by Weston Ochse
A baseball bat leaned against the outside of the trailer beside the door. She held it ready in one hand as she tried the handle. It was unlocked and she went inside.
The interior was awash in cool air. The kitchen area was empty, as was the living room. She noticed the front door was open and went to close it, scanning the front yard as she did. No one was there.
"Agnes?" she called. "Henry? Where are you?"
Down a short hallway, she checked the bathroom and both bedrooms, but the trailer was empty.
As she turned around, she noticed that several of the pictures on the walls were hung askew. She straightened them, discovering several drops of dried blood on the glass.
She returned to the front door and looked at the doorjamb. She ran her fingers across the splintered wood. Something - or someone - had forced its way in here. Abigail looked around at the apparently tranquil home. She knew how quickly it had happened. Had it not been for her Trudie, she might have fallen victim to the same fate, for it was the warning her dog had given her that had given her the chance to survive.
"Omammie!"
Tommy was still calling from outside. He had to be starving.
But first things first.
Her bladder was about to burst. She went to the bathroom, and after taking care of business, washed her hands, face and neck in the sink, relishing the feel of hot water and soap against her skin.
Finally feeling human again, she entered the smaller of the two bedrooms. There was a twin bed, but it appeared to be little used. She found a clean set of clothes and was about to take them into the kitchen, when she heard a noise from the other bedroom.
She set the clothes down on the bed, grabbed the bat with both hands, and crept into the hall.
The noise came again.
She stepped into the room, prepared to swing the bat with every ounce of strength she had. She was a small woman and had never thought of herself as particularly strong, but the events of the past several days had created a rage within her. She focused on the image of her beloved Trudie lying atop Tommy Klosterman's toybox.
"Hello. Is anyone there?"
A rustle answered her, from where the bed met the wall on the other side of the room. She saw a dark gap.
She stepped to the foot of the bed, then back, wary of something beneath the bed reaching out to grab her feet. She scooted to the wall and tried to peer into the shadows next to the bed.
"Agnes? Is that you?"
A groan came from the space beside the bed.
"Agnes, if that's you, say something." Abigail wished she had the pistol. She glanced at the bat. It would have to do.
The bed shuddered.
Abigail stepped back until she was stopped by a bureau.
A hand appeared, grabbing the top of the bed. The skin was mottled green, the same shade and color as the creature that had held her hostage in her home. Then Agnes managed to climb to her feet... or what Agnes had become.
She still wore her nightgown, lavender with butterflies stitched into the gossamer. Her white-gray hair was still in curlers, some now fallen. Her face and skin were the same color as her hands, and her eyes glowed with a yellow ferocity. Saliva dripped from teeth that seemed too long to be human.
"Agnes?"
The thing growled at her. It tried to step towards her, but was partially trapped by the end of the bed.
Abigail glanced at the door. She knew she could leave, probably run and get away, but what would happen to Tommy?
She ran across the room with her bat held high. When she was near enough, she brought it down on top of Agnes' head. The impact sent a vibration into her hands so hard that she almost dropped the bat.
She swung again, this time catching Agnes on the side of the head.
Abigail stepped back. Blood poured from the wound on top of Agnes's head. Her head hung sideways as if her neck was broken.
Abigail swung again. But as she swung, Agnes exploded into action and leaped at her. Abigail held her arms out to try and stop the attack and dropped the bat. The weight carried her crashing into the bureau, then to the ground. A music box, jewelry and a hand mirror avalanched to the ground beside her.
Agnes held her down, teeth snapping.
Abigail grabbed the side of Agnes's head to hold her away from her.
The teeth snapped. A wheezing sound began to emanate from her chest.
She wasn't going to be able to hold Agnes for long. Her strength was already waning. She freed one hand and searched blindly for the bat, while Agnes snapped at her. All her hand found was the hand mirror, which she grabbed and brought up as hard as she could into Agnes's face. The plastic frame shattered, along with the top half of the mirror. Realizing she now had something sharp enough to cut, Abigail shoved it into Agnes's neck and began to saw savagely. Blood gushed over her hand and onto her arm, making the mirror slippery, but she'd done severe damage. Agnes no longer snapped. Her head flopped to one side. Her eyes closed to slits.
With the last of her strength, Abigail pushed the woman off and onto the floor. As she did, her forearm brushed against the woman's face. Agnes bit down and into Abigail's arm.
She screamed and rolled to her feet. She found the bat and hammered at the woman's face until there was nothing left, splitting the head and scattering the brain on the carpet. The eyes were open and empty. Finally, Abigail sagged to the bed, exhausted and breathing hard.
After a few minutes, she returned to the bathroom and cleaned up again. She searched the medicine cabinet and found a bandage which she used to cover the wound on her arm, after coating it with antibiotic cream.
Then she stumbled into the kitchen. She'd forgotten why she'd wanted to go in there in the first place.
"Omammie!" she heard Tommy cry.
It was then, standing with the refrigerator door open, that she realized that she was hungry. But for what, she didn't know, other than the hunger was growing inside her something fierce.
Gunshots rang out, followed by shouting.
Natasha checked her watch. It was past nine already. Derrick and Veronica should have been back long ago.
Metzger was already on his feet and peering through the window.
"What do you see?" she asked.
"It looks like Elvis, only shorter."
"What else?"
"I dunno. There must be a couple of dozen people. Some of them have guns. Hey, there's Derrick. It looks like he's been crying."
"What?" Natasha leaped to her feet and rushed to the window. There were at least twenty people outside, most of whom she recognized. Derrick stood behind Kristov, his head hung low. He pointed towards the trailer they were in. She knew exactly what had happened. They'd made him talk.
"They're coming in."
"They have guns," Metzger said. "Should I be worried?"
Natasha saw his feeble attempt at a smile. "Let me see if I can explain. Whatever I say, though, roll with it."
Banging came from the front door.
Natasha ran to open it but the door flew open, catching her in the head and flinging her back against the wall and stunning her.
By the time she came to, the people had Metzger by the arms and were shoving him out the door. Auntie Lin knelt and put a hand to Natasha's forehead. Natasha tried to stand, but the small Chinese woman, who was much stronger than she looked, kept her from getting up. "You had me worried sick."
The truth was that Natasha had been so captivated by Metzger that she'd completely forgotten about the fact that other people might be looking for her. She recognized a little bit of her father in her.
She pushed Auntie Lin's hands away and staggered to her feet, grabbing for the doorjamb to keep her steady. The others were dragging Metzger down the street. What had Derrick and Veronica told them? What was going on? She tried to get near him, but there were too many people in the way.
When Natasha stepped from the darkness of the Salton Sea night into the fluorescent-lighted interior of the Space Station, she looked aro
und for her father. He'd put a stop to this. All she had to do was explain. But she didn't see him there. She did see Metzger, standing to attention before Deputy Sheriff Will Todrunner.
Derrick slid next to her. "They made me tell them where you were."
"Have you seen Dad?" she asked.
Derrick shook his head. "I'm sorry. Auntie Lin was just so -"
"Sshhh." Natasha made a chopping motion with her hand and took another step forward to get within earshot.
"Just passing through, you say," Deputy Will said, his face deadpan, eyes shadowed by the bill of his baseball cap.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you discharged or are you still in the Army, son?"
"Still in, sir. I had some leave built up after my time in Iraq and thought I'd head towards the ocean."
Natasha became aware of Auntie Lin and Maude standing together, whispering to each other with their arms crossed, gazing suspiciously at everyone. The soda fountain had been turned on and plastic cups were stacked on the counter for people to serve themselves.
Small pockets of conversation continued in hushed tones while the Deputy Sheriff quizzed Metzger. Natasha glanced around and was relieved to see that Hopkins wasn't there. There was no telling what he'd do if he saw Metzger. She locked gazes with the Mad Scientist; he stared at her for a long moment, his mouth twisted into a knot of worry. She'd all but forgotten about him and his green creature hand. How much did he know? How much would he share with them?
"You got a number I can call to check?" she heard Deputy Will ask.
Metzger rattled off a number and said it was for his unit in Norfolk, Virginia. Then he asked if he could go to the bathroom. The Deputy relented, and Kristov, still carrying his rifle, showed him the way. The deputy turned to Natasha once Metzger was out of earshot.
"What were you thinking? You had your aunt worried."
Natasha felt a spark of indignation at the man's chiding and before she could control it, her mouth opened. "What's the problem? Never seen a soldier before?"
The deputy started to scowl, then allowed a grin to cross his face. "How old are you again?"
"Eighteen."
"Old enough to know better, I'd think," he said.
"You'd think."
"And you think you know all sorts of things about people, don't you?"
"Yes. I think so."
"Can you tell the difference between a good guy and a bad guy?"
An image of the deputy and Hopkins having a conversation came to her. "Sure," she countered. "Can you?"
"Natasha Renee Oliver!" Auntie Lin gasped and shook her head. "Why are you talking to the deputy like that?"
Natasha shrugged off the hand. "Why is he talking to me like that?" She pointed toward the bathroom. "Metzger is back from the war with a box full of medals and a head full of bad memories. If anyone should be feeling bad about the way they talked to someone, it should be the deputy. Metzger's not a criminal. He's a soldier who fought for our country."
Natasha stopped, realizing she'd been shouting. All the other conversations had stopped and everyone was staring at her.
Finally it was the deputy who broke the tension with a low rumble of laughter. "I suppose you may be right. You gotta understand that my responsibility lies in protecting this community. In doing so, I sometimes need to check and see who people are. It's my job. No offense."
She tapped her foot as she said, "None taken."
The deputy turned away from her, but Natasha wasn't done. All the frustration and confusion and anger that she'd been keeping inside was coming out.
"Now you should get back to protecting us. My dad's missing. Gert's missing. There's a whole Amish family missing. No telling who else is missing. If you don't watch it, the whole town will disappear with you none the wiser."
The deputy seemed as if he was about to say something. Instead, he pushed himself away from the bar he'd been leaning on and headed towards the door. He waved for a couple of the men to follow, then he was out and into the night.
"Natasha!" Auntie Lin hissed.
Natasha put her hand on the older woman's arm. "I know what you're going to say, so don't bother saying it. Everything's going to be fine. We just need to find dad."
Natasha kissed Auntie Lin on the cheek, then noticed Metzger standing by the kitchen, wiping his hands dry with a paper towel. She walked over to him. "Are you okay?" She said.
He nodded. "What happened to the deputy?"
"Your girl here chased him away," Veronica said, sidling up.
Metzger stared at Natasha. "What'd you say?"
"Just that you were too much of a weakling to do anyone any harm so they should let you go," Veronica said.
Metzger's eyebrows rose.
"I did not." Natasha punched her friend in the arm.
The bell above the door rang as Rico Duvall entered the restaurant and halted. He looked worried. "The Weather Band on the radio said a tropical depression has formed south of Cabo San Lucas. They've projected the track of the storm and have it driving right through the Sea of Cortez and through Puerto Peñasco."
Derrick looked from Veronica, to Metzger, to his sister. "What does that mean?"
"It means we have to board the windows," said Columbus Williams, on his way to the bathroom. He tossed his empty beer can into the trash. "Last time we had a tropical storm, it dropped ten inches of rain on us. The sump pumps failed and half the homes went underwater. That was ten years ago and they haven't made the pumps any better since."
Natasha remembered that the tall black man was a retired Navy officer. She didn't like the idea of being flooded within the walled town.
"Will we be safe?" Natasha asked.
"We've survived worse." Maude sipped a cup of coffee and shrugged.
"Gimme snorkels or give me death!" Frank cried from a corner.
Kristov snorted. "No shit. That's the point."
Andy Gudgel spoke for the first time in a long time. "No reason to get excited, everyone. We're more than a hundred miles inland. Even if the storm does come this far, the worst we'll get is wind and rain. No chance of a storm surge here."
Natasha nodded at the Mad Scientist's words but, by the way he glanced worriedly at the door, there was clearly something troubling him.
"What's a storm surge?" Derrick asked.
Natasha was glad he had asked because she didn't know either.
"It's when the wind and the storm get behind the waves and push them onto the land," Columbus said. "I lost a thirty-two footer in Annapolis after Big Bertha." He tsked and shook his head. "A storm surge can kick your ass when you're not looking."
"How long do we have?" Lu Shu asked. He'd been nursing a beer in the corner, but now he stood, frowning in concern.
"About a day," Rico said. "We'll know what happens if Puerto Peñasco gets hit. If it does, then we're next. For sure."
After a few moments, everyone started talking again, planning for the worst. They left one by one, each nodding at Maude and Auntie Lin as they went. Even Frank tipped an imaginary hat as he grabbed six beers and wobbled out the door.
Natasha glanced at where Metzger stood talking to Veronica and Derrick. She was about to join them, when she noticed her Auntie Lin and Maude staring at her. Natasha braced herself for what was about to happen.
"I expect you home tonight," Auntie Lin said. "Derrick doesn't need to be staying out so late and he'll follow you anywhere." She stared at her for another moment as if trying to decide to say something more, then said, "Plus, your father still hasn't come home. No telling where he is or what he's doing." Then she turned and began to help Maude clean the empty plastic cups off the counter.
Natasha felt a pang for the old woman who'd done everything for her, from change her diapers to help her get dressed for her graduation dance. Lin hadn't signed up to be mother and father to them; she'd started her life in America as a Nanny and now, at an age where she should be readying herself for retirement, she was cleaning someone else's restaura
nt.
Where was her dad?
Natasha felt a stab of anger.
She watched Auntie Lin and Maude, feeling her old sadness return. She was just feeling sorry for herself; she really should stay and help. But part of her was torn by Metzger and Veronica waiting for her outside. If only she could be in two places at once.
It was a funny thing. One minute Metzger was being grilled by the Deputy, the next folks were asking him about Iraq and what he'd seen. He'd seen it a thousand times since he returned: even the most diehard peace lovers and military haters couldn't help but be cordial. Their curiosity and, he hoped, respect for his survival brought them to him like moths to a flame.
Outside the restaurant, he found himself speaking with a tall older black man and a thirty-something woman, tattoos poking out the collar of her shirt. The man had introduced himself as Columbus Williams, and had spent 25 years in the Navy before retiring. The woman's name was Kim Johnson, or Reverend Kim as she liked to be called. She led a local church.
"We do appreciate your service, son," Columbus said.
"That's true for all of us. I'm not a fan of the president, but I do appreciate that there are people like you out there to protect us if need be."
"What'd you do over there?" Columbus asked. The years were carved into the dark, strong-jawed face.
Metzger glanced at the man. It might take a lifetime to answer his question. Metzger had done so much, and so little. That which he wasn't proud of he was trying hard to forget, only the forgetting was turning out to be an even harder task.
"I spent most of my time guarding convoys. I was a spotter in my vehicle."
"What's a spotter do?" Kim Johnson asked.
"Watch out for the enemy and try and get him before he gets us."
Aside from the three of them, the street was empty. Here and there a streetlight provided a nimbus of light, and starlight could be seen through breaks in the cloudy night sky. He hadn't paid too much attention when they'd driven into town last night. In fact, he hadn't paid too much attention at all until the bus driver had told them to run for it, and then the creatures had attacked.
