She unbuckled the booster seat and pulled it out. When she got back to the van, Mickey was reciting Mary had a Little Lamb and giggling. “You’re messing up the words, Daddy. Don’t you know the song?”
Jennie laughed. Her father either couldn’t remember the lyrics to any song or at least feigned ignorance. But the mess up of simple ones always made Mickey roll with laughter. This was no exception. “Mary had a little lamb. Its sheets were white as snow.”
“Not sheets—fleece!” her brother yelled, patting their father on the shoulder.
“Here’s the seat,” Jennie said, as she handed it to her father. She looked up and down the street and noticed a single white car on the overpass of Route 17. The apartment tower on the James River above the overpass stood alone in the background, shining from the reflection of the sun off the water. The empty streets were eerily quiet—no sounds of children playing, people talking, not even dogs barking. Nothing to indicate life. She shivered and shoved her hands into her pockets.
She headed back for her Civic, feeling empty handed without Mickey clinging to her. As if he could keep her safe. Was that it? Or, was she worried about his safety?
She slipped behind the wheel and turned the key. The starter turned but refused to catch. She pumped the gas pedal a few times and turned the key again. “Come on.” Her hands shook.
In her review mirror, she could see her dad’s minivan had already pulled out of the drive. Her heart caught in her throat. What if he drove away without her? Thankfully, the minivan pulled to a stop and waited on the main road. She turned the key again and got no response. Looking at her gauges, she saw the light for the gas was on and the needle buried below E. “Really?”
Yet, somehow, she was glad to be reuniting with her dad and brother. She hoped her dad wouldn't make her go to the gas station and fill up. She shook her head and jumped out of the car. Her father had gotten out and headed around the front of the minivan, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m out of gas.”
Her father nodded and waved toward the van. “Don’t worry about it. Get in. We’ll get your car later, when things settle down, okay?”
Jennie nodded in relief and pulled the passenger door handle of the van. She hopped into the seat and started to buckle herself in.
“How come you’re coming with us?” Mickey asked from his car seat in the back.
“I ran out of gas.”
“Oh! Cool.”
Jennie shook her head and looked out the windshield. Ever since the aliens came, she’d felt like she was losing more and more of the adulthood she’d gained. Her parents had become increasingly protective and treated her like a child. Somehow, in the midst of all of this, inside she felt more like a child. She didn’t want the responsibilities of adulthood. Even riding in the van to go home was preferable to the responsibility to driving the Civic.
The minivan’s engine was already running, so Dad only needed to shift it in gear before turning back onto the road and heading for home. He checked all his mirrors and changed lanes. Why would he bother? Newport News was like a ghost town. At least he didn't wait for the light to change. He simply came to a stop and looked in both directions before driving through intersections. Why wait on nonexistent traffic?
Shadows from the trees made Huntington Park ominous and unwelcoming. Too many places existed for the victims of the aliens to hide and attack without warning.
Shopping center parking lots resembled the concrete plates of a starving child. No cars, no customers. In the windows of several stores, the red “Sorry, we’re closed” signs hung like crooked reminders of the obvious. The sun and emptiness whitewashed the three-mile trip home and left everything grey.
Brad
BRAD’S HEART RACED AS HE considered his options. The droning of the aliens increased, vibrating in his chest. The narrow alley didn’t give him much of a chance of escape. Shadows from the setting sun covered him, and he took his only option.
He turned the latch to the dumpster that kept out wild animals and hoped it would keep out the aliens as well. Used coffee grounds and the putrid remains of leftover food from the Starbuck’s filled his nostrils as he lowered himself into the dumpster. At least, if the aliens hunted by scent, he’d be covered.
The continued hum increased, vibrating the lid which latched him in. He breathed through his mouth in order to keep from retching, but it didn’t help much. Even the walls of the dumpster vibrated with the rumble from the aliens. They had to be close.
With a bang, one of them landed on the lid of the dumpster, making snuffling noises as it circled the top of the can. Brad bit down on his knuckle to keep from screaming. Every fiber in his being wanted to make a run for it. If he was less of a man, he would have peed his pants.
Less of a man? Was that even possible?
What kind of man would leave his girlfriend—EX-girlfriend—behind in order to outrun the aliens? But what was he supposed to do? One of them had already taken her down, and there was no way to save her, right?
What kind of man would have abandoned Carrie, the barista, in the Starbuck’s refrigerator? That really wasn’t his fault though. She had locked herself in there after Steve had started wailing and pulling his hair out.
He’d had no choice. It was him or them. Right?
SOMETHING SEEMED WRONG THE MOMENT they pulled onto the neighborhood street. The front door of their house stood wide open. She tried to rack her brain, but she was certain that she’d locked it before they made the run to the hospital. “Dad, have you been home yet?”
“No, honey, I came straight to the church to get you.”
“I locked the front door—I know I did.”
Her father’s grip on the steering wheel grew so tight, his knuckles turned white. He leaned forward into a tense position. “I believe you.”
Jennie swallowed hard and released her seatbelt.
“No. You two stay here. I’m going to go see what’s going on.” He pulled the van into the driveway and pulled his seatbelt off. He stepped cautiously out and headed for the door to the house in a half jog.
“Are we home? Where’s Daddy going?” Mickey asked, looking out all the windows in confusion.
“Shhh. Daddy’s just going to check on things before we go in.”
Her little brother crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her. She ignored him and watched the front door to the house. The fan on the minivan went through its cycles, and a mechanical voice on the radio announced current conditions at the local military bases, urging residents to remain indoors until the bases were prepared to take in civilians.
The window curtain to the house next door moved. The Cassels were watching. Even though Jennie couldn’t even see a shadow through the window, she knew they had to be there. Her neighborhood seemed as barren of life as the business section of Warwick Avenue. The color had a leeched into the same dull grey. At least there were none of the attack victims around, but the possibility of one inside her house worried her.
From the gaping mouth of the front door, her father stepped out and waved her in. Jennie nodded and reached over to turn the engine off. Pocketing the key, she got out.
“Jennie, help your brother inside. It’s all clear,” her father called out from the porch. He headed back inside.
She pulled open the side door of the minivan and helped her brother down. He’d already let himself out of the car seat. “How come Daddy left the door wide open? Mommy wouldn’t like that!”
Shaking her head, Jennie smiled sadly. No, Mom wouldn’t like that. With everything moving so fast and the world so chaotic, Jennie hadn’t had time to think about her mother in past tense. Was she gone forever? Would she ever come back? If she did, would she be like the rest of the bitten and hurt her family?
She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of it. The wailing of a bite victim broke her reverie. Her eyes grew wide, and she looked down at her brother who had bent over a patch of clovers. “I think I see a four-leaf one!”
<
br /> Breathing fast, her eyes darted in all directions, but she couldn’t see anyone. She reached down, scooped up her brother, and jogged for the open front door.
“HEY! I almost had it.” Her brother squirmed in her arms. “Put me down!”
She squeezed him tighter. “Dad!”
The front door still stood wide open, and the jamb where the handle had been was splintered and injured. She called into the house as she stepped in and put her brother down. “Dad!”
She pulled on the doorknob, and it resisted her tug. It was stuck in the wall on the other side. The force of the person who broke in must have buried it into the drywall. She set her foot against the wall and pulled it with all her strength, screaming.
It pulled free, and she slammed it against the broken doorjamb. Though the door handle area was damaged, the deadbolt itself was not. Relief washed over her, as she remembered she didn’t lock it. Thankful, she turned the deadbolt just as her father came rushing down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
She clutched his arm. “There’s someone out there. One of the bite victims, I think. I heard wailing.”
He rushed to the door and looked out the window to the side. “Was it your mom? Could it have been?”
“I don’t know.” The thought of it being her mother terrified her and made her feel guilty for locking her out at the same time. She stood on her tiptoes to peek out the window over her father’s shoulder.
In the yard, a man in a navy jumpsuit stumbled about aimlessly, like the drunks she had seen on College Avenue on Saturday nights at Virginia Tech. With his hands in his hair, he tripped and fell to the sidewalk. He didn’t even attempt to catch himself; his face already had huge abrasions and pieces of rock stuck into his lacerations.
“What are you guys looking at?” Mickey tried to push his way between Dad and Jennie to get to the window.
Both adults turned around and pushed the little one back.
“Nothing important, Mickey. How about we go into the kitchen and get some food?” Jennie said.
“Great! I’m so hungry, and we left before Mrs. Crawford could make me cookies!”
“I’m hungry, too. Let’s go see what we’ve got in the pantry.”
Mickey continued to prattle away, as they headed to the kitchen. The moment Jennie's feet hit the tile floor of the kitchen, she stopped and stared. Every cabinet door stood open, and the few shelves she could see were bare. “Dad!” she called out again, feeling like it was the only word in her vocabulary.
“What is it now?” he asked, rushing into the kitchen right behind her.
She opened the pantry door and found the month’s supply of food they’d stocked up since the aliens came, gone. “What are we going to do?” She felt like crying again.
“I checked the guns and the valuables but didn’t even think to check the kitchen.” He ran his hands through his hair. “They took everything. There’s not a crumb left.”
“Did they take anything else?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Who is they?” Mickey asked, wide-eyed and wanting to participate in the conversation.
Jennie kneeled. “I don’t know who they are, Mickey. But they are bad guys.”
Her father rested a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know if they are all that bad. We’ve been gone for two days. I’m sure someone thought we weren’t coming back. People will do what needs to be done in order to survive. Things that they wouldn’t ordinarily do.”
Jennie shook her head, her throat tight, her chest hollow.
“Can we make some cookies now?” Mickey asked.
“I’ll go to the store.” Her father stood up straight, and for the first time, Jennie noticed the shotgun barrel of the black Charles Daly pointed to the ceiling.
“Dad, you can’t. That man is probably still out there. We don’t know whether you’ll run into anything or anyone else on the way. Not to mention, the store is probably closed. I didn’t see one grocery store open on the way here.” Her words came out quickly, one after another in her panic.
“Remember how I said that sometimes people do what they have to do in a survival situation that they wouldn’t normally do otherwise?”
Jennie nodded, her eyes growing wide as she considered it.
“You guys stay in here and keep the deadbolt on. Don’t open the door for anyone. I’m going to the store.” He set the shotgun on his shoulder and strode toward the window to look out.
“Is he still there?” Her voice cracked as she choked back tears.
“No, the coast is clear.”
“Be safe!” Mickey called in a sing-song way just like Mom always did when their father left for work each day.
Tears welled in her father’s eyes, as he kissed them both on their foreheads.
Brad
BRAD SAT IN THE WET remains of week-old garbage; time having slowed to a trickle. He took in shallow breaths through his teeth. The smell still nauseated him. When the metal walls of his voluntary prison stopped vibrating, and he could no longer feel the vibration in his chest, he lifted the top of the dumpster and slid it to the side. He looked around and saw no one.
He’d never known how hard it was to get coffee grounds out of his hair before. Some of the grounds had even made its way into the folds of his ear.
After leaping out of the dumpster, he did his best to shake free of the garbage. The rumblings were distant. He could detect no wailing nearby either. The end of the alley still showed some light, but it was fading fast. He’d need to find somewhere safe before it got dark. Like passing a car accident on the highway, he couldn’t help but peer into the glass front of the Starbucks, while he passed. The back half of the café was already shrouded in darkness, but he could see a leg, laid bare with bloody streaks, reaching into the sunlight. He shivered, certain that the red heel he saw was Clarissa’s. Shaking the thought from his head, he quickened his pace to a light jog.
From what he saw, the zombie-like victims didn’t eat the people they attacked; they just seemed intent on biting them. It was freaky. They’d gnaw on one person for a little while and make sure that person was good and injured and then move on to the next. In some weird way, it kind of made sense that the alien virus, or whatever the contagion was, would seek to reproduce itself without killing the host.
Clarissa’s Toyota Forerunner sat right where he’d parked it, the meter having long run out. He pulled the key fob from his jeans pocket and hit the unlock button. The SUV beeped twice in response, flashing the headlights in time. With a moan, a man came from behind the building across the street.
Like an overblown red balloon, the man’s skin was stretched taut over his swollen face. His eyes squinted to small slits. One foot dragged behind him at an odd angle, his knee out of joint. The man leaned against a street sign. He turned his head back and forth blindly, with his head tilted like he was searching for the sound.
Trying his best to ignore the odd victim, Brad opened the door and jumped in, slamming it behind him and hitting the lock. The noise attracted the attention of the guy. He stumbled toward the vehicle in a bee-line, hopping along as quickly as his deformed gait would allow. When he reached the vehicle, the man didn’t slow his pace. He slammed into the rear door leaving bloody foam on the tinted window. The wailing increased.
Brad gagged. The continuous smell of garbage had trailed him, making the car smell as bad as the dumpster. The bloody, foaming man banged on the door and tried the handle. It was all too much. Nausea washed over Brad in waves. He gulped and started the engine. The man outside beat on the door weakly. These zombie things had enough strength to run around on broken legs but hardly enough to beat on a door with fists.
Brad had seen more in the past two days than he’d care to ever see again. He imagined Clarissa becoming one of these zombie-like things. Laughing to himself, he wondered what the zombie version of Clarissa would do if she broke a nail pounding on a car door.
Clenching his jaw to bite down on the hysterica
l laughter that threatened to surface, Brad flipped through the iPod Touch to get to some blaring, heavy music to drown out the sounds of the chaos outside the vehicle. He checked the gas gauge. Half a tank. It should be enough. Pressing the Toyota into drive, Brad sped toward home, leaving the zombie in his wake.
Hugh
HUGH’S CAT HAD STEPPED ACROSS his laptop keyboard while he had gotten up to go to the bathroom. A series of 0s, Gs, and parenthesis traveled their way down three lines in some funky code. “Great. Thanks, Tiger.”
The grey-striped cat considered Hugh with an indignant green-eyed look. Hugh deleted the three sentences worth of gibberish and re-read what he’d written so far. The notes he’d taken from watching almost 24 hours straight of news and what he could hear on the emergency station came down to three things. And listing them in a visual way helped his scientific mind make some sort of sense out of what was going on.
1. The attacks on people made by the Shisa always left the victims injured and seemed to happen at random.
2. The time the bitten victims had before they showed symptoms varied but averaged just over an hour. It seemed they were affected by an alien virus of some sort and began attacking bystanders, also leaving them alive.
3. No matter the injuries sustained by the victims, they continued to attack. It seemed that bullets to the vital organs made no apparent difference in stopping them. Could they die?
The thought of this sent a chill through him. He theorized about the possibilities of a parasitic alien that kept the body of the victim moving even after all life had left the person. Disgust made him gag.
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