Stormbreak (The Serenity Strain Book 1) Page 10

  He stared at the swaying corpse, able to do little else.

  dink … dink … dink

  He wanted to help the man, but he knew it was far too late for that. Maybe he should bring him down from the ceiling, give him some dignity in death. I should turn that frown upside down, he thought absurdly.

  When Stavros went suddenly, intensely blind, it was almost a relief.

  Chapter 10. Sunday, early morning.

  Megan was still jabbering. A day’s restless sleep born of fatigue had done little to calm her down. To be fair to her daughter, Lauryn thought, they’d all freaked out.

  Was it only a day ago when the sudden blindness took them? Megan had screamed first, causing Mark and Lauryn to turn protectively toward her before realizing that they, too, were sightless. Mark cursed, Lauryn remembered, and then he’d grabbed and pulled her out of the way before slamming the apartment door and fumbling at the locks and chain.

  Lauryn was grateful and a little bit embarrassed that he’d been the first to react. Hell, she was the trained corrections officer. But her daughter’s screaming and her own blindness had turned her training on its head. The first thing Mark had done—apparently without even thinking about it—was to secure them in the apartment.

  After they’d calmed Megan down as best they could, Mark was the first one to think again. He’d stumbled around the apartment, falling over furniture, to blow out the candles. They were useless now anyway, and he didn’t want anyone from the outside to know they were here, he told Lauryn. His neighbors, of course, would know. But it wasn’t his neighbors that worried him.

  Lauryn had taken Megan to the back bedroom and put her to bed. Irritating thoughts of Irissss tried to kick down the door of her psyche, but she held it closed against them. No time for that now. This shit was getting real. And totally random. What the hell had blinded them anyway?

  At first there was screaming. A lot of screaming. Other people freaking out. Pounding on the walls around them. Dogs barking. Babies shrieking in answer to their mothers. But Lauryn and Mark managed to keep their heads, and after a while, it’d all calmed down. Mark even joked that maybe their eyesight, like the power, would come back on in a few hours. Neither Lauryn nor Megan had laughed.

  After securing the apartment as best they could, Mark turned the radio back on, but all they heard was the NOAA bulletin repeating and music that was also clearly on a loop. They spent a lot of time quietly talking about what might’ve happened, why they were all suddenly blind at the same time. Some kind of related weather event following the hurricanes? Sunspots? That made absolutely no sense to Mark, whose passing acquaintance with meteorology from working at TranStar made him think he was an expert. Was the complex struck by lightning and had that somehow affected their sight? They’d had little else to do but debate the possibilities, eat canned food, feel their way to the bathroom, and try and sleep. Try not to talk about the bodies and the wreckage that used to be an apartment complex they’d thankfully only gotten a glimpse of before the blindness happened. And for all their talking, they were no closer to an answer that made any sense. But it’d helped pass the time.

  The weather had faded to light showers and then no rain at all. Occasionally they’d hear noises next door or from the complex’s parking lot. Mostly they heard shuffling around. People talking to themselves or to each other. Snippets of conversations. Many of them sounded like Megan’s Lament, as Mark named it privately to Lauryn. Bitching and moaning about the lack of lights, no Internet, no television. No eyesight. At least the last thing mattered, Lauryn told him.

  Now it was Sunday, early morning. Almost a full day since the affliction had hit.

  Lauryn split her time between lounging in darkness on the sofa and feeling her way to the back bedroom to check on her daughter. No matter how old Megan got, Lauryn never tired of looking in on her when she was sick or distraught. Even now, when she could only feel the warmth of her forehead or hear her quiet breathing. For now, that would have to be enough.

  “The sun will be up in an hour or so,” said Mark. “I think. My body clock is pretty screwed up.”

  “Not that we could see it,” said Lauryn, her voice betraying a severe lack of sleep. “The sun, I mean. I don’t think I’m allowed access to your body clock anymore.”

  Mark huffed and mumbled, “Hey, ex humor.”

  “What?”

  “Humor. You’re making a joke. That’s a good sign.”

  Lauryn clucked her tongue and laid her head back, then twisted it slightly to the right. If she tried enough times, maybe she could find a position where her neck didn’t ache.

  “A good sign of what? That I’m accepting my new handicap? Well I’m not.” The fire was in her voice, the old indignation Mark had so admired the first time she’d sent an undercooked steak back to the kitchen of their favorite dating-era restaurant. “In fact—”

  Mark made a sssssht sound.

  “What? Don’t you shush me—”

  “Quiet.”

  His insistence checked her argument.

  “There’s someone outside,” he whispered.

  She wasn’t sure why he was making such a big deal. There’d been lots of people outside. People apparently as blind as they were. But, clearly, Mark sensed something different this time.

  Lauryn braced her hands on the couch, ready to rise. Sightless or not, her training was finally kicking in. She heard tentative, wandering feet in the grass outside the front door. She listened for the pacing. Slow, assessing steps. As if the stepper were deciding a next move. Or maybe he’s just trying not to trip, she thought. Then she heard another set of footsteps, faster and getting louder. They slowed too, then stopped. Stepper #1 was telling the new guy to be quiet.

  “Where’s your gun?” she asked quietly. Mark owned a .40-caliber pistol he’d bought years ago as a ward against home invasion. She’d trained him how to use it.

  “Bedroom,” he answered.

  “I’ll—”

  Knock-knock-knock. The friendly sound of knuckles lightly rapping on wood.

  “Anybody home?” came a man’s muffled voice. He sounded downright neighborly. Maybe he needed a cup of sugar.

  Lauryn looked to where she knew Mark was sitting, in his chair next to the radio. As if in doing so, they could formulate a response with just their eyes. Not today.

  Knock-knock-knock. More insistent this time. Maybe he was diabetic.

  “Halllloooo.”

  Lauryn started to rise and one of the couch springs squeaked. Mark hissed. She sat back down, muffling the spring this time. Mostly.

  There was a long pause from the other side of the door. They could hear muttering. Maybe Stepper #2 was saying there was no one home, let’s move on. Maybe Stepper #1 was motioning his buddy to get in position to kick in the door after hearing movement inside. Maybe they both wanted some sugar.

  “Where in the bedroom?” Lauryn whispered. She thought she heard Mark swallow hard. Was he trying to remember? God she wished the storm was still going on. Every little noise they made sounded like an elephant’s foot in a cathedral to her.

  “Top of the closet,” he said, his words little more than air. “Behind my cowboy hat.”

  Lauryn almost forgot herself and laughed. “You have a—”

  BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

  “Time to open up, little piggies!”

  “Go get the gun,” Lauryn said in a calm but normal voice as she lifted herself off the couch. “You know where it is, I don’t.”

  “What good will that do? I can’t see!”

  “Go get the goddamned gun!”

  She hoped they heard her outside.

  Mark pushed himself out of his chair and fell over the arm of the couch before scrambling down the hall. He felt along the walls till he reached the bedroom doorway.

  “What’s going on?” Megan moaned sleepily. “Mom?”

  BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

  “If I have to huff and puff, I’m gonna blow more than your house down!”r />
  The man sounded more loud than big to Lauryn’s ears, but she knew you couldn’t always tell by the voice. But he clearly did all the talking. She named him Mouth in her head.

  “We’ve got a gun! We’ll blow your heads off, you come in here!” she shouted.

  There was a pause outside, then the cackle returned, followed by a louder click of a man’s cheek against his teeth. “Only if you can see me, sugarlips. Which I’m betting you can’t. Now, I’ll be honest, I can’t see either. But I’ve got a strong sense of everything else. So, why not open this door and we can talk nice-like.”

  “Go to hell, Mouth!”

  There was a pause. “Mouth—I think I like that,” he said from the other side of the door. “And I’m gonna show you just how well that name fits, sugarlips.”

  “What’s my name? What’s my name?” the other man demanded. Lauryn imagined him hopping around like an excited toad.

  “Shut up, you cackling crazy-ass,” Mouth said. “We’re busy here.”

  “Cackler! I like it! I like it!” A gurgling chortle followed from behind the door.

  From the bedroom, Megan asked, “Daddy what’s happening? What’s going on?” Her voice rose in volume and pitch.

  Mark was torn between his task and trying to comfort her. Feeling his way along the wall, he said, “Baby, just stay right where you are. And try and stay quiet.” He’d made it to the door of the closet. No, damn it, that was the door to the bathroom. “Just be quiet, everything will be okay,” he said, going three feet further to find the closet door.

  Lauryn stumbled into Mark’s small kitchen. She felt around on the counter, trying to remember the room’s layout. She knew somewhere near the stove Mark had a knife set. Counter, oven door, burner, box of artificial sweetener … there. There it was. She pulled the butcher knife out of the block and stuck it in the back of her pants. Then she pulled out the cleaver.

  A loud thunk! rattled the front door in its frame. A stream of curses followed.

  “You pigshits are pissing me off!” said Mouth. “One more chance! Open this fucking door!”

  She felt her way back into the living room. Being blind sucked. She had no idea where to position herself if they got in.

  THUNK!

  Did the door facing just crack?

  When they got in.

  Mark found the shelf in the closet. Empty iPod box, old shoes, something made of felt. Felt. Cowboy hat. He tossed it onto the floor and fumbled around on the shelf, standing on tiptoes. His fingers grabbed something made of cardboard. The Bersa gun box? Must be. He pulled it down and yanked it open, hoping the magazine was full.

  Lauryn’s eyes hurt. She blinked, wondering if she’d gotten something in them.

  “One.”

  THUNK!

  The asshole was counting it down now. She swore she heard the links of the door chain spreading. She gripped the cleaver tightly, feeling her way past the couch and finding Mark’s chair.

  “Two.”

  THUNK!

  The door came away from the facing up top, but the deadbolt held it in place.

  “Three!”

  CRASH!

  Lauryn stepped back as the door caved in. She turned her ears up.

  “Where are you little pigshits?” taunted Mouth.

  He was getting up off the floor. Lauryn could hear him moving. She could also hear footsteps in the hallway.

  “Get the fuck outta here!” Mark shouted.

  She sure hoped he had his gun. Megan began shrieking from the bedroom.

  “What’s that?” said the leader. “Another little piggy? Or a piglet, maybe?”

  Lauryn lunged at him, but he must’ve heard her. Mouth turned aside and her massive swipe with the cleaver only split air. She thought she saw a shadow of something flash. Light off the cleaver? But that was—

  “There you are.”

  “Get out!” Mark shouted. He pointed the gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger.

  The Bersa’s bark was deafening in the small apartment. Lauryn ducked, brushing Mouth’s chest with her shoulder. He reached out, snatching her by the hair on the first try.

  “Now you’ve pissed me off, pigshits!” he yelled, grabbing her around the neck.

  Lauryn brought the cleaver down, finding a meaty right thigh. Mouth howled and she felt another body, Cackler’s. His hands grabbed her torso, crushed her breast, and finally found her arm holding the cleaver. His breath smelled like sardines mined from a trash can.

  “Lauryn, goddamnit, I can’t see!” Mark’s voice, closer.

  Megan, shrieking, crying for Mommy and Daddy from the bedroom.

  “I’m gonna kill the both of ya,” raged Mouth, “and then I’m gonna rape that little piglet till she’s dead.”

  Cackler held her right arm with both hands while Mouth absorbed the pain in his thigh and squeezed his arm around her neck. She could almost see Cackler’s shadow leaning into her, the early dawn light from beyond the front door outlining him. Lauryn struggled against their grips. It was as if an anaconda were suddenly winding itself around her upper body. But she still had her legs. She used her mind to fill in the hazy shade of Cackler she could actually see. He was out of position for her knee, too close to her. But she arched back against Mouth and Cackler stood up with him to maintain his grip. Lauryn angled the toes of her left foot like a ballerina and whipped her leg out and up.

  Cackler gasped, then released his grip too late to protect his testicles. Lauryn twisted and tried to bring the cleaver up and around at Mouth again.

  “Oh, no you don’t!”

  Mouth felt her shift and tightened his arm around her neck.

  Lauryn jerked her head back into this nose. Mouth cried out and she slipped straight down between his arms. Turning quickly, she swung the cleaver into his meaty calf. Mouth squealed and she slipped backward toward the hallway.

  “Mark, tell me where you are!”

  “Here!” Behind the couch, not four feet from her. She could see his hazy form, a blob of shadow with an outstretched hand.

  “Give me the gun!”

  “Gonna kill you both!” screamed Mouth, falling on top of Cackler.

  Lauryn made her way to the couch, felt along its edge till she bumped into Mark’s blob. She traced the length of his arm with her hands, took the gun from him, and turned.

  The light was brighter now. The shapes more solid but still hard to make out. Everything in front of her, the chair, the wall, the broken door, their attackers … one big, textured blob.

  “What’re you gonna do?” she shouted toward the door, her eyes trying to parse the shapes. “What’re you gonna do to the piglet in the back room?”

  “I’m gonna—”

  BLAM-BLAM-BLAM.

  Mouth went silent.

  “Thanks for telling me where you were, asshole.”

  “Wait! Wait!” Cackler was whining. She could see a dim shape writhing on the floor, trying to slough off Mouth like an old skin. “It was him! I didn’t want nothin’!”

  Lauryn blinked once, twice. A third time. It was like she was waking up from sleep and looking up from the bottom of a swimming pool filled with Sunny D at the same time. But now she could see distinctive shapes. And light. Shadow.

  “Hey, I think my eyesight’s coming back,” Mark breathed.

  Lauryn raised the gun and pointed to the left of the blob that was crabbing its way out the door. She fired once.

  “Come back here and I’ll blow your balls off next time!” she yelled.

  Cackler scrambled to his feet and fled the apartment.

  Chapter 11. Sunday, morning.

  The winds lifted her up. They bore her forward. She looked below and smiled, twisting her red hair in and out of her fingers. She could not have wished for a kingdom so well suited to her appetites had she built it by her own hand.

  As she passed from flying over sea to flying over land, she regarded the vessels in the humans’ port. Some of them, quite large, lay on their sides. Ot
her, smaller vessels lay askew on the land, their keels broken in two like the back of a mighty gladiator, humbled and awaiting the final stroke. Some of the ships appeared nearly undamaged. She directed her hail to pound them. She commanded her lightning to split their hulls at the waterline. She wanted those destined to worship her to prepare for her arrival. She wanted them abject and on their knees.

  What better way to ensure that than to destroy their greatest achievements? These tools that allowed them to conquer a planet. To stretch beyond what their meager muscles could do. To humble man, she would first show him how a god’s power could take all he’d fashioned in the feeble lifetime of his race and destroy it utterly.

  The edge of her power stretched seventy-five miles around her in all directions. The bands of winds swept her forward like the blade of a great saw of water and air, scything all in its path. Homes already under water were assaulted again. She smelled the stench of recent death beginning to bloom, of yellow fear carried to her on the storm winds. The survivors below panicked again as her power heaped suffering on loss. She inhaled the reek deeply. She shuddered with pleasure as she breathed its pure, carnal scent.

  Survivors, yes, but not for long.

  A neighborhood of homes passed below. A mother on the roof of a house reaching out for her son, who held on for dear life to the top of a stranded vehicle.

  These humans and their love for invention, she thought. How they make themselves so dependent on such fragile things.

  She sent lightning to the boy and reveled in the mother’s screams. Then she sent her winds to blow the mother off the roof to drown.

  A dog on another roof with a sign that spelled out H-E-L-P U-S. But the dog cowered alone under part of the awning, trying in vain to protect itself from her storm’s assault. She let the dog see her, watched its ears flatten against its canine skull, smiled as it cowered deeper into its fragile shelter. Its shriek of agony before electrocution took its life was almost as satisfying as the mother’s terror at losing her son had been.