(10)
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Brian woke up at exactly three am again. The same intercom played the same message. Get it out it said. Get to Lower Manhattan.
Brian had a strange thought; it was one of those thoughts that can be seen as absurd. But, he thought that if he died, at least he could see Mason. He did not want to leave earth just yet, but, if it came to it – at least there was one thing to look out for. He also reckoned that, with his knowledge of the city, he could make a run for it to Lower Manhattan. Things seemed ok for now outside; Brian did not hear anything other than the odd gunshot now and then. It was raining as well, and that was a good thing, at least it provided some cover.
Brian got up; he was going to actually do it. He psyched himself up. He went over to the kitchen and drank milk (of what was left of it), and ate some bread. He went over to his closet and got out his most camouflaged clothing; which in this case, was a black denim jean and a dark maroon jacket. He also had a beanie, but, it was white. It would be just fucking stupid to run outside with a white head: HEY OVER HERE GUYS. FOOD IS READY.
The apartment door made a soft clutch noise behind him. It closed.
Brian was staring down a dark rainy road. It was absolutely quiet, apart from the drops parading the cement floor. Brian did not want to take any chances; he was not going to let his guard down like the old man and his accomplice. (Which were now gone). With that in mind, Brian opted not to walk on the main road; he went straight for the alley ways and occasional backyard.
Brian was now nearing Avenue Bridge. So far the coast was clear until–
–Until he saw what was blocking the bridge. It was a group of psychos…that is what it was. A group of fucking psychos.
Brian knew if he could get past them that it would be a straight run down to Lower Manhattan. He was now weighing up his options, he could find another bridge to cross, but it was starting to get lighter. And that was his main worry. Darkness and rain was the only thing keeping him safe from…Brian did not even know what to call them. Those flesh eaters.
Brian stood behind the wall for a few minutes. Weighing up his options.
As to hasten him even further – Brian heard the unmistakable sound of birds chirping.
Shit. I need to hurry up. Think Brian, think.
There was no time to think. In fact. Something was staring at him from afar.
Brian did not notice this until the person staring at Brian came running towards him – and tripped over several cans in the alley way – which made a loud KLA-KLA!
It was almost like everything went into slow motion. Brian looked to his left. He saw someone not far away from him busy getting up from the ground. As their eyes met, Brian could see the rain dripping down her face. She stared back with a tilted head. Her eyes seemed lost, yet, the way they locked onto Brian showed how much anger was in them. She wiped wet hair from her face and then grinned, only to show her canine teeth.
Brian got the message. He got it very clear. She was not messing around, and the way she was getting up from the floor – almost animal like made Brian realise that this was his first encounter face to face with one of them. For some bizarre reason Brian gave a wave at the woman, in a friendly hello way. Maybe for some reason he expected her to wave back. But she didn’t. She didn’t even wince. She got up onto both feet and made a dash forward. Barely even looking where she was going, but it was definitely in Brian’s direction.
Brian was standing in an alley way, blocked off by both directions. Direction A: Had a crazy bitch storming him. Direction B: Was the bridge blocked off by a few more of them.
Brian went into primal mode. He chose direction C: jump over the fence behind him into someone’s garden. He did so without much effort; even surprised that he could jump so high.
But it was far from over, the woman let out a shrieking howl. For a moment it even sounded like a wolf.
Silence filled the air. Then, more howling came from somewhere; the sound came from the bridge direction. Was this some kind of calling? Brian thought – and opted not to wait and find out. He ran and slipped on the grass, landing on mud (or shit), but quickly got up again.
Brian looked around him to see if that woman climbed over the fence. She has not, but – she was hanging half-over. It was almost like a horror movie scene: her head peering over – struggling furiously, moonlight piercing the misty sky above - while rain battered down. This was the least of Brian’s worries it seemed. He heard footsteps. Not one, but a dozen running across a road.
‘Heyy pssst ov’ here.’ Someone said.
Brian did not hear the voice at first, but then–
‘Psssst. Over here!’
Brian looked behind him, and saw an elderly black woman waving her hands.
‘Get ova here. Quick – hurry up.’
Brian rushed over to the window and climbed inside. The woman closed the latch and when she climbed down her chair, she gave Brian an angry look – the sort of look a mother would give her kid when he did something wrong.
(11)
The kitchen smelled like baked cake. All lights were off except a candle flickering down in the hall. This gave just enough light for Brian to see how angry she was, or just really annoyed.
‘Son, have you lost yo’ marbles. I can’t believe a fit man like yo’self would even consider going out. Especially with all–’ she gave the window a stair. Brian saw pain in her eyes. ‘Especially with all those things outside. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking.’
Brian did not know what to say, deep down he realise that maybe he was stupid for going out. He also realises that he was not far away from being someone’s dinner. He looked at the woman; she had almost no wrinkles, which was quiet good, considering that she must have been old. Her hair was completely grey, except for a few black strands.
‘Son, do yo’ even realise what is going on outside? Please tell me yo’ did not just wake up and thought of going for a nice stroll in the rain.’
‘No mam. I…I…they said on the intercoms to get down to Lower Manhattan.’
She looked at him as if he just answered one plus one wrong. ‘You boy crazy. These youn’ men of today.’ She then let out a long mmm-mmm, and walked over the cupboard, where she got out three cups. ‘I am still angry with yo’, don’t you be forgetting that. But you must be scared to death. Let me fix you a cup of tea. How much sugar?’
‘Just three, thank yo–’
‘Three! You boy crazy. Have you not heard o’ sugar poisoning your inside. I will give you two.’
Brian chuckled. ‘Thank you. What is your name?’
‘My name is Veora. I never liked that name. I always wanted to be an Usha or maybe a Tyriana.’ Veora said while putting in the sugar. ‘But you know how it goes don’ you son. You are stuck with your name for the rest of yo’ life, mmm-mmm.’
‘Yeah I guess. Listen, I want to thank you for helping me back there. I…I think it was not for you...’
With her back facing Brian she gave a wave, probably meaning: don’t worry about it.
‘Veora, do you live here on your own?’ Brian asked.
‘No, my husband is upstairs. The po’ man sick as a dog.’
‘What is wrong with him?’ Brian asked.
Veora finished making the three cups on tea and put them on a side tray. She picked it up and walked past Brian, and then said: You betta come have a look for yo’self, I think it will do you good.’
The room smelled of medicine. There was also not much air circulation in here. Just like downstairs, the room was ill-lighted; only one candle in the corner. Brian walked inside to find Veora tending her husband. Every few seconds the old man would cough; a deep chesty cough. She would then say: There, there my dear. All will be well.
As Brian neared the bed, he could smell rotten flesh. It was not a nice smell. He pinched his nose and stood beside Veora – where he now saw where the smell was coming from. The man had a grievous wound on the side o
f his head. It was a miracle that his ear was still hanging on.
Brian looked away. Then back.
‘Son. This is what happens when you are not careful.’ Veora said, in a low murmur.
This only made Brian realise even more how things outside were horribly wrong. This was…inhumane.
The old man coughed some more, this time even worse, it was a long dry cough. He got the energy from somewhere to grab his wife’s arm. He then squeezed it very hard.
‘Don’ worry dear. This young man is safe. Don’t you worry about him.’ Veora said, now wetting his forehead with a sponge.
The man coughed more. One side of Brian was curious to know how this happened, but he did not know if that was the right thing to ask, but he asked away anyway. She explained that he was attacked coming from work. She also kept explaining how she loved him dearly, and that he has never hurt a soul since she has known him. And that was twenty three years.
If Brian could take a picture right now, he would, it was probably a good way to sum up how things were outside. Just fucked up. Brian still had no real clue what was actually happening and more importantly, why it was happening.
‘Veora.’
She looked up, almost startled.
‘I don’t suppose you have a working TV?’
‘No dear. We ol’ folk don’t use that sort of stuff. You men of today with all your toys. I remember when I grew up in Alabama, we were always outside, playin’ in the sun. Now it just indoor activities.’
‘Yeah I guess you are right.’ Brian said, taking a large gulp of tea.
The old man was starting to cough more and more.
‘There – there dear, don’t you go dyin’ on me baby.’ Veora said, doing her best to wipe the sweat of her husband.
‘What did your husband do Veora?’
‘This man the most hardworking man alive. I will tell you that son. When I met him he was one handsome devil. Leatha shoes, dark brown suit and always had a flower brooch on his chest. One handsome devil, mmmm-mmmm.’
The old man raised his arms again and put it on her hands.
‘He worked as sales man most of his life. Goin’ door to door, selling anything he could, TV’s, bedding, aerials and even–’ She laughed, and tapped her husband on the chest. ‘Yow remember that hospital bed you tried selling Jacob. You remba?’
Even though what came out of the old man was mostly pain, he did find the energy to chuckle.
‘Yweh, what yo’ name son.?’ Veora asked.
‘It is Brian.’
‘Well Brian, lemme tell you quick story. My strong husband here once knocked a door in Kentucky.’ She paused a moment to think. ‘What was the road again – ah – yes – it was Ingram Avenue. So ‘nway. He knocked on it and this old man answered. Startled he asked what my husband was doing out so late. He explained that he was selling hospital beds on a discount, and not an ordinary bed, it was contactable hospital bed. After a few min’ of talkin, the man agreed and bought four beds from my husband.’
Veora laughed and tapped her husband again, as to make sure he was listening. But things were getting bad, he was deteriorating quick. She let out a painful sigh and then looked at Brian, and asked him how he was doing in all of this mess.
‘Well better that you saved me Veora.’ Brian said, half joking, but she took no notice. ‘I think I am just trying to figure out what the hell is actually going on out there, you know.’
‘Yeah I know son, I don’ really understand. I am not really religious myself. Prolly a shock to you ain’ it. But, from what I have seen, if hell exists, they sure came from there.’ Veora said, and looked at her husband. ‘You must be if you attack a poor man like this.’
‘Anyway son, you are welcome to stay as long as you want. We have a spare room as well, it was my son’s.’
An hour later Brian was having a wee, as he urinated, morning light shone on him through the window. The sun was already half way up and blocked by a blanket of rainy clouds. Veora was already fast asleep; Brian could hear snoring and the occasional deep cough. He though that now was a good time to nod off.
(12)
Friday, September 26, 2014
It was night time. A loud thunder erupted. Brian sprang up, he was sure that the noise was not coming from outside but inside. He heard screaming. It was Veora calling for help – then, another thunder clap. Brian was now sure that it was a shotgun blast.
He jumped up from bed and ran towards the stairs. He was stopped right in his tracks…something was staring back at him from the top of the stairs. Brian stepped back, he could not make out what it was; it was a misty black fog. Then–
Brian woke up. Veora was standing at the door saying lunch is ready.
He fell head back on the pillow, and let out a long sigh.
As Brian entered the kitchen he was surprised with a large meal: One plate full of eggs, another plate full of bacon, and even pancakes.
He sat down and she brought him a tall glass of orange juice. ‘Here you go dear. I have been busy all morning making this for you. Please eat up.’
‘Wow, thank you Veora, but I don’t think you have to go through all this trouble just for me.’ Brian said.
‘No-no dear, please eat up, everyhin’ nice I had left I made for you.’ Veora said.
Brian did not wait, he was actually starving. He began with the eggs and worked his way down.
Veora brought a chair and sat next to him. ‘Son, are you enjoying it?’
Brian’s mouth was stuffed - unable to say anything; he gave the best smile he could without running the risk of food bursting out.
She did laugh a little, but it was short lived. Something bad was bothering her, Brian was starting to notice.
‘Eat up, make sure you enjoy it.’ Veora said. She got back up and went over to fridge. She got out the last carton of orange juice and filled his glass again.
‘Veora…is everything alright?’ Brian asked.
‘Make sure you eat everything up.’ She said, and went back to the fridge.
‘What is wrong Veora, I can see something is up.’
This was when she looked back, and gave a sad frown. ‘Brian. There is something…’ She paused. ‘Oh-never-mind.’ She put the carton back in the fridge and was just about to walk out when Brian grabbed her arm.
‘Veora tell me what is wrong.’
‘It…it is my husband.’
For some odd reason Brian instinctively knew it was about him, what else could it have been. He was also going to bet it was going to involve his deteriorating health. And he was right. She burst out crying, it was hard listening to an elderly person cry, it felt bad.
‘Brian, son, I don’t know if I eve’ have the right to ask you.’
Brian looked up at her smiling. ‘Listen Veora, you saved my life last night, I am sure of this, if it was not for you…I would have been lunch meat. Now please, tell me what is bothering you.’
This was when she sat on the chair – ready to get it off her chest. She was getting extremely worried about her husband; she said that if he lived one more week it would be a miracle. She said she started praying even though she is not a Christian. It was really hard listening to her crying words, because you could see that her husband meant the world to her. And this is where she felt even worse, she needed Brian’s help. Even though last night – she said that going out was ludacris – now it changed. She looked at Brian and asked him if there would be any chance that he could make a run for it, maybe make it to the supposed safe zone they have at Lower Manhattan. It was the only thing she could think of that would safe her husband. If Brian could get there and maybe convince someone to get here and help – hell - even air lift, that it would mean more than life itself.
Brian saw that her asking him for help was the least thing she wanted to do, for many reasons, she knew well enough that outside was dangerous, and that if anything happened to Brian that she would be accountable. Brian actually grew fond of her, he saw her as the Grandma
every kid wanted to go spend time with, even if it was because of all the nice cakes she baked, who cares, it was nice hanging out with ol’ Grams.
Just as she was getting to the inevitable question: Would you do it Brian - gun shots went off not far from the house, and then two deep coughs from upstairs.
Veora gazed down, overlapped her hands on her knees and sighed. She probably saw the gun shots as a bad omen.
Brian was scared shitless. But this was when he mustered enough courage to pick up her hand, put it in his hands, and say: Veora, I will do my best to help you.
(13)
Sunday, September 28, 2014
The air was a lot cooler tonight for some reason. The rain was slowly starting to recede, but a week’s constant rain was enough to turn some roads into little streams. It also did not help that walking over water made much more sound.
Brian was now nearing Willis Avenue Bridge. Veora gave a strong recommendation that he should avoid Third Avenue Bridge, and for a good reason, Brian saw it for himself. It was packed with those psychos. Veora also suggested that he stayed one more day before heading of, which he did, and thought was good an idea as well. He needed some physical rest, and not only that, the extra day there meant he had someone to talk to about Mason’s death, so he felt a lot better emotionally. (Probably was a bad time to unload something like that considering her husband was now fighting for breath, but Brian had to and besides, it was not your typical week, that was for sure).
It was nearing ten-thirty and the moon was reclaiming its rightful position back in the sky. Brian did not like the light it gave of but it was going to have to do. As he neared the corner – hoping and praying that the bridge would be clear – he noticed something lying on the road up ahead.
The Need For Flesh (Apocalyptic Cannibalism Book 1) Page 3