The remaining option was to lean back against the counter. Vividly recalling the bloody scene around the sink when she entered the restroom, Brianna belched loudly and her stomach churned more violently as she leaned backward.
At the precise moment she felt the edge of the counter against the back of her thighs, and her hands seized the walls to stop her shoes from sliding any further apart, several things happened nearly simultaneously. The umbrella slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor. The wall mounted hand dryer roared to life as its motion sensor detected her presence. A loud upbeat musical tune began to play. Even over the roar of the hand dryer she recognized the song, Sunshine Day that served as Mr. Schwartz's ring-tone. Though most of the old man's shirt was coated in blood the pocket in the upper left corner lit up as the phone rang and played the song.
Warm air blew over her arm from the dryer vent but she barely noticed it. The hand dryer's noisy motor was something many library patrons often complained about. It was not merely loud, but often described as painfully “ear-splitting” loud according to the complainers.
Mr. Schwartz typically dried his hands on his shirt or pants, as did quite a few others patrons after washing their hands. He told Brianna that his wet clothes would dry out faster than his noisy dryer induced headaches would go away.
His phone continued to play music and the hand dryer roared on, his facial expressions quickly cycled through anger, fear, confusion, and pain as he stopped moving toward Brianna. The old man's eyes wildly darted around the restroom as his previously outstretched arms were pulled back. His mouth opened wide and he grunted, growled, and then whined. The only reason she could hear the sounds he made was their close proximity. If she wanted to do so, Brianna could have reached out to the old man but fear wouldn't allow her. His grunts faded away as if he'd run out air to make any more, but his faint whining sounds continued. He quivered and swayed unsteadily then shut his eyes and furiously clawed at the sides of his head.
Brianna was too scared and stunned to do anything other than watch and listen to the alarmed voices chattering away inside her head.
“He's not sick, he's dead. You need to get out of here, right now, while he's distracted,” Miss Drew advised.
“I find it disagreeable to concur with a bubble gum chewing teenage sleuth, but under the circumstances I tend to agree. Beating a hasty retreat would be the most prudent course of action,” Detective Sherlock Holmes added.
Brianna belched as her stomach continued to churn. She tasted another powerful hint of bile and decided, though she still doubted the old man was some kind of undead monster that it would be a great idea to leave. She struggled to remain calm, not to give into the growing fear, and sidestepped away from the sink counter. Her eyes darted back and forth from the floor (where she tried to step in blood free spaces only) and the old man.
Schwartz's fingernails scraped and clawed at the sides of his head, leaving behind several jagged trails of torn skin. There was a light-red (almost pink) color visible inside most of the freshly created lacerations but no blood flowed from any of them. One of his fingernails clawed loose the small hearing-aid from one ear, and she saw the tiny device tumble to the tiled floor. It bounced up and struck one of her shoes.
The hand dryer motor ceased its roaring and fell silent. The phone continued to play its happy upbeat sounding tune. His eyes opened immediately and stared at the empty counter where she recently had been standing then he snuffled loudly before turning and glaring at Brianna.
“RUN!” A chorus of voices screamed inside her head.
Brianna took the advice. She turned toward the exit and ran.
Both of his hands grabbed at her, one seized a sizable hunk of her hair and the other gripped and tore at her shirt.
Due to his advanced age Mr. Schwartz had lost a considerable amount of body mass, muscle, and weight. While not at all overweight, physically, Brianna actually weighed three times more than the elderly man. So rather than his being able to draw her to him, which he tried to do, Brianna actually hauled him behind much like a high powered boat would tow along a water-skier. Her fear already caused her heart rate to surge, but with the sharp pain caused by the old man yanking on her hair a dose of adrenalin gave her enough energy to quickly escape the restroom.
There was a brief moment, just as she made it through the door and tried to keep going, when it felt as though she was inexplicably anchored or tethered in place. Her eyes opened wide but she didn't dare look back as her stomach lurched and a combination burp, belch, and squeal erupted and echoed in the hallway. She strained forward without concern whether her shirt was torn off or even a hank of hair was ripped out by the roots. When whatever had tethered her in place was suddenly gone, Brianna nearly lost her balance and fell. Instead, she ended up staggering for only a few steps then once more ran.
It wasn't until Brianna was almost out of the hallway, and still running, that she even recognized that she was inadvertently towing Mr. Schwartz along behind her. She'd assumed he'd been the cause of her momentarily being stuck and dared to hope he'd gotten entangled in the closing restroom door. (The momentary anchoring was actually caused by the old man's pants being stuck in the shut door.)
Her fear faded as she ran because gradually the pain from having her hair used as a tow rope took its place. It felt as if she was being scalped, and the pain quickly evolved into fury. Without thinking and acting purely on instinct, she swerved into the nearby Youth Section of the library (while still dragging Mr. Schwartz along behind her) then slammed herself backward against one of the brick walls. Her plan, such as it was, had been to crush the old man and cause him to let go. But she hadn't realized he was not standing but rather being dragged along. So instead of crushing him and gaining her release, she only ended up painfully slamming herself against the wall.
A framed poster of a famous boy wizard holding a wand was knocked loose by her shoulder and fell to the floor. Brianna winced in pain because of the impact with the wall and the nail that had been used to hang up the poster was poking into her back.
As he was in a more kneeling than standing position, Schwartz bit down at what was the closest part of the librarian's body- Brianna's rear end. His remaining teeth were not at all up to the task of effectively biting. His upper set of dentures that had already been loose and ajar in the restroom were lost somewhere in the hallway as he was dragged along. As a result, technically, he was not so much biting through the seat of Brianna's jeans as energetically gumming at them.
The pain was instantly forgotten as his hand released her hair. But then she felt both his hands gripping her hips as the most bizarre sensation was accompanied by an odd slurping noise. It caused her to twist and look down in shocked disbelief. No, not Mr. Schwartz. He would never do that, she thought before seeing for herself that indeed he would.
Through his thick pair of spectacles his eyes stared back up at hers as the old man continued to energetically gnaw on her rear-end. The seat of her jeans was rapidly becoming slime and blood covered.
“Nasty pervert!” She screamed, while trying to turn around and repeatedly slapping and punching Schwartz on his head. And here I was worried about you, you nasty old sicko, she thought in disgust while furiously whacking the top of his head as hard as she could.
Tactically, this was a mistake. She realized the error when the force of the blows were transferred through his head and his lower set of teeth bit down with far more success and pain. There was a ripping of cloth sound at the same moment both his hands dug and clawed at her midsection.
Brianna couldn't help herself. Throughout her life it was the one form of 'attack' she'd always hated most because her body and nervous system seemed to conspire against her brain. The old man's fingers weren't gentle, they were digging and clawing at her stomach and sides quite energetically, but the result was identical to all the times she'd been tickled in the past. An uncontrollable powerful spasm shook her body and an explosion of laughter echoed throug
h the library.
She might have been giggling and laughing, but Brianna was actually growing even more angry than before. Her muscles were twitching but all sense of coordination and balance was gone as the attack continued.
“This is no time for levity,” Detective Holmes mentioned in a most disapproving tone of voice.
“Shut up, you goofy hat wearing sexist,” Nancy Drew shot back. Then the teenage literary sleuth suggested, “Brianna, stop trying NOT to be sick. It's okay to let go. Hose him down!”
The librarian's stomach felt as if a series of massive earthquakes had been underway for quite some time. It had taken considerable effort not to become sick, and she'd purposely avoided looking at the elderly man's nearly naked body because it made her feel more likely to toss her cookies. But as she twisted and shuddered uncontrollably Brianna realized being sick couldn't possibly make matters any worse.
Under normal circumstances, such as when driving somewhere and there was some gory bit of roadkill, Brianna typically tried to both drive around and not even glance at it to avoid the possibility of becoming sick. But that morning was as atypical as it could have been.
She looked down and saw the man's pale skinny legs, noted the pants and boxer shorts were missing, then forced herself to gaze at his rear. His wrinkly bare buttocks were mostly pale colored although there were also several oddly shaped dark purplish bruise patches. They reminded her of rotten cantaloupes she'd sometimes discover at the supermarket hidden under the fresh ones.
The giggles instantly turned into a choking wet gurgling noise as she thought, “UGH!” and felt the 'gears' of her digestive system snap into reverse.
The peach flavored oatmeal, bits of the apple, and tomato juice (or rather what remained undigested of these items that she ate for breakfast) erupted up and out of her mouth in a most disturbingly colorful spray. The vomit splattered Mr. Schwartz directly in his eyes, or would have if he'd lost his spectacles during their encounter. But they'd remained in place.
The gnawing sensation and almost equally disturbing slurping sounds generated as he attacked stopped abruptly, and both his hands released her a moment later.
Brianna was coughing up the last bits of her breakfast and gasping for air while stumbling backward and deeper into the library's Youth Section. A very large plush red dog on the floor nearly tripped her. She was catching her breath, less shaky, more coordinated, and trying to decide what to do- all while picking up another big plush animal. It was a large monkey (approximately the size of the typical young patrons that used this section of the library.) The large simian was just as well known in youth literary circles as the red dog, but more renowned for its seemingly endless degree of curiosity that usually led to all manner of misadventures. The monkey weighed too much for most children to lift, but Brianna had no such problem. She held the plush animal up like a shield and considered her options.
Should I throw the monkey at him and run to the circulation desk or hide behind it and hope he just wanders away? There was only one easy way in and out of the Youth Section and that's where Mr. Schwartz happened to be. Many times, over the years, she'd seen kids climb up and over the five foot high wooden bookcases that enclosed the Youth Section. It was against the rules and though she'd reminded children many times not to do so they still climbed over the shelves occasionally. Brianna knew it was a dangerous maneuver for a child, having seen some fall to the floor and burst into tears, but for someone her size it seemed like a reckless disaster waiting to happen.
She peeked around the side of the big, stuffed, inquisitive, monkey and peered over at the old man. It was her hope that a face full of puke would discourage any further pursuit and possibly cause him to wander away.
The old man was pawing at his face with clawed fingers. His thick spectacles were askew and perched precariously near the end of his nose. His eyes were a dull grayish color instead of their usual hazel and his posture reminded her of a wild beast. He was squatting low and snuffling loudly. He lowered his head down almost to the floor and sniffed the tiles.
“You have provided him a clear trail to follow. You're bleeding from where he clawed at your sides and the droplets are what he's sniffing, much like a sinister hound might,” Sherlock observed stoically.
Brianna saw this was true as Schwartz lowered himself almost on all fours with his face nearly touching the floor as he snuffled. Her sides didn't hurt much but she could see blood on both sides of her partially torn shirt.
Throw the monkey at him, climb over the bookshelf, or... or what? She wondered and then noticed the colorfully striped crawl tunnel. One end of the nylon tunnel was right next to her feet and the other end was near the exit of the Youth Section. It would be cramped but she'd crawled through it before when cleaning up after the library closed. The tunnel was stretched out to its full length of twenty feet and was partially covered by arches formed by plastic bins that held various educational toys.
She saw the misty fog outside the windows was no longer gray and thick as a shroud. A yellow glow was growing and the mist appeared to be thinning. The storm had apparently passed. It didn't make sense to her but the promise of sunlight and the end of the storms somehow lifted her spirits. She raised the inquisitive monkey up over her head and threw it at Schwartz while yelling, “I'm over here! Come and get me you pervert!”
The monkey hit the tiles then bounced into Schwartz, but the old man seemed unfazed by the unprovoked simian attack. His head lifted up a bit and a combination of whining and snuffling followed. The pair of spectacles was dangling under his chin at this point and his eyes were squinting as he moved closer.
Brianna waved her arms and shouted, “Over here, I'm over here!”
Still crouched over, the elderly man trotted in her direction with his mouth open wide and his tongue protruding off to the side, giving him the appearance of an overly excited dog.
Brianna ducked down and scurried into the tunnel. She crawled for a few seconds then turned to look back.
The entrance was filled with the old man's head and shoulders, but he wasn't following. He was snorting and peering up at the red, green, blue, and golden sections of nylon that made up the tunnel. He made another whining grunting sound and seemed uncertain what to do.
“Good grief. What am I supposed to do, drag him in here?” She wondered in frustration.
“This isn't my area of expertise, goodness knows that. But maybe he just needs some more encouragement,” The raincoat wearing TV detective suggested.
Brianna dropped her voice lower and tried to speak as if she were talking to a wary dog. “Come on. Come here, boy. Who's a good boy?”
Schwartz ceased his whining and snarled at her before crawling into the tunnel.
She turned and moved forward as fast as possible. The tunnel curved halfway through and before rounding the turn she glanced back. Schwartz was still following and actually seemed to be closing the distance. Crap! She thought and crawled faster. As she rounded the corner, Brianna found a toy that had been left behind by some child. She almost passed it by then paused long enough to pull the plastic handle then threw the toy toward Mr. Schwartz.
The light ahead looked wondrous at the tunnel's exit and she smiled as the toy cheerfully announced, somewhere behind her, “The cow says moo.”
She heard grunts and sounds of the toy being hit but hurried all the way out of the tunnel. There were lines of twine stretched above her where drawings made by young library patrons were hung up with wooden clothes pins. It was a still evolving idea, but she grabbed several of the pins then dragged the end of the tunnel around toward where she first entered. It was almost long enough but didn't quite reach. She hurried over to the start of the tunnel and pulled it up against the exit. She didn't bother looking back to see how far Schwartz had come because she could hear his whining accompanied by another happy sounding announcement made by the toy. “The pig says oink-oink.” After securing the first few clothes pins to the tunnels ends, she grabbed several mo
re and many sheets of artwork fluttered to the floor. She quickly clamped the ends of the tunnel more securely together then backed away as the whining man grew closer.
She saw the nylon tunnel bulging and wiggling as Schwartz approached. Holding her breath, she backed away and waited.
When the old man worked past the joined ends of the tunnel without slowing and continued onward, she heard various literary detectives complimenting her. “Ingenious. That's a crackerjack idea. Not bad.”
She allowed herself only a slight smile before gathering another dozen clothes pins, which she then quickly clamped around the tunnel's ends.
Panting and tired, she watched Schwartz make two more complete circuits around the tunnel before leaving the Youth Section. The old man's phone was on the floor and only partly covered in blood and vomit. She picked it up and heard the toy inside the tunnel merrily announce, “The chicken says bawk-bawk.”
She took comfort in the golden rays of sunlight coming through the windows before turning and heading to the water fountain. After tapping a few buttons on the phone the voice-mail message began playing. “Mr. Schwartz, this is Mahou over at Patterson's Pharmacy. A delivery van just dropped off a shipment this morning and your prescription has been filled. Have a nice day.”
Sipping cool water from the fountain, Brianna sarcastically thought, yippee.
She dialed 911 and heard several electronic clicks and then a recording said, “This is emergency services. Due to an unusual number of calls all operators are busy at this time. Your call is important to us, please hold.” A muzak version of Andy Williams’s song Born Free began playing. Brianna took the phone from her ear and walked back toward the circulation desk.
She glanced into the Youth Section and spotted Mr. Schwartz continuing his journey that seemed destined to go on for eternity as the tunnel bulged and rocked with his passage. Born Free continued to play on the phone when she checked on it. Then there were voices, or at least she thought there were voices... only hushed as if someone were whispering. It wasn't coming from the phone. The voices sounded as if they were near the circulation desk.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 6