Black Mariah: Morris, Indiana (Black Mariah Series, Season 1)

by Marie D. Jones

  “Honey, I can plant you some when I’m done. I got way too many of the buggers,” Janey said.

  “That’s really sweet,” Jolene said, flashing back to a time when her garden was in full bloom, wild with color. Robby had loved flowers.

  “See you at Gordon’s barbecue next weekend?”

  Jolene had almost forgotten about Gordon Beasley’s annual spring barbecue. Gordon was the town’s elder statesman in a sense, a retired Marine and tough old man, patriotic to a fault but with a heart of pure gold. He often did things in his huge backyard for the entire neighborhood.

  “I’ll be there,” Jolene said. The planes were coming in closer. She motioned to Janey.

  “Check it out, we got us a pilots’ club or something,” Jolene said.

  Janey looked over her shoulder. “Oh, cool! Look at that, Mags!”

  Mags looked up and shrugged, running back in to watch her shows.

  Jolene shook her head, laughing. “She’s got her priorities.” She said goodbye and closed the door, then opened it again quickly. “Janey, sorry, did you see if Brian got home yet?”

  Janey nodded. “Yep, he was at the diner with the guys, even got into a tussle with Gordon over politics. How many times have I told those boys to never talk about religion and politics? They don’t learn! Said he might go hunting for a while.”

  Janey left with the Miracle Grow.

  Jolene leaned against the doorframe, watching the planes. She was tempted to call Brian and ask him to go with her to the meeting. She needed the moral support and he was her best friend. He’d been there for her through all the suffering and dark days—when Robby died and her marriage followed suit. Just seeing him would give her strength to get back into the rooms of sobriety.

  She hoped his tussle with Gordon wasn’t too bad. Brian had a tendency to rile feathers, with his extreme beliefs in conspiracies of every kind. Watching the news with him was a hoot, because to Brian every story was further proof of a government plot against the people. Gordon wasn’t a good ear for Brian’s theories. Gordon was pro-government all the way. And the military? Hell, they could do no wrong. Jolene remembered one battle he and Brian had gotten into at Janey’s birthday bash. Brian was going on and on about how the one percent were purposely privatizing water to keep it from the rest of the middle class and poor. He talked a good argument, though, even backing it up with some facts and statistics that made Jolene sit up straight. But Gordon was on him like a Pitbull, talking about how the government and the nation he fought for would never allow such a thing. Brian countered with numerous laws and bills that were against the middle class, and it turned into a total shouting match before good ol’ Janey, ever the diplomat, reminded them it was her birthday and asked them to take their bullshit somewhere else. Boy, the two men had shut up real fast. Janey was sweet as ice cream, but when she put that edge to her voice she could stop an oncoming locomotive in its tracks.

  It must have been one hell of an argument at the diner today, then. Brian usually didn’t hunt this late in the morning unless he was pissed off and wanted to be alone. She understood that need. Lately, she was as anti-social as they came.

  2

  As the planes got over the perimeter of the town, Jolene felt a sudden rush of pure dread that took her by surprise. Like her granny used to say, it felt like a crow walking over her grave. She took a step back and closed the door, not knowing why. They were planes, big deal. Small and large planes flew overhead all the time heading to the airport thirty miles away. Morris was part of an agricultural belt, too, which meant monthly pesticide spraying over the farms on the edge of town.

  She had seen a million planes.

  These planes, however, gave her the creeps. There was something wrong about them, about the way they flew so low over the town.

  Maybe it wasn’t the planes at all. Maybe it was the fact that right now, more than anything, she wanted a damn drink. The craving got more intense the more she thought about it. She knew it would calm her and bring some peace, take the edge off, as it had most of the days of her life after the tragedy. If she were being honest with herself, even long before. Jolene knew she was an alcoholic. She’d got up in a dimly lit room that smelled of stale coffee and day-old donuts and admitted it to a group of people, some she knew, some strangers, and to God. She’d got the whole Step One thing down.

  It was the next eleven steps she was having a bitch of a time with.

  “Jolene? I have to go potty,” Mags said, her eyes innocent and wide. Jolene followed her into the bathroom and stood guard at the door, forgetting for a moment about the planes, about Brian, about everything. She wished Anne would hurry up and get back if only so she could go wrap herself in a blanket and forget the damn world.

  She could hear the low guttural growl of plane engines. She looked up instinctively to the roof of the house and noticed the walls were shaking. Earthquake. She put her hand against the wall to balance herself. Too bad Mags was busy pooping because it would have been one hell of a sight. They could have even waved to the pilots.

  Jolene helped Mags finish her bathroom business and wash her little hands. Then she took her into the living room and settled on the couch.

  “Do you want me to read you a story?” Jolene asked.

  Mags wiped her eyes sleepily. “No, I wanna do my puzzle. Can I do my puzzle?”

  “Sure,” Jolene responded, helping Mags take a floor puzzle with large pieces out of her pack. On the cover were scampering puppies playing in a field of daisies.

  Robby had loved puppies. She couldn’t go there again. Not now. Only a couple more hours and she would be in a meeting, safe among those who understood how hard it could be to watch something as simple as another woman’s child put a puzzle together, and want to die.

  She heard a thud against the roof, then another, as if something was being dropped from the sky. Outside her window, objects fell into the street. She got up and went for a closer look, cringing in horror at the sight of her street littered with dead birds. A fine white mist covered the black asphalt. It looked like freshly fallen snow.

  Jolene closed the drapes and turned on the table lamp, then turned up the volume on the TV. Even with the cartoons blaring, she could hear more thuds on the roof. The planes must have overshot the fields and sprayed the entire town with pesticides. She had her windows closed, but her thoughts flashed to Janey, out in her garden ... and Brian out in the woods flanking the town.

  Outside, she heard a grating metallic sound, like a car with a bad transmission. Mags laughed over her cartoon, but the grating noise intensified, like fingernails on a chalkboard. Jolene covered her ears and peered out the bay window facing the front yard, but saw only her parked car on the street.

  The sound became more rhythmic, like a machine, reminding her of the clanking, metallic sound she once heard as a kid, watching a coal-filled lorry moving down a railroad track near her granddad’s farm. She looked down the street and saw nothing, then up the street. A line of a dozen or so shocking yellow pickup trucks drove slowly down the road from the Main Street turn-off. Jolene wrapped her arms around herself as if a sudden chill blew through the room. She looked back at Mags, concerned, but the little girl was paying her no attention, happily entranced with her puzzle and kooky cartoons.

  Jolene closed the curtains and watched the trucks from between a fold in the fabric. The trucks crept down the street in front of her house. The drivers all wore dark sunglasses and black baseball caps. One of them turned his head slowly and looked directly at Jolene. He smiled, an eerie, full smile of big, white teeth. How could he even see her? Every hair on her body stood on end. Instinctively, she backed away from the window, wondering if she had imagined it.

  Outside, the trucks stopped, and the grating metallic sound ceased. Jolene saw the same symbol on the side door of every truck. It looked strangely like a distorted skull and crossbones, only the crossbones were shaped more like a Swastika. With disturbing simultaneity, the drivers opened their
doors and got out of the trucks. They were dressed in HAZMAT suits, shocking yellow like the trucks. On their chests and across the back was the same strange symbol as on the sides of the trucks. Jolene’s stomach tightened. She had never seen a pest control company with such a disturbing logo, although there was one with a mouse being hit over the head with a hammer that made her cringe every time she saw it.

  This was different. This looked ... sinister.

  WRONG.

  The uniformed men stood outside their trucks, facing forward, looking like soldiers.

  Jolene watched in growing, yet inexplicable horror, and then rushed to Mags.

  “Honey, we need to go,” Jolene said in a quiet, yet firm whisper. Mags looked up at her with stunned eyes.

  “Is my mommy home?”

  “Not yet, Hun, but we need to go out back for a while.”

  Jolene tried to sound carefree, but she could hear the shaking in her voice and she knew Mags could as well. She grabbed Mags by the arm, a bit too excitedly. Mags began to cry, reaching for her stuffed dog as Jolene pulled her off the couch. She instinctively shut off the TV and the lamp on the small table beside the couch. She shut the window by the front door, then locked the front door. They moved quickly from the living room into the kitchen and exited into a big tree-lined backyard.

  There was a swing set, long since used, the swing seats wrapped up over the top bar, and a large doghouse towards the back.

  “Rebel? REB?” Jolene called out, wondering where the big German Shepherd was. He never left the yard. She stepped forward and saw him, sleeping near the corner of the fence near the tool shed.

  “REB?” Jolene called to him again, but he didn’t move. She turned to Mags.

  “Stay here a second, Hun.”

  Mags nodded, hugging her stuffed dog closely.

  Jolene walked across the expanse of grass and leaned over Rebel. She crouched down, petting his head. He didn’t move. She placed her palm over his chest cavity and leaned close to his muzzle.

  “Oh God ... no ... Reb ...”

  She shook the dog, first gently, then vigorously, but the dog lay still. A fine white powder covered the dog’s muzzle. Jolene didn’t dare touch it. She got up slowly and looked around. There were some small patches of white powder on the ground, like melting snow under the hot sun. It wasn’t snow. It couldn’t be snow. It was in the mid-60s.

  Her body recoiled as she heard glass shatter somewhere up the street. A woman screamed and Mags started crying.

  “Mags, get to the storm door. Now!” Jolene pointed to the door as she ran towards the child, who stood still, crying and frozen with fear.

  “Mags, now!” The fierceness in Jolene’s voice sent the child flying towards the door. Jolene got there a second later and opened the wooden hatch that led to a steep staircase down into a pit of darkness below.

  “Get inside honey. Just stay on the steps. I’ll be right back.”

  Mags began to protest, but Jolene hugged her hard.

  “I’ll be right back. I promise. Just get on the steps. Wait for me.”

  Reluctantly, Mags crept down the stairs, stopping about halfway. She looked up, blue eyes wide and moist with tears. Jolene left the door open for light and rushed inside the house.

  In the kitchen, she opened the pantry door and grabbed a ready-made survivor kit. Everyone in Morris had them, due to the frequency of tornadoes and storms. She had the biggest kit in town, including her ham radio.

  She ran into the living room, glancing at the bay window, where the drivers still stood beside their trucks, staring forward eerily, as if waiting for some command. She made a tear for the bathroom and fetched the Glock from the drawer, and some extra rounds of ammo. In her bedroom, she pulled out another large backpack from her clothes closet, jerked her purse off the door handle, and made her way into the hall, frantically dialing her cell phone as she dodged furniture.

  All Jolene got was a loud and pervasive busy signal on the other end. She redialed. The same busy signal came on immediately, then the phone went dead in her hand. Jolene stared at the phone, mouth open in shock. She peered out the bay window, stepping back in horror as the uniformed men all began to move towards the houses in strange, synchronized unison. Each one held a large canister with a long hose attached.

  “What the fuck? I just got sprayed!” Jolene said it out loud. Were these men from the city? The way they looked, the way they moved, almost in a lockstep robotic fashion, made the hair on her arms stand on end. No, there was something drastically wrong here, and she knew without a doubt she had to get Mags somewhere safe.

  Jolene raced out of the house and to the storm door, where Mags waited. Jolene motioned for Mags to move down the stairs and she followed, closing the door behind her. She pushed a large bolt lock through the open slot. She took a flashlight out of her pack and turned it on, motioning Mags to the back of the storm cellar. They huddled behind a large furnace and water heater. Jolene pulled an emergency blanket out of her survival pack and pulled it apart, covering them both.

  Then they waited.

  “Put this mask on, honey.” Jolene handed an N95 to Mags, who took it with some apprehension.

  “Why do I need to wear a mask?” Mags asked, confused.

  “Those men are spraying the neighborhood for bugs, so let’s put these on just in case. To protect us from the bug spray, right?”

  Jolene put on her mask and nodded to Mags, who did the same.

  “We look funny, don’t we?” Jolene said, trying to lighten the mood as she adjusted the mask to fit the child’s smaller face.

  Mags nodded, her eyes brightening.

  Jolene reached back into the pack and got out another mask, placing it on Mags’ stuffed dog. Mags smiled, snuggling into Jolene as they waited.

  Gunshots thundered, not too far from her house. Jolene heard a woman’s distinct scream, followed by a man shouting. Then, another gunshot. She covered Mags’ ears, her eyes betraying her own growing horror. She tried not to scream herself, wondering what was happening outside the storm cellar door.

  The metallic grating started again.

  Jolene listened. When it sounded as though the threat was gone, she turned to Mags.

  “I want you to wait here. I’m gonna see if it’s safe outside yet. Okay?” Jolene reached into her emergency pack and took out a pair of surgical gloves, shoving them in her pocket.

  Mags shook her head “no” and got up to follow Jolene.

  “Mags, I need to see if it’s safe for us first.”

  Jolene swallowed bile. She couldn’t let Mags see her terror. She huddled down and put her hands on the child’s shoulders.

  “I am gonna let you stay at the top of the steps. That way you can see me.”

  Mags nodded, clutching Jolene’s hand. Jolene led the child to the stairs and raised one side of the storm cellar door.

  “I’m gonna check the house. I’ll be back in a flash.” She climbed the top few stairs, surveying the backyard.

  The grassy lawn and cement patio was littered with dead birds. Jolene adjusted her mask and stepped onto the grass, heading towards the house. She peered into the back patio doors and then entered quietly, turning back once to make sure Mags was not following her.

  She first went into the living room and surveyed the scene. There was a fine white mist all over the floors and furniture, and the bay window had been shattered. Glass was strewn across the carpet. Fuck, she thought. Her vacuum would never get that up.

  She tried the wall switch, but there was no power. The lamp by the couch got the same result.

  She stood in the center of the room, numb. Her brain felt flatlined, but her body felt on edge like a downed live wire during a storm. Outside, there was no movement at all, but she could see her neighbor’s dead cat lying on their driveway across the street. As if in a trance, Jolene forced herself forward to the window, looking up and down the street, now devoid of human life, littered with dead animals and birds, and that white mist ...
thicker than what she had found on Reb, dusted over parked cars, hedges, and the flowers that circled her mailbox.

  It was like a scene from a horror movie. Jolene felt herself leave her body momentarily at the surreal landscape. Then she remembered Mags and raced back through the house into the backyard, where the little girl stood waiting, trembling on the stairs of the storm cellar.

  “They’re gone, honey,” was all Jolene could think to say, not realizing that even though she meant the men and the trucks, something inside told her that her simple words applied to the entire neighborhood as well.

  “Gone.”

  Jolene pulled Mags close and hugged the child.

  “Can we go find my mommy now?” Mags asked quietly.

  Jolene did not know how to respond. She had no idea if Mags would ever see her mommy again. She had no idea about anything.

  “Sure. We’ll go see where everyone is. Okay?”

  Jolene grabbed her purse and peered inside to make sure her gun was still there.

  “Let’s go find the rest of the neighborhood.”

  Mags followed her, holding onto her stuffed dog.

  “Try not to touch anything, sweetie, because the spray could hurt your skin and your eyes, okay?” Jolene had a feeling the mysterious white mist could do more than just hurt skin.

  3

  Her cell phone wouldn’t power up. This struck Jolene as strange because even without regular service, the phone should at least turn on. She knew she had just charged it the day before. The only thing that would stop all service was an EMP, but that was crazy. That was Brian thinking in her head, with his wild conspiracies of chemtrails and secret cabals running the world.

  The street, which had been bustling with activity mere hours ago, now seemed still, quiet. People were, no doubt, still hiding in their homes, afraid to come out and be exposed to the pesticide, which was now vanishing into the ground. The grass was still green and the flowers alive. Jolene thought she saw a few bees buzzing around her neighbor’s flowerbed. Maybe she wanted to see them. Insect activity would have felt more ... normal.