by Brown, TW
He had planned on getting all the prison tattoos covered when he got on his feet, but right now he looked like every movie bad guy/convict character there was with his “White Power” and “100% Good Wood” down each forearm, along with the assorted demons, naked ladies, and cryptic signs that announced his particular (and former) affiliation. But if it got him a little room right now, he would take full advantage.
Jason began scooping twenty-four packs of bottled water into his cart and then stacking them neatly. He decided that four cases should hold them over for a few days if something happened. He was actually more concerned about food.
A few minutes later, he was in the canned fruits and vegetable section. He grabbed cases of canned corn, beans, fruit cocktail, and then the soup. When the cart was full to the point of becoming difficult to push, he moved toward the front of the store. He saw that the lines had actually gotten longer despite the fact that many people were simply heading out the door. However, he also saw a pair of store employees standing near the exit with the phones. It did not take him long to figure out that they were taking pictures of everybody who exited without paying.
With a sigh, Jason turned and headed to the end of the line. He had been standing there for about twenty minutes or so when a store employee walked up. The woman wore a badge on her shirt that read: How may I help you? My name is Colleen.
“Go ahead,” the woman sighed when Jason and a few of the people standing in line with him turned to face her. She looked exhausted and her eyes were red-rimmed. He was pretty sure that she had been crying very recently.
“No thanks,” Jason said with a shake of his head. “I saw the clerks up front snapping pictures. I’d just as soon not end up on the local news.” This earned some mumbles of agreement from the people standing with him.
The woman reached into her apron pocket and produced a cell phone. Or, rather, she produced what was left of one. The screen was a series of spider web cracks. It had obviously been stomped.
“We’re done. I am pulling my people before anybody else gets hurt,” Colleen said.
Jason looked around and realized that he didn’t see another employee anywhere. Then he saw her again. It was the foul smelling old lady from the water and soda aisle. She was shuffling along across the aisle, but then she would stop and turn and take a step. A person pushed past and she lunged, sprawling on the floor in a graceless heap.
The store manager turned and gasped. She turned back to Jason and the others, offering a weak smile. “Just go, you aren’t going to be in trouble. There is something wrong. As soon as I get to my office, I am going to announce it on the PA system, I am telling my people to get what they need and to go.”
That seemed to satisfy all those who had heard. People broke from the line and started for the exit. Jason fell in, joining the exodus. He was almost to the head of the aisle of the line he’d been standing in when a scream rose above the cacophony of the store. Turning, Jason saw the bag lady yanking on Colleen’s arm. She had it clutched tightly, her hands gripping it in a way that reminded Jason of somebody with a juicy rib at a barbecue. Then, the bag lady bit down.
Jason could only watch in amazed fascination at what he was seeing. A part of his mind was trying desperately to activate his instinct for flight, but what he was watching had him transfixed.
He’d read so many of those books. He’d even had a few just-for-fun chats with some of the fellas. The idea of a zombie was just too much for anybody to take seriously. Yet, here he was, and there could be no other explanation for the things that he’d witnessed today.
A bright red jet of blood arced away as the bag lady tore loose a piece of flesh and began to chew as if everything was perfectly normal. He had not realized it, but Jason had begun to actually creep closer to the scene; his feet making slow, deliberate progress toward the fiction-turned-reality.
Jason had tuned out Colleen’s screams and was focused solely on the bag lady. Her eyes were covered with a milky film, and instead of regular red, bloodshot eyes, hers were laced with black. There was no expression on its face as it chewed while Colleen writhed and struggled to get away. An idea came and Jason acted. Reaching into his shopping cart, he grabbed a can of sliced pineapple and advanced on the woman.
As he neared, the smell became almost overwhelming. Holding his breath, Jason moved in fast and brought the can down on the bag lady’s head. By the third strike, all he’d managed to do was hurt his hand. However, the bag lady was now paying attention to him. She was struggling to her feet. Jason could see the divot in the front of her skull that he had managed to make.
“Okay, so scratch the idea that just bashing them in the head does anything.”
Jason began to back away, reaching behind him and quickly turning his cart so that he could back up and keep it between him and this bag lady zombie that was taking slow, unsteady steps as it approached. He also noticed how her head moved in jerky, bird-like fits.
Reaching the end of the aisle, he looked around frantically as people ran past, all of them paying no mind to the woman on the floor bleeding profusely several feet away and the man with all the tattoos trying to beat down a bag lady. His eyes came to rest on the end cap display. With spring right around the corner, the barbecue season was almost here.
Jason grabbed the utensil package and ripped it open. He took a deep breath and stepped out from behind his cart. The bag lady took a step closer and was now in arm’s reach.
“This better work,” he muttered. With one hard thrust, he shoved the pronged fork utensil into the eye of the bag lady. There was a moment’s resistance, and then he was able to push through.
It was instantaneous. The bag lady simply crumpled to the ground. Jason looked around, expecting some display of outrage…anything. People were just shoving past and paying this no mind. At some point, the store manager had climbed to her feet or simply crawled away.
Deciding that he could risk grabbing one more item on this run, Jason spun the cart around and ventured further into the store. In a moment, he was in the toy department. A few more aisles and he arrived at his destination. There wasn’t much to choose from in the athletic equipment area, but he saw what he wanted and grabbed the aluminum bat from where it hung on display.
He would have to come back for some more during a second run. He knew what he wanted, but he was still on the fence. If he did this, he would be crossing a line that might land him in serious trouble.
Suddenly, Jason laughed out loud. He’d just shoved a barbecue fork into the eye socket of a bag lady; how much more trouble could he get into? His eyes scanned the area until he spied the hardware department. That would be his next stop after he emptied this basket.
Heading for the exit, Jason saw a woman kneeling in front of a child. The little girl was sobbing uncontrollably and holding out an arm that was dripping blood. The woman was trying her best to console the child, but to no avail. As he pushed his way through the doors and emerged outside to the parking lot, it took him a minute to remember where the car was parked. At last he recalled that Juanita had pulled into a space at the very edge of the lot. He wove through and finally spotted the old Buick. However, he noticed right away that something was wrong.
Breaking into a run, or at least as fast as he could go with the heavily laden shopping cart, Jason charged for the vehicle.
He came to a stop a few feet away. The window on the driver’s side had been smashed. Little cubes of glass littered the area. Pushing the cart up between the Buick and the SUV that was parked beside it, Jason looked inside the car. Juanita’s body was sprawled on the seat. A nasty wound to her head was leaking blood and creating a large dark stain.
Yanking the door open, Jason climbed inside, his fingers going for her throat in search of a pulse. He scooted out of the car and went to roll her onto her back so he could get a better idea as to if she was alive or not when she began to shudder and convulse.
Jason jumped back, unsure of what to do when, just as sudd
enly as it began, Juanita was still. After taking a few breaths to try and settle himself down, he leaned in and put an ear to Juanita’s chest.
Nothing.
He tried once more to check for a pulse. Again, he found no sign that she was alive. He was aware that he was no doctor; for all he knew, he was doing it wrong. He took the time to get her moved to the back seat and then loaded the groceries into the trunk. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, a realization struck him.
Juanita’s purse was gone.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Jason exclaimed.
His eyes narrowed at what he was seeing. A small gang of four people were cruising the parking lot with partially full carts. As he watched, they homed in on a vehicle. One of them took something from his pocket and gave the window of the car they were clustered around a solid tap. He watched as they opened the door and began scooping everything they could out of the car…including the young man who had been in the driver’s seat.
They began putting the boots to the guy. Then, the one that had busted in the window brought something up and smashed the young man in the side of the head. After emptying the car, one of them rolled the guy over and went through his pockets, eventually coming up with a wallet. A moment later, they were stopping at a large panel van. The side door opened and everything was handed inside.
While he had no proof, he had an inkling as to who had attacked Juanita. He felt an urge to confront these hoodlums, but he needed to get Juanita to the hospital. She might be dead, but then again, she might not be. Every second might count and mean the difference between life and death.
With one final rueful look towards the little gang of punks obviously taking full advantage of this mass chaos, Jason pulled out of the parking lot of the grocery store and tried to remember where the closest hospital might be located.
In a stroke of luck, as he turned onto MLK Boulevard, he passed a sign that read: Legacy Hospital, next left. Cutting across traffic sharply to the angry honks of other drivers, Jason took the corner so hard that he heard a thump from in back as Juanita tumbled from the seat.
Pulling into the parking lot, Jason felt his stomach tighten. If the parking lot of the grocery store was bad, then this was a nightmare beyond explanation. He was still in shock when a hand slapped against the driver’s side window. Jason turned to see a face that was a sickly grayish-blue staring it at him. The eyes were covered in a sick film and laced with black; the woman’s throat had been ripped out and dried blood was caked and already turning a blackish color around the hideous wound.
Then he heard a low moan…from the backseat.
4
Discoveries
Ken ducked instinctively and felt something swish through the air where his head had been just a second ago. Kicking backwards, his foot struck something solid and was greeted with a loud “oof”.
Turning, he saw the punks from inside the store. The one that had reached him first was already doubled over, but he had no chance to defend against the next and took a booted foot to the shoulder. He slammed into the rear of the truck and ended up down on his knees. He could hear the dog barking from the cab of the truck.
“Get him!” Jinks yelled, obviously not the one to lead the charge.
Ken saw the boot coming and moved his head just enough to take little more than a grazing blow to the cheek. His hand was going for his gun as the rest of his attackers arrived. He rolled under the rear of his truck, pulling himself into the fetal position in order to do so.
A set of legs appeared just past the rear tires and Ken brought his gun around. He fired and winced at the loud report. A body fell, the person clutching their wounded leg and rolling back and forth. If not for the ringing in his ears, he would have heard the wail of pain.
Looking to the rear of the truck where the attack had begun, he spied the person that he’d kicked as he or she struggled to reach their feet. Lining up his next shot, he fired again; the person flopped backwards and was still. Scuttling back just a little further, he saw another set of legs. The owner had obviously decided to give up on the attack and was turning to leave. Once more Ken fired. He saw the body sprawl in a pool of blue radiance from one of the parking lot lights.
Waiting a second to ensure there were no other attackers, Ken slowly emerged from under the pickup. His hearing was still hampered, but he heard the cries of the person he’d shot in the leg. He walked over and looked down to discover the young lady with the crewcut.
“P-p-please don’t shoot me!” she wailed, holding up her hands.
Ken looked around to see if anybody might be paying any attention. When he realized that nobody was coming to investigate, he leaned down to the girl and examined her more closely. She was filthy and smelled like it had been a good long while since she’d had a shower.
“I’m not going to shoot you…again,” he added that last word as he tucked his gun back in his belt.
He saw the other two that he’d shot lying where they’d fallen. He also saw a few figures moving with that slow, awkward walk in his general direction. Reaching down, he scooped the girl up. She yelped and struggled weakly in his grasp.
“Shut up, I’m not going to hurt you. You need to see a doctor,” he hissed.
“Just let me go!” she insisted.
Ken looked back at the advancing figures. Turning slightly, he pointed them out. “You want me to leave you to them?”
She seemed to consider her choices and then leaned into his side. He walked her to the front of the truck and opened the door. He cast a look of longing over his shoulder. There was still so much inside the store that he could use, but he needed to check on his mother and get this girl some help. He knew that Legacy Hospital was not too far away. He could drop the girl off at the emergency entrance and then head to his mother’s.
Moving around the car, he heard a scream and, as he unlocked his door, he saw three figures falling on the prone body of one of his attackers. He actually felt sorry for the person. He’d heard that scream from Gina Glendon and could only imagine what was happening to whichever of the male attackers he’d shot.
Climbing into the cab, he was instantly met by the snuffling face of the retriever. He eased in and nudged the dog back into the extended part of the cab behind the front seats. The scream rose in pitch and then went silent in an instant.
“What was that?” the girl asked, sounding for the first time like a frightened young lady.
“Something bad,” was Ken’s reply as he started the truck and headed for the exit. “Now buckle up. I am taking you to the hospital.”
***
Rose backed away. Frank stood, his insides spilling from a rip in his belly. Before she could take another step, Rose heaved, the contents of her stomach making a splash on the hardwood floor of her living room.
Her mind struggled to process what she was seeing, but nothing made any sense. As she fought to get her mind to wrap around what was happening, the two men began to draw closer. Standing in the entry hall, the sounds of frantic barking came from her bedroom where Imp and Circe were shut away.
The two figures, Frank and the neighbor, took step after agonizing step towards her. As the intensity of the barking increased, Frank’s head turned in a jerky movement that was almost inhuman in the way it twitched; very nearly like that of a bird. Rose could not allow them to head down the hallway to her bedroom. She had no idea if they could open a door or not, but she needed to get these two men out of her house.
“Hey!” Rose yelled. Frank’s head came back around and he started towards her once again.
Rose backed to the front door, reaching behind her to open it. She had to actually step closer to the advancing monstrosities for just a second as she pulled her door open. At last she was able to slip around it as the neighbor’s hand swiped at her and missed by just a few inches.
Stepping outside, Rose backed down her stairs and looked around. The entire neighborhood was strangely quiet. It was only late afternoon, and not ev
en children could be seen playing outside or walking down the street. It was as if she were the only person actually at home.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Rose backed down the path once the neighbor and Frank both exited her house. The neighbor reached the first stair and stumbled, landing with a sickening crack as he struck the concrete and tumbled down the three stairs. Frank did not seem to notice and followed in the neighbor’s footsteps. The only thing that was different was that Frank landed on the neighbor who was struggling to try and roll over.
As the two men became disentangled, and the neighbor crawled free, Rose noticed that the man’s arm now had an obscene break in the forearm. Bone jutted through skin, but he took no notice and actually tried to use the arm as he struggled to his feet. Rose had to battle with her rising gorge as she saw the broken forearm bend at the midpoint and then snap in half. The arm was, at this point, totally useless, as the lower half of the forearm was now barely connected by skin and ruined muscle.
Rose walked out into the street and waited as Frank and the neighbor, through some miracle, managed to make it to their feet and continue to pursue her at their slow, awkward pace. Once they reached the end of her driveway, Rose was actually at a loss as to what to do. It wasn’t like she could continue to act as some sort of Pied Piper. She had to figure out a way to ditch the pair and get back to her home.
Then what? she thought as she backed down the middle of the street.
Almost on cue, her phone rang. She knew by the ringtone that it was her sister. Grabbing the phone from her pocket, Rose thumbed it and answered.
“Hello? Violet?”
“Rose!” Her sister’s voice was frantic. But there was something else about it that sounded off. She couldn’t place it, but there was definitely something off.
“Violet, Frank is here, and there is something wrong—” she began, but her sister cut her off.
“Don’t let him in, Rose. This is every—”
