Sawkill : Omnibus

by Fitzgerald, Matt

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Jessie. He broke into mom and dad’s house and tried to steal my Audi.” She answered.

  “Your taste in men will never change J.” Dana said still watching Jessie.

  “He saved me from those things. He’s alright.” Jessica said.

  Dana shrugged her disapproval but put her gun down on the coffee table. Then it dawned on her what Jessica had said.

  “Mom and Dad’s? Are they alright?”

  Jessica took a deep breath.

  “They are dead.” Jessica said looking at her feet.

  “Dead? You saw them?”

  “Yeah, I saw them.”

  Dana looked at Jessica for a long time, but asked no more questions. She walked over to her sister and wrapped her in a giant hug.

  Jessie observed the entire exchange and marveled at the unspoken communication between the siblings.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” Jessie asked.

  “First door, down the hall.” Jessica answered.

  Jessie crossed the living room and found the door. He pissed, washed his hands and started emptying his pack on the giant vanity. He left several items behind when he was done repacking. He removed two of his business cards and a pen and scribbled words on each of them. He returned the pen to his pack and left the bathroom.

  As he entered the living room, the sisters were on the couch watching CNN. The video of the scientist was being rerun. Dana has seen it several times since its initial airing. They were entranced. When the massacre was over Anderson Cooper came back on the screen.

  “CNN’s military experts have not been able to confirm the branch of the military these soldiers are from and we have still had zero communication from the United States government.”

  Jessie didn’t hear the rest and neither sister noticed as Jessie put a business card on the table by the door, spun the dead bolt and slipped out the front door. He slid behind the wheel and got the Mustang started and moving before either sister had time to get around the couch. He was on Austin Street before the front door opened.

  Jessica tried to run down the driveway, but Dana grabbed her and dragged her back to the house. She locked the front door and tried to console her sister. Jessica struggled, but in the end she was crying on her sister’s shoulder as she had done a million times before.

  Once she was calm she saw the business card on the table. She picked it up and turned it over. It has a single word printed on it: Bathroom.

  Dana and Jessica went to the bathroom and saw what Jessie had left them.

  On the sink in a neat pile were the two revolvers from the safe, all the ammo and three big bricks of one hundred dollar bills. Under the revolver was another business card. It had two words printed on it.

  “He never came here to get you.” Jessica said. “He came here to leave me.”

  Chapter 5- Maberry Lumber

  As Jessie drove away from the extra mouth he couldn’t afford to feed, he turned on his iPhone. Once it was booted he unlocked it and waited for a ring. At six past one he could wait to more. He tapped the icon for the phone and then the contact labeled “Mauri.”

  On the third ring the phone was answered. It was a man’s gruff voice.

  “Hello.” The man said.

  Jessie wanted him to say more so he could pick up his tone.

  “Hello?” The man said again in a sing song way.

  “Where is the owner of this phone?” Jessie asked in the most official sounding voice he could muster.

  “You’re talking to him.” The man said.

  “Where is the original owner of this phone?” Jessie asked carefully.

  “Not here.” The man said and disconnected the call.

  Cold panic hit Jessie. He called back, but it went right to Mauri’s voicemail. He called twice more with the same result. He was trying to send a text as he drove the Mustang north on Route 206 and never saw the motorcycle lying in the road.

  The front passenger tire exploded on impact and the car jumped two feet in the air. It landed right fender first, drove fifteen feet straight down Route 206 and then jerked right. The front tires hit the grass, caught on the ditch and then flipped as it skidded in a one hundred eighty degree turn. It flipped six more times as it rolled down the embankment and came to rest, wheels up, in the back lot of a lumber mill.

  When Jessie woke up it was completely dark. He didn’t have his seatbelt on and somehow ended up in the back seat of the car. The roof was crushed and it had given him enough shelter that nothing could get to him. He did not know if any of those things had tried, but he didn’t hear any sounds outside the car now. He lay still for a long time trying to move each body part to see if anything was broken. He didn’t think so. Once he was fairly certain he was all right he started to climb out of the car. He had to squeeze through the space between the front seats and hope he could get one of the doors to open. The passenger door was hopeless, but the driver’s door had a little give. Twelve good kicks did the trick and the door swung open. Jessie sat very still and listened. He heard nothing. He spilled himself out of the car and struggled to his feet. There were none of the creatures near him because he had landed in the completely enclosed yard of the Maberry Lumber Mill. Jessie stretched and touched his body from head to toe. He shrugged in amazement that he was completely unhurt with the exception of some cuts and scrapes.

  “Dumb fucking luck.” He said out loud and jumped at the sound of his own voice.

  He climbed back into the totaled mustang and retrieved his backpack and iPhone. The iPhone was as undamaged as Jessie. He was grateful, but knew his luck couldn’t last forever. He looked at the phone and checked the time. Three AM… Jessie had been unconscious for fourteen hours. He tapped the phone icon and tried Mauri again - one ring and straight to voicemail.

  Jessie looked around the lumber yard and spotted a tractor parked along the far fence. He made his way towards it and heard the first low moan. He froze, suddenly aware he was in the wide open and did not know for sure if the ten-foot fence was intact. He started for the tractor at a dead run. His body ached from head to toe, but he made the forty yards in a time that would get him on most high school track teams.

  He hit the bottom step and yanked on the door. It opened. He climbed in and slammed the door behind him. Jessie scanned the yard, trying to find the source of the moan. He caught movement just outside the big fence. There were three of them. Two were walking left to right and the third was hanging on the fence as if it was watching a baseball game. Jessie locked the tractor’s door and checked to see what useful things he could find. He found a Zippo and enough issues of “Juggs” to wallpaper a room. The rig was a sleeper, but Jessie had decided it was too dangerous to try to move at night, truck or no truck, and he hadn’t found the keys. He would try and get some natural sleep and start fresh at first light. He set his alarm for six AM and hit the bed. As he lay there trying to get his battered body into a comfortable position, all he could think about was Mauri and his two boys. What would have had to happen for her to give up the phone? He had never wanted to see them as badly as he did now. As he tried to sleep, he scanned the FM dial on the small hand held he found on the cot. He finally came to a voice on 88.1. It was Anderson Cooper once again. Jessie was beginning to think of Anderson as an old friend. He put the radio down on the pillow next to his head, closed his eyes and listened.

  Chapter 6 - Stockholm

  “We have been sent a video from a man in Stockholm named Daniel Blomkvist. He is a journalist who happened to be on Oceanic flight 0019, originating at JFK airport. I’ve seen it, and have no words for the bravery and dedication to duty this man has. Roll it Bill.”

  Had Jessie been in front of a television set he would have seen a stone faced man of forty sitting in front of a webcam speaking directly at the camera. There were old scars and fresh wounds on the tired looking face. The lobe of his right ear was gone and he had two weeks of beard growth. You could tell he was in a hote
l room. As he spoke there were sounds of explosions and gunfire in very close proximity. The reporter took sips of what appeared to be scotch, the frequency of which increased the deeper he got into his story. He spoke in English, very little accent.

  “My name is Dan Blomkvist and I am a journalist. I am in a hotel room in Stockholm. The world seems to be coming to an end. I don’t know how else to say it. I was in New York City on holiday and managed to get out on a six AM flight. We were in the air for six hours watching the news before we realized what was happening on our very own plane. I was sitting in first class when one of the attendants came from the back of the plane. She looked scared and had a whispered conversation with the other attendants. As she spoke, they became worried. One called the cockpit on the phone. The woman and one of the men returned to the back of the plane. A man in third to last row of the plane had become very ill. He had vomited and was sweating… he seemed to be swimming in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t see any of this, but word traveled from passenger to passenger until it filled the cabin. A bit later there was a disturbance and a woman began crying. The man had died. He died right there in the goddamn seat of the plane. There was a lot of confusion and some arguing. Finally the two men got the backboard from the overhead, put the body on it and stowed it into the rear galley of the plane. The captain came over the intercom and told everyone a passenger passed away. He said we were past the half-way point of our flight, so we would be continuing forward rather than going back to JFK. He said that his crew had followed protocol and the authorities had already been notified. He told us he was waiting to hear where the flight would be diverted to. He apologized for the unfortunate situation and hoped everyone would remain calm and comfortable for the duration of the flight.”

  The video feed cut for a second and then flickered back on.

  “About forty five minutes later, there was an earsplitting scream from the rear of the plane. It was the female attendant. She screamed again and then someone else yelled, a man’s voice. Then everything happened at once. The man in the first seat in the coach section sprang to his feet, pulled a gun and ran for the cockpit. He tossed the two attendants from the galley into first class. A second later he had made a barricade out of the food cart, blocking the door between first class and the cockpit. He was holding up a badge and his gun, yelling that he was a Federal Air Marshall and for everyone to stay in their seats. He was barking instructions to the crew, telling them to get to their stations. They each took up position at the opening between first class and coach. They had no weapons, but they interlocked their arms and had a tight grip on the separating partition. I was in the window seat so I couldn’t see anything, I just heard screaming, swearing, and crying coming from the back. The pilot came back on and told us all to remain calm and stay seated. He said they had initiated emergency protocol and the man in the front of the plane was the assigned Air Marshall for the flight.”

  Blomkvist took a drink and lit a cigarette.

  “Then a man said the dead man came back to life like one of the creatures on the news. This got me out of my seat and into the aisle. Half of first class did the same. The Marshall yelled at everyone to sit back down, but no one was listening. I looked over the shoulders of the two attendants that were blocking the opening. I could see to the back of the plane…let me tell you, what I saw was a horror movie come true. The man looked just like a zombie from the fucking movies. He had blood down his chin and on the front of his sweater and the son of a bitch was chewing something. He had bitten a girl sitting in the last row. Everyone was screaming and trying to get up to the front of the cabin, but no one could really move. I watched as the dead man leaned into one of the seats and bit a man that was cowering against the window. That man screamed like nothing I had ever heard before. It made other people scream and try harder to get away. Then a man near the middle of the cabin stood up, threw two people aside and shouted as loud as he could for everyone to shut the fuck up… and by God they did. Everything froze for a second and it was dead quiet. He told the people to get out of his way as he went towards the back of the plane. People got out of his way I’ll tell you. He was black as midnight, built like a wrestler and didn’t seem to be afraid. As he walked towards the dead guy he picked up someone’s laptop. He smashed it over the guy’s head and the guy dropped. Then the big man stood over him, gripped a seat back in each hand and caved in the dead man’s skull with his boot heel. He raised and lowered the boot a dozen times. The first time I heard the wet crack…I didn’t hear any more because people started crying and screaming again and a couple threw up. Once he was done with the boot, he turned to everyone and told them it was over and they could all relax.”

  Blomkvist shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

  “A man standing behind me in first class asked about the ones that he had bit. The wrestler looked at the skinny man in the seat that had been bitten. He made a move to stomp him when the girl from the back of the plan bit the big man’s forearm. He looked down at the bite for a second and then grabbed the skinny girl by the hair and pushed her into the galley at the back of the plane. He smashed her head into the brushed metal serving counter again and again until blood and brains dripped off the surface and onto the carpeted floor. The big man dropped the limp body onto the floor and turned back towards the rest of the plane. He took a step and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out. He fell backwards half in and half out of the galley. His head was resting in the skinny girl’s brains. The people closest could see him breathing, so he wasn’t dead. Then a guy somewhere in the middle of the cabin said that someone needed to kill the black guy before he came back. No one moved. I looked back over my shoulder at the Air Marshall. We made eye contact. He shook his head at me and that cunt said his duty was just the cockpit.”

  Blomkvist stamped out the un-smoked cigarette and downed the rest of the scotch in his glass. He poured another half glass from the bottle and continued.

  “The guy said again that they needed to kill him. A woman next to him told him to go ahead. The guy took a hesitant step and then jumped back. The skinny guy that had been bitten was struggling to get out of his seat. Everyone started to back up instead of moving in and pummeling the son of a bitch. I can’t say I would have done any different, but I’d like to think I would. The skinny guy got into the aisle and lunged at a woman who had gotten down between her seat and the seat in front of her. He bit her hand and came away with a chunk. The woman screamed and that was when everything pretty much went to shit. Everyone tried to rush to the front of the plane and trampled everyone already near the front. That was when something in my brain clicked. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was like I shut off reality and turned the situation into some kind of simulation. I thought very objectively about what I needed to do and then did it. I guess it’s instinct, yeah, you could call it that.”

  Blomkvist reached into his pocket and popped two white pills.

  “I turned to the Air Marshall and asked him if he could send another food cart into the cabin so we could use it for a blockade. He said no way and pointed his gun at me. The back of the plane was a blur of motion as some of the people were trying to flee and others had decided to try to fight. The skinny man had already bitten two more people and was about to bite a third when I heard the door slam behind me. The female attendant yelled back over her shoulder but the man she called Cutter had retreated into the cockpit. The swell of people was making its way from the back of the plane towards our section. It was impossible to know how many had been bit. I screamed at everyone in first class to sit back down so I could get to the front. They listened and I wheeled the food cart towards the opening. I told them to get out of the way so I could make the blockade. They did. I went back and got a second cart and asked the male attendant to help me get it on top of the other one. He helped and it made the barricade six feet high instead of three. Once we got it in place he told me his name was Ted and the girl was Elaine. They held the
heavy carts in place as I went and got the other two so we could double the wall. We stuffed the top with bags out of the overheads. It seemed like we were safe. Two of the first class passengers helped us, taking turns leaning on the carts to keep them in place. The back cabin was full of horrific sounds. People were screaming and gagging and pleading for us to help… and then they were dying. We took turns holding the carts and the pilot came over the intercom to apologize for not being able to open the door and help. He said that he was still trying to confirm our destination. I didn’t really understand that until he came back on a bit later. We were all looking at each other trying to figure out what to do next when the top two carts came crashing down onto Ted and the man in the blue chambray work shirt. It was the wrestler. He was caked in blood and chunks of other passengers. He had several bite marks on his face and neck. It had turned into a feeding frenzy back there. Over his shoulder I could see that everyone seemed to be dead, dying, or coming back.”

  Blomkvist ran his fingers through his hair and sipped.

  “Coming back from the dead, can you believe I’m fucking saying that? And answer me this: Why did it take the first guy God knows how long to die and come back? We were on the flight for at least seven hours before he died. How much earlier had he been infected? Fuck if I know. Now it was taking minutes for these people to turn into those things. How the hell does that work? We will probably never know, but somebody fucked this all up. This isn’t nature, this is a weapon. The Final Solution a few decades later.”

  Blomkvist emptied his glass in one gulp. He put the glass down then wacked it off the table. It crashed against something and smashed off camera. The next time he drank it was straight from the bottle.

  “We tried to get the carts back into place, but the wrestler and the rest of them were pressing forward and we couldn’t stop them from advancing. Ted was out cold under the cart and Elaine retreated to the lavatory. I looked around at my options and I don’t mind telling you, I didn’t like them. There were no more food carts to set another barrier up at the galley and there was no time to pick up the one on Ted. Those things were coming too fast. I looked up and decided the overhead might be able to hold me. I jumped up and was able to fit. The compartment was plenty long enough, but I had to lay flat on my back. I pulled the latch closed and waited. For the next while I listened to the passengers from the back of the plane bite and turn people in first class. It went on forever. Finally the screaming and crying faded and all I could hear was movement and grunting and the occasional crash from one of them falling down or knocking something in the galley. I was actually drifting off when the captain came back on intercom. He told us that we were still heading to Stockholm because if he tried to land in another country we would be shot out of the sky. He apologized some more and even said a prayer. Once he was done the attendant in the bathroom started yelling to see of anyone else was still alive. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want her to try to come out for any reason.”