Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending by Brian Stewart

corner of the shed. He waited.
     
    The small caravan of figures walked single file out of
the star lit clearing in Walter’s driveway. Snaking their way around the parked
vehicles, the line ebbed into a wider, shorter procession as they traveled up
the gravel lane past the chicken coop. They walked silently and with no
lights—the only signs of their passage were the low, soft crunch of
their footsteps and the occasional cluck of a disturbed hen.
     
    He watched the approaching group carefully. His night
vision had always been keen, and he could pick out the forms of Walter and
Michelle leading the pack. As they closed the gap, Eric eased back around the
corner and out of sight. The door opened a few seconds later, and he closed his
eyes, concentrating his senses and focusing on sound. When his ears told him
the last person in line had begun to enter the shed, Eric silently flowed
around the corner and studied the path. Thirty seconds of waiting convinced him
that no one else was following, at least not anyone obvious, and he stepped
through the door.
     
    As soon as he crossed the threshold, the person in
front of him—a tall figure wearing desert camouflage—turned to shut the door.
With a wide-eyed yelp and an impulsive grab at the rifle slung across his
chest, he jumped back and cut loose with a nonstop stream of cussing.
     
    “Thompson, calm your ass down,” Walter hissed. Turning
to Eric he said, “And you stop ghosting people. And you and you,” he nosed
towards several other figures, “grab some hay bales and make us a little
circle.” Walter looked around the room for a count of three before adding,
“Please.”

Chapter 9
     
    The rectangle of silage that Eric sat on was one the
baler must have chosen not to wrap tight enough. Every slight movement he made
resulted in an abrupt shift to the left or right as the layers of straw slid
past one another. In just a few minutes his rectangle had become a rhombus
leaning to the right. No, wait, that wasn’t correct. It had started off as a
rectangle, not a square, so it was a . . . parallelogram? He couldn’t remember.
A quick scan clockwise around the circle showed nine other people—Michelle,
Walter, Sam, Crowbar Mike, Doc, Callie, Preacher Dave, and two people that he
didn’t know. There was a short, chubby man sporting bright dimples and wearing a
furry hat with ear flaps, and the young black man in the desert camouflage.
     
    Eric glanced back towards Sam. They had briefly talked
at some point last night, but he couldn’t remember exactly when. It had been
out on the porch while he had sat and waited for news about Uncle Andy. At
first he had hardly recognized Sam, and then he couldn’t quite comprehend how,
or why Sam was there. Sam had sat down and expressed his condolences. He’d then
given Eric a short rundown about what had happened to him. As tired and
distracted as Eric had been, he couldn’t recall most of what Sam had passed on.
     
    Callie had donated her headlight for the impromptu
‘campfire,’ and the steady, muted ruby light gave enough illumination to see by
as introductions were made all around. Desert camouflage, Eric learned, was
Private Jason Thompson. Eric scrunched his eyes in recollection. Wasn’t there
another Jason somewhere that he had recently met or heard about? Maybe at the
campground? He wasn’t sure. Before he could dedicate any more brain cells to
the task, the chubby man with ear flaps stood up.
     
    “Hello, my name is Leonard . . . Leonard Osloson. Or
just Lenny . . . or Ozzy, whatever works for you.” He smiled, dimples flaring
even more as he met each of their eyes around the circle. “My wife Glenda and I
were staying at the campground when everything happened. I just want to say
that I’m grateful for your hospitality, and if there is anything that Glenda or
I can do to help out even more, just let us know.”
     
    Walter cleared his throat, placed his hands on top of
his knees and partially stood up