Battered Dreams

by Hadena James

  Morgan McClure’s hand ached. A deep, pulsing ache that went all the way to the bone. The problem was that Morgan didn’t have a hand to ache. She started at the stump above where her wrist had once been with disgust, but massaged it anyway. They called them phantom pains. Some kind of neurological memory that happened even though the area that hurt was gone.

  Most people would describe Morgan as quiet, shy, and a good worker. She was never late. She never caused problems. She was always the last one to leave at the end of her shift, and she never complained. So, no one noticed that the quiet, shy, hard working girl was seething with hatred.

  Morgan hadn’t been friends with another person in years, let alone go on a date. Since her parents had died seven years earlier she’d been on her own, completely alone.

  The hand was a side effect. Sometime during her childhood, she had contracted leprosy. It had manifested when she was in college. In most cases, the granulomas formed first. Horrid knots under the skin that gave one the skin texture of an ogre.

  In Morgan’s case, the granulomas had been secondary. Nerve damage had started first. In her left hand to be exact, a condition that would lead to surgeries and the loss of her hand. She’d accidentally let it fall into some grease when she was a fry cook in college. Without being able to feel it, she’d cooked her hand pretty good, resulting in its removal. It was only during her stay in the hospital that the granulomas had started to appear.

  She’d been treated for twelve very long months. When the treatment was over, she was still known as a leper. Everyone treated her as such. Her dorm mate had moved out. Her friends stopped talking to her. People just disappeared.

  In the years following the treatment and diagnosis, the stigma stood. It was hard to lie all the time about the scars and the missing hand. Telling people made them take steps away from her.

  She’d become bitter. She’d shut herself in. Her only pleasure was her job. Most people didn’t think working for the city of Houston as a rodent exterminator was a decent lifestyle choice. It suited Morgan though.

  It was going to allow her to get revenge on society. As a student, she’d come across a paper discussing how antibiotic resistant bubonic plague would be devastating to a modern city. The author had used the Justinian Plague that hit Constantinople as the model for dissemination.

  It was working. Not as fast as the author of the paper had thought it would. Or Morgan, but it was working. She was starting to find dead cats and dogs along her route. More than could be naturally explained. A few had showed signs of infection. She had dutifully wrapped them in plastic before picking them up.

  As the infected rat population spread through the poor and urban areas, it would move from rats to pets and from pets to people. At least, according to the model. Morgan hadn’t heard of any infected people yet, but she was sure it was coming. The work had shown enough promise that she had taken a large number of infected rats to Dallas a few nights earlier and released them.

  The world had been cruel to her. She had every right to be cruel back. However, she wasn’t totally heartless. She’d thanked the author of the paper by sending her a flash frozen squirrel from her initial tests.

  Morgan had planned to be a zoologist before her leprosy activated. She’d been a student at a large, east coast university with plans to get the hell away from Texas. She’d wanted to get her degree and go to work for a large zoo, where she could be a veterinarian. An armadillo had squashed those dreams. An armadillo from ten years before. One that had wandered into her house when she was a child. Her parents had considered it an act of God. She thought it was Mother Nature being a bitch.

  Then the world had turned on her. If it was an act of God, as her parents had proclaimed, God was an asshole. His obvious disregard for her happiness and her quality of life proved it.

  However, she’d get back at both Mother Nature and God too. Some of the rats had been released near an animal sanctuary. Others were released near churches; there were a lot of those in Texas.

  Tonight, she’d hit the next largest town in Texas. San Antonio was a long drive, but well worth it. After that, she’d hit Austin, and maybe target the University of Texas specifically. Having the outbreak start there would be poetic.

  She massaged the stump a little more and then added the prosthetic hand. The hand had been expensive, but she had wanted it to look natural. As natural as possible anyway. People still had no desire to touch it, but she understood. There were days when she didn’t want to touch it.

  With approximately three hundred rats in the back of her truck, Morgan set off. The drive to San Antonio was right at three hours. Thankfully, the tarp and cab of the truck would provide her with some protection. At some point, she knew she would be infected with the deadly strain of plague. Her goal was to let it loose in the major cities of Texas first.

  As she neared San Antonio, the radio gave an update on a manhunt being conducted by the US Marshals Service. A teenaged girl, named Jessica Blanks was wanted by authorities in connection with murder. The girl was five feet tall, blue eyes, light brown hair, and weighed ninety pounds.

  How anyone that small could commit murder was beyond Morgan’s comprehension. Her victim must have been very small. Maybe she had killed a child in an episode of “Babysitter Gone Really Bad.” The thought made Morgan smile. They would have a lot more problems than some deranged babysitter soon enough. Her work in Houston was proving that it took weeks, but they were weeks well spent.

  Morgan had mapped out the area weeks ago using animal control data from the city. The soft underbelly of San Antonio was easy to find, if you followed the rat populations. They were drawn to areas where there were lots of restaurants, or where the poor were clustered. She understood why too. The poor didn’t have the money to exterminate them. Most had trouble keeping mousetraps, let alone a rattrap in the house.

  However, it was the business district that worked best. The rats infected stray dogs and cats, who visited the same dumpsters looking for food. The strays then infected pets and other animals. From there, it was just a waiting game before some idiot who forgot to flea dip their pet got infected. No one really understood how strays interacted with pets. It would have been better in St. Louis, Missouri, and Los Angeles, California.

  Both of those cities had packs of strays that roamed the streets due to ineffective animal control measures. As a matter of fact, a young girl had recently been torn to shreds by a pack of stray dogs in St. Louis. It had made the national news because it was the third attack in as many months.

  She parked in an alley behind a group of restaurants. One proclaimed to have the best tacos in Texas. She doubted this was true. Everyone claimed to have the best tacos in Texas.

  She shut off the lights of her truck and waited. It was after two a.m. If her vehicle was spotted, there would be questions, but she had to be sure.

  After ten minutes or so, sitting in the truck, she saw the first rat. It came out of a hole in the sidewalk, right under the place that proclaimed to have the best tacos in Texas. She smiled. The tacos were going to get a little more interesting.

  She put on her big, heavy leather gloves. They were supposed to be able to protect her from vicious dogs, feral cats, feisty armadillos, and determined rats. They had always done their job in the past.

  Tonight was no different. She pulled the cages of rats out of the bed and set them near the dumpsters. The rat population of the area went back into hiding. They would fight to keep their homes free of the interlopers. This was expected. Rats were social, but territorial.

  The door went up and the first group of about fifty rats was released into the alleyway. They searched for places to hide. A group of them headed towards the hole in the sidewalk, where she had seen the other pop up from earlier.

  The residents of the hole chased the intruders out. The new rats cowered in the alleyway for a moment. She opened the door to another cage, then a third, then all seven of them. Now, outnumbered, the San Antonio rats were
the ones fleeing their secure tunnels. A new hierarchy was being established. It was social Darwinism in action.

  Her rats had not been humanized, but they had been given plenty of food and kept in darkness most of the time. They were bigger than their San Antonio cousins based on how they had been raised. Also, while most rats living in the darkness of cities were brown rats, her rats had a little genetic boost. She’d introduced two other species of rats to the genetic group, increasing their heartiness and genetic diversity.

  She hadn’t intended to make a larger rat. She had really just wanted to increase the survivability of them, but the law of unintended consequences had kicked in, as it always does when dealing with biology, and the rats had become somewhat larger than the plain brown rat.

  Once they established dominance in this area, they would allow the displaced rats back into the group. Not all of them, the alpha would be killed, but the others would be allowed to return to their homes. Almost all of them would begin carrying fleas infected with antibiotic resistance bubonic plague.

  The order of nature was amazing to watch. The displaced rats were already searching for new homes. A few of the larger, more aggressive males were attempting to regain control. The larger, infested rats were winning. Tomorrow, someone would be cleaning up rat carcasses, unless some enterprising animals came along and scavenged their bodies.

  In an area like this, it was very probable that a few cats or dogs would feed on the dead rats. It would be a good starting place for the plague to jump to its next host. The chain had already begun with a simple little fight for dominance.

  Morgan packed the cages up. She got in her truck and headed east, back to Houston. It was going to be a good day, even if she did go to work exhausted.

  Disappearing

  Jess was following the highway. She was headed east, away from the lights and noise, and papers and news stations broadcasting her face. It was unimaginable that a stupid cop had stopped her. Her life was in freefall. Her secret was out. There was no way it couldn’t be, not after killing the Marshal.

  It was a regrettable setback, but Jess had resources. She had access to her brother’s account. She had her sister’s identification. They could nearly pass as twins. She’d buy a ticket in her sister’s name and head to Mexico. Once in Mexico, she’d hop a flight to an Asian country. She’d teach English or something. There was always work for English teachers in Asia. Her sister had done a year abroad, teaching English in Thailand. She had loved it. Jess could do that. Her sister’s credentials would get her into the country and get her a job.

  Unfortunately, she’d been on the move for over a day. Her legs were starting to get sore. She wanted to sit down, but if she stopped, she’d get caught. She’d stayed off the highways and busy streets because of this. Until now.

  Jess felt a growing sense of urgency. She had to get to a big city. She had to get somewhere and blend in. Her feet took her to the interstate. It was dangerous walking the interstate. Someone might recognize her.

  A truck slowed down, its headlights illuminating her body, making her shadow grow tall on the ground in front of her. The truck got back on the highway. It crawled past her. She forced herself not to look up. It pulled in front of her and stopped on the shoulder again.

  Jess did look up now. A woman was hanging out the driver’s window. She had a scar on her face that the shadows didn’t hide, only accentuated.

  “Want a ride?” She asked Jess. Jess thought for a moment. She still had the baton she’d taken off the Marshal. While she was quite a bit older than Jess, Jess was certain that she could kill her if the need arose. Her body sighed at the thought of a ride, even if it was just twenty miles.

  “Thanks,” Jess picked up her pace and jumped into the passenger’s side of the truck. The woman was in her early thirties or so. She needed a manicure and some make-up, but she felt non-threatening. She was also missing a hand. The prosthetic didn’t grip the steering wheel quite right.

  “My name’s Morgan,” the woman said.

  “Becky,” Jess lied, “Becky Childs.”

  “Nice to meet you, Becky. What on earth are you doing out here at this time of night?” Morgan pulled back onto the highway.

  “Getting away,” Jess sized the woman up. If she got too nosy, she’d just kill her and take the truck. She could hide the body off the highway. Jess would be in Thailand before they found her.

  “I understand,” Morgan agreed.

  Morgan stopped talking. The truck had a strange smell. A stench that Jess couldn’t identify. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. Of course, her sense of smell had never been very good. It affected her sense of taste as well. The doctor said it was because the olfactory system wasn’t completely developed. He didn’t know why, but said he’d seen it a few times in other patients. There was nothing to be done about it.

  Jess’s body wanted to drift off to sleep. Her brain was fighting to keep it awake. She would be in trouble if she fell asleep and this woman turned out to be crazy.

  “So, are you just going to admit who you really are?” Morgan asked as they had driven a while. “And where you plan to go?”

  “What?” Jess was instantly awake.

  “You’re the girl from the news, I don’t remember the name they gave, but out of San Marcos. The one wanted for murder.”

  “No, I’m not,” Jess said sternly.

  “Oh please,” Morgan gave a quick laugh. “I’m not going to turn you in. I don’t care if there is a person or two less in this world because of you. I’m headed to Houston. You can ride the whole way, if you’re headed that far.”

  “Who are you?” Jess asked, her defenses up.

  “Morgan McClure, spreader of bubonic plague. I was in San Antonio tonight releasing infected rats. It’s probably a good thing you got out of there. In a few weeks, the town will be dealing with an epidemic. Actually, most of Texas will be dealing with one.”

  “Uh huh,” Jess nodded. This woman was obviously crazy. Not your garden variety crazy either, but the type that earned straightjackets and electroshock therapy. “Jess Blanks, serial killer of worthless teenagers.” Jess told her. The label felt good. It felt right. Her hand found the baton. She carefully pulled it from her pocket.

  “Serial killer, nice, so much better than a babysitter gone mad. The news hasn’t announced they suspect you of being a serial killer. In a few months or so, they’ll be denouncing me as a mass murderer, but they won’t really get it. They did it to themselves. A little kindness could have prevented all of this. Jess, the Serial Killer, I recommend you get as far from Texas as you possibly can. Reinvent yourself as a serial killer somewhere colder, like Maine or Alaska. Plague spreads slower in colder climates according to research I’ve done.”

  “Ok,” Jess agreed. This woman was definitely crazy. Jess looked around. It would probably be better to kill the woman and take the truck. Jess was convinced the woman wouldn’t turn her in, but she didn’t need this kind of trouble. She suddenly whipped out the baton and struck Morgan McClure with it.

  “Ouch! What the fuck!” Morgan swerved across the highway. Jess hadn’t thought it through all the way. Attacking Morgan, who currently controlled the vehicle that was rocketing down the highway, was probably not her best-laid plan. Jess swung at Morgan again while grabbing the wheel. The speed of the vehicle was dropping. Morgan slumped against the driver’s window. Jess guided the car onto the shoulder. There wasn’t another car in sight.

  Jess had to climb onto Morgan’s lap to get the truck to a stop. There was a small road off to the side. Jess pushed the seat back to get to the pedals. She’d driven sitting on her dad’s lap when she was younger, but this was completely different. She flipped on the flashers as the truck crept along.

  The turn was difficult to make. The dead woman’s feet were getting in Jess’s way and she didn’t have enough room to maneuver her elbows. The truck bounced across the ditch of the opposite lane as they entered the small road.
She drove about forty feet down the gravel before stopping the truck again. There were cows and thick underbrush here, nothing else. It was as good a place as any to ditch Morgan’s body.

  Jess opened the driver’s side door and Morgan’s body slipped from behind her. With the dead woman half in and half out of the truck, Jess climbed out. The lap harness of the seat belt had captured Morgan’s body and kept her suspended. Jess had missed it earlier because, despite it being buckled, the shoulder harness was behind Morgan’s body. Jess reached to unbuckle it.

  Morgan’s eyes flew open. The baton that Jess had forgotten about in her scramble to control the truck was in Morgan’s hand. The older woman brought the baton down on the sixteen year-old. The belt unfastened and they both fell to the ground, Morgan on top of Jess. Jess had already done this. She had some bruises from it. She knew how much the baton hurt. She raised her arm to block the blow. The baton connected with the broken limb, and the bone that had mesmerized Jess on the volleyball court pierced through the skin.

  Like with the Marshal, Jess realized she was in trouble. However, she’d had a knife then. She didn’t have one now. She had nothing to help her attack or defend. The baton came down on her again, forcing the air from her lungs. Her bones cracked under the force. Her ribs felt like they were on fire. Her lungs felt as if she were drowning.

  Jess struggled to push Morgan off of her. She tried to immobilize Morgan like the Marshal had done to her, but with only one hand, the bigger woman who wielded the baton was too much for her to handle. The baton connected with Jess’s knee. The pain was excruciating. It seared itself into her brain, making it hard to think.

  Never had she experienced anything like this. The pain, the helplessness, they worked against her. The rage that she had found when killing Sabrina Reeves and Simon Westbrook wouldn’t come to her. Instead, her heartbeat picked up. Her breathing became labored.

  The baton hit her midsection. There was instant pressure in her abdomen. She hadn’t even noticed Morgan moving. The pressure was a bad sign. The baton had ruptured something. Jess could feel it, pushing on her insides, making it hard to inflate her lungs. She wet herself and could do nothing about it. She stared at Morgan.