Dead Hunger VI.5

by Eric A. Shelman

  “Look, Tom. I don’t wanna be out in this crap after nightfall. There’s this mist stuff… it comes out of their eyes. I got caught in the crap through my bathroom door and I went out like a light in seconds and didn’t wake up for eleven hours.”

  He stared at me.

  “Did you hear me?”

  He nodded. “You got knocked out for eleven hours? That’s why you didn’t come out of the house sooner?”

  At least he heard me. “Yeah. That knockout stuff might be how they’re taking these people down. Surprising them around a corner or something. They don’t look very fast. I don’t know if they can suddenly pour on the steam or anything, but I haven’t seen it yet. My wife didn’t do it.”

  His eyes went wide. “That was your wife that you… shot… at your house?”

  I almost nodded, but stopped myself. “No,” I said. “It wasn’t. She was, but not by that time. It wasn’t her. What worries me is what she became, and why.” I felt myself ready to crumble, and bit the inside of my cheek. I wiped the emerging tear from my face, and no more followed. For the moment.

  “Maybe they’re just sick,” he said. “Maybe it’ll go away. Like a 24-hour thing.”

  In my head I hoped he was right, but I hoped he was wrong, too. I’d just shot my rabid wife in the head and killed a cop. If everyone started recovering in a day, I’d never be able to live with myself.

  I shook my head. “Worst fuckin’ 24-hour flu in the history of bugs,” I said. “I guess we got about eleven hours to go ‘til we see.”

  *****

  I turned the wheel, directing the cruiser around a car that had slammed into a telephone pole and erupted into a burning blaze. I could see a body inside, engulfed in licking flames. There’s no way the person should still have been moving, but he was. Even without this hell going on I wouldn’t have tried to save him. It would be hell on earth, living with burns like that.

  I fishtailed the rear end onto Webster, and hung a quick right on Acorn Lane. Erica’s house was down on the right side, hidden in the trees. I pulled out my phone as I cranked the wheel and pulled into her driveway. When I skidded to a stop I found her name in my directory and dialed Erica’s number.

  Erica was a tall, exotic-looking black woman who I think was from Kingston, Jamaica. I’d been to her house a couple of times just briefly. She’d lived with her father until he died. Just the two of them came to America, so I wasn’t sure what the story was with the rest of her family. Her dad had died of cancer about a year before. Of course, Linda and I were at the funeral.

  What I did know for sure was that Erica was Lin’s best friend and if I could help her, I would.

  A man was on her porch, pounding at the door. I watched him as I held the phone, but the damned busy circuit message came on again and I disconnected and jammed the phone back in my pocket.

  At the sound of my sliding tires, the man turned and started staggering toward us. I said, “Shotgun,” and held out my hand. Officer Tom lifted the gun and I took it as I opened the door.

  Just as I stepped out, the front door opened and Erica called, “Tony! Be careful! He’s insane or something. He’s been on my porch for hours. I tried 911 –”

  “911’s out, Erica,” I called, not taking my eyes from the advancing man-thing. “There’s people like him everywhere. This is an epidemic.”

  The guy kept moving toward me and I eyed Tom, who again stayed safely in his cruiser, watching. He was clearly a rookie and he was scared shitless.

  I walked sideways, easing my way toward the house, but with each maneuver I made, the crazed, pink-eyed man changed his jerky direction toward me.

  “Tony?” called Erica.

  “Yeah, Erica?”

  “You’re not going to shoot him are you?”

  I looked at her, then at the thing. I stopped. It moved toward me. Pink mist began pouring from its eyes. “Erica, turn away!” I shouted.

  “Tony, no!” she called.

  “Turn away!” I said, insistent. In my peripheral vision, I saw her go back inside the house. I raised the gun and said, “Stop.”

  The mist pumped from its eyes. I took a step back. Once more. “Stop!”

  It did. Its dead eyes seemed to be looking at the gun. Recognition? Something?

  I lowered the gun. It resumed its stumbling trek toward me. I raised the gun and fired in one motion, blowing its head off. The body crumpled to the ground.

  I heard Erica’s scream from inside the house before I saw her face in the window.

  *****

  Officer Tom and I made our way into the house, where he sat down on a sofa in the front room. I didn’t get the chance to sit down before Erica lit into me.

  “What did you do?” she screamed. “You shot him!”

  “Have you been out there today?” I shot back. “Erica, I don’t know how to say this any other way…”

  I stopped talking. Now wasn’t the time. Linda was her best friend.

  “What, Tony?” she asked. “Why is that cop with you?”

  I turned. Officer Tom sat on the sofa, fiddling with his cell phone.

  “Because I don’t think he knows where to go either.”

  “What?” asked Erica.

  “Erica, where have you been?”

  “I work the night shift. I got off at 4:00, and I slept most of the day and read the rest. Tony, what’s going on?”

  “When did that guy I shot show up?”

  “I don’t know, two hours ago. I’ve tried to call 911, but I can’t get through. I tried both you and Linda, too, but the circuits were busy. What’s going on?”

  “I know this sounds like some shit from TV, but you’re gonna need to sit down.”

  “Tony,” she pleaded. When I didn’t answer, she ran to where the officer sat and leaned down to push him on the shoulder, hard.

  He looked up with frightened eyes. He wasn’t upset about the contact, which surprised me. A New York cop would’ve clocked her. He said, very solemnly, “This is everywhere.”

  “What?” Erica responded.

  “There’s an outbreak of some kind. It’s everywhere. All over North America at least.”

  “Where did you see that?” asked Erica.

  “Yahoo News.”

  “What the hell is it?” I asked. “Where did it come from?”

  “CDC doesn’t know yet,” he mumbled. “I have to get to my mom. I can’t call anywhere. Ma’am, do you have a land line?”

  “Yes, right there,” she said, pointing at a cradled phone.

  Tom grabbed it and dialed. A moment later he put it on the couch beside him. “Same thing. All circuits busy.”

  “Go on then,” I said. “Erica’s got a car if we need to leave.”

  “I’d suggest you stay here,” said Tom. “This is bad. If this is everywhere, I have no idea what can be done to stop it.”

  “Tony,” said Erica. “Where’s Linda?”

  “She’s dead, ma’am,” said Tom, standing. “She changed into… what that man at your door was. She basically went insane.”

  Erica looked at me. “Tony?”

  I nodded, tears already rolling down my face. Then I broke down into sobs. “I killed her, Erica! She attacked me a bunch of times and I didn’t have a choice. I shot his partner, too. A cop. He was the same. They have this mist –”

  “You shot her?” she said. “You fucking shot Linda?” She rushed me, her fists pounding my chest. I gave her that release for a few seconds before grabbing her wrists and pulling her in close to me for a tight, controlling hug.

  “He had to do it,” said Officer Tom. “Don’t you think I’d have arrested him if he didn’t? He shot both of them in front of me.”

  “No,” whimpered Erica. “Not Linda.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “My Linda. You know how much I love her.”

  I felt her nod. She said nothing. I felt more explanation was necessary.

  “When they turn like this, they don’t talk and they don’t understand, Erica,�
�� I whispered. “They growl, they claw, they grind their teeth together and they attack.”

  I held Erica to me against her struggles, tightening my grip on her even more. “I loved her, Erica. You know that. After my accident, I fought to get her back.” Her tension relaxed and became shudders under my embrace.

  “He didn’t have a choice, ma’am,” said the officer.

  “Stop calling me ma’am!” she said, pushing away from me. “Stop talking!”

  “I’m going,” he said. “I recommend you stay here until the military gets things under control. Has to happen eventually. Got food and water?”

  Erica didn’t answer. I nodded at Tom.

  “Alright, then,” he said. “I’ll come back and check on you if I get the chance. Depends on what I find at my mom’s.”

  I nodded again and he left.

  I walked Erica to the sofa and we sat. I waited for her to be ready to talk.

  *****

  Erica said nothing when she finally got up and walked to the window. She stood there, the curtains pulled back, staring out at the street. “That’s Lila Webb out there,” she finally said. She suddenly jerked away and let the curtain fall closed.

  She hurried to the door and opened it. “Lila! Lila, come here!”

  “What are you doing?” I asked, jumping to my feet.

  “I told you it’s Lila!” said Erica.

  I watched her as she turned and moved toward the house. She wasn’t normal. I knew it. I pulled Erica by the shoulders off the porch and into the house, closing and locking the door behind her.

  “I’m 99% sure she’s one of those things,” I said.

  “She’s not like that man was,” she said, desperation in her eyes.

  “She’s walking funny, like that other man who was here, but not as jerky.”

  A thump sounded on the wooden porch slats. I moved back to the window and eased back the curtain. The woman’s face was right outside the window, inches from mine. I staggered backward, my heart slamming in my chest. “Shit!” I said, trying to control the level of my voice.

  “What?” Erica whispered.

  “She’s right there!” I whispered back.

  “How did… she was in the street. How did she get here so fast?”

  “I haven’t seen them move like that. None of them. She’s different, too. Her hair isn’t all messed up. It’s like… straight.”

  “That’s weird,” said Erica. “Lila has really curly hair. Maybe she straightened it.”

  “Shh.” I put my ear close to the window. A second later I heard footsteps moving away from the house. I eased back the curtain again and saw her moving away. “She’s leaving. Her hair is really straight. Hey, is she wearing a maternity top?”

  “Yes, she’s about six months pregnant,” said Erica. “With a boy.”

  I looked at her. “How the hell does she know?”

  “Know what?”

  “If it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  I stared at her. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

  Erica shook her head. “Have you ever watched any television? Seen a medical show?”

  “She knows from watching television?”

  “Tony, she knows because the doctors told her. You ever heard of an ultrasound?”

  “I don’t watch TV, and I thought… well, never mind. I never had any kids, so I didn’t know. Anyway, when she looked at me her eyes were blood red and her skin was like a pale gray.”

  “Her eyes were bleeding?”

  “No,” I said. “Not bleeding. Just solid red. Like a real bad case of pink eye.”

  “I hope she’s alright,” said Erica.

  “I don’t think she’s alright,” I said, pulling the curtain aside again and looking out. Lila was still standing on the porch about eight feet from the door, facing the street. A moment later another figure emerged from around the corner. It was followed by yet another. Then, within another five minutes, three more came.

  “We’ve got a party going here,” I said. “Erica, do you have any weapons?”

  “Tony, they could be my neighbors. Maybe they need help.”

  “Not this gang, Erica. These guys are like the cop, like Linda, and that guy at your door earlier. If they hang around, we’re going to need fight our way out of here.”

  “There’s no reason to go anywhere, Tony,” said Erica. “I have food and water. This will have to blow over in a day or two. Let’s just wait.”

  A sound came at the front door. Scratching and scraping. I eased over to the window again and peeled back the curtain. The woman called Lila stood there again, her face inches from mine. She drew back her lips to expose teeth with bits of meaty gore caught between them. Her hand came up quickly to hit the glass, which cracked in a spider web with a loud pop.

  I jumped back again, spinning toward Erica. “Jesus! Did you see that? I don’t know what they can do, but if these things learn, she might just break a few more window panes.”

  “Where are the rest of them?” she asked, moving toward the door. She looked through the peep hole and let out an abrupt scream and jerked toward me. “Tony, they’re on the porch!”

  I ran over and nudged Erica aside. When I put my eye to the peep hole, I saw distorted faces and eyes, gore-smeared teeth and the sounds of their desperation came right through the door and into my ears.

  A ghost jumped onto my spine and slid all the way down. I shuddered involuntarily and moved to a different window where I might not be met with a face. Near the far corner of the house, I peered out.

  More were coming. I craned my neck to inspect the porch that ran across the front of the plantation style home, and there were about seven or eight of them. Five or six more turned in from the street.

  “Erica, can you get to the garage from inside the house?”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes wide. “Why?”

  “Do you have any plywood or lumber?”

  “Why?”

  “To put up over this window,” I said. “Erica, if they–”

  The harrowing sound of glass breaking met our ears again. This time an entire arm reached through the broken pane, clawing at the curtains.

  Instinctively, I reached for the hand to shove it back outside, but caught myself. I didn’t want to touch them.

  I turned and ran into the kitchen and straight for the butcher block. There was a meat cleaver there – not as big as I would have liked – but it would give me some weight and leverage. I ran back to the door. If these things learned lessons, maybe a severed arm would teach them a thing or two about reaching into somebody’s window.

  The cleaver raised high, I ran back to the window where there were now two arms, both with long, black-red cuts dripping from wrist to elbow. I brought the cleaver down hard, hitting bone and feeling it snap. I didn’t know it then, but I realized later that I’d been screaming as I hacked at the invading arms. I took aim, closed my eyes and hacked.

  The limbs dropped onto the sofa, but the moment they fell, two more came through, and another glass shattered.

  “Upstairs!” shouted Erica. “Tony, we can’t do this!”

  “Grab some food and water and get your ass up there,” I said. “We don’t know how long it’ll be safe down here. Erica, do you have any plywood?”

  “My dad practically had a woodshop in there when he was alive, but it’s all covered in tarps, so I don’t remember what’s left. I don’t go in there. C’mon.”

  She turned and ran and I followed. She pushed open the garage door and hit the light switch. The fluorescent lights hummed to life and I saw the shop immediately. There were several tarps. I analyzed the shapes and ran to one that looked promising. Grabbing the edge of one, I yanked it. Beneath the tarp were sheets of plywood.

  “There!” I said. “It’s only 3/8”, but that’s good. Not too heavy. Help me with it, would you?”

  I leaned down, my bad knees and back protesting, and curled my fingers beneath the first pi
ece. Erica took hold of the other end and we stood it upright.

  “Nails,” I said. “I’d prefer screws, but I don’t think we have time.”

  She rushed to a drawer and pulled it open. There were several boxes of 3” construction nails, and three hammers hung on the pegboard over the workbench. We each grabbed a hammer and a box of nails.

  I jammed the hammer into my waistband and we hoisted the plywood and threaded it back through the door inside the house. By the time we reached the front room again, there were seven arms reaching and pushing against the bank of window panes.

  “Hold on!” I shouted. I grabbed the bloody cleaver from the coffee table and hacked at several of them. “They don’t feel any pain!” I yelled. I was swinging and connecting with gray flesh that seemed to be indifferent to the damage I was doing. The only way I could even tell if it was having an effect was when the limb finally severed.

  “Let’s just jam the plywood against them and push them back out!” shouted Erica.

  She was right. This was fucking Whack-A-Mole times ten and we weren’t winning.

  “Okay, go!” I shouted, lifting the piece. “You get the right side. Hurry!”

  “Wait!” said Erica.

  “What for?”

  “It’s Monica!”

  I looked, and saw a woman running frantically toward the house. Suddenly she stopped short and stood there, shifting back and forth from foot to foot, appearing unsure where to go.

  Erica hammered her open palm on one of the intact pieces of glass. “Monica!” she shouted, her voice loud and piercing.

  Either Monica heard her hand or her call, because she ran toward the house again, angling away from the many changed humans on the front porch. I eyed the one with straight hair, and she moved quickly toward the left side of the porch. I watched as Monica ran around the side, pointing toward the back of the house.

  “I’m going to the back to let her in!” said Erica, scooting her knees off the couch and running.

  She left me holding the full weight of the plywood, so I rested it on the couch and leaned it against the window, hoping they didn’t break through while we were helping Erica’s friend.

  I knew Monica, but not very well. She had come over with Erica once or twice to pick up Linda for a girl’s night out. I’d never really talked to her.