by Erb, Thom
She looked back as she got to her feet, for a sign of the Ranger. Nothing. Once back at the Ranger’s car, her head swirled with the insane uncertainty of questions, ideas, and crazy images of men trying to bite—no—eat her! She whipped the door open. The yellow glow of the dome light was lost in the mustard colored haze of the storm and rain. She collapsed inside the car, stared back at the bathroom, and hoped…prayed.
***
What the hell was wrong with these guys? No response when I told them to stop and drop. All they did was turn and came at me like goddamn nut-jobs. Junkies, must have been on PCP, or something. Not like I had a lot of time to do a blood test or ask for fucking I.D. They looked at me with tears in their damn eyes and all the while trying to bite me. What the hell was going on? No time to ask…just react. I had no choice but to pull one them toward, away from the girl.
I told the kid to run as one of the druggies grabbed me from behind. I heard his teeth snap the air, too close to the back of my neck. I tucked my opposite shoulder underneath me and rolled, it wasn’t graceful, but it worked. It brought the attacker with me which allowed me to get my right leg up high enough that I could smash it down on his nose with enough force to crush cartilage and bone. I heard the snap and smiled. As I stood I wobbled a bit, but found solid footing, just in time to see the last drunk shit-bag try to bite down on my arm.
The force of his attack sent my pistol crashing to the floor, but I spun away from the bite just as it caught my sleeve. The man’s weight sent me to my knee, but that was okay. My hand jutted out and found purchase on the knife strapped to the inside of my boot. I swung it up, and in one direct motion, buried it deep into the man’s eye socket. He immediately dropped and collapsed in a heap on top of the other men lying on the floor of Whitney’s Gas-A-Torium.
I stood there wondering what the hell had just happened? Four men; all with the same goal; to bite the kid and me. Their eyes soaked with black tears. What in the world was going on here? And the smell…. They smelled like ripe bodies we’d pulled out of dumpsters or riverbanks. The bastards didn’t even flinch when I shot or cut them.
They all lay at my feet. The stench of death all around them, but I had spent the better part of the past hour watching them back at the van, and now this. Christ, I needed a damn drink. I didn’t know if I should call it in or just let the shit go. I was pretty damn sure I was out of a job the second the sun came up, so why bother?
I kicked one of the bodies to the side, picked up the knife, found my gun, holstered it, and walked out.
This shit ain’t right, I thought, and something told me I just screwed myself way beyond my pay grade. I walked back out into the pounding storm and saw the kid waiting inside my car.
“Okay, now what?” I asked to the dark, crying black sky.
I walked to the pay phone and saw the turtle lying lazily atop the phone box with its head tilted off to the side, staring at me, with its wide, sad eyes. “Go to hell, Leonardo.” I snatched the toy from its pious-perch and caught the sight of the phone’s receiver swinging wildly in the storm’s cold wind.
“Fuck me running.” I quickly grabbed it and prayed that she’d still be there.
“Goddammit.” I felt my shoulders drop and thought, that once again, the Man Upstairs had better things to do than listen to my dumb ass. I hung up the phone and ran back to my car. I knew the right thing to do was to call the crazy shit into the local PD, but my head was a scrambled mess. Half drunk and couldn't think straight. I lost my job, lost my wife and baby, and now, I have a runaway from New York riding with me. A runaway who I just saved from a bunch of freaked out, black tear-crying druggies. Hell, if you add this almost Biblical storm kicking Texas’ ass, you might think that it’s the goddamn apocalypse. A dark chuckle came from deep inside my gut as I opened the car door, tossed the turtle onto the backseat, and got in.
“The hell with it. If the world’s going to end, I’m at least going to see my woman and baby girl,” I mumbled, and shot the kid —shivering from shock, I guessed—a look, and closed the door behind me.
“Fucked up night, huh kid?” I stated, knowing the answer and started the engine, and pulled out back onto the highway. Houston was roughly fifty miles away, and I couldn’t get the hell away from this cluster-fuck soon enough.
The odd thing was, and I sure as hell hoped I was just seeing things, but I could've sworn that I saw something through my rearview mirror that sent ice daggers up and down my spine—those drugged up Mexicans staggering out of the shadows of bathroom back at the gas station. I shook my head and tried to focus on the slick road ahead of me.
“No way,” I told myself, and fished around my jacket for my bottle. I muttered to myself, “Out of the damn frying pan into Satan's asshole,” and tromped on the gas pedal, heading west.
18
Thank You
Rt. 45 South
Friday, 11:30 p.m.
I drove in silence, and the girl just leaned against the side window, staring out into the swirling storm. I was pretty messed up and was damn sure she wasn’t thinking too clearly either. The Allman Brothers kept playing over and over on the tape deck, and every time one side finished, it would click, flip, and play the other side. I wasn’t listening and couldn’t give a rat’s ass. I had too many voices in my head, all vying for attention, and my head felt like scrambled eggs mixed with razor blades inside a damn blender.
“You okay?” I asked as the girl took her tennis shoe and sock off, roughly checking out her foot. I could hear her breathing—jagged and raspy. She was scared blind.
It took her a few minutes of scouring every inch of skin on her small foot. She sagged back into the seat and let out a big breath of air.
“Yes! Damn. What the hell was that back there, Ranger?” Stacy Jo finally blurted out, nearly causing me to crash the damn car. “Those nut-jobs tried to freaking bite me.”
“I’ve got to run to keep from hidin’,” The Allman Brothers sang, creating a buffer for me, because I had no damn clue as to what those men were all about. I searched and searched inside all my years in the Corps, years as a Ranger, but all I kept coming to was diddly squat. Inez and Bellia’s faces kept racing in front of any rational explanation I could think of. I couldn't even try to wrap my head around that shit.
“Drugs,” I heard myself blurt out, in a tone that sounded like I was trying to convince myself a whole hell of a lot more than the wide-eyed girl in my passenger seat.
“Cross roads, will you ever let him go? Will you hide the dead man’s ghost?” the haunting song played on as the yellow tainted rain pasted the windshield. The wipers had all they could do to keep the damn glass clear. Odd shit, all around.
“Drugs? Really? Those crazy assholes were trying to fuckin’ bite me like I was a damn Snickers bar, man?” The kid screamed and made a chomping motion with her fingers. “Ya know, like Jaws?” She added, jutting her hands out at me, miming a damn shark attack in my face.
“Yeah, yeah, for Christ’s sake. I get it.” I smacked her hands way and shot her a look, as I adjusted my hat and tried to keep the car on the road. “You’re welcome,” I added, giving her a quick glare.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you riding in like the Lone Ranger and all, I…I just never seen anything like that before. I’ve had my share of my Dad’s drunk-ass pal’s trying to get their groove on with me, but at least with those dirt-bags, I could always punch 'em in the sack and they’d high-tail it. Those dudes back there were…were….” She slumped back into the seat and didn’t finish her thought.
“I know,” was all I could say. I kept trying to shake the images of the forms shambling out the bathroom. It made no sense at all. I jammed a knife into one of their eye sockets and either cut or shot the others. Nobody gets up from that kind of damage. Not from my experience, at least. But the way this godforsaken day had been going, who the hell knows what could be going on? Every time I tried to focus on the bathroom thing, thoughts of home crept back in. I
fought like hell to keep my tears out of sight of the kid.
“I cut one of ’em, and the guy just kept snapping his damn teeth at me like he hadn’t eaten in a damn month. What kind crap is that?” Her head whirled around, as if looking for an answer inside the car.
“I did too, kid. I even had to shoot them.” The word flew out before I knew it and really, didn’t care. A day late and a damn dollar short to be worried about police protocol at this point, I told myself.
“One way out baby, I just can’t go out that door.” The Allmans kept playing and I could see the girl getting annoyed. I liked the music. It helped me avoid conversations. Like this one where I had no solid base to start from or any sense of goddamn center. Inez was leaving me, druggies were having the worst case of the munchies I’d ever seen, and I have to try and explain all this shit to a seventeen year old girl. What the hell did I do in a past life to deserve this kind of shit-filled karma? I reached over to turn the volume up on the radio. She slapped my hand away and roughly punched the cassette out of the player. I could feel her hot stare; looking to me for answers to the trainload of shit that had just happened.
“What the hell are yo —” The radio blared with an emergency alert and cut me to the quick. I glared at the green glow of light from the radio. My gut tightened and told me things were about to get a hell of a lot more Twilight Zone-esque. The words that came next from the radio alert proved me far more spot on that I damn well wanted.
“This is an Alert from the United States Emergency Broadcast System and this is NOT a Drill. We repeat. This is NOT a drill. Due to several terrorist attacks on several major cities in the United States that have released what the CDC can determine at this early stage as nerve agents, the Governor has called for no unnecessary travel. So if you are on the road, you must find shelter immediately. Do NOT; I repeat NOT try and search for loved ones or family members. Go to the nearest Emergency Shelter and seek refuge there. Stay tuned for updates.” Then the radio cut out and the speakers filled the car with harsh static.
I pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the highway and slammed it into park. We sat in empty silence as the words from the radio alert and the bizarre events of the past hour mixed together in my head like a jumbo cocktail from hell. I looked at Stacy Jo, and her look must have mirrored mine, because I was feeling as shocked and confused as the look on her young face.
“What the…” was all I could utter as thunder shook the car and spastic lightning flashes created harsh, demonic shadows all around us. We were just in the middle of east-Jesus, where the hell were we supposed to go? Just when I thought this weird storm couldn’t get worse, the wind picked up and was pushing the car around like a goddamned Matchbox toy. The rain fired down like cold bullets from the black night sky.
“What are we gonna do?” Stacy Jo’s words came out in a meek whisper; sounding more like a little girl than a seventeen year old. The sound reminded me of my Bellia, and those goddamn tears crept back into my eyes. The thought of Inez and her alone shattered my damn heart. I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus on the task at hand.
“There was only one place that’s close enough, that I know of,” I said, fighting off the demons deep in my gut, and looking out into the rain-wracked night—which was only broken up by violent flashes of bright lightning and my own tortured imagination.
“Where?” she uttered.
I didn’t answer her. I just put the car into gear and drove west… Toward Houston.
After a few miles, over the rise, the tell-tale lights of emergency and police vehicles lit up the night sky. I slowed the Cuda down and crested the ridge to see a gas tanker, tits-up, and a not-so-lucky compact car even more compact. I knew some folks were dead, and this wasn't good. There was a Statie directing traffic at the fork in the road, and while I would normally stop and see if I could help out, tonight was not the night for brotherly love. I waved at the guy and turned onto old Route 14. I didn't like that this little detour would add miles and time to my drive, but the way the day was going, I wasn't going to bitch. It seemed I'd already pissed off enough gods for the day.
19.
Life’s a Misery
Jimbo’s Rusty Cactus Diner & Blue Sky Drive-In
Rt. 14
Friday, 11:34 p.m.
“Jesus H. Christ, where the hell is Ellen? Robbie Casella bellowed toward the kitchen of the roadside diner, her half smoked Lark clinging precariously from her full bottom lip. She glimpsed up at the Elvis Presley clock hanging on the yellowing wall and shook her head. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me, Jimbo, ‘My goddamn car won’t start and that low-rent man o’ mine is off drinking down at Finn’s again. Or, I’m sorry Jimbo, but this storm is really, really bad and ya know how bad my eyesight can be,’ did I get that about right?” She smiled, her wide face still held the beauty of her fifty-five plus years on the planet.
“Well lookie who wins the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box.” Jimbo poked his stubble-covered, round face through the serving window that separated the kitchen from the counter. His thick white muttonchops hugged his rosy cheeks and huge, yellow-toothed smile. He smacked the bell on the counter with the flat of his spatula and shot Robbie his friendliest grin. She knew all too well what the next words were going to be, regardless of how high he piled the sugar on.
“Oh, ain’t no way in hell, I’m takin’ her shift again, Jimbo!” She placed the plate of biscuits and gravy down on the worn counter in front of a lanky trucker who reminded Robbie of one of those hippie ZZ Top boys she’d seen on TV.
“Can I have some more coffee?” The Trucker’s words fell on deaf ears as Robbie spun on her well-worn heel, one hand on her wide hip, and squinted back at the portly diner owner.
“You do realize I just worked a ten hour shift at this hell-hole, right?” she said through pursed lips and adjusted her peroxide blonde hairdo, waiting impatiently for a response.
“Yeah, Robbie, I know, but what do ya want me to do, huh? Ellen’s about as reliable as a damn Pinto, but I can’t do this myself. And hell, the storm out there is ragin’ like a goddamn bitch in heat. I got a feelin’ that we’ll be seein’ a rush of truckers and other poor folks out there needin’ a place to ride the storm out, so what you say, Robbie?” Jimbo’s head popped back through the service window, with his hairy, thick arms held out in an exhausted shrug. “C’mon, honey. Look, I’ll make it well worth your while.” He gave her a long, promising wink, and his bushy white eyebrows played along with the accompanying teasing grin across his unshaven face.
The storm pounded the small diner, and the yellowish colored rain pelted the windows. Robbie knew that, once again, she was going to get screwed, and not in a good way. She buckled and adjusted the horn-rimmed glasses on her face, letting a small smile break across her lined face.
“Oh, like that’s going to be a real deal breaker.” She let out a dull chortle and waved him away back into the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, buster. ‘Worth my while,’ is a damn raise, and I ain’t seen one of those since Carter was President. So, just keep your winkin’ to yourself, mister.” She snuffed out the cigarette in the metal ashtray next to the cash register, still shaking her well-coiffed hairdo.
“Okay, Okay. How’s about the next two weekends off, and to put the cherry on top, good lady, I’ll even let you take me out to the drive-in to see the new Police Academy flick? What do you say, hot stuff?” he held the spatula to his grease-stained, once-white shirt, and tilted his head and smiled. His bushy eyebrows promising a very romantic evening.
“You own the damn drive-in, ya cheap bastard.” She fetched another cigarette, lit it, and waved in an irritated motion at the young couple in the booth by the bathrooms, who seemed to want something.
“Weeeellll?” Jimbo’s eyebrows weren’t taking no for an answer, and although her damn legs felt like they were swollen to the size of the goddamn Goodyear blimp and her damn corns were about to catch fire, she gave in. She always gave in. “Asshole”she curs
ed the burly cook and flipped him the bird, took a drag from the cigarette, and limped over to the two lovebirds holding hands and making kissie-faces. If the fat man in the kitchen didn’t make her want to puke, these kids were a close second.
“Yeah, yeah, your broke ass better buy the popcorn and bring the Southern Comfort,” she bitched, and not one ash ever hit the yellowing black and white tiled floor of the grungy diner.
The trucker was still holding out his empty coffee mug as she walked away. Lightning washed the old eatery in a yellow wave, and the storm obscured the slow, slumbering forms making their way down the hill from the Leonard County Cemetery.
20
Lowdown in the Street
Old Redeemer Cemetery
Rt. 14
Friday, 11:47 p.m.
In life, Carol Highshoe was a writer—a storyteller of all things glittering with gold and silver—all things fantastic and otherworldly. She had dreams of becoming the next Marion Zimmer-Bradley or Jackie Gamber; telling stories of powerful women and beautiful dragons. But a week ago, while she was sitting at her writing desk, cup of tea in hand as she was about to type ‘The End’ on her first novel, fate decided to throw this poor young woman a deadly curveball and let loose a blood clot that raced to her heart, ending what could have been a stellar career and an amazing life.
In death, moments ago, her eyes popped open. She began to dig and crawl upward. Her nails burrowing, pulling the rain soaked earth away as a newfound hunger filled her. An overwhelming urge poured through her embalmed body, causing it to push on in pursuit of her new goal.
Once on the surface, rain pelted her pallid skin. She felt two distinct urges filling her: one was to feed. She could feel heartbeats in her undead mind, this made her sewn mouth drool, or at least want to. The other vague urge was to turn northward and walk. But the overwhelming hunger ruled. She could sense food was close, and as she rose to her feet soled in high heels, which she hated, she realized her mother must have had her buried with them. That bitch would have known she hated to be stuck eternally in a mauve dress and high heels. She cursed and followed the urge as she staggered awkwardly down the hill.