Everyday Apocalypse: Season One

by Pieter Lars

  His phone rang and he answered.

  “Tom,” Samantha chirped, “we have a walk-in up front. Grossman’s out for lunch. Can you help her? Her name’s Mrs. Garmin and she seems really sweet.”

  “Sure. Send her back,” Tom replied.

  A few minutes later Mrs. Garmin, a tiny little lady with silver hair and smile-lines, entered. As she sat, she smoothed down the skirt of her smart, pastel-colored suit.

  Tom couldn’t help but smile. She positively beamed with old-lady warmth.

  “Please excuse my appearance, young man,” Mrs. Garmin said, “I was working in my garden this morning.”

  Tom almost laughed. Her suit was pressed, her flower-ladened hat perched atop her head at a jaunty angle, and her makeup was impeccable. She could have been dressed for Sunday morning church for all Tom could tell, except for the tiny smudge of dirt on her otherwise spotless white gloves.

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Garmin,” Tom replied. “You look very nice.” He had always been good with old ladies.

  “Oh, you’re too kind,” Garmin replied with a shy smile. “Last time I was here I met with another young man, but I must say he had none of your charms.” She frowned. “No, I was not pleased with the experience. Not pleased at all. You see, I am on a fixed income, and my home insurance just seems to be getting more and more expensive and-”

  Mrs. Garmin paused to clear her throat, pressing her gloved hands to her lips, then gave a weak little cough. “Pardon me. As I said, I was working in my garden and I may have planted something that just does not agree with me. I hope it’s not allergies. For a woman my age, that can be a real hardship.”

  Tom nodded in understanding.

  “Anyway, where was I?”

  “Your homeowner’s insurance,” Tom added helpfully.

  Mrs. Garmin nodded. “Yes. Well, the other gentleman I spoke with previously just did not give me a good feeling. I may not be the sharpest tack in the drawer, Mister Brown, but I know when I am being swindled. To be quite honest, I hesitated to even return here, but the young lady at the counter spoke very highly of you, so I thought I might as well see what you can do for me. You’re not a swindler, are you, Mr. Brown?”

  “I certainly hope not,” Tom replied. “Let me get a few pieces of information from you really quick, and I will see what I can do. Now, you said you had a policy...“

  He was interrupted by another of Mrs. Garmin’s coughs. She covered her mouth again, looking embarrassed, then coughed louder.

  Tom started to rise. “Can I get you some water?”

  She shook her head and waved him away, but then her stomach let out a harsh gurgle.

  “Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry. Do not get old, Mr. Brown. You are subject to so many indignities!”

  “Please, think nothing of it.”

  “I think I would like some water, as a matter of fact. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Tom replied. “I’ll be right back.”

  He left her and walked toward the water cooler. Mrs. Garmin’s coughing echoed down the hall. It was harsher, almost retching.

  He filled a paper cup, then, just to be safe, filled a second and walked briskly back to his office. Mrs. Garmin’s cough was even worse. A sharp, barking hack. He almost didn’t want to go back in, didn’t want to embarrass her, but the thought of her choking in his office worried him.

  Inside, Mrs. Garmin was bent over his desk, holding her stomach and dry-heaving.

  “Mrs. Garmin!” He dropped the water cups onto the desk, spilling one of them onto his keyboard, and knelt by her side to take her arm. “Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?”

  Mrs. Garmin shook her head and put up her hand to stop him. Her eyes were watering. As Tom watched, she coughed once more, then opened her mouth wide. With a deep, wet belch, something plump and white emerged from her throat and fell with a wet thump onto his desk.

  It was about six inches long, and coated with saliva. As the two of them stared at it, it wriggled and shivered like an over-ripe maggot.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Garmin said quietly. “I suppose it wasn’t allergies.”

  Tom opened his mouth to reply, but then the maggot-thing started moving, faster than he could have imagined. It left a slick trail as it wriggled across his desk. Tom raced around the side and, just as the pale worm reached the edge, he opened a drawer and it plopped inside. He slammed the door shut and pushed his chair against it.

  “What-“ He started, looking from the drawer to Mrs. Garmin. The old lady just sat in her chair, her posture straight. She drank from the remaining water cup and dabbed at her chin with a handkerchief.

  “Is your computer ruined?” she asked. “If so, I can come back another time.”

  “Uh…” Tom began. The drawer thumped and opened a crack. A thin red proboscis snaked out from the tiny gap and slid along the edge, searching for a grip.

  “I’m sorry. I…I should probably take care of this. Do you mind if I come by your house this afternoon with an application? We can get the inspection out of the way at the same time.”

  “That would be fine, Mr. Brown,” Mrs. Garmin said as she stood. “What time can I expect you?”

  “Does 3:30 work for you?” He pressed his hip to the drawer and swore he heard the grub let out a shriek of pain.

  “That suits me fine, Mr Brown. I will see you then.”

  Tom waited there, leaning against the drawer, until he saw her in the parking lot outside, then reached over and dialed Samantha’s extension.

  “Sam, do we have any BBQ tongs in the break room? I may need your help with something…”

  Tom pulled up next to Mrs. Garmin’s neat little Craftsman a little after 3 P.M. He knocked, then rang the bell, but there was no answer. He pulled out his cellphone and started to dial her number when he heard shouting from the back yard.

  He went around the side of the house and heard it again.

  “Mrs. Garmin?” he called out. “Is that you? Are you alright?”

  “Hello, Tom!” the old lady called out. “Would you meet me back here? I seem to be having some trouble.”

  He reached over the gate and found the latch, then squeezed past the garbage cans and around the house. Mrs. Garmin was kneeling in the grass on a gardening pad. She wore a sun hat, elbow-length gardening gloves, slacks and a loose blouse.

  “Did you finish your inspection?” she asked over her shoulder. Something squirmed in the dirt in front of her, below the tomato plants. Mrs. Garmin raised her right arm. Tom caught a brief glimpse of a shiny hand rake before she swung it down.

  There was a tiny squeak from the garden bed.

  “Uh, no, Mrs. Garmin. I haven’t started yet,” Tom replied.

  “Well, as you can see, the roof was updated not too long ago. I don’t mean to brag, but I take very good care of my house. Even an old widow like me can be pretty handy.“ She chopped with the hand rake again, eliciting another squeak, and brought it up with something wriggling on the tines. A white grub, like the one she had coughed up in his office.

  “Yes, Mrs. Garmin, you have a very nice house.” Tom took a few steps forward and craned his neck to see over Mrs. Garmin’s shoulder. Another hack, another squeak, and another plump grub was skewered. “Do you need some help?”

  “Oh, no. Just give me a moment here and we can finish up the paperwork.” Swing. Squeak. The rake was starting to look like an overladen fondue fork.

  “Are you sure that’s safe, Mrs. Garmin? The radio was saying that if those things sting you they can lay eggs in your blood stream.”

  “Yes, I know, Tom. That is why I am wearing these gloves. Apparently, they can also infest your tomatoes, ruin your squash and your kale, and destroy months of hard work. Oh, and if you happen to eat any of those infested vegetables, well, we both know what happens then…”

  Mrs. Garmin resumed her raking, which was quickly turning from simple garden tending into vengeful rampage territory.

  “I swear,” she said under her breath, sha
king her head, “a lady just wants to enjoy her garden, her retirement, but no, every week there’s something new. It’s a wonder anyone can get anything done in this day and age.”

  Tom wasn’t sure she was still talking to him. “If you’d like, I can leave the application here and come pick it up another time. I certainly don’t want to disturb you. Or, if you want, I can take a turn with the rake.” He didn’t really want to get dirt and grub-guts all over his work clothes, but he was starting to feel a bit useless, just standing there on the lawn while Mrs. Garmin mounted her attack.

  She stood and walked toward Tom, wiping her hands on her apron. She held out the rake. “Be a dear and keep them at bay for a few minutes. I think this is going to take some heavier weaponry.”

  He took it and she walked across the yard into the garage. Tom moved to the garden bed. Below the hanging tomatoes, and under the rows of leafy lettuce, the ground was surging with movement. After a moment one of the grubs emerged from the soil, proboscis outstretched and licking at the air. He struck it, shielding his eyes from the flinging dirt. It squeaked and lay still, but a moment later there was another, then another.

  He continued his crazy version of whack-a-mole until Mrs. Garmin emerged from the garage, carrying some sort of insecticide sprayer in her left hand, a barbecue lighter in her right.

  “Step back, would you, Tom?” She had an angry glint in her eye. He shook the guts off the rake and stepped into the middle of the lawn.

  Mrs. Garmin lit the lighter with a click, held it to the tip of the sprayer, then pulled the trigger. A ten foot gout of flame sprayed across the yard. She fanned it up and down, back and across. The tomato plants went up in a fury of heat and smoke. The lettuce withered and turned black. The grubs popped, one by one, with little squeaky sizzles.

  When she was done, there was nothing left of her garden but ash and smoke.

  She set the insecticide sprayer down and turned on the hose, giving the lawn and the fence a good soak. “There,” she said, finally. “That should do it. Pity about the vegetables, but I was thinking about redesigning the garden anyway.” She smiled up at him. “Now, let’s finish up that paperwork.”

  Tom retrieved his briefcase and laid the paperwork out on the patio table. “Mrs. Garmin, I have to ask,” he said, glancing at the sprayer. “You’re not storing any combustible chemicals in your garage, are you?”

  “What, that?” She gave him an innocent smile. “That was just a little motor oil mixed with turpentine. Nothing dangerous. I saw it on Mythbusters.”

  “Well, alright. Just sign here. I can take a check for the deposit.”

  Mrs. Garmin pulled her bifocals out of her pocket and set them on her nose, then squinted at the application. “Such small print,” she said, shaking her head. “What’s this?” She pointed at the application.

  “That’s our broker fee.”

  “Broker fee? What for?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Well, our agency services your policy. That’s the portion that goes to us.”

  She shook her head and gave him another smile. “You don’t think you can waive that, Tom? Seeing as how my garden is destroyed and I’ll have to start all over? Those were heirloom tomatoes, you know…”

  Tom sighed. “Alright, Mrs. Garmin. I suppose I can…”

  7

  Vampires (the creepy kind)

  Tom sipped his beer, trying to ignore all the other patrons who kept jostling his elbows, trying to squeeze by him so they could get the bartender’s attention.

  This was so not his scene.

  He wondered if Samantha was too powerful a force for him. She had too much energy, too much gravity, too much life. But wasn’t that what he needed? Something to shake him out of his dull complacence?

  So why wasn’t he dancing with her?

  Even now, he watched her approach, sweating and breathing heavy and rocking her hips to the music as she beckoned to him.

  He gave her an apologetic shake of his head. She frowned and disappeared again into the crowd and the strobing lights.

  Tom moved to stand at the end of the bar when the music abruptly stopped and every light in the club turned on. Tom blinked and looked around for Samantha. Everyone was squinting and walking around with their hands across their brows, trying to shield their eyes against the sudden blaring light.

  A voice came over the loudspeaker: “Sorry folks. NEA just gave word that a vamp pod is headed our way. Drinks are half price until the lights go off, so feel free to stick around.” The music started again, but at a much lower volume. Tom heard grumbles from the crowd and a line started forming at the bar. Somewhere in the back, someone shrieked and his heart skipped, but the shriek turned to a shrill laugh.

  Sam appeared at his side, still frowning. “See, Tom? You should have danced with me while you had the chance.”

  “You want another vodka?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I’d better not. You want to just get out of here? Get some tacos or something?”

  He nodded and they made their way through the crowd. There was a line of cabs outside, but an even longer line of hopeful riders. The NEA had set up twenty foot trees of industrial UV flood-lights up and down the streets in every direction. They filled the air with a crackling hum against the grumbling backdrop of the diesel generators.

  “We might as well walk,” Tom said. “Probably be faster than waiting for a cab anyway.” He reached into his work bag and pulled out a tangle of straps and wires. Under the club lights, they helped each other into their UV bandoliers and checked the batteries on their flashlights.

  Samantha was quiet, watching a couple kissing in the cab line.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  She looked back at him. “Yeah, I am. Are you?” She smiled, but it seemed forced. He should have danced with her.

  “I’m OK,” he replied. “Look, Samantha…I’m-“

  “Don’t even worry,” she said, cutting him off. “I know you don’t like to dance. I was just kidding around in there. Let’s go get some food.”

  They flipped the switches on the battery packs and the straps lit up with a bright blue glow. With their flashlight beams on, they looked like a pair of bioluminescent sea creatures about to embark on a journey into the darkness.

  Tom took a deep breath, grabbed Samantha’s hand, and they started down the street toward the first of the NEA light pods.

  Halfway there, in the mid-point between the club’s lights and the NEA generator, the screeching started. It sounded like a cross between a hunting hawk and an angry crow, but it was neither. It was the vamp pod, and it was descending on the club behind them.

  Tom looked back and pointed his handheld to the sky. Large, dark shapes flapped across the light beam, letting out angry hisses.

  “Don’t Tom, you’ll just piss them off,” Sam whispered.

  “They really should have given us actual weapons this week, instead of a bunch of dumb lights.”

  “Well, for all we know, they’re still human and will be back to normal next week. I wouldn’t want to hurt any of them, just in case.”

  They made it to the NEA generator and plugged their bandoliers in so they could charge for a few minutes. Neither of them spoke. Tom wanted to apologize again for not dancing with her. He thought that it might be a bigger deal to her than she was letting on, but he also didn’t want to annoy her by bringing it up again.

  He looked down the street toward the club. The cabs were all gone, and everyone that had been waiting in line had retreated back inside. Dark shapes moved in the shadows of the alley and along the rooftops. He looked around and realized that they were the only people on the street. He turned to Samantha. She had noticed it too.

  “Maybe we should skip the tacos,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, I think so. Let’s just get you home. It’s only a half mile. We should be alright if we stick to the light pockets, right?”

  Before she could reply, there was a flap of leathery wings
and something big landed in the dark street. Claws scraped against the asphalt. Tom whirled and pointed his light towards the sound. It flashed across a face that could almost have been human if you didn’t count the fangs protruding from the disjointed jaw, the jet-black eyes, and the leathery skin.

  The vampire screeched and brought its winged arm up to shield its face. The shredded remains of a basketball jersey hung from a bony horn protruding from the creature’s elbow.

  Tom shouted for Sam to get behind him, waving his flashlight wildly, just as two more of the creatures thudded to the ground behind them.

  “Run!” Tom shouted, grabbing Samantha’s arm. He thumbed the dial on his bandolier, turning the brightness up to high. The vampires hissed in response.

  They took off down the street towards the next NEA light pod, followed by the flapping of leathery wings.

  It was only a block away, but by the time they reached it Tom was huffing. He turned around and pointed his flashlight at the street behind them, but it was empty.

  “Are they gone?” he asked. Samantha was crouched down by the NEA generator, looking for the charging outlet. Before she could respond the machine gave out a violent rattle, a puff of smoke, and then shuddered to a stop. The lights above dimmed and went dark.

  There was another hiss from the sky. They took off running down the next block.

  It wasn’t long before it was Sam leading Tom by the wrist. He struggled to keep up, but there was a stitch in his side and his breathing was labored.

  “Hey, Tom?” Samantha yelled, her voice clear and strong.

  “Yeah?” he wheezed.

  “How about after all this is over with, you and I do some cardio.”

  “Sounds…..good.” He swore he could feel the vampires circling. Black shapes moved at the corners of his vision, just outside the edge of their light. He gave up trying to wave the flashlight around, and just focused on his stride.

  Before they even reached the next generator, it coughed up its smoke and died, followed by the next one down the block, and the block after that, until the entire line of light pods had gone dark.