by Henson, Lynn
“This is your car?”
“No. No way. This is Gun’s car. Sorry I took so long, I had to go back and find the keys,” she explained. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to run a little errand. I might need your help.”
“Oh, ok.”
“And, um... thanks. For saving my life,” she said, giving him a curious glance.
“No problem,” he accepted, feeling a little color rise into his cheeks.
TWO
They were everywhere.
Driving down the streets, the afflicted were wandering the streets. They were trying to get into stores, clawing at cars, stumbling after unfortunate pedestrians. Any person with common sense had long since gotten indoors. Drivers were doing their best to nudge past the afflicted that were in the streets. Sirens could be heard everywhere as the city struggled to safely contain the sick and move them to hospitals.
Traffic, of course, sucked.
To Blake, it felt like they’d moved ten feet in the last ten minutes. The intersection wasn’t far ahead, but police were trying to herd a group of deranged people into the back of their van without getting bitten. They snapped viciously at anyone who came near. All of this was, of course, fascinating to the rubberneckers near the front of the intersection. Exasperated, Jasmine laid into the horn, the sound joining the cacophony of other horns and complaining.
“Well, it’s not like the cars in front of you can go,” Blake observed.
“Maybe they fell asleep, and I’m doing them a favor by waking them up,” Jasmine snapped.
“Who could sleep in all of this racket?” Blake replied as he peered ahead again. One of the deranged people had fallen on her face after a policeman had narrowly avoided her attempt to bite his face.
She grabbed both hands by the wheel and turned to look at him. “It was more therapeutic than anything else.”
“Did it work?” he asked, the corner of his mouth raised in a half smile.
She rolled her eyes at this, faced the wheel and brought her forehead down on the horn. It blared for half a minute which encouraged everyone else to follow suit.
A fire truck rolled into the intersection and soon they were spraying water at the afflicted group, trying to force them into the van, but the water mostly just pinned them to the bumper as they thrashed ineffectively at the brave cops who were keeping low and trying to boost them into the van.
Finally, the last of the sick people were pushed into the van and with the help of a traffic cop, traffic began to flow through the intersection again.
She stuck to backstreets and despite some snarls, finally rolled up and parked outside a crappy looking apartment building adorned in a bargain shade of cyan. They got out and walked towards the place. “You left the keys in the car,” he informed her.
“Yeah.”
“So is this where you live? Can I borrow some clothes?”
“No. As to your second question...” she went to the trunk of the car and opened it. She pulled a bundle out and tossed it to him.
It was a worn out tweed suit that was at least triple his age and reek of cigarettes.
“What the hell is this?” he complained.
“It’s clothes,” Jasmine answered like it was totally obvious.
“There’s some naked old man in a park that’s probably very upset that you stole his chain-smoking uniform.”
“You don’t have to wear them,” she shrugged.
Blake sighed and put them on, coughing as he did.
They continued into the building and up a flight of stairs, continuing around to the back of the building to an apartment that had the numbers 216 on the ugly green door.
“Is this a crack house?” he mumbled mostly to himself.
She tried to peek around the side of the blinds, rapped twice on the door then stood to one side of the door. He stood behind her, and she saw his questioning look. “Just in case.” she shrugged.
“In case of what?” he managed to blurt out when the door was opened by an Asian man wearing sunglasses and a dark grey suit with a metallic sheen to it. He looked over at Jasmine, stared at her for a half second and then gestured for her to come in. They did and he closed the door behind them.
Another quick gesture guided them into a brown cloth couch that was on the very brink of needing to be sent to the dump. He looked at Blake for a second and in one smooth motion, produced a pack of cigarettes that read “Raison” on it, offering it to him. Somehow, one of the cigarettes stuck out of the top.
“No thanks,” he declined, “I don’t smoke.”
The man looked at him for another brief instant and returned the cigarettes to a suit pocket.
The only other thing in this room was a new flat screen TV sitting on an old, flimsy card table. On the table and spread around the floor were beer cans in various states of crumpleness. The only English word on them seemed to read “hite”, with anything else in some language Blake didn’t recognize. He also noticed that not all of the cans were empty, some of the contents had spilled out onto the threadbare tan carpet. On the television, the current program of choice was a rerun of “Cops”. The man stood calmly in front of them, staring at Jasmine as he methodically wiped something from his right hand that was staining the towel with a tinge of red.
“I’d like my car returned please,” Jasmine asked plainly.
There was no response. The man continued to stare at her as he cleaned his hands.
“Look, the massage place is closed, so there’s nothing I can do until that’s all sorted out,” Jasmine persisted.
He let the towel drop to the floor and continued to stare at her in response.
“Check if you don’t believe me! I’ll wait,” she suggested, looking at some spot on the ceiling.
He stared at her for several more seconds, then turned and walked into another room.
“What the...” Blake whispered.
“Shhh…” Jasmine put her finger across her lips.
A minute later the man came out of the other room and looked at her again.
“I’m not trying to trick you. Think I want to die?” she sighed.
He walked towards the pair and then turned and wedged himself between Blake and Jasmine who both shifted away from him as quickly as they could. He then gave the television his full attention. He reached behind his shoulder and produced a hite beer which he cracked open with one hand. He slurped heartily at the can as he watched the police on TV chase after someone running through people’s backyards.
Blake had never wanted more to be anywhere else but here. He sat there for thirty minutes trying to watch TV when in reality, all of his attention was focused on the menacing quiet presence sitting next to him. That’s why he almost jumped out of his skin when the man suddenly stood up and hurled his beer can at the TV. It clanged off the screen and tumbled to the floor. The man stood in front of the screen for a moment watching as the cops stuffed some hapless criminal into the back of a squad car and he calmly sat back down as if nothing had happened.
Blake almost screamed when the man’s jacket pleasantly played a digital chime. The man seemed not to take any notice of Blake’s terror and calmly reached into his jacket, placing the phone to his ear. The man listened for several seconds and disconnected, smoothly placing the phone back into his jacket. He turned his head to look at Jasmine.
“It’s all as I said, right?” she smiled respectfully. He raised an eyebrow at this but stood up and began to fish around in his jacket. There was a sudden thud at the bedroom door, and everyone looked at it, surprised. Even this guy was surprised. That can’t be good. When the man pulled a wicked looking knife from his jacket and moved towards the door, Blake wanted to bolt right out the front door. Jasmine grabbed his hand and shook her head once, quickly. The man opened the door and another man stumbled out of the bedroom. His face was a bruised, bloody mess, and his white dress shirt had been stained red around the neck. The man kicked him back into the room. He turned to look at Jasmine on the couch c
ausing her to stand up immediately. “Let’s go.” She pulled him up and walked quickly out the front door.
Blake finally regained his senses when they were out of the apartment complex and standing in front of Gun’s car. “What the- Who is-? He had a- And the other guy-” he asked simultaneously.
“We’ll come back later,” she reassured him.
“Uh-uh. No. No car is worth going in there again.”
“It’s important. We’ll come back later.”
He got into the car without another word. She slid into the driver’s seat and the car rattled to life.
THREE
By sticking to back streets, they managed to make it back to Blake’s apartment without getting snarled in traffic. Blake’s apartment was in an older building, the outside walls done in gray stucco. Jasmine looked at it, “Is this it?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the lift. I’m, uh, sorry you weren’t able to get your car back.”
“Later,” she shrugged.
Blake got out of the car and walked up the couple of steps to the gate that marked the entrance to the apartment building. He turned and waved, but she was already driving down the street as fast as Gun’s car could manage. He thought in that split second when he saw her face she looked so sad. He walked through the shabby courtyard and up the flight of stairs leading up to his place. He reached his hand into his pocket, looking for his keys and remembered that his keys, wallet, and cell phone were all at a massage parlor. He banged his head on the door a few times, trying to relieve the frustration. He sighed and walked downstairs to the building manager’s apartment, knocking in the metal security door. He had to knock several times before he heard the door behind the metal one unlock and open. Felicia, the building manager, a Latino woman in her mid-forties wearing a floral moo moo and her hair covered in rollers looked out at him.
“Blake,” she observed sounding like he’d pried her away from something infinitely more important than whatever problems he had.
“Hi, Mrs. Espalda. I lost my keys,” Blake confessed. “Would you mind letting me into my apartment?”
She looked up at the sky mumbling, “Ay dios mio.” She left the door and Blake could hear her rummaging through something. After a minute of standing out there feeling awkward, Felicia emerged from her unit with an impressive key ring. “Let’s go,” she sniffed him. “You smoking? You better not be smoking inside the apartment.”
“No, no. I don’t smoke. Um… it’s a long story,” Blake shrugged.
She looked at him sternly, trying to decide if he was full of shit. Then she waddled in the direction of the stairs with all the grace of a duck wearing armor. They got up there and she unlocked the door for him, then she removed the key from the key ring and handed it to him. “I need this back,” she warned him.
“Thank you Mrs. Espalda. I’ll make a copy first thing tomorrow,” he told her gratefully. “Sorry to bother you,” he added as she clomped down the stairs. Relieved, he retreated into his apartment.
Once inside he stripped off the horrible loaner clothes he was wearing, went into his bathroom and after running the brown out of his water he cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed the water into his face. He let out a long exhale and looked at himself in the mirror. His brown hair was a little messy and he had the beginnings of a mullet starting to peek out from behind his head. His face was transitioning between boy and man, with matching facial fuzz that had only recently started to thicken. He blinked water out of his hazel eyes and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. Feeling better, he walked back into his living room and he sprawled out on his ugly green couch, tossing the key on to the adjacent table. The sun was still shining through the balcony window through a gap in the curtains and the warmth felt good on his body. He closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep.
FOUR
When Blake came to, moonlight was shining through the gap in the curtains. He pushed himself off the couch and walked over to the light switch and flipped them on. His living room remained dark. He flipped it on and off a few times for good measure, then walked into his kitchen and noted that the microwave was a blank. The power was out. He sighed, and opened the fridge and grabbed a strawberry yogurt. He peeled off the top, grabbed a spoon, and walked over to the balcony door, pulled it open and stepped out into the cool night air. He leaned on the railing as he ate his yogurt and noted how quiet it was tonight. The street lights were all out and every house up and down the street was dark. He looked down towards the intersection and movement at the corner caught his eye. A man was limping across the street. He stopped and became completely still. Blake realized he was holding his breath. The figure started limping down his street towards him. Blake noticed it had become very cold outside and retreated to the interior while being sure to shut and lock his balcony door and close the curtains.
His dark apartment seemed oppressive now as he made his way into the bedroom. He crossed over to the dresser and looked through the drawers. He pulled the small candles out that had been leftover from his relationship with Sherri. He took them to the kitchen and recovered some matches from one of the kitchen drawers, lit one of the candles, then used it to light all of the others. He set one down on the kitchen countertop then went to each room in turn and put down a lit candle. After this was done and there was a little light to each room, the night seemed a little less oppressive. He recovered some ham, pickles, and cheese from his fridge and set about making a couple of sandwiches. He’d just put the finishing touches on them when he heard a weird bump outside. He froze, listening intently. The bump came again. And again. He set his plate on his coffee table and peeked behind the curtain covering the balcony. Seeing nothing, he carefully unlatched the lock and tried to quietly slide the glass door open. It slid open with its usual heavy grinding sound, and Blake waited at the edge of the doorway, listening. The bump sounded again, louder and definitely close by. Crouching, he inched out onto his balcony to where he could look down.
In the street below a baggy figure was lamely smacking against a car window with his hand. He clawed at the window for a while and then tried again to bash the window open with a slow haymaker. The pattern repeated. Blake stared at the scene, wondering what was bothering him about it. He could see now that the figure was most likely a woman if the long hair was an indicator. And the baggy clothes looked like those worn by hospital workers. There’s something familiar about this scene.
The woman was about to smack the car window again when the arm froze halfway there. She turned her head and looked up at Blake. Blake immediately crouched down to where he was sure he was out of sight. It was really dark, how could she have seen him? He peeked over again and the woman was shuffling towards his apartment building now. She was heading in his direction but as he was one the second floor, he wasn’t too worried. He saw more movement and searched for the source. There it is again! From the car, the homeless woman was smacking. It was then he realized what was so familiar. That car looked like Gun’s car. And there was definitely someone in that car now. Although it was dark, he could see someone looking out at the woman who’d tangled herself up in the bushes.
Blake stood up and went inside, closing the door behind him and latching it. He walked over to the small closet by the entrance to his place and opened it up. He fumbled around until he felt cool metal and pulled out his aluminum baseball bat.
He went to his front door and looked through the peephole. It seemed like the coast was clear. He let out a long breath and before he could change his mind, he yanked the door open and went outside. After a brief look around to make sure he really was alone, he pulled the door shut quietly behind him and tried to move done to the stairs as stealthily as possible. In the courtyard of his apartment building, it was empty and silent. He crossed quickly over to the front gate, pushed it open and proceeded out to the sidewalk.
The woman sensed him as soon as he saw her. Thankfully, she was still tangled up in the bushes under his balcony, and though she turned to approach him
, she continued to be confounded by the foliage she had carelessly walked in. Keeping an eye on her, he turned his attention to the car. The windows were fogged up, so he went over to the passenger door and tried to look into the window. “Hey! Anyone in there?” he whispered. He heard a loud rustling of the bushes behind him and a thud. His head snapped to look in that direction and the woman had managed to tear herself free but had fallen on her face. This didn’t seem to bother her much as she used her hands to pull herself in his direction. He turned back to the car window and let out a shriek when he saw a pair of eyes looking out of the fogged up window. The car door opened then and Jasmine popped out, her eyes on the woman who was now managing to pull herself up to her feet. She slammed her door shut and locked it, and ran up to the front gate of the apartment building. She opened it and looked back at him, “What are you doing? Come on!” she hissed. Spurred into motion, he gave the woman a large berth as she groped for him. She rotated with him as he moved around her as if tethered to him. He sprinted through the front gate held open by Jasmine and took the steps up to his apartment two at a time. He pushed open his front door and when Jasmine came in as well, he shut the door and locked it. “Thanks. Thanks for coming to get me.”
He nodded, “Why were you parked on my street?”
She stepped into his living room and paused, looking at something. He returned his bat to its place in the closet and tried to figure out what she was looking at.
“I made myself some food, would you like some?” he gestured at the ham sandwich on the coffee table.
“Er... were you going to eat that?” she asked, suddenly embarrassed.
“I’ll make more.” He gave her the go-ahead gesture and walked to his kitchen to repeat the process of sandwich making. A few minutes later he joined her on his couch with two glasses of water and his own sandwich.