Badge of Darkness: Episode 1

Badge of Darkness

  Episode 1

  by

  JJ Holden

  No one ever thought that the Youth Scouts of America could be used for such sinister purposes…until now. At nearly eighty million strong and with a madman at the helm, the leading youth organization has been a literal ticking time bomb for over a decade, with its members brainwashed and drugged with enhanced psychotropic compounds. Triggered by a single line of spoken word broadcast over the airwaves, the killing spree has finally begun.

  Copyright © 2014 by JJ Holden

  jjholdenbooks.blogspot.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.

  — VOLTAIRE

  * * *

  The television screen flickered as yet another crack of thunder caused Eric Milnes to flinch. In the doorway between the kitchen and the living room of his home in Seneca Run, he watched his sixteen-year-old son, Chad, sit Indian-style on the floor, staring at the screen. It was Saturday, ten minutes till midnight.

  “Don’t you think you should get some rest, champ?” Eric asked.

  The boy remained silent, fixated on the screen as if he were hypnotized, his shaggy brown hair threatening to get in his eyes. These days, this television trance was considered normal among most of the area’s youth, and for as long as Eric could remember, his son harbored a television addiction. Looking at the screen, he saw that there was nothing special on. Old reruns of a sitcom that had been popular years ago before Eric was even born. Nothing he thought Chad was interested in.

  “Two hundred channels and nothing to watch,” Eric said under his breath.

  Without warning, the screen went black and a low voice emanated from the speakers: “Great members: open your ears…”

  Eric stepped into the living room, looking quizzically at the blank screen. Even more puzzling was the voice that continued in its eerie, low tone: “…and let tomorrow come not with the simple rising of the sun, but with your collective grasp around the throat of the world.”

  With that single line, the television went fuzzy for a moment before returning to the sitcom. Chad rose from the floor almost mechanically and barely swung his lanky arms as he strode past Eric on his way to the kitchen, his face expressionless and his pupils large, the color of obsidian.

  “Chad?”

  The boy disappeared into the kitchen and Eric heard another crack of thunder join the chorus of raindrops that pelted his roof. All at once, the electricity shut off and darkness overcame the house. He saw a single beam of light run from the kitchen, hitting him directly in the face. In the last few moments of his life, all he could see was the light that nearly blinded him.

  * * *

  The sound of the rain pelting his poncho was all Alex heard as he walked through the thunderstorm on his way home. Since getting laid off and losing his car, he had to walk two miles each way to work and sometimes, like on this particular night, the weather didn’t cooperate. After a fourteen hour shift, his legs barely had the strength to carry him the five remaining blocks to his tiny ranch house at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  He flinched when he saw the bolt of lightning careen through the sky and seconds later, the sickening thunder rumbled across the neighborhood, like an evil omen from the sky. But he knew this was just any other thunderstorm, and evil omens were things from cheesy horror flicks.

  In the next instant, the street lamps that formerly lit his way home went out. Looking around, Alex saw that along with the lamps, all of the houses were dark.

  “Damn it,” Alex said. “Now I won’t be able to watch the news when I get home.”

  He shrugged when he thought of a night of reading by candle light. The suspense novel he was in the middle of wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the news, though he was sure that he wouldn’t miss much lacking the news just a single night if power wasn’t regained before he passed out from exhaustion.

  Alex walked a few more steps in the pouring rain before he heard a scream that filled every pore of his body with dread. As brief as the thunder that preceded it, the scream emanated from a house to his left. He stopped dead and stared at the house as a multitude of what-if’s swirled around in his mind. Turning to step towards the house, he froze like a statue when another bolt of lightning lit the street, illuminating the figure of a teenage boy who stood on the front porch, a sinister look on his face and a butcher knife by his side.

  * * *

  Along the dark street, Edward Anderson drove, only seeing whatever his headlights allowed. He took one hand off of the steering wheel and scratched his wrinkled face before running it through his silver hair. Placing his hand back on the steering wheel, he careened through the whipping wind and torrential rains. Lightning lit the sky and in mere seconds, the subsequent thunder slammed into his ears. At sixty-three years old, he had seen his fair share of thunderstorms, but this was one of the worst in recent memory.

  He looked over to his wife, Dorene, who sat with a look of fear on her face. Two years younger than Edward, she wore her brown hair short and only used just enough make-up to cover up a few blemishes. She was not only his wife, but his best friend. His better half. Having known each other since their teenage years, they were inseparable, though Edward would be the first to admit that he still wasn’t used to spending every waking second with her since retiring from the police force.

  Dorene winced with each lightning bolt, and shuttered with each rumble of thunder. Edward knew that to her, the storm was horrible. To him, it was just another ride home after yet another tiring day trip. While she was enjoying her retirement, he was ready to quit retirement and return to the force out of lack of excitement. But as an old man, he knew he wasn’t cut out for it any more. Without his badge and his gun at home, he was just another citizen now. A retiree put out to pasture after a lifetime of devotion to the safety of those he served and protected.

  This thunderstorm is the most excitement I’ve seen all week, he thought. Though he loved spending time with Dorene, he felt somewhat bored by their new exhibit-infused lives. To him, his life was now a parade of attractions (such as their recent trip to the opera or the yawn-inducing journey to the flower show), and he was mind-numbingly bored.

  Then, in a split second, his life became a little less boring. Another thunderbolt cascaded from the sky and hit God-knows-what and moments later, he saw a man in a poncho run in front of their car.

  Dorene screamed as he swerved, missing the man by a foot. In his rear view mirror, Edward saw another person lunge at the man, tackling him in short order. He slammed on the brake and put the car in park.

  Dorene looked at Edward with wild eyes. “What are you doing?”

  Reaching into the glove box and grabbing a large flashlight, Edward said, “I’ll be right back.”

  He knew it was his duty to save the man in the poncho from the attacker. But when he aimed his flashlight at the motionless body that lay in the pouring rain, he also saw a lanky teenager with a shimmering blade stepping towards him.

  “Stop right there,” Edward said, his voice roaring above the downpour. The boy did not listen and continued his advances. Backing up, he saw another figure behind the teenager. A boy, perhaps of eleven or twelve, walked nonchalantly towards him, pistol in hand. Turning to the body of the man in the road, he pulled the trigger, ensuring the man’s demise.

  The gunshot was enough to prompt Edward to spin around and rush towards his car, before he was counted as the
next victim. Slipping on the road, he regained his footing and as he opened the door and lunged inside, he heard another gunshot. The rear windshield burst into pieces as he shifted the car into drive and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

  Edward looked into the rear view mirror as he sped towards his home at the end of the street. He saw utter darkness until the next lightning bolt lit up the street once again and a half dozen figures could be seen trailing behind as he sped away.

  “Of course,” he said beneath his breath. “The one time I leave my pistol at home.”

  He heard his wife sobbing as they pulled into their driveway.

  “What the hell is going on around here?” he asked, as he pressed the button for the garage door before realizing that the power was out.

  Pulling his keys from the ignition, he opened the door and looked around. Even if there were an army of murders on his front lawn, he couldn’t see them. All he could see was the rain that poured from the sky. He rushed around to meet his wife and together, they raced towards the front door. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open hastily and they hurried into the darkness within the house. In the instant before he slammed the door shut, Edward saw another bolt of lightning and a congregation of boys on his front lawn, their expressionless faces staring at him. Locked in the house with the lunatic youths outside, he knew the night that lay ahead would be a living nightmare. Though he knew the storm would pass and the sun would usher in a new day, he wasn’t certain he would still be alive to witness it.

  * * *

  Debra Silverstein strode through the Seneca Run Airport, scanning the hoards of people waiting for their overnight fights. In order to ensure security at the small airport, she was required to spot any suspicious behavior. People who looked nervous or paranoid were always confronted, and their carry-on bags were checked, even if they passed through the security checks without setting off the scanning equipment.

  With a pistol holstered to her hip, she was ready to wield her powers if need be. But deep down, she prayed each day that her pistol would continue to be just for show. Though she had trained to use various firearms, she dreaded actually using one on a person.

  She passed by a fellow guard named Frank, and nodded a hello.

  “Another boring night,” Frank said.

  Debra laughed. “You say that every night, Frank. Boring is good though…”

  “Of course, I know…this is just a tab bit more boring than my last job…”

  “It’s hard to compare this job to active duty…in Afghanistan of all places.”

  Frank rubbed his face, moving his worn fingers over a jagged scar that he wore like a metal. He was a hero, and Debra knew it. She felt safe around him and was grateful he was one of her co-workers. Frank looked past Debra, and when she turned around, she saw a group teenage boys huddled around a battery-operated radio near Gate Six.

  “Kids keep getting weirder and weirder,” Frank said.

  Debra shrugged. “Maybe there’s a ballgame they are following.”

  “It’s almost midnight,” Frank said.

  Looking back at Gate Six and out the window, she saw rain hitting the glass and the pitch black of the night beyond, reminding her that it was indeed later than she thought. “I’ve been here way too long,” she said. “I lose track of time.”

  Frank gave a puzzled look. “I wonder where they’re going?”

  “Maybe a field trip,” Debra said. “But I think their flight is delayed because of the nasty storm. You know—”

  The intercom screeched loudly, interrupting Debra. Then a low voice roared out of the in-ceiling speakers like a cannon: “Great members: open your ears…”

  As the voice continued, she said loudly, “What is that all about?”

  Frank shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me.”

  Moments later, Debra heard a horrible scream from all the way down at Gate One. Squinting, she saw one of her co-workers laying on the ground with three teenage boys hovering over him. Her eyes widened when she saw one of them was using the man’s nightstick to beat him mercilessly. Another boy crouched down and pulled his pistol from its holster and in less than a second, brought the gun close to the guard’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Looking to her left at the gate closest to her and Frank, she saw the group of teenagers, once huddled around the radio, now participating in an organized reign of terror upon every adult in close proximity. Screams emanated from the hoards of terrified adults and slammed into Debra’s ears, sounding almost like one collective cry of horror.

  The few adults who remained conscious were unable to defend themselves from the flood of youths who descended upon them like a pack of wolves.

  Fists pounding, nails scratching, and teeth sinking into the flesh of their victims. Like wild animals, the boys used all means necessary to annihilate their prey.

  Out of the multitude of teenagers, only two had weapons and they were quickly approaching Gate Six, shooting and clubbing one victim after another. Among the teens were several young children, scratching and biting the adults as the teens ravaged everyone in sight.

  As the seconds passed, Debra reached for her pistol and saw Frank follow suit. Taking aim at the boy with the gun, she felt her finger twitch. Her mind raced as she thought about shooting the boy and the implications of both action and inaction. The cries of the victims flooded her mind as she pulled the trigger, shooting the boy in the leg.

  In the very next second, every pair of youthful eyes looked towards her. Though she had a gun and they didn’t, she knew there was little she could do. Even if she shot several of them in order to stop their advances, the majority would be all over her in seconds. And so she fired off one final shot before she turned around and ran for her life.

  Rushing past Gate Seven, Debra turned around to see their attackers catching up to them with astonishing speed.

  What the hell is wrong with these kids? she thought, though the question was cut to shreds by the overwhelming sense of mortality as she realized her life could now be counted in mere seconds. And what are they on? That second question was the last thing she pondered before being tackled.

  She heard Frank’s pistol and a scream from one of the teenagers. Then she felt a horrible pain on the side of her head moments before another gunshot rang out and at once she saw Frank’s body slam down next to hers, his dead eyes staring back at her.

  She tried to cry out, but no words left her lips. And past her fallen coworker, she saw the hoard of murderers continue on their reign of terror, and that dreadful imagine of the continuation of their deadly work proved to be the last thing she saw before darkness overtook her.

  * * *

  The night rolled on slowly as Edward and Dorene sat silently in their makeshift bunker in the basement of their home. With a single battery-operated lantern nearby, Edward clutched his rifle and listened. The intermittent gunfire outside made his once-quiet neighborhood sound like a war zone. He knew that whatever was happening must be so widespread that the police were overwhelmed—he only heard one wailing siren approach his street, and that was several hours ago.

  “Ed,” Dorene said. “Like I said before, you should call the station. Tell them what’s going on.”

  “Remember, dear,” Edward said, his voice quiet, “I don’t have any cell service down here. I’d have to go upstairs to make a call.”

  Dorene fell silent for a moment, then said, “What are we going to do?”

  “Well, I don’t think anyone got into the house.”

  “You’re not going up there,” Dorene said, her voice growing louder.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  With a softer voice, Dorene said, “Sorry…but, we can’t stay down here forever. We need to eat and—”

  “I know, I know…which means I’ll have to go up to check things out eventually. Once things quiet down out there, then I’d feel a little better about checking it out. We have too many windows, and I don’t want to be spotted by any of those nu
t cases roaming around out there. If the house is dark, maybe they’ll assume we’re not here.”

  “But what about the boys who saw us come in here?”

  Edward shook his head. “I don’t know…”

  Edward gripped his rifle tighter when he heard even more gunfire erupt in quick succession, like the war had reached its climax, but just when he thought it couldn’t get any more intense, he was proven wrong. He heard a giant explosion that sounded like it was only a few houses away.

  Dorene gripped Edward’s arm. “What was that?”

  “Probably a car exploding,” he said.

  Dorene’s eyes widened.

  Edward heard the gunfire cease following the explosion. “I think the worst is over now.”

  Seconds later, he heard another explosion and the gunfire erupt even louder than before. Then he heard the sound of a chainsaw start up. Normally, such a sound wouldn’t cause his stomach to turn, but the subsequent screams of a dying victim caused him to dry heave.

  He gasped for air for several seconds before sitting up straight. His words came out weak as he spoke softly: “I spoke too soon.”

  * * *

  Chad Milnes saw the light emanate from the horizon, and though his work was far from over, he felt a rush of satisfaction. By this time, he had graduated from a mere butcher knife to a machete that he obtained from Mr. Stevenson’s house after he slashed the occupants to usher in their bloody demise.

  Normally, Chad’s mind was scattered, with this thought and that thought careening about, keeping him from focusing on anything in particular. After the broadcast of the activation code, his mind seemed to click into a new realm…complete and utter focus. Standing near the overgrown shrubs that seemed to grow up the side of Mr. Anderson’s house, he knew they were most certainly alive. Having checked all of the windows and doors for proof of entry by one of his associates, he knew that the house remained untouched and for good reason—their initial kill-fest was more orgasmic since it was long-awaited. As a result, the easy kills were carried out first, and though his mind had altered dramatically since before the broadcast, he still knew that Edward Anderson—that son of bitch police officer who busted him for vandalizing a wall near Seneca Run Park—would be among the most difficult to destroy.