Dreams of Shadows by Patrick Sean Lee (best pdf reader for ebooks txt) 📖

God, there were hundreds of them out there whirling around for days and days and days. But whatever they were doing, they missed a lot of us in their killing…it was killing off the survivors, right? They finally went away a few weeks afterward, and that’s when the men came out of hiding. Breaking windows everywhere. Taking whatever they wanted. I couldn’t hear them from up here, but I could just see them howling and jumping and lifting the things they’d grabbed over their heads like a mob. Fighting. Yelling at one another.

“I had to risk going downstairs. I had to! I was starving!” She began to shake, remembering back. I took hold of her hands again.

“It’s okay. You’re alive. You made it, and we’re going to help you.”

I suspected that on one of her trips down, someone had spotted and surprised her. Denise closed her eyes, and then continued in a broken voice.

“There must be hundreds of them. They come back every couple of days. They’re worse than animals! One of them caught me in the kitchen…”

She didn’t have to tell me more.

“We need to get her out of here. Find some decent food somewhere—if there is any—get her back to the farm,” Peter said when she broke down once again.

“Will you go with us, Denise? Well, that isn’t really an option. You must. You’ll die here. We have everything we need at the farm. Food and water and friendships. Weapons to defend ourselves. Come with us.”

Her eyes brightened. Perhaps the nightmare was over, she must have been thinking.

“You have food and guns? You won’t let them…”

“We have everything, and then some. You’re safe, but you have to go with us. Are there any others like you who’ve survived? We can help them, too.”

“I don’t know,” she said leaning forward, preparing to stand. “I can’t imagine there are. I can’t go out to look for them, anyway. I can’t! I won’t! ”

“Okay, okay,” I said, trying to calm her again. “She needs food, Peter. We have to try finding some before we leave.”

“We have…potato chips,” he said in a scoffing tone.

“Funny. You go get that can of whatever it was that was left behind down in the kitchen. It’s better than nothing. I’ll help Denise gather her things and meet you at the truck.”

“Do you have any water?” she asked.

“Yes. Plenty. Come on, girl, let’s get you out of here.”

“You take the shotgun,” Peter said, helping Denise stand. “Just in case.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but within minutes, I’d appreciate his offer.

He left. I helped Denise scavenge the few things she'd held onto dearly in her pitiful existence. An armful apiece of dirty clothing, a pair of heels. A purse containing her picture on a driver’s license from Illinois. We left the suitcases she’d brought. As we exited the room, she looked back over her shoulder, but then quickly left the rest of her life behind and followed me to the stairs.

 

Don't Think I'll Do it?

 

The marine layer had begun to roll in when Denise and I rushed through the revolving door onto the sidewalk. The soft, misty-white fog performed a shimmering, slow dance in the late afternoon sun, and cast a ghostly veil over our truck thirty feet away on the street. The doorman, the woman and her husband—I had nearly become inured to the sight of corpses—I skirted close by them, heading for the street. Denise, a step behind me, suddenly let go of my hand with a jerk, tripping over the remains of the man. She hit the pavement with a low grunt. I turned.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Too fast I guess. Didn’t see the bodies. I should have remembered them being here. Sorry.”

I helped her back to her feet. She brushed the dust from her knees, and we set off at a slower pace toward the waiting truck.

“How long has it been since you last came out of the hotel?” I asked when we arrived.

“I don’t know…a week? I went over to that ship looking for food, and as I got to the top of the gangplank, I heard voices. Scary voices and laughter. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I remembered what that gang of men in the hotel kitchen…I ran back down and hid in the ticket booth until they left. It must have been an hour. When I thought it was safe, I left and went back up into the ship. It took me until nightfall to even find the monster kitchen and the rooms where they stored food.”

“So you were able to eat?”

“Yes. I found loads of rotten, dried-up meat and eggs and sour milk, but in another room I found a few boxes of canned food that hadn’t been taken. I searched through them until I found one with kidney beans. Amelia, I gorged myself—looked around for other stuff as I dug the beans out and stuffed handfuls into my mouth. That’s when I heard more voices and footsteps on the deck above.”

“And?”

“And so I grabbed one last can—it was canned meat—and then ran as far forward as I could to hide. I found a huge room with machinery everywhere, and so I squeezed in behind one of them and waited. I was there all night. It was terrible. As hungry and thirsty as I would be, I vowed never to go back onto that ship.”

I could understand that.

When Denise fell silent once more, I told her all about our farm—the garden we’d planted, the electricity we enjoyed—the running water. The relative peace and security there. I said nothing at the time about our visit by the brutal men, or Mari. As I spoke, her eyes lit up.

“There are five of you?”

“No, eight remaining. We buried three bodies.”

Her countenance fell when I said that.

“They were already dead when we arrived a few days after the invasion.”

“Oh.”

I opened the rear cab door and grabbed the un-opened bag of chips and a few candy bars.

“Here, not the best, but help yourself.”

Where was Peter? Five or so minutes had passed, and he hadn’t come out of the hotel. It shouldn’t have taken more than a minute to find the larder, grab the lone can, and then whisk out of the building.

Denise didn’t hear the sound over the crunching of the chips. I did. Low voices and scuffling footsteps in the near distance. I darted to the front of the truck and raised the shotgun, aiming it at the noise. I heard the bag of chips hit the ground, and a terrified groan from Denise.

The first of them appeared through the fog.

“That’s far enough. One more step and you’re dead.”

He was dressed in a grimy white shirt and filthy suit coat and raggedd trousers. Naturally he hadn’t bothered to shave, and his hair was long and wild. He stopped dead in his tracks as the other four men with him came into view, and even from the distance that separated us I could see the look of surprise and shock on his face. He raised his hands.

“We just come looking for food,” he blurted. “Don’t shoot.”

“And we’re just leaving. Turn around and go back the way you came, or I swear I’ll blow every one of you to kingdom come.”

One of the men at his right felt gamey. He stepped forward, smiling a leery smile. I sighted the gun barrel directly at him, and he stopped.

“Don’t think I’ll do it?”

“Okay, okay, just relax,” he said raising his hands, gesturing for me to take it easy. “We’re not going to attack you. We just want something to eat.”

“I’m sure you do. I‘ve heard that one before. Just do as I said and leave us. Go find your dinner somewhere else.”

One of the others, as dirty as his companions, backed up a step. I saw him reach behind, toward his waist slowly. I wondered if I could do it? Peter would. Munster, surely. But me? My heart was racing.

I swung the barrel in his direction as he withdrew the pistol from his waistband and started to raise it. Burying the stock into my shoulder and balancing myself this time, I pulled back on the trigger. The horrendous explosion next to my ear…the recoil I was ready for. When the tight spray of shot hit him at the same instant, he flew backward without uttering a sound, both hands flying up and outward in front of his body. I’ll never forget the splash of red; the grimace—all of it in the blink of an eye.

I felt worse than sick.

Had he been alone, I would have dropped the gun and thrown up, but as matters stood, I stuffed my nausea, quickly reloaded, and brought the gun to bear on the first man who’d shown himself half a minute ago. I sighted at him. Denise started screaming. The leader raised his hands higher, but said nothing. He backed up, one faltering step. Two. A third, and then he turned and disappeared along with the remaining trio into the thick white mist.

“Peter! Where the hell are you?” My turn to scream. I turned to Denise who was practically running in place, shaking her head, screaming at the top of her lungs in a fit of panic.

“Get into the truck, Denise. Hurry!”

Peter arrived at a gallop out of nowhere, a look of fear and concern on his face.

“What hap…”

“Get in, Peter! Get us out of here!”

I noticed he’d lost the can of glucky sauerkraut somewhere along the way. No big loss. I bolted to the passenger side, scooped Denise and her bag of chips into the rear seat, then hopped in beside Peter. He had the engine running before I’d shut the door, and so we were off. Home sweet home.

I’m so sorry, Lashawna, but I’m sure you’ll understand.

Charles, Meet Denise

 

We left the downtown area at a crawl; partly, the thick marine layer, the other half the thick mass of tangled metal and darkness. Put together, these three obstructions alone made me want to get out, leap onto the hood, and act as Peter’s Barrelman. What in normal times would have been, at most, an hour and a half trip, even in heavy traffic, took us four hours. Within the first thirty minutes, Denise had drunk two bottles of water, eaten what remained of the chips, and the six candy bars I’d brought. Within an hour, she was fast asleep, and I wasn’t far behind her, my last thoughts being, half-successful.

 

I woke from a fitful sleep when