A slow figure on Van Buren paid no attention to the others of his kind in the shadows of night. Here and there lights from long vacated rooms burned on like beacons against a gathering nightmare. The figure paused and regarded an outline against a pane of smoked glass. The lips parted in a slow snarl for a second. It had no interest in the figure that stared back him, perhaps a mild curiosity and nothing more. It had no way of telling it was a reflection of itself. The reversed letters on his jacket spelled out CHALMERS to eyes that did see or understand his own name.
He was different now. He was rain.
Time is a river to some, a torrent to others. It moves on, it passes. It was just hours earlier on the I94/90 that the picket line commander spoke into his MH-180 headset and withheld the order to fire. He wanted every bullet to count. Even in the violence of war there had to be some form of arithmetic.
It all seemed so simple at first. The command was uttered and manmade mayhem began with annihilation, obliteration and slaughter. Bodies whirled like chaotic dancers, pushed about by the force of 5.6 shells making contact. Finally, they stumbled and spun to the ground with arms severed or swinging in the air at impossibly broken angles. Bodies at rest.
Then, they got up………
“RELOAD!”
“GO FOR THE HEAD! THE HEAD, GODAMMIT!!
A quiver of the eye was a reaction to motion. A congregation of shadows appeared on the road just behind the now rising broken dolls.
“RELOAD! RELOAD, GODDAMMITT!!”
The sound of gunfire, confusion and human calamity was like blinding sunlight to the moth, nectar to the bee and carrion to the wolf. They could taste it on the wind. That way…….
The crowded cars on the highway were at first fascinated. A few phones popped out of opening windows with running commentary:
“Did you fuckin’ see that?”
“Oh no, oh no, no,”
Windows electrically eased up, doors opened. Rifle fire became sporadic and seemed to fade into the background as the broken doll targets closed in and melded with the picket line. As more pressed through towards the cars a herd mentality began to take hold. There was a sense of slow motion for the hunted. A look over the shoulder confirmed the gathering fear. They’re still there. They’re still coming. They passed idling vehicles with faces pasted against the windows. A glance in the rear view mirror inside and eyes would widen. The antiseptic clip of a seatbelt unbuckling and the musical chime as car doors swung open. More figures, more motion. The air became sweeter to those who followed.
“Just go! Just run!”
“This is not fuckin’ happening………this is not fuckin’ happenin’…………..”
A Cadillac rested in the collection of traffic, through its open doors a satellite radio station continued with its pre recorded playlist. Brooke Benton sang on through the panic; “ Lord, I believe it’s rainin’ all over the world………..”
As the herd stampeded past Monroe and Madison on the I90/94 figures appeared in front of them that were dissimilar. It was a feeling at first, the way they moved. They were from the West Loop, Greek Town and West Town. A collective scream that rose from the herd was confirmation to the hunters they were moving in the right direction. Black tongues licked tattered lips and the feet shuffled forward in anticipation.
……And the blood began to run, like rain…………
CHAPTER TWENTY
Brett slipped the cell phone out of his side pocket and let the silver and glass rectangle sit in his hand for a minute. Yeah Maggie, the thought warmed him. I broke your rule today, too. He had a flashback to Galveston. They had been staying with his parents while infatuation was blossoming into a full blown relationship. His dad had made his opinion clear of Maggie with side glances, cold stares and the odd mono-syllable. His mother weighed in with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms while they were talking. Maggie was forbidden fruit, dangerous ground. It made her all the more exciting.
“You’re a man now.” He heard them say with a touch of displeasure. “You make your own decisions.”
Late Friday night in October on the other side of a few beers they were walking home down side walks he had learned to call his own. He was wearing a black Stetson with a woolskin jacket and good jeans. The cowboy boots clip clopped on the pavement. Maggie in tight black jeans and matching leather jacket and flat heals.
“So that’s’ a country bar on a Saturday night?” Maggie finally spoke as she inhaled the sweet Gulf of Mexico air.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That is one fuck of a good time.” She spoke slowly and earnestly with a sideways smile. “It wasn’t what I thought.”
“How so?”
“There were no fights.” Maggie was half laughing from the beer and good times. “I thought country bars had lots of fights. You know, chicken wire in front of the stage and some guy singing Rawhide.”
“That’s just in the movies.” Brett explained with a slow smile. He felt a buzz on. He tried to find the source of the intoxication. The night air, the Coors or Maggie? Maybe it was all of the above. “Everybody’s too busy boot scootin’ to have an attitude.”
“Boot scootin’? I have no idea what you just said.” She gave him a side glance. Before Brett could explain Maggie bolted from his side and was running through darkened grass that led to a park. “C’mon!” She called over her shoulder after a few seconds.
Brett watched her for a few beats and shook his head with a smile. He then followed at a slower, calm pace. What was she up to? His insides seemed torn between his father’s cold stare and the improvisation of the moment. The anticipation of the unexpected, being pulled somewhere that was unique and different. It all had a delicious sense of independence.
“Over here!” Her jacket and jeans blended into the dark. But the southern moon guided him to a figure sitting on some swings. Maggie seemed to move ever so slightly from side to side as she sat in the middle of three swings. It was a slow, hallucinating rhythm that brought him sensually closer. His mouth was dry and parched. He had a sudden thirst and hunger for the woman in front of him. Maggie smiled slowly and bit her lip.
“I want you ….” Maggie’s voice was husky, her eyes were a deeper shade of erotica. “….to push me.”
“Push you?” He came closer, stepping slowly behind her
“Yeah,” She whispered with anticipation. “Make me go high.”
“Sure.” He felt himself getting warm.
His hands reached out slowly and touched her shoulders. He could feel her skin through the jacket. An animal electricity passed between them. She shivered at his touch and gasped with pleasure. “Yeah,” She urged him on. “Push me.”
The second he propelled her forward Brett heard a noise come from her mouth that was exciting and alluring at the same time. He saw her hands push strongly against the chain of the swing as the night air embraced her.
“Take me higher!”
She returned in his direction and Brett pushed harder. He could feel the muscles in his arms and his breath became shorter. This time gravity gave a bit more and Maggie’s figure was air born into the night. He had never seen a more beautiful sight as she threw her head back and laughed.
“TAKE ME HIGHER!”
The few seconds his hands were on her back he felt a sizzle through his skin and a blood rush that made him hard. Her face was bathed in hedonistic moonlight. Crazy like the moon, Brett suddenly understood what that meant and drank it in.
“Take me higher!” She reached out with one hand at the points of light above them. “I want to touch the stars!”
When she came down to earth he caught Maggie and stopped the swing abruptly. He felt a thrill shudder through her. Brett’s arms encircled around Maggie’s body and held her deeply, tightly. He felt dizzy from the night, the scent of her skin and the anticipation of what he hungered to do next.
“If I could,” Brett never had meant anything more in his young life. “I would grab the stars and give them to you.
”
She leaned back in the swing and faced him in the moonlight. He had the feeling he had been the one chasing her but she had caught him. It didn’t matter. Her green eyes smoldered sensually as the moon played along. Slowly, she licked her lips. The trap was sprung.
“You talk a pretty good game, cowboy.” Her voice was cool and inviting. “Show me.”
Her left hand was suddenly on the back of his neck and Maggie pulled him down and kissed him hard, open mouthed. Her tongue at first teased and then excited him. There is no plan to passion. There is just the physical need. He pulled her from the swing and found the grass soft and inviting. Maggie’s hands were already finding the buttons on his clothes.
He could feel the moment from years away. It lingered and Brett didn’t mind. For the first time in days he had a second to pause and to feel. A smile played slowly on his mouth and spread through his insides. The phone’s weight was a reminder in his hand. His fingers scrolled through a list of letters and digits that meant nothing to him. Maggie’s name and number blazed in the iridescent light. He tapped it twice and held the phone to his ear.
She’s alive, he said to himself. She’s alive. I saw her.
Light, then a sound that was something other. It regarded the intrusion with an aggressive glare and a hint of curiosity. A sliver of a memory that was lost in the hours teased it as the head gave a slow rotation to the right. Something about the repetitive ring seemed to be almost touch ably familiar, yet lost in time. There were characters within the light of the box that it could no longer make out. Still………
Maggie’s phone lay face up where it had fallen on Michigan Avenue. More and more heads turned toward the new intrusion in their dark shade world. A woman with hair that had been blackened by so much blood crawled forward on crushed legs. She gave an open mouthed snarl at the alien thing and lashed out with a grey skinned hand. Whether it was an attempt to silence the intruder or possess it didn’t matter. It was enough to activate the touch screen.
“Lieutenant?” The voice was formal and then it paused and emotionally queried: “Maggie?”
It stared at the box on the ground and listened to the words while an incomplete logic began to form. When its instinct had reached a certain point in the process the jaw dropped open and the teeth reflected from the streetlights. The voice box on the thing was clotted with dried blood but it still produced a low, guttural challenge. The woman who had touched the box picked up the emotion and hissed loudly. It spread to each of them standing nearby like an expanding wave after a pebble had been dropped in the water. In the middle of dead silence the sound carried quickly.
Gone. The word just appeared in Brett’s thoughts. She’s gone. A moment of confusion that protected him from clarity took over. She’s gone, it was a distant thought as Brett stood straight with an arm he could longer feel holding the phone to his ear. Brett tried to feel his feet but his balance felt like a forgotten emotion.
Gone……she’s gone.
Memories of her started to deconstruct before him. Forms, figures and landscapes at first grew pale and then blurry to his eyes. The colors abruptly vanished into white everlasting. He was with Maggie at midnight in the park with the moon and stars as their only company.
“Take me higher…..”
The swing traces its perfect pendulum course through the sky. Her legs outstretched and head thrown back in laughter and joy. She is captured in the outline of the moon for a brief second. Maggie is suddenly growing invisible, opaque. The swing returns from its upward course alone. She’s gone. A moment later in a darker atmosphere the air itself has taken on a touch of death and grey. The swing sits alone and motionless. It seems lonely and forgotten as it blends into a vacuum. Brett can suddenly hear his own heart beating while the colors fade away and his memories struggle to survive. Finally, they succumb and fade. She’s gone.
Brett’s phone dropped from his fingers and bounced end over end on the train’s rubber matted floor. He was unaware that his feet had started to move. A body at rest had become a body in motion. Outside of his field of vision, a man reached down and grasped the discarded phone in his chubby fingers while Brett opened a door between the cars.
“Hey!”
Although Brett was suddenly aware of the noise that filled his ears when the door opened he did not react to it. The train tracks performed their metallic rhythm as they proceeded slowly toward the long, looping bend that would take them on to the Chicago and Northwestern route. As they passed Canal Street, it barely registered with Brett the figures on the road that stood among the collided wreckage of cars. The dead regarded them with an almost awkward, impossible stance. They watched the metal intruder as it passed before returning to the business of harvesting the bodies nearby.
“Hey!” It was the voice behind him again. “Hey, buddy!”
Brett turned slowly to the sound in his ears. Is this what those things felt? Here but not here at all? Merely muscle and bone that moved about without reason or feeling? His skin felt pale and taut on his face. The rest of him was clumsy and unreachable to emotion.
“Jesus,” Bestoni looked at him with a brow that furrowed quickly. “Are you okay?”
“She’s gone.” The words escaped Brett’s mouth. They seemed to be the only thing that made sense right now. Why am I here? He suddenly thought. She’s gone and that’s all that matters. “Why am I here?” He whispered.
“You…” Nick tried to make eye contact and understand the situation. After a pause, he spoke slower in a hope that would bridge the gap into Brett’s shock. “You dropped your phone.” Bestoni’s hand extended toward Symons.
“Its’ okay, I don’t need it.” Brett waved his hand slowly, drunkenly. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone.” Brett nodded his head slowly. “Maggie’s gone.”
“Jeez, I’m sorry, guy….’” Nick tried to think of something, anything to get Brett talking. There was a growing panic inside Bestoni from the look in Symon’s eyes. “Look, maybe if we talked to….”
“No, she’s gone,” he shook his head sadly. “Everyone’s gone.”
“Look, “ Bestoni tried again. “Why don’t you….”
“I shouldn’t be here.” Brett looked up with eyes that were suddenly wet. His words were slow and simple as if spoken by a child. “I shouldn’t be here, she’s gone.”
Bestoni felt his feet grow heavy as panic and indecision weighted him down. No, jesus, no. He tried to say something wise. Something that would make Brett see the world in a different light. The train moved on, heading westward. It was as if it was running from the reality of a new day.
“I have to go home, now.” Brett whispered as a tear bridged over an eye lid and found its’ way down his cheek. “I have to go take care of mom and dad.” He turned and walked carefully down the steps and stepped off the train into space.
“Hey!” Bestoni reacted as he watched Brett start to walk down the stairs. His short arms
reached forward but only found nothingness. He was gone in a second. Nick ran down the stairs and called after the figure that rolled away from the tracks and landed in a sand and dirt patch of the bridge at Halstead Street. Scrub brush and thick weeds had broken his fall. “Hey! What are you doing?”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
Brett picked himself up slowly and re-shouldered his M16A3. A slow, assessment of his surroundings revealed a rising sun, a train receding into the distance and a few figures 60 yards away beneath him. They seemed intent on forcing open the side door of an RV and were oblivious to their surroundings. Farther away, a few more figures were starting to move in his direction. He was safe up here.
Check that, he watched them curiously. Maybe they were following the train. He took a ragged breath and tried to remember the last ten minutes. She’s gone, he reminded himself.
“HEY!” He heard it in the distance as the train click-clacked away. “STOP THE TRAIN! STOP THE TRAIN, GODDAMNIT!”
&nbs
p; He dropped to a knee and felt himself being drawn into a black abyss. He took a deep breath and then a second. It was no good. The world was out of focus, there was no sense of his surroundings. The world was an unintelligible mass of shapes and sensations he could no longer feel through the fog of shock.
“Gotta get home,” He nodded and stood up. His feet felt like hard clay as they started to move. “Mom and dad are gonna need me.” He started heading away from the tracks and tried find a way down to Halstead.
“Montana. “ He whispered to the wind. “The cabin in Montana in the summer.“ He clambered down a series of chain link fences and decaying red brick walls. The morning mist embraced him with care. It covered his tracks for as long as it could before surrendering to the rising sun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was starting to occur to Alice that Murphy wasn’t human. He could be a hybrid of cold machinery with a mathematical eye. The only feelings she could find were a strange coupling of invincibility and narcissism. Both of the emotions seemed to feed on one another. It grew before her like a towering beast and dwarfed any courage she had to question him.
The Drumhead Page 26
