Untaken Read online

  “Wait, He’s out there,” Jake shouted above the screams.

  “He’s in here too, among the wicked.” The priest pushed the doors open and was immediately engulfed in a thick wave of smoke. A man from the crowd pushed the priest aside and ran through the door. He was lifted off his feet immediately in the doorway as blackness surrounded him in tight grip, ripping out his soul and transforming his screams into a puff of ash that covered the priest in the blood light from outside. Jake grabbed the priest’s arm before he took a step outside.

  “Upstairs,” he said, and led the way from the back of the church foyer to the staircase that led to the choir balcony. The stairs were dark. No windows were there to flood the passageway with the moon’s red beams.

  Jake fumbled for the doorknob at the top of the staircase, and went through. The balcony was empty. As the priest, the large man, and the woman filed in behind him, he locked the door. From here they could see over the church as the blackness of the smoke filled the pews, lifting people from their frightened fetal positions and turning them into ash. The gathering of people was already thinned out, and the floor and the pews were covered in ash. Black streaks of smoke came filtering across the carpet and attacked the remaining congregation. Some people were bursting into dust below, and some people retained the human form, falling flat on the carpet in a pile of lifelessness. The vibrations of the church had stopped, but the dark fingers of cloud continued to seek out the damned.

  Jake could see a tentacle of smoke crawling up the wall of the church toward the balcony. “Get down,” he called out to three who joined him in the choir. They huddled behind the immense organ, but the smoke made a quick, darting movement toward them, passing over the windpipes of the organ and howling a low tone. It passed under Jake’s feet, past the priest, swirled once around the black man and dug into the woman who held her mouth shut with one hand, her other hand grasping the bottle of holy water. The smoke entered her through her chest and her head twisted backward, her eyes went blacker than night. She screamed and the smoke passed through her mouth out into the air and quickly streamed off the balcony and back down to the lower level of the church.

  The woman collapsed in her spot with her head buried beneath her arms. Her skin had lost all its color; her right hand still grasped the water bottle. She lay there unmoving, and the church went silent, covered in blackness that shimmered under the red moonlight. The vibrations had ceased and the black fingers of smoke found their way out the cracks of the doors and out the shattered windows. There was a thick dark mist on the carpet of the church, slowly swirling about. The groan of the clouds grew faint outside.

  The priest, faithful of the protection of God even in His absence, stood and walked to the balcony rail that overlooked the church. Jake and the black man followed. Below, they could see the crowd that once occupied the pews was gone, turned to ash. Few people remained, slowly rising from their positions on the floor, stunned. In the black mist that hid the carpet, they could see the rounded backs of lifeless bodies that had been passed through by the demonic smoke.

  The priest turned to the others. “Congratulations. You are good men.”

  The black man looked to the woman on the floor behind the organ, “And her?”

  “Not so good.”

  “Why did you pick her?”

  “It was a misjudgment of character. To tell you the truth,” he scratched the back of his head, “I wasn’t sure any of us would be left alone.”

  The blackness howled outside the church. It was dark, but enough light poured in from the windows to cast a red glow in the church.

  “We need light.”

  “I need to find my father,” Jake said.

  They heard a murmur from below. The priest looked out to the remnants of his flock, “Be calm everyone. We have been spared. You are sa-“

  “Quiet,” Jake interrupted the priest, “Look.”

  In the mist of darkness on the floor, one of the rounded backs stirred to life. It gathered its feet underneath, and moaned with pain. It was a man. In a nearby pew, a woman, one of those who were passed over by the smoke, screamed at the sight. The resurrected man snapped his head toward her and leapt forward, hurdling the pew in front of him and pouncing on the woman. He looked to be in the same shape and form as the human that he previously was, although in the dark shadows it was hard to tell. He growled pure evil and his mouth seemed to open three times the width of human capabilities. He sunk his teeth into the woman’s head, her skull crunching under the jaws, the teeth searing through the bone without hesitation.

  The three men ducked behind the railing on the balcony. “They have been marked by evil,” the priest said.

  “Are they demons?”

  “Perhaps.”

  They heard another grumble as more of the marked souls staggered to their feet. They heard snarls and shuffling, and screams of the passed-over men and women below as the beasts tore into them.

  From behind the organ on the balcony, they heard movement. The woman who was with them was stirring to life. She sat up, the water bottle still clutched in her right hand. She appeared to have aged tremendously. Her hair had turned gray, and had become patchy on her scalp. Her eyes were black, showing no signs of human emotion. Her teeth were bared from behind curled lips, and they looked pointy and sharp. Her pale skin was weathered and wrinkled, and the bone structure of her face had taken on sharp angles. She was barely recognizable from her human state. She moaned a guttural noise that sounded more animal than human. Her head slowly turned around on her neck until it looked as though bone would break if it turned any further. Her face was looking in their direction, but her eyes had no pupils, only blackness. The three men at the rail couldn’t tell if she was looking at them or not.

  Jake pulled the shotgun to his shoulder. The marked woman’s lips peeled back even further, revealing her long teeth, serrated and razor-like. She stood quickly and gave a saliva-filled hiss, crouching low on all fours, ready to attack. The fingers on one of her hands sank into the wood step of the organ, cracking and splintering it easily. The other hand squeezed the water bottle tightly, bursting it.

  Jake was a split-second from pulling the trigger of the shotgun. The holy water from the burst bottle erupted upward, covering the marked woman’s body, sizzling as it gushed onto her skin. She screamed out in short agony, taking a step backward on her hands and knees before falling onto her back, twitching ferociously at the base of the organ.

  The priest pushed the tip of the shotgun in Jake’s hand to the ceiling, motioning him to not fire. He put his finger up to his lips, hoping that the Marked souls below were oblivious to the scream on the balcony. It was quiet. Only the shuffling and slow groans of the Marked disturbed the silence in the church. No other screams echoed against the walls. With the second water bottle in his hands, the priest crawled cautiously to the woman behind the organ, his eyes never leaving her. He stopped when he got within a foot of her, studying her face. Her eyes were open, the whites and the pupils had returned. She smacked her lips, blood running from the sliced skin at the corners of her mouth. Her teeth were normal again. Her skin remained pale, but the wrinkles had shrunk. Her hair retained its gray color and patchy covering of her scalp. The cheekbones of her skull still protruded sharply but not as dramatically as they had just moments before. She was human again.

  The priest motioned to the two men. Jake crawled to him, but the black man remained in his spot. “Is she alive?”

  “Yes, don’t be afraid,” the priest kept his voice low. He put the water bottle to the woman’s lips and squeezed a gulp into her mouth. She swallowed hard. The wrinkles seemed to fade, but her skin still sagged. The corners of her mouth stung as the water streamed down her cheeks. She coughed once, and the priest covered her mouth, forcing the cough to exit through her nose, muffling the noise.

  “What is your name?” he asked her.

  She turned her head to him. He could tell she was present. “Emily.”

 
; “Emily. You’re safe. This is Jake,” he pointed to Jake.

  Jake waved with one hand, still on his hands and knees. “What happened?”

  “The holy water. She’s ok.”

  The events of the day had affected Jake’s religious views. It was impossible for them not to send a boat of questions into his empty spiritual lake. The golden light, the disappearance of people, the red clouds, and the transformation of human souls into evil demon-type forms. But nothing made him question his disbelief in God more than seeing this woman change at the splash of water that previously in his mind was no different than the water than came out of his kitchen sink. Jake folded his hands the way he had seen believers do, and he kissed his knuckles and asked God to be with him.

  He looked back at the black man. He was peeking his head up over the rail, frightened but calm. He couldn’t see any movement below. The church was empty, save for the four on the balcony. He shuffled toward them, keeping low as he did so.

  “We’re alone,” he said.

  “For now. They’re all outside. We’ll need to find others.”

  “My father,” Jake said.

  “Others like us. There has to be more. We need to get to them before the Marked do.” The priest held the woman in his arms. She was recovering, but weak.

  The red light was flickering into the church from outside.

  They heard a shuffle at the back of the church directly below the balcony. They all froze, holding in their breath. They were not alone. A painful groan was heard, but muffled behind walls. They heard three quick footsteps on the stairs to the balcony. Jake looked to the door to make sure it was closed. He remembered that he had locked it. There was silence.

  Each of them slowly exhaled, careful to not make noise. The woman, Emily, shuddered in a fear-driven recovery, her foot tapped once against the base of the organ. The priest grabbed her ankle to prevent another tap. The silence was broken by a series of stomped footsteps that quickly made their way up the staircase. The door to the balcony busted open on its hinges, the wood splintering from the doorjamb, hardly an obstacle for the Marked that followed, teeth showing in a snarl. It was a demon-man, sharp bones almost splitting the skin on his cheeks. His eyes were sunk-in, his skin a gray bag that clung loosely to his body. His hands were out, and the nails on his fingers were long and streaked with the blood of an unfortunate survivor from below. Emily gasped a weak burst of air. The Marked turned his body to them, his black eyes fixed.

  Jake stood up with the shotgun pressed firmly in his shoulder, his finger on the trigger. “Ben?”

  The Marked pulled his lips back, his jaw opened wide and tore the skin at the corners of his mouth. He scrambled toward them and Jake pulled the trigger. The shotgun thundered against his body as the muzzle flashed from both barrels, the power of the recoil was unexpected. The church’s walls echoed loudly. Ben’s body was carried forward, headless, and fell at Jake’s feet, twitching, the gaping hole at the neck spilled blood on the wood of the balcony.

  Jake was already fishing in his backpack for more shells to reload the shotgun. He cracked it open between the barrel and the stock and shoved two shells into the chamber. There was no head left to identify his neighbor by, but he was sure that he had just killed Ben.

  “They will have heard that,” the priest said and motioned for them to get out of the church.

  “Can she walk?” the black man asked.

  “What is your name?” the priest asked.

  “Brooks.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brooks. I’m Charlie, that’s Jake, and this is Emily.”

  “It’s safe in here,” Brooks protested venturing outside.

  “It’s too open. We can’t cover all the doors. We need to find a small space where we can hide,” the priest said.

  “I know a place,” Jake said.

  The earth was covered in black. Evil was present.

  They made their way down the staircase from the balcony. The priest followed behind Jake, and Brooks was carrying Emily in his arms, his muscles flexing beneath his cotton shirt. Her weight was slight and it didn’t slow him down at all.

  The church was empty and black. Blood and ash covered the carpet at their feet.

  Jake opened the heavy church door a crack. Light flickered in from outside. The surrounding buildings were covered in black. A house burned in the distance. It was dark outside, and Jake realized that there was no light from the moon. The stars were lifeless. The red light that gave them visibility was from the scattering of fires that dotted the neighborhood. It smelled of death, burned wood, and rich iron from spilled blood outside the doors.

  Across the street a warehouse was fully engulfed in flames. It was a bright beacon of light. The church had remained untouched by flames because it was made of brick.

  In the wavering light of the flames, Jake could make out the movement of the Marked outside. They were scattered and wandering the street searching for a surviving soul to release their anger on. The golden light had taken many; the dark clouds had taken more. What was left was a depleted population of Marked souls who searched in wrath, and survivors that speckled the city, spread out and most likely unaware of what awaited outside their doors.

  Jake saw a man run from a house, a Marked directly behind him running on its feet, slowly making ground on the man. The Marked reached out and grasped him with a strong hand, pulling him down to the pavement, sinking its teeth into his skull and cutting his screams short. The Marked pulled the man’s arms from his body easily and punched a hole with stiff fingers into his back, yanking the spinal cord out of the ravaged flesh before carrying on in search of a new victim for his fury.

  “What are they after?” Jake asked.

  “They are human, but marked by evil. They are demons now. Satan’s malevolence needs no reason,” the priest said.

  The shotgun blast had not alerted any of the Marked back to the church. On the other side of the street, a fire hydrant had been ripped from the earth by the powerful dark clouds that now curtained in the west, and water had gushed out like a geyser. The pressure was dying out and the water was bubbling up and spilling onto the pavement. Jake pulled the .357 Magnum revolver from the backpack and loaded six rounds into the cylinder. He handed it to the priest.

  “I’ve never shot a gun in my life.”

  Jake looked at him. “I’ve only shot a gun once in mine,” and motioned to the balcony.

  “Very good.”

  They lined up on the outside wall of the church. The screams of survivors filled the night air.

  “Down the street, take a right on Montarbor. If we get split up, head to 5482,” Jake said.

  Brooks, with Emily in his arms, gave a nod of agreement. The priest, still studying the revolver in his hands, gave an approving grunt.

  They moved quickly under the cover of the darkness, running through the church parking lot and into the housing development. They stayed off of the sidewalks, out of view of the Marked. They went from house to house stealthily.

  They pinned themselves against one of the house walls, out of sight. Inside the house, they heard a yell and a gunshot. They heard a man curse inside, almost with excitement. They heard glass breaking and the man cursed again, almost egging the intruders on. There was another gunshot, a curse, a scream, and a scuffle. The house was quiet after that. A Marked ran out the door, gurgling on fresh blood. Its hands were stained and its sharp teeth had shreds of skin dangling from them. It screeched in pain and ran down the street, seeking new heartbeats to extinguish.

  They moved to the next house. And then the next house. The screams were still ringing down the pavement. Jake looked at his feet. The ground was covered in the black mist of cloud up to his ankles. It wisped and swirled at his feet. The houses were covered in ash, and the black clouds were seeping their way into the broken windows and doors, hunting for the unfound damned. A house down the street erupted in flames. A throaty snarl carried itself out a window, and another scream, a woman.

&n
bsp; They ran down Montarbor street. Jake’s house was on the left. They kept to the right-hand side, and followed the wood slat fence that bordered the sidewalk. Jake heard a whimper on the other side. It was Oscar, the dog. He was still back there. They kept moving. At the end of the fence, the yard opened up and Jake could see the window well. He paused at the fence before moving forward. The opening of the window well was stained with blood that reached up the siding of the house. Hippie-Bill had put up a fight. Jake hoped that the old man was still inside.

  Jake looked back and motioned for the others to follow. He stood from his crouch by the fence and moved into the open. He was hit from the side just as he cleared the fence. A Marked lifted him in the air and carried him several feet off of the sidewalk and into the street, slamming him to the pavement. Razor-sharp teeth were inches from his face. Jake had managed to fit the shotgun sideways under the jaw of the creature and pressed back against its neck. Darkness filled its eyes.

  He heard a scream from Emily on the sidewalk. The Marked opened its mouth wide and let out an evil growl. Saliva burst out onto Jake’s face. The Marked raised a hand into the air, its sharp fingernails ready to dig in, when the report of the .357 sounded. The Marked lurched sideways and fell to the street. It exhaled a tortured breath and crawled, then fell.

  Jake pulled himself to his feet on the pavement. He quickly scanned the area for more of the Marked. He saw one come sprinting out from behind a house. Another scrambling off the roof of a house on the other side. He heard a fierce growl.

  “To the window well,” Jake pointed for the others, “Bill. It’s Jake. Let us in,” he yelled as he was sprinting to Bill’s window, praying for an answer. The hippie emerged from the well, his short sword covered in blood to the hilt.

  “Inside. Go,” Bill said to them.

  Brooks lowered Emily into the well. He took a quick look back, then pushed Emily into the window and followed her in. The priest stood on the grass, his revolver held a steady aim with two hands. It popped in his grip. The Marked across the street fell from the roof. The priest allowed a quick smile of pride to his lips then ducked in after Brooks. Jake ran past Bill and climbed into the basement. Bill stood outside. He was looking forward to this.