The Drumhead

by Richard Correll

  “We’re ready, sir.” Maggie reported without taking her eyes off Symons.

  “Okay, then,” If Pinder noticed but he didn’t let on. He sounded resigned to her fate.

  “On my mark, people.” Maggie looked around the room and focused herself. “Sergeant Symons. You have the door,”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We are clear as far as I can see, ma’am.” Moshood’s voice was just above a whisper as he was looking out a smaller than normal window a few feet away from the door. “I cannot see to the left of the entrance.”

  “You have point, Brenda.” Maggie made eye contact with Brenda and she nodded back. All business right now, aren’t we? Maggie just wanted to have one more of those moments where they hung out after working out. It felt like family. But, now? “Keep your eyes on nine o’clock when you hit the door.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her mouth was a dry line written on her skin.

  “Private Chalmers,” Maggie kept her voice low as she made eye contact. “You will turn to your right. Three o’clock upon exiting.”

  “Got it, ma’am.” His eyes seemed wider than normal as he nodded.

  “I will follow you and then when we proceed up the street, I will take point.” Her voice was calm. Emotionally, it felt like the end of something, maybe a beginning. Maybe we’re just a part of the beginning of the end. Just like mom and dad walking away. She looked around the room at the people she had spent so much time with. Damn, I could write about all the things that are not being said right now, she wanted to say something noble. But, nothing came to mind. Just memories that were too elaborate and deep for words.

  “See you guys around. “ She gave a half smile.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded to Symons who seemed to hesitate for a second before he began to carefully turn the bolt. He held the unlocked door closed for a second and looked at Maggie. Last chance. She thought she heard him mutter. Please, don’t……

  She nodded and the door whispered open. The room drank in the eerie silence outside. The traffic noises were long gone. The murmur of countless lives on the sidewalks had vanished. There was just the odd street light buzzing and sputtering as it illuminated a city that felt suddenly indifferent to the passing of time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brenda was through the door in a heartbeat with the muzzle of her automatic rifle pointed to the floor. Upon stepping out onto the sidewalk she abruptly turned left and brought the rifle up to eye level as she scanned the street in one sweep after another. Chalmers had been right behind in an instant but his part of this dance was to the right. The bus and its finger painting smudge marks were the only witness.

  “Clear.” She whispered and Maggie headed to the door.

  Time slowed down as she passed Brett and their eyes came together. There was nothing to say but so many memories passed between them. In an instant, she was out the door and into the merciless night. She didn’t have time to notice the sky blackened by the residue of fires still burning or the uneasy feeling that silence in a city creates. Like walking into your home and something important is out of place. Someone has been here. Violation, fear or something not right in the way the wind was blowing through Monroe Street.

  “We have company,” It was Brenda, Maggie could feel the tension in her voice as she turned around and saw a solitary figure forty yards away. It hissed at the forms that had suddenly appeared in the night. Was it a challenge? Communication? A second rasp filled the soundless night air as the stilted gait seemed to pick up speed and it lowered its head like a dog challenging an intruder. Hunger, you are not one of us…….

  “It will follow, save your ammo.” Maggie ordered as a Brenda began moving away from the figure while watching their six. Maggie turned to Chalmers. “Private, lets’ get moving.”

  “Yes ma’am. “ He whispered. His head was ram road straight as he concentrated down the sight of his M16A3.

  Mr. Chalmers,” Maggie kept her eyes to her left as they proceeded past the bus. There was nothing there. Not yet, anyway. “I haven’t told you what a good wingman you are.”

  “Um…thank you, ma’am.” Chalmers whispered a confused reply.

  “Why are we whispering?” She mimicked his previous tone of voice and then said loudly: “We’re here to raise some hell and make those fuckers follow us.”

  Maggie took three steps forward to the intersection of State and Monroe and found a lanky silhouette of a man leaning against a classic antique lamp post that was more of an embellishment than radiance. Its head cocked sideways in curiosity at the intruders.

  Maggie sighted the target and squeezed the trigger in a short burst. One shell ricocheted off the metal post with a flicker than looked like an electric shock. The head of the lanky man snapped back and the hands flew sky ward as a black liquid cloud exited the back its skull.

  “That should do it.” Maggie said grimly as they stepped into the intersection. It was remarkably neat and tidy for the end of the world. No flipped over cars or burning diesel fuel. Just streets and sidewalks that were unbroken except for the occasional huddled shape or blackened spatter. One section of the street was illuminated by phosphorescent office light. It eerily flickered over the body of a middle aged woman in slacks whose life blood lay smeared on the sidewalk. She had clearly crawled or had been dragged several feet in her last few minutes. Still, the glass tube of interacting particles was intent to tell her story to the very last.

  To Maggie’s right, a huddle of shapes pressed together like dogs seeking warmth on a winter night. The city lights cast shadows across torn and bloodied nightmares that passed for faces. It struck Maggie how normal it all looked among the most surreal of moments. Human forms draped together in the middle of southbound State Street. They seemed almost disinterested as they kneeled, stood or meandered among one another in a preoccupied, casual atmosphere.

  What was in their hands? Maggie could catch the stench of meat in her nostrils. The smell was only a gruesome rumor on the wind. Anymore and it would have made her gag. It was like pork or bacon that had been left out too long. They seemed to watch her with an almost detached curiosity while they carefully dined on bloody chunks of flesh. Maggie wondered for a moment if this was the man they had seen on the street earlier. Among the congregation of blue jeans, business suits and humanity a chiffon dress stood out. Her blond hair seemed meshed to her skull while her lower chin was an unbroken color of blood red. She finished off a morsel in her fingers and stared at the three figures 30 yards away. Even at this distance, Maggie could feel the girls glare. The silence of the night was interrupted by a feral growl. Maggie planted her feet and returned the challenging stare.

  “Give ‘em hell, Mister Chalmers.” Maggie gave the order without breaking eye contact from the girl.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Chalmers was already holding a small globular piece of metal. He pulled the pin and heaved it high in the air. A few more of the shadows began to turn and see the three of them in the intersection. Some even stood up and moved a few steps forward. Animalistic curiosity? Perhaps. In a few minutes they would be hungry again. The girl in the Chiffon dress stepped in front of the huddled cluster and began salivate as she lurched toward them. Fresh blood dripped off her chin and marked her path. The grenade landed a few yards in front of her and bounced eight inches in the air. The second time it bounced was just a few inches above the concrete.

  There was no third bounce.

  The blast sent some to the right and left pitching backward and staggering away from an invisible blow. The girl in the Chiffon dress disappeared in the smoke, sulfur and a brief flare of fire. A few of the tattered forms lay motionless or writhing like tortured insects on the ground. They tried to stand and move with a body that was too broken to obey anymore. Some did stand up, with eyes, faces and bodies riddled with the buckshot of a fragmentation grenade. They could not feel the metal twisting inside their skin, tearing at their cartilage. They could not feel so they could not fear. A b
urning sensation started as an ember and quickly flared into a bonfire that took rabid control of their thoughts. Hunger. With lycanthrope intensity they began to sniff the air and stalk their new prey.

  “We might want to get a move on, ma’am.” It was Brenda as she fired a short burst. The form that had been following them collapsed like a doll, devoid of emotion or reaction. It just dropped to the ground as if it was eager for the end of life. Behind it, several more took up the slow, ponderous pursuit. Brenda made eye contact with Maggie and then rotated her head in a manner that beckoned her to follow.

  Coming from the North on State Street they were just fifty yards away. How do they do that? Maggie wondered as her eyes panned the crowd. How do they just appear? Perhaps we just don’t see them because they are motionless in the dark. They only move when the time is right. She stepped back and raised her right hand to the new group coming from the direction of Macy’s and beckoned them forward.

  “C’mon, come to me!” ” She waved them on. A tall thin man with jagged, broken teeth and shallow cheeks howled at her as he moved forward. “Lets’ move, east on Monroe.”

  Maggie took the lead and fired two carefully aimed bursts at a pair figures on a sidewalk to her right. A large black woman tumbled over with a blank expression on her face. Her fall was unbroken as she smacked into the pavement with the sound of a saturated rag hitting something hard. A slow, ponderous puddle began spreading out from her left eye. Chalmers opened up with several short bursts that zig zagged across bodies that barely seemed to notice. One tall woman in high heels took three shells. Two penetrated her breastbone and a third obliterated her right hand in a splash of red. Her face had been torn open at the cheek bones with her teeth peeking out of the slashed wound. She turned and looked at Maggie. God, it looks like she’s smiling, Maggie pivoted away and kept moving. Fuuuuuuck…….

  “Take them out if they get too close.” Maggie felt the need to give a command she knew they were already aware of. Maybe you just need to feel you are still controlling this. Maybe you just want to believe you’re not being surrounded. The thought was a cold touch on her mind. Look at them. She fired twice more as they followed. Be honest, there are more of them than you thought there were. She had to agree with that.

  ………..and they’re smarter than you thought……..

  The figures on the east and west side of State Street blended in a single mass like two diversities becoming a singular pack. Maggie knew that was the plan but she was not sure if it was good news. What if the road ahead is blocked? Then they have you. At point she scanned the street ahead and realized how easily they blended into the semi darkness. She saw three forms outlined against a red brick wall that she swore were not there a second ago. Several more appeared in front of them behind parked cars. They were like pop up spiders that appeared out of the ground and devoured their prey. Maggie squeezed the trigger of her M16A3 again and a figure 15 yards in front jerked once from a body shot and again from a head wound before collapsing on to the darkened pavement. Brenda tossed a grenade that bounced into the pursuing crowd. In a half beat of anticipation later, Smoke bloomed among the crowd and they scattered to the ground like bowling pins. A heavy set man in a black t-shirt was slammed to the asphalt in front of Brenda. When he landed face first she could see his back resembled a slaughterhouse from the grenade’s shrapnel. The man raised himself to his hands and knees and then stood up slowly. His eyes flared and he returned to pursuing his prey. Telltale embers of smoke were rising from what was left of his back. The triangle formation moved with a very measured pace. Fast enough to stay ahead. Careful enough not to lose their pursuers and be aware of what lurked in the night’s ever lengthening shadows.

  As they passed Kaye Jewelers on their right the darkened interior of the store seemed to bend back and forth. Brenda found the object that was causing this bizarre optical illusion. An old man in a black business suit banged out a slow rhythm on the glass with two bloody stumps. His eyes pursued Brenda’s passing figure in the dark with a mouth that opened and closed to the heaving of the glass.

  The broad way theater lights of Palmer House illuminated darkened shapes that dotted the sidewalk. A large woman was being loudly consumed by a diverse group of figures that barely paid any mind as Maggie passed by. The ladies alligator shoes and mink shawl bore mute testimony to the feast and may have urged the hungry ones on if they could. Two quick reports from Chalmers brought Maggie back to the real world. A tall white man in a perfect grey suit that was speckled with grisly maroon discoloration seemed to pause in astonishment after a silver dollar sized hole appeared on his forehead. He fell backward like a tree losing a fight with gravity and bounced off a parked city van to come to rest in the roadway. Fait accompli.

  Maggie rotated her head slowly in a slight crouch with the M16A3 ready as they approached Wabash. A gigantic, silver tin can poked its head into the intersection. As she approached down the center of the street the scene began to unveil itself. In the darkness, an M1 tank had crashed into one of the elevated commuter train tracks that laced through Chicago like black ribbons. The force of the collision had buckled the girder, causing the track to keel over and collapse on to the street below. The spilled contents of four tin can silver cars lay scattered about the street like the aftermath of a tornado. But here, each bit of clothing or piece of humanity was sniffed and tasted by ravenous witnesses to the carnage. The cars had crushed a white service van and its occupant in the driver seat. He had been dead several hours and now his fingers poked and prodded through minuscule holes in the destruction, probing for an escape.

  Scurrying all over the tin cans were ant like figures that hissed and clawed at any aperture. Hoping a finger hold would become more than that and they could force entry to satiate their maddening hunger. The noise and activity were a perfect escape for Maggie and she took it. She urged on Chalmers and Voorhees as they passed the devastation. Behind them, scattered figures paused and weighed their next decision. Most kept following the very real scent of the hunt in front of them. A few others paused and seemed to reflect upon this new landmark of destruction. A tipping point was reached. Perhaps it was a stronger scent or the activity of others like themselves. A few figures removed themselves from the flow that was once humanity and meandered among the wreckage, searching for prey. Individual thought? Maggie let the idea die still birth in her mind as she decided the ones who joined the train wreck would not be a threat to Brett, Pinder and the others.

  She turned to her left while crossing Wabash. Most of the dead had already joined in hunting among the wreckage. The few remaining figures stood like scarecrows, motionless and clearly silhouetted in the dead city streets.

  Maggie slowly did a three sixty around the intersection and motioned Chalmers and Brenda to keep up. It was a half jog half walk now as the pack seemed to pick up the pace behind them. They crawled over cars and knocked over debris scattered in the street. Were they picking up the pace or are we slowing down? Perhaps it was confidence in numbers. The once wary animals had the scent of blood in their nostrils and strength in numbers gave them courage. Did they really think like that? She almost wondered aloud as they continued down Monroe with a large park looming on the left.

  Just another block, Maggie felt herself heave and expel loudly into the night air. It wasn’t just the ammunition, grenades, uniform, boots and weapons that weighed them down. It was the careful pace. Speeding up and slowing down. Stopping to protect their perimeter and then picking up the pace to get some distance. She had no idea how much time had passed since they left or if even time had paused to await their fate. The older buildings in this section of Monroe seemed to be like gargoyles as they glared down from above. Sinister and almost alive in the darkness, they towered like monsters over the miniscule and vulnerable figures that seemed to be keeping just ahead of a grasping tsunami. One false step, a twisted ankle and they would be consumed in an ocean of claws, teeth and hunger.

  On her right a postal van ha
d careened off the street and found its way onto an iron bike stand. The box like vehicle appeared to be like an animal caught in an elaborate bear trap. It lay forlornly on the sidewalk with its rear wheels off the ground and spinning slowly in mid air. A thought touched Maggie in the back of her mind as she whirled around to face the building on the left side of the street. Balconies, she remembered the falling bodies from their bus trip and tried to peek through the darkness for any marauding specters from above.

  As they approached Michigan Avenue, the ominous buildings gave way to a park on the left, on the right The Art Institute of Chicago hugged the ground with its’ comparatively squat two storey elevation. It felt like they had travelled through a cave to come face to face with an endless nightfall. An impenetrable blackness met the sky in front of them. The waterfront, Maggie quickly concluded in the gloom. The smoke in the sky cleared in some patches to allow the stars a spectator’s view of the end of all things. When Maggie turned back where they had come, a slight and slow decline of the street to the waterfront betrayed the immense depth of the crowd that now followed. Mission accomplished, Maggie thought she heard a voice say sarcastically. Do all crazy people hear this in their heads? She wondered as she turned to look down Michigan.