Dark Awakening

Dax Evans was staying in his cabin in the outskirts of Coal Pointe when the last television broadcast of the army's last stand on the other side of town was shown. After first hearing of about the scientists who came in close proximity to the meteor fragment, what happened to them, he grabbed the keys to his truck and drove all the way to his cabin.
Apparently, a meteor had been spotted by some astronomers up north. By the time they had registered it, it had already split into six separate pieces, each fragment landing in different parts of the world, one of the pieces landing on the outskirts of his very own town. That was two weeks ago. The last live news cast had aired last night, and Dax had assumed the ground shaking had something to do with why it had cut out mid-broadcast, the massive battle raging on.

His cabin had all of his hunting and survival supplies for any situation. Dax was a survival nut. He had even picked up planks to barricade the windows on his way over.
Stored in his cabin was enough canned food and water to last a few months, equipment to help keep himself fit, his trusty Remington shotgun with two full boxes of shells, his cleaned and maintained Springfield nine-millimeter handgun, his custom made knife with an eight-inch blade, a medkit, spare gasoline for his truck, a small radio, his solar-powered flashlight, a small portable telescope, a flare gun with five spare shots, and ten emergency flares.
All in all, he felt pretty well off on supplies. That and living on the outskirts, where he was pretty out of the way, he didn't think he'd need it all.
I hope I don't, he thought.

He grabbed some of his food and water, and shoved it into his rucksack, along with some spare clothes, various other supplies, and topped it off by putting his sleeping bag on top. Just in case there was a reason he had to get out of Dodge in a hurry. He also picked up his holstered handgun and strapped it to his thigh, after checking and chambering it, loading a spare magazine of fifteen bullets into the side pouch.
He then grabbed his hammer, nails, and some planks and started to barricade the windows and doors, planning to hammer as many planks as possible to each window. The nails went in with relative ease, the noise of the hammer smacking them in rather loud in the mostly empty living area. It was close to dusk, and the room was getting darker. He wasn't sure whether to light a candle or two and continue barricading the windows, or risk leaving it for morning.

Everything's a damn risk now. He sighed inwardly.
Dax was only twenty-six years old, and he didn't really have any family left to keep safe. Being the quiet type, he usually kept himself to himself. This usually disappointed the ladies, as he was physically fit, his short spiky black hair never seeming to flatten. He wasn't the bodybuilder type, and he was happy with that. The only person he had come close to, he had lost almost a year ago. Her name was Kate, and she had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever dated. Her smile could light up a room, and she seemed to radiate with happiness every time he seen her. He had spent a lot of time and effort just trying to secure a date with her. But it had been worth it all, Dax was sure of it. He wouldn't swap a second of it and if he could, he'd relive those three years endlessly. But just like all good things, their love had to come to an end, and in such a swift, brutal way. A different sickness had taken her from him. The locket she had worn now hung around his neck, a picture of the two of them smiling happily trapped inside. The cold metal was a constant reminder of what he had lost. When he ever felt like the world was overwhelming him, he took it off and looked at the picture within.
I'll need it now more than ever.

Hammering the last plank in place with a force he didn't have when he had started, he stepped back and admired his handiwork, hands shaking. It looked solid, only small slivers of the ghostly half-moon outside shining through the cracks here and there.
He risked lighting some candles, but put them in the centre of the room, far enough to stop light from being seen on the outside. It was essential that his cabin looked abandoned, knowing he'd suffer attacks from both humans and those creatures dubbed “Slayers” alike. Word had it apart from the main bulk of those creatures, others had been discovered, similar but also different to the others.
A certain number of them had been branded “Aviators”, for their ability to fly using gigantic wings that emerged from their shoulders once the gas had taken effect. These wings were said to be armored, making them hard to kill. Another lot were named “Gorgons”, and Dax had first hand experience with this particular group.

On his way to his cabin, he had come across a couple trying to get out of the city before it got too bad. They were scared out of their minds when they stumbled upon his cabin. Their truck had broken down and they managed to find his cabin as they tried to find a working phone.
Not having an actual phone in his cabin, Dax offered to accompany them to the nearest gas station. It had seemed to take forever, but they eventually made it. From a distance, it looked fine, but as they got closer they noticed there was no-one to be seen in or around the station or attached shop, although there was a car parked outside.
Dax had entered first, sweeping the large room, with his shotgun, clearing each aisle. When he reached the final aisle, he noticed it was a complete mess, products everywhere ranging from cracked coffee jars to bagged beef jerky. As he turned to leave, he noticed a glimmer amongst a dropped box of candy bars.
Bending down to investigate, he picked up the handle to a small hand mirror. The glass was shattered, and what was still on the frame tumbled to the ground as he examined it. Other than the fact it was broken, it didn't look different from any other mirrors. As he dropped it, he continued towards the front, wanting to check for a phone, the reason he was here to begin with. Before he reached it, he glanced at the giant front window, and seen the couple's anxious faces peering in at him. He nodded, trying to reassure them, knowing they couldn't see the thrashed aisle from their point of view, and not wanting to freak them out even more.
Reaching the counter, he lay his shotgun across it and vaulted the plastic and glass display case. He landed on something uneven and stumbled a little. He regained his balance and turned to see what was causing people looking behind counters to trip. A body of a man in his late twenties lay behind the counter, a switchblade lying a few inches from his outstretched hand.
Dax crouched down. What the fuck?, he thought as he investigated the man. He had known him from around town, he had been a local gangbanger who was out on parole. His Parole Officer had clearly found him a job. Clearly, he wasn't going to be winning Employee of the Month any time soon. But that hadn't been what got Dax's nerves tingling.
The ex-gangster had been completely covered in what looked like cement, although he looked more like a statue that had taken a fall off it's plinth than anything. An expression of fear and anger had been etched permanently into his face.
As if that hadn't been strange enough, the nearby switchblade was coated in a thick blue substance, like someone had left an ice lolly to melt on it. He reached out and grabbed the handle, lifting the blade closer. The goo drooped and some even fell to the floor with a wet squinch noise. Well, at least he seemed to go out fighting. Suddenly the woman screamed from outside, the sound shattering Dax from his swirling thoughts. Dropping the knife, he stood and turned in one swift motion, reaching for his shotgun from the counter. As he rose it to his shoulder, the glass front shattered, glass raining down over the front of the store, two figures falling through it.
The man from outside! It was him all right, and some sort of creature was on top of him. The man was exactly like the gangbanger at his feet, turned completely to stone. The creature had noticed Dax behind the counter, though. It turned his head upwards, locking eyes with him, it's eyes glowing a deep, shining purple. Not wasting another second, Dax had shouldered the shotgun and pulled the trigger. Click!
“Fuck!”, he cursed aloud. Should have chambered a round before coming inside, idiot!
Cursing himself, he pumped the handle on the shotgun, but the creature was already moving. It knew it had a chance. Turning, trying to get a lock on the thing, he fired as it lunged for him. The creature hit him hard, the shot going high and wide, buckshot shredding into the fluorescent light overhead and he felt the shotgun leave his grip. It crashed over the counter and out of sight as Dax himself fell backwards, cracking his elbow on the stone man underneath him. The creature had too much momentum and had kept going, smashing through the glass display on the other side, shards raining down on top of them both.
Nursing his elbow, Dax fell over the counter, searching for his weapon. It lay feet from him, half obscured by a nearby shelf. He lunged towards it, sliding on his stomach, his fingers outstretched-- and stopped suddenly, no more than an inch from the barrel. Struggling, he turned on his back. The creature had him by the ankle. With a forceful tug, the beast pulled him toward it and pinned him beneath it, their gazes locking once more. Dax froze in fear-- except he froze in more than fear. He couldn't move a muscle.
What the fuck?! I can't move at all. This fucking thing is gonna kill you if you don't pull it together!
Except he couldn't, try as he did. The creature stared deep into his eyes, the deep purple fixed on his shining green, blazing with some kind of inner fire.

HONK HONK!

A deep horn, the horn of the abandoned car from outside blared through the silence. The beast's ugly mutated head snapped towards the shattered store window and the spell was broken. Dax glanced down from under the thing and seen the headlights of the car grow bigger and bigger as the car hurtled towards the shop, the woman's crazed sobbing audible even above the increasing roar of the engine.
Oh, shit!
Using the distraction to his advantage, Dax shoved the damn thing off him, snatched the weapons barrel and dove for cover. In seconds, the car rammed through the glass, sending shelves flying. It kept going, stopping only at the back wall with a sickening crunch, the horn still blaring.
Shaking dust and debris from his clothes, Dax stood up, coughing harshly. Most of the store had been totalled. Limping, he made his way to the driver's door, ready to grab his saviour and hightail it as far as possible from the station.
He reached the door and yanked it open. The woman tumbled out, her face covered in scratches and glass. Crouching, he checked her pulse. Nothing.

“Son of a bitch!”

A small, gurgling squeal came from the front of the car. There, pinned beneath the front wheels was the creature-- the Gorgon-- dying in it's own blue goo. Stepping forward, Dax racked the shotgun, raised it, and fired, blowing it's head apart, blood and dark goop splashing on his boots. He turned once more to the woman, bending down.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She had saved him the same fate of her boyfriend. Clutching his ribs, coughing harshly, he had left the gas station and never looked back.

Back in present time, he snapped out of his stupor. Working in semi-darkness, Dax picked up another plank and set to work on a fresh window, his shadow looming over him like some twisted beast, letting his mind wander once more, but always ready to spring to action at a moment's notice should he need.
After securing the windows and doors, he started shifting some of the furniture to further strengthen the entrances, making sure to cover any potential weak points. The candles burned lower and lower as he continued the barricading, hours slipping by. By the time he had finished, the sun was rising over the hills to the left of his cabin, peeking through the trees of the nearby woods.

Drained almost completely, he quickly double-checked the windows and main door. After assuring himself he was securely shut away, he walked into his bedroom and locked the door, lugging his shotgun over his shoulder. He pumped the handle, chambering a shell, and propped it beside the head of his bed.
Unstrapping his holster and tossing it aside, he sat down on his bed, grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his bedside table, poured himself a glass and downed it. Setting the glass and bottle back on the table, he crawled into bed and lay there, his mind beginning to wander as he drifted into a shadowy, restless sleep filled with his own inner demons.


* * *


A solitary battered and blood-smeared ambulance wound its way through the High Street, weaving in and out of overturned cars, rubble, and over decaying corpses. The driver glanced back into the rear of the ambulance at his co-worker.

“Kira! How's that soldier holding up?” he called to the woman wrapping fresh bandages over a badly injured man, sporadic groans of pain filling the entire ambulance. The woman, Kira, gently lowered the soldier back on to the gurney and reached over to grab a moist sponge and proceeded to clean the many wounds that covered him.
“Not good, Ryan,” she shouted back. “If we don't get him to the military outpost soon, he's not gonna make it. Can't this thing go any faster?”
“I'm giving it all I've got, but it's hard with all the crap stuck in the middle of the road.”

Kira turned back to her patient. The other soldier they had managed to stumble across hadn't made it. She had pronounced him a little past Coal Pointe Church. His wounds hadn't been so severe, but he slipped into shock and died, his eyes glassing over. Ryan had to pull over and help her put the soldier in a body bag. It was on the gurney behind her and she kept brushing it as she worked on the soldier that lay before her. It made her uncomfortable.
They had found him a few blocks away from the last stand just to the north. Kira was surprised he had made it this far from the battle. She knew that the military had been losing, but it wasn't clear what had happened.
Ryan hadn't dared venture any closer, for fear of coming under attack from the Slayers, and Kira couldn't blame him. Not after the amount of wounded soldiers and civilians they had to treat.
“Hang on, we're almost there!” shouted Ryan from the front. “Just gonna push past these last few cars and we'll be on the highway.”
“Hurry up, this guy isn't going to last much longer!”
“Working on it.”
A few moments later, the ambulance began to pick up speed, the engine rumbling loudly in the silent city.
Try as she might, she couldn't stop the bleeding. She wrapped a few more bandages around his chest and legs, applying pressure to the biggest wound first. A slow, steady beat resonated beneath her fingers, feeling fainter each minute. Suddenly, he moved ever so slightly, his eye's fluttering open.
Kira leaned over him. “Hey, it's ok, we're going to get you back to the camp as soon as we can,” she whispered soothingly. Grimacing in pain, he beckoned her closer. She leaned in, her eyes locked on his. “Gary.... th-they got Gary....” his voice shook as he took a breath and continued on, “if they s-spray you, you don't.... you don't die. It's like you do, b-but you-you don't. You become one.... of them. Be wary-”
His sentence was cut off as something lunged at Kira from behind, a tearing noise, and a pair of strong arms gripped her from behind. They grappled, the thing forcing her forwards and the two of them fell forwards over the dying man. Pushing her back against the wall of the ambulance, she looked up in horror.
The body. The body she had pronounced dead not fifteen minutes before was standing upright, the body bag looking like it had taken a life of it's own and sprouted arms. Suddenly, the arms moved up and began unzipping the bag, letting it fall to the ground. The soldier- or whatever he was now- stepped out of it, his eye's glowing a bright violet colour.