by Nate Allen
Chapter 13
A few hours passed that night. Chelsea woke up and looked at Grant with pasty red eyes, and a sniffling nose.
"Grant?" she asked quietly. "You're sa-safe?"
"Yes, sweetie. I'm safe. I'm here. I'm so sorry about your mom."
"She at-attacked me-daddy had no choice. He killed her, and then p-put her body out back."
"It's going to be okay." Grant lied.
"Don't tell me that, Grant. Please, don't tell me it's going to be okay. You don't know." she argued softly, still stricken with shock.
"You'll be okay."
"I don't want to be okay. I-I-I don't know what I want."
"I only want to know why." sighed Grant. "I know it won't change anything, but I want to know why some are The Insane, and others aren't."
"I don't care. All I know is my mom is dead. Nothing else matters. Answers won't bring her back."
"I know, but answers can lead to solutions."
"What solutions, Grant? All we are doing is surviving."
"We are surviving so we can once again live, together, as a family." again, he lied. He was trying not to face the truth. The fact was it was ending. His happiness had only just begun, and now it was being taken away. It proved his point again: happiness is only temporary.
Grant stared intently at his sad love, seeing pain dig lines into her face. He reminisced internally, thinking about rare moments where a smile covered his face because it belonged. Those memories were few and far between.
As soon as Kali woke up, she was crying.
"Quiet, baby girl." said Grant with serenading sounds as he picked her up from the floor, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Daddy's got ya." Kali's cry gradually softened until stopping entirely. She knew she was safe. She knew her daddy wouldn't let her go.
After a while the house became quiet. No one spoke. Instead they thought things their mouths wouldn't say. Although it was a dark, bleak world, Grant could only shake his head at the irony. He had always been cynical of man, and now he knew why.
The days passed and countless more became food for famished friends. Grant and the others waited for something. They waited for hope, for answers, for the will to continue on.
Their wait soon brought them into May 15th, a Thursday. It had been a month since the Change happened, a month where the five of them learned each other's dark thoughts, and related with their own. It had been a month to ponder, and self-reflect. They had been safe, hiding in the living room, sleeping encircled by furniture. It had been safe because there had still been food for The Insane to eat.
Now, their supply was gone. The bodies were picked clean, leaving only smears of blood to cover the roads and buildings.
Grant awoke early this morning of May 15th, sweating. His dreams had formed a friendship with his nightmares. They were growing darker, and more grotesque in presentation. He dreamt he was one of them, feeding on Chelsea; he dreamt Kali was a nothing but a lifeless, pale blue doll that he carried around beneath his arm.
The urge was growing stronger. His monster wanted free. But, Grant just wanted normality. He wanted his small family, a cabin in the woods, and years to grow old together. But, as he lay there, it became more and more apparent that this was not just a burp in the timeline. It, in fact, was the end.
He awoke early that Thursday morning, feeling different, feeling darker. He lifted his head, seeing Chelsea's arm draped across his chest with her face frozen in a contented sigh. It seemed her dreams played out happier times.
Grant got to his feet without waking her, seeing Bobby glancing through the holes in the wood.
"Hey, buddy." he said within a yawn. "What's up?"
"It's funny, Grant." smiled Bobby. "In life I had chosen to seclude myself away from the world. We both did. We took the sun, the brightness, and the routine for granted."
"I know." Grant walked over to Bobby, while rubbing his thickened five o'clock shadow and sighing. With his other hand, he lifted up his gray hooded sweatshirt to scratch his stomach.
"And now, we can't go outside. There is no more sun, no more life. The Insane may still be breathing, but they aren't people. As soon as they bit into another human, they became animals."
"They always have been." said Grant.
"That may be, but being cynical and being stubborn are two different things. I chose to see men as bad. I chose to hide away. And although I was right in the end, I still wish I would have taken boring, bright days for what they were."
"So do I." Grant stood next to Bobby, looking out a small quarter sized hole in a piece of plywood, seeing only a dull streetlight glowing within a blanket of black, like a flashlight beneath a sheet.
"We're not gonna live to see the end are we?"
"I don't know. I want life. I want to marry Chelsea, raise Kali Marie, and live together happily-"
"Happiness doesn't last. You know that, Grant." Bobby said as he glanced over at him.
"I know, Bobby. But, if there is an end to this, I think we'll all be okay. We can pick up the pieces of a bleak world, and restart. We could do it together, the five of us: one family. All we have to do is wait. There is more than enough soup, water, and saltines. Eventually they'll die."
"Eventually is vague, Grant? I want to see my dad again. I want to be at peace."
"I thought you didn't believe in God." argued Grant.
"I have to believe in something. If I don't, then dying is just the end. The idea of being buried beneath six feet of dirt forever is too dark. But, if I believe that death is only the beginning of eternity, I have something to look forward to. Maybe God is to be blamed, but men are the reason the present is what it is. They have always been open doorways, nothing but prideful, egotistical, self-serving beings. It finally caught up to them, and now they are the result of it."
"So are you saying you're giving up?"
"Maybe, I don't know. I can't just wait here forever."
"Don't gi-" Kali began to scream loudly. Grant looked back, seeing Chelsea open up her eyes immediately and run to Kali's call.
"What is it, Kali?" she asked, brushing messy hair from her face, and tucking it behind her ear. She smiled, grabbing hold of Kali. She lifted her up to her shoulder, and rested her head against it. Grant walked over to Chelsea, kissed her on the lips, and then rubbed Kali's head.
"It'll be okay, baby girl." he said silently. "You're safe." Grant wrapped his arms around Chelsea's waist, and swayed from side to side. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"No." Chelsea blushed.
"Have I told you, Kali?" he kissed her little button nose, and stared deeply into her dark blue eyes. "I love you both." Grant continued to dance with his family, smiling. But, beneath his smile there was heavy guilt. As he looked at them, his dreams seeped into reality, and visions pervasively flashed.
Grant closed his eyes as he let go of them. Without saying a word, he walked into the black hall, and closed his eyes.
"Are you scared, kiddo?" his father asked, appearing next to him, wearing his monster.
"Don't do this. Not now."
"What will happen when you shed your humanity? Will you eat your fianc?e, and kill your daughter? Will you be just like them?" he smacked his lips mockingly. "They don't know you. Not like me. You are my son. You see my monster."
"Shut up." Grant grabbed his head, and pulled his eyelids upwards.
"Go ahead, look at her." said his father sharply, grabbing his face and turning it toward the living room. "Eat her." he laughed as he walked away.
Grant rested his back against the wall, slid down, and buried his face into his palms. "I am not a monster."
"Grant? Honey, are you okay?" asked Chelsea, walking away from the living room, and entering the dark hall. "What are you doing out here?"
"I-I'm just thinking." answered Grant quietly.
"About what?"
"The future." he smiled with wide, flat eyes.
"Yeah." she nodded her head with understanding.
"Whatever it holds, at least we're together."
"Yeah," Grant shook away his guilt, stood up, and walked out to the living room. Bobby laid on the couch with the palms of his hands holding up his head. Mr. Hart held Kali Marie, and scratched his thinning hair, while glancing at the window by the front door.
"Fear!" The Insane's call was still far away but it was getting closer. They weren't off in the distance. They were close, and gathering.
"They found us." said Grant softly, looking at Bobby as he lifted his head.
"Grant, Bobby," said Mr. Hart. "Grab my tote bag from the den, fill it with soup, crackers, and water. Do not turn on the lights, use flashlights, or the candles."
"Alright," Bobby got up from the couch, grabbed a flashlight from the carpet, and followed Grant into the dining room that led into the den. Once there they kept the lights dim, cupping brightness in their hands, only releasing it when not by a window.
Mr. Hart's army bag sat buried beneath two boxes filled with papers, and one stereo. Grant clenched onto the handle, and pulled. It came with ease. They cupped the light into their hands again. They brought the bag past the dining room, through a narrow corridor, and into the kitchen. After walking over a pattern of white and black tiles, Grant and Bobby pulled open the pantry, seeing soup cans neatly stacked on top of other soup cans, twenty four packs of water being barricaded by a wall of saltine crackers. With haste, they grabbed the essentials and zipped the bag closed.
They shut off the flashlights, feeling their way to the candlelit living room.
"We got it." said Grant, while putting the bag on the ground.
"He ran upstairs, Grant." informed Chelsea.
"For what?"
"I don't know. He just said to stay here."
"Okay." Grant glanced into the darkness surrounding him, seeing blurry outlines of a doorway, and the stairs it led to. Grant ran over to the window, and peeked out the hole in the wood.
"They're coming." he said, turning his head toward the stairs, and then looking back out the peephole. Caught in his sight was the road, the streetlight, and a horde of them walking slowly toward Chelsea's house. "Maybe they don't know though." Grant closed one eye, and concentrated his sight to near perfect. They were still many yards away, but they were coming for them. The Insane walked with tilted necks, and a lopsided drag. They walked like zombies, yet they were anything but.
Though flesh-eaters, The Insane were something far different from the undead. They were living. An infection was not coursing through their system, tainted blood was not dripping from their mouths, and an epidemic was not present. They were the result of a choice being made.
Grant peered through wide eyed while breathing deep.
"We can't stay here." said Mr. Hart, walking down the stairs. Grant turned his head around, seeing Mr. Hart appear from within the darkness, entering the candlelit living room with a shotgun, and two M-16 rifles. "These are still guns the Army uses, right?"
"Yeah." said Grant. "It had either semi-automatic, or burst."
"Yeah." agreed Bobby. "We never actually used burst though."
"Use burst." Mr. Hart nodded his head. "It shoots three bullets with one pull of the trigger."
"I know." Grant found the selector on the M-16, switched it to burst, and checked his safety. Mr. Hart handed both of them two mags and tucked three boxes of shotgun ammo into his coat pockets. "I think I might know someplace safe."
"Where?" asked Mr. Hart.
"Uh," Grant scratched his head. "When I was working at The Family Restaurant, we had a tornado-"
"Just get to the point, Grant." said Mr. Hart with constant glances at the wood covered windows.
"Anyway, behind the counter, there is a door that leads down to a storm. It has a steel bolt lock, and a door that is nearly impossible to break. At least that was what Leon told me."
"That should do." Mr. Hart said while putting two bullets in the barrel, and closing it. "It won't be anything permanent, but it gives us time to form a plan."
"Yeah," Grant nodded his head with haste, darting his eyes to the shrill sounds coming from outside. Bobby slipped on his converse, and walked back over to Grant.
"Are we running, driving, what?" asked Bobby.
"I have a jeep in the garage. It should do fine, but I'm really low on gas." Mr. Hart said.
"What about you, Chelsea?" asked Grant. "Where's your car?"
"Your house, Grant." she replied. "It's in the driveway."
"Mine's in front of Bobby's." Grant rolled his eyes in hectic thought. "How much gas do you have?"
"The needle isn't even above empty."
"Could we siphon gas from the mower? Or do you have extra gas in a gas can?"
"No, Lisa never filled the gas tank." his eyes watered.
"I guess we're running." said Grant with a shrug. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.
"Fear!" they were just outside now. Grant clicked off the safety while cocking his gun and peeking out through the hole. The Insane were on the sidewalk outside, pacing back and forth. Grant could only shake his head in confusion, "What are they doing?"
They walked slowly, as if planning amongst a growing group. From what Grant could see, there were at least twenty idling on the front lawn, glancing at the house with beady black eyes.
"What are they doing?" he asked again, though this time much louder.
"What, Grant?" asked Bobby with wary eyes, and a twitching left hand.
"They are standing out front pacing." he said softly. "I think they are planning something."
"What do you mean? Planning is what humans do." said Bobby as he brushed his bangs from his face, and resituated his glasses.
"Maybe they are more human than we think. We have been hiding in here for a whole month. How do we know what they are?"
"We don't." replied Bobby softly. "We only know that we're hiding, and they're coming. Maybe they know what they're doing, but that doesn't change the situation we're in."
"No, it doesn't." Grant agreed
With quiet steps, Grant walked over to the door.
"Don't open the door, Grant." demanded Mr. Hart. "You don't know what you are doing."
"Neither do you." he argued, while unlocking the door, and wrapping his hand around the knob.
"Stop!" Mr. Hart ran from the living room, and over to the door.
"Go out the back." said Grant with a head nod.
"Grant?" asked Chelsea. "What are you planning?"
"Just go with your dad out the back. Get Kali safely away from here. Bobby and I will hold them off." Bobby nodded his head in agreement. "Go!"
Kali began to cry. Chelsea pressed her face against her shoulder, and shushed her.
"Trust me. Your father will get you there. My only worry is protecting you, now go."
Mr. Hart began to pull her away, first grabbing a flashlight, and the bag of supplies.
"We'll meet you at the restaurant." soon, Chelsea was pulled into darkness. The sound of a door opening was heard, and Grant and Bobby found themselves alone. "Remember what we did in the army?"
"There was a lot we did, Grant." said Bobby.
"I mean when we taped our flashlights to our guns."
"Yeah, we tape it to the bottom of the barrel."
"Yeah,"
"Get some duct tape. It's probably in the kitchen." Grant relocked the door, and walked back over to the peephole in the slab of wood. Without arguing, Bobby grabbed a flashlight from the living room, ran into the kitchen, dug through some drawers, and came back out with a thick roll of duct tape. Both placed their flashlights at the bottom of their barrels, pulled out a few loops worth of tape, and stuck it firmly in place.
They stood, looked at the other, and took one more peek outside, still seeing The Insane gathered in a large group.
As Grant unlatched the deadbolt, and wrapped his hand around the doorknob, he took a deep breath. "Whatever happens, Bobby,"
"Yeah," Bobby nodded his head.
&
nbsp; And then the door was opened. Grant stepped onto the porch, looking down the street. The streetlight one and a half blocks down shone dimly. There were silhouettes beneath it that then fell to the ground. A second grouping of Insane cluttered around, and got down, beginning to feed.
"No!" Grant screamed. "Chelsea! Kali!"
"Why are you calling them?"
"They fell beneath the first streetlight," but when Grant looked again, he saw nothing. The second grouping of Insane was gone. It was as if he had seen a thought vividly portrayed. There was nothing beneath the first streetlight.
"You're seeing things," Bobby looked down into the yard. The Insane were emaciated and pale. Livid spots blotched their faces; blood crusted around their mouths with chunks of human stuck in chipped and rotting teeth. They came forward with slow dragging, some weaker than others.
Grant kept looking down the street, seeing the vivid imagery appear and then dissipate. Fear began to climb onto him, as he imagined Mr. Hart running away with his shotgun in hand, as his girls were fresh meat he left behind.
"Fear!" the voices were clotted and a rasp of growls. The dragging became a sprint. Bobby began to fire at their heads. They fell into a yard of brown grass that became a pool of red.
Grant continued to imagine bad things happening beneath the first streetlight. As Bobby had now dropped down into the yard, he remained standing in the doorway, staring down the street. An Insane man was running up the sidewalk. Grant lifted his gun as the man trampled up the three porch steps. Grant pulled the trigger. The man lunged forward, knocking Grant to the ground. The shot had missed his head, and aimlessly continued on into a dark sky.
The gun had been knocked out of Grant's hands, now lying beneath a rocking chair at the corner of the porch. Grant was being pushed against the edging of the doorway. The Insane man was tightly grabbing hold of his arm, as his ugly neck extended and a mouthful of gaping holes and bleeding gums tried to nip at his neck. Three other Insane wandered from the line of Bobby's bullets, and dashed up the sidewalk.
With his face beginning to press against Grant's, The Insane man shifted his feet while trying to nip at him again. In the short moment of shifting, Grant was able to grab hold of the man's head and twist it away from him, pushing him to the ground.
On both hands and heels, Grant backed up toward his gun. Four Insane sped toward him. He dropped to the ground and aimlessly kicked his feet, striking a man in the face. He screeched, being knocked against the house and dropping down.
The gun was only feet from Grant now, in a position that was all at once awkward yet easy to grab. They got down to a creepy crawl, cornering him. The man who had been knocked against the house was now on all fours with blood dripping from his mouth. Four of his teeth had been kicked free.
Grant's fingers felt behind him, running into the slick legs of the rocking chair. He turned for a moment, seeing the gun's barrel pressed against the wall. The Insane were crawling on top of him, like a grouping of animals preparing to feed. They seemed to savor the moment.
The barrel was in his hands. He pulled the gun free, unable to pull the trigger because of the positioning. Two of the four Insane were prying their fingers into his stomach, trying to pull his innards free. With the butt of the rifle, he bashed them in the face. The sound was ugly. Noses broke. And a second trickle of blood began. One fell on its back screeching. The other was relentless, throwing its head forward, only to meet the butt of Grant's rifle for a second time.
They weren't as forceful on the return. Grant turned his gun to the proper position, found the trigger, and pulled. At that distance, the heads came off clean, only splashing the side of the house with red.
A second clutter of six Insane appeared at the top of the porch steps, glancing at him with a leer, and then dropping down on all fours to feed on the newly-dead. Grant grabbed hold of the rocking chair sitting behind him, pulled himself up to a sit, and grabbed hold of the armrests. He turned his head to the sound of the gunshots, seeing Bobby managing quite well.
Grant stood up. Suddenly, as his finger sat on the trigger, one of the feeding six stood up, and turned toward him. He recognized her to be his poodle-loving, nosy next door neighbor Mrs. Johnson. The last time he had seen her was on the day he returned from the war, to discover that his mother and sister had gone far away. She had been grooming her little poodle. But, now clumps of flesh hung from her mouth, as she stepped toward him.
As he tilted the barrel down toward her gut, he stepped closer to her.
"What happened to you?" when he tilted his neck horizontally with somber eyes, she did the same. BANG! He shot a burst of bullets into her body. She was torn to the ground. "Sorry," Grant put the barrel over her face, and pulled the trigger. The sound was ugly. It was the sound of him realizing that his mother was most likely one of them. Mrs. Jackson, Mrs. Hart, and now his strange but innocent poodle loving neighbor Mrs. Johnson had all been changed on April 15th.
Something grew in him in that moment. From the realization came callousness, along with a tickle of fear. Five remained feeding on the porch. The sole Insane man feeding on Mrs. Johnson suddenly looked up at him.
"Fear," his scream was muffled by the mouthful of her flesh. The sound of quiet feeding growls became an off cue choir of "fear," as they looked up at him. The attack once again was violent. They shot forward, leaving the newly-dead fresh meat to sit untouched, now sensing what they hadn't before-now seeing what they had been blind to. The Insane had been waiting for what they now had. They had been waiting for sight, waiting for a scent. And now that it was found, they were malicious.
The man feeding on Mrs. Johnson sprang up, and lunged forward. Before reaching Grant, his face was torn in two by a burst of bullets. As he lay on the ground dying, a terrible croaking came from him. It almost sounded human?
As the remaining four tore toward Grant, his sympathy for them proved to be as brief as that Insane's human cry. They may have resembled humans. But, the neighbors, the townsfolk, the citizens they used to be were no more.
The barrel of his gun aimed. He stood still, firing their flesh free from their bodies. As they fell, they croaked the same. But, as soon as it crawled out of them, it stopped, and Grant could hear nothing but the sound of blood dripping from the dead onto the porch.
With a sigh, he wiped a misting of blood from his face with the back of his forearm. When he looked down in the yard, The Insane were dead, and Bobby was wiping blood from his face as well.