Canni

by Daniel O'Connor

  He was a good twenty yards behind her as they both took off. They knew the super-charged canni could easily run them down, so finding a hiding place was essential. They also each knew that technically they need not be faster than the canni, only faster than one another.

  Both simultaneously dismissed that thought.

  Cash ran as fast as she ever had. She heard pounding footsteps to her rear. She hoped they belonged to Paul, but if he had taken shelter already they might not. Cutting sharply to her right, she darted into a sea of taller junked vehicles; vans, trucks, and the like. She dove and rolled.

  PARE SI HAY NIÑOS

  That was the brightly-colored sticker that was peeling from just above the bumper, that in turn was just above her feet. Cash had slithered beneath an old GMC ice cream truck. It may have leaked oil during its final moments, but you’d have thought it bled vanilla swirl due to the number of red harvester ants that shared the ground with Cash. They were quickly on her arms and legs.

  With little choice, she let them have their way. Her thoughts flashed back to a film she saw at Bishop Kearney High School. The documentary depicted birds in the process of anting. The feathered creatures would intentionally sprawl on a mound of ants, inviting them to crawl all over their bodies. There were several theories as to the purpose of this ritual, but none of the experts could declare, with any certainty, the exact reason why birds would choose to do this. It helped Cash to envision herself as a blue jay.

  Then the footsteps came.

  The oddity was they were on either side of the truck. To Cash’s right, the row she had just run down before cutting across the line of trucks, she saw a pair of high-gloss work shoes. They obviously contained the feet of the infected guard. They paced, as if unsure of which direction to go.

  Cash, prone and trying to ignore the biting and stinging of the ants, turned her head to the left. There were Paul’s blue Adidas sneakers. He was still; likely listening for the steps of the canni on the other side of the ice cream truck. Figuring that it would take the insects much longer to devour her than the canni, Cash felt relatively safe beneath the truck. She wasn’t even sure the hefty guard could fit under there if she tried. Though she didn’t discount the thought that her hunter might be able to toss the entire vehicle on its side.

  She heard the work shoes scurry away. The Adidas remained.

  Knowing that it would probably scare the hell out of Paul but figuring it might help save his life—as long ashe didn’t scream—she reached out from under the truck, envisioning her arm as a wing as blue as Teresa’s eyes, and grabbed hold of his ankle.

  “FuckingMotherFucker,” he said, but in a whisper.

  Good job, buddy, thought Cash before she stuck her head out. Paul looked down to see her face, stained with dirt and harvester ants.

  “Come under here,” she whispered.

  “Uh, no thanks,” he answered. “I have a better idea. Come on out. Fast!”

  She thought about it for a second, but those scumbag ants were the clincher. She crawled out, wiping the bugs from her wings as she stood. Paul brushed a couple from her cheeks. She shook her hair violently, sending more insects into the wind.

  Paul put a finger to his lips. He slowly slid open the door to the ice cream truck. He sent Cash up the steps first. Without thinking, he soon realized that his hand was on her right buttock as he pushed her into the truck. Despite everything, she knew it too. He followed her inside and gently closed the door.

  The truck smelled like the hot fudge of a sewage treatment plant and was, more or less, an oven. Most of the old ice cream equipment was still within.

  “You okay, Carrie?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, except I might be itchy for the rest of my days. You?”

  “All good. We should be safe here until she passes out, or whatever.”

  He had just finished the sentence when the canni returned. They watched while hunched down near the truck’s side window, the one where countless ice cream cones had exchanged hands.

  The canni seemed intently aware that people were nearby. It leaned north and south without going anywhere. A pained roar came from its foaming throat. It lifted a refrigerator, perhaps in frustration, and launched it at a junked school bus that sat beside the ice cream truck. Windows shattered as a second roar exploded.

  Even stronger than I thought, mused Cash. Or are they getting stronger?

  The diseased security officer’s head pivoted quickly. Her breaths were heavy, as her crimson eyes scanned for food.

  Cash wondered if the canni had recall from before the seizure. Did she remember that two people were in the junkyard and sought them as prey as soon as she turned? Or was it coincidence that they first saw the canni by the SUV?

  Paul picked another ant from Cash’s hair.

  The canni moved closer to the truck. They ducked down further. Paul considered videoing the goings on.

  Cash’s ELO ringtone went off again.

  She and Paul both fumbled for the phone as it tumbled to the floor, near the dying ant.

  Incoming call Rob

  There was no choice but to press the Decline button again. Paul understood why she did it, but he also noticed that she hadn’t tried to call her boyfriend in the time between when she refused his previous call and the start of their current predicament.

  The more important immediate issue hinged on whether the canni had heard the Electric Light Orchestra jangling, in the dreadful, tinny cell phone sound from the debilitated custard wagon.

  It ran its hand along the side of the truck, gurgling as it listened. Neither Cash nor Paul knew if it had noticed the ringtone. They were frozen in a crouched position, heads on either side of the service window, as their predator lumbered by the glass pane. They both knew that even if they avoided the hungry canni outside the truck they might not be safe from the ones gestating within each of them. If one of them flipped in that confined space, the other would be dead in minutes.

  They could hear the thud of the hand taps along the white body panel. They appeared to be moving toward the back of the truck, then they grew louder again. Neither Cash nor Paul dared peek out that window. Paul crawled over to Cash’s side, remaining under any possible view from the outside.

  As they knelt, he whispered, “I was thinking what Rob might do here. If that thing starts to come through the door, I will occupy it as best I can. You will break this window and climb out. Here are the car keys. You run like hell . . . ”

  Striking like a canni, Cash grabbed Paul’s face. She firmly planted her lips on his. She held tight as his mouth opened to match hers. It quickly moved from a kiss to a real kiss. Paul’s hand slid to the back of her head, pulling her closer. They barely noticed that the canni had moved on. The tapping ceased, but the kiss continued. Despite the lingering danger, Paul felt that embrace down to his toes, some areas more than others. Maybe the danger enhanced it.

  When they released, Cash was gazing into his eyes. His brain was scrambled. He thought of how much he enjoyed that moment. He was almost unsure if it actually happened. He thought of Rob, and if he would ever learn of it. Would there be any more of this? He then remembered that there was something nearby who would like nothing more than to kill and eat him.

  Cash stood. She moved quickly away from the window and unbuttoned her shorts. She lowered them to her knees.

  Paul jumped to his feet and opened his belt.

  This is going to happen, he thought. And in an ice cream truck.

  “Whoa there, buddy,” smiled Cash. “Slow your roll. There is an ant crawling up my butt. That is the one and only reason my shorts are down.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” growled Rob. Sweat covered his reddened face and soaked through his sleeveless white shirt. He stood beside Phaedra, both baking in the sun. They and a handful of others were dumping buckets of waste into the sewer drains.

  “It’s just one of the chores,” replied Phaedra. “It gets easier.”

  “It’s not the bu
ckets. It’s that I am trying to do this while I have no clue where Cash is or if she is even alive.”

  He took his phone out and walked away from the others. Phaedra followed behind. He yanked his soiled shirt off as if it were aflame and dropped it on a loose fence post. Phaedra got a look at the deltoids that felt so firm. When he turned, pressing his phone screen, she saw the pectorals. Not Mr. Olympia, but well-proportioned and quite defined. Perspiration had him nicely oiled. She kept a respectful distance, but soon saw that his call wasn’t answered. Again.

  He sat against the hard, sun-drenched wall, his shadow sitting beside him. Phaedra approached.

  “It’s not really break time,” she smiled. A wavy strand of her red hair danced across her face.

  “Tell them they can fire me.”

  “Come on, silly. They all know we need to clear our minds sometime. Everyone down here has some major problems. You know that. Hang on a sec.”

  She jaunted over to the nearest tunnel, disappearing into its inviting shade. Rob noticed a long-tailed lizard that stood motionless on the far wall. Its small body was gray with dark crossbars. Nature had designed the creature to blend in with desert creosote brush, but there it was, in the sun on a white concrete wall, deceiving nary an ant or spider.

  In a moment Phaedra emerged, carrying a bottle of lime Gatorade. Ice chips fell from the frosty container. It looked beautiful to a thirsty Rob. He also happened to notice that Phaedra’s emerald-colored shirt almost duplicated her eye color. When framed by her crimson locks in the stunning brightness, she looked to be an angel.

  “Here ya go, Rob. I wish I had a little something to spike it up,” she laughed.

  “Thanks, Phaedra.”

  He eyed his phone, though it didn’t ring. He chugged the icy refreshment, downing half the bottle in one gulp.

  “That was sweet. Here, you can have the rest. You can drink from the other side of the rim if my germs freak you.”

  He handed her the bottle. She drank from his side.

  “Caroline will be back and healthy,” she said. “I bet her phone died.”

  “Maybe.”

  “This is still cold,” she said, as she put the bottle to his forehead. “Feels good, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She moved it from his head to his bare chest, her emeralds glancing up at him as she pressed it to his heart.

  “Deep breaths. Settle down, and all will be well. I promise.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.

  “That is how humans should be, right?”

  “It is, but I don’t encounter it a lot.”

  Phaedra held up the bottle for Rob to sip. He did so without regard to any possible germs. She placed her other hand on his biceps as she spoke. “My mother used to say something, it was a famous quote,” she said. “It was, ‘The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good’. Now, I wish they had said person instead of man, but it’s still a great quote.”

  Rob managed a smile. He said, “My father used to say that to me. I was actually going to finish the quote with you, but that would’ve been beyond tacky. Do you know who said that?”

  She nodded. As she opened her mouth to respond, he decided that this time he would say it along with her. They spoke concurrently.

  “Samuel Johnson,” said Rob.

  She said, “Ann Landers.”

  They laughed together. Rob looked over at the lizard on the wall. It hadn’t moved.

  “There is good within us, Rob. I mean, within people.”

  “Some.”

  “Most.”

  “I can’t go that far,” he replied.

  “It’s just that this disease has ignited the bad,” said Phaedra. “We need something to empower the good.”

  “You think that we all have some evil inside, and this virus has just amplified it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know that ‘evil’ is the correct word. Maybe it’s ‘greed’ or ‘narcissism’. When people become monsters, they only want to serve themselves. They want to consume. They want to devour you and make you a part of them, forever. Nourish themselves at all costs to others. The tall guy who pushes in front of a small woman at a concert; the fit person who parks in a handicapped stall to save a few steps; a canni is just these people on some super-steroid.”

  “But good people turn,” said Rob. “My friend Teresa was a caring person. I’ve seen her give her last dollar to the hungry. She volunteered at soup kitchens. You know that TV ad where you can sponsor a child in Africa with a monthly contribution? She had, like, three of those kids. Now, she’s gone.”

  “Sounds like she was a beautiful person.”

  “Yet, she became one of those zombies.”

  Phaedra squeezed his sweaty biceps as she responded, “They are definitely not zombies, Mr. Muscles. Zombies are thoughtless shells, returned from the dead. The canni are we.”

  “I meant that they eat . . . ”

  “It’s not they, Rob. It’s we.”

  He looked at his phone again.

  “When I was little, my mom used to make us root beer floats,” said Phaedra. “We’d snuggle up and watch scary movies. Now you know that I love quotes, so it should be no surprise that I remember movie lines.”

  “They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” he offered.

  “Good one, but way off base. You can’t shake that zombie thing, can you?”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Do you remember this quote, Rob? I hope I get it right . . . ‘Even a man who is pure in heart, and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright’.”

  He stared for a moment, letting a fresh breeze soothe his face.

  “Yeah, kind of. The whole wolf part gives it away. Guessing it’s not from Dracula.”

  “Now yet again, I wish they had said person instead of man, but it still applies.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “Can’t you see?” she asked. “That is canni. You and I, Caroline, and everyone else; we are all Lawrence Talbot. The wolfsbane has bloomed. The difference is that our full moon glows every day, all day, and all through the night.”

  Rob sat silently. Phaedra followed his stare to the far wall. She spotted the lizard. It remained motionless, as if it could wait for all eternity for an unsuspecting insect to approach.

  “The dudes at concerts who put their girlfriends on their shoulders, blocking the views of people behind them,” said Rob.

  “The concert dudes and their shoulder girls,” smiled Phaedra. “All of them are canni.”

  “But my main flaw, my weakness,” he said, “it is not based in evil. It comes from love.”

  “You are consuming her, Rob.”

  She rested her hand on his glistening chest as she continued. “Even a man who is pure in heart.”

  Her words lingered until Rob’s phone blasted them from the air. Same ELO ringtone as Cash. He snatched his cell as that lizard would an ant. He didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  Phaedra stood and walked away, to give him some privacy. She could still hear Rob’s voice, but not that of the caller.

  “Johnny? Hey, what’s up? Are you in Vegas, dude? Cool. How have you been dealing with all of this? I can’t even imagine . . . ”

  Phaedra watched the lizard as Rob spoke to his friend.

  “We’re actually not in a hotel, bud. Long story. I’ll explain when we hook up.”

  Rob listened for a bit, then replied. “There’s some stuff I’d rather tell you in person. Let’s meet up on Thursday. I don’t have my car—that’s another long story.”

  As the conversation continued, Spats, one of Russo’s men, approached Phaedra.

  “There are folks sweating their asses off on bucket duty while you and the new guy are playing footsie. Maybe you two could get back to work. We rely on each other here, you know?”

  “We will, of course. He’s new to all this.
Let him have his phone call and we’ll be back working. He’s going through a lot right now.”

  “I can’t relate,” deadpanned Spats, “because my life is all big tits and unicorns.”

  Phaedra spoke as he walked away. “Thank you, Spats.”

  “You ain’t on a phone call.”

  As Spats rejoined the others he shook his head. Most of them glanced at Phaedra then went about their chores. Rob stood, still looking at his phone. His call was over, and there was still nothing from Cash.

  “Feel like getting back to work?” asked Phaedra with a smile and head tilt.

  “Why not? Nothing else for me to do.”

  “Not to pry, but the call was unrelated to Caroline?”

  “Unrelated to her blowing me off. It was my friend John G. He’s our best man.”

  Rob stood and dusted himself off. He and Phaedra headed toward the other workers. On the far wall remained the lizard, placid as the pyramids.

  Paul loaded the final items into the back of the Santa Fe. Several yards behind him, Cash held a water bottle to the mouth of the security guard who minutes earlier had wanted to kill her. The woman sat on the pavement, her back against a rear tire of the ice cream truck. Her shirt and dangling clip-on tie, were soaked with vomit and sweat.

  Gulping the water, the guard took a breath and yelled over to Paul,

  “Yeah, you can take the fucking generator.”

  The drive back to the tunnels seemed eternal. Cash and Paul had barely exchanged a sentence since the kiss. Each of them was within their own racing mind. Neither knew if anything more could or should come of this. Then there was Rob. They both knew his world could be shattered if the moment ever repeated or propagated. Maybe even if it didn’t. Still, Paul had to stay true to his own identity. He cleared his throat as he drove.

  “Cash, just sayin’, but I was so down to play anteater.”

  She shook her head with a slight grin, gazing out her window, noting that he addressed her as Rob would.

  He wondered if someone with the true first name of Winthrop had ever strolled through a drainage tunnel lugging two buckets of shit. It was as Rob pondered that in the darkness that he heard her voice forty yards away, just outside the entrance.