownies and bread that had been baked the day of the Onset and sealed in plastic wrap and sturdy containers. The baked goods were still moist and chewy but tasted no better than mouthfuls of ashes and dirt. Instead of a celebration of their plan working as they’d hoped, they each held a soundless wake for one of their own lost too soon.

     When they reached the church, no one was as excited as they wanted to be. They exited their vehicles silently and began to unload the vital supplies first. If it got to the point where the sun had dipped below the horizon and they didn’t have everything in the church that they wanted, they would leave the remainder of the supplies in the vehicles until the next morning.

     The church was a foreclosed property back on the open market. From the door handle hung a small metal box with number keys on the top.

     “Lock box,” Armani pointed out. “There’ll be a key inside.”