Darlington Woods

 by Mike Dellosso

Prologue

1987
Darlington Woods, northern Maryland

The screams were everywhere, piercing the darkness like spears. Surrounding him. Closing in. Mixing with the wails and torturous moans of the other men.

Asher Wiggins ran pell-mell through the woods, blindly rolling over saplings and crashing through clumps of honeysuckle. Thickets pulled at his clothes, left jagged trails of blood on his skin. His bandaged face throbbed in time with his quickened pulse.

And still the screams grew closer.

To his right, Jerry hollered then went down in a complicated crash of crunching leaves and breaking sticks. The sound that followed reminded him of a pack of rabid dogs in a feeding frenzy.

Only it wasn't dogs. Far from it.

He came to a ridge where the ground sloped downward at a sharp angle for thirty yards or so, bottomed out, then rose on the other side. Lungs working furiously to keep the oxygen coming, heart in his throat, Asher stole a quick look around. To his left, in the distance, he heard Abe trip on a fallen limb and hit the ground hard. He knew it was Norm by the sound of his wheezing. Within moments he heard them attack—he didn't even know what they were. The sound of Abe's piteous screams for help sent chills racing along his nerves.

Asher turned and pushed himself down the slope. He stumbled mostly out of control but somehow was able to keep his feet under him. At the bottom he looked up and saw a dark pulsating shadow at the top of the ridge. It was them.

"God help me."

One of them let out a terrible scream, like a woman in great pain, and they all responded similarly.

Without thinking, Asher turned and started climbing the opposite slope. His legs burned, and his lungs were on fire, but adrenaline kept him moving.

"God help me, God help me, God help me . . ." he said over and over as he climbed, finding purchase with both hands and feet, grabbing onto saplings and branches where he could.

The gauze covering half his face-a hastily assembled bandage-was soaked with blood and working loose. It dangled like a lame wing.

Behind him he heard the crash of the horde as it charged down the slope, screaming and hissing.

Faster he climbed, clawing at the ground, pulling himself forward and upward. Finally at the top, he ran a few feet and stopped. He could go no further. His legs felt boneless and every blood vessel in his body beat in sync with his rapid breathing. His vision blurred, and his chest tightened.

Asher tried to breathe deep but his diaphragm spasmed and refused to cooperate. The woods started to spin around him, and he collapsed onto his back. The bandage peeled away like an old scab and left his wounds open to the air.

He could hear the horde coming up the slope now. But there was nothing he could do. He looked up with his one working eye, past the limbs, past the leaves, and found the early morning sky. It was just beginning to lighten with the dawn of day. He'd been in the woods all night.

His last thought before closing his eyes and accepting what may come was a passage from Scripture he'd used in a sermon recently:

The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?

THE END

Final Word

How cool is that? For more, go out and get yourself a copy!

Be sure to catch the interview with Mike. And if you missed any of our other special features, including works by Ted Dekker, Bill Myers and Tosca Lee, you can find them here.