The Last Five Days: Day Two: Evil Urges: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

T
hings
Like That Never Happen Here.

The townsfolk of Black Dog wrapped themselves in that sentiment like a security blanket. Being part of the tight-knit, small town shielded them from the horror that plagued the evening news.

And then something happened.

It happened fast. People got sick. People got violent. People died.

But the hunger lived on.

M
elanie Carpenter has fears
. One being the dark. And the power just went out in Black Dog. Her boyfriend is missing and Melanie has no idea of the evil lurking outside her door.

T
he power went
out about five last night. Melanie Carpenter hoped the darkness would be brief. The last time she was in total darkness was when lightning hit a transformer over the summer. The black lasted a few hours, even though it felt like an eternity. She couldn't be sure, but given the sliver of light invading the crack in her closet door, it was probably about seven in the morning. Maybe Melanie could get a little sleep once the sun was out. Her body needed it. She ached. Insomnia wasn't new to Melanie. It was something she had dealt with since college, but absence of light made sleep impossible.

Melanie hadn't always been afraid of the dark. The fear began one night during her senior year at NYU. She was walking home from coffee with friends when two men robbed her just a few blocks from her apartment. Something gnawed at Melanie, telling her not to walk down that alleyway. She didn't listen. Melanie had walked the path before. One light attached to the wall beside the back entrance to a donut shop usually scared the darkness away, but it was out. Melanie's gut told her to find another way home. The steady rain convinced her that the alley was the quickest. She never saw the men's faces, only the clown masks. Both were tall, well over six feet. One had a gun. The other had a hunting knife. Melanie wouldn't have known this, but the man told her explicitly how easily the knife could gut a deer. Whenever she saw deer, gooseflesh raced up her forearms. Whenever Melanie was forced into total darkness, terror paralyzed her.

The robbery was the main reason Melanie moved to Black Dog after graduation. There was no way she could walk the streets of a busy city and feel safe again. Small-town life was her security blanket. At least that was the case until two weeks ago, when she watched her neighbors killing each other and tearing flesh from bone with their teeth.

When the sickness reared its head, Melanie tried to leave Black Dog, but the cavalcade of military vehicles wouldn't let her pass. It didn't matter that her father was First Sergeant James Carpenter. This wasn't an "it's who you know" situation. If you were unlucky enough to be in Black Dog when the sickness hit, you weren't getting out.

Melanie opened the closet door. Her bedroom filled with sunlight. She stepped out into the room and rolled her neck, trying to alleviate the stiffness. Melanie shook her legs to get blood flowing again. Being cramped in the closet did a number on her knees. She walked to the window and peeked through the blinds. Black Dog never had a hustle and bustle feel, but now it was a ghost town. No cars. No bikes. No people.

Melanie sat on the edge of her bed. She looked at the phone, wishing it would ring, knowing there was no chance now that the power was out. For days, Melanie had wanted to hear Dean's voice. She needed to know he was all right. If Dean was alive, he would make sure nothing harmed Melanie.
If he was alive.
As each day passed, the likelihood of that being the case slimmed.

Dean Kurten was Black Dog's newest resident. He moved there about six months earlier to take a job at Tyler Construction. Black Dog was small, but it was growing, and Jonathan Tyler was doing well for himself as more people wanted the small-town life. Tiny houses were the "new" thing and Tyler could put up about four a month on land he bought just south of town.

Melanie met Dean one morning while having breakfast at Luther's Diner. The first thing that caught her eye was Dean's height. He was tall, about six-four. He had rugged good looks. Melanie chuckled under her breath when she thought of him as a real-life Brawny Towel Guy.

Luther's was packed as always and Melanie took the opportunity to offer Dean a seat at her booth. She was never the type to make the first move, but there was something about Dean that went beyond his height and looks. He gave off a "protective" type vibe. After breakfast, Dean asked Melanie if he could take her to dinner sometime. From then on, they spoke every day until a week ago. Melanie refused to believe Dean was dead, even though that was the only reason she could think of for him not calling. Phones had worked until last night.

A sharp pain pierced Melanie's left eye, leading to a dull ache in her forehead. She stood up and started to the kitchen.

"No power. No coffee."

Melanie rubbed between her eyes, trying to knead the ache away.

"I don't need caffeine. I need sleep."

Melanie returned to her bedroom. Exhaustion shoved her onto the bed. She closed her eyes.

W
inston Fleming stretched
his arms before pushing himself out of the recliner. He couldn't believe he had such a good sleep on the chair. He walked down the hallway to the spare bedroom. The door was boarded shut with scrap wood Winston picked up from Tom Collins's cabinet shop.

"The door's still there. That's a good thing."

Imprisoned behind the door was Winston's wife, Marianna. Small cracks in the door made Winston thankful for the extra protection. At some point, Marianna would break through the door. He sat on the floor and called out to his wife.

"How ya feeling, honey?"

A slam against the door caused Winston to fall back against the wall. Wood splintered. One of the cracks turned into a gap. Several smaller slams sounded like fists pounding against the door. A milky-filmed eyeball met Winston's as he eyed the gap. A memory of chasing Marianna on one of their weekend hikes washed over him. Marianna would hide behind a tree. She would look around the right side as Winston looked around the left. Then she would look left. Winston right. This went on for a bit until they would meet on the same side and kiss. Winston wanted nothing more than to kiss his wife. He inched closer to the door. An overwhelming smell of rot choked him. Winston placed his hands on the wood and kissed next to the gap.

"I'm going to save you."

A bang slammed the door into his face. The impact jarred his nose and forced him to bite his lip. A metallic taste of blood flooded Winston's mouth. He wiped his nose. The pool of blood puddled into the palm of his hand.

"You can beat me until I'm black and blue, but I'm not giving up on you."

Winston stood up, pressed his hand against the door, and left a bloody print. He went to the bathroom, opened the blinds, looked in the mirror, and inspected the damage.

"Well, it's not broken."

Winston ran his tongue over his teeth.

"No broken teeth."

He pulled his top lip up, revealing a gash.

"It'll heal."

Winston wiped his face with a towel and tossed it into the tub.

"No need to go to Luther's today. I guess I'll try to find Salk."

A
knock woke Melanie
. She was always a light sleeper, but she never hated it more than now. She needed rest. Another knock. Melanie tucked her knees and clutched the blanket. The sound of three shorter, rapid knocks bounced down the hallway. She put a pillow over her head.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

And then silence.

Melanie pulled the pillow from her face. She loosened her grip on the blanket and sat up in bed. Just as she relaxed, there was a tap on her bedroom window. She flung her body against the wall and covered herself with the blanket.

"Melanie, are you in there?"

"Dean?" Melanie lowered the blanket below her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Dean.

Dean tapped on the glass again.

Melanie tossed the blanket and ran to the window. She pressed her hand against it. "Dean. You're alive."

"Of course I'm alive. Let me in. It's crazy out here."

"Come to the door."

Dean was on the porch when Melanie opened the door. She stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I was so worried."

Dean wrapped his arm around Melanie's waist, lifted her, and stepped into the house. He kissed her on the cheek. She grabbed his face and kissed his lips. Dean pushed away and held up a bag of donuts.

"Hungry? I got the last bag from Al's."

Melanie smiled. "I'd make coffee, but the power is out."

"We'll make do."

Melanie grabbed Dean's hand and led him to the kitchen. She noticed the bandage as she ran her fingertips over his knuckles.

"I'm fine," Dean said. "It's just crazy out there."

A smile chased worry from Melanie's face. She let go of Dean's hand and took two small plates from a cabinet.

"You want a jelly or chocolate-covered?" Dean opened the bag.

"Surprise me."

Dean closed his eyes and dug into the donuts. He pulled out a chocolate-covered. He held it up and smiled.

"Where have you been?" Melanie asked.

"I got trapped on a site. I was working with a couple guys when Tyler pulled up. He had this crazy look. I figured he was just pissed at Harold again for screwing up something on another job. Before I knew it, Tyler planted a crowbar into Jerry's head. He grabbed Harold and started biting him."

Melanie paused mid-bite into the donut. "Biting him?"

"Do you know what's going on out there?"

"I know there is some sort of virus."

Dean chuckled. "Oh, honey, it's not a virus. It's the end of the world."

Melanie dropped the donut onto the plate in front of her.

Dean grabbed her hand. "It's OK. I'm here now. I'm not going to let them hurt you." He rubbed the back of her hand.

"People are killing people?"

"Remember those two fishermen that died but didn't die?" Dean paused to laugh at the ridiculousness of his words. "I guess they had some kind of virus that makes people want to eat each other. I can't imagine human flesh tasting better than this jelly donut." He took another bite, hoping humor would lessen the fear of the words.

"Zombies are out there?" Melanie's voice was barely above a whisper.

Dean smiled and wiped jelly from his week-old beard. "They're not zombies. I'm not sure what they are, but no one's leaving their grave."

"How did you get away?"

"I thought about running while Tyler was preoccupied with Harold's forearm, but then I thought about you. I had to protect you. I picked up the crowbar…"

Melanie put her hand on Dean's arm. "It's OK. It was self-defense."

"I buried it into his forehead."

Don't think about moving or I'll bury a bullet in your forehead.
Melanie pulled away from Dean and got up from the table. She folded her arms and huddled next to the refrigerator.

"What's wrong, honey?"

Melanie didn't answer. The words "buried it into his forehead" brought back memories of the night in New York when she was robbed. One of the masked men put the barrel of a gun against her forehead and said, "Don't think about moving or I'll bury a bullet in your forehead." Every muscle in Melanie's body froze just as they did that night.

Dean walked toward Melanie. She cowered into a corner.

"I'm not sick, honey. What's wrong?" Dean opened his arms in a hugging gesture. "I'm not going to hurt you. I came here to protect you."

Dean extended his hand to Melanie. It only took a few seconds for her to shake the bad memory. She smiled and placed her hand in Dean's.

"I'm sorry. I don't talk about this a lot, but when I lived in New York, I was mugged by two guys in clown masks. One of them said something about burying a bullet in my forehead. That just brought back the memory."

Dean didn't say anything. He pulled Melanie to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

A
package
of smoked turkey was the last thing in the refrigerator. Winston grabbed it and tossed it into the freezer, hoping the temperature would stay cool long enough for him to get back with gasoline for the generator. He bought the generator after the summer storm that knocked the power out for a few hours but never took it out of the box. That was Winston. He was an impulse buyer. Most things seemed a good idea at the time he parted ways with his hard-earned cash, but after a few hours, the need lessened and the necessity took up space next to other essentials in his basement. Winston looked at a note on his phone — GET GAS FOR GENERATOR. It was dated exactly three months earlier.

"I'll get some gas, come back, get the generator started, and then go see Salk."

Winston grabbed a hoodie from the closet. Just as he was about to leave, he saw Marianna's iPod in a bowl next to the door where they kept their keys. Winston smiled, picked up the iPod, and flipped through Marianna's playlists. He stopped at one named DREAMING. The first song was "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by John Denver. Winston hated the song, hated John Denver. Marianna knew that, yet every chance she got, she sang the words to Winston. Usually, she only got to the first chorus before she smiled and kissed him, mimicking the lyrics.

Winston scrolled through the playlist. The first ten songs were by John Denver. Winston smiled, shook his head, and placed the earbuds in his ears. As John Denver sang, Winston closed his eyes and imagined Marianna dancing around the living room like a flower child from the sixties. She was a hippie. He wasn't. Winston's playlists were full of rock and metal, yet he would gladly listen to John Denver every day if it meant bringing his wife back.

Winston opened his eyes and grabbed his loaded Colt from the table.

"Be back soon, Marianna."

Winston froze at the first step on the porch.

"I don't have a gas can."

Winston never thought to buy a new gas can. He had to toss the metal gas can he inherited from his grandfather after rust ate through it. Of all the "necessities" he had to have, Winston never bought the one that he actually needed. He laughed. There were a few cans in Harry's shed. Winston doubted his old friend would mind if he borrowed them.

M
elanie sat
, with her legs crossed, on the floor. Dean was on a couch behind her, massaging her shoulders. His touch relaxed her. The flames dancing in the fireplace mesmerized her. Any other time, this would be paradise. This was the life Melanie dreamed of, well, except that she was a prisoner in her own home.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Meanie asked. "The military won't budge."