Where We've Made It Dark, page 1
WHERE WE'VE MADE IT DARK
NICHOLAS CRAWFORD
Copyright © 2025 by Nicholas Crawford
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations within critical articles or reviews . This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Printed in the United States of America. Imprint: Curtain Literary Press
Contact info: www.nicholascrawfordauthor.com
ISBN 978-1-968096-01-4 (hardcover)
First edition: October 2025
Electronic edition: ASIN B0F7GV8LTW (ebook)
Front cover design: Naomi Clark
Front cover art: Christina Kent
Author photo: Carolyn Fong
Formatted with Vellum
To Liara and Elspeth, forever and always
CONTENTS
Part I
Breakout News
Shopping
de Young
Family Meeting
North
Aidan
The Salon
Got a Gun
Lamella
Singapore
Aidan
Toilet Paper
Towards the Sky
Marsh Water
Part II
Keeping Her
Exodus
The American Way
Scouting
Grand Larceny
Knock
Who’s There?
Boba
Grocery Shopping
End of the World
Mouthwash
Tiger Eye
The Scream
Lands End
Play
First Word
Bathroom
Drainage
Boiling
I Do Not Slip
No
In the Hum
Here
Pain
Patchwork
Parking
Cleanup
Wail
How’s It Going?
Part III
Stinson
Weeds
Back
Swinburne
Home
Alone
Riverboat
Horse
Robe
Gardening
Char
Char
Part IV
Mill
Life
Where We’ve Made It Dark
Fishing
The Coast
Black
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Book Club Questions
PART I
BREAKOUT NEWS
I’m open on the concave slopes of an as yet unslept in morning. It’s too much, but it doesn’t stop. No one part of me takes the lead against it. All at once I’m out and stumbling as the hand on my chest crumbles to carpet quicksand and I’m there. Swiped through on that sun-kissed smile and silent again in the cuddle.
Brighter now through the blinds as celestial neon takes the wainscoting. Nothing’s left that aches. The carpet scrunches around my feet until I’m out on the tile, then it’s back to safety at the bath mat. Close the door and crank it on. There’s that shrill whistle. Some princesses get birds, I get old pipes that sing for me. It’s a dog’s pitch intoning down before it gets spat fully out, a pebble on its way, only me to catch it. And whoever else is in the house.
The same soft-pink slippers bounce me down the stairs like they’ve done since junior high. Something’s on and blaring that’s not daytime TV. A lone, greasy tangle of bed head’s watching it.
— What, are you like Mom and Dad now?
He doesn’t turn.
— I’m not the one who pretends to be an adult. It was all over, look.
Breakout News. Deadly protests erupt in Indonesia, leaving hospitals overrun, urban chaos. Could this be the start of ethnic cleansing?
— Did Mom get yogurt?
The following images may be disturbing to some viewers.
— I forgot to change my alarm.
— Good for you.
A man is lying on his back. His face is blurred away, but he’s definitely dead. The angle hides the wound. He’s gutshot, maybe. A flat madder red muddies the details. The photo is at night, and another man stands to the side with his hands resting on his head as though he’s just walked off from a car accident. Dirt on the street, figures gathered in the distance.
Two women in skirts lie facedown on top of each other. The flash glares on their butts, narrow, one in almost that same shade of red, the other washed-out purple. But their hair is what’s caught together in a mess. No purses or the like. Only one heel’s left between them.
— Well, that’s more than I wanted before breakfast.
— Then go eat.
No yogurt, but there is granola. The bananas are songbird green, and I keep looking for better fruit.
He’s still turned for what’s next. More people and more of their insides.
— What is it?
— Zombies.
I smirk and flip the hot water kettle on.
— Oh, yeah?
— That’s what people are saying, anyway. All the posts are about how everyone’s biting each other. People actually getting eaten alive.
— Sounds serious.
I hook a handmade mug. The ceramic pit looks back at me, surprised.
— Yeah, there’s just nothing good. They were talking earlier about some sort of disease, but that’s dropped now completely.
I leave it waiting as I pour cereal. The hearty flakes are doused, and I’m sitting next to Jake.
— They looked pretty normal dead to me.
I’m thrown a crowd on knees together in the street. A few look hurt in places. They’re reaching down, but it’s hidden. This one’s at dusk.
— What, you think that’s helping someone?
— It’s not exactly eating them either.
— But it’s close, right? It’s like they’re trying to keep it boring. It’s a riot with no rioters. A virus with no symptoms. Everything’s all small and sanitized.
There’s a real bite against the cereal, just a bit sweet. Maybe it’s the same from last time.
— I’m just waiting for them to use the Z word. Call it what it is.
His smile splits the upstart sketch of his Vandyke with jagged teeth. It holds its blackness tight.
Stone cracks under us; my phone’s back to life and rattling from its plastic. I pull it up, close and far, buzzing angrily. Dodge the notification and go to Aidan.
So my brother thinks there are zombies now.
Welcome home to me. Woo!
I swallow a mouthful too quickly. It stays with me, rough on the way down.
Hey Babe!
Well, it’s pretty intense.
Watch REAL ZOMBIE ATTACK Indonesia, Location Unknown on YouTube.
— Here, Jake. Present for you.
— Oh, awesome!
I hold for us to hover.
It takes a moment to play. The video starts with blackness, noise on the street. Voices speaking, screaming, shrieking on top of each other. It’s rhythmic, coming out in its own buried waves. The camera and others are running in the dark as mopeds zoom right by. Everyone in the same direction. The video is two and a half minutes long. A lot of it is feet hitting against a flow of pavement and dirt and grass. The camera swings through the scuffling of torsos and jerks to a doorway passed by. A form stands there, taking it in. It steps forward slowly, stumbling to join. Others come behind. There’s breathing in choked spasms and something in Indonesian. The screams that rear awaken to something else, free now of melody. The video ends.
— Man, still nothing.
— You don’t think that was weird?
— I mean, it was all running.
Crude CG and makeup zombies reach out in plastic gestures against toy guns and amusement park grins until they go black. Subscribe.
— Yeah, but that didn’t sound normal.
— Probably the audio. What’s a normal scream anyway?
Did you see it?
— This is so annoying. Just one clip of someone getting eaten is all I want.
He goes back to his phone, and I’m back to mine.
Yeah, that did seem like more than just panic.
What do you think?
— Should I text Mom and Dad?
He smirks.
— You really want to do that?
— Well, it is news.
— Sure, if you want to get them worked up over how gullible you are.
— You mean like you?
— Hey, I’m just having fun, remember? You want to tell them how maybe zombies are real, be my guest.
— Fine.
The chat bar pulses ocean blue in wait. Its line goes too short in either direction beneath the used up words of another time zone. Here. Happy little buzzes cascade through on their own.
Same.
I’m finishing up at the gym.
Miss you, Imy.
The next bite is all limp, lasagna layers of bran mush that go squish in your mouth. A couple more bites and it’ll be buried at sink. The water’s been ready.
Hey, Imogen.
How’d I do?
A photo of Crissy’s sexy, cute, but also undead unicorn from Halloween. My thumbs thwack back the words from seeing, not clicking the link that follows.
<3
Hi Crissy! Lol. Yeah, it’s pretty freaky.
Are you started yet?
The Mom and Dad group chat is still empty with its words.
TV drops its people giving reactions to their reactions for a roadside swell of bodies surging on foot. They’re all coming to the camera and hurrying past like there’s a gate. The feeling of something charging down sticks with them.
<3
Yeah, this internship is AWESOME.
Loving NYC! :D
Sorry, Jim, we’ve just received word that the president is about to address the nation. We’ll go to there now.
There’s a blank podium and a slow, suited walking up in camera shutters.
My fellow Americans. As many of you may know, last night, crisis struck the island nation of Indonesia. A new kind of disease has emerged there, bringing with it pure chaos. People turned berserk against each other in ruthless acts of violence. Neighbor against neighbor. Family member against family. And those who try to help only become its next victim.
With the information that we have, I can with certainty confirm to you, the American public, the serious nature of this situation. Thus far, anyone affected appears to fall into a senseless rage, losing their will, their very self, as they go on to attack and to kill others indiscriminately. Loved ones. Young and old alike.
What we are witnessing is something worse than a civil war. Our hearts go out to the good people of Indonesia. And to them I have one message: We are here to help.
Whatever the cause, which we will find, the entire world now faces something that can strip away our very humanity. It’s an enemy armed only with hands and teeth. An enemy that tears its victims limb from limb. We’re seeing cities turned into armies overnight. Armies of.
He swallows, wrinkles unyielding.
Of regular people.
But I am also here to give hope. Hope against this dread news. We will not stand idly by. We will not leave this problem to someone else. We will treat this as the threat that it is. For the good of the world, this bedlam must not continue. And it must never be allowed to set foot on American soil.
We will act swiftly. We will gather the world’s brightest minds to find a cure. We will mobilize the most carefully orchestrated aid deployment history has ever seen. And we will use the full strength of the American military as necessary to keep the world we live in safe.
The people of Indonesia are suffering terribly, and our hearts go out to them.
Thank you.
A roar of flashes and questions takes him as he fails to wave.
— He meant zombies. He meant to say zombies there, didn’t he?
The brown, sogged bowl is still ready to go. New voices are picking up.
My screen’s still black.
SHOPPING
The people past the glass try their way down Geary. There’s no downtown purpose or the staggered leisure of Fillmore, Noe. The street-bound doing’s tight to overcast and cement.
We come stopped where someone old and half a ball is readying to cross. Her cart’s nudged by her nose, face beneath a derby with some sort of flower on it. The beauty’s there and gone in the constant shuffling for vegetables.
We drive before she does anything.
— So where did you want to go?
— I don’t know. Where do you need to go?
— I don’t need to go anywhere. I’m doing this for you. Don’t you want some summer clothes?
The temperature’s left on cold.
— Yeah.
— You okay? Did you get enough to eat?
— Yeah, I’m fine.
The door doesn’t give much room.
— I’m just distracted.
— Distracted by what? Are you really too brain-dead to spend some time with me?
She looks.
— It’s not like you were exactly pushing yourself this semester.
— Geez, Mom. It’s just weird with the whole outbreak thing.
The road hands us one part of town for another.
— Oh, that. It sounds bad, really unfortunate. But what a stupid reason to make us go to war. They can’t even say what it is they’re fighting.
— Wait, war?
— Did you hear what that guy said? He called it a civil war, and now we’re involved. It’s none of our business if people are causing trouble over there.
— I mean, it’s a metaphor, Mom. The thing’s contagious.
Her fingers splay dark and flaying.
— Yes, a mysterious disease. Better go rally the troops. If there’s something that really makes people go crazy, what good will soldiers do anyway? All they can do is kill the sick people. And what happens when they get infected? They’ll start shooting each other. It’s fuel to the fire either way. No, it’s just some sort of power grab. They only do what makes them more money.
The brushstrokes over her eyes arch as sharply as they can to me, brow taut from furrows.
— But it needs to be contained.
— It already is. But no, our big, macho president wants to send our people. Our boats and planes. See? It doesn’t make sense. They just want us scared while we cheer them on like idiots. It’s people fighting like always, you’ll see.
Mom’s knuckles are tight and white where they are. There’s a slight jitter with her elbows winnowed alone at the base of the wheel.
— Yeah, maybe.
Oil black jacket. Hoodie that’s embedded with brown and brown. A puffy coat and the sheen of a penny nobody’s touched. The way bodies stay bent with no one to turn the hanger back again.
Shouting starts down the street. Someone hobbled locks all face to someone who might have recently been called young, now a mix of lost identity. It’s a sound I’ve never used or had used towards me. The hailing’s there to slip as easily into cackles as it can blows. The exhaust-parched throat keeps on, and Mom and I are on our way to spend a few hundred dollars. At least it’ll be on something I like.
The sun cuts out as we drop into the garage, and Mom rushes through the gap where there’s no telling if someone is right there in front of you.
The golden doors of the first store are too heavy to stop from coming back at me.
— Is there anything that I can help you find?
— We’re just looking.
— Sure, just let me know.
Mom shoulders her bag forward, keeping it tight to her chest.
— Actually, we’d like to see your day dresses. And the material shouldn’t be too thin. It’s for my daughter.
— Sure! I’d say most of our newest designs have a nice bit of summer flow to them. Rustic, peasanty patterns are what’s in right now. They’re really fun. But if that’s not enough, you’d probably like what’s over here.
They look to me.
— Sounds good.
She goes in a bounce.
— You know, I really like these pimpernel ones. They’re enough to shield you from the wind. But don’t they just drape too? They really look great with some brown stockings.
Her eyes beam darkly at me while parts reach in whisker twitches. Above’s a mane that takes living with. The red shape has the rest down to a strain.
— What about that one, white with the leather, what is that, a gorget?
Her laugh breathes quick.
— We just call it a bib, although I like the way you think. It’s faux. Rather Grecian huntress, isn’t it? That one’s on sale too since it’s still from our winter collection, but here you could really keep wearing it all year round. Looks great with the right jacket too.
