Out of the Dark (Light & Dark #1) Read online

  I gather some small sticks and then use my almost empty lighter to start a fire. I slowly add more sticks and some dry grass to the fire until it is big enough to cook on. I found the lighter—and the cigarettes—a week or so back. Which was lucky, because my hands were covered in so many blisters from making fires using two sticks that I could barely hold Lilly’s hand without it hurting. The lighter makes things much easier. Eventually the fire is burning well enough for me to heat the beans for her, and soon enough she’s tucking into them with enough gusto to make me laugh.

  “I thought you hated them,” I say between drags of my cigarette.

  “I do.” She smiles and fills her cheeks, chewing greedily. “But I’m hungry.”

  My stomach grumbles loudly, and heat rises in my cheeks. I’m glad that I’m sitting down as a dizzy spell passes through me, making my empty stomach twist in on itself. The headache that has been building all morning eventually breaks free, and I feel momentarily blinded by the pulsing pain behind my eyes. The urge to squeeze them shut and moan in agony is heavy and ripe, but I contain it because I don’t want to frighten her.

  I stare off into the distance, controlling my breathing until the pain subsides. My cigarette burns down between my fingers until it singes the tips and I drop it with a yelp. When I look down, I see Lilly is staring at me sadly, fork poised before her open mouth.

  “You should eat,” she whispers.

  “I’m okay, I ate earlier,” I lie easily. I suck on my finger to ease the burn, but it does little to help.

  Satisfied with my answer, she continues to eat, and I stand and sift through the first aid kit until I find the last painkiller. I pop it in my mouth and grab the water bottle before realizing it is empty. I drop the empty bottle back into the trunk of my car and force the dry, powdery tablet down my equally dry throat. I feel it wedge there and I continue to swallow until it starts to dissolve, leaving a vile, bitter taste in my mouth. At least it’s down is all I can think.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose to ease the pain of my headache. Both frustration and anger burn through me. Tears build behind my lids, but I press them away with the heel of my hand and I turn to Lilly as she finishes the beans and lets out a small burp.

  “All better now?” I ask.

  She nods and smiles before picking up a stick and drawing in the dirt on the ground. Everything is dirty these days—dirty and ruined. And dying.

  Chapter Two.

  #2 Trust your instincts.

  It’s early afternoon before the headache subsides enough for me to think clearly, and I approach Lilly with thoughts of a scavenger trip. As usual she instantly says no, but I press the matter with her. We have no water and now no food. If we don’t go today, we’ll need to go tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then the day after. Each day that passes, I warn her, I grow weaker and less able. We have no other choices; it’s only a matter of time. She doesn’t reply to me. Instead she climbs into her chair without further words and refuses to look at me.

  I pack our things back into the beat-up car, and as I back out of our parking space I pray that we have a safe trip and make it back up here before nightfall. I glance at Lilly in my rearview mirror. She’s sulking, her hands wrapped tightly around Mr. Bear and her bottom lip poking out in a pout. She still refuses to look at me, but she’ll be happier when we have food and water. Perhaps I can find her a coloring book, or maybe a toy—anything would do at this point, though I know I’m grasping at crumbling straws.

  My stomach gurgles in pain and anxiety as we drive away from our hilltop encampment. I climb out and pull the large gate back behind us, snapping the lock into place, and continue down the ruined road, dodging burnt-out cars and dried-out bones. Our car leaves tracks in the dust, showing just how long we’ve been up here, and I’m satisfied that no one found this path. No monsters, no humans—no one. We are still safe. For now, at least.

  It’s an hour or so before we are back in any form of civilization—if you can call it that now. Everything here has been picked clean—I should know, I’ve tried almost every house in the little seafront town. I know that I’m going to have to go further afield this time, and that’s even more worrying. At least here, I know more or less what to expect. I know where the nests of these things are, and I know most of the places to avoid. I roll down my window, letting the sea air into the car to help clear my thoughts. Stress eats away at my empty gut but I ignore the pain as best I can and grasp at memories of playing by the sea, the water washing between my toes.

  I drive out of town with a worried sigh, and Lilly’s voice whispers to me from the back seat.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s nothing here anymore—nothing we can eat or drink. We need to drive to a different town. One that will have food.” I watch her in my mirror. Again, she doesn’t argue with me on the matter, but looks away with another pout and begins to cry softly against Mr. Bear’s brown, matted fur. I think I’d prefer her to argue with me than cry. At least then I wouldn’t feel so guilty at making her sad, or so full of self-doubt that we are doing the right thing by leaving. I wish there were another way, but there’s not. Food and water are our goals. And of course a coloring book. She’ll be happy then, I reason as I continue to drive, trying to ignore her soft whimpers from behind me.

  Another hour of driving passes with nothing but ruined houses, collapsed buildings, and abandoned cars. We pass down a tree-lined road and I see a small sign pointing to a turnoff on the left. I stop the car and look around before I get out. I examine the road carefully, seeing no recent tracks of any sort—no telltale wheel marks from other cars or footprints, and even more thankfully, no claw marks from the monsters. The road is almost invisible, blocked by debris and bushes.

  Satisfied, I get back in behind the wheel, take the turn, and follow the ruined road upward between the trees, panicking when they become so tightly packed that they momentarily block out some of the daylight. Lilly has fallen asleep, and for that I’m glad. I don’t think she would be happy about our current situation at all, and I’m not sure my gut could take any more guilt.

  The road eventually opens up onto a long driveway, and right at the end is a circular island with bright green grass in its center. Behind the circular, green-grassed island there is a huge mansion with enough windows to put a glass company to shame.

  “Jesus,” I murmur to myself. My stomach does a little flip, but my heart is excited. This could be the mother lode, I think as I drive faster toward the house, sending dust billowing up behind us.

  I drive the car around the circular island in front of the house, pulling to a stop outside the large, heavy-looking wooden front door. Lilly is still sleeping soundly, her small snores sounding peaceful. I wonder whether to wake her or leave her be, thinking that the rest might do her good. I step out and look to the sky. The sun is still high, indicating that there is plenty of daylight left. The sky is bright and clear, not even the sprinkling of a cloud to be seen.

  I think she’ll be okay here, I decide. I haven’t seen signs of the monsters or another human. In fact, it’s been months since we’ve seen another human. It’s probably safer in the sun than inside the danger of the shadows from the house, so I decide to leave Lilly sleeping until I know it’s safe. I make my way to the front steps and peer in through a bottom window beside the wooden door. Nothing moves inside. The place is covered in a thin layer of dust, and again my heart flips in excitement. The front foyer of the home is like a greenhouse—more expensive glass lets in sunlight from every angle.

  I walk around the perimeter of the house, checking in as many windows as I can, and find the same thing: dust-covered furniture and nothing more. Around the back of the house is a large barn area, and my head tells me that it’s a prime monster hideout. I clench my knife tighter and head over to it as quietly as I can, stepping through the overgrown lawn and dried up flowerbeds. I should leave it be, but I’d rather know than not know. I don’t like to be surprised.

&n
bsp; I peer up at the barn, seeing gaps in the slats of wood where the sun can seep in. Sunlight means no monsters, I think as I brush my filthy hair away from my sweaty forehead. My hand tentatively touches the latch on the barn door. It’s rusty and stiff, and will take both hands to push it up, meaning that I have to slip my knife into a back pocket so I can have the use of both hands—something I don’t want to do, not even for a minute. If something is inside there, I need both hands free to fight. Indecision twists my gut, and with a heavy heart I put my knife away. Because if we are to stay here tonight—if we are to be safe—I need to know that this place is definitely free of them.

  With shaking hands, I pull the door open wide, putting all my strength behind it. I could leave whatever might be in here to its own devices, but really, when night falls, if we’re still here, the monsters will hunt us down and slaughter us like pigs. So I have to check everywhere—for Lilly’s sake as well as my own.

  Sunlight explodes into the dark barn as I yank open the heavy door, a creak and a groan sounding as the hinges stiffly move. I wait for the noises of hissing and screaming, for the burning and toasting of graying flesh, but nothing happens. Dust motes floating in the thick, stagnant air are the only signs of movement within. A bubble of laughter tickles the back of my throat as my heart races wildly in my chest, rocketing at a hundred miles an hour. I look inside the barn, safe in my place in the sun at the open doorway. I see nothing of use: rusted old tools, horse saddles, engine parts. I shut the door—latch it, too, just to be sure—and then I pull my knife back out and continue my perimeter search with a more confident step.

  Arriving back at the front of the house, I feel the trace of a smile graces my lips. From every window I looked through, the place seemed untouched by anything human or monster. No one and nothing has resided here for a very long time, it seems. This means a couple of things: food could still be inside, and perhaps even a place to rest for the night. I squeeze away tears, which threaten to fall at the thought of that. Perhaps this place could be safe for a while. It seems almost too good to be true, and I swallow back my happiness, not daring to trust in it yet.

  My eyes fall on our car and fear ignites like a spark from a match: the back passenger door is wide open—Lilly’s door. I run to it and look inside, my heart ravaging my chest cavity. Both Lilly and Mr. Bear are missing. I climb inside and check under the seats, scrambling out the other side of the car.

  “Lilly?” I whisper shout. Panic ripens in my chest like a balloon being overfilled. I want to scream her name from the rooftops, but I can’t. The balloon of panic is filling and filling and threatening to explode.

  I take a steadying breath and look around, trying to calm my raging emotions, panic threatening to overflow from me at any moment. I look at the ground, seeing little footprints at the side of the car. Without a doubt, they are her footprints. They head toward the house, and without a second thought, that’s where I head too. I need to find my little Honeybee. My Lilly.

  Chapter Three.

  #3. Stay close to your loved ones.

  I follow her tiny footprints, trailing them toward the back of the house, and I realize that she had been following my steps. My eyes flit to the barn, seeing the heavy door still closed like I left it. I lose her footsteps somewhere in the overgrown grass, and I blink back furious tears—furious at myself for ever leaving her, furious at my stupidity. She must have been so frightened when she woke, seeing that I wasn’t there by her side—the place I always promised to be—and went looking for me.

  I choke on a sob as I hear her voice calling my name, and I turn and run toward the sound. My leg muscles pump, pushing foot ahead of foot in my eagerness to get to her. I see her small frame by the back door, her little curls glistening in the sunshine as if spun from gold. She turns and sees me and begins to sob quietly as she hugs Mr. Bear.

  I reach her in seconds, my arms wrapping around her in a blanket of warm protectiveness, dragging her up into my arms. I crush her small frame to mine and kiss her head over and over as I blink back tears.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lilly,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Her body shakes in my arms. “You left me,” she whispers against my neck. “I was all alone.”

  I shake my head. “No, never! I was just checking that everywhere was safe, and you were sleeping, and…” I hug her fiercely. “I’d never leave you. Never ever. I’m so sorry.”

  I pull out of the embrace and look into her face. Wetness covers her cheeks and I wipe it away with the palms of my hands, smearing the dirt there. She reaches out with her little porcelain fingers and wipes away mine, and I kiss her damp fingertips and continue to beg for forgiveness.

  “I’m sorry. I promise not to leave you again. Next time I’ll wake you.”

  She nods, happy with my apology, though I can still see her face tinged with panic and sadness, and my heart is still beating furiously.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. Cross my heart and hope to—” I don’t finish the sentence.

  “Can we go now?” she whispers, her eyes sad but her words even sadder.

  “I think there may be food inside. I want to go in and look.”

  She shakes her head furiously. I know what she is thinking: the last time I went into a house, I nearly didn’t make it out—but we need food and water and other basic things, and this place seems so empty.

  My stomach gurgles loudly and amusement flashes in her eyes for the briefest of moments before flickering out again.

  “See? Even my belly thinks it’s safe to go inside,” I say with a smile.

  She takes a deep, shuddering breath and finally nods, sniffling as she does. I can tell that she is trying to be brave for me, and I’m grateful. I’m scared too, so I can only imagine how she must feel. I balance her on my hip and go to the back door, and I wipe away the dirt on the window and peer inside. I lean Lilly over so she can see in too.

  “See? The dust is settled—nothing has been in here for a long time,” I say, turning to look into her large brown eyes, trying to offer her some form of reassurance.

  She peers in again and then looks back at me. “No monsters?”

  “I don’t think so,” I reply.

  “No people?”

  My heart pains for her. “I don’t think so.” People have been so cruel. “We have to try, Lilly.”

  She juts out her bottom lip but nods all the same, clutching Mr. Bear tighter to her chest.

  “I need to put you down for a minute. I need to break the lock.” She shakes her head, her fingers digging into me.

  “I have to.” I gently pry her white-knuckled grip away from me; her chin quivers, but she relents and slowly slides down my body and to the ground.

  I dig the tip of my knife into the keyhole and jiggle it around, hoping that it will magically unlock, but nothing happens. I look through the window again and huff until I feel Lilly tug on my jeans leg and I look down to her.

  She points to the small cat flap at the bottom of the door. “I can’t fit through there, honey.”

  She continues to stare at me, eyes wide, frightened, and glossy as she points again. I look from the flap to her and get her meaning.

  “I want to help.” She whispers it so quietly that I barely hear her.

  I shake my head. “No, no way. Anything could be in there.”

  Her brow scrunches up in confusion. “You said that there were no monsters.”

  “I don’t think there are any monsters.”

  “You said there were no people.”

  I rub my forehead, my headache coming back with a vengeance. “I said I don’t think there is anyone in there. I can’t say for certain on anything.”

  Dizziness overcomes me and I know I need to sit down. The heat beating down on me, the worry, and the lack of food and water in my system have all built up to such a level that I feel faint again. I sit, lowering my head between my knees, and take slow, deep breaths. I’d do anyth
ing for a drink of water right now. I close my eyes, feeling Lilly’s little hand on my shoulder, patting me in an attempt to comfort. Her head rests a second later near the same spot. She knows that I’m getting sick; I was a fool to think I could hide it from her. She’s so smart for her age.

  “I’ll be okay.” I mumble.

  I keep my eyes closed as I concentrate on my breathing, listening to the steady thrum of my heartbeat and the birds chirping in the sky. Time stands still, or perhaps it waits for me to catch up. I know something is wrong when my head feels heavy and it drops suddenly between my knees as I nod off and wake myself up all in the same fraction of a second.

  I jump and grab for my knife as my eyes spring open. I stand quickly when I find Lilly to be missing again.

  “Lilly?” I spin on the spot looking for her, my eyes landing on the cat flap as I step up to the window and look inside.

  She’s on the other side of the door, reaching up from her tiptoes to snag the lock open, but she’s too small and can’t reach. Her wide eyes find me at the window and she gives a little shrug. I look past her into the room behind, hoping to find something she can stand on, but see nothing but coats and shoes. I crouch down to the ground and push the cat flap up as I peer inside. Lilly’s face comes nose to nose with me a moment later, her cheeks flushed.

  “I can’t reach.”

  “I know, Lilly. Don’t worry. Come out now.”

  “I could go look for a chair.”

  “No. I want you to come out now.” Pain flashes behind my eyes, rocking my body and making me gasp. “Come out right now,” I say between clenched teeth. I sit back on my haunches to catch my breath as hunger pangs run tight across my abdomen. I pull out my cigarettes with shaking hands and light one immediately in the hopes that it will again alleviate some of the pains, which are becoming more and more frequent. I watch the little door for Lilly, frowning when she doesn’t come straight out, and I poke the door upwards with my hand while exhaling smoke out of the side of my mouth. “Lilly?” I see her little feet tiptoeing away. “Get back out here now!” I whisper urgently, my voice tinged with desperation.