There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  Something seems amiss…

  “Oh, damn,” he said, realizing it at last. Missing right from under his nose, and vantage point, was the museum’s beautiful marquee. Bill couldn’t see so much as trace of it down there! No, not even a shattered bulb on the sidewalk. The entire property was heavily insured, but it wasn’t the cost of the damn thing that concerned Bill. His heart ached for the severed piece of his building. As if it was his own hand or foot that was suddenly gone.

  And yet, other than the marooned sailboat and the missing marquee, the damage down Main Street seemed superficial at worst. Left in the wake of the storm surge, on the soggy road below, were only minor creeks and ponds. A few stranded fish flapped miserably about, abandoned by the mighty ocean. Some broken windows and doors, and a dozen or so transplanted cars and trucks, pinballed around by the raging tidal waters, seemed to be the extent of the damage in the business district.

  As evidenced by the missing marquee, the worst part of this storm had been the ferocious winds.

  Bill looked down at the flattened trees in the Pines. It looked like a giant man-child had gone through the woods, toppling the tall timber down in an ill-tempered fit.

  “I wonder what’ll happen to all the pineland critters now?” he mused aloud.

  As if in reply, something screamed in the night.

  *******

  As predicted, with flat seas all the way home, the Betty Anne’s journey back to Moon had thus far been a calmer affair. Emma commented to her relieved husband how it hardly seemed possible they were traveling across the same sea. It was as if the Betty Anne had wheels, and the ocean surface had turned to asphalt.

  It was 3:30 on the afternoon of the 14 when Ham spotted the familiar landmass on the horizon to the south.

  He was in a hurry to dock his boat and grab some shut-eye before going home to view what Jack had wrought. There would be time for all that “woe is me” shit, later on. The anxiety he’d felt the day before concerning his wife’s odd behavior had vanished in the night.

  Along with Ham’s moral compass.

  Always the first casualty of RS13.

  He tugged at his crotch, repositioning his stiffening prick in his briefs. Shiiit! I’m as horny as a teenage boy groping his first fat titty.

  For most, the incubation period RS13 was approximately 24 hours (much shorter than conventional rabies). For a healthy few it was a little longer, while for others, whose systems were weakened by stress, prior illness, or in Ham’s case, lack of sleep, the incubation timeline was shortened even further. While he wasn’t as far-gone as his wife (whose strong immune system had put off the worst symptoms for nearly 48 hours), Ham Huggins was well on his way to losing his mind…

  *******

  Rusty knocked on the bulkhead beside his sleeping mother. She hadn’t made an appearance since she’d gone to bed last night. Mrs. Tolson had fixed Rusty’s mother a cup of hot tea, mixed with lemon and honey, and sent him down with it. “Mom? You awake?””

  There was a stench in the air that Rusty’s usually analytical mind refused to acknowledge, much less accept. He pulled back the privacy curtain; his mother was still asleep, facing the creaking hull. “Mom. We’re almost home,” he said, gently shaking her shoulder.

  Betty Anne stirred and turned around, her eyes still closed. She put her arm over her face and groaned.

  “Such a headache,” she said, in a strange floating voice. As if she was speaking through one of those tin-can walkie-talkies he and Josie used to string between their houses. Only eerily amplified.

  She must have a really bad cold, Rusty thought to himself. “Would you like some Advil, Mom?”

  Betty Anne opened her eyes and sat up in the bunk. The top sheet fell from her bare breasts. Rusty didn’t notice his mother’s newfound immodesty.

  All he could see were her red shining eyes…

  *******

  Emma Tolson poured some coffee in Ham’s big mug and set it on a tray, along with a plate of chips and a tuna fish sandwich. She had a bowl of chicken soup she was going to take down to Betty Anne, who wasn’t feeling her old self as of late. Emma had taken such a shine to her new friend that she’d chosen to ignore Betty Anne’s odd lack of decency the day before. Her breasts practically spilling out of that red dress! The way she’d flirted with Frank yesterday. She put it off to whatever illness had befallen her gal-pal. Besides, Emma lacked the arrogance required to be judgmental. Without Betty Anne’s help, Emma stayed busy all day. She was content in her endeavors, though. The work helped take her mind off Hurricane Jack. And what that big bully might have done to her precious home, vulnerable as it was sitting there on that sandy bluff in the very midst of those fierce winds coming off of the ocean.

  And the storm surge! Oh, my! They say that’s the worst part of any hurricane…

  “Now you stop that, Emma,” she scolded herself for the umpteenth time that day. “There’s no sense in worrying about it now. What’s done is done. We’ll know soon enough, as soon as we get home.”

  Home! We’re really going home!

  She couldn’t believe how silly she’d been, thinking she’d never set eyes on her trim yellow Craftsman again. She made a promise to herself that the next time they had to evacuate the island she wouldn’t be such a ninny.

  She’d picked up the trays and was warily eying the stairs leading up to the wheelhouse, when Josie, who’d just finished washing the dishes, offered her assistance.

  Emma sighed gratefully. “Thank you, dear. I just can’t get used to walking on a moving floor. Would you mind taking this tray up to Mr. Ham? I want to check on Betty Anne. Poor thing hasn’t gotten up since she went down below last night.”

  “I’ll be glad to take that up for you, Mrs. Tolson. I think Rusty is still down there with his mum. I’m sure she must be hungry by now.”

  Emma watched the O’Hara girl easily scale the steep steps while balancing the tray like a seasoned waitress. At first she hadn’t really trusted the curvaceous redhead. Josie seemed too sure of herself to suit Emma. She now realized that was just her own prejudice at work. She had always been uncomfortable around beautiful girls like Josie. Too often they were shallow, mean-spirited creatures, who tended to look down on plain, overweight girls like herself. But Josie O’Hara’s not like that at all!

  If anything, the fresh-faced seventeen-year-old girl didn’t even seem to be aware of her own flawless outer beauty. This humble demeanor of Josie’s, and her remarkable lack of guile, made the girl’s inner beauty shine like a snowy field on a moonlit night. Emma knew that Joe, as the boys called her, only had eyes for that Bud Brown (and who could blame her! Bud was what Emma called dangerously handsome), but she couldn’t help wishing for an alternate reality. One, where Ralph and Josie were sweethearts. She’d seen the way her son looked at Joe, the way his eyes lit up whenever the girl entered a room, the same way Josie’s eyes lit up for that Bud, and Emma’s heart broke for her lovesick child.

  She sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she couldn’t protect her little boy from some things. This fever called life. It was all part of growing up, wasn’t it? The pain he felt now would someday help him appreciate the true love awaiting him down the road.

  Imagining her son on his wedding day, happy, healthy, and handsome, Emma smiled and opened the hatch leading down to the cabins.

  The happy daydream vanished in an instant.

  The stairwell was dark and oddly chilly. A hint of decay in the air. It reminded Emma of an old mausoleum.

  The kind those silly kids are no doubt familiar with…

  *******

  “M-m-mom?” Rusty stood frozen in front of his mother’s bunk. The top half of her face was lost in the shadows. The fire in her eyes, however, flickered bright and hot. She reached out for him.

  “Rusty…come on up with me, honey. We haven’t cuddled since you were a little bitty boy. I want to kiss you all over…like I did when you were a baby. I’ll make you feel good, sugar…I’ll make yo
u feel reeeaaalll goooooooddd.”

  “Oh, Momma,” Rusty whimpered. Tears trickled down his face and fell to the floor, beside the shattered pieces of the teacup he’d dropped. “W-what’s h-happened to you? Were you b-bitten by something on Moon?”

  “My head hurts, Rusty.” Betty Anne brought her hands up to her temples, her fingers trembling so fast they became a blur.

  Realizing his mother’s breasts were showing, Rusty blushed. He reached in and pulled the top sheet up. “Mom, you’re sick. Real sick. We’ve got to get you to Dr. Bidwell’s office right away. Get you that vaccine he was talking ‘bout. Make you all better.”

  In the back of his mind, a logical, all-knowing voice held court: It’s too late for a vaccine! Once the symptoms show…he cursed that smug voice down. Fuck you, asshole! It’s not too late! You’ll see! We’ll get her home; take her to Clint Bidwell. He’ll know what to do!

  As he tucked the sheet up to his mother’s chin, her hand shot out of the covers and grabbed his arm. Her skin was hot and dry to the touch, almost scaly. Alien to Rusty’s sensory perception.

  “I’m lonely. Come to bed with me.”

  Her voice was different. Huskier. It sounded as if it was coming from far away, too. As if some netherworld ventriloquist was in possession of his mother’s body and soul. She brought her fevered, cracked lips to his wrist and licked the skin above the pulsing vein. Her tongue wasn’t warm and moist; it was hot and rough, like a cat’s. Broken out with swollen pustules that looked angry enough to pop.

  She moaned, in a voice that bespoke both want and sorrow. “I can smell it…so rich…so salty…so full of life… My boy. My sweet, little boy. Let me tassssttte you…”

  Her nails began to cut into his skin.

  “Momma. Let go now. You’re hurting me.”

  Betty Anne looked up at her son, confusion written on her face. How could she have these dark feelings for the child she’d borne? What’s wrong with me?! WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME!!! “Rusty, what’s h-happened to me?”

  “You’ve got a virus, Momma. But don’t you worry. I’m going to get you some help as soon as we dock. By tomorrow morning you’ll be back digging in your garden.”

  “The g-garden. T-that’s where…oh, no…OH, NO! Get out, son! While you still can! Right n-now. Before I…”

  She flung his hand away as if it was crawling with maggots.“Get OOOoooooouuuuutttttttt!!!”

  *******

  Emma had her hand on the hatch of the Captain’s Cabin, when suddenly it banged open, nearly causing her to spill the tray. Rusty burst out of the room crying.

  “Land’s sake, Rusty! What is it, child?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Tolson! I-I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. N-nothing’s wrong. I just got something in my eye. Where are you going with that tray?”

  “I was going to look in on your mother. Is she feeling any better?”

  “No, ma’am. She’s feeling worse, actually. She told me she didn’t want anything…just some peace and quiet.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t ask her myself?”

  “NO! Don’t go in there!” Rusty saw Mrs. Tolson flinch and he brought it down a notch, not wanting to make her suspicious. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It’s just that mom said she didn’t want to be disturbed. She was, um, quite emphatic about that.”

  “All right, then. If you say so.” Emma started up the stairs, and then turned back, peering at him intently. “Rusty? Are you sure that you’re okay?”

  Rusty stood there at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth open, wondering if he’d ever be Okay again.

  *******

  Josie carried the tray into the wheelhouse and held it out to her Uncle Ham. “Hungry there, brown bear?”

  “Mmmm,” Ham said, eying her instead of the food.

  Josie didn’t notice. She looked out the windshield and saw that Moon had grown large on the horizon.

  “Hey! We’re almost home!” She knocked on the glass to get Bud and Tubby’s attention, both of whom were standing on the bow with Mr. T, watching the dolphins race them home. The Betty Anne’s engines were running too loud for them to hear her.

  Josie was barefoot, wearing her Daisy Duke’s and her green bikini top, having laid out on the deck earlier in the day. Her skin still glistened with the oil. The scent of fresh strawberries and coconut hung sweetly about her.

  Ham, however, had picked up another, more intoxicating aroma, thickly suffusing his goddaughter’s person. Josie O’Hara was on her period.

  Josie at last felt Ham’s focus upon her. A chill ran up her spine as she turned her head to face him. The look in his eyes so startled her that she dropped the tray.

  Ham’s eyes! Looking at her Thatway!

  The coffee mug shattered, spraying Ham’s pants legs with the hot beverage. She bent down to clean up the mess, blinking back the tears in her eyes.

  “Leave it be,” he said, pulling Josie up roughly by her arm. She trembled in his strong grasp and allowed her tears to fall free, as her favorite person on God’s green earth stared unabashedly at her quivering breasts. Stripping her bare with his hungry eyes.

  His rude, roaming eyes…

  Blinking, Ham pushed her away. “Go on, Josie! Get the hell on out’ a here! Put on some damn clothes, girl!”

  Josie fled the wheelhouse and was halfway down the stairs, when Rusty burst out of the gangway in the galley below. He saw the stricken look on Josie’s face and it hit him that his mother had already spread it to his father.

  “Daddy? No! Not my daddy!”

  Josie grabbed his hand and pulled him down through the other galley hatch, leading to the engine room and storage hold below. The only place left on the boat for a private word. Josie didn’t know why her friend was crying, but the look on his face felt identical to the one stretched out on hers. Scared and a little bit betrayed.

  “What’s going on, Rusty? Why are you so upset?”

  Rusty glared back at her. “You first, Joe! Why the hell are you crying?”

  Josie wiped her eyes and dismissed the whole thing with a flip of her hand. “Your dad wasn’t acting like himself, that’s all.”

  She didn’t fool Rusty. He saw the truth in her watery eyes, the way her chin trembled, like someone had just broken her heart. “You’re a lousy liar, Josie O’Hara! Did my daddy…did he…touch you?”

  “No! He just looked at me kinda weird. It upset me, Rusty. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. He’s exhausted, you know. Now why were you crying? Is it about your mom?”

  Rusty sat on one of the boxed up crates from the Tolsons’ house. He stared at his sneakers and wiped his nose. “Mom has it.”

  Josie gasped. “Has what, Rusty?”

  “The virus. My mother has the rabies virus. And by the look on your damn face I think she gave it to my dad.”

  *******

  “What should we do, Bud?” Rusty asked, looking up to his large friend.The Creeps were holding an impromptu meeting in the Betty Anne’s main hold.

  Bud tried to calm the rising tide of panic he felt welling up in his chest. If Rusty’s parents had the disease, it probably meant the virus had already spread on Moon. This is it! The day he’d been dreading for so long. His nightmares were about to go from black-and-white, to living, breathing color. He’d known it, in fact, ever since he’d encountered Tubby on the front steps of the Academy. He was their Fourth, the one who would precede the dark days. Truth was, he’d resisted the idea that the recent rabies scare had anything to do with his dreams—and considering the symptom of the glowing red eyes, so prevalent in the victims, it had been a deliberate choice on his part to remain ignorant. It was evident his newfound relationship with Josie had dulled his senses. He had been so happy—a state of being Bud Brown was totally unfamiliar with—that he’d disregarded the obvious, hoping it was a matter of weeks, maybe months before things began to unravel, rather than the handful of days his dreams seemed lately to portend. The smart
thing to do now would be to turn for the mainland, instead of going back to God knows what on the island. The only problem with that solution is dad’s still on the island! Not only that, maybe a vaccine existed on the island as well! A vaccine that might yet save Rusty’s folks. Maybe this was what his dreams had also been trying to tell him all along—that these events had to happen.