§ § §
The theater manager had shut down all the projectors and closed the theater. The small handful of moviegoers huddled in the back of the lobby. The lone zombie that was banging on the locked front doors earlier had been joined by another.
Dwayne peeked around the corner of the lobby. As he watched the two zombies pounding on the glass, he saw another figure walk under the marquee and stop. As he turned and lurched toward the doors, Dwayne sure that it was Mr. Kapoor from the Indian restaurant. The man’s white shirt was covered in blood from his torn throat that ran down onto his pants. His head was tilted at an odd angle from the massive wound. He joined the two at the lobby doors and started slapping on the glass his hands, while moaning loudly.
Dwayne ducked his head back as the others watched him in growing concern. “There are three of them now,” he said, unbelievingly.
“Are they infected?” one guy asked.
Dwayne looked at the man askance. “Infected, shit,” Dwayne spat out, “they’re fucking zombies.”
The theater manager looked at him and said, “Zombies don’t exist.”
Dwayne stared at him and said angrily, “No? Then you go out and take a look. You tell me what they are.” The theater manager opened and closed his mouth uncertainly.
“But it’s the virus,” the ticket seller said. “It’s Pandora.” She looked around at the small group, fearfully. “They’re… they’re just infected people. They’re sick.”
Billy said to her, “I don’t know about you, lady, but I’ve seen enough movies to know what a zombie looks like. D’s right. There are zombies.”
Another man was holding his young son close. The child was starting to whimper. He angrily said to Billy, “Enough with this zombie nonsense. You’re scaring my son. There are no fucking zombies, period. They don’t exist. You’re talking about monsters you’ve seen in movies. What are you, an idiot?” He hugged his son closer. The boy began to cry softly.
As everyone started murmuring at once, the theater manager put up his hands placatingly.
“Please,” he said, “let’s all calm down. I called the police already and they should be here at any moment. If we all just remain calm, the police will come and deal with whoever or whatever is outside doors. Then we can all go home safely. Let’s just settle down and wait for law enforcement to arrive.”
The majority of heads nodded in agreement. One or two patrons looked at the two boys angrily. They all walked back inside one of the theaters to sit. As they did, Dwayne grabbed Billy and pulled him to the side.
“Listen,” he whispered, “this is bullshit. If this is happening all over, there will be no cops coming here any time soon. The whole world is going nuts.”
Billy asked, “What are we going to do?”
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll go into one of the other theaters and sneak out the exit door,” Dwayne replied.
They could still hear the incessant pounding on the doors. It was only a matter of time before all that noise attracted others. The two boys quickly ran to the last screening room in the hall. They entered, ran down the aisle to the now black screen and, pausing for a second at the red lit exit door, pushed it open. The bright sunlight made them squint.
“Nobody is around,” said Dwayne. “Let’s head home. It’s only a couple of miles. We’ll take the back streets there.”
The two boys ran across the back parking lot and out the side lot entrance. They ran down the street, then crossed and headed down another tree-lined street. Now moving at a fast walk, they took notice of their surroundings. They saw one or two families packing up belongings and throwing them into the back of the family sedan. Their faces looked both determined and frightened. Each family, when they saw the boys walking toward them, cringed back fearfully. Dwayne took to giving them a friendly wave and smile before they neared, so as to allay their fears. He wasn’t being friendly but was more concerned for themselves. He didn’t want to get shot by some scared father.
They also noticed some houses that had the front doors wide open. One of them had bloody handprints on the white wood. They had just turned down another street when Billy stopped suddenly and pointed.
“Look,” he said softly.
A man in a light blue bathrobe was standing on his front lawn. He was barefoot and facing away from them. Unmoving, with his hands hanging at his side, his bathrobe fluttered in the light breeze. The boys were standing behind a tree looking to see what he was going to do. But the man just stood there silently.
While they waited and watched, they listened to the sounds of the neighborhood. Besides the normal sounds of birds chirping in the trees, there was the occasional sound of a car moving quickly down one of the side streets. They noticed that the number of dogs barking seemed to have tripled what they would have normally expected to hear. More disturbingly, were the shouts and people yelling to each other. And the screaming. Especially the ones coming from inside the houses. That was where most seem to be coming from, although they could sometimes hear somebody running quickly down the street and screaming. They sometimes also heard banging and breaking glass.
After hiding behind the tree for ten minutes with no movement from the man on the lawn, Billy turned to Dwayne and whispered, “What is he doing? He’s just standing there like a dope.”
“I don’t know,” Dwayne said impatiently. “Let’s just walk past and see what happens. Maybe the jerk is just waiting for somebody.”
The two boys stepped out and started walking down the sidewalk. Although the man hadn’t noticed him yet, they never took their eyes off of him. As they passed him, he turned toward them with a low moan.
The man had only a New York Giants T-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts under his robe. As he opened his mouth and moaned, they saw that his lower lip had been completely ripped off. You could see his lower teeth and gums clearly. A few wet strands of flesh hung down his jaw and swung back and forth as he moved. Dark, dried blood encrusted his chin and shirt. With a hiss and then the snarl, the man started to come after them.
The two boys began to run down the street. The zombie followed awkwardly but surprisingly quick. They had started to gain a lead when another zombie appeared from around the house in front of them. She was a very thin woman with short gray hair and a torn housecoat. One of her bare arms had a bite mark on it. Seeing the boys running toward her, her milky eyes widened as she growled loudly.
“Oh, crap,” said Dwayne. Looking over across the street, he shouted, “Follow me.”
Dwayne veered to the right and, crossing the street, cut across the lawn and then ran down the side of the house. Billy followed close behind.
“We’ll cut through the backyard and hop the fence to the next street. I don’t think they could follow,” Dwayne shouted behind him.
As they ran into the backyard, they skidded to a halt. A five-year-old boy was standing at the back of the yard. He was crying; his face wet with tears and snot.
“Oh shit,” said Dwayne as he stopped. “Kid, are you all right?”
The little boy pointed to his house and said in a hitching voice, “My mommy and daddy turned into monsters. They chased me and I’m scared of them.” He then started to bawl in a loud voice, while he rubbed his eyes with his fists.
Just then a loud bang sounded from the patio of the house. As they spun their heads to look, a woman appeared at the sliding door. Her milky white eyes were wide as she slammed her body into the door.
Dwayne looked back at the fence behind them, and then at the caterwauling child.
“Kid,” he said sticking his arm out toward him. Motioning with his fingers, he said, “Come with us. We’ll keep you safe.”
Just then, a loud growl sounded from the house. As they turned, they could see the father moving very fast and coming straight for the sliding glass doors. He hit them hard and the entire door splintered into a million glass shards with a mighty crash. Not stopping for a second, the zombie father continued on, unperturbed by
the many pieces of sharp glass sticking into him. His wife followed with the snarl. At that moment, the two zombies from the street came into the yard after them.
Billy ran for the fence, as Dwayne yelled at the child, “Kid!”
The little five-year-old screamed shrilly, then turned and ran for the other side of the house. Dwayne stood there with his mouth hanging open as the little boy disappeared around the far corner. Meanwhile, the four zombies kept coming straight for Dwayne. Turning, he ran quickly for the fence. He jumped up, grabbed the top and pulled himself over. Falling in a heap on the other side, he heard as the four zombies slammed into the other side of the fence. Billy was sitting two feet away panting. The four snarling zombies continued to throw themselves against the fence. The boys could hear the sound of wood splitting.
Struggling to his feet, Dwayne said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” They both got up and quickly left the yard.
As they ran out, Dwayne realized that they were only two blocks from their street. They ran down the center of the road, and then turned and came to a main street. Looking carefully in both directions as they paused, they could see two or three people on either sides of the street. From the way they were walking, they knew they must be zombies. Bursting from their hiding place they quickly bolted across the street. Using parked cars and trees for cover, they made it to their street unnoticed. They quickly turned in and waited behind a parked panel truck. No one was following.
“We made it,” Billy said relieved.
Out a breath from their run, they walked down their street while looking at the homes. They saw a couple with open doors here, too. One had a screen door that was partially torn from its hinges. What they couldn’t see were the two twitching bodies on the porch.
Reaching their homes, Billy looked across the street and stopped cold.
“Hey,” he said, suspiciously, “my dad’s car is parked in the driveway. Why didn’t he come and pick us up?”
As they both stood and looked at his father’s car, a door opened and closed. Billy’s next-door neighbor came down her front stairs and walked out to the sidewalk. Turning, she hurried past his house. Seeing the boys standing across the street, she stopped and said, “Hello Billy, Dwayne. I think you should go inside your homes now. It’s not safe out here.”
“Where are you going?” Billy asked.
“Mrs. Kaloudakis down the street called me. She’s having some kind of problem with her husband and I said I would come over and help. You boys should go home to your parents.” She gave him a brief wave goodbye and continued her way up the street.
“Maybe you should wait with me at my house,” Dwayne said. “I don’t think my parents are home yet.”
Billy looked back at his house. “I don’t know,” he said, “maybe I go home and see if everything is all right there. Maybe my father is sick or something.”
§ § §
Patrick was near his home. The drive was nerve-racking, to say the least. Twice, he was almost hit by speeding cars, and once a woman actually walked out from the sidewalk and tried to attack his car. He attempted to veer away but she plowed right into the side of his car as he sped past. The woman bounced off and landed tumbling in the street. He was going to just speed away, but thought better of it and stopped.
Getting out of his car, Patrick ran back to the woman. She was trying to pick herself up from the asphalt. Her left leg was bent at an impossible angle. Nearing her, he said, “You’re hurt.”
That was when she looked at him. Her eyes were milky white and her skin looked as if it was made from wax. Seeing him, she hissed loudly. She then started to crawl toward him, her bent leg dragging behind. He could see the bone protruding through her jeans. She kept snarling and snapping her teeth at him as she moved.
Patrick turned and ran back to his SUV. He jumped in and continued home. Right before he turned into his street, a police car raced past him, siren blaring.
Finally, Patrick arrived at his house. He saw his son Dwayne and Billy standing in front. Patrick turned into his driveway and remotely opened the garage. Pulling the SUV in, he saw that his wife wasn’t home yet. Dwayne walked up the drive and hugged his father as he exited his vehicle.
“Dad,” he said, it’s crazy out here now.”
“Did something happen at the movies?” Patrick asked. “I see that Steve picked you guys up and got you home all right.”
“Well, that’s it,” said Dwayne. “He never showed up. Billy called him but he never got an answer.”
Looking up, Patrick said, “His car is in the driveway.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Dwayne, uncomfortably.
Patrick knitted his brows in concern and walked down the drive to Billy. “Your father didn’t show up to pick you up?” he said.
Billy turned to look at him, and then back at his house. He bit his lip nervously.
“No,” he said, “that’s not like him. I’m worried.”
“Why don’t you and Dwayne go back in our house and get yourself something to eat,” said Patrick, looking at Billy’s house carefully. “I’ll go and see if everything’s okay with your folks. Go ahead in and I’ll be right back.”
§ § §
“There,” Erica said, pointing over Jason’s shoulder. “There’s a sign for the hospital ahead.”
The black Camaro passed a blue and white sign that said HOSPITAL↑, pointing straight ahead. About two miles further, another sign said HOSPITAL NEXT EXIT. Feeling buoyed by the close proximity of a hospital, they all glanced over at LaShawn. He still hadn’t regained consciousness. Occasionally he would give a small cough. The last time he did so, a thin stream of dark liquid ran from the corner of his mouth.
At last, the exit came up and turned off the highway. They looped around and immediately saw a sign that said GOOD SAMARITAN HOSPITAL. They drove to the entrance road and were instantly thrust into bedlam. The drive into the emergency room was packed with cars and ambulances. There was no way to enter the area. The parking lot was full also. Frustrated, Jason pulled into a no parking zone and shut the car down.
“This is as close as we are going to get,” he said.
The three students got out and came around to LaShawn’s side. Jason opened the door and shook the comatose student’s shoulder.
“Hey, buddy, wake up. We’re here.”
LaShawn’s head just wobbled with the gentle shaking.
“LaShawn,” Jason said a little louder, “we’re at the hospital. Come on, wake up.”
Looking very concerned, Jason stood up and scratched his head.
“Why don’t we go to the emergency room,” Erica suggested.” You can find a doctor to get him some help and Greta and I will find him a wheelchair. We can come back and get him into it, and then bring him in. Meanwhile, you’ll get him checked him.”
“You mean, leave him here?” Jason asked.
Looking down at LaShawn’s inert figure, Erica said, “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” said Jason. They all turned to go. Jason was about to close the car door, but decided to leave it open so he could get some air. The three of them then rushed to the emergency room entrance.
Weaving between the cars as they neared, Jason jumped back when a man threw himself against the window of one of the haphazardly parked vehicles. He was wearing stained pajamas and had wild, uncombed hair and stubble on his face. His eyes were white. He snarled and snapped, but was held in by his seatbelt.
The pandemonium inside the hospital was astounding. The waiting room was jammed with people. Almost half of them were lying listlessly in their seats or wheelchairs. A number of them had buckets or hospital basins in their laps. Most of those were brimming dark blood. The floor was a mess. Interconnecting puddles of blood with smeared, red shoe prints tracing in all directions covered the tiles. Hospital staff and family members moved back and forth, everyone speaking at once. Jumbled conversations in several different languages added to the verbal babble.
“G
o get a wheelchair,” Jason instructed. “I’ll get him a doctor.”
Erika and Greta pushed through the people heading for the entrance to find a chair. Occasionally, a scream or loud shouting came from within the doors to the emergency examining rooms.
Jason snaked his way toward the admitting window. There was no recognizable line waiting, only a mass of frightened people all clamoring for attention at once. One old lady was sitting on a chair in front of the window crying. The admitting nurse, definitely at the end of her patience, kept shouting, “Does he have Pandora? Is it the Pandora virus?” But the near hysterical old lady kept yelling in some indeterminable, foreign language.
A hospital security guard (of which there were many in the room) standing near Jason spoke quickly into a two-way radio.
“I have another one here. He looks ready to turn.”
Pandora (Book 5): Behold A Pale Horse Page 9