“We shouldn’t be afraid, either,” Emily says furrowing her eyebrows.
“I’m not saying that. We don’t know anything about these people. Maybe they’re normal. Maybe they’re not. It’s going to be a lot better if we just act like nothing's wrong. The truth is, nothing is wrong. It could be just a dream.”
“I’m guessing we aren’t going to worry about the resources they may have to offer us,” Andrew says.
“I’d feel better if we just got ourselves out of here,” I respond.
Just outside the door, we can hear Harold and Carissa. The stairs creak, indicating they’re heading downstairs. Inside our room, we finish gathering our things. Now is as good a time as any to go. We open the door, head out into the hallway, and stop when we get to the room we think Carissa’s mother is in. The door is open a crack. Downstairs, we can hear Harold and Carissa talking. Emily grabs the door’s knob and turns to look back at us and I shoot her a look, my eyes begging her not to go in. Andrew moves to the first step to keep a lookout. Emily pushes the door enough for her to move into the doorway. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I follow her in.
Inside is a four-post wooden bed with a sheer canopy surrounding it, hanging from each of the posts. A lantern shines on a night table on the other side creating a silhouette of a body that I figure to be Marisol’s. On the other side is an IV stand with an IV drip bag and tubing that gets lost beneath the canopy. Harold wasn’t kidding, she is sick. How sick? To get more clarity about my dream, I’ve got to get a better look despite Andrew’s whispers from the hallway begging me not to. I have to. My dream, still fresh in my mind, drives me forward to investigate her face to see. Emily trails behind a step as we move to the foot of the bed and part the curtain. We get our answer. Marisol, sleeping, is more than sick. Most of her complexion is muted and one side of her neck looks like bruised fruit. But, something about how she looks convinces me this is more than what Harold says this is. She doesn’t look like she’s battling cancer, although admittedly, I don’t know what that looks like. I do, however, know and have seen the transition from human to Feaster before. If I could only see her eyes. The eyes always give it away, but she’s sleeping. Emily leans into me, “Do you think she is what I think she is?” I nod.
Suddenly, from out of the room, we hear a CRASH! Our eyes bolt towards the door’s opening, scared of getting caught. When we look back at Marisol’s bed, her eyes are open. She’s staring at us without really staring. It’s almost as if she’s looking past or through us. Her eyes have a half human, half Feaster quality about them, as if her transformation has frozen midway. She opens her mouth to speak.
Suddenly another CRASH breaks into the moment. It’s not coming from the hallway, but downstairs. “Where’s Andrew?” Emily realizes he’s not outside the door.
Shaking my head, I indicate that I don’t know, but when I draw my machete, Emily matches my assumptions. She puts a short-range arrow onto her compound bow.
“I swear if they did anything to him, I’ll feed them both to the Feasters,” Emily spits out as we move out of the room and slither down the stairs with the wall to our backs. The creaks in the stairs are a sure tell we are coming, so we double-time our descent. Just behind the couch, we see Harold kneeling over something with a hammer in his hand. Carissa, too, is focused where he’s looking. Immediately, I wonder if Andrew is on the ground. As Harold lifts the hammer up, I yell, “HEY! Drop the hammer! Don’t you dare make a single move or Emily will put an arrow right into Carissa’s skull!”
Emily with Carissa already in her field of vision, says, “She’s in my sight. Just say the word and I’ll drop her.”
Harold starts to stand, his back to us, the hammer still in a striking position. “I think this is some kind of gross misunderstanding. I assure you this hammer is not being used for whatever wild intention you may think I’m using it for,” he says.
“Where’s Andrew?!” I spit out. My face feels flushed with fear and anger.
“He’s just in the other room. He’s helping my father with these broken shelves,” Carissa’s voice breaks, her body stiff with fear.
“Andrew? Andrew?” Emily calls out frantically. Silence. “Andrew?!”
I move slowly to the bottom step and demand, “Don’t move, Harold.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. Believe me, this is a misunderstanding,” his voice unwavering. I move around the couch expecting to see Andrew on the floor in peril. Instead, the floor is riddled with broken picture frames, ceramic dishes, and wooden shelving.
Just then, Andrew comes around the corner holding a dustpan and broom. “Oh hey, guys.” Seeing our weapons drawn, he asks, “Um, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Emily asks half relieved and half angry. “Where did you go? And, what was that crashing sound?”
“I heard Carissa and Harold downstairs, so I went to say hello. When I leaned against these bookshelves, they broke, and everything just came down. I figured I should lend a hand. Then, when I started to pick up the pieces, the other shelf must have been loose because it came down when I put a little weight on it.” Then Andrew turned to Harold, “Sorry again. I can be so clumsy sometimes.”
“Yes, I’m afraid these old shelves,” Harold said, gesturing at the wall, “are pretty shoddy. So, I set off to fix them. I was going to use the hammer here to knock down the rest of them.”
“Then, I asked Andrew to get the dustpan and broom hanging just inside the pantry door,” Carissa added.
Just then Harold looks at the hammer as a thought hits him. “You two didn’t think I was going to use this on Andrew, did you?” Harold and Carissa both face us.
We are silent for several moments as the awkwardness covers us like a blanket. “You said it yourself, Harold. It’s hard to trust anyone these days,” Emily says.
Harold looks down at his feet, his lips pursed, “Well, I would be lying to you if I didn’t say I’m a bit insulted. It’s such a strange feeling to not be trusted in your own home.” He pauses a moment and then changes his tone to shake off the insult. “Won’t you stay for a little?”
The three of us give each other the answer without saying a word. “Harold. Carissa. Thank you so much for allowing us to stay,” I say, trying to hide the discomfort of my dream and seeing Marisol. Glancing over at Emily, I can tell she wants to say something, and I know it’s about what we saw upstairs. I’m thankful she decides to keep quiet. “We really need to be on our way. We’ve got some animals that we’re sure need tending to.”
“Ahh, I get it. The food source,” Harold adds. “I do wish we had more to offer you beside some crackers and other basic necessities.”
Emily adds with an air of sarcasm that I’m sure that neither Harold nor Carissa don’t pick up on, “Oh, please. You’ve done more than enough. Kieran? Andrew? We need to get going.”
Again, her attention mostly on Andrew, Carissa adds, “It was great to spend time with other teenagers. Hopefully, this is the start of a friendship.” She extends her hand to Andrew. They shake and Carissa lets the handshake linger a little too long for Emily’s taste, judging by her expression. “Thank you, Andrew, for helping my father out. We will always remember that there is some good left in this world.” Then she turns to us, “I did mean what I said about remaining friends.” She extends her hand to me and I shake it. And then, she extends her hand to Emily. She slaps it like a high-five. Carissa chuckles, “You’re so funny.” She laughs, a little bit over the top like she’s trying too hard.
We move quickly to the door, but not too hastily so we don’t raise too much suspicion. After apologizing for the misunderstanding and saying our final goodbyes, we prepare for our trip back home by performing our weapons check outside. I look at the minivan, and although the crowd outside has thinned, the Feasters are still trapped. As we move past the confines of the gate, Emily explodes in a hushed attack, “What the heck was that all about, Andrew? I mean seriously.”
“What are you talking ab
out?”
“You were supposed to be our lookout when we went in that room, not playing house with the humans,” Emily continues.
“Em, you’ve got to be kidding me right now with this. How can you say that?” Andrew throws his hands into the air.
“We will always remember that there is some good left in this world,” Emily mocks Carissa’s sing-songy voice. “She makes me wanna puke.”
“Shhh!” I remind them as we are moving through the shadows.
“Em, what should I have done? Taken your approach? Been abrupt and abrasive?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. You have the same feeling we have about those people,” she points back in the direction of the house. “And, what about Kieran’s dream? We’re supposed to be aware of things like that.”
“It could have been nothing, too, Emily,” I chime in, even though I just wanted to stay out of it.
“Or, it could mean something, Kieran. Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on our side. Our family’s side,” I calm my tone trying to diffuse the situation. It doesn’t work.
“Look, Andrew,” Emily adds, “it doesn’t answer the question of where you were when we needed you to keep watch.”
“What the heck did you think I was doing?”
“Like I said, playing house. Carissa had eyes for you from the start.”
Andrew starts laughing. “Oh, you were jealous, weren’t you?”
“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself.” Emily is probably happy it’s dark because I know her face is red. Red with anger. Red with embarrassment.
The conversation gets tabled as we come up on the wall. We move along the wall to find the gate. “Um, guys. The lock we put back on the gate is gone.”
“So?” Andrew says.
“So? It means that someone else has been here. We have to be careful. You do know what it means to be careful, right?” Emily says in a hushed voice. The three of us get our weapons ready as we move through the gate. We fan out on both sides with our backs against the concrete wall. Except for the moving water, everything is so still. The water in the aqueduct is lower tonight which will make passage easier. We slide down to the water’s edge and start to cross arm in arm.
As we begin our ascent to the other side, the sounds of Feasters grab our attention. We do a quick spin to see where it’s coming from. The gate swings forward. A canister with smoke trailing behind it comes racing through the entrance, and then it explodes like a firework. POP! POP! Seconds after, attracted by the sound, Feaster after Feaster shambles through the gate and the thick smoke. “The Feasters are coming!” I yell. Eight in all stand at the top following the popping sound of the canister. Just then, from over the top of the wall from the other side of it, two more canisters fly in our direction. Smoke cuts a trail through the night sky. As they hit the water, POP! POP! The noise shifts the Feasters’ attention towards us as they move toward the concrete decline that leads toward us. The first tumbles toward the water. So does the second. Their groans calling out to the night. The rest follow clumsily down. One can’t seem to get its footing and rolls away with the light current. The rest get to their decayed feet and move across the water, stumbling along.
We freeze, trying to understand what’s happening. Deadly figures coming through the smoke carve an ominous situation for us. Finally, Emily shakes off the confusion, “Guys, what are we just standing here for? We’ve gotta move!” I agree. I pull Andrew’s shoulder to jump start him up the concrete incline. By this time, the Feasters are already at the water’s edge and more are entering through the entrance.
We reach the gate leading out of the aqueduct and Emily says, “Um, we’ve got another problem. Someone put a lock on this gate!”
“What do you mean?” I ask in desperation, not fully registering what Emily is saying. I know we put the lock back after we saw it on the ground on our run to Harold and Carissa’s. That lock was already cut. Then, it hits me all at once. “Why would someone put a lock on the fence? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Make sense of it later,” Andrew says reaching for the bolt cutters. As he puts the mouth of the cutters onto the lock, Emily stops him.
Andrew yells, “Em, what the heck? We gotta get out of here!”
“We can’t go this way!” She points to the other side of the fence. A herd of Feasters join in, attracted by the commotion, and block the gate. It’s better to keep it locked.
The smoke from the canisters makes the visibility hazy and chaotic as the zombies finish their climb up the concrete incline. Between the plumes of smoke, something across the aqueduct catches my eye. A silhouetted figure stands on top of the wall, arms up to their eyes, two small red lights coming from them. Night-vision goggles? That’s my guess. But why? Did this person put us in this situation? The answers to those questions will have to wait. We have more pressing issues.
The growls and groans and popping of teeth get closer. “We have no other choice but to fight,” I shout as the first Feaster gets to us. In one motion, I land my machete into him, and he tumbles halfway down the decline. He’s still moving. I need to be better about that. I make sure the next one doesn’t have a chance to move again.
The even concrete we’re on extends along the entire wall, but only stretches about five feet wide. This limited space makes it difficult for the three of us to fight as the Feasters approach on all sides. For Emily, firing an arrow isn’t much of an option. Instead, she grabs two shorter arrows in each hand and readies herself. Andrew can’t fully swing his bat without risking hitting one of us. So, we’ll have to work together.
As the Feasters close in on us, Andrew attempts to lighten the mood. So typical but needed. “Well kids, on tonight’s episode of Fun with Feasters, our three heroes find themselves helplessly and hopelessly trapped.” Just then a Feaster comes face to face with Andrew. He calmly extends his bat to keep him back. “Will handsome Andrew save the day? Or will Kieran’s logic devise a plan for escape? Or perhaps, will angst-driven Emily lead this trio to victory?”
Emily drives an arrow into the Feaster that Andrew has at bay. “You left out gorgeous. It’s the gorgeous, angst-driven Emily. And yes, I will lead us to victory,” she says as she extracts the arrow from the Feaster and plants it into another one.
From my side, two Feasters approach. I crouch and swing my machete at the Feaster’s knee sending him buckling to the ground. As I stand, my machete drives into the next one’s head. I look down, and the zombie I just hobbled is harmlessly gnawing on my boot. I end him too.
I peer across the aqueduct at the gate and more Feasters are joining the party. From behind us, a chorus of them are pressed up against the chain fence. In their desperation for food, they press their fingers against the chain links, separating decayed flesh from bone. This episode of Fun with Feasters may not end very well. I look across to the other side, and the silhouetted figure is still watching the show.
“Guys,” I warn, “this isn’t good. They just keep coming through that gate.” Emily and Andrew take a moment to survey the situation. They know the odds, but for now, fighting is our only option.
Andrew, with a little more space to his right, steps back so he can use his bat. PING! Another zombie goes down. Emily, with precision and a little space, shoots and takes out three Feasters who are starting their ascent. It seems like a losing battle. No matter how many we take out, there’s always another to take its place. The Feasters behind us are starting to rattle the hinges on the gate. “Anyone have a plan?” Emily asks.
It’s then that Andrew swings his bat at an advancing zombie and rolls his ankle on the edge of the concrete where it descends. His leg never fully healed from his injury before Emily changed him, so he’s unable to gather his footing. He tumbles down into the water. The Feasters closest to him advance. The ones from the other side close in on him. He grabs the hunting knife strapped to his leg and tries to go to work.
I kick the zombie closest to me, and he falls into another. B
oth go tumbling into the spillway. I sprint to help Andrew, driving my machete into two of them on the way. Emily fastens her bow with two arrows at the same time and unleashes them into two more Feasters that are closest to Andrew. Then, she scrambles down to make work of more of them at short-range. With fiery rage, Emily and I take out Feaster after Feaster while Andrew is being pulled under the water by the ones trying to tear at his flesh. Within seconds, we’re at his side, clearing the herd. Emily pulls him from the water and up towards the wall with one hand. “Why does it feel like I’m always saving your life?”
Andrew finds his footing, “We all know why. You love me.”
“Again, don’t flatter yourself, you idiot! Get up and move.”
I help to get him upright and moving. In the back of my mind, I pray he’s not bitten. No time to check now.
As we get to the top, I look at the wall, the figure is still watching as this all unfolds. “Emily! You see that person on the wall over there?”
“Yup, I saw him before. It didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.” She turns to the person and shouts, “Thanks for not helping! What do you want!?” The figure remains still. Emily puts an arrow to the bow, “Is this it?” She sends the arrow in the person’s direction. It whizzes past the figure’s head which causes whoever it is to fall backward off the wall. Emily doesn’t miss very often, so I’m convinced she missed on purpose. She may be a tough girl, but she’s not a killer.
Suddenly, the Feasters pounding at the gate break the hinges. At this point, fighting is no longer an option. We’ve cleared enough of them and make a break for it running along the wall until we find another gate. Snapping the lock off of it, we fall through to the other side, exhausted. We find shelter under some heavy brush and assess the damage, mostly on Andrew. Aside from some scrapes that will surely bruise, he’s fine. No bites. It’s a good thing that we dress in the attire we do. We’ve learned by trial and error, and of course, from seeing the mistakes of others that it’s always better to be over-prepared than under. Because Andrew converted into one of us, his injuries take a little longer to heal, although much faster than humans. We don’t know why, but it seems to be just the way things are.
Feasters Page 7