The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing

by Archer, Angelique

  Colin immediately jumped in, not caring that this was the girl’s boyfriend, and that they had been flirting non-stop for the past half hour in front of him. He was staunchly against hitting women. He swung his fist into the man’s face, knocking him back a few feet. Franco stumbled around for a moment, the effects of the alcohol and punch clearly taking their toll. Then he uttered a furious primal scream and rushed at Colin.

  The two landed on a nearby table, shattering the thin wooden legs beneath it and smashing the bottles that lay on top. They tumbled to the ground unceremoniously, Colin grimacing when his head hit the concrete floor with a painful thud. At this point, the other men at the table had gathered around them and began yelling encouragement to their friend.

  Slightly dazed from the fall, Colin shook his head as he tried to focus on the irate Spaniard. Franco took advantage of this and reached into the rubble surrounding them. He picked up a broken bottle and began to advance on Colin who was only now getting to his feet.

  Seeing the improvised weapon, Colin quickly searched for something to disable his attacker. The only nearby item was his duffel bag, which also housed the sturdy bagpipes that he played so well. He scrambled over to the bag, simultaneously dodging Franco’s first attempt to cut off his ear, and yanked out the bagpipes. In one deft move, he whirled them around and landed a solid blow to the front of Franco’s face. Cartilage and bones cracked instantaneously, and the man fell to his knees, crying in pain.

  “You want some?” he shouted to the other men in the group, wielding the bagpipes in front of him.

  Jack chuckled at this point. “You’ve got to be kidding me, son. You scared them off with… bagpipes?”

  “Eh, why not?” Colin responded with a shrug.

  Jack sighed. “So what happened to the Spanish girl?”

  Colin grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “She ended up taking me home, not that blundering idiot of a boyfriend from the bar. We spent the last few hours in her apartment waiting for my bus to Madrid. She was quite the flexible señorita—”

  “Okay, son, that’s great. Glad to hear you had a good trip,” he interrupted quickly. He didn’t want to hear the graphic details. Colin smiled wistfully and leaned back to stretch.

  Jack tiredly rested his face on his hand and absentmindedly poked at the mashed potatoes.

  Colin noticed, his smile fading, and reached out to touch his father’s shoulder. “You okay? You didn’t even touch your food.”

  “Yeah, son, I’m alright. Just had a bit of a rough day at work.”

  “You know what you need? A damn vacation. You Americans work too much,” Colin interjected, enthusiastically wiping the last of the gravy from his plate with a thick slice of bread and shoving it into his mouth.

  “Huh, maybe.” Jack sighed. His cheeks were devoid of any color. He took his napkin from his lap and wiped a layer of perspiration from his forehead.

  “Want to tell me what happened to that hand?” Colin asked.

  Suddenly, Jack doubled over and retched.

  Colin leapt out of his chair to his side.

  “Dad!” he cried out when he saw blackish liquid on the rug.

  Jack waved him away. “I’m fine, son. I’ve just gotten a bug, that’s all. I need a good night’s rest. Your old man’s getting older, you know.”

  “Are you sure? That doesn’t look bloody normal to me,” Colin replied, reaching for some paper towels to clean up the mess. “What the hell is this?” he mumbled to himself, mopping it up as best he could.

  “I’m sure. Just help an old man to bed.” Jack smiled weakly, trying to convince his son not to worry.

  Colin threw the soiled paper towels in the trash. He walked to his father and helped him to his feet. The two trudged over to the master bedroom. Colin sat him on bed and opened the dresser drawers, pulling out a fresh white t-shirt.

  “Here, wear this. You’ve got, umm…” Colin gestured to his chest. “…black goo on your front there.”

  Jack took the proffered shirt and managed to remove the dirty one. He slowly tucked himself under the sheets.

  Colin turned off the lights and stood awkwardly at the doorway.

  “Want me to play the bagpipes for ya?” he asked finally.

  Jack shook his head and began to laugh, but ended up in a coughing fit. Colin couldn’t see in the dark, but if he could, he would have been witness to fresh blood and chunks of black gore splattered on the comforter.

  “Okay,” Colin said. “Good night, Dad. Glad to be here. Hope you feel better. I’ll leave the door open just a wee bit in case you need anything.”

  As Colin walked away, he tucked his hands into his pockets, worry etching his handsome features. His face brightened when his hand produced a scrap of paper with a name and number scribbled across it.

  He made his way over to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

  Chapter 5:

  It is just before four in the morning, and Chelsea Holst is sleeping soundly. The room is shrouded in darkness, save for the red glow coming from the numbers on the alarm clock. One of the windows is slightly open allowing in a gentle breeze. The house is almost perfectly silent.

  Barely audible creaking makes her shift slightly in the bed and turn onto her side, reaching an arm across their queen-sized bed to hold her husband.

  She sighs softly as her hand lands on empty space. Her fingers move around vainly searching for the bed’s second inhabitant.

  Chelsea pauses suddenly and groggily opens her eyes, still half-asleep. She glances at the alarm clock.

  Normally, she would have been woken up by the baby for an early morning feeding.

  Chelsea is suddenly aware that she is not alone in the room. A low hissing moan comes from beside her. She stiffens her back and slowly turns to face the sound.

  In a corner of the dark room, she can see the outline of a figure. In her sleepy state, she panics at first before realizing it’s her husband. As her eyes focus, she sees that he is hunched over and watches her from where he stands.

  “Mike?” she whispers.

  At this, she hears him moan as he takes one slow step out of the shadows.

  Illuminated by the light from their alarm clock, he pauses before her. His head tilts to the side as he stares at her vacuously, almost as though he senses a familiarity.

  Chelsea cringes when she sees his face. She doesn’t recognize him. His eyes are white and vacant, the pupils pinpricks of black.

  “Michael,” she says more assertively. Her voice is still tinged with fear. Chelsea sits up in their bed. She is definitely awake now. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He slowly stumbles forward, bloody spittle oozing from his gnashing teeth. His lips are all but gone, almost as though he chewed them off in his sickened state. Mike’s teeth are gore-stained, blackened from dried blood and something else.

  He reaches out to her.

  For just an instant, Mike remembers. He remembers their wedding day, how elegant and ethereal she looked in her white gown as sunlight sparkled through her hair. He remembers the day their son was born, how she cradled their child to her breast, her cheeks rosy and her hair disheveled. He remembers thinking he was the luckiest man alive. Almost as quickly as it comes, the memory is suddenly replaced with nothingness and an overwhelming need to feed.

  Chelsea instinctively backpedals towards the other side of the bed, but it is too late. Mike is on top of her and with lightning speed, lunges forward and sinks his teeth into her soft belly.

  For a moment, Chelsea thinks she is still sleeping, trapped in the throes of a horrible nightmare.

  She lets out a mournful scream and watches in horror as Mike rears his head back savagely, his teeth still clenched around her skin, and rips her abdomen open, her entrails pouring out of her body.

  Her last thoughts before she drifts into unconsciousness revolve around Tyler. Her poor, sweet baby. Mike was in no shape to take care of him now.

  As she lets the darkness overwhelm her
senses, she wonders why she doesn’t hear him crying.

  ***

  Colin hoisted the gorgeous blonde into the air and shoved her against the wall with a rugged grunt. She gasped in delight and wrapped her legs around him tightly.

  It was their third round for the night. Although they hadn’t noticed, the alarm clock on the nightstand showed that it was just past five o’clock.

  “Talk to me in that accent!” she panted.

  “What do you want me to say?” he murmured against her neck, his lips brushing her ear as he thrust inside of her. He slowed his movements, one hand supporting her weight and the other expertly stroking her perfectly full, rounded breasts.

  God bless America, he thought.

  “Anything,” she breathed, closing her eyes in pleasure and gripping his shoulders tightly.

  Colin began to whisper to her, inwardly intrigued that she found his accent so arousing. He interchanged their speed, sometimes teasing her as he thrust slowly within her sensing she was close, and other times moving hard and fast, which he knew would quickly send her over the edge. She threw her head back in ecstasy, her fingernails digging into his back. He bit her gently, smiling knowingly as she climaxed.

  A few minutes later, Colin shifted them from the wall to the foot of the bed, the sheets damp with sweat from their previous trysts, and turned her over onto her stomach. With a rakish grin, he yanked a pillow underneath her hips, pushed her thighs apart with his legs, and drove into her energetically, unaware of the squeaks and creaks emanating from the bed from their exertions. Breathing raggedly as he felt himself getting closer, he reached in front of her and grasped her breasts before coming to a satisfying release himself.

  Colin collapsed against her, but not before giving her bottom an approving pat as he ran his hand across her sweat-slicked back. She sighed and turned to face him, pushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

  “Have you ever considered moving here permanently? I’d love to see more of you on a regular basis,” she said as she ran a finger down his well-toned abdomen. Her blue eyes looked up at him seductively through thick, dark lashes.

  Colin chuckled. “You know, I get that a lot.”

  “Tease,” she pouted. She walked to the pile of clothes strewn about the floor and pulled on his shirt and her hot pink thong. She tiptoed to the door.

  Colin leaned back on the bed and watched her with interest. “There’s no point in sneaking around now. I’m pretty sure we woke the bloody dead.”

  She smiled and quietly turned the door knob.

  “I’m going to get something to drink. Want anything?”

  He shook his head. “Hurry back, love.” He winked at her mischievously.

  “Be right back,” she whispered.

  ***

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Alex Clavell and Mark Newton were pretty excited about the premiere of the latest action film starring their favorite actor, Bruce Willis. They’d been anticipating the release of the movie for months. For them, nothing was better than watching Willis take down the terrorists with his rough, witty, modern-day cowboy flair.

  Mark slid a ten dollar bill under the window to the lady at the ticket counter. She handed him two dollars in change and a ticket, and after thanking her, he stepped to the side of the kiosk while Alex got his.

  The pair could barely contain their exuberance. They had spent all day watching a marathon of “Die Hard” movies in Alex’s basement, stuffing their mouths with pizza and soda.

  “Hey, we should get some snacks,” Alex said, gesturing to the long lines of people waiting for food.

  Mark reached into his pocket and looked skeptically at the two dollars in his hand.

  “I can’t afford anything up there. They charge, like, nine dollars for a Snickers,” he replied, sighing. He didn’t have much money. His mom had given him ten dollars, and for her, that was a lot. A single mom who spent her days working two jobs, one as a waitress at a local diner and another at a bar at night, she struggled to make ends meet.

  Alex shrugged and looked down the mall. “Well, we could go to Target or something. You can get a box of Sour Patch Kids for a dollar.”

  “That sounds good.” He sighed in relief and smiled at his friend. Alex came from a much wealthier background. His parents even gave him his own credit card. He never had to ask for money. Everything his heart desired was taken care of. Mark wondered what it was like to not have to worry about your electricity being turned off while you were trying to do homework because the bill hadn’t been paid. Or going to bed still hungry because your cupboards were practically empty, and you had to wait until the end of the week for your mom to get her paycheck so you could buy groceries.

  It must be nice, he mused.

  In spite of the economic disparity between them, Alex was always considerate of his best friend. He knew better than to offer to pay for everything when they went out because it would hurt Mark’s pride. Instead, he invited Mark over regularly so he wouldn’t have to spend money he didn’t have. Usually, they just watched movies in Alex’s basement, played football in the park across the street, or went swimming in the pool behind Alex’s house. He’d make sure Mark was amply fed whenever he came over to stay the night, and he often gave Mark his practically new clothes as his mom was constantly shopping for him or his slightly used electronics since his dad insisted he have the latest technological gadgets. Alex made sure to do so in the most nonchalant way possible, always saying “Well, if you don’t take them, they just go to strangers I don’t even know, so I’d rather you have them. Keeps ‘em in the family.”

  Mark knew what Alex was doing, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. One day, he’d rise above his circumstances, go to college, get a well-paying job, and pay Alex back for all the generosity he’d shown him over the years.

  The boys left Target with two bags full of sodas, Sour Patch Kids, Nerds, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites, and Twizzlers. A movie wasn’t a movie without the proper snacks, but they’d be darned if they paid more for the candy than the movie tickets, so they discretely hid the bags under their coats.

  They were back in the theater a few minutes later waiting to get their tickets checked when a man coughed noisily beside them. Both boys turned and wrinkled their noses as a disgusting black liquid spewed into the air landing on the shoulder of the unsuspecting person in front of him. He seemed pale and feverish, not coherent enough to even bother concealing his illness.

  Alex whispered, “I don’t care where we sit as long as it’s not next to that guy. What’s he doing coming to the mall anyways? That’s how germs spread.”

  As they made their way into the auditorium, they purposefully waited for the sick man to get a seat near the front before edging to the middle, where Mark insisted they’d have the best seats. Generally, he didn’t want to sit in the front because then the images on the big screen were too blurry for him. Too far back and he felt like he was viewing the movie on a small-screen TV, that he might as well have just waited until the chosen film came out on DVD so that he could save some money and watch it at home. So the middle section it was.

  The theater was packed, dark and cool, the perfect atmosphere to enjoy an adrenaline-pumped movie. They sat down in the center of an aisle between several other avid movie-goers.

  Alex leaned back in his chair as the previews started. He reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a box of Nerds, ripping open the top and pouring a handful of the colorful, tangy treats into his mouth.

  “This one looks good,” Mark whispered, nodding approvingly at the screen like a seasoned film critic as he opened up the Sour Patch Kids, popping a few between his teeth.

  “Mmmhmm,” Alex agreed, mumbling around a mouthful of Nerds.

  When the previews finally finished, and the opening credits began to roll, the boys held their breaths in anticipation.

  The film met their expectations from the very beginning, loud explosions and gunfire echoing throughout the room in ter
rific booms. They watched with wide-eyed enthusiasm, their hearts thumping wildly as the terrorists were dramatically picked off by the clever leading man.

  It wasn’t until mid-way through the film that everything changed.

  Someone started screaming near the front of the theater. A woman in her forties jumped to her feet, clutching the man beside her. She was covered in blood. Mark and Alex leaned forward in their seats. The man was holding his neck as blood squirted freely and vigorously from a gaping wound, trying to shuffle away from something or someone beside him. He wheezed, bubbles of red froth at his lips, his eyes wide in terror, unable to stem the flow of blood as it splattered around him.

  “What the heck is that?” Mark asked, turning to Alex.

  Alex peered at the gory scene before them. “I have no idea. Part of the show? They did that once with one of the newer Star Wars movies. I’ll never forget it. Boba Fett came walking down the aisle and asked the audience all of these trivia questions before the movie started. Epic.” He leaned back in his seat. “This is cool, I guess, but I don’t see how it relates to the movie.”

  “Sure looks real to me,” Mark answered, feeling a little uneasy as he watched the man stagger about before collapsing to the floor while the woman continued to scream. Everyone cheered loudly, thinking it was part of the film.

  It wasn’t until the man stood up and grabbed the woman by her hair, yanking her forward and plunging bloody teeth into her throat so forcefully that a thick stream of blood exploded onto the screen that the applause slowed and people quieted, no longer focused on the movie. The two figures were larger than life, their shadowy silhouettes stark contrasts against the screen. The man chewed and pulled, rearing his head back until he had half of her throat in his jaws.