Rabid Heart

by Jeremy Wagner

  “But I was worth it.”

  Dad nodded again. “Yeah, you’re definitely worth it, baby-girl. Tell me, just where the hell were you heading to?”

  “My original plan was to head to Naples. I always liked it there and it’s warm.” Rhonda half-smiled.

  Dad stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Rhonda’s forearm. “Y’know, I love you unconditionally. More than that, I need you in my life and we all want you here. You’re welcome back here with open arms and no repercussions.”

  “I can’t imagine other Deadnuts are happy about the shit I pulled.”

  Dad patted Rhonda’s forearm. “I told you, no repercussions. I’m still running the show here. Everyone’s been crazy to get you back. Really.”

  “Thanks, Dad. That means so much. But honestly, without Brad or those kids, this life doesn’t mean much to me. Nothing makes sense anymore.” She held Dad’s hand in her own and smiled sadly. “No offense, Dad. I love you. I really do. But I just don’t feel anything for this world anymore. I just don’t.”

  “I get it. You’re heartbroken.”

  Rhonda raised her eyebrows and nodded.

  That’s a fucking understatement.

  “Well, I think me and Doc can fix that broken heart of yours.” Her father released his hand and turned from Rhonda. He shouted across the room. “Okay, Doc! Bring ’em in here.”

  Was he deaf? Nothing could fix this heart. Then Doc Brightmore came through double swing doors and into her room.

  Doc, what a nut. What the hell are you up to?

  Doc ran his hands through his grayish hair and opened his arms expansively. “Presenting the Rhonda Driscoll fan club. Come on in.”

  No fucking way...

  Dumbfounded, stunned, and ecstatic, Rhonda watched Tyler and Ellen walked through the doors... with Brad in between them.

  Grinning, they shouted her name. “Rhonda! Rhonda!”

  “Rrrrnnndaahh.” Brad’s salt flat eyes filled with recognition.

  Rhonda cried out with tremors of emotion.

  Tyler and Ellen rushed to Rhonda’s bedside and reached for her. Brad made his way slowly to her. The kids looked brand new; showered and clean with bright new clothes. Brad also looked wonderful. Someone had cleaned him good and put him in a pair of new jeans, boots, and a stylish black sweater. He also sported a new, shorter haircut. Someone botched Brad’s hair and the kids hair real good. Oh, well. She’d fix them up once she recuperated.

  Rhonda blinked and wiped away tears, overjoyed to see them all. She stammered and laughed through her sobs. “I... I... God, I thought I lost all of you.”

  “We hid real good in that bathroom.” Tyler beamed. “Once we locked the door, we saw some kinda open vent in the wall. Crawled right in.”

  “I was scared with all those Cujos and the shooting,” Ellen admitted with a smile. “But Tyler’s smart and got us a good hiding spot.”

  “Just as you were passing out, one of my Marines busted that restroom door down and saw the kids hiding in an air duct.” Colonel Driscoll tussled Tyler’s shiny blonde hair. “Kids didn’t wanna come out, but we got ’em.”

  “That helicopter ride was a blast!” Tyler grinned at her father.

  “And I got a real Girl Scout sash with all kinds of merit badges and stuff.” Ellen puffed out her chest to show off her new green sash. “The Colonel says I earned all these badges ’n stuff for being so brave and doing my duty.”

  “That’s real nice, sweetie.” Rhonda smiled. “I’m really proud of you guys.”

  Tyler and Ellen looked like real kids now, far from the scared and grimy orphans she’d found. She wondered if the kids would feel any PTSD later, like Rhonda suffered. They seemed strong and happy. They were safe, and she was grateful.

  This place ain’t so bad.

  Rhonda put her hand to Brad’s face and traced his handsome features with her fingertips. He had a muzzle over his mouth. He stared at her with his Cujo eyes. She didn’t see one spark of light in his white-washed eyes, but something lurked there, some part of his old self.

  Her heart pounded. She remembered the agony of seeing Brad disappear beneath a crowd of Cujos. Then the kids... she’d been sure they were dead. God-fucking-damnit, she had thought her heart ripped to pieces along with Brad and the kids.

  Rhonda turned from Brad and looked at her father, standing behind Brad and the kids at the foot of the bed. “Where was he? I thought for sure you’d be bringing his dead body back for a funeral.”

  “You asked me to bring him back, Rhonda, and I was gonna do that no matter what.” Dad raised his eyebrows. “My Marines cleared the room, the hallway, and then a couple thousand rounds and a few grenades later, a shitload of Cujos were permanently dead and all was quiet. We found Brad at the end of a hallway beneath some linebacker.”

  “Not a thing wrong with him?” Rhonda scanned Brad, looking for cuts or anything broken.

  “Besides the obvious?”

  “Not funny, Dad.”

  “I’m tryin’ to lighten up, sweetheart.” Dad chuckled. “No, nothin’s wrong with him. Looks like he made out just fine despite lookin’ like any other undead target out there. My soldiers identified him, held back, and we brought him home, still moving.”

  “He’s sure different. Nothing like the typical Cujo-zombies.” Doc Brightmore spoke from Rhonda’s left and pointed at Brad with a ballpoint pen. “I’ve spent time with him. He displays no aggression toward anyone, but we gotta keep him muzzled.” Doc winked at Rhonda.

  “Just can’t hang loose without a muzzle, especially near the kids.” Colonel Driscoll set his eyes on Brad. “Not once has he snapped or attacked anyone or shown any typical Cujo violence. He hasn’t even hissed. But he’s still a Cujo. Rabid as all get out and capable of anything.”

  Rhonda recalled how Brad had attacked Teddie Fitch and how he had torn Roy apart. She considered his protective aggression toward other Cujos who menaced her. It sure seemed like Brad knew good from bad. Also, he didn’t seem hungry for human flesh like all Cujos. She looked at Brad and found his unblinking gaze on her.

  Dad placed his hands on his hips and looked serious. “We need to have a talk.”

  “Yeah?” Rhonda didn’t look at her father. She stared at Brad. Her mind filled with hope. She relaxed against her raised bed. “What about?”

  “We’ll keep Brad in quarantine until it’s time.” Dad’s tone sounded strange.

  “Until it’s time? You can keep Brad away from the people here at Camp Deadnut, but let me be clear, Dad, I’m staying with him all day and all night.” Rhonda sat up in her bed. Her heart fluttered fast and she felt her anger welling up. “You brought Brad back here and I love you for it. But I don’t like what you’re saying.”

  “C’mon, Rhonda. Get up so we can go play.” Ellen gripped an edge of Rhonda’s bed and smiled big. She looked up at Brad’s face and tugged at his arm. “Even your boyfriend, ’er, fiancé wants you to. Right, Mister Brad?”

  Brad looked at Ellen and gave her a slow and uncommon blink of his eyes before he turned to Rhonda. “Rrrrnnndaahh.”

  No one laughed. Rhonda felt the tone and temperature of the room change.

  Doc Brightmore cleared his throat. “Kids. Rhonda needs some rest for a good while... and needs time alone to talk to her daddy. How about I bring you to the mess hall for some lunch?

  “Can we have peanut butter sandwiches again?” Tyler looked hopeful.

  “Absolutely.” Doc smiled. “Follow me.”

  “Not before we say goodbye.” Ellen got on her tiptoes and kissed Rhonda’s cheek. “Bye Rhonda.”

  “Awww, thanks sweetie. Sorry I can’t play for a while.” Rhonda turned from Ellen and looked at Tyler. “Do I get one from you?”

  Tyler blushed. He reached Rhonda and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for saving us, Rhonda. We love you.”

  Rhonda smiled and touched his cheek. “Love you back.”

  She watched Doc leave with the kids. Brad stood on on
e side of her bed and her father stood on the other. She flicked her eyes back and forth, looking at them both. Dreading whatever words her dad was going to say, she began wishing the world would disappear.

  “Rhonda... “ Colonel Driscoll straightened. “It’s important that you understand—”

  “You have to kill Brad.” Rhonda closed her eyes and tears ran out the corners and down her cheeks. “I get it.”

  Colonel Driscoll squeezed her arm and moved her IV to the side before kissing her forehead. “I don’t have to. You can do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Several weeks passed as Rhonda healed and tried to put her life in order at Camp Deadnut.

  One day Rhonda acquired a truckload of hair products and salon supplies—thanks to a platoon who found an Aveda store full of inventory. By Christmas, she was walking again, but not 100 percent normally. On New Year’s Day she opened her own Camp Deadnut salon and worked on hair daily. She offered free haircuts and color for everyone on base who wanted her services.

  Rhonda didn’t barter anything and she refused all offers for her gratis hair work. She felt she needed to make amends for the ruckus she’d caused when she made her big break from Fort Rocky. When Doc first discharged her with good health, she visited each and every Deadnut and apologized in earnest for any unease she created across base. She apologized for her Humvee theft and for Brad’s original, surprise arrival.

  She went out of her way to extend a special olive branch to Sergeant Harris. He welcomed her with warmth, and sure seemed to turn over a new leaf. He told her, “Everyone here at Fort Rocky understands the world as it is now, a clusterfuck of a nightmare, and that, Driscoll, makes it hard for anyone to keep it together. No one blames you for going AWOL. I sure don’t.”

  Sarge took a sly second to whisper in Rhonda’s ear and tell her how he knew anyone else would’ve done what she did for someone they loved. Moreover, being the full-bird’s daughter wasn’t a cakewalk.

  Rhonda hugged Sarge with all of her strength until she thought shed pass out. “I love you like an uncle. Y’know that?”

  * * *

  Rhonda had asked her dad for more time with Brad. Just let her heal up and spend Christmas and New Year’s with Brad and then...

  She agreed with Dad when he said he didn’t want her to put off the inevitable. Rhonda didn’t want to, either. She visited Brad every day, and though he didn’t harm her or act out toward her, she observed a noticeable difference in Brad’s disposition when other people were around. Brad was muzzled and locked away in an empty room in Fort Rocky’s hospital. He’d become more aggressive. As of late, he hissed at nearly anyone who moved near him and he swiped at Doc often. Colonel Driscoll didn’t want Ty and Ellen near Brad anymore, or anyone else for the matter. And her fellow Camp Deadnutians had become more vocal about their unease with Brad. She understood.

  Rhonda knew everyone had put up with her bullshit for too long already. She had played her “Colonel Daddy Driscoll card” into the ground. Anyone else who would’ve tried pulling the same shit would’ve been thrown into a stockade or booted on their ass outside the safety of Fort Rocky.

  She had thoughts of how she delivered Ty and Ellen from evil; and Rhonda knew both kids also saved her life, too, in some crazy way. For them, whatever she had done was worth it. And with these thoughts, she often fantasized about life being normal and being Brad’s wife and mother to these children.

  But things were much different, weren’t they?

  This is no world for normal, or for fantasies and hopes.

  She quietly cried herself to sleep in the single bed she was given in the barracks. Oh, Brad. I’m so sorry. Mom. Sister Beth. Kids, I’m so sorry. The kids... they were now the only things keeping her from killing herself.

  * * *

  It was a cold morning in late January when Rhonda limped toward her father as he sat drinking coffee in his command-post. She’d been using a crutch for over a month. Today was the first day she moved without anything aiding her.

  It was a day of new starts she guessed.

  Colonel Driscoll smiled as she approached. He took a sip of coffee and set his mug down. “God help us when we run out of coffee.”

  “End of days for sure if that happens.” Rhonda mustered up a smile though her heart felt heavier than a tank. “Dad. I’m ready.”

  Colonel Driscoll lost his smile. He stood and hugged her close. “You’re extremely brave. I’ll send someone to let Doc know we’re coming. I’m with you all the way on this.”

  Rhonda held him tighter. “Of course you are, Dad.” She leaned forward and smelled his aftershave. She kissed him on his leathered cheek and smiled. “Thank you.”

  They walked from the command-post to the hospital. Several residents of Camp Deadnut greeted them, soldiers and civilians waved or saluted as they passed. The entire compound operated at a quiet murmur, most people were staying indoors to avoid the lower-than-average chill outside.

  Doc Brightmore and Sarge were waiting for them when they entered the operating room where Brad was strapped down to a hospital bed. A stainless-steel surgery table was next to the bed with a lone piece of equipment on it that looked like a black handgun.

  “He’s been this way since Sarge and I took him out of confinement.” Doc motioned with his hands as he stood over the hospital bed. Brad was hissing and growling and straining against the straps that held him down. “He trashed the other side of that door to the room we’ve been keeping him in.”

  “He’s ornery as all get out.” Sarge frowned. “Lucky Doc had me here to help get him strapped down. He threw a tantrum and could’ve done some real damage to one of us.”

  Rhonda nodded. She could see Brad had gone full-blown Cujo—nothing docile about him, no selective aggression. Drool and foam spilled out from beneath his muzzle. Necro-Rabies. She hung her head forlornly.

  “Like taking Old Yeller of the corn crib to put him down.” Sarge shook his head.

  Rhonda’s raised her head. “What’s Old Yeller?”

  “Sarge, please.” Colonel Driscoll frowned. “Never mind, Rhonda.”

  “Right.” Sarge eyes turned sad. “Sorry.”

  Rhonda stepped up to the surgery table and lifted the gun-looking thing off of it. It was heavy. “What’s this?”

  Doc cleared his throat and stepped around the hospital bed to her. “That’s a spring-driven bolt-pistol. It has an automatic bolt-retraction system. They use it on cattle and whatnot for a humane death.” Doc Brightmore folded his arms and paused. “I found it in the armory. Some knucklehead probably got it on a mission somewhere and thought it was an actual firearm. I thought it would be a quieter, faster, more merciful way to... you know... Brad.”

  As if hearing his name, Brad hissed louder and fought his straps.

  Rhonda looked down at the bolt-pistol for what seemed like hours. How did she think she’d be able to do this? To put Brad down like a sick pet? Didn’t he deserve better? Yes, he did. And that’s why she was here, she realized. She looked up at Doc and slowly exhaled as she fought from breaking to pieces. “What do I do?

  As Colonel Driscoll and Sarge looked on, Doc showed her how she’d place the barrel of the bolt-pistol to Brad’s forehead, Brad lunged at Doc as the metal barrel touched Brad’s forehead, and simply pull the trigger. A retractable bolt would go in and out of Brad’s head and permanently destroy his Necro-Rabid brain.

  “You good, sweetheart?” Dad put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re right here for you.”

  Rhonda nodded and didn’t turn around. She walked up to where Brad lay and looked down at him. Her gaze met his pure white eyeballs, and when they did, he calmed. All his hissing and growling and thrashing stopped. He seemed happy to see her.

  “Rrrrnnndaahh.”

  She lost it. She shuddered and wept and then quickly sucked it up. She stood over him and gently caressed his face. “I feel that all I do is say goodbye to you, baby. Well, I have to say goodbye to you for good this time. Y
ou deserve peace and something better than this place. I love you so much.”

  She pressed the bolt-pistol to Brad’s forehead. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a sound that reminded her of a hole punch going through paper. And then it was over.

  Brad lay perfectly still without a hiss to be heard. There was silence, but only for a moment before Rhonda dropped the bolt-pistol to the floor, fell to her knees, and erupted with wails of grief that sang through the hospital.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was two weeks since she put Brad down and had a funeral service for him. It had also been two weeks since Dad and Sarge, almost booted Marine Chaplain Johnson’s fat ass.

  Rhonda recalled with displeasure how the chunky Marine priest threw a fit when she first approached him in his chapel office the day she set Brad free. She asked, with all politeness, if he’d preside over Brad’s funeral. She wanted Brad to have a holy sendoff and she wanted to give a eulogy. Chaplain Johnson, who’d always seemed nutty to Rhonda, and grew weirder each passing month, threw himself into a loud and frenzied rant when asked to do this honor. Outraged and offended by this request, he sprayed spittle and bared yellow teeth as he bolted from his desk chair. Veins popped out of his forehead and coursed beneath his gray flattop. He jabbed an index finger at her while his jowls shook and his eyes went wide. His creased face strained into a mask of trauma during his loud tirade.

  That fucking prick.

  Rhonda remembered how Chaplain Johnson screamed at her. “A funeral for a Cujo? How about a funeral for a dead rat, too? This is an affront to God! How dare you!”

  She kept her cool during this acidic diatribe. She walked away and got Dad and Sarge involved. They agreed to have a chat with Chaplain Johnson. They approached Chaplain Johnson at his pulpit and Rhonda tagged along, but kept her distance among rear pews to allow these men to talk amongst themselves.

  Chaplain Johnson walked from his pulpit and greeted Dad and Sarge. They all shook hands. Chaplain Johnson walked his military colleagues to a Nativity diorama made of olive wood, arranged on a nearby table since Christmas. He spoke of the Nazarene’s birthday and the holiday’s importance. Yet, when Colonel Driscoll personally asked for Rhonda’s funeral request, all Christmas spirit went out the chapel’s stained glass windows.