Chucklers (Book 1): Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  Erica knew immediately when they reached the entrance. Everyone must have known, because the volume of the laughter—and of the screaming suddenly trebled, and she finally realized that something was horribly wrong. One of the two men came backpedaling back into sight just below her with that deer in the headlights look that said that he knew something was wrong, but didn’t have any idea how to react. That was when a small group of people tackled him and began kicking him as he screamed. One of the men laughed maniacally, and straddled the man, punching and scratching at his face. To Erica’s horror, the attacker then leaned over and bit into the man’s cheek, ripping a mouthful of skin off with his teeth. The man’s screams intensified, and Erica’s skin crawled as she froze in her seat, unable to process what she was seeing. The others, two more men and a woman, pulled the first maniac off the man on the floor and Erica thought at first that they had regained their sanity.

  She was wrong—terribly wrong. Rather than giving the poor man relief, they immediately began kicking him where he lay in a fetal curl, crying on the sticky cinema floor. The woman of the group took one of her heels off her foot and knelt beside the man. She began beating him with the heel of the shoe, tittering the whole time, until to everyone’s horror, the man quit screaming and she rolled him onto his back. Erica could see he was unconscious, just before the woman drove the heel of her shoe through his eye and twisted it. Her companions thought that was hilarious, and the first attacker turned toward Erica, chuckling maniacally past a hunk of cheek.

  She screamed.

  Just about everyone in the theater screamed. The laughing maniac who had locked eyes with Erica launched himself over the first row of seats below her, eyes never leaving hers. She grabbed her purse and scrambled over the back of her seat into the row behind her, trying to escape higher into the stadium seating of the theater. The rest of the theater erupted into a panicked madhouse as people screamed and left their seats, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the demented attackers on the ground level. Erica glanced back at the two-legged hyena chasing her, and thought distance was probably a pretty good idea. Two steps gained her a little room as her pursuer struggled to climb over the seats. Two more steps and she dared hope she was in the clear. And just as that thought entered her mind, her feet hit a puddle of soda on the sticky floor. She didn’t even have time to scream as she went down, cracking her elbow on the back of one of the seats.

  Chapter 42

  Linton Bowers

  “Looks like Keith is drunk again.”

  The screeching of wheels followed by the unmistakable sound of an automobile accident brought Linton out of the garage and into the house. From the kitchen, Michelle looked at him, concerned.

  “That sounded close!”

  Emmet came out of the guest room and the two of them walked toward the front window. Linton noted that his friend held a pistol in his hand, finger parallel to the barrel. He didn’t know whether to be more concerned that Emmet had thought to keep his weapon beside him as he slept, or that he hadn’t thought to grab his own.

  They drew opposite corners of the drapes away from the window to look at the scene across the street. By the fading light of the evening sun, Linton could see that his neighbor had driven his car into the garage, without bothering to open the garage door first.

  Neighborhood kids had interrupted their street ball game to gather around and gawk.

  Linton shook his head in disgust. “Looks like Keith is drunk again.”

  “What happened?” Michelle’s voice from behind startled him.

  “Keith Gray drove his car through his garage door.” He watched as Keith’s neighbor from just next door trotted over to see what had happened. The neighbor called something out that Linton wasn’t able to hear as Keith staggered out of his garage, stumbling over a crumpled section of sheet metal, and fell to his knees in the driveway. Just then, Linton’s phone alarm began beeping. He let the drapes fall back into place and pulled the phone out of his pocket. “The idiot just got off a DUI last month.” He shut off the alarm. “I thought he was smarter…”

  “What the hell?” Emmet interrupted.

  “What?” Linton looked over at Emmet, who was making a face as if he’d just realized he had eaten something from the north side of a south-bound dog. “What is it?” He and Michelle moved to the window together just as they heard screaming from outside. Michelle got there first and gasped. Linton pulled the drapes above her open. His eyes widened at the sight before him.

  Keith’s next door neighbor had reached him in the driveway, and Keith had latched onto the man, drawing him down into a grotesque embrace as he bit into the other man’s shoulder. This was no ordinary bite either. Keith was doing his best to rip a hunk out of his would-be rescuer, worrying his head from side to side as the other man screamed for help.

  Emmet was already running to the front door and Linton started to join him.

  “Wait, guys!”

  The men stopped at Michelle’s call. “What?”

  She pushed the drapes closed and stepped back. “There’s more of them.”

  Linton stepped to the window as the sound of children laughing sounded from the front yard. The sound was accompanied by screams of other children, and the distinct sound of a screaming woman. He drew the drapes back just enough to peek outside, but not enough to draw anyone's attention. Linton got the feeling he was caught up in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Reality had simply shifted on him in that same, macabre way that the old television show had done and his senses simply couldn’t be trusted. There was no way he was actually seeing a group of pre-teens dragging a grown woman to the sidewalk.

  The group of ball players from across the street was laughing uncontrollably, kicking the shrieking woman or beating her with baseball bats. A solid-sounding thud accompanied a wooden bat impacting her skull, and the kid who swung it hooted with glee.

  “Holy fuck!” Emmet stepped back from the window. Eyes wide, he looked at Linton and repeated himself. “Holy fuck, Linton. Did you see… those little shits killed…” He turned around and walked into the kitchen. Linton and Michelle followed him.

  “Emmet? What kind of disease was on those reports? Is this it?”

  Emmet simply stared at him, eyes unfocused.

  “Emmet!” Linton stepped forward and shook him. “Snap out of it, dude. We don’t have time for you to freak out.”

  His friend blinked and nodded. “Yeah. But holy fuck, man. Those kids just killed that woman.”

  “So is it the disease?”

  “What disease?” Linton could see he was still having difficulty processing what they had just seen. He couldn’t blame the man, but they didn’t have time for it, either. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michelle leave the room.

  “The disease that has everyone in ONI in a panic.”

  Emmet blinked for a second, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m not sure. It’s something they just called Kampala Syndrome. No one seems to really say what it does. They just know that it…” His eyes finally met Linton’s. “Shit. This has to be it. One of the reports mentioned altered mental states. I just thought they meant people got disoriented or something like that.”

  Linton shook his head. “Well, I’d say those people’s mental states are sure as hell altered.”

  Michelle came back into the kitchen carrying a small canvas duffle and Linton’s shoulder holster with his Glock. She handed him his pistol rig and reached into the duffle. She pulled out a gas mask and held it out to Emmet. She looked at Linton. “I think it’s time to go.”

  Linton finished snapping his shoulder holster into place and took the second gas mask. He held it in his hand looking at it. He felt a little foolish at first, but noticed Emmet strapped his on without hesitation. She pulled out a third mask as more screams sounded from outside, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Linton and Michelle looked at one another then hurriedly followed Emmet’s lead.

  Linton adjusted t
he mask to where he could see relatively well. From their drills, he knew the masks they had chosen would sacrifice very little in the way of peripheral vision. That was one of the reasons the Bee Hive had settled on the Israeli M-15 mask. But that didn’t mean they were comfortable, by any means. Still, if that bug… virus, or whatever it was had already reached the streets outside, a little discomfort seemed a small sacrifice to make. He went into the bedroom and grabbed a light hoodie, slipping it on over the holster, leaving it unzipped most of the way, for easy access to his pistol. “Everybody tight?” Emmet and Michelle both nodded, confirming a good seal on their masks.

  “Voicemitter check?”

  “Check here.” Michelle’s voice sounded a little tinny through the mask’s voice amplifier, but the volume was good.

  “Emmet?”

  “Check.”

  Linton nodded. “Michelle, you have your pistol?”

  She raised her jacket so he could see the twin to his own Glock 17 strapped to her hip. As with most of their equipment, members of the Bee Hive were encouraged to use the same pistol so that parts and ammunition would be interchangeable.

  He glanced at the pistol Emmet carried. It was a Glock 19. Not quite the same as his own, but it was close enough that they could at least use the same ammunition.

  “So what’s the plan?” Emmet asked

  “Truck’s already packed. We get the hell out of Dodge.” He headed to the garage door as they spoke.

  “Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but please tell me we have more than these three pistols?”

  “Get in the truck and you’ll find company in the back seat. Now can we go?” He opened the door that led to the garage and they climbed into Linton’s extended cab pickup.

  “Nice,” Emmet said as he climbed into the back. He grabbed the AK-47 from where it laid in the seat.

  Linton and Michelle climbed into the front, where Michelle had another one waiting. Linton looked back at Emmet. “Ready?”

  Emmet nodded. Linton turned to his wife. “You ready, baby?”

  She yanked back on the charging lever to her rifle, checked the load, and nodded. “Ready.”

  Linton thumbed the garage door opener and turned the engine key. Looking out the rearview mirror, he saw kids from the street turn at the sound of the garage door. Laughing and hooting, several of the ball players began to run their direction.

  “Come on, Lint. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Gotta wait for the door to open all the way.” But by the time he said it, the door was up far enough to get the truck out. He hit the gas and squealed the tires as he hurried out of the garage. One of the kids slammed a bloody baseball bat against the rear of the truck as it backed out. Linton jumped a bit at the sound, but kept accelerating. Swerving a little as they reached the street, he slipped the gearshift into drive and stomped on the gas. The pickup lurched forward and they left the gang of laughing kids behind them.

  “Holy crap,” Emmet said.

  Linton and Michelle just looked at each other. Behind her mask, Michelle’s eyes were wide and she seemed to be breathing heavily. Linton realized his breathing was just as panicked, and he imagined his eyes were every bit as wide as hers. He looked back at the road before them and made an effort to slow his breathing, taking a series of deep, calming breaths.

  He looked back at Michelle and was about to say something when her eyes widened even more and she screamed at him. “Look out!”

  Linton slammed his foot on the brakes instinctively, even as he swiveled his head around. A delivery truck screamed past them, barely missing the front bumper. “Shit!” The delivery truck swerved, clipped the rear end of a parked car on the street, swerved to the other side of the street, and plowed headlong into another parked car. The front of the truck pushed up, over the trunk of the other car, and ground to a stop in a cloud of steam.

  Linton started to get out to check on the driver, but Michelle put a hand on his arm and shook her head. “I saw his face.”

  At first, he didn’t know what she meant, but as he watched, the door of the delivery truck opened and a man dropped to the ground. He was laughing hysterically.

  Linton looked both ways, making sure there was no other more oncoming traffic, and pulled away from the man before he got close.

  They saw two other accidents before they even got out of the neighborhood. The road out of the subdivision was perpendicular to the interstate. They all sat for a moment, looking at the madness before them.

  “Oh my God!”

  From the back seat, Emmet echoed Michelle’s sentiment. Cars were racing at breakneck speeds; some trying to avoid accidents, while others were intentionally ramming themselves into any vehicle in front of them, moving or not. And anytime Linton saw a face, they were either terrified, or laughing uncontrollably.

  “You’re not thinking about getting on the freeway, are you?” Emmet asked.

  Linton shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  He pulled onto the feeder, driving parallel to the interstate. “You guys watch for other laughers.”

  “Laughers?”

  Linton shrugged. “Fits, doesn’t it?”

  Emmet nodded. “I guess.”

  “So watch for traffic coming out of side roads.”

  As the evening light began to fade, they continued up the I-45 interstate northward. “You sure you want to go this way?” Michelle asked. She flinched as the sound of another wreck sounded from the nearby freeway. She looked past Linton, toward the sound. In the fading light, Linton saw the flickering of flames reflected in the lenses of her mask.

  He didn’t bother looking. He’d seen more accidents in the last five minutes then he’d seen in his whole life before tonight. There was no doubt in his mind now. The Kampala Syndrome had spread to the United States.

  Chapter 43

  Ken Holtzapfel

  The Intersection of Holy Shit and What the Hell

  When the blonde waved him down, Ken briefly considered passing her by. His shift had ended more than an hour earlier, and he was tired. But she staggered a bit as she tried to flag him down, and tipsy passengers often tipped well, especially on holidays.

  He swung to the curb and waited as she climbed in. “Where to, ma’am?”

  “How mush would it cost to get me to Tomball?”

  He did a quick calculation in his head. “About forty bucks.”

  She peered drunkenly into her purse, head weaving unsteadily from side to side as she reached in and pulled out her wallet. After a moment of squinting at the wallet’s contents, she smiled up at him. “Oh, good! I got it covered.”

  Ken pulled into traffic. “Well, then how about we get you there?”

  “I think tha’s a good idea.”

  He slowed as they approached a red light. “What’s the address you’re heading to?”

  She seemed to concentrate for a moment before answering. “Nineteen, six, forty Turalosa… no, Turlar…” She cursed. “Tu… la… ro… sa. Drive.”

  “Tularosa Drive?”

  “Yeah! Tha’shit!” She giggled. “‘M sorry! I said shit! I meant,” and she slowed, carefully enunciating each syllable once more, “to… say… that’s… it.” She sighed as if she had just completed a great undertaking. “Shorry. Think I’m a li’l drunk.”

  Ken looked up and smiled at her in his mirror. “Then it’s a good thing you took a cab, right?”

  “Thank you!” She slapped the back of his seat enthusiastically. “Tha’s what I told my hubsan. Hubsan?” She shook her head. “My hus-band. He got all pissed that I got a little teeeeny bit drunk an’ he wouldn’ come pick me up.”

  Traffic started moving again and Ken eased his way through downtown Houston. “So what were you doing downtown?”

  “Came down to a spor’s bar with a girlfriend to a Patriots party.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a football fan?”

  “Bet chur ass!”

  “And a Patriots fan.”

  “Yu
p.”

  “So why isn’t your girlfriend driving you home?”

  The blonde sighed. “She got lucky. Some guy had th’ right pickup line an’ I tol’ ‘er to jump on him b’fore he got away.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “Thank you! I am, aren’t I?” She leaned forward and peered at Ken’s name placard. “Holtzapple?”

  He grinned. “Holtzapfel. But if it makes you feel any better, you got closer than most people do on their first try.”

  “Thank you, again. I’m sure sayin’ that a lot, aren’t I? Thank you, Ken Holtzapplefull. Again.”

  Ken didn’t bother correcting her. “You’re welcome. Again.” He pulled to a stop at another red light.

  “Well, Ken Holtzaff… Holtzap, fel… Ah hell. I’m sorry. I’m totally screwing it up. But I’m Angela, Ken with the unpronow-sable last name. Angela Montgomery.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Angela. A few more blocks and we’ll hit the freeway.” The light changed to green and he pulled forward. “After that, I figure we’ll have about twenty minutes until we get—” Just as he entered the intersection, a blur of headlights appeared from his right, and a Houston Metro bus plowed into the traffic stopped perpendicular to his lane.

  “Holy shit!” Angela exclaimed. “Did you see that?”

  “Sure did.” Bright lights in his rear view approached rapidly, and Ken saw a pickup plow into a car three cars behind his cab. It started a chain reaction that shoved all the cars forward. If Ken hadn’t already been moving forward, his cab would have been caught in it. He stomped on the gas, moving away from the chaos behind. Some redneck must have been watching the bus instead of the road.

  Another horn, and another car plowed into the rear of the pickup.

  “What the hell?” Angela said it for him.

  A third accident? Ken didn’t know what was going on, but he thought it was a question better addressed from somewhere else. Somewhere far away from the crazy drivers at the intersection of Holy Shit and What the Hell. He blew through the next intersection without regard for the speed limit, weaving through traffic as he concentrated on putting some distance between himself and the craziness behind him. Just as he thought it would be best to slow down, headlights swerved to his left as another vehicle veered toward him. “Hang on!” It was all the warning he had time to give before the cab lurched and his airbag deployed.