by Mark Tufo
As the wave of sound echoed into the night and then died away, the beast again pounded its meaty arms against the frame of the massive glass slider. With the upper right corner now bent outward, the former surgeon took notice and began slamming it harder with each progressive strike. Another six blows and the door exploded from its track, crashing to the concrete patio below.
The world instantly went quiet.
Blake felt his pulse racing as he calculated the odds of making it to the boat. He slowly brought his hands down and tightened the straps of his pack, attempting to calm his labored breathing.
Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered. “Dwight, you ready to—”
Breaking through the aggressive silence, Tamara’s voice roared from somewhere behind the beast that had stepped out over the demolished threshold.
“RUUUUUUNNNN!”
— 6 —
Blake was confident that even in his current condition, he could outrun his much larger friend. Given the relatively short distance and the intensity of the situation, he figured he’d reach the end of the dock a few paces ahead of Dwight. The only variable that remained in the out of control situation was that thing that used to be his neighbor, now running on all fours in a direct line toward them. Would they reach the boat before their pursuer or would they end up like the man from the grainy cell phone video? Either way, Blake would have his answer within the next few seconds.
Dwight was already in a dead sprint by the time Blake reacted. The massive offensive lineman moved with a speed Blake wasn’t quite sure he’d ever seen. His good friend was one of the faster big men on the team, but this was something altogether different. It was fear pushing his friend forward as they transitioned from the lush green lawn, out onto the eight-foot-wide raised dock.
Fear and adrenaline.
Blake leaned forward and pumped his arms, attempting to squeeze every last bit of speed out of his tired body. The pain at the back of his head returned yet again, and this time it was begging him to stop. However, the pounding against the inside of his skull was also serving a purpose. It was drowning out the riotous footfalls from the opposite side of the head-high shrub that grew closer with each second that ticked away.
As they reached the midway point, Blake was closing in on his friend and would assuredly reach the boat first. He wasn’t exactly confident in his abilities out on the water, but knew he’d have to be the one to at least get the boat away from the dock. He’d have Dwight take control once this nightmare was behind them, but for now he only focused on ignoring the excruciating pain in his head, and living long enough to see how bad it was going to get.
He shouted to his friend as they now ran shoulder to shoulder. “Dwight, that thing ready to go?”
His friend nodded. “Just get in and untie us, I’ll do the rest.”
From behind, another ear-splitting screech rang out. It was close. Too close. The shrub between the two homes gave little resistance as the beast giving chase plowed through, sending splintered fragments of wood and leaves skyward.
As it skidded to a stop along the left side of the dock, the beast dug its razor like talons into the red cedar. It locked eyes on the two men nearly fifty feet ahead and lunged forward. Again on all fours, it breathed heavily through its flared nostrils, spitting blood and mucus as it picked up speed. Its joints snapped and clicked, and as it began closing the gap, Blake did what he’d told himself never to do.
Now a full stride ahead of his friend, Blake turned and looked over his shoulder. Even though he’d been taught since the third grade that doing so meant a reduction in speed, and that giving up even a quarter second to a defender could be the difference between winning and losing a game, tonight the fear of the unknown briefly took control. This wasn’t a game, and losing a fraction of a second to the raging animal at his back could mean a hell of a lot more than any game he’d ever played in—it could mean his life.
Ten strides, a quick left turn, and a short jump into the twenty-nine-foot boat. That was all that was left. Well, that and the problem of pushing away from the dock before that thing joined them. Lowering his throbbing head, and attempting to increase his speed, Blake aimed for the edge of the wooden platform. He needed to take a chance, it was the only way.
Over the antagonistic galloping sound at his back, he shouted. “Follow me, and stay close.”
And with less than ten feet before the turn at the end of the dock, Blake drifted left. He took the final two strides, planted his left foot and leapt over the short gap between the two platforms. Landing lightly, it took him another few steps to recover before he was on the move again.
Dwight had also cut the corner and made the jump, but the big man had lost another step or two. He was a full three seconds behind Blake when the beast slowed into the turn, digging its talons into the fine-grained wood. It growled in frustration as it continued sideways and nearly slid into the Long Island Sound.
Blake was first. He took one final step and hurdled the side of the Century 2901. Without turning, he moved quickly to the stern and released the line from the dock. As he twisted right and started for the bow, Dwight cried out through heavy breaths.
“Blake…just…go…”
His attention pulled back to the dock, Dwight was slowing under the weight of his own body, just as the beast dug in yet again and used its rear legs to propel itself into the air.
The nausea growing in the pit of his stomach forced Blake forward as he shouted, “JUMP!”
The beast came in fast behind Dwight, and the big man used what little strength remained in his fatigued body to dive head first toward the boat. They were both momentarily airborne, with the massive translucent body of the former surgeon blocking out the light of the moon. As the pair collided mid-air and came crashing into the starboard side of the boat, Dwight was pushed inside, while the beast fought to get a grip on the outer edge.
Blake had untied the bow and was moving back to his friend as the twenty-nine-foot vessel began drifting away from the dock. He helped Dwight to his feet and then stepped carefully past him as the beast dug the talons of its right hand into the stern seating and began pulling itself into the boat.
Blake rapidly scanned the darkened interior and floor as the thing that used to be his neighbor reached for the railing with its left arm and howled. It sniffed at the air and popped its sucker mouth in anticipation of the flesh it was coming for.
Blake called out to Dwight as he dug through the storage panels along the port side, pushing aside three boxes filled with can goods and dried fruit.
“Now buddy, get this thing moving!”
As his voice slowly faded into the night air, Blake kept one eye on the advancing beast—who continued to claw its way along the slick exterior—while digging through the shallow storage panel. And pushing aside a second brightly colored life vest, he found exactly what he’d been searching for, a ten-inch fixed-blade stainless steel hunting knife. He’d have to get in close, but at this point, he had no other choice.
The engines roared to life and as the Century 2901 lurched forward, Blake gripped the railing and took a deep breath. The beast had slipped back and was now being dragged through the frigid East Coast waters, only clutching the railing with one arm.
As Blake stepped forward, the beast growled and swung its free hand wildly in his direction. He took another step forward and held the ten-inch knife out in front, hoping above all else the forward motion of the speeding vessel would be too much for the enraged former surgeon.
To his dismay, the beast who’d tracked them from land to sea appeared to be again pulling itself up toward the stern. It was now or never. In another ten seconds, there wouldn’t be a thing he or his friend could do to combat their much larger opponent. They would die right here, tonight.
Before the beast could pull itself another inch toward him, Blake moved to offense. He shook his head and then darted quickly to the stern, bracing his leading foot against the bench seating. And in one m
otion he swung the heavy stainless steel blade in a downward arch, hoping to extricate the thick claw of his attacker from the railing.
At the same moment the beast swung its free arm back toward Blake. Its hook-like talon caught his left arm and began to tighten around his wrist. Blake did the only thing he could. He swallowed hard and allowed the translucent animal to pull itself toward him.
As the pair were nearly face to face, and Blake’s heart-rate skyrocketing, he leaned in and with his free right arm, drove the ten-inch stainless-steel blade deep into the beast’s head. It blinked twice and loosened its grip around Blake’s arm. Its sucker lips came together and popped involuntarily as it went limp and slipped slowly into the dark water.
Blake waited as the grotesquely disfigured face of his former neighbor disappeared from sight. He dropped the knife, took another deep breath and moved to his friend.
“He’s gone.”
Dwight quickly cut back the throttle and brought the boat to a slow idle. He turned to Blake and threw his thick arms around him. “Man, I don’t know…”
Blake could hear the big man’s voice fading as the all-too-familiar pounding in his head began moving from the base of his neck and into his temple. He pulled back from his friend as the ensuing nausea forced him to his knees.
His friend was now shouting. “Blake my man, what’s wrong? You’re freezing, what can I do…”
Again he was gone. And now Blake dropped to all fours and began dry-heaving. His back spasmed with each wave, and as he reached for the railing on the port side, his vision began to narrow.
Nothing was left. Only the darkness that filled his eyes and the sense that he was being pulled backward into the void from which there was no escape.
— 7 —
Awakening to the warmth of the sun on his face was different. So was the man staring down at him. Blake rolled onto his side and tried to place his surroundings. There were voices, at least two, and one of them was a child. His memory had been spotty at best, even before his most recent injury, but this was different. As he pushed himself into a seated position and looked around, none of this, not a single thing, was even vaguely familiar.
Well…almost nothing.
The man seated to his left smiled excitedly through a thick beard. He was clean, appeared relaxed, and was nothing at all like the man he remembered. This version had to be an illusion. The man in the loose-fitting hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and black ball cap that read BXF Technologies was someone else, it had to be.
“Dwight?”
The name felt odd as it left his mouth. His tongue was dry and his throat sore as he tried putting the pieces together. He remembered the grainy cell phone video on the news, the terrified look on his neighbor’s face, and even more clearly, he remembered her husband or whatever that was chasing him to the end of the dock and into the boat.
“Where are we?”
Dwight sat forward and ran his hand over the dense beard that had taken over his face. He continued to smile, almost involuntarily. as he decided the best way to explain their current situation. Pushing away from the seat and standing, he scanned the interior.
“Things are different, much different.”
Blake matched his friend’s smile, leaned back, and nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. Where the hell are we? And…and, I thought I heard someone else, maybe a kid?”
“Look around,” Dwight said. “What do you see?”
“I don’t know man. I wake up and you’re in someone else’s clothes, you’ve grown beard, you look like you’ve lost thirty, maybe forty pounds.”
“Good guess, it’s actually twenty-eight.”
“Okay,” Blake said. “What is this, where are we?”
Dwight stretched his arms out over his head, looking like he was getting ready to make some grand announcement and then quickly said, “We’re on another boat…well, actually more like a yacht. We’re safe here for now and with what’s going on in the city, we really don’t have a choice anyway.”
He didn’t know what to ask first. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, none of it. Not the nightmarish creature he saw on the news, not his neighbor, and not him shoving a ten-inch hunting knife into the head of another human being.
“How long have I been out?”
“Don’t know…a few weeks, maybe a month.”
“What?”
“You haven’t been out the whole time, but you’ve been real sick. Throwing up, seeing things, and talking to people who weren’t there. Brian thinks it’s your injury and also coming off your meds.”
“Brian?”
“Yeah, this is his yacht. I mean it’s his now.”
Blake wasn’t completely sure he understood half of what his friend was explaining. There was too much of a jump this time. He’d lost a few days here and there, even an entire four-day weekend once, but this didn’t seem possible.
“Brian, is that the kid’s voice I heard?”
“No,” Dwight said as his smile returned. “That kid is Jordan, Brian’s son. They’ll be back in a while.”
Blake again shook his head and ran his hands over his face, almost surprised by the facial hair he’d grown. He imagined that it matched his friend’s, but in a much lighter shade. He hadn’t gone a single day in the last ten years without shaving, and knew that he’d hate what he found in the mirror.
“So…what the hell happened, why are we here?”
“You went down pretty hard that night. I tried to wake you up, but nothing was working. You were still breathing, so I went looking for help. Took us down the East River, tried to find a spot to get us into the city, but that’s when all hell broke loose.”
“Whatta ya mean?”
“Couldn’t even get close, it was like everyone with a boat had the same idea. I couldn’t even get within a mile of RFK; people were losing their minds. People fighting, jumping onto other boats, throwing each other into the East River, gunshots—it was out of control.”
“So?”
“So, I turned us around and just looked for somewhere quiet to ride it out. By morning you seemed okay and even woke up to eat. You were talking nonsense and didn’t know who I was, but you ate and then just went out again. It was like that for a few days.”
Blake looked around. “How’d we get here?”
“After four or five days, I tried to get us back into the city, but it was the same as before. And now there were more people, a lot more. Some were in really bad shape; the attacks were happening all over the place. So I turned back again, was gonna try to dock somewhere over by Kings Point. Maybe get into the city from the other side. I didn’t know what else to do and we were running out of food.”
“Is that where you found these guys?”
“Yeah, it was late in the afternoon and we’d just run out of fuel, hadn’t found anywhere yet, so I dropped anchor. Brian saw what happened and came out to see if he could help. The boat belonged to someone in his family, but he and his son had been out here since the third day, said they were just going to wait it out on the water.”
Blake’s stomach growled. “And how long have I been a burden to these people?”
“Like I said man, I lost all track of time and haven’t cared much to find out. It really doesn’t matter anyway, we’re just a number now.”
“Just a number, what are you—”
Through the cabin door, a whoosh of stagnant air preceded the two men. The first, a thirty-something man, with thick black hair and a large smile, wore tan cargo pants and a navy blue sweatshirt. He moved quickly to Blake with his right hand extended and a boy of maybe ten or eleven at his left side.
“Blake, I’m glad to see you up and around. My name is Brian Chow and this is my son Jordan.”
The small-framed man waited for Blake to return the gesture and turned to Dwight. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, just gave him the rundown. I think he’s still trying to put all the pieces together. Doesn’t remember much, but he’s good.”
Blake regarded Brian with a smile of his own and pushed away from the sofa. Extending his right arm, he leaned forward and shook the smaller man’s hand.
“My name is Blake Chambers, it’s nice to meet you Brian Chow.” He looked from Brian to Dwight and finally back to Jordan. “Thank you all for saving my life…or at least what’s left of it.”
— 8 —
The three men sat around the oval-shaped mahogany table out on the open-air sundeck. They watched as the sun drifted from the low cloud cover into the western skyline. Over Blake’s right shoulder, the thick black smoke from days before began to settle above the city, and from their vantage, Lower Manhattan looked like an absolute war zone.
Buildings with large portions of their external skeleton either burned away or completely eviscerated stood against the darkening backdrop. Fires dotted the desolate wasteland, slowly losing their ferocity as the city settled in for what came next. And for the third time in as many minutes, the calm of late afternoon was broken by the distant screeching that appeared to originate somewhere many miles away.
“The military,” Blake asked, “they getting this thing under control?”
Dwight looked to Brian, who in turn leaned back in his chair and called for his son. “Jordan, where you at bud?”
“Back here, Dad.” The boy’s youthful voice, full of enthusiasm and expectation, came through the open door of the main salon. Seconds later, he ran out onto the sundeck, sweat running from his hairline down into the collar of his heather grey t-shirt. As his eyes fell upon Blake, he smiled shyly and then quickly turned to his father.
“Yeah Dad?”
Brian also smiled as he turned from his son to Blake, and then back to his son.