Screaming.
His father was screaming.
"Sir...sir? Are you still there? Is everything alright?" Taj could hear the 911 operator chirping from the phone still clutched in his hand.
Taj answered, unsure why. He felt as if on autopilot. "I don't know...I can't--"
His fathered stumbled out from the hallway, clutching his throat with his hand. He grunted, trying to find his footing, but slipped on the blood that poured steadily from his wound. He fell to the slick tile floor, rolling on his back, turning, and scooting away from the shadow coming towards him from the bathrooms.
"Father!" Taj let the phone drop. He knelt beside him, unsure where to touch him or what to do. He'd never seen so much blood before. He'd never seen such fear in his father's eyes before. His essence spilling out between his crimson glistening fingers.
His father stared forward.
And Taj followed his gaze.
Stumbling out from the hallway, now into the brightly lit fluorescents of the store, Taj could see the woman who had been locked inside the bathroom. Her skin was horribly waxy and jaundiced, her eyes blank. Her lips were dark and wet, red drooling down her pimpled chin. Bits of what he could only scarce to think, flesh perhaps, ground between black teeth as if she were lazily chewing cud.
His father brought a hand up, as if to ward her away.
She shuffled to a stop, looking around as if amazed by her brightly lit surroundings.
Taj couldn't take his eyes away from such a strange sight. She was horribly thin, too thin, reminding him of those bulimia videos from school. Her clothes looked tattered, a faded purple tank top and frayed sweat pants. Used up, the only way addicts can get. Hair knotted in some places, shoulder length in others. He could only guess what the original color had been. Now it looked almost orange. Covering most of her arms, festering looking sores with red tracks leading away, following the bluish black vein underneath.
"Stay back!" his father warned her.
The woman focused, her gaze falling on the father and son on the floor. Her teeth snared as she started again, shuffling toward them, her pace quickened in a sort of hungry excited desperation.
"Sir--are you there? Units should be arriving any second." Taj could hear the operator's soft chirp from the phone still dangling over the counter by the register.
Stopping, the deranged woman turned and stared at the phone, her milky yellow eyes blinking. Red drool drooping down her chin. She swayed a little, as if uncertain where she was or what she was doing. Slowly, she started for the register.
"Sir--are you there?" again the 911 operator chirped.
Falling to her knees, the woman batted at the phone, groaning. Snarling.
His father pulled at Taj's arm. "She...bit me. The damn woman took a bite out of my neck."
Taj looked at him and his wound. "We need to get outside, get you to a doctor. I've called the police, they're on the way." he said, keeping his voice low. Carefully, he stood and shouldered his father's arm, hoisting him off the floor. He glanced back at the register. The woman was still dumbly batting at the phone.
With his father supported, Taj crept toward the front sliding doors.
The junkie seemed intent with the phone, hissing at it. Growling. Pulling down on the cord, knocking caffeine pills and chewing gum off the counter.
Taj got his father to the door.
Above them, the bell chimed as they crossed the mat.
Taj held his breath and glanced over his shoulder.
The woman was no longer interested in the phone. She glared up at them, dark drool dangling as she gnashed her teeth, pulling herself clumsily off the floor.
"Tera ja ponki ja," Taj spat, holding tighter to his father's arm and shuffling quickly out the door.
Outside, the solitary street lamp glowed brightly orange. Still not a single soul could be seen. Nothing from the apartments across the way. Not a car or truck nor tractor. Nothing. Not even a dog barking in the distance. It was dead. Completely. Miserably dead.
"Dead zone," he whispered.
"Huh?" his father panted.
"Nothing." Sweating, Taj struggled with his father, pulling him, shuffling them towards the pumps. As far from the store as he could get.
Behind him now, the sliding front door of the Shell station chimed.
Taj shuddered at the sound.
Glancing over his shoulder, his father's arm still draped behind his neck, he watched, fixated, on the growling woman. Her strange blank expression fixing on them. She tottered forward. Each step as uncoordinated as the first.
"Dammit." Taj hoisted his father and heaved, dragging him, pulling him, trying his best to ignore the rapidly gaining footfalls of the junkie, closing in on them. Her mouth making a wet smack as if tasting the air.
He made it past the pumps on the edge of the road. Red and blue lights flickered in the distance, coming toward rapidly, filling up the night with a bright glow.
"Help! Over here!" Taj yelled, waving his free hand about as the police cruiser skidded to a halt beside the last row of pumps.
Taj watched as the car door flung open. Two policemen jumped out, one young, the other middle-aged, forty-something perhaps, revolvers trained on the shuffling, confused woman. They didn't even seem to notice him or his wounded father. As if they knew what to expect.
"Don't move!" one of the uniformed men yelled at the junkie.
If she heard or understood, Taj could not tell. She came to a saunter, dazed. Looking between Taj to the flashing lights to the shouting voices in front of her. She blinked, again making a sort of wet sound with her lips, and started for the closest patrolman.
"I said stay where you are!" yelled the officer.
Unfazed, the junkie kept shuffling towards them.
"Don't--"
One of the officers squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed sharply in the cold night, vibrating off the pavement, and jittering Taj's teeth, ringing his ears.
Red mist plumed out the back of the woman, showering the pump with globs of matter and crimson flesh. Center mass, the woman doubled over and fell to the ground.
"Jesus Christ," the older officer shouted.
"Clean shot. She must have been on something...she wouldn't stop." The younger office who fired kept his revolver trained on the fallen junkie, his hands obviously shaking, even from where Taj stood, he could see. Baby blues as large as saucers. "Just like earlier. What the hell is going on?"
"You okay?" the older officer turned towards Taj.
Taj blinked. "Huh?" The whole night seemed to be playing over and over in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more unreal everything felt to him.
"Are you hurt?" the officer asked again.
"Hurt? Yes; no, my father is."
"Okay, I'll call in--"
"Fuck me!" the younger officer yelled, standing over by the woman.
Squirming on the ground, the junkie was rolling over, worming back to her knees. Moving like a marooned fish off the pavement, she found her footing. Her shirt was soaked completely now, oozing blackish gore from her chest wound. She moaned, annoyed, hungry, gaining some sort of equilibrium. Fixing on the young officer, she shuffled towards him.
"Jesus Christ!" the officer yelled, aiming and firing, repeatedly.
Flesh burst in wet red sprays. Bones crackled. Yet not a single impact phased her. She stumbled, found her footing, and kept coming. Reaching out. Gnashing.
Still the young officer unloaded on her; the closer she got to him, the more rapidly.
Taj watched, eyes wide, instinctively backing away from the volley of thunder whipping and crackling at the otherwise silent night.
The officer closest to Taj turned and darted for his partner. "Not so close to the pumps, Kowalski. Not so--"
"Get her off!" the blue eyes officer yelled.
Somehow, despite the bullets and wounds littering her, the woman, the junkie got a hold of the officer. Latching down with one of her petite hands, squeezing, pull
ing the officer's arm toward her mouth. Moaning lazily, she clamped down.
"Fuck!" the officer screamed, punching, beating on the woman's head, doing whatever he could to dislodge her.
"Hold on, Kowalski!" the older officer yelled, coming behind the woman, his baton extended, swinging and hammering on the woman's arms and legs and back to no effect. Desperate looking, he reached back and swung down hard on her head.
Taj flinched, the sound of the crack echoing horribly.
Still the woman held on, chewing, working her gums and dark wet teeth.
"Come on, Serge. Do something. Jesus--it hurts!"
Baton abandoned, the older officer drew his revolved, pressed it against the woman's thrashing temple, and pulled the trigger.
As if awakened, the woman blinked, eyes wide. She released her hold on the younger officer, and slumped down to the ground.
"Dammit, fucking bitch. She bit me. She fucking bit me!" The younger officer pressed down on his wound, crimson oozing between his fingers.
The older officer gazed down at the motionless woman, whispering something like, "Damn her."
Above them, the sound of a helicopter swooshed by.
Medical or news, Taj didn't know, nor did he care. He stared out at the chaos. Everything seemed to drone on and on around him like a constant annoying hum. Spinning out of control.
More sounds filled the once silent night, sirens followed by screams, followed by the distant pop of gun reports. Tires screeching followed by people shouting. And dogs barking.
"What the hell is going on?" Taj whispered.
Jonny
Part 2
1
Shoreacres,
Texas.
Sun light trickled in through the blinds of his living room. Carefully, Jonny opened his eyes against the warmth. Not entirely sure where he was. In his mind, broken images played out, memories he thought were dreams but were in fact real. He was on his couch. Polk lay on the other end of the large L shape. He smacked his dry lips and turned, glaring weakly at a fully consumed bottle of Jack Daniels. Realization of what he'd- they'd done, came at him, cracking across his frontal lobe, sending painful reminders that he was no longer some twenty-something kid. With age came consequences. He worked to a sitting position, holding his head, praying the spinning would stop.
Something savory wafted in from the kitchen. Following the sizzling sound and the familiar pop of grease, Jonny turned. Karen was at the stove using a tong to flip over the bacon she was cooking. More savory saltiness filled the space between them.
Standing on precarious legs, Jonny sauntered over to the kitchen. Karen was at the island now, laying wet stripes of freshly cooked bacon on the towel to dry.
She didn't look at him. Laying another few stripes of pork in the pan, she asked, "Did you forget we're going to my parents for lunch today?"
Jonny watched the meat sizzle and pop. "No," he said sulking.
"Oh. So, you remembered but you just didn't care?" she asked matter-of-factly.
He climbed up on one of the breakfast nook stools uneasily. Balanced, he rubbed his temples, moaning. "It's not like that. We just--"
"Don't blame your bad decisions on your friend, Jonny."
"I'm not. But--"
"You are."
"Karen, will you stop twisting my words around. I'm sorry, okay. We--I went a little overboard. Not the end of the world. I'll be fine for our lunch with your parents. Not like they have a high opinion of me anyways..." Jonny looked up as Karen sat a plate of eggs and bacon and toast in front of him. His stomach pulled tight, growling deeply. She turned away and came back with a large glass of water, sitting it next to his plate.
"Thanks," Jonny said, his voice low and meek, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.
Karen stood there for a moment as if measuring her thoughts.
Jonny dared a glance at her and then quickly looked away.
"Don't you think it's hard enough for my parents?" Karen started. "They're uber conservative, religiously, politically, everything about them, their culture, the way they were raised, how they live. And here we are, living a block or so away from them, together...and unmarried. And on top of that, my boyfriend's Army friend is living with us...a friend who happens to be a girl." She stood with her arms crossed, pouting slightly but probably not meaning to. It was hard for Karen to get angry. Annoyed, sure, but anger seemed unfit for her.
"Polk? Tell them she's--"
"Like I'd tell them about her! Are you serious? We'd- I'd never hear the end of it. Even if Polk moved away and we got married and had a hundred kids, twenty years down the road I'd still hear about that time we were living together with a lesbian." Karen stopped. Closing her eyes, she took a breath. "Look, I get why you're helping her out, I do. And I like having her here too, most of the time. I just wish you'd think about me too, Jonny." She turned and started away heading for the stairs.
"Babe!" Jonny called after her. He rushed through the kitchen and met her at the stairs. Karen was already part way up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel that way. If you're worried about your folks, maybe we should talk more about getting married. Why don't we--"
"Stop," Karen cut him off. "Please...just...go eat your breakfast. There's enough for Polk, if she wakes up. We'll need to leave before noon for my parents', okay?" Turning again, she was gone.
Jonny stayed by the staircase, listening as their bedroom door opened and closed. Listened as silence filled the house once more. All the things unspoken. All the things unsaid. Outside, birds chirped. Dogs barked. And some nearby neighbor was burning rubber out of their driveway, shouting about...something he was obviously not very happy about.
He didn't care. Jonny went back to his now cold food and wondered how he was going to make this up to Karen.
2
"Ring the bell again."
"We've rung it a hundred times already."
"Just do it."
"Okay." Jonny reached out and pressed down on the soft glowing orb next to her parent's large red oak door. "Still nothing."
Karen paced. "This is weird. Something's wrong."
Jonny tried peering through the glass on the door. "They know we're coming, right?"
Hands on her hips, Karen snapped, "Yes, they know. They invited us, Jonny."
Jonny turned his head as he rolled his eyes. "Well," he offered, "maybe they forgot."
Karen stepped off the stoop.
Jonny jammed the doorbell again, over and over.
"Stop that," she said, blocking the sun with her hand, looking up at the small fortress, as if the house itself would give up the secret to why her parents weren't coming to the door.
"This doesn't make sense," she said again. "Both of the cars are in the driveway. Kristy's car is here too. They should be home."
Jonny sighed, not feeling all himself yet, but better than he had this morning. He rolled his neck on his shoulders, trying to work out a kink. "Don't you have a key?"
Karen didn't look at him, she was cupping her hands, peering in through one of the front windows. "They gave my key to my sister, remember? Perfect Kristy needed it." She mumbled the last part.
"I thought she was at school?" Jonny pressed the bell again.
"Stop pushing on the damn bell. I'll call again, see if they pick up. If they don't...well, forget it, we'll just go home. I'm sure you'd be happy with that." Karen pulled out her phone and dialed her parents.
Jonny watched her, his expression becoming even more frustrated. This situation wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. Her parents did shit like this all the time. Always talking about how perfect her sister was. Always taking Karen for granted. He hated how they treated her sometimes.
"I don't get it," she said, hanging up her phone.
Jonny went to her. Touching gently on her shoulder, he pulled her closer to him in a sort of sideways hug. "I'm sure everything is fine, babe. Maybe they went for a walk or something," he offered.
Karen let him hug
her. "Maybe," she sighed. "Do you think we should wait a little bit longer for them, see if they come back?"
Jonny held her tighter. "Sure, babe. Whatever you want."
Truth of the matter. He didn't want to wait. While the temperature was mild for an early Spring day and the breeze felt cool on his skin, and the pollen didn't taste as heavy today, there was something else, something unspoken in the sunny cloudless sky. Much like last night, except now much worse in the daylight, the lack of sounds from the neighborhood bothered him, the silence of the birds, dogs, and few children that did live here. Not a single passerby or car, not even those golf cart driving folks with the American flag flapping behind them (Polk once said she believed they were drug dealers). No horn or laughter or the squeal of some brake pads in need of replacement. Shoreacres was and as far as he knew always had been a quiet place to live, but not like this. This was like living out some Twilight Zone episode where everyone but themselves had disappeared.
He was about to guide her to the Jeep when the front door of her parents' house swung open. Turning together, they stared up the stoop as a thin shadow crept out from the darkness of the house. Limping and ashen pale.
"Kristy?" Karen called, rushing away from Jonny to greet her sister. "What's going on?" she asked, now standing in front of her.
Kristy, a near mirror image of their mother, except much much younger, said nothing as she stared at them, through them, somewhere far away.
"Kristy?"
A moment later, the girl blinked. Becoming aware, as if she were awaking from a dream...or nightmare. "Karen...is that really you?" She reached out, limping, her voice weak and dry. Her arms looked thinner than the last time Jonny had seen her. Paler too. Her tank was soaked, as if she'd been in a sauna or had a fever of some kind. From where he stood, her eyes looked jaundiced. And there was blood on her pajama bottoms, on her right leg where the fabric was torn.
Karen kept her at arm's reach, apparently taken back by her sister's haggard appearance. "Kristy, what's going on? Why didn't you answer the door? Where's mom and dad?"
At the mention of their parents, Kristy shook horribly.
Planet of the Dead Page 5