There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  Just then Rusty realized there were worse things in life than fear. Like Shame. Deep, soul shattering Shame. The kind he was feeling now, as he considered abandoning his friend for the second time in two straight days.

  Taking a shuddering breath, he settled alongside his unconscious chum. “No, Josie! I’ll stay here with Ralph! You go find Buddy boy! Run, Big Red! Run!”

  *******

  Bud Brown knew he’d found trouble as soon as he dropped to the grassy lawn from atop the cypress tree. The Center’s guard dogs. Both of them. “Shit, I should’ve known they’d be rabid,” he said, hawking a loogey. The Dobermans staggered out from behind the line of oak trees and azalea bushes bordering the great lawn. The rabid dogs stepped out of the shadows, only to scrabble madly back into the shade, where their red eyes danced furiously.

  Bud didn’t hesitate. He had too much to do, and too little time to do it in, without wasting any of it on two mad curs. Undaunted, he strode across the lawn, now grown past his ankles, field crickets and grasshoppers leaping from his path in all directions. Ladybugs fluttered in his wake. In the corner of his eye, Bud saw a rider mower sitting sideways across the lawn. A few yards from that, the body of a gardener, decomposing under the hot sun. Bud could almost smell the stench through the smoke, lingering in the air like an early morning fog. There wasn’t much meat left on the body. The work of the Dobermans, he presumed.

  The hungry dogs waited impatiently for his arrival.

  Bud blew off the two front legs of the nearest dog, as if they were matchsticks, left it yowling on its side, spinning in a sad little circle, going nowhere. The other dog jumped from side to side, whimpering like a frightened puppy. Insanity had robbed the poor creature of its flight-or-fight instincts. Bud racked out the spent shell and relieved the dog of its uncertainty. Without pause or penitence, Bud Brown pushed through the thick azalea hedge…and came to a dead stop.

  He was unable to immediately process what he was seeing, and what it meant to his old man. The Center was gone. Then again, hadn’t he known that from the first whiff of smoke back at the lake? He’d simply refused to acknowledge it. The Coast Guard or some other military agency had burned the place to the very ground.

  Of course they had.

  It made sense, actually. No loose ends and all. Nothing remained of their country’s complicity but smoking ash and four frightened kids.

  Bud sank to his knees; the consequences now clear. His father was going to die. And it was up to Bud to make sure it happened sooner rather than later. Before RS13 stole his old man’s last shred of humanity. More importantly, before the old man can pass it on to my friends.

  “How ‘bout pick on someone your own size for a change!” Bud raged at the heavens. “JUST LEAVE US BE!!!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how childish he sounded, how useless his rage was. For it was directed in the wrong direction. Bud wiped his face and hawked another loogey. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, nodding his head to some unseen speaker. “But if He can’t take a little of the heat, now and again, what good is He?”

  *******

  Without anyone slowing her down, Josie soon located the Old Oyster Trail. The downed trees frequently forced her off the path, but now that she knew which direction the lake lay, she was making excellent time. She ignored the sounds of pursuit. By now, the Rabids had proven just how shy they were of sunlight, and if this one continued to keep to the shadows, Josie had little doubt she would remain safe.

  Like Bud, she felt naked without the shotgun. She had insisted on leaving it and the remaining shells with Rusty. Unloading it first, and then dropping it down the sinkhole, refusing to leave until Rusty told her it hadn’t broken in the fall. It was the least she could do for her friends who like everybody important to her she had failed.

  I’m no Bud Brown, that’s for sure, she thought, miserably. No wonder he always carries the world on his shoulders. He can’t trust any of us not to drop it!

  She knelt on the ground to tie her shoelaces, and all at once Josie felt the sun leave her neck. The shadows dropped and so too did the temperature.

  She looked up at the sky in disbelief. It had been their good fortune that the day had been cloudless and sunny. In an afternoon full of misfortune, it had been their one saving grace. Now, for the first time since entering the Pines, the sun had gone behind a slow moving cloudbank, which itself seemed to have come out of nowhere.

  She pushed off the ground like a sprinter and began her mad dash towards the lake. The Rabid, emboldened by the sun’s retreat, began to close in. It was on the Oyster Trail now, not far behind her. Josie could feel its pounding footsteps tremble the earth beneath her own feet. Hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of the crushed oyster shells. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder to see if it was Bill. Whoever it was, it was gaining on her. The first glimmer of Lizard Lake twinkled back at her through an opening in the trees, off to her right—a shortcut!

  She left the Oyster Trail and shot through the opening, right into the grassy clearing. The sound of her breathing, the whip! whip! whip! of her legs cutting through the tall grass, and the thumping of her frantic footfalls were all that she could hear now.

  Had the Rabid quit its pursuit? The sun above left its hiding place and warmed her face once more.

  There! There’s the Bunker! She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw that she was alone.

  Nearing the tumbledown, she allowed herself to slow down to a backward trot. She sat down on one of the cement blocks, the one holding her father’s signature, scrawled in faded red graffiti, and took off her backpack. “Buddy boy!” she panted, trying to catch her breath.

  “BUD! YOU DOWN THERE, BOYO?”

  Par for the course, there was no reply. It was her hope that just this once they might catch a break; that Bud would be here waiting on her. Now she would have to return to her friends without him by her side. And without his fortitude and know-how, she wasn’t sure they could make it back here in one piece. She wondered at their curious run of misfortune that day. After making it through the horrors of the day before, she had assumed that today—relatively speaking—would be a walk in the park. With the sun beating down on them, and almost twelve hours in which to get her charges to safety, it seemed a reasonable given. Things had a way of getting out of hand, though. The center unraveling, like the dark poem said.

  She checked her watch: 3:45.

  “Shite on a stick! Only two hours of daylight left!”

  Josie surveyed the line of broken trees surrounding her. Someone was watching her from behind one of those craggy trunks. She could feel its hungry eyes upon her, stripping her bare. She considered waiting it out, until maybe the feeling passed, signifying the Rabid’s departure, but who was she kidding. That red-eyed goon wasn’t going anywhere. She had no choice. She would have to enter the rabbit hole in plain sight.

  “Well, that arsehole better not be waiting when I come out,” she said, picturing the .45’s down below. She’d leave a note for Bud. Tell him what happened. To follow the blaze she’d left in the Pines. She could only hope that they'd meet him on their way back to the Bunker.

  Two hours. Yes! That might be enough time. Only how would they get Tubby back here, hurt like he was?

  They certainly couldn’t carry him!

  She grunted in exasperation. First things first, Miss Tits. Get a gun and some rope. And a flashlight! Don’t forget the flashlight! It’ll be dark before we get back here.

  She looked once more over her shoulder. Just as the sun hid its face again. Time to get my teasy underground.

  She nearly crawled on top of Bud’s little going away present at the foot of the ladder-well. Before he’d set off for the Center, most likely. A Maglite and a .45. Had he dropped them? By the way they were laying on the ground, both pointing at the ladder, Josie surmised that Bud had left them with a purpose in mind.

  Forewarned is forearmed, Red.

  “He’s telling me something’s down there,�
� she muttered under her breath. It was hardly necessary. Josie could smell the stench of decomp. So thick it burned her eyes. Flies buzzed down below. Flashbacks of her little brother’s remains in the kitchen sink flickered in her head—maggots, gristle, and bushy red hair.

  A squadron of blowflies, fat as bumblebees, flew sluggishly past her face. Nearly too heavy to fly. Whatever it was down there, it looked as if they’d had their fill.

  Josie clicked on the light, pointed both the Maglite and the .45 down the ladder well, and dropped into the rank void. “Thanks, Buddy boy,” she said, coming to a stop, not two feet away from the maggot infested corpse.

  She saw the familiar looking book floating in the goopy sludge, and wondered: Could this be that kid who was always stalking us? Albert Feeny, she thought his name was. He always had that silly nature book around his neck, she recalled, studying it intently, scribbling inside.

  Poor wee Albert. All he ever wanted was to be our friend. Is that why you’re down here, love? If it wasn’t for the fact that the book was soaked in fly soup, she would’ve taken a peek inside, to ascertain his identity.

  Sorry, kiddo. But that’s asking too much.

  Besides, she didn’t have the time. She stepped over the remains and gasped loudly as her flashlight-beam found Sheriff Henderson’s boned face staring up from the floor.

  Taking a step back in fear, her sneaker slipped on the raft of rot behind her.

  Rupert’s eyes, bulging in their exposed sockets, were open and unseeing, staring up at the stone ceiling. Flies surrounded each orbit, like cattle at a water trough, drinking in the drying nectar of his sclera.

  What the hell happened down here? Josie wondered. This place was supposed to be a secret! How did they learn of its existence? Did they follow Bud down here?

  Possibly the sheriff. Despite his ghastly injuries he didn’t look as if he’d been dead too long. Definitely not the other body, though. It had been rotting for several days. Or so she assumed. Josie dismissed the mystery out of hand; there was too much to do to ponder on the pointless.

  She gave Henderson a wide berth and rushed headlong into the shelter. Her flashlight-beam bounced all over the place as she made her way back to the gun locker, her breathing loud and harsh in the concrete enclosure, like the exaggerated sound effects in a slasher movie. Yeah, right before the psycho kills the teenage girl with big tits!

  Bud had thoughtfully left the gun locker open for her. She quickly surveyed the contents, picking out the last two handguns: The .45 and the .38. She assumed Bud had taken the third .45 for himself. One of the shotguns was also missing. She felt better, knowing he was so well equipped now. She added a box of shells for the revolver and the last two clips for the .45’s, and finally, from one of the storage shelves, the heavy coil of rope.

  God bless that daft wanker, she thought, grinning.

  She crammed most of the items into her backpack, and pulled it onto her shoulders. Carrying only the Maglite, she slid one of the .45’s in the waistband of her blue jean shorts, careful to engage the safety first. Now she was ready to go. She circled the bodies, watching Henderson’s carefully. Josie no longer trusted her own senses. She half-expected him to rise up off the floor. She made her way to the ladder-well, and was about to head back up, when she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone coming down the concrete chute. A pebble clattered down to her feet.

  Josie’s face lit up. Expecting Bud, she pointed her Maglite up the shaft, only to find the devil up there.

  Bill Brown glared back at Josie, his eyes a ruby nightmare. A pig-like squeal pealed forth from his foam-beshitted mouth.“THE LIIIIGGGHHHTTT!!!”

  *******

  Bud waded through the last of Oak Swamp, his lungs afire, his arms trembling. He stumbled out of the water and collapsed in the tall grass, taking a moment to catch his breath and allow the blood to flow back into his tingling arms. He turned his head and brought his waterproof wristwatch close to his face. 4:45. Tired and disheartened, the trip out of the swamp had taken him twice as long as before. “Josie!” he called out breathlessly. “Josie!”

  His voice barely carried over the grassy stalks. He managed to sit up, his eyes lifting above the seedpods.

  The Bunker was only sixty yards away—

  A flashbulb went off in his head. Bright and hot.

  Then, as clear as day, his father’s voice—

  I love you…

  A gunshot echoed from within the stony depths of the Bunker. Bud sat there on the ground, too shocked to move, terror and grief washing over him.

  Somebody I love just died down there…

  *******

  Despite his fear of the light, Bill scrambled spiderlike down the chute and was on top of Josie before she could react. The virus had worked fast in his gravely weakened condition. Despite having the virus for less than 24 hours, it was as if he was in the 48 hour—the deadliest time frame of the disease. For the next day or two, he would be insatiable in all his desires, a primal throwback to when cavemen took what they wanted by force. When morality had no meaning. No right. No wrong. Just the will of the strong. A Nietzsche Superman.

  Gone was Bill’s fatigue; in its place, a vigor and strength he’d never known before. Gone was his empathy and love, replaced with what you could only describe as undiluted desire. If his humanity still existed, it was in the deepest recesses of his beleaguered soul. Bill slammed into the girl, sprawling her across the room.

  Josie’s flashlight flew from her hand and pinwheeled on the floor. Through the stuttering fans of light, he saw her struggle to pull a weapon out of her waistband and was utterly unconcerned. He sniffed the air like a dog and smelled her sex, his jaws clacking in agitation. Fresh drool ran from either side of his undulating lips, foaming at his mouth and chin. Never in his life had he known such unbridled lust! It was a driving need, absolutely primordial in nature. With an agility he’d never before possessed, Bill leapt nimbly over the two dead bodies. He had no interest in the dead and paid them scant attention. His sole focus was on the girl and his overwhelming desire to have her in every way imaginable.

  Josie finally got out her weapon and pointed it at her old friend. He stood over her, his eyes burning with an intensity she’d yet to see in any other Rabid. It was as if more than the virus infected Bill. A slick and foul-smelling sweat covered his body, his penis so eager and engorged. Josie refused to look past the naked man’s waist; she didn’t want her last memory of Bill to be of that.

  Her hands shaking, she aimed the pistol between his eyes and squeezed the trigger…only to have it meet with mocking resistance. The safety was still on.

  The thing that had once been Bill Brown laughed and slapped the firearm from Josie sweaty grasp. The gun left her hand, bounced off the sofa, and landed underneath the coffee table. Josie retreated, hoping to circle back to the weapon. Bill prolonged the tease, providing hope where none existed. The mouse’s desperation was like a sweet marinade, soaking the meat with succulent adrenals, the anticipation,oh so delicious.He kept the same distance between them, stalking her across the room, licking his slavering lips, and stroking his cock.

  “Oh!” Josie cried out, as the back of her legs hit the coffee table. She collapsed on the surface top, averting her eyes from the nightmare looming over her, the inflamed member twitching in front of her face, as if sniffing her out. She reached under the table; feeling for the gun; but by now the Rabid had tired of their courtship.

  “NO, BILL! NO!”

  He grabbed her by the neck and flipped her facedown on top of the table. She struggled in his grasp, but he was too strong; too determined to have her. His hand was a steel vise on her neck, pinning her down. He tore the backpack from her shoulders, nearly dislocating one of her arms, and tossed it aside. He ripped the T-shirt from her prone body, quickly followed by her shorts—the sound of ripping cloth, the air full of flying cotton fibers. Josie was a rag doll in his grasp. A pretty plaything for his amusement.

  His fever hot genita
ls pressed against her cold, naked back, his infected spittle rained down upon her bare shoulders. “If you’re in there, Bill Brown, please do not do this to me! Don’t you know who I am?”