The Way of All Flesh

by Tim Waggoner

  Speaking of Sarah, she was walking around the yard, examining the barren flowerbeds, no doubt planning her spring garden and wondering if, based on today’s weather, she would be able to start planting early this year. He waved to her, but she ignored him. It had been like that since the day she’d told him she wanted a divorce. She was civil to him, but she only spoke to him when absolutely necessary, and she made sure to keep the conversation short.

  David sighed and continued tossing the Frisbee with his son and daughter, Sasha running and barking, trying to get the kids to give her a turn with the toy. But as they played, he kept sneaking glances at Sarah. They’d been married almost ten years before the divorce, and despite how chilly things had been between them ever since, he still loved to watch her walk. She had a light, graceful way of moving that had always fascinated him. She was a tall, elegantly lean woman with straight blonde hair that hung past her shoulders. She wore a brown, short-sleeved blouse, crème-colored slacks and white sandals. She worked in the mortgage department at First Bank downtown, only a few blocks away from Country Time Buffet, and she’d gotten home from work less than fifteen minutes ago.

  David’s schedule at the restaurant was more flexible than hers, so he worked mornings and evenings during the week, and from opening to close on Saturdays and Sundays. The hours sucked, but the schedule allowed him to meet the kids after school, so it was worth it. Sarah didn’t like his being at the house, but she tolerated it so that she could put in a few more hours of work each week. He was sure she would’ve preferred him to go as soon as she got home, but the kids always asked if he could stay a little longer and, to her credit, she always said yes.

  They lived—well, Sarah and the kids did—in a nondescript ranch house in a pleasant subdivision on the south side of Lockwood. They’d moved here three years ago, not long before Sarah decided she no longer wanted to be his wife. David had liked the house well enough—especially its proximity to their work and the kids’ school—but Sarah had wished they’d bought a house in the country. Not too far from town, but someplace with a big yard and a lot more trees. Maybe when the kids graduate high school, he’d told her. They’d be in their late forties then, still young enough to take care of a larger house and property without feeling burdened by it.

  The best laid plans…

  David threw the Frisbee once more, this time aiming it toward Lizzie. He hoped Steve would get the hint and let her catch it, and while he took a couple steps forward, he stopped and looked at his younger sister. She grinned and ran forward to intercept the Frisbee. David hadn’t thrown it any harder, but a gust of wind blew through the yard just then, and the flying disc picked up speed. Lizzie stretched out both of her hands to catch the Frisbee, but she misjudged the speed and it slipped between her hands and thunked into her chest. The Frisbee bounced off and landed in the grass, and Lizzie stood there for a moment, looking shocked, and then she clapped her hands to her chest as if she’d been shot and started wailing.

  “Owee, owee, owee!”

  Steve looked at her, the expression on his face a mixture of concern and disdain at his sister for being a baby. Both David and Sarah ran toward their daughter. Sasha was already there, licking Lizzie’s face. She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks like two tiny rivers. David wasn’t worried that she was hurt. He figured she was more upset than in pain, but that didn’t lessen his desire to take care of his little girl.

  He and Sarah reached Lizzie at the same time. Sarah—after giving him an accusing look—crouched down and opened her arms and Lizzie leaned in for a hug. David, still standing, reached out and gently stroked the hair on the top of Lizzie’s head. He felt jealous that she hadn’t run into his arms like that, but only a little. The most important thing was that she be comforted, regardless which of her parents did the job. Still, it would’ve been nice if she’d run to him. Sasha sat on the grass, watching Lizzie, whining softly.

  Sarah kissed her daughter on the forehead and told her that she was okay, that everything would be all right. David patted Sasha on the head to reassure her, then he looked at Steve and gave his son a smile to let him know his sister wasn’t in danger of dying anytime soon. Steve smiled back, shaking his head, as if to say, Women—what can you do? David almost laughed, but he didn’t want Lizzie to think he was laughing at her, so he settled on allowing his smile to widen.

  That’s when it happened.

  Lizzie began trembling in Sarah’s arms, and David feared she really was in pain, that the Frisbee had hit her harder than he’d thought. He felt a pang of guilt and he started to ask Lizzie if she was all right, when he realized something. She’d fallen silent. No more sobbing, no more owee, owee, owees. Her trembling became more violent then, and Sarah drew back—still keeping her hands on Lizzie’s shoulders—to look at her.

  “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you—”

  That’s all Sarah got out before Lizzie snarled, lunged forward and fastened her teeth on the sloping curve where her mother’s neck and shoulder met. Blood spurted, Sarah screamed, and both David and Steve stood there in shock, unable to believe what they were seeing. Sasha whined loudly and stepped backward, tail tucked between her legs.

  Lizzie whipped her head rapidly back and forth, reminding David of a dog trying to tear off a hunk of meat. Sarah’s screams rose in volume and pitch, and more blood gushed from her wound and soaked the front of her blouse. Out of reflex, Sarah still held on to Lizzie’s shoulders, hands clamped tight, fingers digging into the skin. It must’ve hurt, but Lizzie—normally so sensitive to pain she cried whenever she stubbed a toe—didn’t react. She continued worrying at the wound in her mother’s neck until she managed to rip loose a hunk of flesh. She pulled back, streams of blood stretching from her mouth to the wound, and then turned to look at David as she chewed.

  She smiled, displaying teeth slick with crimson, a shred of Sarah’s flesh hanging from the corner of her mouth, and a thought came into David’s mind.

  It’s beginning.

  David opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of the main dining area of Country Time Buffet. At least, that’s where he thought he was. It had changed so much that he wasn’t sure.

  The carpet was threadbare, stained, and torn in numerous places, and the wood paneling on the walls was warped and discolored. Half the ceiling panels were missing, and those that remained were water-stained, as if the roof had been leaking for months, maybe years. None of the ceiling lights worked, but the dim illumination that managed to fight its way through the dirt-streaked windows was enough to see by, if barely. The tables and chairs looked half-rotted, but they were more or less intact and arranged in haphazard fashion. Ten chairs were crammed around one table, while the table next to it had none, and a group of a half-dozen chairs sat by themselves, positioned at odd angles to one another.

  Thick patches of mold clung to every surface, so much of it that David wondered if it were the only thing holding the damned place together. But the restaurant’s dilapidated condition wasn’t his main concern. He wasn’t alone.

  Eight other people stood in the main dining area not ten feet from him, a mix of women and men. Three he recognized as employees. They wore the navy-blue slacks and light-blue shirt that served as the uniform for workers at Country Time Buffet. He had no idea who the other five people were. Customers, he presumed. They stood more or less in a circle, facing outward, their backs to one another. Their eyes were closed, and while they all remained standing, David had the sense that they were sleeping.

  He tried to remember how he’d gotten here, but he couldn’t. His brain felt thick as frozen molasses, and his eyes kept falling closed, as if he were having a difficult time staying awake. Had he been sleeping too? And had he done so standing up like the others?

  He wasn’t sure what to do next. His first impulse was to wake the others. Maybe they could tell him what the hell was going on. But he found himself hesitant. Something told him that waking them might not be a good idea
, that, in fact, it might be dangerous. But why?

  So hungry. Just need a little. Take the edge off. Couple bites, no more.

  He tried to remember where he’d heard that voice, but he couldn’t…

  He looked down at his hands. The skin was rough and leathery, the color a sickly, yellowish white. The nails were cracked and broken on those fingers that were intact. Three of his fingers were missing most of their flesh, and were little more than useless bony protuberances. But, as bad as that was, there was worse. His hands were caked with a brownish-red substance that looked far too much like dried blood. He looked down at the front of his shirt—a shirt now ripped to tatters—and saw that it was stained almost black, but not so black that he didn’t know what the stain was. He reached up a trembling hand to touch the stain, expecting to find the blood still tacky, but when his fingers came in contact with the torn fabric, they felt nothing. They had no sensation at all. They didn’t even feel numb.

  Fear gripped his gut like a great ice fist, and his stomach churned with nausea. It was then that he realized he was full—so damned full that it felt as if any second his stomach might pop like an overfilled water balloon. He stared at the leathery distorted claws his hands had become and he struggled to understand what was happening to him. Had he gone completely bugfuck nuts?

  “Guess it depends on what you mean by completely.”

  David turned in the direction of Simon’s voice. The boy stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking at David with amused eyes and a mocking smile. Seeing Simon brought David’s memories back, or some of them, at least. He remembered walking down a nightmarish version of a downtown street, remembered encountering the two demons in the park, remembered how one of them had chased him… He remembered the odd trio standing around the tree, trying to get at a malformed creature in its branches, a creature the little girl had referred to as a kitty. He remembered the demon arriving, remembered fleeing, remembered getting tired and resting, sitting with his back against the wall of an abandoned, decaying house. Remembered…Remembered…

  That was all. He didn’t remember anything more.

  When he glanced down at his hands again, he saw they were normal. His shirt was no longer torn and stained, and when he touched the cloth, his fingers found it soft and smooth. He laughed with relief, but the feeling was short-lived. He might’ve been himself again, but nothing else had changed. The restaurant was still a decaying ruin, and the circle of sleepers still stood with their eyes closed, unaware of his presence…and his stomach was still full to bursting.

  He walked over to Simon. The boy watched him approach, the amusement in his gaze growing stronger.

  “What the fuck is going on?” David demanded.

  Simon continued smiling but otherwise didn’t react.

  Sudden fury gripped him, white-hot and maddening, and he grabbed hold of Simon’s shirt with both hands and lifted him onto his toes. He leaned close, his eyes boring into Simon’s.

  “No more bullshit.” His voice was low, his words filled with coiled tension. “I’m sick of your knowing looks and your goddamned smug smile. Tell me what you know or I’ll beat the holy living shit out of you, right here, right now.”

  Simon appeared completely unimpressed by David’s threat. He began speaking, his voice calm, his manner relaxed. “I’m sure you’ve run through the most likely possibilities already. You’re dreaming, you’re hallucinating, you’re crazy… In each of those scenarios, I’m nothing more than a figment of your imagination, and if that’s the case, I can only know as much as you do. So trying to force answers out of me is useless. You’re basically trying to bully yourself.”

  David’s fury began to ebb. Simon’s words made sense. And yet…

  He shook his head. “As weird as all this is, it feels—” He couldn’t bring himself to use the word real. Things were way too fucking strange for that. “Like more than a dream,” he finished.

  The last of his anger drained away, and he let go of Simon and took a step back.

  “There’s one possibility you haven’t considered,” Simon said, smoothing out the wrinkles David’s hands had made in his shirt. “Maybe something happened to the world to make it this way, only you can’t remember it.”

  He felt a small twinge of hope. “Can you? Remember, I mean.”

  “This—” Simon gestured at the run-down restaurant, “—may be real, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I am. I could still be a delusion. You have to admit, it would explain a few things.”

  “Like how you seem to know what I’m thinking sometimes,” David said. “And how you appear and disappear at random.”

  Grinning, Simon tapped his index finger to his nose. On the nose, the gesture said.

  Simon continued. “Then again, maybe I’m in the same boat you are. Maybe I don’t remember anything before walking down the street with you earlier today.”

  David was starting to get angry again. “Maybe, maybe, maybe! Why the hell can’t you just give me a straight answer?”

  Before Simon could answer—assuming he would have—the other people in the restaurant woke. They looked around, blinking slowly, empty expressions on their faces as if they weren’t fully conscious. The three restaurant employees fixed their attention on David and stared at him for a long moment, frowning slightly, as if they thought they recognized him but were having trouble remembering from where. Maribel Renecke was the first to speak.

  “David? Is that you?”

  She was a thin, petite woman in her sixties, with long straight hair dyed a passable imitation of brown. She smoked two packs a day, despite her doctor’s constant nagging, and she had a voice rough as industrial-grade sandpaper. She’d worked as a server at Country Time Buffet since before David started. She’d been here so long that sometimes he thought she must’ve been installed the same time they put in the plumbing and the wiring.

  He smiled, thrilled beyond measure to talk to someone familiar.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  He didn’t know the other two employees as well as Maribel, but he was just as glad to see them. Jimmy Rodriguez was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early twenties. He sported a neatly trimmed goatee, an easy smile and a perpetual twinkle in his eyes. He worked the buffet’s meat station, and he was so good-looking that all the women who came into the restaurant always stopped by to get a freshly sliced piece of roast beef. Sometimes when David walked the floor during service, he’d overhear women making jokes about paying “Mr. Meat” a visit.

  The third employee was Lindsey Reardon. Late twenties, porcelain complexion, bright-red Anime-character hair, full lips and startling-blue eyes that grabbed hold of yours and refused to let them go. She had no obvious piercings, but one summer David had run into her at Walmart when she’d been wearing a low-cut T-shirt and cut-off jeans. He’d seen that she had a piercing between her breasts: a small pearl. He’d had no idea how it was attached, and even though he’d tried not to stare, his gaze kept being drawn back to it. Lindsey had noticed, of course, but she hadn’t said anything. Only smiled…just like she was smiling now.

  “Hey, boss man,” Jimmy said. “Sorry. Guess you caught us napping on the job. S’pose we’d better get back to work.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started walking toward the rear of the restaurant, where the buffet stations were located. He was usually so full of energy, he practically vibrated, but now he moved in a listless manner, his feet shuffling on the ruined carpet as he went.

  Maybe he’s still sleepy, David thought. But he knew it was more than that.

  Up to this point, the five customers had stood silently and expressionless, but now they began to move—slowly, like Jimmy. They shuffled over to the registers and one by one picked up plastic serving trays and plates from the table where they were stacked, and then headed for the buffet stations. None of them bothered with silverware.

  “I better get to the register,” Lindsey said. She walked past David, moving with a bit more energy than the
others, but still slower than normal. Her hand brushed his as she went by, and she reached out and gave his fingers a squeeze.

  “Looks like Red’s kind of sweet on the boss,” Simon said.

  “Manager,” David corrected without thinking. “There are two of us, and we work different shifts. We don’t own the place.”

  “I see,” Simon said. “Amazing where a college education will take you these days.”

  If Maribel heard Simon, or was even aware of his presence, she gave no sign.

  “I’d best go see about those people’s drink orders,” she said. She gave David a smile and reached out and patted his cheek. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  Before he could ask her what she meant by that, she started toward the drink station. Probably to check to make sure everything was clean and in working order, as she always did at the beginning of her shift. He began to follow her, intending to ask her to clarify her last comment, but then he saw Jimmy had taken up his position at the meat-carving station. Country Time Buffet’s primary clientele were senior citizens. The food was cheap, bland, easy-to-digest, and there were enough choices so that folks on a restricted diet could find something to eat. They catered to a lot of families with young children too—especially couples that had a sizable number of children. The eight customers that lined up at Jimmy’s station were typical Country Time Buffet patrons: two elderly couples, and a couple in their twenties with four children, three girls and a toddler boy who the mother carried. Each of them carried a plastic tray with a plate on it, except for the toddler, of course. His mother had two plates on her tray: one for her, one for the boy.

  Although the buffet stations had faux wood paneling on the front to make them more attractive, they were made of easy-to-clean metal. Normally that metal gleamed in the light from the hanging lamps overhead, something David took particular pride in. Country Time Buffet might not be anyone’s idea of fine dining, but as long as he was manager, he was determined it would be the best restaurant of its type that it could.