“Might as well,” the female officer said. Rossi pulled open the creaky gate and the two walked down the side of the house towards the backyard. There were children’s toys scattered across the mostly grassless yard, and a rusty grill sat on the cracked, concrete patio. As they walked up to a sliding glass door, a slight tug on the handle revealed that it was unlocked. Both officers looked at each other and Rossi nodded in acknowledgement as they prepared to enter the home.
The female officer reached up to her lapel mic and pushed her “talk” button. “Sixty-One-Thirty, we found an open back door, so we’re going to clear the house.”
The dispatcher acknowledged the notification and both officers instinctively drew their handguns as they prepared to make entry. “Alright, Sherri, you get the door and I’ll go in first.”
With a quick pull, the door was opened and Rossi swiftly stepped into a lit living room. He moved to his left side and scanned the room with his gun as Sherri came through the door and moved to the right.
“San Antonio Police!” Sherri yelled out. They stood still for a brief moment and tried to see if they could hear anything. Rossi made his way towards a door that went into a darkened hallway and Sherri followed. As Rossi slowly moved down the hall, he suddenly stopped. He sucked in air through his nostrils and he looked back at Sherri. A scowl formed over his face. He could smell the pungent odor of blood.
As they continued down the hall, the light cast from the living room began to decrease and the two officers maneuvered into the darkness. They both instinctively pulled their flashlights and illuminated the hall. Off to their right was a closed door. Rossi gently twisted the door knob and rushed in with one swift motion. Sherri quickly followed, but both came to a sudden stop when the beams of their lights washed over the lifeless body of Michael. He was face down in a dark pool of blood. Two large steak knives were protruding from his back.
“What the fuck!” Rossi said. He quickly looked for a light switch on the wall and flipped it on. Michael, in his little denim overalls and barefoot, was lying on the tile floor. Blood was splattered over the walls and on some nearby toys. Based on the large and deep gashes across the child’s back, Rossi and Sherri could tell that the attack had been especially brutal. A set of bloody boot prints lead out from the room and back into the darkened hallway.
Sherri frantically grabbed at her mic and said, “Sixty-One-Thirty, we need E.M.S. out here now!” Her eyes were wide with fear. “We have at least one down and we’re still clearing the house.” The dispatcher immediately sent out a call for assistance to the other officers in the area. Caught up in the horrific sight in front of her, Sherri continued to stare at the dead child.
“He’s dead,” Rossi said. “Come on, let’s finish clearing the house.”
“Damn, but he was only three…maybe four years old,” she lamented.
“I know…and it sucks, but we gotta keep moving.”
Sherri nodded and tried to regain her composure. She had seen her fair share of death and destruction, but never had she ever experienced anything like this. She shuddered at the thought of what else they might find.
Rossi followed the boot prints over to a second room, his light revealing that the door was open. He cautiously peered into the room and he could tell that it was a bathroom. Next to the tub he saw a pair of bloody blue jeans, men’s underwear, a bloody t-shirt and blood covered heavy motorcycle boots. Rossi raised his beam a bit and he saw Eduardo lying in the tub. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was agape. His right arm hung out over the edge of the tub and a large hunting knife was on the floor just under his fingertips. Keeping his pistol pointed at the man, he stepped into the bathroom and saw a large amount of blood pooled in the tub around Eduardo’s naked body—his left wrist had been slashed wide open.
“You fucking chicken shit,” Rossi whispered to himself. He reached over and flipped on the bathroom light and Sherri stepped up behind him. “You know what this means?” he asked Sherri.
“Yeah…I do.”
“Well…we better go find her,” he said grimly.
The officers—now resigned with having to find a third corpse—made their way down the hall. They went into a kitchen and flipped on the light. Nothing. Sherri searched the dining room, and at the far end of it, another door marked the last room in the home. She walked through the entryway and into the room—Dolores’s bedroom—and she found her there. She was on top of her blood soaked mattress. Her throat had been slashed and a steak knife was protruding from the side of her head.
“Vincent, I found her,” Sherri called out in a flat tone. Rossi walked into the room and took a deep breath when he saw Dolores.
“What a fucking asshole,” he said in disgust.
“Looks like maybe he killed her in here, then went back and killed the kid in his bedroom, and then went and slit his own wrist,” Sherri said as she tried to reconstruct the mayhem in the house.
Vincent keyed his radio and said, “Sixty-One-Twenty, go ahead and notify a supervisor…and we’re gonna need Homicide out here. We have three down.”
Sherri holstered her gun and leaned back against the wall with her senses reeling. “Okay…you get into an argument…you lose it…you kill your girlfriend—I get that—but how can you kill your own kid?”
Vincent walked over to the bed and looked down at Dolores’s body. “I don’t know, but apparently this guy had no problem killing his own kid. From the way things look—and smell—this must have happened early this morning. We better go ahead and start securing this whole area, including the car and bike for when Homicide gets here.”
The two officers turned on the front porch light and walked out through the front door. Jennifer was now standing next to Trent. He had arrived while the officers had been searching the house. Although the sun had set and darkness was falling, Jennifer could see the grim look on the officers’ faces.
“Are they okay?’ Jennifer asked as she walked up to Vincent. Her eyes were red and her cheeks streaked from all of the crying she had been doing. Trent walked up behind her and reached down, grabbing onto her hand. He was readying himself for what he knew would be the inevitable.
Vincent looked at Jennifer and clenched his jaw muscles. He glanced down at the ground and then looked up at the twilight stars.
“What is it?” Jennifer screamed. She tried to run towards the house, but Trent held her back. “Dolores!”
Vincent deliberately stepped in front of the hysterical woman’s path and reached out to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes and in a slow and deliberate tone, he asked, “Does she have any next of kin?”
Chapter 2
Day 15
Cartersville, Georgia
The electronic door chime sounded as Jerry walked into his store. He was hot and sweaty and he thankfully welcomed the cool interior. His friend Benjie stood behind the counter. He had a yellow pencil tucked behind his right ear and he was holding a clipboard. He was reading by finger as he went over the store’s inventory sheets. Looking up, he acknowledged Jerry. “Hey, Jerry.”
“Hey Benjie.” In Georgia, “hey” was the equivalent of saying “hello,” and if a person wasn’t familiar with the custom, one could think that he or she was being rudely addressed. “How’s it going today?”
“We been busy as hell. This is the first lull we’ve had today.”
“Really?”
“Yup.” Benjie raised the clipboard. “We’ve had a run on some stuff, like two-twenty-three and forty cal. We’re almost out. And we don’t get another shipment till the end of next week.”
“That’s strange. Usually it’s the hunting ammo that runs a little low towards the end of the summer, not pistol and two-two three bullets.” Jerry looked around and scratched his head as he tried to come up with a reason for the run on the ammunition. “Sorry it took me so long to get down here. Me and Michelle had another argument.”
Benjie walked around from behind the counter and handed Jerry t
he clipboard. “Ya best watch out boy, that woman’s gonna divorce your ass and take half the business with her.” He frowned and shook his head. “Anyway…they also bought up a bunch of lanterns—propane and battery powered—flashlights and batteries too. Oh, and we ain’t got any of them crank radios left either. You’d think people was getting ready for a storm or something.”
Jerry starting thinking back to the news reports he had been hearing and seeing on the turmoil in southern Russia. “I think it might be all that bad news coming from Russia. I’m sure them blowing up that nuclear bomb has something to do with it. Might have some folks upset.”
“Yeah, but that’s way over on the other side of the world. You really think that would make folks over here get jumpy?” Benjie laughed and shook his head. “These rednecks don’t know nothing ‘bout stuff like that. They’re probably just trying to get a head start on hunting season.”
“Well, I did see that there was some kind of riot at a hospital in Cleveland. Something about people freaking out thinking that they were getting sick with whatever is going on in Russia, so they were demanding to be seen by a doctor. Some of the news stations are even saying that disease is breaking out in places like Berlin and Paris.”
“Well, I ain’t seen none of that stuff on T.V.”
“That just means that you need to watch a little more television…you know, broaden them horizons and get a little more culture in ya. Anyway, just so as to be on the safe side, you best call Atlanta and see if they can move up that ammo shipment. I don’t wanna have to be turning folks away because we ran out of stuff.”
“Hopefully Lane will be back from Savannah by tomorrow,” Benjie said. “I think he’s spooked too. He took off down there to go bring back his momma.”
Jerry stood in silence as he pondered the situation that was taking place. He knew that none of them were in any real danger from the trouble overseas, but he couldn’t get rid of the anxiety he was starting to feel. He was sure that the authorities could prevent any kind of disease or virus from ever reaching this country. But what if they couldn’t stop it, and what if something did manage to get past the borders?
“Why don’t you give me a hand real quick.” Jerry pointed to the ammunition rack behind the counter. “We’ll set aside a ‘lil ammo for ourselves. Ya know…just in case.”
Benjie eyed Jerry with a hint of suspicion. Being in his early fifties, Benjie wasn’t the type of man who bought into popular hysteria. “You haven’t gone spooked on me, have you?”
“It ain’t ‘bout being spooked, it’s just being a ‘lil cautious, that’s all.”
“Aww, come on, Jerry. I remember you were saying the same stuff when those terrorists blew up them buildings in New York. You swore that they were gonna attack Cartersville because of all the chicken farms and the brewery we got around here.”
“Well, it’s better to be prepared than to get caught with your britches down. You might wanna think about maybe running to the grocery store and buying a little extra food and water for yourself. Maybe even suggest it to Corina.”
“Good Lord.” Benjie crossed his arms over his chest, showing his disapproval of Jerry’s thinking. “Did I miss something in the news about a hurricane heading for the state of Georgia? Come on, man, you just been watching too much of that T.V.”
Just then, a middle-aged man and his young son walked into the store. Both Benjie and Jerry turned to face them. “Hey,” the man said.
“Hey there,” Benjie said. “What can we do for you today?”
“You got any propane or solar lanterns? Also, I need to get me a box of ammunition for my pistol.”
Jerry turned to Benjie, curling his bottom lip under his teeth and nodding his head slightly. “Yes sir, you see there? We might just get that ‘hurricane’ you’re talking about.” Turning back to the customer, Jerry asked, “What kind of pistol ammunition are you needing?”
“Nine millimeter.”
“We’re plum out of stock on that.” Jerry could sense desperation in the man and he noticed that the customer wore a stressed look—as if he was keeping a terrible secret.
“Hey, let me ask you something,” the man said. He stepped up real close to the counter, almost leaning over it. In a hushed voice, obviously not wanting his son to hear him, he said, “I was listening to a late night talk show on the radio last night…you know, the one that always talks about government conspiracies and aliens and stuff like that. Anyway, the guy on the radio said that he had received reports from over there in Russia saying that…well, it’s kind of hard to believe….but that the dead were coming back to life. You know, like in the movies. Have you heard anything about that?”
***
Chelyabinsk, Russia
The city was ablaze, burning away under the lifeless night sky. With the electricity long gone, the only light left was from the ghostly orange glow of the roaring fires that were now devouring the town. Chelyabinsk had been turned into a war zone, but the war was not being waged between men—it was being waged on Man.
In the dim shadows, dark forms could be seen dancing about as the flickering from the flames gave the whole scene a hellish, otherworldly appearance. Abandoned cars clogged the streets. Broken glass glistened on the grimy, blood stained pavement as the semblance of everyday life was crushed and crunched under the feet of the infected and the living dead.
Screams filled the night air as terrified people were pulled from their hiding places. An orgy of mass murder was playing out in the city as its inhabitants were torn to pieces—or even worse, were devoured. On every corner, groups of the slow-moving reanimated were huddled around the bodies of their victims, greedily feasting on their flesh after chewing it off of torso and extremity alike.
The fast-moving infected were roving in packs, systematically stalking the survivors, hunting them down and setting upon them. The savagery with which they attacked their victims was only rivaled by their total lack of emotion. In a chaotic cycle, those who were wounded and died reanimated and returned to life. Those who were wounded, but somehow managed to survive, underwent the appallingly painful transition into infection.
The final assault on the Empire of Man was underway, and the tools being used to chip away at its foundation were sinister enough to have been forged by Satan himself. What was taking place in Chelyabinsk was beyond all human comprehension. It was beyond all rationale. It was simply beyond. The laws of nature, the laws of physics and the belief in spiritual existence were all being vanquished into the abyss as a new world order was emerging from the darkest depths of existence.
The decay of the living world had begun. Man, in all his vanity and with all his knowledge and mastery over his world, was now being devoured by his own creation. And Man, in all his arrogance and all his ignorance, was about to ensure that his empire would end in a grotesque and unforgiving apocalypse.
From the night sky, a second, far more powerful nuclear weapon fell to earth and erupted over the gore-filled streets of Chelyabinsk. In their blind desperation, the Russians thought that they were burning their abomination into extinction, vanquishing it into the netherworld, but in unforgiving reality, all they were doing was unleashing the devil’s pollen into the atmosphere, and it was now flowing unfiltered through the heavens and across the planet.
Paradise was lost…once again.
Chapter 3
Day 18
San Francisco, California
“Damn it!” EMS paramedic Jamarcus Watson barked out loud. “It never fails, man. Every time we’re going to eat, we get a damn call for a traffic accident!” He slammed down the menu onto the table of the grubby little Mexican restaurant they were sitting in. Pissed and frustrated, he looked over at his partner and said, “Man, you answer up. I’ll probably tell that dispatcher something stupid. That dumb ass knew we we’re going to try to eat.”
Jamarcus’s partner, paramedic Antonio Cervantes, took a sip from his glass of tea and looked over at the angry man. “Dude, chill out,
bro. At least we got our drinks.”
“Yeah, well that doesn’t make it any better. It sucks that we already paid for our food. And did you notice that we paid three dollars more today for the same shit we ordered last week? Have you noticed the way prices have jumped up on everything ever since that shit started in Russia? Especially after they dropped that second bomb. And can you believe overnight, gas went up by two dollars a gallon over by my place. Fucking price gougers!”
Antonio stood up, shaking his head in disapproval as he raised his radio to transmit. After acknowledging the call for the accident, he clipped the radio to the side pocket of his dark blue uniform pants and motioned with his head to the front door. “Man, you’re just full of good news today. At least we’re not getting another one of those calls for someone thinking they’re catching that European sickness. Come on, let’s go.” As Antonio was half way out of the door, he stopped and turned to his trailing partner. He was hesitant at what he was going to say, but he felt strong enough about it that he decided that he needed to address it. “Man, I know you’re going through a divorce and all, but you really need to take a step back and maybe see what it’s doing to you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Antonio turned back towards the parking lot and stepped out into the bright sun. He threw his sunglasses on and made his way to the driver’s door of their rescue unit. Jamarcus followed, making his way to the passenger’s side. As they both slid into the seats of their bright red San Francisco Fire Department ambulance, Antonio placed the key into the ignition. He paused before cranking the engine and he looked over at Jamarcus. A frown was on Antonio’s face.
“What?” Jamarcus asked, aggravated.
“It’s just that you’re always pissed. You’re always in a shitty mood and you’re always bitching about one thing or another. Sometimes it gets to be a little too much. And besides, all that price gouging you’re bitching about…that’s just capitalism for you. Shit gets a little crazy in the world and prices go up for a while. It’s always been that way.”
A Glimpse Of Decay (Book 2): Staring into the Abyss Page 2