by Jones, K. J.
She felt a club come at her from the back and ducked forward.
Someone flew over her.
She whirled herself back to catch some space to see who this new player was.
Peter. He reached back towards her. She turned the machete and landed the handle in his hand.
Eric was back under the desk. Blood coming down his face, but alive.
She scurried under the desk with him.
Heads dropped down, detached from their necks.
A bad guy ran for the stairs. Matt grabbed him from the back and threw him across the saloon. Landed, and Mullen cut his throat.
All doors open.
A bad guy ran for starboard. Chris ducked and grabbed his legs. He tossed him over the walkway railing into the water.
Brandon had one of their clubs. He whacked the back of skulls, bringing them down, where Peter cut off their heads with a powerful swipe of the machete. The guys worked as a team. The bad guys did not.
Phebe cheered and clapped.
Eric smiled. “We got them.”
Only then did Phebe realize the yacht had sped up.
The guys looked around for anymore.
Entrails-out guy leaned against the couch. He tried to put his intestines back in the wound. Though not reacting to the pain, his body sweat. His lungs panted.
“You are some seriously fucked up flakka motherfuckers,” said Matt.
The guy paused and looked up at him. “We’ll eat you all.” He made a disgusting motion with his tongue as if he was Hannibal Lector.”
“Want?” Peter turned the machete to present the handle to Matt.
Matt thought about it. “You really eat people?”
“The hearts of brave warriors.”
“Okay.” Matt took the bloody handle and reared back the blade.
His first time beheading, he had to whack more than once.
“Welcome to the Darkside, son,” said Chris.
“Can I do one?” asked Mullen. “This guy over here still has his.”
“All you, brother.” Matt passed the machete to him.
Peter squatted down. “Wifey.”
“Hubby. You got to behead.”
“Very excited about that.”
“You protected me.”
“Male ego restored. May I help you up?” He presented his hand.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
But his bad leg didn’t let him go fully up. She helped him the rest of the way.
“What about me?” Eric asked.
“Ask Stanton.”
“Is he here?”
“Are any of us here to you?”
Phebe asked, “Are we clear?”
“Yup. Dynamo Tyler is speeding us away from the cannibal flakka-like crazy fuckers. Talk about a goddamn fucktard theme.”
“What a mess,” Chris said. “I ain’t cleaning this up.”
Chapter Two
1.
The rugs of the saloon could not be saved. Too much blood. All the electronics prevented using a water hose or anything easy like that. They had to mop and move Eric around on the rolling chair to get under the desk.
“Swab the decks, you mangy mongrels,” said Peter.
“I feel like one.” Matt dumped another bucket of red water over the portside railing.
“Explain again why we couldn’t get the house crew to do this?” Mullen cleaned the blood-splattered windows. Or attempted to. He produced smears.
“They’d see and freak out,” said Matt.
“Emily’s here.”
“But Emily is not going to tell Angela and Stanton.”
“We protect them too much.”
“We’re protecting Jayce and Nia from further house arrest.”
“But they’re out there where the heads are.”
“Just do as you are told.”
“I hate being in the apocalypse army.”
“Where else do you get to cut off heads?” Peter asked.
“Well, okay. There is that. And I can defend myself now. No more big guy bullies.”
“There ya go. Upsides.”
“Why isn’t Phebe helping?”
“Hepatitis,” said Matt. “We don’t want to risk contamination.”
“I hate cleaning.”
“I hate your complaints.”
“Why can’t Angela just look over here from the third-floor piazza side? Or out Eric’s bedroom windows? She’d see there’s a yacht here.”
As soon as Mullen asked that, Angela’s voice yelled from the dock.
“Get in that house, right now!”
“Uh-oh,” Peter said.
“Does she have a wooden spoon?” Mullen asked.
Peter looked out the window. “No. But she’s towel whipping them with a dishtowel. They’re running across the street. She’s hot on their heels.”
“Well,” said Matt. “We went as long as we could without her knowing. That’s over.”
“She’s coming back. Oh. She’s yelling at Emily at the heads.”
“Probably because it’s really un-Christian to put severed heads on stakes,” said Matt.
“Hmm. These bad guys didn’t look like churchgoers to me.”
“It’s not about them.”
“Why aren’t you disturbed then?”
“Probably because I am mentally disturbed now.”
Peter chuckled. “Welcome to the psycho ward. Can’t say shit to Chris anymore.”
“He’s gloating.”
“She’s yelling at Brandon too. Matt, you’re the big churching guy. Go talk to her.”
“Fine. Better than mopping up blood and guts and shit.”
“Is there shit too?” Mullen scanned the floor.
“People can shit themselves when killed,” said Peter. “And piss themselves.”
“Oh. Fucking fab!”
“Hand-to-hand with blades can be messy.”
“Next time, let’s do it in the bad guys' place, so we don’t have to clean it up.”
Matt laughed as he exited.
2.
Matt got Angela back to the house and did not return for cleaning. Chris had used the need to dismantle and manically clean the SAW as his excuse to not clean. But Brandon came to help. Emily was forbidden due to her suspected condition.
It took hours to get the saloon clean of biologicals.
Meanwhile, Emily began yelling.
A look outside told she directed the yell at the bay and had binoculars. She made full-body obscene gestures like a good New Yorker.
A gaze to the portside told it was the men across the bay on the flight deck with binoculars.
“See, she’s gone Darkside, too,” said Peter.
Brandon sighed.
Peter patted him on the back. “You are the only left.”
“She’s standing at a row of severed ghoulish heads with face piercings and tattoos, making obscene gestures to morons who are mooning her and showing their really nasty dicks at her.”
“Everyone’s gone nuts,” said Mullen.
“She needs to stop looking.”
3.
A dive into the bay to feel clean would be really unwise. Peter figured the alligators were worse than the sharks. But the yacht had a working water heater. He told no one. Let them figure it out.
Clean and, apart from his clothes were still stinky, his hair smelled good. The others eyed him suspiciously as he made his way through the clean saloon and out the door. They ran down the stairs to find the shower.
Peter scooped up a black trash bag containing the remains of the hacker.
“I need a bone,” said Eric.
“Hell no. Stay there.” He hurried out with the bag to keep it away from the crazy ghost guy.
Emily was on marina guard. “You alright?”
“Fine.”
“Did you shower?”
“No. I naturally smell good.” He stopped walking and looked around. “Why am I hearing the sounds of joy?”
“A lot of them wen
t over to the park.”
“What park?”
“Over there.” She pointed. “There’s tennis courts, a basketball court, a swing set.”
“Behind Phebe’s pee building?”
“Yeah. It’s where we do shooting practice and, oh, there’s even a baseball diamond.”
“So?”
“Jayce plays baseball.”
“Oh good. Two guys, one each for a team, that’ll so work.”
“Be negative.”
“He’ll never be allowed out again.”
“True. But maybe the rest of us. Thought of that?”
“Believe it when I see it.”
He resumed his walk towards the house.
On the street, a bright yellow hyper sports car sped towards the house at Mach five.
“What the fuck?”
It banked a hard U-turn on East Bay Street, tires squealing. And came towards him. His hand reached for his holstered sidearms. He ducked his head to try to see through the tinted windows.
The driver’s side door opened straight up. Phebe smiled at him.
He laughed. “Really? A Lamborghini?”
“Wanna ride, Irishman.”
“The house is right there?”
“Then don’t take a ride.”
“No. Yeah. Can we go for a real ride?”
“Sure. I got a full tank of gas.”
“Can I drive?”
“Oh, the sacrifices I make as a wifey. What’s that?”
“The hacker.”
“Put her in the trunk. She can go for a ride too.”
Phebe got out and stood in front of him, beaming with pride over her acquisition.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Your chariot awaits, dear sir.”
“Wicked.”
After placing the hacker in the small trunk, he sat in the driver’s seat. His smile increased as he looked around. “This is so wicked reta’ded.” He laughed. “Get in, wifey. I’ll show you how to drive fast.”
She jogged around to the passenger door and opened it. “Yeah. Because I’m a granny driver, huh?” She reached up to pull the door closed.
He squealed the tires as he hit the gas.
“Whoa.” She pulled on the seatbelt. “We’re gonna die.”
He downshifted to take corners. It was the same maneuver she used when escaping the house in Wilmington during the outbreak.
Rats rushed out of the way. Historic houses blurred by.
He suddenly jumped a shallow sidewalk. “Snake in the road.”
Tires back on the street.
“What kind of snake was that?” She turned to try to see it.
“Black.”
“Duh.”
“No, they’re called black snakes, babe. They’re ratters. The farmer’s friend and all that.”
“Ratters?” She looked around at all the visible rat population.
“It’s a big one, too. Remember what road it’s on.”
She smiled at him.
Through her radio, Matt’s voice. “Got a Porsche 911. I’m way down north on a Church Street. Over.”
“Go there,” she told Peter.
4.
On the widest street, sports cars lined up at the start line – which was the stop line under a dead street light. Engines revved. Windows closed to increase aerodynamics. Tyler waved a dishcloth as the start flag.
But Phebe walked home, grumbling. She was voted off the island in racing by men with too much testosterone.
Tyler dropped the dishcloth. The cars bucked into speed. A Ferrari took a momentary lead.
They passed Phebe. She gave them the middle finger. “Stupid, chauvinistic, bastard men. Who needs ya!”
They were concerned she’d win. She decided that was their problem. Their egos couldn’t take it.
“I’m gonna tell Mazy on all of you idiots.”
She stopped, realizing she was on the wrong road.
“Fuck.”
A movement of something black on the ground.
“You’re still not where you’re going, snakey? Do you have family and friends around here to help eat these bastard rats?”
It spotted her and panicked. Head raised, it S-moved at an incredible speed for something lacking legs.
She noted which house yard it went into.
5.
“You’re okay with snakes, right?” Phebe said as soon as she saw Emily at the house.
“Um.”
“Can you deal with one or several around?”
“Why would I be doing this?”
“They eat rats.”
“Oh! In that case, I’ll let ‘em use me as a snake tree. Get those fuckers gone.”
Owls and birds of prey had arrived from inland. But not enough to clear up the rodent epidemic.
“So, how do we catch ratter snakes?” Phebe asked.
“Does anyone have experience with that?” responded Emily.
“Those who have are racing sports cars around the town.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice for them. Brandon’s doing that?”
“Yup.”
“Such boys.”
“If those cars ran without too much difficulty, then there has to be more practical vehicles running. A massive loot of the stores.”
“Shopping!”
“Let’s find one.”
“I saw a nice SUV. The keys were hanging by the front door. I remember which house.”
“Let’s go.”
6.
Their shopping trip required being heavily armed. They did not acquire just one SUV with keys and a full tank, but two of them. Both had CD players with CDs inserted. The first music they had heard in a long time, they didn’t care what it was.
The two SUVs waited at a cross street for the racers to pass. Once the sports cars cleared, the young women headed north towards an abundance of high-end women’s boutique shops. Rats in the streets. The young women floored the gas peddles to make sure to get as many as possible. A point for each one flattened.
SUVs parked.
“This is really dumb of us.” Emily pulled the strap of her M4 onto her shoulder. “We should have gotten someone to take watch.”
“Maybe. But heads on stakes help as a deterrent.”
“Let’s hope so. Would hate those to go to waste.”
Phebe popped the locked door with a crowbar.
“Shall we?”
Emily raised her riffle. “I’ll take point.”
“I got ya.”
Once they cleared the shop, a slower-paced loot began. They took the opportunity to find sizes that actually fit and admire the clothes.
“Think this is a little too much?” Phebe held a ballgown against her.
“I dunno. Are we going to the governor’s mansion soon?”
“Ya never know.”
“Yeah. But we’d go to loot and play with his stuff.”
* * *
The cargo back area of the SUVs filled with clothes and decorative goodies. They moved onto the next store.
Emily took the crowbar this time to pop the door lock. The women’s boutiques didn’t seem to be hot looting targets. All the better for them.
Store cleared, they looked at the stuff sitting on dusty shelves.
“Oh,” said Phebe. “Please don’t spray that.” She covered her nose with her gloved hand. “I will have to run.”
Emily put the perfume bottle down. “Sorry. Forgot the superpower.”
Phebe’s gaze caught movement through the front plate-glass windows.
A hand signal to Emily. Both dropped down, riffles readied.
“Could’ve been my imagination,” Phebe whispered.
“Or a ghost.”
“Let’s be sure. On me.”
They stayed low, avoiding the window line of sight in case anyone looked in. If someone was out there, the women needed to get eyes on them before they were seen.
On the floor, Phebe looked through the
bottom of the glass door. No one. She hoped it had been a trick of the eye.
“Opening,” she whispered.
“I’m with you.”
Exiting would be a huge vulnerability. If armed people were pressed against the walls outside, flanking the windows, they’d have the drop.
“Fast and furious, to the SUV cover?”
“Roger that.”
Hopefully, the burst of action would disorient anyone who was waiting.
“On my three,” said Phebe. “One. Two. Three.”
She shoved open the door and took off in a run while aiming right. Emily behind her, aiming left. They made it and scanned out over the SUVs hoods.
Scanned. And scanned.
“Thinking it was your imagination,” said Emily. “Or one of the ghosts.”
“Yeah.”
Just as they intended to stand, movement.
“Got it.” Emily aimed in sync with Phebe.
“Come out,” Phebe yelled. “We see you.”
A male voice from behind a car on the opposite side of the street, “We see you, too. This ain’t your territory.”
“Huh?” Emily asked Phebe.
“He sounds black, right?”
“Yeah. So not a white supremacist.”
Phebe yelled, “How is this your territory?”
“We claim being here.”
“Bullshit. You’re just in it at the same time as us.”
“Hey, we don’t come here to fight y’all. You’re the Battery crew, ain’t ya? We’re central North Charleston.”
“Great,” Emily whispered. “We sound like street gangs.”
Phebe yelled, “Are you going to let us pass in peace?”
“We want to set up a trade.”
“Trade?” Emily whispered, eyebrows high.
From behind the car, a white rag rose on a broken broomstick.
“Y’all got people of color, we seen.”
“You’re spying on us?”
“If we’re gonna approach y’all, we need to know who y’all are. Let’s all come out with weapons lowered.”
It was a risk. They could be lying. Phebe turned to look into Emily’s eyes for her reaction.
“How did they use to do this in tribal days?”
“This part wasn’t covered in archaeology.”
The man yelled, “We got the white flag up.”
Phebe took out the handheld radio. “We got contact. White flag. They say they’re central North Charleston and come to trade with us. They’ve been watching us. Over.”
