Dark Inside (10 page)

Since when was a police department allowed to shut down?

Michael had tried his phone again, but still nothing. Evans said he’d talked to several people and they all repeated the same thing. Nothing electronic had been working properly since the earthquakes. Phones, Internet, television, and even the radio. All forms of communication were erratic or on the blink.

“It’s like something’s making things and people go crazy,” Evans said. “I was out by Great Falls yesterday. It’s happening there, too. A bunch of idiots killed each other during a bar brawl.”

“You think so? Is that even possible?”

“Dunno,” Evans said. He smacked his fist against the car radio, but there was nothing but static. “We need information. Didn’t you notice? There weren’t any updates today. Just the same prerecorded crap on a constant loop. You know it’s scary when the reporters stop broadcasting.”

Michael was surprised.

“How can there be no news?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Evans said. “But it’s bad. We’re being kept in the dark. My guess is what happened back there on the road isn’t isolated. I think a hell of a lot more people are going to die.”

Michael played the conversation over in his mind as he looked out the window. At the time he’d thought it was a bit overdramatic. Now he wasn’t so sure. Normally, this time of evening there would be people walking around on the street. But he couldn’t see anyone.

Definitely odd.

From the apartment below him, he heard the muffled sound of their door buzzer. No accompanying footsteps followed it. He poured some coffee and added a lot of sugar. There was no milk in the fridge. He would have to remember to buy some tomorrow.

Heading back to his bedroom, he paused at the front door when he heard another door buzzer, this time from his neighbor’s apartment. He checked through the peephole to make sure no one was there before unlocking the door and stepping out into the hallway. His apartment faced the back, so there was no way to know who was at the front door unless he checked the window at the end of the hallway. Another buzzer went off; this time the muffled noise came from his neighbor in 415. Still no one answered. He began to think he was the only one left in the building.

He wasn’t so sure he wanted to know who was out there. Stepping back inside his apartment, he double locked the door. Crossing the floor, he put his coffee mug down on the table. He turned and stared at his own intercom.

BBBUUUUZZZZZZ

He almost screamed like a girl. Recoiling back from the door, he tripped over the garbage a second time, falling backward and landing on his backside. The sheer terror of the situation caused him to bray loudly, like some sort of deranged donkey.

“Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap.”

Pulling himself up to his feet, he moved over toward the intercom, part of him desperately wanting to push the button. But the other half of him screamed, because wasn’t it better to let them think he wasn’t home? The receiver stuck out at him like it had a great big Don’t Touch sign on it.

BBBUUUUZZZZZ

He couldn’t help himself. He had to know.

Fingers pressing, he could hear the sound of outside air come through the tiny speakers. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t know how to respond.

“Hello?” The voice was slightly gargled. “I’m looking for someone. Michael. He lives in this building.”

Evans.

“Hey,” Michael said. “It’s me. I’ll let you in. Four-twelve.”

He could hear the weird vibrating sound as the door unlocked. Evans muttered something, but he didn’t catch it. A few minutes later when the knock came at his door, he peeked through the eyehole to make sure Evans was alone.

He was.

“What’s wrong?” Michael opened the door, and Evans brushed past him as if he couldn’t get inside fast enough. Michael closed the door and locked it. Whatever was chasing him might not be that far behind.

“Have you been outside?” Evans asked.

Michael shook his head. “I’ve been home since you dropped me off. Why? What’s going on?”

“The entire town’s gone crazy. They’ve blocked the roads. People in cars. They’re not letting anyone in or out of town. They’re shooting anyone who tries. Those cops we saw earlier. They’re dead. Someone lynched them.”

“What?”

“They’re all dead,” Evans continued. “They’re pulling people out of their homes. Chasing them down in the streets. A group of them torched the supermarket. It started about an hour ago. I was at the gas station trying to call my wife from a pay phone. Some guy came after me with a crowbar.”

“But …”

“I think I killed him. Don’t look at me like that. What was I supposed to do? Gray-haired or not, he had a crowbar. Tried to splatter my brains across the walls. I had no other choice.”

“Okay.” Michael kept his mouth open, but nothing else came out. Instead he went back over to the door and double-checked the lock.

“Look.” Evans started pacing around the cramped living room. “I’ve been driving around. I didn’t know where else to go. My wife. I can’t get ahold of her. I’ve got a little girl, too. You’ve gotta help me. I need to get home to them. I don’t know what to do. They’ve barricaded the roads. I can’t get out.”

“Okay. Where’s your wife?”

“Somers. Right on the lake.”

Michael nodded. “I’ve been there. That’s not very far.”

“How are we supposed to get there? We can’t go by car.”

“There’s got to be a way,” Michael said. “There are other roads. They can’t have barricaded them all.”

“You don’t get it, kid.” Evans stomped over to the window and pointed out at the street. “It’s psycho out there. They’re killing everyone. It’s only a matter of time till they find us.

“It’s the earthquakes,” Evans said. “Something happened that’s …” He paused. “Something’s turned people.”

“But we’re both fine,” Michael said.

“For how long?”

Michael went over to the phone and picked it up. Tried calling his mother’s number. Nothing. Suddenly, more than anything else in the world he wanted to hear her voice. He’d be satisfied with a recorded message saying she wasn’t home. But he couldn’t even get that.

What about Dad? Was he okay? He was supposed to get back from Denver in a few days. They were going to the
football game this weekend. The tickets were on his dresser.

“I need to get home,” Evans said. “My wife. My daughter. She’s only two.”

“Maybe I can help you,” he said. He looked over at the fishing rods leaning against the couch.

He didn’t want to go outside. More than anything he wanted to crawl into bed, pull up the covers, and wait for this whole thing to blow over. The lock on their door was strong and there was more than enough food to keep him alive for several weeks. But he knew Dad would be disappointed in him if he took the cowardly way out. Especially when there were children involved who needed help.

He took a deep breath. “I know a way out of here. We can walk.” Michael went over to the window and saw that the street below was still empty. “There are trails not too far from here. I know of a few that loop around back to the highway. They’ll take us about five miles from town. There are ski resorts out that way. We might be able to find a working phone or even someone who can give us a ride.”

Evans nodded.

“Just let me get some stuff. I think we’ve got a flashlight kicking around. Not sure about batteries. There’s water in the fridge. Why don’t you grab it and whatever else you can find in the cupboard?”

Michael was surprised at how calm he felt. He went into the den, where he was pretty sure he’d last seen the flashlights. Sure enough, he found two of them in the back of the closet. Both of them worked.

Evans had reached out for him and Michael had found the solution. The fact that the older man needed help was the very thing that was keeping Michael from falling apart. His mother was like that, always the one to take control in serious
situations. Although he hadn’t seen her in years, he couldn’t help but think she’d be proud of him for helping this man in his time of need.

Back in the living room, Evans seemed much better. He’d grabbed the water and shoved it into the backpack Michael gave him.

“We don’t need much,” he said. “There’s tons of gas stations along the road. We’ll be able to find what we need. It shouldn’t take us more than a few days tops, even less if we can catch a ride with someone.”

“You sure you won’t get us lost?” Evans asked.

“I grew up here,” Michael said. “I know the woods.” He grabbed his jacket and put it on. “I need to go check on Joe first. Do you just want to hang out here? It won’t take long. I know a good shortcut.”

“Don’t,” the older man said. “I went there first.”

Michael noticed that Evans’s hands were shaking. There was dried blood on his fingers from when he got attacked by the guy with a crowbar. “Was it bad?” he finally asked.

Evans nodded.

Joe had three younger sisters. His parents were cool. Michael turned away from Evans, not wanting the man to see the tears burning in his eyes.

“What about your family?” Evans asked. “Any idea where they are? Should you leave a note? I mean, how old are you anyway?”

“My dad’s in Denver,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “At this point there isn’t much I can do about him. I can’t reach him on the phone and he’s not due back for a few more days. I haven’t seen my mom or sister in years. Mom’s remarried. They’re out east. And I’m seventeen.”

“Good God, you’re just a kid.”

“Hey, you asked me for help.”

Evans put his hands up. “I didn’t mean it that way. You just seem a lot older. At seventeen, I’d probably have been hiding in the closet and sucking my thumb through something like this.”

The comment made Michael feel oddly proud. He put his hand on Evans’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this. We’ll find your wife and child.”

Mason couldn’t sleep. He moved across the house in the dead of night, the almost empty whiskey bottle firm in his fingers. He was drunk but it wasn’t a good time. Happy hour was over.

There were pictures on the walls, chronicles of his life:

—Disneyland when he was seven. He cried because he wasn’t tall enough to ride Space Mountain.

—A five-year-old Mason wearing his dress shirt and tie for his cousin’s wedding. He’d been the ring bearer. Someone had spilled red wine on him just before he walked down the aisle. He’d cried.

—A baby with a bright red nose, laughing while playing in the bathtub. One of the rare times he hadn’t cried.

—A picture of him and a bunch of his friends on the first day of high school. Tom had his arm around him. They’d dropped by the house after class and Mom had made the whole group sandwiches without complaining. A bunch of happy, hungry teenagers.

—Seventeen and standing in front of his new car. Okay, it wasn’t new but he had been thrilled just the same. He’d saved up for it for a year by working part-time at the mall. Mom
had come through at the last minute and chipped in a few grand so he’d buy something safe and not a relic from the eighties.

—Mason at four. Back when Dad was still alive. In the picture, his mother was holding him, they were both wearing sunglasses, and he had on Dad’s baseball cap, which was several sizes too big. Mom looked so happy; her hair was loose and blowing in the breeze. Dad had taken the picture, and afterward they walked along the beach holding hands. The tide was out and Dad picked up some of the heavier rocks so that Mason could watch the baby crabs scuttle away. Afterward they had fried shrimp, and Mom laughed because Mason thought the marinara sauce was ketchup and poured it over his fries.

The picture slipped from his hands. He watched it drop in slow motion and hit the ground, the glass cracking across his mother’s face. Dropping to his knees, he picked up the broken frame and shook away the glass, fingers trembling; he removed the picture from its casing and turned it over so he could read the inscription.

STANLEY PARK. SECOND BEACH.
VANCOUVER, BC, MASON AND MOM—
ENJOYING THE SUN.

He couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. His eyes scanned the room, desperately seeking something else to grab his attention. Immediately he found his reflection in the darkened flat screen.

The television was no longer broadcasting.

Sometime around two the stations went off the air. There
was no warning. No emergency broadcast system. No lecture on how this was a test, only a test. Everything went dead, and black filled the screen.

The Internet was down too.

He didn’t even bother to check his cell phone.

Before it went off the air the television was full of questions. News announcers told people to remain calm while glancing agitatedly offscreen. Stay inside. Lock your doors. If you feel you can’t be alone or that you’re in danger, call the local police for a listing of safe areas to relocate.

Remain calm.

Helicopter reporters circled the skies, their cameras shooting footage of riots in the bigger cities like New York and Chicago. People were behaving erratically all over the world, even in places where the earthquakes hadn’t hit. Don’t panic. Los Angeles was gone. All electronic communication was halted. No one knew the exact extent of the damage. A few reports came in from Seattle and Portland. The cities were in ruins. The death count was immeasurable.

Don’t panic.

Something was happening to the citizens of the United States and the rest of the world. People were going crazy. Hurting each other. They were bombing schools and government centers. Strangers were setting things on fire. Reports of shooting sprees at restaurants and hospitals were popping up. Children were being hunted down in playgrounds and preschools. People were attacking randomly at both loved ones and complete strangers. The melted bag of frozen peas on the couch was testament to the last one. No matter how much Mason drank, his shoulder still hurt. Several times during the evening he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and moved his arm as much as he dared. He flexed his fingers and
worried about the swelling and bruising when he took off his shirt. He’d toyed with the idea of going back to the ER but didn’t think he’d even get through the doors. He wondered if his mother was still in the intensive care ward, dead and forgotten. Was her body stiff by now? Rigor mortis lasted only so long, didn’t it? Maybe her body was soft again, slowly decaying, cellular structures breaking apart, and there was no one there to put her in cold storage down in the morgue. She might never get a burial; instead the hospital bed would become her tomb. Would she mummify? Or would she simply rot away?