The Drumhead

by Richard Correll

  Their heads and upper bodies were visible. They bobbed up and down like beach balls floating on the water. The slow, careful steps that they had seen earlier were being mimicked by these things as they shambled up the street toward them. There was a middle aged woman in a sweatshirt that looked like it had been attacked with a chainsaw. Thin gashs in the shredded fabric exposed skin that was barn red with blood. The eyes betrayed a vacant stare as she labored forward. The mouth worked up and down with her steps. The man beside her was black skinned and tall in a muscle shirt that was peppered with three bullet holes. He staggered for a few seconds and then sniffed the air. His mouth then slashed open and teeth appeared. It continued to open to an almost impossible size as the teeth suddenly dominated his face. Maggie thought colored saliva or blood drooled from his mouth as he began lurching toward them.

  He can smell us, she thought as a chill went through her spine.

  She slowly scanned right and left like Pinder had. More of them, her breath grew short, many, many more of them. It looked like a march of some kind. It was slow and deliberate but inevitable in their destination. Maggie looked past the first few faces and saw the outlines of still more specters in the mist. Smoke from small and large fires obscured her long range vision. But it was clear that the phantom contours had more outlines behind them. There must be thousands, tens of thousands. She quickly corrected herself.

  Maggie inhaled slowly to calm down. Watch, she advised herself. Watch them. Every enemy has its nuances. They had slow, deliberate motions and sheer numbers. Several heads turned and looked upwards. Maggie quickly panned her glasses to find the distraction. There! An old man on the fifth floor of a building had stepped out onto his balcony. He held the cane in the air like a club.

  A few seconds later, the sliding door to the balcony smashed open with terrific force as three figures piled through the broken glass and clawed at him. A young woman was the most aggressive of the three. Maggie could see her wide, hungry eyes. The other two, smaller children hung back and awaited their chance. Maggie tore herself from the scene and quickly went back to the spot where the heads had turned. The things were now moving toward the commotion. Sensing the stir in their universe, others turned and followed the new path.

  “Maggie?” It was Pinder. “Do you see them?”

  “Yes sir,” her voice was grave and husky. “Give me a moment, sir.”

  She played the glasses back to the fifth floor balcony. One of the children had somehow jumped up and was gripping the man around the waist. Her head was burrowing into his side. A spreading stain of red appeared on his checked shirt as he began to jerk convulsively. The mother clawed for his throat as the man began to back into the railing. As he leaned farther back, the tipping point of gravity took control. Maggie pulled the glasses away from her eyes and watched three dots plummet to the street below. The last figure was a child. She howled in anger at the receding figures before easing herself over the balcony to dive on her prey five stories below.

  Maggie could now clearly see the first few distracted dead were now a few hundred. They were all converging on that single blood stained spot on the pavement. They had their prey. She lowered the glasses. She could feel how wide her eyes were. Her skin felt cold. Maggie tried to concentrate on what she saw. It was good intel on whatever was going on.

  But, what did it all mean?

  “We can’t hold them,” Maggie finally spoke.

  “We have to hold them, ma’am.” Symons blurted out as he was thinking of the traffic moving southbound on the highway toward the Eisenhower and out of Chicago.

  “That’s what the picket line is for.” Pinder spoke in a tone that didn’t betray confidence in the plan.

  “We have our orders,” Maggie said in a hushed tone while looking at Pinder. He responded with a sigh of resignation.

  “Yes, we do.” Pinder’s tone matched Maggie’s as he walked past Symons and began to turn around the front of the bus to the entrance on the other side. Before disappearing around the corner he turned and asked: “Are you coming?”

  Brett and Maggie exchanged glances and they turned together to follow Pinder. Maggie had a feeling of dread that had started in the pit of her stomach and was quickly spreading. It was a gut sensation that whatever was happening was quickly losing its equilibrium and spinning out of control. It was like being on a carnival ride when parts failed. The gravity of events would follow a new and deadlier path as the whole thing came crashing down.

  “…..and that’s’ how people die.” Maggie heard herself whisper.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The door hissed open as they trudged back on the bus and took their seats. The silence was the first thing Maggie noticed as she dropped into her spot. It had an introspective taste to it. Her people were thinking about the upcoming mission and how they would do. Maggie thought that fear might begin to creep into cracks and crevices that silence would allow. She leaned over to Pinder

  “Sir?” Pinder became instantly aware Maggie was leaning forward to speak to him and he met her half way.

  “Yes, Maggie.” His brown eyes were like a living machine. Cold, observant.

  “This might be a good time to go over the finer points of our objectives.” Her husky voice suggested.

  “Good idea,” he nodded.

  “If I could suggest,” Maggie was being cut a lot of slack and she knew it. She was careful not to over extend herself. “We give an overview of the plan and then answer questions individually.”

  “Okay,” he nodded to the driver to pull out. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay, people, we’re gonna go over a few things.” Maggie’s voice was at command volume and then she turned to Pinder using a lower tone. “Sir, the floor is yours.”

  “Thank you, Maggie.” He stood up and turned to the troops seated like overgrown commuters in a military rush hour in the bus. “Our objective is Millennium Station.”

  “We are to occupy it and secure it so that forces can arrive by train to reinforce us.” Several heads nodded. He continued through the minor edges of which platoon was responsible for what and then took questions. A hand arose seven rows back to his right. It was Esterhaus.

  “Uh, Corporal Esterhaus.” Pinder stuttered for a second.

  “Um, Sergeant, sir.” Esterhaus corrected.

  “Oh, congratulations on the promotion.” Pinder replied with a smile and a more than generous wave of laughter greeted him. Yeah, they’re starting to get comfortable with this guy, Maggie realized.

  “Please continue.”

  “Yes sir,” Esterhaus’ smile was gone and he was back to business. “Millennium station has miles of tunnels, sir.”

  “Yes it does.” Pinder nodded.

  “The broadcast said these things have a hard time climbing.” Esterhaus made his point. “As opposed to securing the tunnels, should we set up our base in an elevated area, like a building maybe?”

  Pinder raised an eyebrow and turned toward Maggie who was nodding at Esterhaus. Her eyes displayed a hint of pride “Damn good question, sir.”Maggie replied as she thought; my boys, they aren’t just pretty faces.

  “Agreed, good question.” Pinder nodded.” I think we should concentrate on the track areas away from any tunnel access. “

  Pinder could see the soldiers were listening carefully. Some were clearly a bit skeptical of the idea. He had to go into a more in depth analysis.

  “Millennium station is a huge building. We don’t have the manpower to secure it all.” He continued and the vibe of the bus grew more receptive. “We are there to secure the tracks. We stay together and do just that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Further, if things get out of hand we can always take refuge in the trains.” Pinder finished his explanation. “They are elevated and have only two doors that can be locked and secured.”

  Maggie nodded her head at that one. Nice to see someone from above was thinking of everything for once. A thought crossed her mind like a shadow in front o
f a curtain. Maybe that was Pinder’s idea. She watched him summing up the plan with one hand steadying himself on the overhead compartment. How does a desk jockey come up with an idea like that?

  “Thank you for your attention, everyone.” Pinder concluded.

  “Yes sir, thank you, sir.” The reply came from all over the bus.

  Pinder sat down beside Maggie as the bus swayed down the highway. She noticed a pensive look across his face. Doubt was peeking into his thoughts. She decided to head it off at the pass. She leaned forward and kept her tone low.

  “The train idea as a refuge.” She looked at him with an arched eyebrow and lips curled slightly upwards. “That was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  “I think you’re rubbing off on me, Maggie.” He replied slyly.

  “You’re really getting the hang of this, sir.”The slight curl at the edge of her lips broadened into a full blown smile.

  “Thanks,” he nodded tiredly. “I need all the encouragement I can get.”

  “What’s wrong, sir?”

  “It just hit me when I was up there, the responsibility of all this,” his eyes displayed a tinge of being overwhelmed. “This is life or death.”

  “You’re doing okay, sir.”

  “Am I really?” He was clearly wrestling with a confidence issue. “How will I do when we get to our objective? How will I be when people start to die?”

  “You have me, Sergeant Symons and a bunch of people who are starting to respect you to back you up.” Maggie kept her voice low. Her eyes locked on him and softened. “We’re here to make sure you do fine. You are not alone, sir.”

  “Thank you.” What she had said did not make all his fears go away. But, it helped to keep his head above water. He changed the subject with a compliment. “I read your service report once.”

  “Really?” She arched her eyebrow. Maggie tried hard to act nonchalant and failed.

  “There are some people who really think a lot of you.” He nodded while speaking. “There have been a few comments about moving you up.”

  “Good to know, sir.” Maggie was thrown for a loop for a minute.

  “There were a few who said you have…” Pinder paused before quoting from the report. “A backbone and a penchant for brutal honesty with her superiors.”

  “I can be a real bitch sometimes, sir.” Maggie replied with a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Pinder caught Symons glance ever-so-slightly at Maggie and nod slowly. Pinder made a point of acting distracted with a sudden turn of his head to the front of the bus. He kept his eye on the drivers’ rear mirror to watch Maggie’s response. She shot Symons a secretive look hidden within a raised eyebrow. The corners of her mouth seemed to turn upward for a millisecond, though.

  My, my, my. Pinder smiled inwardly and turned back to Maggie who had her poker face back on. So, are they or were they an item? To take his mind off of his anxiety, Pinder vowed to find out. He continued the conversation.

  “Well, there are people who respect you.” He concluded.

  “Good to know, sir.” Maggie was truly grateful. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Not at all.”

  The conversation trailed off as they approached the off ramp to Washington. As the bus labored downwards they passed a humvee with its doors wide open. Maggie looked into the cabin and saw nothing. Equipment had clearly been rummaged through hastily but there was no sign of distress. She decided to let it go and began to check her equipment.

  “Jesus. “ A man’s voice whispered. Maggie’s head popped up.

  There were evenly spaced figures on the road like scarecrows in a cornfield. Maggie had to look twice to make sure of what they were. Them. They looked like someone had lined up store mannequins on the road and had twisted their bodies into bizarre, macabre shapes. They lurched on slowly with their eyes scanning for movement. They would stop and sniff the air. No doubt they were trying to edit out the smell of burning tires and buildings. The thousands of intricate aromas of a city street from rotting trash to diesel fuel to find that one scent that transformed them from statues to hunters.

  An East Indian man in a business suit paused for a moment. He had a deep wound that separated his forehead in two. The blood had further divided his face with a dried river bed of crimson that had finally pooled on his white shirt. His puss yellow eyes widened as his head turned slowly to his right and began to stagger in that direction. From out of nowhere a figure stood up behind a parked car and ran down the street toward an upper apartment door. As he reached for the knob the door flew open with such force that it sounded like a pistol shot when it crashed into the brick wall beside it. Stunned, the man looked up and all Maggie saw were two thin hands that snaked out and grabbed his wrist. He quickly pulled back and the two hands revealed themselves to belong to a tall black woman who was struggling to pull him closer.

  “No! No!” The man found his voice and repeated over and over.

  He finally wrenched his hands free and stumbled backward into a bike rack. He was a rotund man but desperation quickened his moves. He was up in the blink of an eye as other hands reached out for his clothing, arms and legs. He slapped away another hand from an old woman in a shawl and black dress and tried to find some running room. The East Indian man came up from behind him and snaked an arm around his neck and pulled himself on top of the man’s back.

  “NoNoNoNoNo!”

  The rotund man’s legs carried him and the East Indian a few steps before collapsing to the pavement. An irregular circle of hands moved toward their helpless prey. They grabbed at first as the struggle on the sidewalk continued. As more and more hands pushed forward the man still thrashed around. But now he was held down by the weight of a half dozen bodies. The voice increased in pitch.

  “NONONONONONONO!!!!!!”

  Then several heads began to burrow into the pile of humanity and inhumanity as Maggie could only watch helplessly from fifty yards away. A hand shot to her mouth as the tall African woman pulled her neck out of the pile as her face arched skywards. A large chunk of flesh dangled from her mouth as she chewed rapturously. Large droplets of blood oozed from her mouth to spatter her chin, cheeks and the pavement. Maggie forced herself to look away and heard a thump on the front of the bus. A pair of hands slid out of sight under the bus. Other figures lurched in their direction as the rotund man’s cries were suddenly cut off.

  “Jesus, I think I hit somebody.” The bus driver exclaimed as he hit the brakes and shifted to park. He started to pull himself out of his seat to exit the bus for a closer look.

  “Don’t move!” Maggie screamed at him. He turned to face her. His eyes wide and his mouth was an exclamation in shock.

  “I gotta see if he’s okay.” He explained, his eyes were widening slowly. Like a spreading pool of shock.

  “Its’ one of them, don’t you understand?” Maggie moved closer to make sure he didn’t open the door. She could feel Pinder right behind her.

  He looked at her with a potent mix of shock and incomprehension. He was a bus driver and probably had been for years. He had hurt someone and wanted to do his job to the letter. Even right now, old duties die hard.

  “What’s your name, sir?” Maggie spoke slowly and carefully.

  “Anderson,” he seemed to have to search for the information for a moment. “Joel Anderson.”

  “Mr. Anderson,” Maggie stepped closer and made unblinking eye contact. “I need you to get us out of here.”

  “Don’t let us down, Joel.” Pinder spoke up from behind Maggie. “I need you to drive this bus.”

  Joel looked at both of them as his mouth slowly dropped open. He seemed lost for a second as he processed the words that were being spoken to him. He turned away from them and leaned close to the windshield to see below the bus.

  Bam! A hand reached up and slammed into the glass six inches from his face. The man he had hit crawled upward. His left eye bulged blindly out of its socket as he hissed at the form on the other side of the glass. Bam! Bam! Hands b
egan to pound on the bus door. Anderson jumped with a start and stared at the faces pressing into the glass. A young, well dressed white man in a golf shirt and khakis with no left ear pounded on the glass with a bare stump of an arm. Behind him, a woman in EMS fatigues pressed forward with a face that looked like it was held together by a thread. The woman clawed at the glass with a hand that was missing two fingers.