The Chaos

by Sergio Gomez

  “I dint think so, where you originally from?”

  Another breeze blew by, but this one didn’t feel good. It made him dimly aware that his balls had shriveled up like prunes. In someways, this was worse than the situation with Los Noches.

  In a voice that sounded more pathetic than he ever thought he could sound he said, “New Jersey.”

  The tall man nodded, as if that explained everything. “Ah, New Jersey. Been there a couple of times to fish.”

  A pause. He was expecting Alejandro to converse with his mugger.

  This guy is a real piece of work.

  The sound of the brothers’ truck driving toward them filled in the quiet of the pause. It came through the same beaten path Alejandro had taken, rattling like its wheels were about to pop off.

  Alejandro looked over the man’s shoulder and saw the rust bucket pull up next to their own truck. He swallowed.

  Dear God, please let them be stupid enough to miss the gun. Please.

  He looked over his assailant once more. Tall, skinny, and even behind the accessories hiding most of his face he could tell the man was stupid, and his brother even stupider. There was a possibility.

  “Me and my brother come down here to fish and get out the cabin. If it wasn’t for that we’d probably have shot each other by now. That’s all we have to do nowadays, fishing and people watching those dumbfucks from the shithole town down the road. You know which one I’m talkin’ about?”

  Alejandro’s eyes lit up for a second. Maybe these two knew what happened to the townspeople. “The makeshift one a couple of miles from here?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. The one in the middle of a patch of dirt that look like a giant bomb went off and blew whatever was there to smithereens, that one. Bunch of idiots thought the fence would hold off those monkey-things.” He began to laugh.

  Alejandro shuddered, not sure if it was from the cooling droplets of water or from the twisted sense of humor from the man. Probably both. “That’s what happened there? Los Noches—the night monsters got them?”

  “Damn right that’s what happened. Me and Daryl watched the whole thing. The monsters killed all but 3 of them who ran.”

  “What happened to those who ran?”

  The tall man grinned, and the reflection of clouds rolling through his sunglasses turned them white. “Same thing that’s happening to you, amigo. Where you think I got this nifty hat from?”

  Alejandro never wanted to kill someone until now.

  “When my brother is done loading your stuff into our truck, we’ll be out of your skin Alejandro. Then you can continue your little swim or whatever you was—hey, who’s that?” The tall man noticed Charlie’s head bob out of the water, and when Charlie saw the man’s head turn in his general direction he ducked back down.

  The man put the barrel of the gun closer to Alejandro, feeling like he had been double-crossed. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s my son.”

  “He speak English? Call him over you sneaky bastard.” Despite the command he took the initiative and hollered to where he had seen Charlie. “You habla Ingles? Get your butt out here.”

  “Leave him out of this.” Alejandro said, trying to buy time. If Daryl finished loading their stuff into their truck before Charlie swam out of the river they would leave without scaring his son more than he already was.

  The barrel of the gun pointed at Alejandro’s head and he looked down it.

  “Tell him to get out here or I blast you to pieces and leave him daddy-less.”

  There was conviction in his voice that persuaded Alejandro it was best not to call his bluff. “Charlie, salte, pero despasio. Haz como si apenas aprendistes a nadar.”

  “Speak in English, you sonofabitch.” The barrel came even closer. He could have grabbed it, but it was too risky, especially with Charlie coming into play now.

  “He doesn’t understand English.” Alejandro told him.

  The tall man spat on the ground and snarled. The conversational tone in his voice was gone and replaced with disgust. “Fuckin’ spics.”

  “Hey, I’m all done, Jimbo!” Daryl called. He was sweaty and breathing heavy from the labor of moving the stuff to their truck.

  “Well, amigo, guess that means you’re off the hook, thanks for the stuff. Get your clothes on,” he looked around, “wherever it is. Your balls ain’t lookin’ so good.”

  Jimbo walked up the riverbank to meet up with his brother. Once the gun was out of his chest Alejandro breathed a sigh of relief. Behind him he could hear Charlie splashing through the water, he was just out of the deep-end.

  “Quedate ahi,” He said to him, and Charlie stopped where he was.

  “Pa, que vas a hacer?”

  Jimbo was out of ear’s reach and it was safe to switch back to English. “Just wait until you hear me say all clear, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  Alejandro crouched down low and moved up the riverbank as quiet as he could. Up on top of the hill where the trucks were he could see the two hillbillies arguing. Jimbo slapped Daryl on the neck and showed him how to properly load the backpacks so they wouldn’t go tumbling out into the road at high speeds. Daryl kept defending himself, insisting that it wouldn’t happen, and Jimbo kept yelling that he fucked up. They said different words in each exchange, but it all boiled down to the same argument being repeated.

  In their squabble they didn’t notice Alejandro sneaking his way up from the riverbank to the side of the truck. Alejandro postured up from his crouch and reached through the open window. When his fingertips touched the cold steel of the gun, a wave of empowerment rushed through him.

  But he wasn’t out of the woods just yet. He pulled the gun out and took the safety off. In the exact moment he did this, Daryl noticed him.

  His eyes first bulged, then fell on the gun. By then Alejandro had it aimed at his face. He opened his mouth to yell, exposing his rotten teeth. But the yell never came, Alejandro pulled the trigger and the bullet tore off his jaw and exploded the bottom half of his face. His dead body fell forward and thumped against the back of the truck before crashing to the ground.

  Jimbo spun around, and before he could fire the rifle, Alejandro pulled the trigger. The bullet hit him in the collarbone and shattered it into countless pieces. The rifle flew out of his hands as he went reeling backward. His head hit against the side of the truck, which knocked him off his feet. He sat on the ground, his head slumped back and half unconscious.

  Alejandro ran around the truck so that he was between both vehicles. Meanwhile Jimbo was attempting, without much success because of the shattered collarbone, to reach for the rifle that lay by his feet. He stopped when Alejandro’s shadow cast on him.

  Alejandro stomped on his neck as hard as he could, and with the man pinned underneath his boot like that, he shot him in the face three times.

  He holstered the gun and then leaned against the side of his truck because his legs felt like cooked spaghetti. In his ears he could hear his heart beating like a marching band. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the bloody mess that remained of the brothers, but not the exact details, which was good, because he had no interest in seeing that right now.

  “Pa!” Charlie’s scream pierced through the air.

  “Charlie, it’s alright. I’m alright!” Alejandro called back as loud as he could muster.

  Charlie ran across the riverbank to the side of the truck. Examining his dad he thought that he had been lied to because there was blood all over him—on his hands and on his chest and on his stomach. But a look at the brothers reassured him his dad was telling the truth.

  “Pa…?” He knelt down to get a closer look at his dad.

  Seeing him fully naked he realized just how much weight he had lost. His dad was thinner than ever, teetering on the edge of scrawny. His hip bones jutted out, his ribs were beginning to surface through the skin, and his collar bone looked more like a neck accessory than it did a part
of his body. For the first time Charlie realized how much his dad was suffering.

  Alejandro looked up at him through shadows cast by strands of hair in his face; this combined with his gnarled body gave Charlie the impression of a demon. For a split second it looked like something was behind his eyes, like they didn’t belong to his dad, like a malevolent force had taken over. Then the look vanished, but by then Charlie was facing the other way and putting on his clothes.

  “I’m okay, mijo.” Alejandro told him.

  Turning back to him Charlie said, “I don’t want to swim anymore, dad.”

  Alejandro nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  Charlie turned back to the pile of clothes and continued to dress, starting with slipping back into the shorts. The more of the dirty clothes he put on the stronger the negative feelings associated with them came back, until he was fully dressed, and the previous feeling of being free from the nightmare disappeared altogether.

  Alejandro walked past him and went down to the river without saying a word. He kneeled down at the edge of the water and the clear blue reflected his image back at him. The person in the reflection was more unrecognizable than before; more unrecognizable even than a moment ago when he had looked at himself in the side mirror. The treetops also reflected on the surface, and their shadowy image came together in a way that made it seem like his reflection was standing at a crude doorway that lead to an endless darkness—like hell or something like it. A bird flew by the river and for a second Alejandro thought he saw its reflection shapeshift into a winged demon.

  You’re scaring yourself, menzo.

  He tossed these thoughts to the side and dipped his hands into the water to clean off the blood that covered him. He would get the red color out, but the stench of the brothers’ death would continue to follow him.

  8

  Terrance rode around town on a moped he found in the same building where he had found the candy bars. Turned out that office building had lots of valuables in there, mainly more food in a lunchroom on the upper floor and this moped he found in the loading dock. He was surprised to find that the moped still had gas in the tank, and even more surprised when he turned the key and the engine came alive.

  He was pushing the little engine as he tore through the empty streets. The buildings that whizzed by him all looked the same, decrepit buildings wounded from explosions and military-grade weapon fire. Weeds grew all around them like long fingers.

  There was no point in going into any of the buildings. Terrance knew from his raids with Toby (Tobes…It’d be cool to have company right about now) that he’d only find roaches and rat turds inside of them. So he continued down the roads with no direction, only with the hope that he’d find a place worthy of raiding.

  He was about to give up and turn around, after all he had been out here for more than an hour now, but up ahead he saw a light coming from inside one of the buildings. The moped slowed and came to a rolling stop a few yards out from the front of the building.

  His suspicion was confirmed, there were people inside. He could see them through the front of the window, a kid with thick rimmed glasses and a pretty blond girl, sitting by candlelight. Despite that, the scene didn’t look romantic. It couldn’t have, the peeling wallpaper and the pockmarks in the wall behind the girl wouldn’t allow it.

  Between them was a chessboard in which missing pieces of the game were replaced by crumbled pieces of paper. Terrance wasn’t close enough to the window to hear what they were saying, but from the look on their faces they were discussing something that concerned them.

  He had found other survivors. His mind turned to the chips and snacks and all the other food he had in his bag. Reaching out to these people meant he’d have to share with them. Even if they had their own food, they’d expect him to share his findings.

  Fuck that.

  It was his findings, his food. No way was he going to share it with some strangers he didn’t know. And even worse, what if they had no food? He’d be feeding them with food that, in some way, he got by sacrificing his best friend. No way was he going to let Tobes down by giving up their food that easily.

  He hit the gas on the moped and continued down the path, deciding that it was too early to head home. There was still about three or four hours of daylight before the beasts woke up, and he’d use those hours to continue to rummage through town.

  Before the building was out of sight he looked over his shoulder, taking note of the exact location of the building. He smiled when he saw the building was identifiable by the big neon arrow pointing down at it. Not quite the most subtle hideout, but it would make it easier to find if he needed to again.

  9

  Another storm, this one worse than the last one, a lot more lightning cracking through the purple sky. The clouds were gray—almost black in some parts—and heavy with rain. They were clumped together like cotton candy squeezed into a bag too small. The rain came down and pelted the ground like rifle ammo.

  Alejandro had the truck’s wipers on high, and much to his chagrin John hadn’t really kept the blades up to snuff. They did most of their job in getting the drops out of the way, but they left long streaks across the windshield.

  “At least we have the truck.” Charlie said, noticing his dad’s frustration.

  Alejandro grinned at him, temporarily forgetting about the annoyance of the wipers. “That we do mijo.”

  The way he said it, Charlie knew there was a “but” coming.

  “But we need to find shelter.” Alejandro looked up at the darkening sky to assure himself that there were no signs of the storming relenting.

  They had been driving for two hours with no direction since the incident at the river. The only semblance of shelter they had come across was farmhouses, and these were far from looking safe.

  They drove by a particularly bad looking farmhouse that prompted a question from Charlie.

  “What do you think happened to it?”

  Its barn that sat at the bottom of the hill looked to have been burned down to the ground, only a few splintered pieces of lumber remained of what it once was. The farmhouse itself had a crumbled façade so that you could see into it like an opened dollhouse. The inside walls were destroyed and burned black where explosives had gone off. Any of the furniture that had once decorated the rooms could be found as jumbled pieces on the floor.

  “Shooting and grenades happened.” Alejandro responded, glancing over at it.

  “You think it was soldiers fighting soldiers the way the TV showed on the news?”

  “Maybe,” or maybe it was civilians fighting soldiers to keep them out of their homes. That had happened too, except the TV didn’t show that as much. But everyone knew that was happening. Anyone with a friend or relative that had a home in the remote parts outside of major cities/towns knew that that was what was going on in these kinds of places.

  The military liked having rendezvous points outside the conflict of the major towns/cities where they could go to regroup, and if it meant kicking out a family of farmers, so be it. It didn’t make any difference to them.

  Charlie put his head against the window and said: “I miss mommy.”

  Alejandro’s head turned so fast he thought he was going to give himself whiplash. “Charlie…”

  “Do you papi?”

  “I do, mijo. I miss her every day.”

  *

  They drove in silence for another four miles until up ahead the road they were on veered off a dirt path. At the top of the hill was a lonesome barn, this one whole. It was the first structure they had seen that looked intact.

  Alejandro turned on to the path.

  “We’re going to stay there?” Charlie asked.

  “Yep. We don’t really have a choice.” The sky was getting darker and darker, and the rain was beginning to get heavier.

  “It looks…scary.” Charlie said.

  Alejandro couldn’t disagree. The barn was beat up, not from hand grenades and automatic guns, but
from the thing that beats up all things: old age. There were chips of red paint all over it like freckles. Underneath the ghost layer of paint, the wood was expanded and cracked from waterlogging. Some of the holes in the damaged wood were so deep you could put your eye against them and peek inside.

  A streak of lightning cut across the darkened sky behind the barn and at the same time thunder roared. The bushes (overgrown, like all other bushes nowadays) sitting out front of the barn swayed back and forth from the increasingly violent wind, as if they were sentry ghouls placed there to deter any curious minds from entering.

  “We’re not really going in there, are we?”

  Alejandro felt his stomach tightening the closer they drew to the barn. As silly and cliché as it seemed to be fearful of a decrepit old farm sitting atop of hill in the middle of a thunderstorm, he couldn’t help but acknowledge he was frightened.

  Anything could be waiting for them in the barn, but if they stayed out here too long, they’d encounter Los Noches with certainty. John’s story and the ones at the river told him Los Noches were expanding out from the towns/cities and coming to rural areas now.

  “We’ll be fine, Charlie.” Alejandro said, trying to reassure himself as well.

  “You promise?”

  “Just trust me that I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe, okay?”

  Charlie sat back in his seat. “Okay, then.”

  “Charlie, do you remember those movies we watched every Halloween?”

  Every Halloween his dad would wake him up in the middle of the night, when Mom was deep asleep, and he and Dad would go downstairs. They’d make a bag of popcorn or some pizza bagels in the oven and watch scary movies that Mom would never want him to watch. It had become their tradition every Halloween, and their little secret. Mom only had come close to catching them doing it once, but Dad shouted upstairs that he wasn’t able to sleep so he came down to have a glass of water and watch some TV. She believed it and said (groaned) good night to him without coming downstairs or even suspecting that Charlie was down there too, giggling into a throw pillow to muffle the sound. Of course he remembered those movies; it was one of his favorite days of the year, right up there with Christmas.