Rabid Heart

by Jeremy Wagner

  She hoped he felt the hate in her glare. She turned to her house and inserted the key. The front door opened with ease.

  “Hey... wait a minute. This is your place. I thought it looked familiar. Saw you and your boy-toy unloading groceries here one day. You sure jumped from high school to playing house, huh?”

  Rhonda clenched her jaw and ignored him, staring into the dark interior. Okay, so she was disobeying her father’s orders—the Colonel’s orders. His words rang in her head. You do not make a sentimental visit to your old love-nest to fetch your old hair dryer.

  “Whatever,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Let’s go.” Rhonda entered her house. Behind her, Teddie jumped at nothing. Jittery bastard. Could he breathe any harder? Her front door opened into her living room. A staircase to her right led to a second floor. She paused, clicked the safety off, and carefully scanned for Cujos lurking in shadow. Everything looked clear. A few blinds and drapes remained drawn. All furnishings looked as she’d left it.

  Nice and stale. Place could use some Febreze. The old brown hand-me-down sofa with the balled-up snuggle blanket she and Brad cuddled under when they watched movies together was against a wall. In front of her sofa, a small wooden coffee table covered with magazines and some empty Chinese food containers. She walked to her fireplace and gazed at cobweb-covered pictures on the dusty mantel. In every picture she found a happy face. In every picture they posed together in love.

  “Bet you’re missin’ some lovin’, huh?” Teddie stood right behind Rhonda. His hot breath blasted her neck.

  Rhonda whirled and clipped Teddie’s chin with her M4’s front sight. “You need to shut your fucking mouth before I make you a casualty. It’d be easy to kill you and leave you for dead in Levendale. No one’s gonna care about your body. My word is golden. Not another thing outta you. Got it, creep?”

  “Cut my chin? Damn bitch.” Teddie rubbed his chin and eyed a small streak of blood on his hand. He glared at Rhonda and looked like he might say something, but a glance at her M4’s black barrel quelled any unwise words.

  Rhonda scrutinized everything in her first-floor walk-through. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She had always kept her house neat and clean, and aside from a good amount of dust layered on every surface from floorboard to ceiling fan, she didn’t see evidence of any disturbance. But when she reached her old kitchen, she noted the back door open a crack.

  Had she or Brad locked this door six months ago? She couldn’t remember. Her palm felt moist as she opened it inward with slow and deliberate care. She found a key in the lock. Someone opened it from outside? She pulled the key and tucked it in her pants pocket before quietly closing the door and locking it from inside.

  She tested kitchen light switches, even though she knew the electricity was dead. In semi-darkness, she scanned the kitchen with her gun raised and felt a shiver course through her. Something wasn’t right.

  “You gonna do somethin’ here or not? I wanna get.” Teddie entered and rubbed his chin with apparent boredom.

  “I wish you’d just—” Rhonda halted. She heard something. Had a floorboard creaked from upstairs? Above her head?

  My bedroom... right over the kitchen.

  “What was that?” Teddie whispered uncertainly. He stared upward and waved his machine gun in wide and unsafe arcs. “Holy fuck. What if a Cujo’s up there?”

  “Dunno. But we’re gonna find out.”

  “Fuck this. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m going up. This is my place. It’s probably just a raccoon.” Please. A raccoon would be welcome. Anything but a Cujo. All spookiness she felt, she kept to herself. “You can go if you want. Take your chances out there. I’m gonna check out the upstairs.”

  “Awww, shit. Fine. You go on up first and I’ll follow. It’s your place after all.”

  She pushed past Teddie to the staircase near the front door. She turned to him and put an index finger to her pursed lips. Keep your trap shut. She turned and ascended with gun raised, cautiously sweeping from side-to-side.

  Upstairs, her small bathroom waited in front of her. She peeked inside and found nothing other than scattered makeup on the sink, dirty towels and a shower stall and toilet in need of a scrub. She backed out and proceeded through the hallway to her left. Aside from her bathroom, only a guest bedroom and her master bedroom at the end of the hall occupied the second floor. Rhonda crept quietly along the carpeted hallway. When she reached the guest bedroom, she put an ear to the door, but she didn’t hear anything behind it. She opened the door quickly and did an immediate sweep inside.

  Empty? Good. It looked neat and well made. She heard Teddie in the hall and stepped out and gave him the okay sign.

  She turned to the closed door of the master bedroom, her heart heavy. Here it was, the gateway to the special sanctuary she once shared with Brad. She pressed her left ear against her door and listened. Had something just thumped in her bedroom? By Teddie’s uneasy expression, he’d heard it, too. Again she listened, but no further sounds came from behind the door. What made the noise? No matter what she’d told Teddie, no way raccoons entered a house with a key and shut doors behind them.

  Teddie snuck along the hallway toward her. He appeared nervous and slippery. “Go on. Move in.”

  Rhonda stepped away from the door and spoke in a low and controlled voice. “Wait at the top of the stairs. You’re too squirrelly and I don’t wanna get shot.”

  Teddie frowned at her. He opened his mouth as if to blurt something, and then shut it. He glared a moment longer before he retreated to the other end of the hall with a huff.

  Rhonda watched Teddie take his place near the stairs. With a damp hand, she gripped the brass knob of her master bedroom door and turned it slowly. The door opened with her gentle push. Her M4 felt heavy as she raised it. The creak of the hinges sounded like a scream in the silence. She winced.

  Jesus. She chewed on her bottom lip and stood in the doorway. With her breath held, she paused and listened before stepping in quickly, her heart racing and her finger on the trigger. She flattened her back against a wall and made a fast, visual inspection of her bedroom, sweeping her room with her M4 and her eyes. Everything looked clear, if in disarray. Her bed was unmade, sheets and blankets kicked to the side. Two dressers stood with drawers open and clothes scattered around the room. Inside her open closet, she spied nice dresses, blouses, and scattered designer shoes she’d left behind.

  We sure took off fast.

  She remembered the stern face of the MP who’d come by their house to fetch them on the Colonel’s orders. Necro-Rabies owned Levendale, the MP said. What the fuck is Necro-Rabies? She and Brad didn’t know then, they only knew they needed to leave. Rhonda had ripped their bedroom apart and packed a suitcase with everything she could stuff. If only she stuffed Brad into the Black Hawk, or her suitcase he’d be safe and sound right now.

  Her bedroom windows remained closed. No signs of animal scat or damage. But what was that nasty smell? Maybe the scent came from six-month-old snack food gone bad? What about the creak she’d heard from the kitchen? And the other sound she heard just a few minutes ago? Perhaps the house was settling.

  Yeah, right.

  She took a deep breath and finally lowered her gun.

  “What’s going on in there?” Teddie’s voice registered alarm and bounced on hallway walls.

  “All good here.” Why he couldn’t keep his mouth shut? So much for stealth.

  Goddamn, any Cujo within earshot’s gonna be lured here.

  Hairspray bottles and perfumes covered the vanity top. She wiped her dusty mirror clear and looked at herself. Oh, how she longed to let her jet-black hair down and get into civilian clothes. Six months without cosmetics? Did she even remember how to put it on?

  She spied a bottle of Brad’s cologne. Cool Water. She’d spray it on her own clothes back then, so she could take his scent with her everywhere.

  I know I’
m gonna cry once this hits my nose. Fuck it. She’d spray her entire bedroom and refresh this special place. She’d kill whatever rotten stench hung here, too.

  Then, before she could spray one droplet, Teddie busted in and broke the spell.

  Oh my God. This asshole!

  She felt almost violated, having him here in her bedroom, in this moment.

  Teddie chuckled. “My, oh, my. These are real sweet. Bet ya looked hot as hell with these coverin’ that sweet ass.”

  Her heart thumped against her ribs liked a caged gorilla. Her hands shook and she set the bottle down. Rhonda stood but didn’t turn around, staring at Teddie in the mirror. He stood a few feet behind her, twirling a pair of her panties on his M4’s barrel with a disgusting grin on his face.

  “You play hard to get, girl. You’re just teasing me with these undies.” Teddie kept his eyes fixed on her G-string. “Your old boyfriend must’ve really—”

  Rhonda spun around and silenced him with a hard, open-palmed slap to his face.

  Teddie dropped his gun and grabbed his cheek. His eyes watered and he gasped at her with an expression of pained shock.

  Good.

  “You fucking creep. Don’t you ever touch my things, harass me, and never, ever talk about my fiancé again.” She turned back to her vanity and pocketed Brad’s bottle of cologne. “I swear to God I’ll put a round in your dome and leave you here.”

  Rhonda began to exit her bedroom when a bright flash of light exploded in her head. Stars and pain bloomed. She fell into her vanity with a loud bang, catching herself before her face hit the furniture. She blinked and her eyes found Teddie’s predatory reflection in her mirror. He snarled and stood behind her with his gun raised and the folding stock level to the back of her skull.

  Creep hit me. Knew better than to trust—

  Again, he slammed the stock into her skull.

  “High-falutin’ cock tease. How about I leave you here with one in your dome?”

  Teddie’s second bash to her head made a bright flash go to black. She blinked away the black. Her sight wavered. Somehow she remained on her feet. She heard the crackle of their radios and Sarge’s voice yapping away, asking where they were. And goddamn it, Teddie ignored Sarge’s questions. Teddie only laughed. Then she heard him dump his gun before both of his hands squeezed around her throat from behind.

  No...

  His rank breath, hot on her neck. His repulsive, wet tongue molested her right ear.

  “Slap me? Diss me? Gonna leave me here, bitch? I don’t think so.” Teddie panted hard and fast. “I’ve never killed a living person before, but it’s a whole new world now, ain’t it?” He laughed. “You’re gonna be the one left here when I’m done. No one’s gonna look for ya. Maybe dear old Dad, but he won’t find shit when I leave you for the Cujos.”

  She cried out when Teddie released her throat and yanked her head back by her hair. All of her strength vanished. Her eyes winked with pain. It was so difficult to focus. Mirrored reflections came and went. She caught Teddie in snapshot blinks. He looked crazy. She cringed. And how he howled when he undid her pants and pulled them down. How could she have let her guard down? She imagined Dad would say her situation was one she could’ve predicted. It was almost laughable. Hang out with a predator and prepare to be preyed upon.

  So this was it? She had no doubt he’d kill her... after he finished. Goddamn, just two firm whacks to her head had stolen every molecule of fight in her, rendering her defenseless and weak. Her legs stayed strong and she remained standing and stared into the mirror. She looked at herself and Teddie as he held her head up by her hair.

  Did she just see something? She blinked again and again and caught reflected movement behind Teddy. Through blurring vision she watched the hanging outfits in her closet move. Was she seeing things?

  A ghost-white arm appeared from between her blouses and dresses. Another disembodied arm reached out from the closet, connected to a longhaired Cujo in tattered clothes.

  Oh, Jesus.

  It walked with a slow, ungraceful stride toward Teddie.

  “Gonna show you things, whore.” Teddie was frenzied. He cursed and spit on her, but Rhonda only cared about the thing moving toward Teddie.

  I’m going to die here.

  Rhonda began to pass out. Teddie’s hands throttled her throat again. He choked her tighter. Then his hands were off her. She fell forward into the vanity as she heard Teddie scream. Rhonda’s head hung as she gulped in air. She heard a violent struggle behind her... sounds of Teddie’s feet kicking fiercely as he was dragged away, his shrill screams never pausing.

  Escape. That was her first thought amidst a mix of confusion adrenalized panic. She quickly pulled her pants up as Teddie’s screams quieted to liquid gurgles.

  Holy shit.

  Her awareness returned, albeit no less foggy. Her former partner lay on his back. Somehow his camo pants had pulled down to his knees during the fracas. His legs kicked in spastic death jerks while the Cujo ripped out chunks of Teddie’s throat and windpipe with ravenous ferocity. Aghast and relieved, she watched as it performed mouth-to-mouth, sans resuscitation. It consumed Teddie’s lips and tongue.

  Blood erupted into the Cujo’s face and spread across the bedroom carpet. I’ll never get that out, Rhonda thought, absently. Faintness hit her again. She stumbled into her soft bed.

  Rhonda collapsed on her mattress. Things didn’t look any better. The Cujo rose and set its undead gaze on her. Its bloody face fearsome. A threatening hiss issued from its crimson maw. It walked toward her, step by shaky zombie step.

  Why couldn’t she scream? Goddamn, her head pounded like a hateful bitch.

  The undead terror loomed above her. Its hair hung in a long and dirty mop, its dead eyes dyed milky-white. Yet, behind the blood and gore-plastered mask, she knew that face.

  Wait a minute...

  “Brad?” She spoke with great effort and slipped into darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Rhonda roused minutes later and found undead Brad above her. She screamed with surprise. She straightened in bed, suddenly no longer weak or disoriented. All pain in her head departed as fear and shock seized her.

  Brad stood motionless, staring at her with eyes clouded with white. She refused to understand. Why doesn’t he blink? Why doesn’t his chest move?

  Brad’s head cocked to his right. His crypt eyes stayed on her.

  Even in her terror, her heart spread. Poor baby. His skin was cadaver-pale, his hair and fingernails filthy and long. His face and clothes were dirty, covered with bloodstains and god-knew-what. He no longer looked like the Levendale high-school hunk who’d taken her to senior prom, nor the man who’d proposed two years later.

  So, Brad had turned Cujo along with everyone else. She’d wanted better for him—she’d allowed herself to hope for something like eternal death and peace—yet here he stood. Was this his destiny, to return from the grave just to stare at her?

  He still hadn’t moved. Gradually, her adrenaline waned and her breathing slowed. Staring into his lifeless eyes, she felt almost... safe?

  “Brad? Can you hear me?” She mustered a gentle tone. “It’s me, baby. It’s Rhonda.”

  Brad’s head cocked to his left and his brows pinched together. Rhonda studied him. Did electricity exist in his undead brain? Did something arc there, reawakening synapses and reanimating dead memories?

  Brad’s open mouth released a soft moan-hiss. He reached out with his right index finger and pointed at her.

  “That’s right, baby. Rhonda. Your fiancé.”

  Did he recognize her? His finger still pointed at her, surely a deliberate motor action and not some random reflex. It had to be, right? Brad’s arm dropped to his side. His slack features shifted in a slow-motion movement and it looked as if he wanted to say something.

  “Rrrrnnndaahh.”

  “Yeah, that’s my name. I’m your Rhonda.”

  She scooted across the mattress and eased off the bed. Careful
and cautious now. He turned and followed her with his ever-open and dreary eyes, but took no other action. Rhonda steadied to her feet. She moved slowly and walked around Brad to grab her M4 from the vanity top.

  Brad hissed. Did he identify her gun as a bad thing? He sure didn’t seem to like it. He advanced toward her and she aimed the barrel away, toward the ceiling. How could she ever shoot him? Fear and heartbreak set in. Her limbs trembled as Brad reached her. He stopped inches from her. She held her breath. Christ, he smelled God-awful.

  “Brad. Baby. Please don’t make me shoot you.” Tears came. No, she couldn’t handle this. In her heart, she accepted Brad’s death for months. Why’d she have to come here and find him Cujo-fied in their old house? Dad had told her not to...

  Brad reached out with his right hand again. Rhonda death-gripped her M4, prepared to fire point-blank into his rotten noggin. His cold hand touched her cheek. She flinched.

  Oh, Brad.

  His touch set off a stream of hot, heavy tears she couldn’t contain. Those hands, they once set her on fire.

  Brad moaned and drooled and gave her a cadaveric smile. He garbled something.

  Did he just say, Love you? Damn, if she didn’t want to believe it. “I love you, too, baby.”

  She closed her eyes. What had she wished for so many times? To be with her man again? Yes, anything for that. How often she’d longed to return to his arms, to smell him one last time, to tell him she loved him.

  Now here, in their bedroom, Brad’s touch returned to her.

  I’m still in love. Dead or not.

  Her wishes, albeit imperfectly, had been granted, and she found herself grateful. Fuck it if he’d turned Cujo. This moment was better than nothing, was more than most people got. Here, in this room, they had each other. She had more than just her memories...

  Rhonda blinked and sighed. I’m a selfish bitch. Damn it all, he must be miserable as a Cujo. Who in the hell wanted to be walking undead, feeding on other human beings? Was Brad in torment right now? Craving release from a necro-purgatory, and looking to her to end it?