Darkest End: Darkest end, #1

By Steven Bazydlo

The story takes place during an apocolypse. Monsterous creatures silently, but voraciously sweep their way around the world. The only hope lies in the east.

Through cities infested with an army of nameless creatures that will consume and evolve, to demonically possed manequinns. 

 

Come and see how the survivors navigate towards their only hope of salvation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Bazydlo
• Release date: Mar 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201700782

Book preview

Chapter 1

The country road is always bumpier with a heavy load. I was driving an old beater down one such road at this moment, the radio cranked up. The news drowned out the banging from the trunk in the back seat as I made my way east.

It has been so long since I was in the old farmhouse.

This journey started twenty years ago when I trapped my grandfather in that old trunk. His now-monstrous body is there now, unable to get free. I saved that woman's life that night.

My body trembled as I took those first few steps up to the porch. The house had seen better days, but it didn't look like anyone had broken in. I unlocked the deadbolt with a bit of difficulty; apparently, lack of use and time had taken its toll.

With each step, I fell further into nostalgia. The memories of my grandfather and I hiking or fishing brought me some comfort; however, the knowledge of what truly happened here kept that comfort to a minimum.

The reason I came back was because of the weird news reports that were dominating the television and radio stations. People were claiming to have seen mushrooms coming to life, and the most recent was of an entire city population and the surrounding area just disappearing. The reports of weird creatures responsible for everything were just a conspiracy theory.

Yet I knew they weren't lies.

I understand that that sounds like tabloid bullshit, but having seen what happened to my grandparents, I decided to look into some of these situations.

The main thing that is drawing me towards these places is that all reports seem to be heading in an eastern direction. Same as where my grandmother, and by translation where my grandfather, wishes to go.

Well...that is if he could complete his cycle.

OUR FIRST STOP WAS going to be a small town. I had read a news story about a room full of mannequins being discovered. A man was recovered among them, but was horribly disfigured, having had his limbs and most of his body replaced with mannequin parts. According to the story, he was somehow still alive, and he could still communicate. However, he just kept repeating that "they did this to him," while vaguely gesturing towards the motionless statues. It got even weirder because the mannequins were taken into evidence, yet the next day, they were all missing from the room. The guard was found dead. His body had been mounted on a crude display made from gun barrels and held in position by an assortment of sharp or pointed objects.

I knew what I was planning to do seemed crazy. It didn't make any sense to think any of these stories were true, but I also was aware that, if whatever my grandfather had become could exist, I had to keep an open mind.

The drive went faster than I expected. I found a local motel close to where they originally found the victim along with all the mannequins. After checking in, I went to the now-abandoned crime scene to see if there were any clues as to where these things were going.

It was an old shack of sorts, maybe ten feet across and fifteen feet long. There was a rusty bed frame covered in what I could only assume were blood and other bodily fluids. A desk with dusty swipe marks. A creepy mount placed in the corner that I thought looked like a stand to hold a book in place, bound with straps that now hung from its sides. The walls were covered with what looked like blood and makeup; words were scribbled or carved into the wood that said east is home and the creator is rising and other cryptic messages. I took pictures for later study.

It was mind-boggling how someone could do this to a person. It was one thing to kidnap someone, but to torture them in this way was just something else.

Leaving that torture chamber, I drove to the hospital where the victim was taken, and there I tried to track down his room. I was saddened to learn that he had passed away during surgery to remove the prosthetic limbs. Apparently, his body had begun fusing to them, and, according to the story, the nurse told me, they’d started to move as if they were his real limbs.

I was able to get a few words with one of the nurses present during the emergency procedure to try and remove the fake limbs.

Taking out my small recorder, I listened to the nurse’s testimonial again. The story sounded crazier each time I listened.

I don’t know what to think. Please keep my name anonymous; I don't want people thinking I'm crazy...

I nodded in agreement when she said this.

...but the victim’s body was a patchwork of some flesh, cloth, plastic, and even metal. We painstakingly removed all the foreign objects. However, it was as if his body was fusing with them; fresh veins and arteries were found inside the parts. I don't mean under it either – I mean like, embedded into them, like in yours or my arms.

Is there any way I could see the body? I had asked her in the interview.

No! Even if there were a way, I would strongly advise against it. I've been a trauma and ICU nurse for ten years, and that surgery made me vomit. He's being kept in the morgue until an autopsy can be performed. The freakiest part was, as we did preliminary tests, I swear I saw his plastic fingers start to move.

Clicking the stop button, I remembered, as we parted ways, I’d already decided I was doing this. I waited by the stairwell door and slid in when no one was around.

I assumed, like most hospitals, the morgue would be located in the basement. I reached the last door of the stairwell, the sign on the wall confirming my assumption.

I slowly opened the door after searching the frame for an alarm or anything that would alert anyone that I was here. When I felt comfortable that I wasn’t going to be given away, I entered the hallway. It was well lit and surprisingly clean. With each step, my pulse raced.

What am I doing? Why am I here?

I first found an examination room and peeked through the window on the door. I was shocked to see someone working within. I couldn't see his face, nor could I see the subject. If he was truly as horrifying as the nurse made him sound, I'm sure he would have stood out.

I sank down below the window, moving as quietly as possible. At the end of the hall, I saw doors leading to the morgue.

Looking inside, I didn't see anyone, so I pushed the door open and slid inside to find a large bland room. Two of the walls were filled with small doors stacked on top of each other like human-sized filing cabinets. A large furnace of sorts took up the wall furthest from the door. I didn't know the victim's name; however, none of the doctors did either. He never stated his name or had any identification when the EMTs brought him in, or at least that is what they were telling everyone. Before coming here, I spent some time researching any reports of missing persons, and apparently, a car was found belonging to a cleaner that went missing a few weeks ago. It had been sitting there for a while before anyone called it in to be towed. Joking to myself, I looked for any doors labeled John Doe I mean, it's like that in movies or cheesy detective novels; why wouldn't that logic work here.

I was surprised when I found two freezers labeled with the name. I opened the first door and took a look. The occupant appeared to be a drug addict, his body marked by several surgical cuts. I don't know how an autopsy is done, but it looked like a surgeon had placed their incisions along the path of each major artery. His face appeared to be stuck in a state of fear. The weirdest part, though, was he had surgical booties on his feet. I always thought they put people in these things naked. Not thinking too deeply, I closed the door and approached the other container.

Knowing this had to be the correct one, I readied my camera. I slowly opened the door and pulled the table out.

The descriptions I had heard were all true. His body, now sexless, was a patchwork of random pieces. I was amazed that he was still alive for as long as he reportedly had been.

Snapping out of my trance, I started taking pictures for later study. I made a small cut along the plastic to flesh junctions and took a few close-ups of the blood vessels traveling into the plastic-like living tissue at one point. With each photo, I became more and more paranoid that someone was watching me. Looking around, I saw no one in the room, not even that doctor from earlier.

I slid the table back and closed the door after I was finished and rapidly reviewed the pictures I had. I swiped each photo to the next without thought until I noticed the victim's eyes were moving. In each frame, its eyes moved as if watching my every move, even wincing in the one where I had made the incision.

Taking a look back at the cooler, I considered opening it again, but decided against it. I turned towards the door and looked through the little window to see if my escape was clear, then opened the door to make a dash for it. But as I closed the door, I heard a door up the hall open, followed by a wet dragging sound, like a wet garbage bag squeaking on a dry floor.

I snapped my head to look and saw the doctor from earlier hunched over, dragging something from the room. I could hear a pained moan coming from inside. I almost shit my pants when the doctor stopped and turned his head towards me. A surgeon's mask partially obscured his face. But even from this distance, I could see only one eye, his other a smooth patch of skin going down to his cheek beneath the mask. He straightened up, blood still dripping down a plastic apron. All the while, his gaze never changed. I felt like I was a mouse, and he was the cat looking for a meal.

He turned from me for a moment and gestured towards someone to come out of the room. I knew I was in decent shape, but I honestly didn't think I could outrun or maneuver around two people, let alone fight them off.

A strange, almost robotic sound approached the hall. I could hear the heavy footsteps as a large man-like thing stepped around the bloody surgeon, his face and body covered with what appeared to be video cameras implanted into his skin and face.

What the fuck is going on here?

As I stood there waiting for something to happen, an alarm sounded. Both men were distracted and I saw the opportunity. I ran straight towards them.

Each step seemed so heavy. My mind raced, trying to figure out what to do to get past them. I knew I couldn't take the camera guy down; he was just too big. The doctor, although intimidating, was my best bet if I had to barrel through one of them.

Almost as if on cue, the doctor's eye fell from the flashing siren and looked at me as if in slow motion. I ducked down and drove my shoulder into him.

I felt myself flying through the air and slamming into one of the bloodied tables inside the autopsy room. Something cracked, and I was having a hard time breathing. I laid there in pain as the doctor started to walk towards me. The cameraman stationed himself in the door frame, completely blocking my exit.

I sat up, and the doctor grabbed me and shoved me onto one of the tables. I struggled, hitting and kicking, but he was stronger than he looked. I twisted and noticed an instrument table within my reach. The doctor grabbed a scalpel, and as he drove it into my leg, I grabbed what looked like a hose with a needle sticking out from it.

Screaming in pain, I jammed the syringed hose into the doctor’s shoulder.

He pulled back in pain, releasing me. I started hitting every button I could find until I saw him fall to the ground. By the end of it all, the tools and equipment were all making noise.

A thick black sludge pumped from the doctor’s convulsing body into the machine's storage jars. I turned to find the camera guy, ready to deal with him. To my shock, he was still standing in the doorway. He shifted to one side, as if allowing me to pass.

I looked at him with a perplexed expression. He raised his cog joint arm and motioned, as if I was free to go. Hesitating, I looked around the room again, and I could see that my only exit was past him.

I couldn’t fight someone his size. Not without some kind of advantage. My eyes scanned around me, looking for anything I could use to defend myself. There, within my reach, was what looked like a large bread knife, but it seemed to be too close to the doctor’s body.

I used my foot and slowly slid it away from the corpse, trying to keep an eye on both him and the camera guy. The machine that was draining the doctor's body now squeaked as it strained to suck more fluids from his empty veins. I snatched up the knife and made my way toward the door, the ever-focused lenses of the cameras recording every move I made.

I flattened myself as close to the door frame as possible, pointing the knife in the guy’s direction in case he chose to make a move. Each inch seemed like a mile; watching the lenses across the guy’s body was like looking into large spider eyes.

I made it through the door and, without skipping a beat, he moved his body back to the position which blocked the door. I heard something clatter to the floor from inside the room and began running when I heard the suction of the machine stop and reverse. 

The alarms continued their blaring noise; the muffled message repeated over and over. I tried the elevator, but nothing happened. I assumed that it was shut down due to the emergency.

Next, the stairwell door. I found that it was locked as well. Footsteps echoed behind me in the passage. I didn’t have much time.

I ran until I noticed heavy-looking double doors marked body removal. I pushed the right one open to reveal a loading dock and, as I turned to slam it shut, I saw the shadows of two figures approaching.

I frantically closed the door and, grabbing a piece of chain and a piece of rebar from the ground, I wrapped the chain through the doors’ handle. I felt my pursuers trying to press the doors open with an ungodly amount of strength. I jammed the pointed piece of metal through the handles, effectively barring the door. A sudden jolt put me on my ass and sent my knife skidding across the floor. A small crack between the doors showed a single eye peering out at me with murderous intent.

But at least I was outside.

Scrambling over, I picked up the large knife and took off for my car up the loading ramp. I could finally understand what the repeating message was saying:

Please evacuate; this is not a drill, please be advised. Terror engulfed me. What the hell is going on? I have got to get out of here.

I started my car and drove away.

Chapter 2

Icould still hear the alarm and message being broadcast through the streets. The alleyway I was in had two entry points. I saw people running like crazy, their screams echoing off the brick walls, on either end of the alley. I sat there, still in shock from what I had already seen, but I knew that there might be something far worse awaiting me once I left the relative safety of my hiding place.

While