Dahmer Flu

by Christopher Cox

  I lowered Madi to the ground, following her to eye level. “Stay here, I’ll be right back”. She held on to me, shaking her head violently. “Madi, we’re okay, we’re safe. I’m going right over there,” I pointed towards the plane, “to see if there’s a place to sleep or anything else we need. Okay?”

  Gradually, she relaxed her grip and said softly, “okay”.

  I kissed her forehead. “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you,” she returned.

  She watched with expectant eyes as I descended towards the plane, her head darting in a panic towards every animal noise or sudden gust of wind. I crept slowly towards the craft, the revolver and its lone bullet tight in my white-knuckled grip. Any hope for stealth was betrayed by the crunch of twigs and dried leaves under my steps as I cautiously approached, my eyes straining to make out any movement.

  I hadn’t realized at first that I had held my breath as I approached; I let it out in a quick and quiet exhale as I ducked under the twisted wing. The landing gear had been destroyed, causing the fuselage lay low to the ground, allowing me to see clearly inside through the shattered cockpit window. Outside of the cockpit lay several still bodies, one propped heavily against the door. The pilot was still strapped and unmoving to the seat, with his thick jacket shredded and the silhouette of his head limp and disfigured. The smell of stale death hung heavy in the air.

  Reaching forward with my body tensed to run, I tapped the body with the revolver. It didn’t move. I tapped again, harder. Nothing. I moved to the window- I still hated them and kept a respectful distance out of habit- and flicked on my flashlight, illuminating the cockpit with the fading beam. The still scene alone told a horrifying story; the shattered instruments were caked with dried blood and the windows were smashed in. The man had died horribly, as could be seen by the strips of flesh missing from his face and body and several fingers missing from his left hand. I was ashamed of my perverse delight when I saw that his right hand clutched a black pistol in a tight mortis grip. It made sense, then, why he hadn’t turned into one of the creatures; what I thought at first were gnaw marks in his skullcap was, in reality, a massive, empty exit wound. The blast had painted the cockpit ceiling with his brain matter and caused his hat to land, in an unlikely chance, neatly on the headrest.

  I turned towards Madi and waved her to me, watching her thin form trot gracefully down the hill. Coming to me, she grasped my hand as I kneeled next to her. “Madi,” I started, “the passenger section’s fine, and we can sleep here tonight. But there’s a body in the front, and I’m going to take it out first. While I’m doing that, I want you to clean out the back so we have room, okay?” The passenger section was relatively clean, but I wanted to keep her occupied and distracted while I handled the body.

  She locked my eyes, solemnly. “Are they dead dead?” She asked, gesturing towards the carnage; a wise question in these days- there was a big difference between dead and gone. It spoke volumes of our species, how quickly we could adjust to such a thing, and it would become a part of a normal conversation. I just didn’t know quite what it said.

  “Yes, now get,” I replied, as I pushed the closest creature to the ground and opened the thin cockpit door. I jumped as the bulk of the pilot shifted towards the opening, but the harness held across his shoulder. Taking a deep breath to quell the rising nausea, I unfastened the belt, steadying his bulk as I prepared to lift him out. Almost as an afterthought, I reached over the body and began prying the rigid fingers from the weapon, hoping the man had left me a few rounds.

  As I pulled the weapon free, my mind locked and my adrenaline fired as I felt the man’s teeth pressed into the soft skin of my neck. Before I could react, or even understand, his entire bulk was pressed upon me and forcing me to the ground. “Shit!” I yelled, as I collapsed under the weight, desperately pushing his head from me as I fell.

  “Daddy!” Screamed Madi, although I couldn’t see from where.

  I didn’t answer as I struggled, trying to free myself. The world froze as countless thoughts rushed through my mind in a disorganized mass. She’ll be alone, the thoughts said. She’ll watch you die. She doesn’t know how to find food or defend herself; she’ll die alone just like this guy.

  I stopped struggling when I felt that the pilot wasn’t moving.

  “I’m okay,” I replied, finally, “He just fell. I’m okay.” I reassured her as much as myself as I pushed the body off of me and came to my feet, checking myself for broken skin; it was intact. “Just wait inside, I’ll move these.” I glanced towards the bodies at my feet.

  Without a word, Madi climbed into the most rear seat and hugged her legs to her chest. I realized fully then that I had no idea how her fragile mind was holding up. I could only hope that she wouldn’t break. I wondered, too, how my own was holding up as I took a moment to recover my breath and wait for my heart rate to slow. The adrenaline began to dissipate, leaving my body feeling heavy and awkward.

  I forced myself to concentrate, starting with checking the pilot’s gun- five rounds plus one in the chamber. I then knelt to the bodies and began searching pockets. Nothing unusual or valuable was found among the creatures. I found car keys, wallets, a cell phone, an asthma inhaler- things that at one time meant something to their owners. The pilot’s pockets were similarly useless- I didn’t find an extra pistol clip, like I had hoped, but the clean and wrapped candy bar was a rare treat that I tucked into my own pocket.

  With serious effort, I dragged the bodies, one at a time, away from the plane and just out of sight, dumping the corpses unceremoniously in a nightmarish pile in a natural depression of the ground. I returned to the plane and climbed into the rear, shutting the door behind me. I sat in one of the seats, pulling Madi into my lap.

  We didn’t speak at first; instead, Madi buried her face in my dirty shirt and began to sob inconsolably. Seeing her raw emotions brought my own from where I had hidden them, and I lost my composure as well. I held my crying daughter tightly as I cried, my tears falling in her dirty hair. “Daddy,” she said finally. “I miss Mommy and Jake.”

  “Me, too, baby. I miss them, too.”

  “Why did she do it?” She asked.

  Deep down, I wondered the same, and wasn’t sure how to answer. Did she panic and was trying to escape, bringing her baby with her in some ill-advised maternal instinct? Did she realize that she and Jacob wouldn’t have survived in any case, and would have only slowed down Madi and me? Perhaps thinking that her sacrifice was the only way to save any of us? Was it intentionally suicide, her being unable to see her son turn into one of the hellish creatures that had bitten him? I didn’t know, but the unanswerable question would haunt me forever.

  “To save us, honey- to give us a chance to escape. She saved our lives” I didn’t know if it was true or not, or if pretending to know was the right lie to choose, but it seemed to be the one that hurt both of us the least.

  As we were no longer being chased, no longer running, we were allowed to cry. Madi resumed her tears, compelling mine to return, as we hugged and sobbed. We cried for Aimee and the lost baby. We cried for Jacob. We cried for ourselves. We cried for the world. The tears were healing, as we faced our new life and our uncertain future.

  Gradually, our sobs became sniffles, and our sniffles became silence.

  “I found something for you,” I said, breaking the quiet. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the candy bar, handing it to her with a sense of ceremony. It had, actually, been some time since she had been able to enjoy candy, with junk food being surprisingly rare in the areas we had searched. Her eyes grew wide and she grabbed the bar gratefully.

  “Thanks!” she perked up a little; as much as could be expected, at least, given the circumstances. Again, small pleasures. She tore the wrapper greedily, and then paused for a moment. With scientific precision, she tore the bar neatly in half, and handed a portion to me. Touched at the gesture, I took it gingerly.

  “Thank you, Madi,” emotion and pride w
elling in my throat.

  She answered a muffled, “Welcome,” around a bite. I smiled and took a bite of my own. We ate the rest in small pieces, savoring the flavor of the rare treat.

  Madi rested her small head against my chest. “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you… could you sing me the song that Mom used to sing to me when I was younger?” ‘Younger’, in this case was as recent as the night before the Flu hit. I remembered that night clearly- she had a nightmare, and Aimee had given her back to sleep as only a mother could.

  “Of course, honey.” I cleared my throat and began to sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star’. She sang along softly as I stroked her hair; the comfort that the memory brought was bittersweet for both of us, and soon she drifted into sleep.

  I fell asleep soon after, resting peacefully until I woke with a start knowing that something was wrong. With a slow horror, I saw a grotesque mask of a face biting hungrily at the window. In a flash, with a blink, it was gone. A dream. A horrible, terrible dream.

  I drifted fitfully back to sleep, clutching my daughter in my arms, like a child with a beloved stuffed animal. When I opened my eyes, decaying greedy hands were already pulling at Madi, drawing her into the shadows. I woke with a gasp. Another nightmare. The sky was still dark, and I doubted that much time had passed.

  I closed my eyes again, praying not to dream. I woke to a horrible sound; the sound was of gnawing and chewing, a crunch like gristle being torn from bone. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for the dream to fade, but it didn’t. The sound only changed as I woke further. I opened my eyes to the shockingly bright sunlight invading through the windows. In a brief panic, I felt that Madi was no longer on my lap, and whipped my head to find her, still blinking sleep from my tired eyes.

  She sat, serenely, in the seat furthest from the door, contentedly chewing at an apple. Several others lay in her lap, and she reached down to hand me one. “Good morning!” she smiled. I couldn’t help but to smile back. The day seemed ordinary, in a peculiar way.

  As the fog of sleep cleared from my mind, the obvious thought occurred to me. “Where did you get the apples?” I hadn’t recalled seeing any in the plane the night before. With her mouth full and juice dripping down her chin, she pointed out the window.

  I hadn’t seen it before, in the darkness, but it was there clearly in the daylight. We had stopped at what was nearly the edge of the tree line, and through the thinning foliage I could see a modest, well kept single-story home no more than 20 yards away. On the side of the house closest to us, there were several overgrown apple trees, each overburdened with fruit. Surrounded by the trees was a long clothesline with some of the clothing still secured to the cord, the rest having blown or fallen off; a few sheets still swung lazily in the breeze, as did some children’s clothes. All of the children’s clothes appeared to be for girls, judging by the color, with the smallest of the outfits seeming to be for a very small child. I tried not to think about what that meant, focusing instead on the realization that Madi had changed clothes.

  “Did you go to the house?” I asked with a mixture of anger and awe.

  “Yeah,” She answered sheepishly, “I needed new clothes. Mine still smelled like…um… they smelled potty.” She looked down as she whispered the last word. “Next time I’ll let you know, I promise.” I realized just how much she needed a mother- a role I didn’t know how to fill.

  I softened. “There won’t be a next time,” I said, trying and failing to sound stern. I pulled her close to me. “Did you see anything else over there?”

  She nodded.

  Chapter VII: Family Bonds

  Life had become a never-ending race, staying ahead of and away from the constantly growing population of the undead. It seemed like a race that we wouldn’t ever win, but could only keep running. And to keep running, we needed food, water and supplies; the risk was in actually getting them.

  Madi and I sat in the shade of a sun-faded child’s playhouse that had been overrun by weeds and spider webs. She munched quietly on an apple as I spoke slowly. “I’m going to go inside and look around, make sure it’s safe,” Madi nodded slowly as I continued; “can’t see nothin’ through the windows, so it’s probably abandoned. But when I’m sure, I’ll come back to that door and wave you in. Do you understand?”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you understand?” I repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “If you see anything, just yell for me and I’ll come get you.” I didn’t have to explain what ‘anything’ meant. She nodded again and I kissed her goodbye. Despite what I had said, I didn’t really believe the house would be abandoned. The windows weren’t boarded up and nothing was moving inside; probably a suicide. As times became more desperate, more and more succumbed to the temptation, believing it to be preferable to the constant fear and inevitable end. Every person in these times, I imagined, always considered suicide to be at least an option, if not a plan.

  I crossed the yard and made a complete circuit of the house, cautiously peering in each of the windows for a second time. The home was remarkably neat and tidy, aside from a thin coat of dust and the occasional cobweb; the normality of it left me with an uncomfortable feeling of voyeurism, as if the occupants were still at home or would be back any moment. Peering into the garage through the small, dirty window, I could barely see the outline of the single car parked inside. Coming back to where I began, I tried the back doorknob. The door held fast- it was locked. As if it would somehow be different the second time, I tried again, harder. Still locked.

  I looked over at Madi, who was still watching from across the unkempt yard. I over-exaggerated the gestures as if I were checking and patting my pockets for my keys, grateful to see her giggle. I stole a glance through the small window next to the door before smashing one of the panels with my pistol; the single pane shattered easily, raining shards inside and onto the carpet. I cleared the remainder of the glass away and reached inside, flipping the deadbolt open. I tried the door again and it opened easily, but swung only a few inches before being caught on the chain.

  I stared at the gold links through the crack in the door, not sure why such a small detail seemed so significant to my mind. I peered in through the broken pane, where I could barely see the front door. It, too, was chained. From the inside. The car, still in the garage. I found myself hoping that it would be a suicide, and fought the urge to leave. And if Madi hadn’t been watching, I probably would have.

  I broke another pane to reach the chain, and unseated it from its catch. Again, I opened the door; this time enough to enter into the stale air inside. The living room gave me a strange sort of cognitive dissonance; as if frozen in time, it looked like any other from before the crisis. Children’s videos were precariously stacked next to the TV and a well-worn stuffed animal waited patiently on the couch for its owner to return. A few pictures hung on the wall, showing a happy family of five; a man, his wife, two daughters and a son, each of the children looking younger than Madi. The rest of the nails were empty- someone had taken some of the pictures from the wall.

  I moved quickly through the house, afraid to leave Madi alone for any length of time, but through the window, I could see her, subdued and patient.

  Each bedroom had been hastily overturned, with drawers left open and hangers empty. Each of the children’s rooms were painted in sardonically bright cartoon colors and toys, probably their favorites, were conspicuously missing from their shelves. I came to a door that was brightly decorated with stickers of ponies and the popular cartoons from last year; a wooden cutout, like the one Madi had from the fair, read ‘Britney’. I slowly cracked the door and peered inside; there was something perverse in a very real way, about me, a stranger- a grown man- in this little girl’s room.

  The room could have been Madi’s, or nearly any other young girl of about the same age. Posters of some pre-teen heartthrob were tacked or taped to the wall, and the Barbie comforter, probably a hand-me-down from
an older sister, was crumpled carelessly on wrinkled pink sheets. Also left behind were some of the possessions that no young girl would willingly leave- a Harry Potter book with a tasseled bookmark in the middle, a small shelf of meticulously groomed dolls and figurines, a motionless ball of fur in a small pink hamster cage; the parents had packed, and quickly.

  Maybe they left through the garage, I reasoned to myself in a mumble, caught a cab for the airport or somethin’. Even still, I left the garage to be searched last. With the rest of the house empty and still, I passed through the kitchen to the garage door. It was unlocked.

  With the pilot’s pistol in one hand and the flashlight in the other, I flung the door open and stepped back, my light casting into the gloom. Despite my expectations, nothing came out. There was, however, movement. I couldn’t tell where the sound of movement had come from, but the shuffle was followed by the haunting moan that filled my dreams. The beam bounced as my hand started to tremble slightly, darting from each wall to find the source. Old shocks began to creak as the car gently bounced; the movement was coming from inside the vehicle, from the same something that began beating against the window.

  I saw the man first, in the driver’s seat- he was the father that I had seen in the pictures, or was at one time. Now he was nothing more than a cold and unthinking beast with dead, hollow eyes. Now he existed only to consume. He was neatly dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, and his hair was short and trim. But the dried blood that ran from his mouth and down his graying face belied his respectable grooming. A large open wound ran the length of his cheek, which he didn’t appear to notice- I suspected that I would find that his wife had long nails.

  He began to howl hungrily, beating on the glass as if enraged. His wife lay still in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the window. In her photo, she was a homely woman, average at best, but with a warm smile and bright sparkling eyes. Her lips, as well as her eyes, were missing now. Most of her face had been eaten, revealing clean skull underneath. Similarly, her spine had begun to show through her neck. The woman’s arm was twisted backwards unnaturally towards the back seat, although most of the bicep had been eaten away. I noticed that her fingernails were indeed long, and still had strips of his flesh caught under them.