Into The Darkness (27 page)

“What
are we looking for?” asked Dylan, as he pointed to the first aisle.

Ben
nodded and held up one finger. He did not want to speak yet. He walked to the
fish section and began to sift through the bottles strewn on the floor. He
grabbed each bottle and peered at the label intently. Ben kept frowning and tossing
bottles in the corner. Then his mood changed, and he began to smile as he held
up a bottle.

“This
is it. Get them all.”

Dylan
started doing the same. He looked at each bottle and tossed all those that he did
not want into a corner. Methodically, they sifted through the debris and found
at least twelve bottles of the medication they were looking for. During this
process, Dylan noticed that Lucky had vanished. He looked around the store, but
did not see her. He called her and she did not respond, so he headed toward the
back of the store. Ben did not notice, and probably could not hear Dylan as he
called unsuccessfully for the dog.

Dylan
was halfway to the rear of the store when he heard a low growl. It was Lucky.
He saw her staring at the backroom door. Her lips were curled back, exposing
her sharp teeth as she snarled. Dylan shouldered his rifle and back stepped
toward Ben. He tapped Ben on the shoulder. Ben saw Dylan’s rifle and quickly
grabbed his pistol. Dylan pointed toward the backroom.

“Your
dog is growling at the something in the back.”

Ben
squinted toward the back of the store and the backroom door. It was closed. He
turned to the front of the store and scanned the parking lot with cautious
eyes.

“Look
around, we could have company.”

Both
men carefully studied the parking lot. They stared at the silhouette of each
vehicle. Finally, near the edge of the parking lot, Dylan noticed someone sticking
his head up from behind the hood of a car.

“I’ve
got movement. Behind the black car, near the hood,” said Dylan, bringing his
rifle to rest on a place where there was no glass in the front window and
aiming at the target.

“Can
you get a shot?”

“No,
they’re behind the engine block.”

Ben
glanced back at the backroom door. It was partially open now. He tapped Dylan
on the shoulder. “We’ve got company.”

Dylan
held a finger to his lips as a sign to be quiet. He motioned to Ben that he was
going to stay at the front window to keep an eye on the fellow in the parking
lot. Dylan balanced the rifle on the windowsill and stayed low.

Ben
slowly crept toward his dog. He whistled quietly and motioned for the dog to
come toward him. Ben took slow, quiet steps toward the dog while he kept an eye
on the backdoor of the store. He knew someone was back there because the door
had been opened slightly, and dog’s warning gave their position away. Ben
turned to see Dylan intently staring at the black car at the far edge of the
parking lot. He was squinting with one eye, targeting the car in the rifle’s
sights, not paying attention to Ben or the dog.

Ben
reached Lucky just as the backdoor of the store swung violently open. He heard
voices in the backroom then, and in a loud, but young-sounding voice, someone
yelled, “Just leave your horses! We’ll let you leave unharmed. Don’t do
anything stupid.”

The
dog began to bark loudly toward the dark backroom. Ben was beside his dog and
extended his hand around the dog in an attempt to restrain the animal. He held her
and his pistol tightly, and then turned to make eye contact with Dylan. Dylan
motioned for him to stay silent, and then pointed out the window indicating
that he could now see the person watching them from the parking lot.

“What’s
it going to be?” shouted the voice from the backroom. “You’re trapped. Give up
and leave. Now!”

Ben
looked back at Dylan again, shrugging his shoulders. Dylan pointed back out the
window and motioned for him to watch. Dylan leveled the rifle on the front
windowsill. The intruder outside was carelessly exposing his body and Dylan
could see the barrel of a rifle. The two men were crouched low in the store,
and it would be difficult for the intruder’s lookout to see them. The lookout
recklessly tried to see into the store and in doing so had made himself a
target for Dylan’s rifle. Dylan aimed for the torso and slowly pulled the
trigger. There was a loud crack from his rifle and the lookout’s body slumped
to the ground. Dylan looked back toward Ben and gave him the thumbs up sign.

“Hey,
I said don’t do anything stupid. Just walk away!” exclaimed the voice again
from the backroom.

Dylan
slowly crawled over to Ben and his dog. Ben still had an arm around the dog in
an effort to control her position. She wanted to lunge into the backroom and
was barking loudly and viciously. Dylan put his hand on Ben’s shoulder for
balance and partially raised himself from the floor. Dylan yelled toward the
backroom. “You should leave before this gets bad for you. It’s not worth dying
over.”

Dylan
moved to the other side of Ben and the dog. He wanted to position himself
closer to the backroom door. Dylan reached across Lucky for Ben’s shoulder to
balance himself as he partially rose up from the floor again. He was going to
yell toward the intruders in the backroom, but when Dylan moved his arm across
the dog, Ben mistakenly thought Dylan was going to help hold her, so he let go,
and Lucky sprinted into the backroom. Ben raised his body to lunge for her, but
it was too late. She had disappeared. In that instant Dylan turned to look at
Ben and saw his body tense and panic flood his face. Almost immediately, they
heard yelling from the backroom, the sound of two shotgun blasts, and finally,
the yelp of a dog. In the silence that followed, Ben’s panicked expression
turned to anger. He sprinted toward the dark backroom holding his revolver
forward, ready to fire. He entered the backroom at full speed and Dylan saw six
orange flashes from his pistol, intermittently illuminating the darkness of the
backroom. Screams and groaning were followed by silence.

Dylan
cautiously advanced toward the door to the backroom. The open door allowed for
only a small amount of light to enter. Just past the door, Dylan could barely
see the lifeless body of Lucky, Ben’s German shepherd. The dog had jumped into
the shotgun blasts, with no chance of survival. Ben was kneeling by his dog.
Behind Ben, further into the darkness, were two lifeless bodies. They were
young men, probably teenagers, and lay sprawled on the floor. One had a shotgun
on the floor next to him. The weapon was a double-barreled breach-loader. The
kid had discharged both shells and did not get to reload before Ben entered the
room, shooting them at point-blank range. Pain and damage of the bullet wounds
had contorted their bodies.

Dylan
pushed the exit door to the alley open. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the
carnage. The rays of light shone through the smoke and cast eerie shadows
across the bodies. He checked outside the door and saw no one else. They were
alone again in the bloody aftermath. A breeze came through the door that Dylan
had propped open. It began to take the smoke and putrid smell of death away
from the backroom, but could not remove Ben’s anguish over his dog. Dylan pulled
the two bodies out the door and left them on the black asphalt. He then walked
around to the front of the store where they had tied the horses, and put the
intruders’ shotgun and rifle into Ben’s saddlebag. He scratched the two horses
on the head and neck for a moment before he went back inside to retrieve the
antibiotics.

It
was nearly an hour before Ben could walk away from his dog and go to the
storefront where Dylan was waiting for him.

Dylan
sat on the sidewalk with his knees drawn upward to allow him to wrap his
forearms around his knees. He was swinging the bag of antibiotic bottles back
and forth, bumping his shins, admiring the heft of the bag and how, even after
splitting with Ben, they would leave with an abundance of medication.

Ben
walked toward Dylan and sat on the ground near him.

“I’m
sorry about your dog,” Dylan softly remarked.

“She
was a good dog.” Ben cleared his throat and took several deep breaths before
slowly exhaling. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell my son about this.” Ben
paused, trying to control his grief. “I do know that she sacrificed her life
for ours.” Ben hung his head low and shook it back and forth, trying to
suppress his grief.

Dylan
shook the bag full of bottles, rattling the capsules inside. “We should go,” he
said, shaking the bottles once more.

Ben
stood up and brushed the dust from his pants. “Yeah, let’s go. We need to beat
sundown.” He adjusted his hat and walked directly toward his horse, not looking
back.

Dylan
followed in quick succession with the sack of antibiotics in hand.

Both
men untied the reins and mounted their horses simultaneously. Ben gently
spurred his horse and Dylan’s horse followed. The echo from the rhythmic clack
of the horseshoes on the pavement slowly faded away as they got farther from
the strip mall. They passed the bank, wrecked from dynamite, and crossed onto
the street. They rode into the setting sun as they left the apocalyptic scenery
behind them.

After
several miles, Ben leaned forward on the saddle horn and adjusted his position.
He tilted his hat forward to shade his eyes and looked at Dylan riding next to
him.

“Did
you ever think your life would be like this?” asked Ben.

“Never.
I took everything I had for granted.” Dylan gestured around the horizon with
his hand. “The grid went down and took everything with it.” He shook his head
in disbelief. “The grid supported our lifestyle and civilization, and now it’s
all gone. This is a nightmare I’ll never wake up from.”

Ben
tapped his gun. “Think about what you’re going to do when your ammo runs out,”
said Ben, as he raised an eyebrow in Dylan’s direction. “How can you protect
yourself?”

Dylan
only responded with a sigh before Ben ended the conversation with a slap to the
rear of his horse. The horse began to trot faster and he assumed the lead. Ben
caught himself looking down for his dog running near his horse’s legs. He
swallowed his sadness and spurred his horse onward.

They
made it back to the small corral before sunset. Dylan was the last to dismount
and gave his horse a few pats on the neck before climbing over the wooden rail
fence. Ben took his holster off and hung it back on the gate.

“Are
you sure you don’t want to stay? I have plenty of work, and we can feed you.”

“No
thanks, we have to move on.” Dylan held up the bag of antibiotics. “Ready to
split ‘em? They’re all the same. Here’s six of the twelve we got. I’ll keep the
bag if you don’t mind,” said Dylan, as he handed Ben the bottles of medication.

Ben
held the bottles close to his body with both hands. “I’d shake your hand but…”
Ben looked down to his hands holding the large bottles.

Dylan
smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “No problem. Thanks for your help.”

Ben
tipped his head forward. “Be safe and good luck.” He turned and walked toward
his house.

Dylan
gripped the bag tight in his hand and ran back into the cornfield, guessing
which row that would take him back to their campsite. He ran past endless
stalks of corn. The leaves monotonously slapped his face, making it difficult
to keep a fast pace through the field. He finally emerged to see Mary and
Kevin. Kevin lay listlessly on the ground with his wife at his side. She had
placed a wet cloth on his forehead, and was clutching the crucifix necklace
with the other hand as she whispered the Lord’s Prayer.

“Hey,”
Dylan yelled, announcing his return.

Mary
had her back turned and was startled, but visibly happy.

“Is
that it? Is it in the bag?” Mary asked, pointing to the white plastic bag
wrapped around Dylan’s fist.

“Six
bottles,” replied Dylan, holding the bag upward.

Mary
knelt back down by her husband. “He’s burning up. How many does he take?”

Dylan
looked confused as he read the label. “I honestly don’t know.” He scratched his
head, frustrated. “Let’s just give him three or four a day. What do you think?”

Mary
agreed to the plan and tried to bring Kevin back to consciousness. Kevin opened
his eyes with considerable effort. He was sweating and delirious from the
fever. Mary held a pill in one hand and opened her husband’s mouth. She put the
pill in his mouth and encouraged him to drink the entire bottle of water. Kevin
did so, coughing several times. She placed his head gently back down and he was
immediately fast asleep.

Dylan
sat by the fire with his rifle across his lap. He stared into the glowing
embers and watched the tendrils of white smoke dissipate into the encroaching
darkness of the twilight’s night air. The day’s events repeated in his mind. He
was obsessing over all the details of the day and what he could have done
differently. He realized that it was another day that had almost brought him to
the limits of his own mortality. Each time he thought about how close he had
come to dying, he unconsciously clutched the rifle tighter. Finally, his hand
began to cramp and he realized the manifestation of his obsessive thoughts of
death. He resolved to himself that he would remain strong, and he would
survive. His family was depending upon him to return, and he needed to do that
quickly. He shook the cramp out of his hand and removed the clip from his
rifle. With a quick flick of his wrist, he ejected the chambered cartridge from
his rifle and watched it arc into the air before hitting the ground. The brass
casing made a small click as it hit a pebble in the dirt. He picked the
cartridge up and blew the dirt off of it, trying unsuccessfully to see his reflection
in the shiny brass, before he inserted it back into the clip. Physically and
mentally exhausted, he leaned his torso forward and rested his face in the
palms of his dirty hands, trying to forget the day’s events.