Stopping, Arlo Berry turned and looked at the teacher as if he wasn’t going to join in. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mrs. Foust stepped into the office and looked up at the monitors. She watched screen one as the students piled out of the front door.
“I need to call 911,” she said, prying her eyes from the monitors. Fear and worry turned her stomach onto a hard ball. “I need to call 911,” she repeated, trying to make herself go into action and do the required task.
Crossing to the desk, she grabbed the phone and punched in 911. Putting the phone to her ear, she expected it to start ringing. Instead, all she got was a busy signal.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With the tails of his lab coat flapping behind, Raymond briskly crossed the parking lot. Seeing the large patch of wetness that stretched around Jennifer’s body. Raymond’s fear of just how injured Jennifer was grew.
Slowing, he skirted another swatch a darkness that puddled on the ground below the door of the school bus stretching towards Jennifer’s body. Kneeling, he felt the morning heat that was creeping into the blacktop, and the wet stickiness of Jennifer’s blood seeping through the legs of his trousers.
Raymond looked at Jennifer’s body. Her foot was crushed to a pulp under the bus’s wheel. Splatters of blood stretched up her legs, soaking through her clothing turning them a muddy brown. Raymond moved her jacket to see a ragged hole chewed into her ribcage. Not deep, but deep enough to show the thin layer of fat and muscle that lay just under her skin.
“You will be alright,” Raymond said, wishing he had something to stop Jennifer’s bleeding.
“Jesus Christ!” A student said, as the group came to a sudden stop by the bus.
“What the hell?” Said another, taking a step back before he dirtied his clean sneakers in the pool of blood.
“Is she dead?” A girl in the back asked.
Raymond reached down, feeling a strong pulse in Jennifer’s neck.
“Where’s the bus driver?” One of the kids asked.
“Probably ran off after he attacked her,” another replied.
“Let’s go check,” one of the braver students said and climbed into the bus.
“She didn’t die from the bus, did she?” Tiffany Larou asked.
“No,” Raymond replied, a numb feeling coming over him as he took in the fact that he could do nothing for the saleswoman.
“Looks like she was chewed on by a dog,” a student said, as a high-pitched scream came from inside the bus as the boys charged back down the steps. Landing in the sticky puddle, the first boy slipped, crashing into his classmates.
“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked.
Eyes full of fear, the boy pointed to a window three rows in. Behind the glare of the morning sun, a thin framed woman could be seen slowly walking towards the front.
Unaware of what was going on around him. Raymond cradled Jennifer’s head in his shaky hands. A tear dripped onto the lens of his glasses, clouding his vision for a moment. Jennifer opened her eyes. Staring blankly up at him. A thin, cloudy, film covered both pupils.
Lifting a hand, Raymond pulled off his glasses, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his lab coat. His breath caught in his throat as he noticed that Jennifer was looking up at him. Slowly she raised her right hand and ran her fingers lightly up his cheek.
Her lips parted slightly as a sigh came out. Relief flooded through Raymond’s chest as he realized that he had been wrong after all. She was alive. Smiling down, he let Jennifer run her hand up the side of his face, just brushing past his ear and into what thinning hair he had left.
Her fingers twined behind his ear. Then suddenly, he felt her grip tighten as fingernails bit into his scalp.
“It’s an old lady.”
“Does she need help?”
One of the frightened boys answered with, “RUN!”
But no one moved, all eyes were locked on the old lady as she slowly turned for the steps.
“What the hell’s wrong with her?” A girl asked, as the old lady turned stopped at the edge of the first step. Swaying back and forth as if a nonexistent breeze was pushing her. Glassy eyes rose from the steps to look at the gathered teens.
“My God!” A girl said, noticing that the old lady’s eyes looked as if they were melting into the folds of her eyelids. A stream of drool, stained red from chewing on the bus driver, slid down her chin as her jaw moved up and down.
Suddenly a cough wracked through the old lady, and the lower plate of her false teeth shot out of her mouth. Bounced off the steps, clattering into the sticky pool of blood.
“Ma’am do you need help?” Samantha asked.
The old lady’s head snapped to the side. Unblinking eyes landed on Samantha. Making the receptionist feel like a wounded gazelle on the savannah, and the old lady was a hyena just waiting for her to falter so she could pounce for the kill.
The old lady stepped forward. Not down to the next step. But straight ahead. Like a tree, she toppled towards the pavement. Striking the second step, her knees broke like china cups, while her sternum cracked against the third. Gravity pulled her forward, sending her to the blacktop. The front of her skull caved inward. Unable to withstand the pressure, her eyes bulge from their sockets. Only the loose skin of her eyelids kept them from popping out.
Arms flopping forward, a groan came from the old lady as she tried to push herself up. But her broken chest would not rise from the red sticky mass that clung to her. Bulging through thin skin, the bones of her neck shifted, as she lifted her head.
From the left came the sound of flesh being rendered from bone.
Samantha turned to see Jennifer’s jaw locked on the side of Raymond’s face. Her hands tangled in his hair as she twisted her head to the right, tearing a chunk of the mortician’s jaw away. Blood squirted from the gaping wound.
“Holy shit!” A boy shouted, as the entire class snapped out of the frozen state they had been in. A girl covered her mouth and screamed. Like flipping a switch, the entre group broke into a run back towards the safety of the funeral home.
The only one not to run was Samantha. Her feet glued to the blacktop as she watched Raymond collapsed over Jennifer as she continued to feed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pressing the down button on the elevator, Arlo Berry stood nervously in the hall as Mrs. Foust repeatedly called from the reception office for him to stay with her as she tried to get through to the 911 operator. But something told him that Violet and Hunter were downstairs. He didn’t want to go. But he was sure that Hunter would not protect Violet if needed. Even if he was the schools image of the classic jock, Arlo knew that Hunter wasn’t any different from any other teenager. Terrified of his own shadow, and only putting up a front that he was tough.
Tapping the toe of his sneaker nervously, Arlo tried his best to ignore Mrs. Foust as her voice floated out of the receptionist office for the sixth time. “Mr. Berry you need to stay with me.”
He could feel the elevator vibrating the floor, and he could have sworn he heard the faint sound of a bell as the door slid open one floor below. Long seconds ticked by before the door closed and began its approach.
Arriving on the first floor, the door to the elevator slid open, as Mrs. Foust called, “Mr. Berry!”
Arlo glanced back down the hallway. Part of him wanted to stay and not get into trouble. But a larger part screamed trouble was already brewing. Stepping in, he pressed the down button, heading to the one place he knew Violet wanted to see most on this tour, the embalming room. The girl was creepy. But creepy in an exciting, buxom, Elvira, Mistress of the dark, kind of way.
As the door closed, Arlo felt his stomach drop as the elevator began to lower. He hated to be in any confined space, and was relieved when the thirty second trip was over. The back door slid open to a long hall. Violet’s laughter greeted him through the swinging door of a room across the hall. Quickly, he stepped across and pushed the door open to see Violet and Hunter standing on either side of an open dr
awer with a sheet covered body on it.
Jumping, Violet let out a short scream that caught in her throat as she realized who had barged in.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Arlo said, the door swinging close behind him.
“Having some fun,” Hunter replied, as he pushed the drawer shut, giving Violet a look that said more was to come.
“We gotta…,” Arlo started to say. But was cut off by Hunter as he stepped to the large cooler. The jock put a hand on the handle and gave Violet a sly smile. “Let’s see what’s behind door number two.”
He pulled on the handle and a burst of cold seeped out as the seal broke as the door swung open. Hunter stood there, hands on hips, looking as if he had just discovered a lost world.
“Show off,” Arlo whispered, as Violet walked to the cooler.
Even though there were no lights on inside. They could tell that the cooler was longer than it seemed. Shelving lined the left wall with unmarked boxes on the top shelf. Two empty gurneys were against the right wall. While in the center of the ceiling was a track that stretched to the back of the cooler where a series of thick J-hooks hung, some holding black body bags.
“Look at that,” Violet said, not daring to step in.
“It’s right out of Revenge of the Living Dead,” Hunter said, as he reached up and grabbed a J-hook. “Remember the dead guy hanging off one of these?”
“Yeah,” Violet replied, remembering the movie as if she had seen it yesterday.
Smiling, Hunter gave the hook a hard throw, and it slid loudly down the track, until it came to a hard stop against the body bags.
Standing at the back of the cooler. Lost in the haze that had enveloped her mind. The old lady in the flower print dress dropped like a rock to the floor as the hook slammed into the bags she was behind.
“Whoa,” Hunter said, seeing the old lady fall to the floor. “There was a body hanging in there.”
“We need to get out of here,” Arlo said, wanting to tell them what was going on upstairs. But he knew that Hunter was not interested in what he had to say.
Hunter stepped into the cooler.
“What are you doing?” Violet asked.
Hunter gave her a smile, “Come on, you said that you wanted to see a dead body.”
Violet took a step into the cooler. The cold seeping from all the metal around her made goosebumps rise over the ones that were already there.
“Violet?” Arlo said, hoping she’d stop.
Looking back over her shoulder, a smile crossed Violet’s face. Arlo could see in her eyes that she was frightened, and excited at the same time.
Hunter took two more steps in. Darkness enveloped him as if the cold air coming from the vents were forcing light out of the container. Even though everything was shrouded in darkness, he could still make out the thin frame of the old lady laying on the floor.
Crossing her arms, Violet rubbed them to get the chill out. “What’s in all the boxes?”
Turning towards Violet. Hunter raised his hands in claws, and replied in his best 1970’s Saturday night monster movie MC voice, “Braaiiinnnsss.”
Laughing, Violet jumped back and looked at Arlo to see if he was going to join in with the fun.
Turning back, Hunter’s heart skipped a beat as he came face to face with the lady who had been laying on the floor. Red rimmed eyes, clouded with cataracts, glared at him. A burst of fetid breath escaped her lips, as her lungs performed their duty though they no longer fed oxygen into her bloodstream.
A chilled hand wrapped around Hunter’s jaw. Letting out a scream three pitches higher than his regular voice, Hunter back peddled out of her grasp. Colliding into Violet, they tumbled out of the cooler.
“What the hell?” Violet said, pushing Hunter off.
Unable to form words that made any kind of sense. Hunter lifted a hand, pointing into the cooler.
Muscles chilled into a hard putty made walking hard for the old woman as she stepped from the cooler.
“Hunter!” Violet said, crawling back until she came into contact with Arlo’s legs. He reached down and helped her up.
Hunter was glued to the floor too frightened to move as the old lady locked on Hunter as if Arlo and Violet did not exist. Shambling forward, her dirty slippers came in contact with Hunter’s shoes. Unbalanced, she fell on top of Hunter like a sack of potatoes. Thin fingers coiled in Hunter’s curly hair as she latched her teeth onto the curve of his jaw.
Wailing, Hunter began to beat on the old lady’s back. Each blow landed with a hollow thud, driving her teeth deeper into his flesh.
“Hunter!” Violet yelled.
Pushing away from Arlo, she moved to help Hunter. But Arlo grabbed Violet. Stopping her as the old lady ripped a chunk of Hunter’s cheek away.
“Violet,” Arlo said, pulling the goth towards the door. “We gotta go!”
Feet dragging, Violet was forced into the hall before she could push Arlo off. “Get off me!”
Rushing back towards the door, Violet pushed it open to see the old lady stiffly climbing over Hunter’s body. In response to the door opening, she looked up. A chunk of Hunter’s flesh fell from her mouth landing Hunter’s face. Blood dripping down her chin, she bared her teeth.
“Violet come on,” Arlo said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Violet let the door go. As it closed, the old lady turned back to Hunter’s unconscious body to take another bite.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sound of the bell announcing the elevators arrival, snaps my attention away from the voices down the hall. As I lay there, the door slides open and a young man, dressed in a crisp suit, steps out.
I reach out for help. But he doesn’t see me ‘cause his nose is buried deep in a file folder. I hear the heavy beat of music coming from earbuds shoved firmly in his ears. If I could hear it over the sound of the bees chewing on my brain. There was no wonder why he didn’t hear me.
A garbled moan comes out of my mouth. I know that words I want to say. But my tongue isn’t cooperating.
Turning right, he goes down the hall. Heading towards the room at the end.
Slowly I get to my feet. Feeling no pain from my shattered ankle, I begin to follow. The hunger urges me to catch up and sink my teeth into his flesh.
Immersed in the file, the man shoulders his way through a swinging door, vanishing from my sight.
I make it a few feet further, and the need to keep moving forward, lessens. The hunger shifts as the man’s warm body is no longer in my line of sight.
I come to the door. Putting my hands on it. I start to push my way through, when the elevator dings again. I turn to see a large boy step out before the door fully opens. He doesn’t look my way as another squeal of laughter comes from the room across the hall. He rushes forward and pushes through the swinging door.
Voices rise, and my hunger shifts. No longer do I want the man in the room behind me. What I need is down the hall, laughing.
As I start back down the hall. My intestine snakes around my broken foot. With every step, I can feel it pulling against my stomach. I crash to my knees. Unable to get up, I slowly crawl forward.
I make it no more than a few yards and the door swings open. A shaft of bright light breaks the dim lighting of the hallway. The glare blinds me for a moment before the door swings shut. Then opens again, as a girl rushes out.
Level with her black and white striped knee-high socks. I can see tears streaming down her face in thick, black lines of mascara. A look of terror grows as she sees me. Letting out a scream, she takes a step back towards the door. It moves against her as someone pushes from the other side. She steps to the side and the door comes open, and out comes a boy shaped like a block, with a nub of head.
“Violet come on!” He says, as he sees me and stops in his tracks.
Reaching out with my only working arm. I ask for help. But only a gurgle comes out.
“Crap!” The boy yells, and pushes Violet away from the door.
&n
bsp; Protectively stepping in front of her, he lashes out at me with an untied sneaker. His toe connects with my jaw. Snapping my head against the wall. I don’t have time to recover as the boy grabs Violet’s hand, and pulls her down the hall.
I look from the couple as the door swings open again. Allowing me to see inside the room for a split second. There, lying in a pool of blood, is the husky jock who had goaded Violet into opening my bag.
Crouching over him is a little old lady dressed in a flower print dress, with white sneakers, and stockings that sag around her ankles.
The door shuts, and rocks open a fraction of what it had before. In the small space, I see the old lady’s head twisting over the teens chest.
Seeing all the blood across the floor. I crawl for the door. Forcing myself to my knees, I push it open and falling into a room lined with large drawers from floor to ceiling. A cooler door hangs open to my left.
As I crawl under the stainless-steel table set in the center of the room. The swinging door slides down my leg. Reaching my broken ankle, the door catches my intestine, stopping my progress.
Through all of this, the old lady ignores me as she continues to chew on the hole she has ripped into the boy’s chest.
I strain against my intestine. I can feel muscles giving, threatening to let my stomach go free. But something does fall out of the gaping hole that was my stomach. A kidney? Gallbladder? I’m not sure what it is. Struggling forward, I come down on it with a knee. It bursts against my weight. Coating my legs and floor with unspeakable goo.
I strain forward, reaching for the boy. But as the second’s tick by, the bees stop buzzing one by one. The hunger that has been propelling me forward is cooling, like the boy’s body.
Even though the old lady is eating her way into his chest. Her mind has not yet registered that whatever she needs from the boy’s body is no longer nourishing the need that has overtaken her. With his heart no longer pumping, and neurons no longer firing, he can no longer fill the hunger. Whatever I need has to be alive, and it had just fled down the hall.
Chicago Undead (Books 3-4): Encounters Page 7