Dark Vanishings 3: Post-Apocalyptic Horror: Dark Vanishings

By Dan Padavona

"Book Three in the Dark Vanishings series On Sale for a limited time only!"

On a May afternoon, people awakened to find themselves alone in their towns, their neighbors mysteriously vanished. Those left behind searched for friends and family, hoping to survive.

But they were not alone in the world.

The spellbinding post-apocalyptic thriller, Dark Vanishings, continues in Episode Three.

After being left for dead by a brutal attack, Viper must survive the Florida heat and find a way to reach the community of survivors. Amy and Keeshana battle the lunatic boy chasing them through the southeast, and the Florida Bliss survivors are forced to choose between a Utopian community and the rule of law. While they decide, an evil older than time stalks the new society.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Padavona
• Release date: Jun 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386590477

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Snake Hunters

Starlight distorted the angles of the seaside community and probed its murky reaches without revealing its secrets. Breakers crashed along the shoreline in silvery black, while gulls circled and cried down the beach, made restless by the fury of the waves.

Inside the beach house, Viper teetered on the edge of sleep. As his eyelids closed of their own weight, he heard his friend, Hank Jenner, calling frantically over the walkie-talkie, like a voice from a dream. Viper jumped off the couch too quickly and plowed into a recliner that was an indistinct, gray shape in the darkness. Still groggy from his nap, Viper pulled open the sliding glass door and stumbled out to the porch. The sea breeze roared in his ears, sand grains stinging the deck like tiny wasps.

I’m here, Hank. Slow down and tell me what’s happening over there.

What Hank told him sounded too crazy to be true, and yet Viper knew Hank to be reliable. But a monster attacking Florida Bliss? Hank had to be mistaken. A big wolf, or maybe a bear had wandered into the community. Behind Hank’s fluster, Viper heard people screaming and something that sounded like gunfire. Viper looked from the unforgiving surf to the corner of the house where the Harley stood resting at the top of the driveway.

Get everyone inside, and don’t let anyone try to be a hero. Wait for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

The gusting wind whipped around him in eddies, swirling desiccated leaves over the blacktop. Sand grains pelted the backs of his legs, biting into his skin like tiny mosquitoes. Stuffing a handgun into his pocket, he started the Harley’s engine and turned into the street. He took a sharp left onto a western thoroughfare that led back to the commerce center, the highway, and eventually Florida Bliss. Leaning into the turn, he came within inches of scraping his shoulder against the street, but the Harley took the turn smoothly, and he quickly righted the motorcycle and accelerated westward. Now a quarter mile from the beach, the wind died off significantly, shunted by construction—boutiques, apartment complexes, gas stations, a scattering of residential homes—and tall palms. Each building appeared as a lifeless crypt under the night sky, facades colored gray by the starlight.

He pushed the bike harder, cranking on the accelerator as the scenery whipped past in a blur. From the corner of his eye, he recognized strip malls and a multitude of big-box retailers. He turned down a side street and reemerged on the western side of the commerce glut, signs for I-95 interspersed along the roadside with hurricane evacuation route markers. Florida Bliss was only a few minutes away, and he might have seen the lights of the community had it not been for the high-rise office buildings and condos which blotted out the horizon. His mind kept replaying the panicked cries of the community and Hank’s frantic call over the walkie-talkie. What is happening inside the neighborhood? I should never have left them alone.

Seeking the interstate, he swung the Harley northward, passing between a community college and a row of chain restaurants. Street lights became pendulums, swinging along black strands of electrical wire nearly invisible under the depthless sky. The motorcycle’s speedometer hit 60, 70, 80 mph, buildings to either side of the road altered to nebulous grays. The salty taste of the Atlantic hung thick with the dewy night, and as he peered toward the now visible lights of Florida Bliss on the west side of the interstate, the highway entrance ramp appeared on the far side of a travel plaza set off to the right.

Something blocked the ramp, and Viper needed to crank hard on the brakes to avoid smashing the Harley into the unexpected wall. The back tire skidded past the front, spinning the bike in a half-circle that left him facing the travel plaza, a lonely cemetery standing against the silence.

What in the—

Turning the motorcycle toward the highway ramp, he saw the barricade. Two dump trucks blocked the foot of the ramp, parked bumper-to-bumper so that nothing could slip past. Even the shoulder was cut off by the rusty behemoths.

Viper, a former bounty hunter who preferred the solitude of his coastal beach house to the community of survivors at Florida Bliss, stood studying the barricade. Since the majority of the world had disappeared, Hank Jenner and the few people Viper encountered had opted to live in the solar-powered neighborhood, slowly rebuilding their vision of society and community.

The Harley rumbled as it idled, the headlight casting a solid beam that glistened against the pockmarked exteriors of the trucks. He stood watching the barrier, listening to the howling wind, watching the shadows for movement. The barrier was newly erected, the ramp having been passable as recently as yesterday when he had driven his Chevy truck past the survivors’ community. Nothing had seemed out of place in the neighborhood, and he had viewed several vehicles parked past the entry gates, while a myriad of people unloaded supply boxes, shaking hands and making introductions.

As he replayed Hank’s panicked call in his mind, worry knotted his stomach. Something he couldn’t comprehend had attacked the community. Bubbling nausea in Viper’s gut told him several people were already dead, and plenty more would die if he did not find a way around the blockade. Setting the bike on its stand, he climbed off the seat and approached the dump trucks, gun in hand. His footfalls were silent, as Viper was quite capable of moving unheard when the situation required. His eyes moved up and down the thoroughfare, which rapidly fell into darkness in each direction, swallowed by the night. Glancing at the hulks of abandoned vehicles, he felt exposed crossing the roadway. He sensed eyes upon him. As he scanned the shadows for someone hunkered down, waiting to get the jump on him, he saw only the desolation of a vanished community. While he drew closer, the dump trucks appeared to grow in size, like metal mammoths in a world enslaved by machines.

He was about to climb into the cab of the first truck when a pinging sound brought his head around.

The engine is still hot.

Now he knew the trucks had been set in place in the last several minutes. Whoever was responsible was close by, watching. Before his mind registered the impending danger, headlights blinded him from opposite directions. The scream of tires tore through the gloom. As Viper swiveled his head between the opposing beams, two vehicles barreled out of the darkness from either end of the thoroughfare, trapping him in the middle of the road. He had no time to react. It was by pure instinct that he lunged away from the motorcycle, falling toward the dump trucks. The first vehicle, a station wagon screaming out of the night, clipped him on his back with the side mirror and sent Viper careening toward the entrance ramp. The gun flew from his hands, disappearing across the street. The station wagon struck the Harley flush, catapulting the motorcycle into a row of abandoned vehicles, where it shattered into disparate parts. The scent of gasoline was everywhere. Agony wracked his back, threatening to cripple his escape attempt, yet he had the presence of mind to scramble across the blacktop toward the over-sized tires of the trucks.

The station wagon spun, narrowly missing the pickup truck coming head-on, before clipping a parked hatchback. The driver of the pickup slammed the brakes. While Viper crawled across the road, the two vehicles backed up and gunned their engines, high beams glaring across his back like rising suns. Something slipped and popped in his back as he crawled. He lost control of his legs.

Viper crawled forward, his forearms bearing his weight and dragging the rest of his body behind him. If he could crawl under the dump trucks, the vehicles would not be able to reach him. His back was afire with pain, his body wracked in agony.

The vehicles shifted into drive, tires squealing.

Viper twisted his body sideways and rolled the final few feet until he was beneath one of the dump trucks, framed by the huge tires. The pickup slammed into the dump truck and bounced off, shattered glass raining down like diamonds as he lay panting, praying for the feeling to return to his legs. Blood trickled out of a million tiny cuts, and every breath made him feel as though someone jammed a switchblade into his back.

Two doors slammed.

You just about killed yourself, Will. Didn’t you see the goddamn dump truck?

Lorna’s voice. I knew I should have finished them at the grocery store, Viper thought. The man and woman had inexplicably attacked Viper, but he was too fast and strong for them. A trunk popped open and was slammed shut. Footsteps approached the dump truck. Pain rocketed across Viper’s arm as it was struck by some sort of weapon. He pulled his arm under the dump truck just before a crowbar smashed the blacktop.

You wanna fuck with me, Mr. Clean? The crowbar bashed against the dump truck, making it seem as if his head was stuck inside a bass drum. Viper crawled deeper under the truck, the clear path of the entrance ramp just ahead, the silvery strip of I-95 winding northward into the starry night. Will ducked underneath the truck, swinging the crowbar at Viper’s legs and taunting him. Viper crawled faster, an amalgam of salty sweat and blood burning his eyes and dripping over his lips. The crowbar struck dully on his right calf. He was disturbed that he barely felt any pain.

When his head emerged from underneath the far side of the truck, a heavy boot stomped down on his skull. His face bounced off the pavement, his vision going black. As his sight returned, he watched his blood trickle along the blacktop.

Giggling from above, Lorna said, Will is going to kick your ass, tough guy. Shoulda just given us your bike. Shame it had to come to this.

He heard Will rounding the dump trucks, squeezing between a bumper and the guardrail as he tapped the crowbar against the trucks.

Get up, pussy.

Viper pushed himself onto his elbows. Will bashed the crowbar against his back. Anguish flashed in red lightning down Viper’s spine. His arms trembled, and he found it impossible to ball his hands into fists. His body started to give out on him, the interstate ramp becoming dark and blurry. As he dragged himself along the blacktop with his forearms, Lorna walked beside him and whistled to herself. Will slammed the crowbar down on his shoulder blades. Screaming in pain, Viper collapsed to the blacktop, feeling the warmth of the day’s sun still trapped within its crevices. He rolled over onto his side, his arms protectively wrapped around his head.

I thought you wanted to fight me? Hey, Lorna, isn’t this the same guy we saw outside the grocery market? Because all I see is a chicken-shit crybaby who can’t fight his own battles. Lorna snickered, and Will stomped down on Viper’s chest.

Kill him, Will.

My pleasure.

Suddenly frenzied, Will bashed Viper with the crowbar repeatedly, peppering his arms and legs, slamming his ribs, crushing the back of his neck. Viper’s cries filled the night, interspersed with Lorna’s maniacal laughter and Will’s grunts. The crowbar kept raining down until blood poured freely from Viper’s mouth and nose.

Viper possessed just enough strength to turn his head up toward his attacker, and what he saw froze him. Will was gone. It was his father, Dick Sanderson, holding the crowbar over his head, eyes wild with insanity.

It’s time you took your medicine, boy. I’ll teach you to stand up against me.

Viper’s eyes closed. The fierce beating commenced, his pain dulling until he felt nothing more. He heard them laughing, the voice of Dick Sanderson’s ghost rising shrilly over their taunts.

Viper twitched uncontrollably, and then he lay still. The stars shone down like stage lights on a tragic play. For a long time, Will and Lorna stood over the broken man, watching with queer interest as blood drained out in multiple rivulets.

After a while, she took Will’s hand and led him down the entrance ramp, squeezing between the dump truck and guardrail. They walked back to the station wagon, leaving Viper’s remains to the Florida wildlife.

CHAPTER TWO

Little Church in the Country

Graceful in sunrise, the old church stood a quarter-mile from the interstate, nestled beneath a complex network of maple branches that let the sun shine through in disparate beams, warm light plating the windows in gold. Keeshana awoke to a single beam brushing at her face. She stretched, yawned, and rolled over to shake Amy by the shoulder.

Keeshana Laurens and Amy Jenner had fled from Atlanta to the Georgia countryside, where they stayed a short time with a kind, aging man named Grady Sanders. Since leaving the Sanders farmhouse, they had been running for their lives. Amy harbored an unwavering belief that her father was one of the remaining survivors, but when they traveled to Chardray, South Carolina, to locate him, they were nearly murdered by a lunatic kid in a red Camaro. The kid had burned Chardray to cinders, and somehow he seemed to know Amy, though Amy had no idea who he was or why he wanted them dead.

Wake up, sunshine. It’s morning.

They lay nestled between pew rows, the rich scent of recently polished oak heavy in the air. Amy blinked and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and then she twitched, her gaze following down the center of the church to where they had chain-locked the front doors.

Easy, South Carolina. We’re safe.

Amy pulled herself up and sat next to Keeshana on a long pew. Her eyes kept moving from window to window, searching for danger, but she found only the welcoming rays of morning.

I must have had a bad dream, Amy said, running her hands through her long, blonde hair.

I’ll say. You were whining and running your legs across the floor like you were Bo. Keeshana’s grin melted the ice off Amy’s bones, but her smile turned to a grimace when her quadriceps spasmed.

They had run all day Sunday, avoiding highways and popular routes, choosing instead to stick to residential back roads where they could quickly duck inside a house or carport if they heard a motor coming. But no motor was heard, and there seemed to be no sign at all of the crazed driver who had burned Chardray to the ground and chased the girls into the forest.

They found the little Baptist church a few miles north of the Georgia border as the sun dipped behind distant hills, the sky golden and welcoming. The back door was permanently bolted, the bolt having rusted in place long ago, leaving only the front doors to be defended. They procured a chain and lock from the ma-and-pa hardware store across the street, and after laying down blankets found in the church’s basement, they fell asleep between the pews, a snug feeling of safety pervading the dimly lit interior. Here, Keeshana sensed, no demon would dare show its face. No bat-wielding murderer or Camaro-driving maniac would seek them within these safe confines.

I don’t want to run anymore, Kee. Amy met her eyes, and Keeshana saw an exhausted resolve that surely she mirrored.

Remember what we talked about in Atlanta? We can live anywhere we choose, Amy. There’s no rule that says we can’t stay right where we are. Heck, if we drag a couple mattresses into this place, it could get downright homey. We passed two farms at the edge of town, and there’s a little grocery store next to the hardware shop. And we’re several miles from the interstate, which is probably where that maniac will expect us to travel. I think we’re safe right where we are.

I feel safe, too. But…