Chicago Undead (Books 3-4): Encounters

by Weaver, Shawn

  I pull the left side of my shirt open. It comes away stickily. As if a film of glue, not yet completely dry, keeps the cotton attached to my skin. Then I see it. A large bite mark just above my nipple. I can see every tooth impression.

  Just below my ribcage, I see a flap of skin is hanging down. A deep gash revealing fat, strips of muscle, as well as a loop of intestine that looks like an uncooked kielbasa.

  In a flash, the memory of what happened this morning floods back in.

  I was leaving a coffee shop near Chinatown. When a fifteen-year-old kid mugged me. He had the shakes. I couldn’t tell if it was from withdrawals of whatever he was on, or that he was more frightened to be in the situation than I was. But he had a gun, and that gave him the needed encouragement to take my wallet, and my breakfast burrito.

  Relieved of my cash, phone, and breakfast. I was glad not to have a hole in my head when the kid finally ran down the street.

  I remember turning back to the coffee shop to call the police. Then it hit me, or should I say, he hit me. A little old Chinese man weighing no more than a wet sock. But momentum was on his side, and he bowled me right over into the street.

  I felt teeth sink into my chest. Grabbing his little bald head, I push him away. Stumbling back, he ended up with a mouthful of shirt and skin. At that moment, a car came barreling down the street. Its driver not paying attention to the road.

  Baring his teeth, the old man lunged at me again. But before he could take a step. The front bumper of a light blue Camaro caught him at the knees. Like a rag doll, he flips over the roof of the car. All the while his eyes are locked on me as he plummets to the pavement.

  Continuing forward a few more yards, the driver slams on his brakes. Losing control, the Camaro bounces over the curb and comes to a stop against a telephone pole.

  Stumbling back, I hear the squeal of more tires as other cars try to stop abruptly. I turn to see a small Toyota coming at me. The frightened driver pressing on the brakes with all his might. The front corner of the bumper hits me hard. Pain lances across my hip as I fall to the sidewalk.

  I hear the snap of lines as the pole breaks and falls across the top of the Camaro, crumpling it like aluminum foil. Sparks fly from the power lines as they snake across the ground.

  I have no time to move in the split-second it takes the pole to rock across the roof of the Camaro and its three-foot-long cross arm plunges into my stomach. And that’s the last thing I remember before waking in this godforsaken place.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the doors of the elevator opened, Raymond didn’t hesitate to pull the gurney out. Turning to the left, one of the rear wheels spun sideways dropping a fraction of an inch into the space between the elevator and the hall.

  “Damn it,” Raymond cursed.

  Surprised by the out of character comment of the mortician. Mr. Briggs took hold of the curved handle on the end of the gurney and lifted it out of the gap. Nudging the gurney into the hall, he quickly stepped out as the door slid shut.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” Mr. Briggs said to the mortician, as he helped push the gurney towards the preparation room.

  “We cannot legally cremate people without permission of the next of kin. I could lose my license. Not to mention the legal ramifications that we will all have to meet.”

  “Do you not think I considered all of that?” Mr. Briggs let go of the gurney as the mortician pulled it into a short hall, then through the door to the preparation room. Seconds slowly ticked by as Mr. Briggs stood alone in the somber hall. From the reception office, he could hear Jennifer talking on the phone. There was confusion in her voice. Something that he had never heard from the saleswoman before.

  After placing the gurney against the wall of the still room. Raymond came out looking worried.

  “Mrs. Wilkens dress is in Samantha’s office,” Raymond said, as they started towards the receptionist’s office. “Who is going to prepare her. If your boys are going to retrieve those unfortunate souls?”

  “Jennifer could,” Mr. Briggs replied. “It’s time she dealt with other aspects of the business.”

  Raymond stopped just outside of the open office door. “I do not think that she is here to learn those aspects. She was hired as a sales associate after all.”

  “From time to time everyone must pitch in,” Mr. Briggs replied. “Is one of the family coming into do Mrs. Wilkens make-up? Her service is schedule for two thirty.”

  “I have no idea. My job is downstairs remember.”

  Mr. Briggs gave the mortician a look that said his job downstairs might not last much longer.

  “Why don’t we check on who it will be.” Raymond replied, as he stepped into the office.

  Holding up a hand for Raymond to quiet down. Jennifer continued her conversation on the phone. “Are you sure?” She asked. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together. “Well, don’t you think you should go look for her. What am I paying you for?”

  As quietly as he could, Raymond stepped around the desk and opened the closet door. Inside were a few suit jackets covered in clear thin plastic bags from the dry cleaners down the street. Matching ties hung on felt lined hangers to prevent creasing. Beside them hung an ankle length, deep blue, dress.

  Taking the dress out, Raymond closed the door and stepped back to the hall. “I will place these with Mrs. Wilkens.”

  As the mortician started back for the preparation room. Mr. Briggs stepped into the office. Looking up, Jennifer noticed her employer for the first time. Folding his hands in front of himself, Mr. Briggs waited patiently. With a flustered look on her face, Jennifer turned towards the file cabinets for a semblance of privacy.

  Mr. Briggs could not hear what was being said on the other end of the phone conversation. But by the way Jennifer held her shoulders, he could tell that she was stressed.

  After a moment, Jennifer straightened up. Her shoulders released, showing that whatever was worrying her was now over. “She is?” Jennifer questioned. “Well, I think the staff should be a little more vigilant in their duties.”

  She listened to the response and came back with, “I hope so,” before hanging up the phone so hard the internal bell rang.

  “Sorry,” she said, “nurses misplaced my grandmother again. Nursing homes, gotta love ‘em.”

  Straightening his cuffs, Mr. Briggs replied with, “Nursing homes are a haven for the mistreated and infirmed.”

  “Well,” Jennifer said, “some of us don’t have the means to take care of our family at home. Alzheimer’s takes its toll on everyone. Not just my grandma.”

  Having no courteous reply for Jennifer, Mr. Briggs stood there.

  It took a moment of silence between them for Jennifer to realize how she had sounded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “No apologies are necessary,” Mr. Briggs responded. “You are doing a good thing in taking care of your grandmother. Many of today’s children would not take the time to do so.”

  Jennifer smiled at the complement. Her eyes gravitated up to the monitors above the door. “The bus is still parked out front.”

  Turning around, Mr. Briggs looked up. “Mrs. Wilkens family will be here within an hour to go over final preparations before the visitation. Will you please ask the driver to park at the back of the lot.”

  Jennifer started around the desk. As she reached the door, Mr. Briggs added, “When you get back I need you to dress Mrs. Wilkens before her family arrives.”

  Pausing, Jennifer questioned, “Shouldn’t one of Mr. Taylor’s assistances be handling that?”

  “They have all been assigned other duties for the morning.”

  “Alright,” Jennifer replied, her voice showing that she did not want to do it.

  As she walked down the hallway towards the front doors. Raymond came out of the preparation room. A look of concern crossed his face as he briskly moved to the office.

  “Terry,” he said, making sure that Jennifer was far enough away not to hear him
. “We have a situation in the preparation room.”

  “What is it?” Mr. Briggs questioned, as he watched Jennifer walk out the front door.

  “The body is missing!”

  “What? Did one of the boys take Mrs. Wilkens back downstairs?”

  “No, Mrs. Wilkens is resting comfortably. But the other body…,” Raymond said with a pause. “You need to come now.”

  The worried look on the mortician’s face set Mr. Briggs in motion. Together they started towards the preparation room. As voices from the high school tour came down the stairs.

  Samantha’s voice floated over the teenagers as they appeared in the hallway. “The next part of our tour will take us down to the embalming room and crematorium.”

  Samantha saw Mr. Briggs and Raymond stop before the short hall leading to the preparation room.

  “Hello again,” Samantha said, “I guess we are just in time. Mr. Taylor if you’re ready to take the students downstairs.”

  Realizing that the next part of the tour was up to him. Raymond took a step forward. “Ahhhh,” he said, not sure of what to do.

  “Samantha, will you please take our guests to viewing room two. We will be with you momentarily.” Mr. Briggs improvised, as Raymond looked back at his employer with relief.

  Samantha nodded, realizing that something was up. It was not her place to question. Mr. Briggs had his reasons, and she knew he would return promptly when the situation was under control.

  Stepping towards the viewing room, she said, “Students please…” As Mrs. Foust spoke up from her place at the bottom step. “Where is Miss Delany and Mr. Tare?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Letting the front door close behind her, Jennifer walked across the drive. She could see the driver of the bus relaxing in his seat, reading todays newspaper as it was spread out across the steering wheel.

  Absorbed in his reading, he didn’t notice Jennifer’s approach. She rapped on the thin window of the folding door. The driver jumped in his seat, almost losing the paper as he looked towards the door. Seeing Jennifer, he smiled and pulled the lever to open the door.

  “Good morning,” he said, as he closed the paper, then folded it in half.

  “Good morning,” Jennifer replied, “can you move the bus to the rear of the lot. We have a service starting in a bit.”

  Bending to look out the door towards the rear of the lot. He said, “Yes ma’am, can do.”

  Without closing the door, he cranked the diesel engine to life. The motor turned over with a heavy rumble, shaking the frame of the bus. Jennifer stepped back as a burst of dark exhaust came from under the carriage.

  Stepping on the clutch, the driver put the bus into reverse and slowly released the parking brake. As the bus started to back up, Jennifer headed back towards the building. As she reached the door, she heard a sharp bleep of the buss horn.

  Looking back, she couldn’t see through the windshield as the bus continued its slow roll back. Taking a step from the door, she watched as the bus reached the end of the lot and rolled over the small green space. Only stopping when it came into contact with a small evergreen and the corner of the funeral homes handcrafted sign.

  “Crap!” Jennifer said, knowing that Mr. Briggs would lose it when he found out what the driver had done.

  Hoping that the damage wasn’t too bad. She walked back across the lot, expecting the driver to come out and expect the damage. But he didn’t, and the bus just sat there idling.

  “Boss is going to be pissed,” she said, as her heels clicked loudly against the blacktop.

  Half way across the lot. The morning sun poured down on her. Jennifer realized the sound of her heels and the rumble of the school buses motor was the only sound to be had. The usual band of seagulls that flew the edges of Lake Michigan were nowhere to be seen. There was always one, or two, hunting for scraps in the litter that the citizens of Chicago seemed to have an abundance of.

  A sudden thought that the driver may have had a heart attack made Jennifer quicken her step. Coming up to the door, she said, “Hey are you okay?”

  Grabbing the railing on the left side of the steps. She went up one, before noticing that the driver was not in his seat.

  Coming the rest of the way up, she looked over the thin metal barrier that blocked the first row of seats from the steps. “Hello?”

  Looking down the aisle, she expected to see the driver lying there. But only a worn black rubber runner stretched all the way to the emergency exit. Taking a step into the aisle, she repeated, “Hello?”

  Four rows back, a hand rose then flopped back down behind the back of a green vinyl seat.

  “Are you alright?” Concerned, Jennifer started down the aisle.

  No reply came as she passed the first few seats. Reaching the third row, she heard a low gurgling as if the driver was gasping for breath.

  Prepared to give CPR if needed. Jennifer grabbed the back of the cool vinyl seat. And saw the driver laying partially off the seat. His legs twisted back under it. Pink froth bubbled from his lips. His eyes pleaded for help as he lifted a shaky hand.

  Jerked downward, the driver flopped off the seat.

  Jennifer reached down taking the drivers hand. His fingers encased hers, squeezing so hard Jennifer thought that her bones might break.

  Suddenly the driver sat up, striking his head against the thin metal bar that framed the back of the seat in front of him. Blood squirting from his nostrils, his nose broke with a wet thud. The gurgle coming from his throat turned into a pain filled moan as he slipped to the floor, leaving a smear of blood down the vinyl.

  Jennifer jerked her hand away as the driver’s head bounced off the runner. Bloody froth spilled from his mouth, splattering her shoes. Nails scrapping across the grimy floor. He tried to pull himself into the aisle. When suddenly, he was forcefully pulled under the seat he had been on.

  Jennifer felt herself go ridged as she watched the driver grab anything to try and stop himself.

  From underneath fifth seat, a hand grabbed her ankle. She looked down to see a thin hand covered in loose skin that reminded Jennifer of uncooked chicken with age spots. A war-torn face appeared. Short, curly grey, hair framed the slacked jawed face of a woman in her late eighties. Her eyes glazed over with cataracts.

  Snapping at Jennifer’s ankle, the old lady pulled herself from under the seat. Her false teeth rattled as they slipped out of place, not allowing her to get purchase against Jennifer’s sheer pantyhose.

  From his place sprawled under the seat, the bus driver let out a heart wrenching moan that finally set Jennifer in motion. Yanking her ankle from the old lady’s grip. She took three quick steps back towards the open door. On the third, the heel of her right shoe caught against the leg of a seat.

  Falling, her ankle twisted as her head bounced off the hard padding of the first seat and then off the hard runner. She felt each tread and a few sharp pebbles bite into her temple.

  Dazed for a moment, Jennifer came around feeling a hand on her ankle again. Looking back, she saw the bus driver laying on the floor. His eyes wide open and filled with terror. As the old woman pulled Jennifer’s high heel off.

  Kicking the old woman in the face. The old woman’s head snapped to the side and was met by another kick that smashed against her nose. One of her Snap-On pearl earrings came free and disappeared under the seats with the food wrappers and crumpled homework long forgotten.

  On her third kick, the heel of Jennifer’s remaining shoe caught the old lady’s upper plate shoving it back in her gullet. Bloody gums continue to move even though she was no longer able to close her mouth completely as her false teeth were caught in a crooked angle behind her tongue.

  The door at the front of the bus rattled as a heavy weight leaned against it. The sound made Jennifer take her eyes off of the old lady for a moment. She hoped that it was someone come to help. But as a stiff hand revealed itself on the top step. She knew that it was not anyone from the funeral home.

  Clim
bing like an infant, the bald head of a man appeared. Thin bodied, wearing a short sleeved, button down, shirt that hung on his frame like a tent.

  “Help,” Jennifer said, as she grabbed the edge of the seat and brought both of her legs up. Quickly she thrust them both down with as much might as she could muster. The heel of her right shoe punched through the old lady’s cheek slamming her head against the metal leg of a seat.

  Leaving her shoe embedded in the old lady’s face. Jennifer rolled over onto her knees. On all fours she scrabbled down the runner trying to reach safety.

  Rising to his full high, the old man watched Jennifer come forward. His back humped from a lifetime of hard work. Dull eyes showed that he was having a hard time registering what was going on.

  Grabbing his shirt, Jennifer pulled herself upright. “God…, help…, that lady…” She stuttered, looking back at the old lady who no longer seemed interested in her.

  Bleeding the old lady dragged herself back under the seat towards the bus driver.

  The sound of chattering teeth brought Jennifer’s attention back to the old man. As her fingers curled in his damp shirt, she noticed that buttons were missing allowing his shirt to open, revealing patches of congealed blood.

  Jennifer let go of the shirt, taking a step back. Looking at her hands, she saw that blood had seeped into every crease. The need to escape pushed through Jennifer. She knew that she could not go out the emergency exit for it was blocked by the funeral homes sign. Her only choice was through the front door. But the old man was blocking her way. She knew that chances were she could just plow through him. But that would mean injuring him more than he already was.

  A pain filled moan came from under the seats as the old lady worked her jammed false teeth into the bus drivers neck. A gush of arterial blood shoot across the runner.

  “Oh god!” Jennifer said.