Eaters: The Beginning

by Michelle DePaepe

  But, food did not seem forthcoming. At the end of the block, she found herself stalled at a crowd of people blocking the sidewalk. Somewhere ahead of them, there was the flash of blue and red lights from a police car. She figured it had something to do with the man in the park.

  She walked up to a man with a bicycle, wearing a sporty spandex riding outfit and a long plastic tube on a shoulder strap, who stood near the rear of the group.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Beats me. I’m trying to make a delivery. There’s a police barricade or something, and I don’t have time for this…”

  I don’t have time for this either.

  She decided to shove her way through. Maybe once she was past the crowd, she could skirt around whatever was causing the hold up. “Excuse me…” she said as she tried to use her elbows to gently nudge a path. The people were crammed together tightly, not giving up their position willingly as if they were in line for some big event. But, she managed to angle her torso and clutch her purse close to make herself thin like a needle and pierce her way through.

  Nearing daylight at the front, she hesitated as her shoes stepped into something sticky. Each heel clung to the cement like a suction cup, and she had to pull them off with force. She tried to look down to see what sort of muck she’d stepped into, but the close bodies and resulting shadows on the ground prevented her from getting a look.

  It took a few more pushes to burst through the edge of the crowd. When she popped out into the clearing, she stopped as quickly as if she’d slammed into a brick wall.

  Oh my God…

  The scene in front of her was pure carnage.

  There were a half dozen bodies splayed out on the sidewalk. They’d been shot in the head. Blood, brain tissue, and other detritus were splattered around them. Two paramedics were busy unloading body bags from the back of an ambulance.

  She looked down and realized that, for the last few feet, she’d been walking in the blood of the nearest victim.

  What had happened? Had someone gone crazy and started shooting pedestrians? Out of morbid curiosity and the sheer will to know what had terrible thing had occurred, she forced herself to look up again at the bodies.

  The dead included three men, a woman, and a couple of teenaged boys. All of them had skin with that unnatural gray hue. It was the disease, wasn’t it? But, why had they been shot?

  She turned to her right to ask the person next to her. He was an older man with wisps of white hair, a normal looking fellow with a navy t-shirt, khaki shorts, and white socks underneath his leather sandals. He held a black plastic garbage sack with one hand, reaching into it with the other, and sticking handfuls of something green and slimy into his mouth that looked like seaweed…or rotten vegetation.

  She felt sick. How could someone look at the horrific scene in front of them and eat? She felt faint, and her legs wobbled for a second on her heels.

  “Cheryl…”

  Hearing her name, she turned around and looked behind her but only saw the mass of people. Maybe the voice was in her head—her subconscious speaking to her as she was about to pass out.

  “Cheryl!”

  It sounded like Mark. But, how was that possible? She’d just been on the phone with him a few minutes ago. She stood, rooted to the spot, unsure if it was her imagination.

  A second later, a hand grabbed her shoulder. She turned around. It was Mark.

  He was dressed in his khaki fatigues and tan combat boots with his rifle slung over his shoulder inside its nylon case, hardly disguised as something as benign as a golf club or a guitar.

  “What are you doing here?” She managed to ask before covering her mouth to hold back the urge to retch.

  His eyes were big wide saucers, icy blue crystals that seemed frozen with fear. She’d never seen that look on him before, and it made her even more scared.

  He clamped onto her arm. “We’ve got to get out of here now.”

  She looked at the crowd behind him. It seemed even larger now. People were shoving and pressing them forward. Another inch, and she’d topple over the yellow police tape. Were they all just rubbernecking, trying to see this massacre?

  She assumed he had seen the news. “What happened here?”

  “There’s no time,” he shouted as a peal of screams rang out behind them. “We gotta go!”

  “What? Go where? Why?”

  He pointed to the right…towards the park.

  The sun was bright. She squinted and looked that way, seeing nothing unusual at first. There was a row of pine trees dotted by the occasional big spruce. Beyond them, she could see the circle of park benches with the red, yellow, and blue metal playground in the center. Bees buzzed around a bed of brightly colored zinnias near the parking meters.

  She glanced back to Mark, then back to the park. “I don’t—”

  The line of trees moved.

  She cupped her hand over her eyes and stared. It wasn’t trees, it was a long line of people, just standing there. Their skin had the pallor of mushrooms, and their mouths moved up and down like the guy she’d seen being arrested. One down on the far right looked like Paul…

  She flinched as a barrage of gunshots rang out, and a few from the line buckled and fell.

  “Come on!” Mark said as he shoved her down and under the yellow tape.

  She stumbled, dropping a knee hard onto the blood-spattered concrete. Mark picked her up and grabbed her arm, urging her on. His fingernails sliced into her as he forced her over the top of a corpse then pushed her towards the nearest business, a dry cleaner shop.

  When they reached the door, he tried the handle, but found it was locked. The staff inside just stood there, staring out at them.

  They went on to the next door. It was a nail salon, and a petite Asian woman stared out at them from the other side of the glass. She shook her head as Mark tried the door. When she wouldn’t open it, he pounded on it with his fist.

  By now, the crowd behind them had crashed through the yellow tape and was on their heels. People pounded on the doors and windows, and she heard the shattering of glass.

  Amidst the chaos, a black and white police car cruised down the street, flashing its red and blue lights. A speaker mounted on the top blared a message. “All civilians are instructed to seek shelter now. Go inside the nearest building and lock the doors. I repeat—All civilians are…”

  They kept going, but the next two businesses—a liquor store and a pizza place—were locked too.

  At the next door, a man in a red shirt and matching cap, with a handlebar mustache, was about to lock it. Mark slammed through the door, knocking him down. He pulled her inside with him then turned around to lock the door. His hand was almost there when a woman appeared on the other side with a young girl beside her. Their terrified eyes begged…

  Marks looked up and down the street at the frantic crowd, then he opened the door and pulled them in.

  “Oh Jesus. Thank you…” the woman said as she picked the girl up in her arms.

  When the door was locked behind them, he closed the blinds on the door and the large windows on either side.

  Then, he motioned for everyone to move back, away from the front of the building, as he un-shouldered his rifle and began to unzip the case.

  Cheryl wrapped her arms around herself as she realized that her entire body was shaking. She took a quick glance back at the nearly two-dozen people sheltering with them inside Subs and Such, the sandwich shop that, just a few minutes ago, she’d been aiming for to get a quick bite to eat. Somehow, she knew that lunch wasn’t going to be on the menu today, and there wasn’t going to be a meeting about insurance regulations…not today…maybe not ever.

  Chapter 4

  “You the manager?” Mark said to the man in the red cap as he lined up boxes of shells on the nearest table.

  The man stood mute for a moment, then nodded, with his mouth turned into an upside down ‘u’ shape, parallel to his shaggy mustache.

  “Go kil
l the lights.”

  “What?”

  “Turn off the lights, now!”

  When he didn’t move, Mark pointed the rifle at his head. “Soldier up, man. We don’t have time for—”

  “Alright,” the man said, holding his hands up in the air. Chill out. I’m going…”

  As he pushed through the group towards the counter, the young girl, a pretty thing with ponytails made of spun gold, began to cry. Her mother held her tighter and said, “Put the gun down…please. You’re scaring everyone.”

  Cheryl watched Mark’s face power down from a rigid mask forged from adrenaline to a softer look of exhaustion and sadness. His bottom lip quivered as he re-shouldered his gun.

  A man in casual business clothes, old enough to be her father, stepped forward as the lights went out. “What’s going on out there?”

  Mark whispered in the darkness, “Haven’t you been listening to the news?”

  “No. I’m afraid I haven’t. I make a point not to…”

  “The epidemic. It’s been spreading fast. Exponentially. There’s so many sick now, there’s no room for them in the hospitals. They’re wandering the streets and—

  “And what?” Cheryl asked as she thought about Paul’s absurd symptoms. “Fishing rancid burgers out of the trash?” Despite Paul’s weird and rapid decline, she didn’t know if it was related to the epidemic and didn’t understand the panic. On her way to work that morning, she’d seen a few people meandering about on the sides of the roads with their heads hung low and in no particular hurry to get anywhere, but it was hard to tell if they were sick or just one of the many homeless that normally roamed the area. She wondered why the police had arrested the man in the park…why the massacre occurred outside. Had authorities just gone nuts…shooting sick people? “I don’t get what the—”

  “Ssshh…” Mark said.

  She hadn’t realized that her voice had gone up a few decibels, squeaking out her confusion.

  “Keep your voice down…all of you…and stay away from the door and the windows.”

  The group had been mumbling amongst themselves. Some were chatting on cell phones, but stopped for a moment to hear what Mark had to say. The young girl’s cries turned to whimpers as the mother spoke softly in her ear.

  “The sick people aren’t just gorging on rotten food…”

  “Rotten food?” Someone repeated from the back of the room.

  “They’re attacking people...eating human flesh.”

  There were gasps.

  A woman nearby asked, “You’re saying they’re turning into cannibals?

  “Something like that.”

  “Bullshit,” came a gruff voice a few feet away. “Sounds like some socialist scare tactic to enact martial law.”

  Cheryl could feel Mark’s body stiffen.

  “Really? Take a peek through the blinds and tell me how the government takeover’s going.”

  “Hmmph,” the man said. Then, he fumbled past them.

  A sliver of light appeared through the blinds on the right window as he looked out. They could only see the shape of his silhouette as he stood motionless and viewed the scene outside.

  With the room hushed, Cheryl realized there were screams and gunshots in the distance and very close by. It sounded like pandemonium out there.

  “Dear God…” the man said as he closed the blinds.

  “You want to share what you saw with the group?”

  The man shuffled past them to his previous spot and didn’t speak.

  “Anyone else?” Mark asked.

  Three people moved forward and went to the window. There were gasps and murmurs as they looked out.

  “I don’t want everyone at the window. It’s better to stay back—stay quiet. You can come look…a couple at a time…if you want. Those who look…tell the others what you saw.”

  A curt voice with a northeastern accent spoke up a few feet away. “Who voted you king?”

  Mark raised his volume. “Who said that? You go look out there and tell me if you want to take over the crown.”

  The man piped down. Cheryl didn’t know if he was one of the people nudging past them towards the front. She wrapped her arms around Mark, avoiding the cold steel of the gun at his side.

  “You’re shaking,” he said as he pulled her closer.

  “I want to see.”

  “No you don’t, babe.”

  “I…I need to know what’s going on.”

  He sighed. “I never wanted you to experience anything like this. This is war. It’s going to be a battle for our lives.”

  “War?”

  Cheryl recognized the gruff-sounding voice from before. “Are you saying it’s some sort of biological warfare? Terrorist attack?”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  A lady nearby said, “What are we going to do? I’ve got kids at home. I’ve got to get back—”

  Someone from behind answered, “You ain’t going nowhere lady. None of us are. Not right now.”

  Mark didn’t have a much more reassuring response. “I don’t know. Wait until it calms down out there…probably try to find a shelter or something.”

  Cheryl saw an opening at the window and pulled away from Mark.

  “Cheryl…don’t…”

  “I have to know…”

  But, with every step forward, a voice in her head said, “I don’t want to know… I don’t want—”

  She reached the window and parted the blinds, opening them a half an inch, just enough to see out. What she saw was the stuff of nightmares.

  This can’t be happening. This sort of stuff only happens in the movies…

  The scene on the street was horrifying beyond belief. People ran in every direction, screaming, trying to get away from the hoards of jaw-snapping attackers with peeling flaps of ashen skin and torn, blood-soaked clothing. It was like the gates of hell had been opened, and the dead, in all stages of decomposition had been released and allowed to roam freely…and sate their thirst for blood and flesh. Somehow, this bizarre virus had turned people into cannibals.

  The afflicted moved slowly, but steadily towards their victims. She could tell that many were able to outrun them and get away, but anyone cornered or surrounded…was doomed.

  After seeing the general picture of the horrors going on, her focus turned to the sidewalk just outside the sandwich shop. A steel trashcan that had been wired to a light pole had been pried away and knocked over. An elderly man sat next to it, frantically searching through the mountain of rubbish. On any other day, she’d have thought that he was searching for a lost ring or a dropped cell phone. But, after a couple of seconds, he’d found his prize—it was an apple core, brown and shriveled. He put the whole thing in his mouth, stem and all…then began searching for more treasure.

  Amidst the cacophony of screams, the sound of a child wailing nearby drew her attention away. She found the source…it was a young boy, standing on the sidewalk crying. He wore blue and red Thomas the Train pajamas, and had his little hands balled into fists. Tears streamed down his face in rivers.

  I have to help them. I have to…

  But, before she could get a signal from her mind down to her feet, a shadow loomed over the boy. It was a young woman in hip clothing—skinny jeans, a rock t-shirt, and black and white checkered high tops. Her honey-colored hair had streaks of pink in it. She picked the boy up, slung him over her hip and ran off.

  Was that the boy’s—

  A face smacked up against the glass, its mouth formed in the perfect oval of EdvardMunch’s painting, The Scream.

  Cheryl jumped back, away from the window. The blind slats stayed bent, and she could see the unblinking glassy eyes staring straight at her. Blood-covered teeth snapped up and down like a wood nutcracker.

  Mark ran up and pushed the blinds closed. “That’s it. Everyone get back. We don’t want to draw any attention to this place.”

  “Do ya mind, hon?”

  Cheryl whipped around towards the sound o
f the throaty voice in her ear and realized that she was standing on the shoes of a woman behind her. She stepped off the tips of the woman’s shiny wine-colored pumps. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. You know…I own the nail salon next door. I just came in here for a goddamn sandwich, not knowing that the world was about to go freakin’ nuts. Now, I’m stuck with this lot of losers.” She fished a slim cigarette out of her purse and lit it with a silver lighter.

  The flame created a brief golden glow over the woman’s face, a road map of fine lines. The vertical crevices of dark red lipstick around her mouth deepened as she took a quick drag. “I don’t know if I’d rather spend my last hours with the gaggle of hens over there or with the motley crew here, but I sure as hell don’t need some pigeon-toed pixie stomping all over me.”

  Cheryl’s already tense body stiffened like the laces of a steel corset had been violently tightened. As a young girl, she’d been pegged as a shy, polite type. There was still much of that in her today—the introverted girl who’d rather bow her head and back off than risk an escalating conflict. But, the adrenaline was raging in her body. And—after what she’d just seen outside the window—rules of etiquette were probably not the biggest concern anymore. She really wanted to slap this woman…maybe give her a good one-two punch—not the shadow type that she’d learned from kickboxing class at the gym—a serious bone-cracking hit.

  Her hands balled into fists and her teeth clenched. “I said I was sorry.”

  The woman tossed her head back, took a long condescending drag then blew smoke in Cheryl’s face.

  Before she could react, someone yelled, “Hey lady…put the cancer stick out.”

  A chorus of voices followed. “Yeah…”

  Cheryl felt empowered with the crowd behind her. “You heard them…”

  “Piss off!”

  Cheryl’s hand shot up and knocked the cigarette to the ground. The next thing she knew…the woman’s bony hands were around her throat, and she was falling hard on the tile floor.