Charles put his shirt back down then ambled into the kitchen. He removed a clear glass bottle of Cuervo tequila from the top cabinet. He held the bottle to his lips and chugged down a mouthful of the alcohol. Charles retreated to the living room and resumed his oneness with his recliner. He watched an “All in the Family” episode on the boob tube before falling into a deep slumber.
The patriarch of the Hathaway family woke up at about 3 a.m. He was devoid of any human emotion and feeling hungry for flesh. He walked north through his vegetable garden in a state of DEAD. He fumbled over the stone wall that separated the Hathaway property from the Stanley property to the north and got within fifty feet of Fred Stanley’s grey colonial homestead.
Charles walked with the speed and resemblance of someone sleepwalking and in a trance. He got caught in three strands of barbed wire fence and his clothes and flesh began tearing. He continued to struggle as his arteries and veins were being severed.
Tin cans tied to the fence clanged loudly, and Mr. Stanley came outside along with Smith & Wesson. Stanley pointed his .357 at Charles’ head and apologized, saying “I’m sorry, Charles. I’m gonna take you home.”
Fred Stanley shot once, striking what was once his neighbor Charles in the middle of his forehead. Stanley’s teenage son ran outside, and he helped his father carry the creature’s body back onto the Hathaway property. Mr. Stanley guided his son.
“It’s over by that tree, right where he told me it would be. Looks like Clara is waiting for him already.” They placed the body of the Charles-creature inside a second waiting grave and then utilized the same blood-stained shovel, taking turns spreading the dirt over the top of the still corpse.
With the Hathaway couple now in their final resting place, Mr. Stanley located two handcarved crosses. One cross read ‘Charles’ and the other ‘Clara.’ They sat on the ground and leaned against the base of the grand pine.
The Stanleys placed each cross at the head of its corresponding occupant. They began to walk back to their house as several chickens scattered across the Hathaway property. Some of the hens pecked at bugs in the garden soil while others chased flying beetles across the yard.
Fred and his son had not noticed in the early morning black; Martha the brown and white spotted Jersey milking cow was sleeping comfortably. She was lying down just a few feet away from the new resting places of Charles and Clara Hathaway.
Part 3 - Blinded by the Science
Some days it seems as if everyone you come across or hear about in your travels is bad, the filth of the earth, pure evil. One explanation for that could be as simple as this: That is exactly what people want to hear. So that’s precisely what the media gives you. It is what sells newspapers (or used to before all the news went online) and what makes people tune in to that awful TMZ crap on television.
But not all beings are wicked (being used in the malevolent context). For there are those members of mankind that occasionally find themselves leaning upon their right cerebral hemisphere, sometimes displaying acts in which they utilize their physical and mental strength, and/or exhibit feats of bravery and courage, in order to help another in need while at the same time placing themselves in potential danger.
Often, although aware of their inescapability of death, they still confront such threat head on without the slightest hesitation, out of the knowledge and reassertion that what they are doing is right and just. Often, they find themselves standing up to face a challenge, finding the stamina necessary to assist a brother or stranger, even when they had no idea previously that the vigor even existed inside them, or from whence it came.
Chapter Twenty-Seven - NOT So Convenient
I 95, Connecticut
Jake had left his hometown hours ago and was now walking in a southwesterly direction away from Rhode Island. He soon found himself in the neighboring state of Connecticut.
Tired and hungry, Jake decided to stop at a Cumberland Farms convenience store in Stamford at about 2:00 a.m. The weary traveler walked into the well-lit shop to find the place empty. There was no sign of life. He walked over to the coffee island and poured himself a large cup of black coffee in a tall disposable paper cup.
Although there were no employees in sight, the jumbo-sized hot dogs were turning behind the clerks’ counter. It was as if someone had been there recently. Jake cautiously perused around, hoping to locate a store clerk. He noticed a “Caution Wet Floor” sign lying on its side out near the refrigerated foods area at the rear of the store.
A large yellow janitor’s plastic mop bucket on wheels was tipped over with dirty floor water spread all over the floor. A mop with a cracked wooden handle was sprawled out flat in aisle five.
The cash register appeared to be secure. The drawer was closed. If this had been a robbery, most likely the till would have been opened or the robbers would have just taken the whole register with them.
Jake stopped short. He had stumbled upon a trail of blood that led past the building’s single restroom and lead into the back warehouse. The blood did not appear to have dripped or splattered but was thick and vast and spread across the floor. It was as if something had been dragged through it.
Jake began to follow the bloody path. Suddenly a sound, barely audible but resembling a female crying, came from the lavatory. The door handle began to shake violently as if someone inside was attempting to open the door.
Jake returned to the sales floor and picked up the abandoned mop. He snapped the wooden handle in half over his knee, then clutched the half without the mop head. He was wielding the stick in his right hand like a club. With trepidation, he used his left hand to turn the bathroom doorknob and slowly opened the door.
There was no light on in the bathroom. It was consumed with darkness. Jake opened the door wider to allow the fluorescent light from the main portion of the sales floor illuminate the small bathroom.
Jake could now see inside and saw straight ahead was a wall-mounted hand dryer beside a small white sink. An oval mirror with various rock bands and gang names scratched into the surface hung above the sink.
“Hello? Are you okay?” Jake asked. He turned his head around the door opening to investigate the right corner of the lavatory. A large, beefy, black arm smacked Jake across the face. It knocked him backwards a few feet and out of the bathroom doorway. This caused Jake to drop his improvised club in the process.
The large arm smelled of rotting flesh, was oozing a dark fluid, and had gaping holes through which brown bones were visible in between missing wedges of skin and muscle.
“ARRRGGGHHH!!!”
The sound echoed from within. For the large beefy arm that had just swatted Jake was attached to a creature who now came looming out of the Cumberland Farms potty. IT was once a large African American male who stood about 6-foot-2 and weighed 280 pounds. IT had a dark complexion, long braided dreadlocks that hung out from beneath ITs Washington Nationals baseball cap andwas wearing a New York Yankees’ Alex Rodriguez jersey.
The zombie lunged at Jake. ITs catcher’s -mittsized hands reached for Jake’s torso. ITs mouth full of rotten yellow teeth were biting near the former police sergeant’s head. Jake instinctively assumed a fighter’s stance, with his body bladed and using his left hand to block. He used his right fist to throw several upper cuts into the beast’s abdominal region.
Realizing these had no effect on the zombie, Jake had to rethink his approach. This was not a human competitor that was sparring with him. This was a monstrosity hell bent on killing Jake and devouring his innards.
While blocking and ducking the lurching zombie’s advances, Jake backed his way into aisle five. He grabbed the second half of the mop handle, which had the mop head attached. Jake had both hands on the stick. He swiveled to the left and made an upward thrust to spear the grandiose oddity below its chin and then upwards. The splintered wooden mop handle careened through ITs mouth, nasal passages and brain.
The defeated beast tumbled to the floor. A young white female who had bee
n huddled in the corner of the supply room walked out into the retail area of the store. She was sobbing loudly and obviously relieved that the threat had dissipated.
She had jet black hair, black nail polish, and was dressed in a white T-shirt featuring the caricature of a skull head with a pink bow on top. Her wardrobe also included a pair of pink pajama pants with an elastic waistband, and black and white canvas sneakers.
“Do you work here?” Jake demanded of the shaken-up youth.
“No, she’s in there.” Denise pointed in the direction of the metal walk-in freezer just inside the storage room. Jake ran into the supply room. He noticed the blood trail he had observed earlier led into the walk-in freezer. He used a paper towel to cover the blood-smeared freezer door handle and he opened the door to find the store clerk inside. She was lying face down on the floor.
She was a fifty-something-yearold Middle Eastern woman with the name plate of “Alice” on her blue Cumberland Farms smock. She was barely alive, her body horribly bitten and clawed by the now-defunct creature.
Alice struggled to speak. Jake attempted to comfort her by holding her hand. To hear her flaccid voice, he put his ear closer to her mouth to hear her urging.
“Please, please… not want …die …like this. End it!”
Alice begged the stranger to get her gun from underneath the front counter near the cash register. She wanted him to end her misery. Jake hated to see an innocent person suffer, but he also knew what would happen to Alice if she were to “change over.”
Jake made his way to the area behind the checkout counter. He looked around for, and finally located it, underneath the “Big Dog” hot dog wrappers. Lying there on the shelf was a wornout snub-nose .380-caliber revolver.
The scratched and dented weapon had seen better days. Black electrical tape held the plastic handle grips in place and the trigger was loose and wobbly.
Jake retrieved the gun and returned to Alice to oblige her in her final request. He covered her eyes with his left hand, then placed the snub nose to her left temple and squeezed the trigger.
The .380 projectile went through Alice’s skull and into her brain, putting her out of her misery. Her limp, mangled body toppled onto the dingy back room floor. Jake noticed a set of keys fall out of the employee’s work apron and onto the tile. Jake snatched up a Kia car key and thought to himself, “I guess she won’t need this anymore.”
Jake returned to the coffee island and finished getting his java. Then he ambled over to the hot dog rotisserie and grabbed three of the “Big Dog” hot dogs. He bedded them inside of fresh white buns and loaded them down with two very different toppings.
This was a recipe he had developed years earlier. It was something he called the “Mason Dixon dog.” It featured one ingredient from the north, dill relish, and another ingredient from the south, salsa.
The girl, now standing a few feet away, reacted. “That’s gross! Have you ever heard of mustard?”
Jake ignored the juvenile and began to eat one of the dogs as he prepared to make his leave.
“What about me?” the teen requested.
“Take what you want. This asshole is paying,” Jake commented as he took a wallet out of the malezombie’s pants pocket and placed it beside the cash register.
Seemingly offended by the comment, the young female yelled, “Shut the fuck up. That’s Curtis. He’s my brother.”
Jake was rendered speechless and stood silent as the girl related her story. She told Jake how her parentshad split up when she was ten. And then her mom remarried Curtis’ dad. They had all made a new life for themselves and settled down in a quaint town in Delaware. She and Curtis did not get along well from the start. However, they had matured since. Curtis was fifteen and Denise was now thirteen. Their sibling relationship had improved considerably over the last three years.
One of the highlights of their family outings was the time their dad took them to a Yankees game at Yankee Stadium.
“Curtis begged dad for a jersey. The only XXXL sized jersey they had in stock was that Rodriguez jersey he’s wearing now. Curtis was really a Washington Nationals fan but wore the ARod jersey to remind him of that special day we had with Dad.”
Jake felt sorry for having called the girl’s brother an asshole. Especially now that Curtis is dead. Concernedly he asked, “Where are your parents now?” “We were all on a road trip together, traveling from Delaware to Massachusetts. Then we had car trouble. Dad exited off the freeway and parked in this Cumberland Farms parking lot to check under the hood. That’s when zombies started to pour out of that wooded area back there.
“The monsters attacked Dad and killed him, while Mom, me and Curtis all watched from inside the car. Mom and I tried to call the police, but our cellphones were not working. Curtis started to go out to help Dad, but Mom yelled ‘No!’ and locked the car doors and windows from the front seat.
“They ate Dad! We were honking the car horn, yelling and screaming for help! But no one would stop. Either because they thought we were crazy, or they just didn’t care. And the monsters kept on eating dad!
“Then they got a chunk of concrete and smashed out the front seat passenger window. One of them grabbed Mom, started biting her through the open window as she sat there. Mom yelled for us to run for it and call 911. So, I got out of the car and ran like hell inside the store. Then I looked back and saw Curtis trying to pull the creatures off mom.
“One of the zombies bit Curtis, then another and another. Curtis dropped to the ground and looked dead. I told the clerk to call for help and then I waited inside the store.
“The Cumberland Farms lady locked the doors. Me and her hid behind the magazine rack.
About twenty minutes later Curtis was outside pounding on the doors and trying to get in. But he was not the normal Curtis.He looked dead.”
Denise paused and looked at Jake. “I thought zombies weren’t supposed to be real!!??”
Jake found himself sympathizing with Denise. He was enthralled in her story. “Hold on, back up.” Jake said. “Did you say you called 911?”
“Yeah, the cops are on their way.”
“Oh man, I gotta go!!” the former lawman announced. He looked out the front store windows to the left and right, ensuring that there were no zombies or cops in sight. The coast was clear. He ran out towards the vehicles parked outside.
Jake pushed the unlock button on the key fob he had taken from Alice. The lights flashed on a granny-smith-apple-green Kia Soul parked on the north side of the building.
Denise ran after him begging, “Don’t leave me here alone!”
Jake hurried along and insisted, “The police are coming. They will help you. That’s what they do.”
She said “I don’t like cops. They’re assholes. Please let me go with you.”
Jake reluctantly agreed. “Geezzzz. Okay, come on.”
The two jumped into the square vehicle. Jake drove away hastily and headed southbound. Seated in the front passenger seat and holding on for her dear life, the girl introduced herself.
“I’m Denise. What’s your name?”
“Sal,” Jake said.
“Where are we going?”
Jake replied, “Just out of here for now, until we can find a safe place to stop and figure out what to do with you.”
“I have nowhere to go. Where do youlive?” she said.
“I’m not going home. I actually don’t have a place to call home anymore. So,I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is I’m dropping you off somewhere as soon as I can.”
“Whatever,” Denise mumbled under her breath as she pulled a large smartphone out of her back jeans pocket.
“What is that? One of those tablet things?”
“No, it’s my cellphone.”
“You gotta have huge pockets to hold that thing,” Jake said.
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“No. I’m saying, why do you need a phone that is mammoth?”
“Why, what do yo
u have?”
“I don’t have one now, but I used to…”
Denise chirped, “Let me guess – a flip phone, right?”
“It worked well enough to make calls with.”
“What are you, 70?” Denise chuckled.
Jake did not respond. It was obvious these two were from two different planets and had nothing in common to discuss. The youngster began to access the internet on her device.
She quizzed, “I guess you don’t do Facebook, do you?”
“I guess you’re smarter than you look. No, I rarely do’ Facebook.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Armano.”
She typed the name “Sal Armano” into her smartphone and studied the screen momentarily. Then under her breath she murmured “oh, shit!”
Denise began to fidget with the passenger door handle as if trying to open the door. She was about to jump out of the still-moving vehicle.
“Whoa-hold on.” Jake pulled the Soul over to the side of the road. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked.
Denise flew the passenger door open and was halfway out of the car.
“That’s why you took off before the cops showed up! You’re some mafia dude wanted for murdering some other mafia dude on a boat in Boston!” she yelled. Jake explained that was just his alias name. He told her his real name was Jake Hathaway. Denise remarked, “that’s a stupid alias. You need to use the name of someone who ain’t killed people!”
She quickly typed in the new name and recounted, “soo o… now you’re a cop? And they got a murder warrant out for you for killing your brother and sister-in-law! I felt safer with you before when Ithought you were just some mafia hitman!”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he grunted sarcastically. Although Jake did not owe her any explanation, he began to spill out his life story to Denise. She respectfully and silently listened to the unbelievable tale. He explained that he had been accused of murdering his own brother and sister-in-law.
Wicked Awake Page 27