Read Online Available Darkness Season 1 by Platt + Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Platt + Wright
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memories, flow through his body. Oddly, he’d not seen any of the man’s memories as he had with his first two victims. He’d been hungry, and the feeding was hitting the spot like nothing he’d ever eaten. His skull bobbed back and forth in a half drunken nod as his skin rippled with some unseen internal climax. The fibers of his body were alive and moving, his flesh mending like death in reverse.
Oh God yes.
Screams, as witnesses scattered from the feasting. Some started to run. Others, like animals seized by headlights, could do nothing.
Holding the withering corpse casually in his palm, John turned sharply, his eyes locking onto those of another lamb in the crowd. Standing 10 feet away — an older man holding a tire iron, which John was sure had been used to hit him.
“You!” John uncurled a finger at the man, then leaped onto his body and stole another life.
The second time was different, energy flooding from the man, like blood from a sudden cut — so fresh it still wore a tease of blue. John saw a glimpse of himself attacking the man, then flashed on a memory of the man eating lunch — pizza. Some dark part of John laughed out loud at the befitting vision as he feasted on the fallen man.
Thunder tore through the riot — a gunshot.
John snapped out of his feeding, glanced up and saw a sheriff’s deputy, 10 feet away, aiming a shotgun at him. The first bullet was a stray, but John was certain Lady Luck wouldn’t grant him a second grace. He tossed the dead burning man at the cop, then sprinted towards the grocery store parking lot.
Another gunshot.
A car window in front of John erupted in chunked pieces of safety glass.
“Stop!” the cop shouted.
John didn’t.
He raced ahead, wrestling his senses for a second of calm, just long enough to carve himself an escape.
The cop kept pace 10 yards back, then stopped to take another shot. Death whizzed by his ears and smashed into another car window.
Ahead, John spotted a woman leaning into the back of her car, gently setting brown bags into an empty back seat. While others in the parking lot had noticed him, the woman had not. He raced up behind her and screamed, “Move!”
Her head hit the inside roof of the car as she spun around clumsily, her heel slipping forward, stopping short of touching John’s leg. She was young, with long blond hair, full of energy, which he could feel flaring from her every pore. A hunger stirred within him, a mix of lust and a desire to feed. She stared at him, frozen by fear or something else he couldn’t quite place in the narrow sweep of a second.
The woman’s rear window shattered as another gunshot rang out and she gave release to a piercing shriek, suddenly shaken from her temporary lull. She launched herself backwards in the car, jerked open the passenger side back door, and scrambled out the other side. As she ran for safety, John spun around to see the cop advancing on him, about 30 yards away, aiming the shotgun.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw that the woman had dropped her keys on the ground.
He ducked down, grabbed a handful of silver, opened the front door, and jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Stop!” the cop screamed, now only a few yards away.
John keyed the ignition and threw the car in reverse, yanking the wheel hard right. The car stopped just in front of the cop as he leveled the shotgun squarely at John’s head. John shifted into drive and floored the gas, but not before the cop fired, thunder erupting from the shotgun.
The slug shattered the window and found its mark, slamming into John’s chest — thrusting him back against the seat at the exact moment the car struck the cop and sent his badge scraping across the hood and his body into an angry tumble behind the bumper.
John gasped for air, barely managing to dip out of the shopping center parking lot and into traffic. Though the pain was intense, his wounded flesh was already starting to stitch itself together as his breath
Oh God yes.
Screams, as witnesses scattered from the feasting. Some started to run. Others, like animals seized by headlights, could do nothing.
Holding the withering corpse casually in his palm, John turned sharply, his eyes locking onto those of another lamb in the crowd. Standing 10 feet away — an older man holding a tire iron, which John was sure had been used to hit him.
“You!” John uncurled a finger at the man, then leaped onto his body and stole another life.
The second time was different, energy flooding from the man, like blood from a sudden cut — so fresh it still wore a tease of blue. John saw a glimpse of himself attacking the man, then flashed on a memory of the man eating lunch — pizza. Some dark part of John laughed out loud at the befitting vision as he feasted on the fallen man.
Thunder tore through the riot — a gunshot.
John snapped out of his feeding, glanced up and saw a sheriff’s deputy, 10 feet away, aiming a shotgun at him. The first bullet was a stray, but John was certain Lady Luck wouldn’t grant him a second grace. He tossed the dead burning man at the cop, then sprinted towards the grocery store parking lot.
Another gunshot.
A car window in front of John erupted in chunked pieces of safety glass.
“Stop!” the cop shouted.
John didn’t.
He raced ahead, wrestling his senses for a second of calm, just long enough to carve himself an escape.
The cop kept pace 10 yards back, then stopped to take another shot. Death whizzed by his ears and smashed into another car window.
Ahead, John spotted a woman leaning into the back of her car, gently setting brown bags into an empty back seat. While others in the parking lot had noticed him, the woman had not. He raced up behind her and screamed, “Move!”
Her head hit the inside roof of the car as she spun around clumsily, her heel slipping forward, stopping short of touching John’s leg. She was young, with long blond hair, full of energy, which he could feel flaring from her every pore. A hunger stirred within him, a mix of lust and a desire to feed. She stared at him, frozen by fear or something else he couldn’t quite place in the narrow sweep of a second.
The woman’s rear window shattered as another gunshot rang out and she gave release to a piercing shriek, suddenly shaken from her temporary lull. She launched herself backwards in the car, jerked open the passenger side back door, and scrambled out the other side. As she ran for safety, John spun around to see the cop advancing on him, about 30 yards away, aiming the shotgun.
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw that the woman had dropped her keys on the ground.
He ducked down, grabbed a handful of silver, opened the front door, and jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Stop!” the cop screamed, now only a few yards away.
John keyed the ignition and threw the car in reverse, yanking the wheel hard right. The car stopped just in front of the cop as he leveled the shotgun squarely at John’s head. John shifted into drive and floored the gas, but not before the cop fired, thunder erupting from the shotgun.
The slug shattered the window and found its mark, slamming into John’s chest — thrusting him back against the seat at the exact moment the car struck the cop and sent his badge scraping across the hood and his body into an angry tumble behind the bumper.
John gasped for air, barely managing to dip out of the shopping center parking lot and into traffic. Though the pain was intense, his wounded flesh was already starting to stitch itself together as his breath
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