Day Two
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
Learning to Kill: Stories