Jake had been so preoccupied with his living find that he had not even noticed that surrounding him, hanging on the walls, were an assortment of tools and devices. Some of these objects would serve quite adequately as improvisational weapons.
Jake removed a sickle, garden hoe, and large pair of pruning shears from the walls. Then he found a large metal file with which he began to manually sharpen the tools’ edges and blades. The tied creature continued to pull at her ropes, trying to maneuver her biting mouth close enough to the hay bale twine. IT was attempting to chew her way to freedom and then most likely feast on Jake as well.
Between the metallic filing sounds filling the small shack, a faint sputtering sound of a vehicle engine and its squealing fan belt caught Jake’s attention. Jake bolted over to the door and shut it quickly so he would not be easily seen inside. He peeked out through a knothole in one of the wall boards and saw an old, faded red, beat-up Chevy truck with side steps and no tailgate.
A white male about 55 years old, 5-foot-7 and 185 pounds with a beard and moustache exited the vehicle. Outfitted with a straw hat and overalls with no shirt underneath, this guy apparently hadn’t set foot in a Banana Republic store for quite some time.
The barefoot hillbilly was smiling, holding a double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun under his left arm and using his right hand to unzip his overall fly. As he approached the shed and opened the door, he exclaimed: “Oh, Lucy, I’m home!”
Jake was hiding behind a large old wooden barrel. The lady THING began to growl and moan even louder than before. Luckily the bearded stranger had not even thought to make sure there were no uninvited guests in the shed.
Realizing this may be the best time for him to act, Jake jumped out from behind the barrel and punched the dude square in the face. The hillbilly dropped his shotgun to the dirt floor and Jake instinctively grabbed it before the overalls man could react.
The hillbilly slowly picked himself up off the floor and saw Jake’s massive form. Holding his swollen face with his left hand, he said “damn, boy, you hit good! You didn’t have to punch me though. Shit! My name’s Ricky, by the way.”
Ricky looked closer at Jake and paused before commenting, “you that boy that’s runnin’ from the law, aren't you? They came by the house this morning showin’ your picture around and such. Good for you. Fuck the law! Can’t even run a little shine business around here without them motherfuckers sneakin’ around with binoculars and shit. I forget whatthey claimed you done?”
Jake began to speak but then stopped himself, knowing that his Northeast accent might not be the best choice in this scenario. He opted to respond with a slight twang. “Runnin’ shine. Just like you, I’m just a busi nessman trying to get by. I saw yer shack here, thought maybe it had been abandoned and maybe there was some food or water inside. And so, I came in, and that’s when I saw your friend here.”
Ricky’s smile returned to his face.
“Yeah, that’s my girlfriend. She’s a purty one, ain’t she? Or at least I bet she used to be. I caught her a couple weeks ago chasing my chickens around in their pen. The bitch looked better then. She had more skin and hair and such, was wearing some Daisy Dukes and a white tank top that was covered with blood and somethin’ that looked like meat.
“Guess she killed one of my poor hens and ate it raw. Knew I had to do the right thing and bring her here for her own safety. And my chickens’ safety, too.”
Jake was still thinking this was too crazy to be real but managed to respond. “Good thing you did! Is her name Lucy?”
“Haa. I don’t know what her real name was. I just say, ‘Lucy I’m home’ every time I check on her, like Ricky Ricardo used to say to Lucy when he came home on the ‘Lucy’ show. Get it? My name’s Ricky too. It’s funny, right?”
“Oh. Yeah, I get it! Good one….”
Jake decided he needed to get going as soon as possible. The longer he stuck around, the greater the chance of the cops who were in the area earlier coming back around. Either that or some of Ricky’s inbred family or friends could show up to “check on Lucy” as well.
Jake was still holding the shotgun in his right hand. He gathered up the sickle, garden hoe, and pruners that he had been sharpening and announced, “I best be leavin’ now. Johnny Law’s probably getting closer to sniffin me out.”
Ricky agreed. “That’s cool. Good luck to ya, man. Hey, before you go – why don’t you get you some… (motioning his head toward the she-creature in the Daisy Dukes). Besides, you may be back behindbars before long. You may not get any for quite a while.”
Jake wasn’t sure exactly what Ricky had meant by “git some” until the hillbilly stuck his hand up into the crotch area of the hungry zombie-lady. Jake nearly threw up in his mouth and thought to himself; surely this inbred dumbass knows that it can’t be healthy to have sexual relations with a creature that’s more dead than alive?
He had once again seen something that left him nearly speechless. Yet Jake regained his senses and said “that’s mighty kind of you, Ricky. But I think she likes you better. Matter of fact, I’m gonna leave now so you two can have some alone time.”
Jake pushed Ricky closer to his “Lucy,” then swiftly swung the newly sharpened sickle about like a samurai sword, shredding the thin strands of baling twine that had bound the creature. Her arms, legs, and neck now freed, she looked as if she was smiling. Perhaps it was just that her nearly toothless mouth opened wider in anticipation of taking a chomp out of Ricky’s thigh.
Ricky yelled, “NOOOO!!!! YOU MOTHA FUCKIN’ YANKEE BOY!! I’LL KILL YOU!!!” Jake tucked the tools and shotgun into his armpits to make room in his right hand for one more item before leaving. Inside the shack, beside the door on a small eye-level shelf was a mason jar about three-quarters full of a golden liquid. Jake grabbed the jar and ran out of the shed. Outside, he noticed a large log that was used as a chopping block. Dead chicken heads were lying beside it on the ground.
Jake set all his treasures to the ground and propped the log up against the shed door. Ric ky’s screams echoed through the valley, mixed with the sound of his girlfriend’s growling, chewing, and slurping - all in harmony.
Jake retrieved his goodies and jumped into the driver’s seat of the ‘74 Chevy pickup. He drove away northbound on the backwoods dirt road. Although Jake was discouraged by the fact that his fake Southern accent hadn’t fooled good old Ricky, this emotion quickly abandoned him in favor of his sudden urge to stop somewhere to get a bucket of fried chicken.
Chapter Twenty Dead Kennedys and Draggin’ Slayers
Route 15, North Central Pennsylvania Jake steered the throttling faded red ‘shine wagon northbound along the tree l ined Route 15 in North Central Pennsylvania. The gloom of this winter eventide was fast approaching, and Jake was content with his newly acquired booty and mode of transportation. It had been a good day in that sense.
But of even more significance had bee n Jake’s chance meeting with Lucy. Lucy, or whatever its name used to be before she was changed, was the first creature he had encountered since the Birthday Incident. This Lucy creature exhibited the same mannerisms, shape, and demeanor as the Rich creature and Holly creature.
This discovery could prove to be monumental for Jake. There had been news reports of horrific nature involving similar personages over the past few months. But now Jake had visual proof that something very discomposing was taking place, whether it be due to a plague, radioactivity, or whatever it was.
If only good old boy Ricky back in West Virginia could have been a little more insightful in determining what brought Lucy to that metamorphosis. Still, now Jake had something he could work with. He had insight that would provide him with some hope and promise. He needed to stop somewhere safe to rest and camp out for the night, to brainstorm and project his next steps. Jake was on a mission to save his life and to get back to his family.
Surrounding traffic became non-existent, and Jake slowed down to about 20 miles per hour, attempting to find the perfect
location to pull into the woods and hide his stolen ride. In the approaching distance he noticed two objects off to the left side of the two-lane route. The forms appeared to be two people dancing or struggling. He was unable to make out exactly what was happening until he was right up on it.
Suddenly the sight he had been straining to capture was as plain as day but as bizarre as a five-legged lamb. One of those creatures like Lucy, that was once human and had now morphed into something hideous, was grappling with a full grown, brown and white spotted doe.
The creature was biting the left side of the deer’s large fur -covered venous neck. The deer was shrieking and bellowing while also kicking the shit out of the creature with its hind legs. It was using every fiber of strength it had to free itself from the carnivore’s grasp, but to no avail.
Jake stopped the vehicle to sta re dumbfounded. The doe’s plight to survive the brutality ended in vain as the hungry meat-eater stood erect, holding its dinner in both arms and feasting away at the once glorious animal that was now nothing more than raw venison.
Jake stomped on the accelerator of the moonshine mobile and drove as fast as he could for another thirty minutes until he figured he was at a safe proximity. He then slowly pulled off the main road onto an overgrown, brush-covered dirt road. Shortly, Jake veered the truck into a large thicket of pines and saplings.
Jake drove deep enough into the woods to prevent the vehicle from being spotted from the roadway. He removed his sickle, shotgun, and Mason jar from the passenger floorboard, as well as a handful of maps from the glove box. Then he covered the old Chevy with broken tree branches to conceal it further, and he set out on foot.
He was tired, thirsty, hungry and still bewildered over what transpired just south down the freeway. Jake hiked through the dense thicket and came across a “No Hunting” sign nailed to a tree. In approximately every thousand feet, there was another identical sign.
Eventually Jake stumbled upon a large oak tree with wooden blocks nailed up the side of its trunk. These were man made steps used to climb up onto a waiting plywood platform. The platform was enclosed on all four sides but was lacking a roof. Jake didn’t see or hear anything inside the structure, so he figured this was as good a place as any to gather his bearings and make a game plan. The weary traveler set his goods down on the floor in a corner, and he opened his maps.
The ability to map efficiently was an essential skill of a soldier and for police officers. So, Jake was quite capable of tracking his current location on the maps. He estimated his current location to be somewhere within the Loyalsock State Forest. This was a scenic forest that featured the “Endless Mountains” on its northern tier, as well as cascading waterfalls and flaming fall foliage over its 114,000 acres.
From out of nowhere Jake began to ponder. Why would there be a tree stand in a state forest? Hunting is not permitted in such a publicly accessible area. His pondering quickly took a back seat in his list of priorities as Jake looked down at his large rubberized G Shock watch. The time was no huge revelation. It was about 2100 hours, or 9 p.m. But when he noticed that it was February 7th, he realized the significance of the date that would be arriving in just three hours.
It would be February eighth. The one-year anniversary of THE INCIDENT. The day that changed Jake’s life and so many of his loved ones’ lives forever. It was so much of a dramatic game altering event that Jake’s mental calendar would never be the same. His new timeline began with THE BIRTHDAY INCIDENT as Day 1, and everything that happened before that was ancient history.
Jake reached for the Mason jar he had snatched while leaving Ricky’s love shack back in West Virginia.
Please let this not be piss, he thought as he twisted off the lid and chugged down a mouthful of golden liquid. This was not urine, thank god. It was a strong peach moonshine. It burned as it went down his throat and singed his esophagus. Not having eaten for a couple days, the lining of his stomach was wide open to accept alcohol, and it quickly took effect.
Jake continued to consume the backwoods swill, soon finding himself to be in a drunken stupor. Flashbacks from that horrific date a year before ran through his mind. Random images from his entire life were jumping in and out of his head with no synchronicity or pattern. Thoughts of suicide struck his conscience as well. Jake could still not completely rid himself of his feelings of guilt regarding the incident.
There must have been something I could have done differently. I didn’t have to kill Rich and Holly like I did. Jake plunged into a deep sea of unconsciousness and the empty mason jar toppled from his hand. It bounced off the plywood floor and flew out the entrance opening in the wall. The jar struck a couple of the wooden steps on the way down and smashed to the ground.
Dallas Police Sergeant Jake Hathaway suddenly found himself back in downtown Dallas. He was walking the beat again in his navy blue, short-sleeve uniform shirt and shorts. A midnight blue 1961 model Lincoln stretch limousine slowly rolled past Jake and came to a complete stop about 20 yards ahead of him. This was not your typical limousine, for it had no roof and featured rear bumper steps.
Jake’s unobstructed view into the open -air limo revealed that the vehicle was occupied by five people. At the very front was the driver. He was an ordinary looking guy wearing a grey suit and chauffeur hat.
Seated behind him was a white woman who had a man seated to her right. In the rear seat was yet another couple. Both women were seated on the driver side of the vehicle, and their accompanying men were on the passenger side.
None of the people looked back at Jake. They were all still seated and facing straight ahead. Jake noticed and recognized the woman in the back row. She was wearing a strawberry pink double-breasted Chanel wool boucle suit with a navy trim collar. She also had a matching pink pillbox hat.
The man seated to her left had neatly combed, noticeably red hair. He wore a black suit coat with a white shirt adorned with black and red pinstripes. His matching black tie was smothered with small navy crest patterns.
A man’s voice from within the car called out: “Officer, how do I get to Dealey Plaza?” Jake noticed not a single head had turned. All of the passengers still stared straight ahead. Happy to assist the tourists, Jake walked toward the car while pointing to the west, and replied, “you’re on Elm Street now. Just keep going straight, and it’s right below the hill.”
Jake still got no looks from anyone in the vehicle. All he saw of them was the backs of their heads. It was odd that although he could not see their faces, Sgt. Hathaway felt as if he recognized these people. Yet he could not establish in his mind just who they were and why they were familiar to him.
A second voice emerged from the vehicle. This one came from the redheaded sharply dressed gentleman in the back seat. “Can you show me exactly where Kennedy got shot?”
Jake was now just a foot behind the vehicle. He took another two steps toward the passenger side of the vehicle until he was parallel with the red headed man. Jake smiled, as he had been solicited this very question about a million times before. He was prepared to give his routine canned response. He took his right index finger and began to point it at the back of his head.
But from S gt. Hathaway’s new vantage point, he now realized exactly who he was in the presence of. This was THE Presidential Limo; code named the X-100. And he was face to face with President John F. Kennedy.
Texas Governor John Connally and his wife, Nellie, sat on the bench seat behind the driver. In the seat at the rear of the vehicle was none other than Jackie O sitting beside her husband, the president, JFK.
President Kennedy now had his head turned and was looking Jake right in the eyes. Sgt. Hathaway unfolded all the fingers on his right hand to relinquish his pointing gesture. It probably was not proper to point out to the President of the United States the spot where a large rifle round had (or would) tear through the rear of his head, only to exit out the front, leaving a large gap in its wake.
“Oh, Mr. President. I’m sorry. Please excus
e me. Dealey Plaza is about a block up, straight ahead.”
President Kennedy replied, “Would you escort us there, son? I have a bad feeling about this.”
Jake jumped on the rear bumper steps as the limo proceeded to slowly motor for another block. Suddenly, the limousines' engine blew. Hot steam and dark smoke belled out from beneath the hood. The expired motor had given out and the long car came to a sudden halt, resting directly over a large white spraypainted “X” on the center lane of Elm Street.
Jake realized the extreme danger they all faced stopped in that spot, particularly the President and Governor Connally.
“We can’t stop here - we haveto keep moving!” Jake yelled.
The chauffeur calmly uttered, “Calm down, young man, the car just stalled out. I can get it running again.” The driver exited his seat, walked around to the front of the vehicle, and lifted the hood.
Four Dallas PD motorcycle cops arrived on the scene, riding large, loud Kawasaki police bikes. Two of them appeared on each side of the limo as Jake jumped down off the rear running board.
He appealed to the other officers, “we need to put the car in neutral and push it down past that overpass ahead. WE CANNOT STAY HERE!!!!!!!”
Jake looked to his right, seeing the green grassy knoll. A six-foot wooden picket fence separated the hill from the Texas School Book Depository parking lot.
The sound of dragging and clawing emerged from behind the fence. Soon what appeared to be mindless dead creatures began to stack themselves on top of the others fallen below them.
Zombies started to appear at the top of the wooden pickets and falling over the top, knocking pickets down with the weight of their falling masses. Soon similar beings were pushing through the busted boards. A deluge of the dead began to flow down the green grassy slope. A couple of the creatures lost their footing on the steep grade of the hill and rolled down, smashing upon the sidewalk. Then slowly they gravitated back onto their feet and staggered into the road, toward the stretch convertible.
Wicked Awake Page 18