Available Darkness Season 1

shut.

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    Abigail

    Abigail followed the soldier’s instructions carefully, walking backwards slowly, his left hand — the one with the remote — on her shoulder, and the gun now at her back. She tried to keep her balance, her mind racing for a way out. She searched Larry’s face for another subtle glance or shake of the head to indicate direction, but it was a stone mask.
    The soldier instructed her to turn with him as they drew closer to the van, navigated around the side and towards the driver’s still open door. Abigail’s nerves were frayed, waiting for whatever was about to unfold. Dread, fear, and hope waged war inside her body — her head dizzy and stomach swimming.
    Suddenly, Abigail stumbled backward, her foot getting caught up with the soldier’s. Rather than breaking her fall, the soldier stepped back. Her arms instinctively reached out, trying to find some balance before hitting the ground hard. The soldier aimed his gun down at her, his eyes narrow slits.
    The chance she’d been waiting for, a moment to help her beloved angel, happened amid an instant outburst of tangled noise and rolling waves of sudden heat.
    The motel room door behind them exploded open in a fiery blast. A second door, further back, detonated in a blazing echo. The soldier stumbled forward then spun around, diverted briefly by the eruptions. Abigail took her chance, scrambled to her feet and ran towards Larry as gunshots rang from behind.
    “Goddammit!” the soldier yelled.
    Larry took his chance, firing several shots at the soldier.
    Almost instantly, Abigail realized the error of placing herself in the crossfire. Breathless, and heart pounding, she didn’t know what else to do but run as fast as she could to Larry. Bullets whizzed past her, slamming into the pavement and spitting up chunks of asphalt.
    And then one found her.
    Pain splintered her chest as she was thrust backwards to the ground.
    Oh God, no.
    The wound was like wet fire spreading through her chest. She writhed on the ground, attempting to get up before giving up entirely. She could only turn on her side and look back towards the van, praying John stayed safe from harm.
    The pain then cut off, as if she’d reached whatever limits of anguish a person was allowed before something flipped the shut-off switch.
    Abigail’s eyes then noticed the spreading pool of blood pouring from her like ink in the darkness of predawn, and wondered how so much blood could spill from a single body.
    As she watched the blood, it felt as if she were watching it flow from someone else’s body, not hers. And it looked almost beautiful in an odd sort of way, as the pool widened, growing larger and darker.
    Shots continued to ring out, then fell into a sudden chorus of silence. Abigail watched as the soldier fell to the ground. She tried to turn to see Larry, but her body refused to cooperate.
    Darkness crawled to the edges of her vision, and it was all she could do to turn her gaze back up to the van.
    John?
    The van shook wildly, a mostly muffled scream from John. He sounded like he was in so much pain. She wondered if the soldier had made good on his threat, and in his last act, pressed the button which would burn John to death.
    No! John!
    Something else entered her field of vision. Larry, crouching down, looking at her. His eyes harbored deep sorrow — as though he was looking at a corpse.
    “I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out to touch her cheek, though she felt nothing.
    Larry leapt up and raced towards the van, his footsteps like echoes from somewhere far away as sound dissolved along with her other senses. Darkness, like a gauze, distorted almost everything as her life stained the asphalt beneath her.
    She watched as Larry ran first to the fallen soldier and then to the van’s door.
    Open the door.
    Please be alive, John. Please.
    All she wanted was to see her angel one final time before she died. She fought to hold tight to the world, to keep her focus.
    As Larry opened the van door, Abigail lost the battle and succumbed to the darkness.

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CHAPTER 5 — John

    Dread had taken root in the depths of John’s brain like a malevolent creature, devouring what little hope he still harbored.
    He was fetal, curled in the darkness of the van turned prison cell. His back was pressed against the black Plexiglas wall behind him, as he rocked back and forth, nervously waiting for the world to come crashing in. Though he listened keenly to the events