by Perrin Briar
Blood dripped from Dana’s fingers and pooled on the floor. She got to her feet. Her head swam, and she had to stabilize herself on the dresser. She approached the bathroom, making an ‘S’, unable to walk a straight line.
Now her arm burned, throbbing with each heartbeat. She refused to look at it for fear it would make her pass out. She staggered into the bathroom and cradled her arm to her chest as she fumbled through the cabinets with her other hand. Darren had to have a first aid box there somewhere. He had to.
Finally she came across it, jammed in the bottom of the bathroom cabinet. She reached to pick it up, but her arm lacked the power, and it fell to the floor. She needed to hurry if she was going to treat herself before she passed out. After that, her life was in the hands of Chance. Lady Luck had never treated Dana well in the past, so there was no use thinking she would change her attitude toward Dana now.
Dana crouched, fumbling with the box as she attempted to open it. In her haste, the contents spilled over the floor. She opened the antiseptic wet wipes. Fat lot of good they were going to be. Still, better than nothing, she supposed. She tore a couple of the packs open and slapped them onto her open wound.
“Son of a bitch!” Dana said, biting down on the last syllable.
It stung like she’d tossed a handful of salt onto her wound. Black spots danced in Dana’s vision. She felt faint. Her head nodded, her eyelids sliding closed. She forced them open again, concentrating on her breathing.
Stay awake, she told herself. Not forcefully—she wasn’t even capable of doing that with much energy. Stay awake.
Her eyes stayed open. She reached into the first aid kit and dabbed the bite mark with iodine and peroxide, hissing through her teeth with each application. It wasn’t enough. She needed professional help.
She opened her cell and dialed an ambulance. She ran through what she wanted to say in an attempt to make everything clear in her mind. But she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. The line was engaged. Of course it was. With the riots on TV, everyone would be calling the emergency services.
She took out a bandage and began applying it. She hit redial each time the line came through busy. Each time she did, she found another scratch, cut or graze. There were more than she thought possible. No wonder she hurt all over.
She popped a couple of painkillers and hoped it would help with the fever. She hit the redial button again. Her eyes were so heavy. She was desperately tired. It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes for just a moment…
No. I mustn’t. Not yet.
She forced herself up onto her feet and went into the living area, bracing her weight on a chair and desk. She sat on the bed and hit the redial button on her cell again. She lay down.
She would just rest her eyes, she told herself. Just for a minute. The last thought she had before she passed out was that it was all a terrible dream. It hadn’t really happened. Then she heard the busy tone of the emergency line.
Blackness claimed her and she knew nothing else.
Chapter Five
DANA’S VISION was blanket white from one horizon to the other. Her first thought was it must have been heaven.
Then she realized that if she was thinking, she was unlikely to be on a cloud somewhere. After all, damage a part of the mind and you lost the ability to speak. Destroy the whole brain and it somehow magically transports itself to heaven able to process information? That was Dana’s problem. She was entirely too logical.
Her attention snagged on something out the corner of her eye. What she was seeing wasn’t perfectly white. There was a familiar brown stain in the corner. Why would heaven have brown stains? It wouldn’t. Then she definitely couldn’t be in heaven.
She grunted as she propped herself up on her elbows. Her arm protested. It was painful. She took the pressure off it and rolled onto her feet.
Dana stretched and winced as her neck twinged, protesting the movement. She held her arms in the air and twisted her body this way and that. She felt like she’d been hit by a car.
She tasted salt on her tongue. She rubbed her face with her hands and felt thousands of tiny rough granules. She must have sweated a lot while she slept. Then the full memory of what happened over the past few hours hit her.
Darren had tried to eat her, rape her, bite her, and she had brought the knife down on his head and into his eye… and something about a saucepan? She shook her head. It sounded ludicrous. But it did happen, and in fact it was still happening…
She shivered, not out of fear, but disgust, that Darren—or what had Darren’s face—could have done something like that to her. She’d given herself to him so many times he never needed to force her. He’d become a monster.
She still felt weak. The pain had largely faded and taken the worst of the fever with it. She was left with an itching, tingling sensation in her shoulder. The pain emanated from beneath the white bandage strapped to her upper arm. She daren’t look at the wound for fear she might vomit.
The dead girl still lay on the bed. Dana realized she had no idea who she was. Maybe she didn’t even know Darren was already taken. The girl had no name. The girl’s body was no longer the pink of living flesh. It’d turned grey, her bloodied injuries a rusty brown. Dana turned away and closed her eyes.
She tried to will it away, to pretend it hadn’t really happened, turn it into a dream, a horrible nightmare she had just woken up from. But pretending it hadn’t happened did nothing to change the fact that it had happened. It was better, and perhaps more noble and fruitful, to acknowledge that, and come up with a strategy on how to overcome it.
She really ought to go check on Darren’s body, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If just half her memories turned out to be accurate she didn’t want to see what she’d done to Darren. He might have been a lying, cheating bastard but he had still been her boyfriend.
The TV was still on, hissing with static. She hadn’t seen a screen like that since she was young and they hadn’t yet upgraded to digital TV. She changed the channel. More static. A dozen more channels, a dozen more snowstorms.
“The hell?” Dana said out loud.
She flicked through another couple of channels and finally came to one that was still working. The anchor looked disheveled and disgruntled, not like any news anchor Dana had seen before.
“Paris,” the news anchor said. “Once the shining beacon of the French New Wave and the cultural capital of Europe, has gone completely dark. We are getting no further reports from inside the city. The last report we received detailed how those who were able to flee were doing so, evacuating into the surrounding countryside. Any now still residing inside the city are at the whim of the rioters or, what are now being referred to as, ‘the Others’.”
He sounded very uncomfortable when mentioning these ‘Others’. It gave Dana a chill to hear them being spoken that way by the passive unemotional voice of a newscaster.
“London is holding on by its fingernails, according to reports, and Brussels has declared a state of emergency over the entire European Union,” the newscaster said. “The rest of the world is also trying to bring this violence under control, but cities are falling off the grid faster than we can keep track. This is indeed a dark day for mankind.”
Dana glanced at the clock in the corner of the TV screen. It was 11pm. Dana’s eyes flickered to the window to see it was dark outside. More than twelve hours had passed!
Her arm no longer throbbed with pain and her body felt, if not strong, then at least better than it had. No wonder the girl on the bed had already begun to decompose. The newsreader looking ruffled was only to be expected if he’d been reporting non-stop for twelve hours!
People rushed around in the background, running this way and that with papers clutched in their hands. A woman ran on screen and handed a document to the newsreader before dashing off again, professionalism suspended.
The newsreader read what had been handed to him. His eyes widened and his face grew pale. He looked off camera a
nd said, “Are we sure about this?”
There was the grumble of voices in response.
The newsreader looked at the camera, and it felt to Dana like he was peering deep into her soul. His eyes were dark shadowed pits, heavy grey bags like forgotten suitcases.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. He coughed, clearing his throat. “We have just received word all air traffic has been suspended. The military is being dispatched forthwith in preparation of martial law. The United States of America is in a state of emergency.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if these reports are true, much of the eastern seaboard may have gone dark. If you have friends and family in this area, you may attempt to make contact with them, however, chances are slim you will get through. Instead please use the number on the bottom of the screen now to contact a verified list of survivors being compiled by the nation.
“In the meantime, all citizens are ordered to stay in their homes, to lock windows and doors, and avoid going onto the streets unless absolutely necessary. Out of the darkness we’re witnessing the rise of something else, something other, a new breed of human, but to call it such is to denigrate what it means to be man. There appears to be no end in sight to the mysterious figures, to those we have been referring to as ‘the Others’. They are sprouting up all over the country, and indeed, the entire world.”
Video images. Orange streetlights lit up chaos-filled streets. People, in a panic, ran in all directions, blood on their faces, others wounded and battered. Their clothes were torn and covered in soot. Fires burned, smoke forming great thick columns. Figures emerged out of the smoke like a conjurer’s trick.
More images, this time of riot police in full gear, holding back crowds who hammered at their shields with their fists, angry expressions of rage on their faces. Dana watched it all, her mouth dropping open agog in shock and awe.
“We bring you these images from London,” the newsreader said. “These are coming to us live courtesy of the BBC. The East End has fallen. The West End will soon follow. The Queen has left Buckingham Palace and retreated to her castle at Balmoral. Analysts predict London may be lost within the next few hours.”
The police. Dana remembered she was trying to call them before but had failed to get through and passed out. She dialed 911 again. It was answered almost immediately.
Dana didn’t like to think what that meant. Fewer people calling, because there were fewer people around to make the call?
“911,” the cool voice of the operator said. “What’s your emergency?”
Dana sighed in relief. She took a deep breath and explained what had happened. Then, unable to keep her emotion under control, said: “I… I need the police. It’s my boyfriend.”
“What’s your emergency?” the operator repeated.
“He’s dead,” Dana said.
Her voice was strangely calm when she said it, like she was reading the news.
“Are you certain he’s dead?” the operator said.
It seemed an odd question, but Dana went along with it.
“Oh yes,” Dana said. “Very sure.”
“Can you check for a pulse?” the operator said.
“His head’s smashed open,” Dana cried. “I could see his brain. He’s lying in a pool of his own blood. That usually means people are dead right? I didn’t mean to do it. He kept trying to attack me. He tried to bite me. He was coming for me and wouldn’t stop. I had to stop him. I didn’t mean to.”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.
“I see,” the operator said. “I’ve dispatched an ambulance and squad car to your location. They will be there within ten minutes.”
“Thank God,” Dana said. “Thank you.”
She hung up. Finally, it would all get sorted and she could focus on getting on with her life. Whatever was happening in the world, she needed to prepare for it.
Chapter Six
THUD!
Dana started, shooting up into a sitting position. She peered around with groggy eyes but found nothing out of place—beyond the usual anyway—and lay back down and began to drift off again. She must have fallen asleep again, she surmised. As if she hadn’t already slept enough.
Thud thud thud thud thud!
Dana started again, this time slower to rise. She got up and staggered, before finding her feet.
“Open up in there!” a voice called from the front door.
Dana shook her head. Her brain was slow in processing the situation, like a computer that hadn’t been shut down overnight.
She approached the door where two figures stood in profile in the glazed glass. A meaty fist beat on the wooden frame.
“Open up, please,” the voice said again.
“Hello?” Dana said, her voice rasping. “Who is it?”
“The police,” the voice said. “You called us. Open up, please.”
Dana opened the lock and threw the door open. The two men were large and beefy with no necks. The man in front had the attractive tanned skin of a Hispanic.
“Come in,” Dana said. “I’ve been calling you guys for hours.”
“Are you alone?” one of the officers said.
“Yes,” Dana said. “Well, no. It’s sort of hard to answer.”
The two men exchanged a look, a flicker of the eyes that conveyed a great deal of meaning. Dana frowned.
“Can I see your IDs, please?” she said.
She felt stupid for not asking earlier. She’d been too thankful for having them arrive. The officer handed Dana his ID. It looked official enough, though Dana wouldn’t have been able to stop them even if it wasn’t. The officer’s name was Torres.
“Come in,” Dana said.
The two men entered. Their noses wrinkled. They covered them with handkerchiefs.
“That’ll be the bodies,” Dana said. “I suppose I must have gotten used to it. I don’t even notice the smell anymore.”
The girl was sprawled over the bed, her throat and genitals torn open. Upon seeing it, Torres rushed to the bathroom and hurled. The second officer pressed his fingers to the girl’s throat, feeling for a pulse. He looked at Torres, who was coming out of the bathroom, and shook his head.
“My boyfriend was eating her when I came in,” Dana said. “When I say ‘eating her’ I mean, you know, actually eating her. He heard me, and then attacked me, trying to bite me.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Torres said.
“In the kitchen,” Dana said. “He came after me and I had to fight to keep him away.”
She moved toward the kitchen. Torres held up a hand.
“Stand back, please,” Torres said.
“Sure,” Dana said. “To be honest, I never want to go in there again anyway.”
“Is this one worse than the girl?” Torres said.
“Much,” Dana said.
Torres somehow turned a shade paler. He nodded to the second officer. Apparently he had a stronger stomach. He went into the kitchen. Dana and Torres waited outside.
“So,” Dana said, uncomfortable with silences. “What’s all this stuff with the riots lately?”
Torres didn’t say anything. The second officer came running out of the kitchen. He ran into the bathroom and hurled. Torres turned even paler at the thought of what could possibly cause the second officer to hurl like that. He sighed and whipped out his pistol. He aimed it at Dana.
“Hey…” Dana said.
“Freeze!” Torres said.
“What’s going on?” Dana said. “I called you guys!”
“Miss, you’re under arrest,” Torres said.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Dana said.
The second officer came out of the bathroom. Dana wanted to run, but with the pistol trained on her it was perhaps not the best course of action.
“I acted in self defense!” Dana said. “He was trying to kill me!”
“Miss, I’m going to need you to calm down,” Torres said as he edged closer. “Put your hands behind your head an
d get on your knees.”
“I didn’t do it!” Dana said. “I told the operator that. She’ll tell you. He was trying to hurt me! Trying to kill me! I had no choice!”
“You are under arrest for two counts of murder,” Torres said as he took out a pair of handcuffs. “Anything that you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney one will be provided to you by the state of Washington. Do you understand?”
Torres was rough, forcing Dana onto her front, his knee in her back.
She understood perfectly. She was being framed.
Chapter Seven
“HOW MANY times do I have to go through this?” Dana said, cradling her head in her arms as far as her restrained hands would allow. “I didn’t kill them. I went into the apartment and saw my boyfriend eating parts of the naked girl. When he turned around, he had a crazy look in his eye. He attacked me, and I defended myself. I called the police and you turned up. The next thing I know, I’m being arrested and hauled into the police station. And here we are.”
Torres calmly opened a pack of cigarettes and lit one with a flick of his lighter. It was a well-practiced move, smooth and efficient.
“Don’t you know it’s illegal to smoke in confined spaces?” Dana said, waving away the smoke.
“You came home to find your boyfriend in bed with another woman,” Torres said as if Dana hadn’t spoken. “Naturally you would have been angry.”
“Angry, no,” Dana said. “Pissed, yes. We had a deal. We were meant to see only each other for sex. If he wanted to see someone else, fine, but then we were through. We’ve been through this.”
“The clothes you’d been wearing when you confronted Darren are covered in his blood,” Torres said. “And your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon. It looks awfully convenient, don’t you think?”
