by Howard, Bill
The rest of the mob seemed to be satisfied with whatever they had done, and went their separate ways. One man sprinted by us as we rose from behind the Corolla.
"What the hell just happened?" Thom asked. The man stopped.
"We all came rushing over when we heard the screams. Some guy jumped that man's daughter and started attacking her, biting at her. A real psycho. At first, there were just a few of us and we tried pulling him off her, but he kept freaking out, flailing around, and snapping at the air, at us. We had to just keep hitting him and hitting him, trying to beat him into submission, but he was relentless. I don't know what the fuck is going on around here, but it took us a solid 10 minutes before he stopped attacking. I almost felt like I couldn't stop, but what were we supposed to do, we couldn’t even hold him still long enough for someone to call a cop."
Another loud scream cut through the air, this time much closer, along with what I could only describe as a guttural, roaring belch. The man we were talking to looked quickly in the direction of the screams then bolted. We started to move towards Thom's car, and hesitantly looked at what was on the ground where the mob had gathered. What they left behind took a few seconds to discern. It looked at first to be a pile of refuse, perhaps a garbage bag of restaurant leftovers busted open, but it was actually a person. There wasn't much left of him or her; it may as well have been garbage. There was a huge smear of blood on the pavement around it. It looked like someone had fallen from a plane and landed there. The spray, or 'spatter', as they say on CSI, reached as far as 20 feet away. It seemed to have coated everything in the lot. We got even closer, and could make out where the head was, or had been. It was smashed up, and barely recognizable as human; it reminded me of a Jack-O-Lantern after Halloween night. The rest of the body was almost as bad. There was blood everywhere; the hands and fingers were broken, twisted, and mashed. The legs were turned in unimaginable directions. The chest caved inwards.
We gave the mess a wide berth as we walked around it to Thom's car, and saw that the blood smear went from the remains, across the lot, all the way over to Thom's car. That must have been where he was first hit. How could that many people turn so viciously on one man? I understood saving the girl, but to have so many people not even question their actions in murdering a man with such a mob mentality, and then just leave? It didn't make any sense to me.
Thom fumbled for his keys, cursing the mess on his car under his breath. I was carefully scanning the outlying area for any sign of the angry mob returning. I sure as hell didn't want Thom to have to get rid of my remains with a car wash. As I was looking about, I heard a sharp crack behind me. I spun around and looked, my eyes as wide open as they have ever been. I saw nothing. There was nobody there. I heard another quick snap, and saw something flinch in the mess on the ground. Did my eyes just deceive me? Did the broken heap on the ground just move? I watched it carefully, hoping my eyes were just fatigued. Thom had gotten into the car by that time and was turning the engine over multiple times, trying to get it going. I just stood there watching the mess, waiting for the impossible to happen again. To say it hurt when I flung myself backwards into the car was an understatement. Considering that as I watched, the mess had raised its beaten head, and, with a sharp crack, turned and looked at me with its one sagging eye, I would say my reaction was justified. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. Thom was shouting for me to get into the car. What should I do? Did this guy need help? Shouldn't we get him to a hospital? Although those were reasonable questions to ask in a normal situation, Thom seemed to have the right idea; something felt wrong. My natural reaction should have been empathy, but instead I was terrified.
CHAPTER 3:
RIDING THE ROCKET
Thom and I got into his car in record time; circus clowns couldn't have done it faster. Thom tore out of the parking lot and down a side street. We didn’t really know where we were going, we just knew we had to go, get away. Get somewhere that wasn’t here. The traffic congestion seemed to be centered on the main roads, and we managed to get through a few blocks before hitting a jam. We sat in the car virtually helpless, left to observe the chaos through the windshield. In the matter of minutes since we left the cinema, the actions of the crowds seemed to have hit a fevered pitch. People were now frantic, scrambling. And now there was violence. It was hard to focus on any one particular person or group of people, but people were fighting, crying, running. Objects were being thrown and windows were being shattered. And the screams. They were much more frequent now, and closer. Much more terrifying. I turned to Thom, stupefied.
"What the hell do we do now? We're not getting anywhere by car." Thom looked distant, pale.
"I don't know. I don't know. I can't just leave the car. Can I just leave it? What the fuck?"
I didn't have an answer for him. Do you just leave your car in a situation like this? What exactly is a situation like this? I made a suggestion.
"I think we have to leave it. For now. We can come back for it. Just lock it up, but for now I think we have to try to get to Union Station. If this is some sort of rioting or terrorist attack, they might be trying to shuttle people out of the city. We can try the subway; maybe it's not as bad down there yet."
Thom managed a shaky nod. I yanked on his sleeve to get him going and he pulled the keys out of the ignition. We both got out and Thom pressed the button on his keychain, locking the doors. We could see the subway stop from where we stood, about a block away. We started to run in a straight line towards the stairs, trying our best to avoid any physical or eye contact with anyone. We ran at a steady pace through a sea of rushing bodies. People were slammed down to the ground in front of us, assaulted and attacked with bats, metal signposts, fists, and feet. And teeth. That was the most disorienting thing to see. People biting people. It just didn't seem rational. Not that any of this was rational; people fight, people hit each other. But bite? Thom took a punch to the side of the head and a whack on the arm with a briefcase. I had a person snap at my face with his mouth, but he was promptly tackled by some other raving lunatic before he made any contact with me. I was shoved to the pavement once as well, but I managed to recover and keep up with Thom.
We got to the subway stop and headed down the stairs. It was crowded and crazy, but not as bad as at street level. We got to the bottom of the stairs fast, taking them three at a time, almost leaping them like hurdles. The familiar Sesame Street jingle of the subway car door chime was ringing as our feet hit the tiles, and we saw a car packed full about to leave. We forced ourselves through the doors and into the packed car just as the doors closed behind us. The people we slammed against seemed annoyed, but all things considered, their annoyance was a pleasant change from the other behavior we had been witnessing. As a matter of fact, it was almost jovial in comparison. The train car jostled and jolted then began to move down the track and into the tunnel. People started to calm for a moment and we unanimously let out a sigh of relief. I looked at Thom and he didn't look well. He looked like he was about to throw up, which wouldn’t be a good thing to do at this stage of our exodus.
"It's okay. We'll be all right. We'll get to Union and get on a train. We'll get home and . . . oh, Christ! Diane. Shit. I haven't even tried to call Diane yet."
I fumbled through my pockets for my phone, finding it where I left it in the small front pocket of my jeans. I flipped it open and looked for the bars, hoping I would see a lot of them, but there were none. Of course not; I was underground, stupid. I hit the directory and quickly flipped down to 'home' and hit call. Maybe there was a slim chance in hell, this new hell that I was in now, that it would work. After all, the subway train seemed to be skipping all the stops on its way to Union, which was a good thing. I thought I heard a ring from the phone under the clacking sound of the train, but I was wrong, there was only silence. I flipped the phone shut and closed my eyes. As soon as I got topside, I would call Diane. Why did I only think of that then? I was about to put the phone back in my pocket when a deep,
thunderous snarl barked in my ear from behind me. I was physically startled and the phone flew up and hit the handrail above my head, deflecting somewhere into the crowd. Shit.
I turned my head towards the noise that had startled me just in time to see an older woman, maybe in her early seventies, start foaming at the mouth and let out another loud bark, this time from deep within her, reminding me of the guttural noises that come from your throat when you have to vomit. Her head shook spasmodically from side to side, up and down, all over. The pinkish foam sprayed nearby people who were trying desperately to move away from her, flicking them in the faces like slobber from the dog in Turner and Hooch. Everyone looked repulsed and scared. Including myself. I backed into someone and turned so I was facing the woman; I didn’t need something like that happening behind my back. Her head continued to bounce around, and her hands were raised into claws as if she were acting out some Universal Pictures Wolfman movie. Her hands seemed rigid in their claw shape, all the muscles tensed and twitching. Then her head just stopped moving. Stopped and stared intensely at a large, overweight man standing right in front of her. He had an iPod on and a scruffy beard, and despite his 6'4" 350-pound frame, he looked horrified by this woman who was less than half his size.
In a flash she leapt, attaching herself to him like a kitten climbing a pant leg. She scrambled up his front as he screamed like a small child, eyes wider than should be possible, looking down into the yellow eyes of the woman. In a matter of seconds, she crawled up his chest to his face, where she proceeded to open her jaw so wide, we could hear her jawbone crack, and then she latched onto his face like a leech, digging in so hard you could hear the grind of teeth on bone. The blood sprayed out of his face as he grasped at the woman's back, trying to get a grip on her. The passengers surrounding him were doused in warm, arterial spray and despite the lack of room in the car, they tried to get as far away from them as possible. All of the passengers just stood in stunned awe, not knowing how to comprehend the scene playing out before them. The man practically dug his fingers into the woman's neck and yanked at her head. It finally gave way, her mouth coming off his face with a loud sucking sound. He tossed her aside easily, and turned quickly towards the door between the cars and opened it, his face a red, indiscernible mess. As he started to move into the small space between the doors, the old woman got up and leapt through the air like a frog, landing on his back this time, pushing him forward through the second door and into the connected compartment. A young woman standing beside the door, terrified and crying, grabbed the handle and pulled the door hard, closing it. Through the small door windows, we could see the other car, full of frantic people as well, and then the window was blocked by the bloody back of the man as he stood up. Over each of his shoulders, we could make out wrinkled hands with neatly manicured nails, digging into his shoulder blades. As his large frame slowly slid down the window, leaving a huge smear of dark red blood, there was another roar in our car, this time more fluid, phlegmy. Everyone's heads turned in unison to the sound, searching through the crowd of people. No heads seemed to be flailing at the moment, which was a relief. We stood in silence for a moment; the only sounds were the repetitive clacking of the tracks, and the muffled screams coming from the other cars. There was another yell, this time in pain. A head from the crowd went down, disappearing like a rock sinking under the surface of a pond. Then soon after, another yell, and another head went down. I felt something scurry past my leg. I looked down but saw only a dark blur rush by. Now we were all getting really jumpy. Small gasps and bouts of crying were erupting throughout the car. More heads disappeared accompanied by gurgly growls. I suddenly felt myself getting light-headed; I was starting to wonder if what I was experiencing was even reality or just a very lucid dream. I closed my eyes and stood still for a moment, trying to regain my composure. I felt like I was alone, with only the pressure of Thom's hand on my shoulder to let me know that I wasn't. I started to calm down and listen to my own breathing. I felt a warmth come over me, especially my face, which was flushed. Flushed . . . and wet. Wet? I opened my eyes to a blurry view of the subway car, the whole panorama of my view appearing as if I were looking through turn of the century glass, warped, seemingly moving. I raised my hand to my eyes and rubbed them, wiping away whatever was obscuring my sight. I opened my eyes again and things were clear this time, perhaps too clear.
There was a huge clearing in the crowd now, and where there were people only moments ago sandwiched against each other, there was now a pile. A large mound of human bodies, piled high like a massive load of dirty laundry. I looked at my hands and they were drenched with warm, sticky blood. I felt my face, feeling for all the essentials, nose, ears, mouth, hoping it was all still there. I was covered in more of the same blood that presumably came from the heap of bodies. My entire front was covered in it. I looked at the mountain of flesh again, completely disbelieving my own eyes. On top of the pile crouched two children. They looked to be about six and eight. They were also covered in blood, but they didn’t look as traumatized as I was. In fact, they seemed to be quite active and upbeat, playing with each other. Tug of war in fact. With…
"Oh my God."
The words came out of my mouth with barely enough breath to carry them. I turned to Thom and looked right into his glazed eyes.
"We have to get out of here." I stated very plainly.
The subway train was still moving at full speed. People were climbing over each other trying to get through the doors to the other cars, but you could see through the windows that similar troubles plagued those cars as well.
"What the hell are we going to do?" said Thom with an unsteady tremble in his voice.
"If we can't get out, we have to make this car safe. It's the only way for us to get out alive."
Thom just looked at me.
“So we have to . . . "
We both turned our heads and looked at the kids, each one pulling on opposite ends of a young woman's torso, one with a leg and one with an arm, yanking the body, twisting, each trying to win the game. The woman's torso had already lost an arm to the carnage, and her head was hanging off at a very unnatural slant, like a ripped appendage on an old teddy bear. I looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon. Under the seat behind me was some kid’s skateboard, the longer type used by serious skaters. I leaned over and grasped the end of it, solidifying my grip on it as I raised it to shoulder height. I looked over at Thom and gave a shrug, as if to say, 'here goes'.
I took one step towards the feral kids; the fact that they played viciously on top of the bodies put them at about chest height to me. I swung the skateboard in a wide arc in front of me, and the upturned end of the board caught the first kid in the back of the head, just at the base of the skull. The force of the board propelled him forward, over the torn woman, and into his playmate. They both toppled end-over-end and smashed with a rattle into the doors of the subway car. I sidestepped to my left and approached them again before they had a chance to get up, lifting the board over my head and bringing it down hard onto the kid on top. It struck him with a thud and they both started to spasm frantically, trying to right themselves and get off each other. I kept hacking at them with the board, hitting their heads, backs, and arms, splats of blood hitting the floor and walls of the car. I heard Thom shout behind me and turned quickly to see; he stood against the wall of the car with his hand on the pull box for the train's emergency stop. His face looked inquisitive, unsure if this was what he should do. I glanced quickly over the heads of the kids and out the window just in time to see the tiled words 'Union Station' fly by the window. My head spun back to him quickly and I nodded. I looped my arm around the steel post and braced myself as Thom pulled the bar in the red box down, and the loud screeching of the brakes filled everyone's ears with a sharp pain. I held the bar tight, making sure I didn't fall into the jaws of the snapping children. The whole car jolted forward, the entire crowd swaying to one side like a wave at a baseball game before righting
again as the train slowed. The kids were starting to get up so I resumed my assault on their persons, smacking them down to the floor every time they tried to get up. Once the train shifted to a full stop, the doors dinged and shuttered open. The kids had just barely gotten to their feet, but they were still intertwined, one almost riding the other one's back. I dropped the board, reached out my hands to either side of me to grab the handrails, and launched both of my feet off the floor and into the chests of the two little beasties. They flew with surprising speed out the door and into the wall across from the car, their heads hitting the old bricks of the subway tunnel. They rolled forward headfirst and crumpled onto the dirt floor beside the track. They didn’t get up. I turned back to Thom and gave a nod and as much of a smile as I could muster. People started filing out through the other side of the car and clumsily half-running back to the Union Station platform. I laid my hand heavily on Thom's shoulder and neither of us uttered a word. We just let out long breaths that seemed to expel more air than we had in our lungs.
