Daylight slipped away, taking with it distinguishable colors. The landscape faded into shades of gray, leaving portents of a black and dangerous night. He sensed the pressure he imagined all prey did. Get somewhere safe before dark.
A short distance past the knot of cars, he came to the gas station he remembered on his right. Silhouettes of several figures milled around it with that now familiar purposeless walk.
In the roadway lay a grisly scene. Several bodies littered the asphalt. Even in the rain and with closed windows, the smell of rotting flesh penetrated the cab of the truck, making his stomach turn.
He thought about stopping at the gas station to see if he could get any fuel or other useful supplies, but he only had three bullets left and no idea where he might get more.
At least two visible zombies were outside and there might've been more inside. It didn't seem wise to use all his ammo with the likelihood of attracting more and potentially getting trapped inside at nightfall. So he continued driving fast enough to avoid being followed or attacked but slow enough to avoid obstacles and potholes.
After a short distance, he came across two bodies lying in the middle of the road and he did his best to look only as much as he needed to get around them. He had seen enough in the last few days, and he was certain with enough exposure, he would become inured to such scenes but that was the last thing he wanted. No one should become used to such disaster.
A brief time later, he recognized the turn he needed to make onto Turnello's road. As he approached the house, he thought it might not be a bad idea to flip on the headlights, so he could see what was in the immediate vicinity of the house.
He was apprehensive about the idea at first, but the warm dim glow emanating from a few of the houses nearby, including Turnello's landlady's house, gave him the courage.
The light beams cut through the gray twilight just in time for him to notice fissures in the pavement running down the street. He slowed to a crawl, navigating around or over them. As he approached Turnello's cottage, he found no warm glow in the windows to greet him. With that confirmation, he felt the small ember of hope inside him extinguished.
He got out of the truck and the dogs followed him to the front door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He had expected as much but knew Turnello kept a key hidden outside but wasn't sure where exactly. He turned and looked down at Tiny. "I don't suppose you could look around for a key, could you?"
The little Chihuahua looked at him and then wagged his tail excitedly. "Key," Jim repeated while motioning with his hands as if he were unlocking a door.
The dog looked around and sniffed the ground methodically moving from one area to the next until he settled on a small ceramic frog in front of several flower pots. He pawed at the frog until Jim walked over and lifted the frog and found a key taped to the underside with duct tape.
He shook his head as he peeled the tape back. "I really wish I understood how you do stuff like that." He unlocked the door but found he had to push several times to get the door opened enough to get inside. Once in, he repeated the effort to get the door closed. When he locked the door, he felt a sense of relief he hadn't felt in what seemed like a long time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Officer on the road - Early evening Wed Sep 4
Iggy sat in his patrol car on the shoulder of the road with the engine off to conserve gas. He traced his finger along a road on the map, trying to figure out how far he'd come and how much longer it might be to the river.
His other hand reached down to an open bag of potato chips on the passenger seat, drew out fragments from the bottom, and tossed them into his mouth. He chewed a few times and sighed.
He'd been driving south and east along the main highway in the area for a few hours. He'd taken the drive slowly, getting off every few exits and looking around. Everywhere he'd stopped so far had been in the same condition as Cherry Ridge. The power was out. Communications were out. No one seemed to know why.
There were rumors from people he had spoken to as he had gotten farther south that claimed to have felt a violent shaking of the ground in the middle of the night. Something like an earthquake but lasting seconds. Local food supplies were running out. The situation worried everyone.
Now the sun was setting, and he felt like he had accomplished nothing. He could turn around and head home empty handed, so to speak, or he could sleep in his car, try to get gas in the morning, and keep going until he found out what was going on. He thought about Ann and the other people he knew in town and imagined coming home knowing little of anything useful. That was enough to push him to stay the night.
He started the car once again and pulled out onto the road. He’d given up on the radio which seemed to be nothing but static. The looming threat of darkness gave him the creeps, so he slid a Django Reinhardt CD into the console and turned the music down to a comfortable background level. He stuck his hand inside his jacket to double check his emergency kit was still in his pocket. What he thought was an emergency kit, anyway. A plastic bag with a lighter inside, a small hand carved stone pipe, and half an ounce of pot.
He never, ever, smoked on the job, or even on workdays. This was strictly for relaxation and creativity on his days off when he listened to Django and practiced his guitar. But this was a strange time, and he took it with him on impulse fearing he might have a panic attack though one hadn't happened in years. Now he was glad he'd brought it along. Just in case.
He would continue his trek south and east toward the river until it either became dark, or he found a place to pull over. He kept his speed slow in case anything might be on or blocking the roadway.
This turned out to be a good idea, because as he came around the next curve, he saw a figure in the distance shambling across the road. Something seemed peculiar about the way the person walked. Like he or she was injured or inebriated.
By the time he reached the location where that person crossed, they had disappeared into the woods. Iggy got out of the car and strained his eyes and ears to find a trace of the person, but he heard nothing over the rumble of the engine and could see no one.
"Hello?" he paused and waited for a response, "Anyone there?" He thought he saw a flash of movement in the woods on the other side of the road, but it might also have been the wind. There was nothing. He got back into the car and continued driving. A short while later, the sun dipped below the mountains to the west and daylight faded.
He decided he’d had enough for one day and pulled off onto the shoulder and then into the grass to get even farther off the road. He cracked the driver and passenger windows for air and cut the engine. Then went around into the trunk to get a blanket kept for emergencies and climbed back into the driver's seat and shut the door.
He reclined the seat, drew the blanket over him and stared at the roof of his patrol car. Twilight was the worst time of day. Light and color drained away, leaving ordinary things to take on monstrous forms. He suddenly felt vulnerable. Every sound caught his attention. Every movement of bushes and trees seemed threatening.
He lay there until darkness swallowed the land. Now the deceptive shapes transformed into the complete unknown. Fear of the misperceived became a fear of the unseen. He wasn't sure which was worse. What he knew was that he'd never catch a minute's sleep like this.
He sat up and looked around making sure the area around his car was clear. He laid back and tried closing his eyes, but that only made things worse. Then he thought about his emergency kit. He was technically off duty, wasn't he? He could load up his pipe and take a few hits to calm down.
He shouldn't be in the car while he did that though. The smell would linger and would raise too many questions. He threw the blanket off, grabbed his flashlight, and got out of the car. He walked around to the other side and sat by the front tire. By the light of his flashlight, he packed the pipe and lit it.
He clicked the light off and took a few puffs. After a few minutes, he relaxed. A few minutes more and he couldn't unde
rstand what he'd been worried about. In fact, he was wondering if they all weren't making more of this power outage than there was. It's not like it never happened before.
The wind blew, and he heard a rustle of leaves, and when the wind died down, that same sound persisted. The sound shifted to something more like something moving through the forest. Like lots of things moving through the forest. It seemed to be coming from across the highway. The sound grew louder.
Something small like a chipmunk scurried out from under the car and off into the woods. It startled him. Then a few more chipmunks on either side of him. Then the flash of something with a white tail. A rabbit? The sound grew even louder.
He got onto his knees and peeked over the hood of the car and he saw flashes of movement through the trees on the other side of the road. He drew his pistol and brought the flashlight up while clicking it on. He raked the beam across the trees and realized what he was seeing. A stampede of every type of animal in the forest.
Raccoons and possums lumbered across the road. Foxes and a coyote sprinted past them. Behind them half a dozen deer loped at full speed. Smaller animals scurried in every direction, so many of them, he couldn't tell what they all were. He looked down at his pipe for a moment wondering if what he was smoking was laced with LSD.
"What the fuck?"
Things ran under and around him and the car. A doe in a wide-eyed panic ran full speed into the side of his patrol car cracking the rear driver's side window. Another tried to leap over the hood. In his stoned haze, he reacted slower than normal. Rear hooves caught the back of his head and shoulder blade sending him to the ground seeing stars.
His hands flew protectively over his head. All around him the sounds of animals running droned on for another minute. Then it slowly faded into the distance. He pushed himself off the ground and onto his hands and knees. An excruciating headache flooded his skull.
He searched for his flashlight, finding it behind him. Then he used it to find his gun and holstered it before he lost track of it again. He raised his arm to touch the back of his head but found the movement very painful. He had to pause midway and grit his teeth in order to accomplish the move. His hand came away with blood on it.
"Son of a bitch."
He searched for his pipe, tapped it out, and stuck it in his pocket. Then he walked around to the other side of the car to examine the damage. The doe lay crumpled on the ground by the car. Blood oozed from its nostrils, but it was still breathing. It had dented the car door and cracked the window.
"Oh, son of a bitch."
He got back in the car, started it and rolled away from the deer in case it got up again and caused more damage. Then he sat there with his head throbbing and his back aching wondering what the hell had just happened. He squeezed his temples and rubbed his face trying to clear his thinking. What would cause all the animals to stampede like that? The only thing that came to mind was a forest fire.
He put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road. Then he turned the wheel and drove slowly across the median. As his headlights swept across the opposite side, he saw a handful of small animals that looked like road kill scattered all over the place. Victims of the stampede no doubt. He navigated the car onto the opposite shoulder and cut his lights.
He stepped out and walked around the car, standing at the edge of the woods in the darkness. He looked, listened, and even sniffed the air to check for any trace of a fire but there was no evidence of that. He realized his thinking was fuzzy but none of this made any sense. Frustrated and confused, he turned to walk back to the car when he heard a low moan. He spun on his heels, brought up the flashlight and clicked it on.
He swept the beam across the woods in front of him searching for the source of the sound. Movement in the underbrush helped him to finally locate something twenty or thirty feet away. A human figure with inhuman features. Pale gray flesh. A mouth covered in blood.
It snarled and hissed at his light. Then it moved toward him. Iggy felt like he was losing his mind. Could they have laced his pot with something? Was he having a bad trip? What the fuck was going on?
His body didn't seem to care if this was all a drug induced hallucination. Before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself back in the car with tires screeching as he tore back up the road toward home. He checked the rearview mirror but saw nothing. With great effort, he slowed his breathing and tried to calm himself.
Perhaps spending a night on the side of the road wasn't the best idea. He'd drive north, get off at the next exit, and look for a gas station and stay there until daylight. Then he'd gas up his car and decide what to do from there.
When this was all over, he planned on having a little talk with his dealer and this last batch. That was some fucked up shit and he didn't think he'd ever get any of those images out of his head.
He took the next exit and about a mile later came to a small country store with two gas pumps out front. The store itself was dark and there were two other cars on one end of the property. He parked the car so the pumps gave his car some cover from the road. Then he cut the engine, sat back, and counted the hours until dawn.
CHAPTER NINE
Dinner - Cherry Ridge - Evening Wed Sep 4
The long dining room table was lit by a pair of five armed candelabras loaded with tall, thin tapers. Maurice sat at the head of the table flanked by Mahirimah and Ann on his right and the girls Daisy and Violet on his left. At the center of the table was a large platter covered with a mound of rice topped with meat and slivered almonds. They all held hands while the reverend led them in prayer.
"Dear Lord, we thank you for this special meal and for our family and friends. We ask that you watch over us and our community. Especially during this difficult time. Amen."
"Amen," they all chorused.
"All righty, let's dig in," Maurice said, rubbing his hands together and beaming.
Daisy regarded the platter with skepticism and leaned forward in her seat. "Mom, what is that?" she stage whispered across the table.
Ann looked at her daughter, horrified. Mahirimah chuckled and said, "This is lamb cooked in a yogurt sauce and served over rice. It's called mansaf, and it is the national dish of where I am from. We make it for special occasions like this one."
"What does that mean?" Daisy said.
"Well, the U.S. doesn't have a national dish, I suppose," Mahirimah said.
"If we did, it would probably be a cheeseburger and fries," Ann said.
Mahirimah inclined her head and nodded in agreement. "Yes. True. So this meal is like the cheeseburger and fries from my country."
"Oh cool," Daisy said, her eyes gleaming as she held out her plate.
Mahirimah laughed and put a scoop of rice and lamb on Daisy's plate. Then she went around the table serving everyone, leaving herself for last.
Daisy poked her fork into the lamb and sniffed it uncertainly. Then she took a small bite and scrunched up her face. "Mom, this doesn't taste anything like cheeseburgers," she whispered.
"Just eat it," Ann said.
Mahirimah smiled. "Daisy, it doesn't taste right because you aren't eating it correctly. Do you eat a cheeseburger with a fork?"
"No," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Of course not. You eat it with your hands. You eat mansaf the same way. Look." Mahirimah put her left hand behind her back and grabbed a piece of lamb and some rice. She worked the lamb and rice into a ball. "Now, watch, this is the most important part." She tipped her head back and popped the ball into her mouth.
Daisy's eyes grew wide, and she giggled. She looked to her mother for the okay to go ahead and when Ann nodded, she squirmed in her chair with excitement. She reached for her plate with both hands.
"Wait," Mahirimah said, "First, put your left hand behind your back. You too, Ann. Violet. Now with your right hand take a little rice and lamb and shape it into a little ball. Then tip your head back and pop." She popped it into her mouth and everyone
else followed her lead except Maurice who looked on amused.
Daisy chewed for a bit and then said, "That still doesn't taste like a cheeseburger." Everyone laughed. "But it's much more fun to eat."
"You know," Maurice began, "the way they eat this in Jordan sometimes can be a little different from what we are used to here. I remember the first time I ever had this dish. Mahi's mother served it to me."
"Oh, Maurice, do you think this story is appropriate for children," she said unable to restrain a smile the entire time.
"Absolutely. Now when I proposed to Mahi, and she accepted, her mother threw a dinner party for us where she made mansaf for the celebration. Mahi talked to me about it ahead of time explaining how to eat it properly and what not to do, but she left out one very important thing."
"I forgot," Mahirimah protested, "it wasn't something my mother did often."
"Well, the time came and they brought out the platter. I'm all ready with my left hand tucked behind my back and everything. Then her mother announces that as the guest of honor I get something special."
Mahirimah bowed her head and covered her eyes with her hand. "You will never let me live this one down, will you?"
"What did she do?" Ann asked looking back and forth between the two, barely able to suppress a smile.
"As a guest of honor my mother served him--"
"The whole damn lamb's head," Maurice said, cutting her off and slapping the table with both hands, "A whole damn lamb's head with a tongue and an eye socket looking at me."
Mahirimah shook her head and smiled. "You should have seen the look on his face."
"Eeewww," the girls chorused, sitting back in their chairs.
"Oh gross," Ann said, wrinkling her nose and then burst out in laughter, "So what did you do?"
"I ate it," Maurice shrugged. "What else could I do?"
"No way," Violet said while her sister just stared at Maurice with a pained expression.
A Bad Day (Book 2): A Bad Day Page 5