Dark Days Read online

  “What d’ya think, Top? It gonna be a while longer?”

  Mason stepped around to the back of the truck and checked the fuel gauge. It showed just over a third full.

  “Could be another hour.”

  Dix yawned and turned to study the buildings around them. All of the structures were either one- or two-story brick units, old but well maintained.

  “Mind if I hit the head? Take just a minute.”

  Mason took a long look around the area. There wasn’t any movement, and the only sound was that of the liquid sloshing around in the tanker.

  “Take Beebie with you.”

  “You hear that, Beebie?” Dix said with a laugh. “The marshal says you get to hold the pig sticker. I know you been wantin’ to for some time now.”

  Beebie placed a big hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Maybe I better put my gloves back on. No telling what you’ve picked up from those little lovelies working the colony’s outer zones.”

  Mason watched as they strode away. He didn’t know whether Dix really needed to pee, or if he was simply making an excuse to sneak in a cigarette break. Either way, it was better if he conducted his business away from the refueling operation.

  Bowie eyed the men and whined softly.

  “Unh-uh. Those two can find enough trouble without you tagging along.”

  The dog watched them until they disappeared behind one of the buildings. After they were gone, he wandered back to the truck and sat beside Mason.

  With Beebie and Dix having skipped out, Cam and Red made their way over. Both eyed their surroundings warily. While all four men were expected to provide some level of security, it was Cam’s and Red’s responsibility to detect the enemy in time to do something about it.

  Cam looked like a state trooper, freshly shaven and wearing reflective sunglasses and black tactical gloves rolled down at the cuffs. Red was a short man with thick red hair and a horseshoe mustache that reached all the way down to the edges of his chin. Mason thought that given Red’s size and dour disposition, he would have made an excellent tunnel rat.

  “Those two screwing off again?” asked Cam.

  “Hitting the head,” Mason said, placing a hand on the hose to feel the steady rush of fuel.

  Cam pulled off his sunglasses and began to wipe the lenses with a small rag.

  “You ever get tired of this shit, Marshal?”

  “What shit is that?”

  “All of it. Risking our lives, day in and day out, and for what? So we can go home to sleep in a cold building, eat food that looks like horse dung, and bang some two-bit whore who would trade her hooch for a Snickers bar.”

  “If you don’t like the work, go open a bakery or a beauty salon. Nothing says you have to do this for a living.”

  “A bakery. That’s a good one, Marshal.” Cam finished with his glasses and slid them back on. “Nah, I don’t think that’s right for me. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m going to find a way out of this hole. Mark my word on that. One day I’m going to live in one of those high-rise hotels with giant windows lining every wall. Somewhere I can call up for room service and get me a big fat steak, so bloody that the juice spills all over the plate.” He licked his lips. “God, I can almost taste it.”

  “And I suppose it’ll be delivered by some hot little Asian chick whose skirt’s hiked up to her crotch,” Red said, without the faintest hint of a smile.

  “I thought that part went without saying.”

  Much like Dix and Beebie, Red and Cam had figured out a way to tolerate one another. In Red’s case, it meant overlooking Cam’s incessant bitterness. And in Cam’s, it meant learning never to expect even so much as a friendly pat on the shoulder from his partner.

  “What about you, Marshal?” said Cam. “Aren’t you looking for something better?”

  Mason couldn’t help but think of Brooke. She was something better.

  “Bowie and I make do.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with this world. We’re all just making do.”

  Mason didn’t see any point in arguing about how much was enough. What kept every man going was for him to decide. For Mason, a worthy cause was usually enough.

  Bowie suddenly sat up and turned in Dix and Beebie’s direction. Before Mason could ask what was wrong, a quick string of gunshots sounded. The dog leaped to his feet and began barking.

  Mason, Cam, and Red all brought up their rifles.

  More gunshots sounded, the high-pitched crack of Dix’s AR-15 and the deeper throaty pounding of Beebie’s AK-47.

  “It’s always one damn thing after another with those two,” Cam said with a scowl.

  Mason thought for a moment. The truck was only half-full, but trying to set up a defensive position when surrounded by giant tanks of combustible material was a losing proposition. Better to cut their losses and get to higher ground.

  He turned to Cam. “Get us packed up. Now!”

  “You going after them?”

  “Have to.”

  “I got news for you, Marshal. If one of them was running this operation, we’d already be rolling out the gate.”

  “That may be, but I don’t leave my men behind.”

  “Not even when they’re damn fools?”

  Mason raced toward the building. “Nope. Not even then.”

  Thirty seconds later, Mason and Bowie rounded the corner of the old brick laboratory building. A set of partially open doors lay directly ahead.

  Another string of automatic fire shook the air.

  Mason rushed to the wall and pressed up against it. Inching forward, he peered in through the open doors. They led to a hallway that went in both directions, but it was too dark to make out much else. Whatever high-tech experiments had been conducted within must have required the occupants to cover the windows.

  More gunfire, and this time he could see the walls inside the building lighting up with bright yellow and orange flashes.

  He leaned his head around and shouted, “Dix! Beebie!”

  Dix hollered back. “In here, Top!”

  “Can you make your way back to the door?”

  Another controlled burst of gunfire shook the air.

  “Not hardly! They got us cut off!”

  “All right. Watch your fire. Bowie and I will clear a path out.” Mason looked down at the dog. “Stay close.”

  Bowie stared at him with shining eyes, ready for whatever came next.

  “All right, here we go.”

  Mason ducked through the open door and pressed his back flat to the wall. Sweeping his rifle from side to side, he scanned the dark hallway. Almost immediately, a heavy microscope flew from the shadows, hitting him on the right shoulder. He spun and fired four shots from the M4, scattering them into the darkness.

  Bowie pulled his lips back and snarled at their invisible enemy, but he did not move away from his master’s side.

  Mason waited expectantly for the painful thud of another projectile.

  It didn’t come. Whoever had thrown it had either been hit by his return fire or driven to seek cover.

  Mason turned back to the left and shuffled down the corridor, his shoulder pressed against the wall so as not to lose his bearings. Bowie walked beside him, a deep sustained growl rising from his belly. When they were half a dozen steps in, there was a sudden bang, and complete darkness enshrouded the hallway.

  Someone had shut the doors.

  Almost immediately, they came for him, a thick mass of muscle and bone, claws and teeth. Mason clicked the M4’s selector switch to automatic and sprayed from left to right. Bloodcurdling screams filled the air as bullets punched through flesh. Before he could empty the magazine, the rifle was batted away, clattering heavily at his feet. Hands tugged at him, dirty human claws scraping across his flesh, as they tried to pull him to the floor.

  Bowie jumped into the mob, snarling and biting at anything within reach.

  It was too close to safely use the Supergrade, so Mason reached for his tomahawk
. The Daniel Winkler Hawk only weighed a pound and a half, but its weight sat at the head, allowing every swing to generate maximum momentum. Mason let himself become a wild berserker, slashing and chopping everything in his path. Hands were lopped off, bellies opened up, and skulls split as he let raw fury take him. The screams grew louder and more fearful as he and Bowie became an unbeatable pair, the dog slinging the infected to the ground and Mason hacking away at their flesh.

  And then, as quickly as they had come, the infected retreated into the darkness.

  Mason stood with his back to the wall, panting, sweat and blood covering his arms. Bowie pressed up against his legs, chest heaving in and out.

  “Easy boy,” Mason whispered as he knelt down and retrieved his M4. As efficiently as possible, he ejected the partially spent magazine, flipped it over, and inserted a matching magazine taped against its side. “We gave them something to think about.”

  “Marshal!” It was Dix. “You still alive?”

  There was no point in not answering. With their mutated eyes, the infected could see Mason as clearly as if he were standing under a spotlight. Which meant they were either regrouping or had decided that the fight wasn’t worth the cost. He hoped it was the latter.

  “I’m here,” he said wearily. “Can you and Beebie make your way to me?”

  “We’re clear for the moment, but we’ve lost ourselves in some kind of storage room. Neither of us is sure how to get out.”

  Without his flashlight or chemlights, Mason had no way to light up the corridor. An idea came to him, but not everyone in his party was going to like it.

  “Hold one!” he shouted.

  Mason squatted down and wrapped an arm around Bowie.

  “What do you say? Can you go and get them?”

  Bowie nuzzled his enormous head against Mason’s neck, licking the underside of his chin and whining softly.

  “I know it’s dark and scary, but you can do it.” He faced back in Dix’s direction. “Bowie’s going to lead you out. Call to him so that he knows where you are.”

  Dix and Beebie both started calling to the dog.

  “Over here, boy. We’ve got a treat for you. Come on now. Come to Dix and Beebie.”

  Mason felt Bowie turn to him, confused by the sudden coaxing.

  “It’s all right. Go on.”

  The dog reluctantly pulled away. While Bowie might not be able to see as well as the infected, his eyes had many more rods than any human eye. Not only did this make his night vision clearer, it also allowed him to see movement better. That, combined with his incredible sense of smell, enabled him to move through the darkness with a clearer sense of direction. Sensory benefits aside, Bowie was never one to like the dark, and he whined like a frightened toddler as he navigated the room.

  After a short time, Dix said, “He’s here, Top. He made it.”

  “Stay close to him.”

  Mason let out a short whistle, and almost immediately, he heard Bowie’s nails scraping across the smooth concrete floor as the dog hurried back toward him. A few seconds later, Bowie, Dix, and the lumbering shape of Beebie emerged from the room.

  “Appreciate the rescue, Top. You’re probably wondering what we were doing in here. You see, we—”

  Mason held up a hand. “Later. Right now, let’s focus on getting out of here.”

  He did an about-face, pressing his bruised shoulder to the wall. Together, the small group made its way back toward the doors, stumbling over the scattered bodies of the infected Mason and Bowie had killed. When they finally reached the exit, Mason gave the closest door a quick bump with his boot to send it swinging open. They hurried outside, squinting against the bright sunlight.

  A chorus of shrieks sounded from inside the building, and they felt, more than saw, a mass of bodies exiting behind them.

  “Run!” Mason barked, pushing Dix ahead of him.

  The group raced toward the tanks, listening to the hive of infected men and women flooding out of the building behind them. No one bothered to look back. This was not a fight that could be won.

  They heard the tanker truck fire up and watched as it pulled out onto Langley Boulevard, slowly rolling toward the gate. Cam was making good on his promise to leave them, if necessary.

  Mason, Bowie, and the others raced closer, leaping one-by-one onto a small foldable landing that trailed off the rear of the big rig. As soon as they were aboard, Cam gunned the engine, and the truck began to pick up speed.

  They watched as dozens of mutated scientists and engineers gave chase. With their black eyes, swollen joints, and gaunt faces, they looked like demons that had crawled up from the depths of hell. A few still wore tattered lab coats, but many had stripped away their clothing to become savages in every sense of the word.

  Over the roar of the engine, Dix shouted, “I promise you one thing, Top. From here on out, I’m never gonna kid you about talkin’ to your dog. Not ever!”

  Mason reached down and gave Bowie a good pat. It wasn’t the first time the big dog had saved the day, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

  Chapter 4

  “All right, let’s hear it,” Tanner said, eyeing Samantha like he was awaiting a particularly juicy bit of gossip.

  She tossed her books onto the backseat of the Prius and climbed in.

  “Hear what?”

  “You know what. Father Paul told me you were in a fight. I don’t see any missing teeth, so I’m guessing you won.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Who says?”

  “Everyone wants to talk about a fight they’ve won. It’s human nature.”

  She sighed. “Fine. But there’s not much to tell. Carver tripped Flynn. So I hit him with my book.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. It was over as soon as it started, and I didn’t see Carver the rest of the day.”

  “That’s because they had to take him over to the hospital. Thought he might have a concussion.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  She grimaced. “I didn’t mean to put him in the hospital, honest. I was just trying to teach him not to pick on everyone so much.” She eyed Tanner and shrank back in her seat. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “But you should be mad at me,” she said, sounding frustrated.

  “You want me to be mad?”

  “No, but parents are supposed to get mad about this kind of thing.”

  “Why? You said he had it coming, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “But nothing. Who knows? Maybe you saved that boy’s life today.”

  “Saved his life? I put him in the hospital!”

  “True. But you taught him to be more careful about who he picks a fight with. That might keep him from getting a knife stuck in his ribs one day.”

  “I guess.” She hesitated. “Maybe we should stop in and check on him.”

  “Nah. Let his head pound for a few days. That way every time he sees you, he’ll remember the pain.”

  “Oh great. Now I feel like the bully.”

  Tanner offered an understanding smile. “If Carver comes to you later and tries to make nice, that’s your chance to take the high road. But let him be the one to make the first move. If you do it, he’ll take it as a sign of weakness, and then you’ll just have to fight him all over again.”

  “But what if he gets mad and decides to come after me?”

  He glanced over at her. “You afraid of him?”

  “No, but he’s bigger than me.”

  “Which is why you keep that knife at the small of your back.”

  “What are you saying? That I should stab him! And in church, no less?”

  “What I’m saying is that you should defend yourself. Always. You don’t need my or anyone else’s permission to do that.”

  “Hmph,” she snorted.

  Tanner pushed the Ready butt
on on the Prius, and the dash came alive even though there was no sound of a motor starting.

  “Besides,” he said, “I trust you to do the right thing.”

  “I’m sure Carver did too.”

  He grinned.

  Before they could say anything more, Deputy Vince Tripp hustled across the sidewalk, waving his hands for them to wait up.

  “Oh great,” muttered Samantha. “No doubt he’s coming to arrest me.”

  Vince, along with a few others, had saved the town from a band of convicts several months back. And since that time, he had stayed on as one of Boone’s law enforcement officers. Having once served as a Watauga County Deputy Sheriff, Vince not only knew how to handle himself in a fight, he also understood that being a small town lawman was as much about service as it was about arresting wrongdoers. And while Tanner had never had reason to cross him, he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive whenever someone with a badge approached.

  “Believe me, he wouldn’t want to make that mistake.” Tanner reached into the back seat and brought forward his sawed-off shotgun, shoving the barrel down between the seat and the center console.

  Samantha’s eyes grew wide. “What are you doing? That’s Mason’s friend, Vince.”

  “I know who he is.”

  She glanced at the shotgun and then back out at Vince. Tanner was not a man who would be pushed around, no matter who was doing the pushing.

  She reached over and placed a hand on his.

  “Be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “You really need to look up the definition of ‘nice.’”

  Vince rushed up to Tanner’s open window and bent over to peer inside.

  “Either of you know the whereabouts of Marshal Raines?”

  Tanner relaxed a little. “Last time I saw him, he was headed over to the New Colony in Norfolk. But that was six months ago. Hard to say where he is now.”

  Vince bit his lower lip.

  “What is it?” Samantha asked, leaning across the seat. “What’s going on?”