Chucklers: Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  Matt cursed quietly and dialed again. “Come on, baby. Pick up the phone.”

  But baby didn’t, and it went to the answering machine again.

  He put the phone back in the cradle. “She’s not answering.”

  Erica didn’t know what to say. “Maybe in the morning…”

  But he shook his head. “I’m gonna need the keys to the SUV.”

  “Listen Matt, just stay here tonight. Wait this thing out.”

  “Wait what out? We don’t know how widespread this… whatever it is, we don’t know how far it goes, how long it lasts. We don’t know shit about it!”

  “That’s my point! Until we find out more, we need to hole up someplace safe. Tomorrow we can go check on your family and find someone who can give us some answers.”

  “Is this place safe?”

  “It’s a hell of a lot safer than what we just went through in town.”

  He nodded, looking around. “It’s a nice place.”

  “Thanks. It was my uncle’s.”

  “Was?”

  “He just died a couple of weeks ago. That’s why I’m in town.”

  “Come in for the funeral?”

  “And to settle his affairs.” She spread her hands to indicate the ranch. “Bank’s taking it all.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s rough losing someone close to you.”

  Tears welled again, and she wiped them and sniffed. “Yes, it is.”

  “That’s why I have to do this.”

  Erica looked up to see him pointing the pistol in her direction. It wasn’t actually pointing at her, but even having it pointed at the floor near her feet was enough to make her step back. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Give me the keys. I’m taking the car.”

  Heart pounding, her eyes couldn’t seem to unglue from that pistol. Erica swallowed. “Matt, you don’t mean that!”

  “Erica, I just killed about a dozen people. You know what was going through my mind the whole time? It was that I needed to get home to my wife and kids. That’s the only thing that matters to me right now. So please just give me those keys before you have to find out if my family’s more important to me than you are.”

  She pulled the keys out of her pocket and tossed them to him.

  “Lock up behind me.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll wait ‘til I hear you lock the door and then I’m out of here.”

  He opened the door and backed out. “I’m serious, Erica. Lock it behind me. It ain’t safe out here.”

  He closed the door and she ran to the door and locked it. Seconds later, she heard the SUV start up outside. She pulled the blinds back from the front window and saw him looking at her. “I really am sorry, Erica.” She flipped him off, and he drove away.

  “Damn it!” She watched the tail lights fade down the long driveway and turn onto the main road.

  After a few minutes of alternating between crying in frustration and cursing the man who had saved her life, she calmed down enough to think. She snatched the phone up and dialed Ross’s number from memory. “The party you are calling is outside the network area,” the automated voice informed her. “If you believe this message is in error, please hang up and dial again.” She tried twice more before she growled and slammed the handset down on the receiver. The sound of the old analog phone echoed through the otherwise quiet house.

  Erica looked around self-consciously, realizing she was alone on the outskirts of a town gone mad. Cursing the entire time, she checked all the doors and windows. Just because Matt had turned out to be a son of a bitch didn’t mean he wasn’t right. It wasn’t safe out there anymore. Something had happened. The people at the theater had gone insane, then the people in the streets, and even the police station, or wherever the 911 dispatch center was. There was no way of telling how much farther it had gone.

  Idiot! Of course there is. She ran into the den and turned on the television. Seconds later, she watched in horror as one report after another showed on screen, as people showed the insanity that was going on in the streets of various cities. New York City, Atlanta, San Francisco, Los Angeles… the speculation was rampant as to what was happening. Erica saw a reporter on one of the cable news channels as he discussed the possibility of a terrorist attack with his co-anchor. They switched to a feed from Chicago where an affiliate reporter had a live report on the most recent happenings. The background changed to a city in flames as police in riot gear tried to hold back a crowd of what appeared to be hundreds of people, all of them laughing and clawing at the wall of shields.

  The reporter in the foreground looked genuinely frightened as he began his spiel. “As you can see behind me, the scene here is utter pandemonium as Chicago police try to keep the crowd of rioters suppressed.”

  One of the anchors interjected, “Tom, does anyone seem to know what has sparked these outbreaks?”

  “I’ve heard probably the same things that you have, David. Some say it’s some sort of gas that’s been released into the atmosphere, others claim it’s a biological agent that escaped from a government weapons lab. I’ve even heard some people say it’s the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. Whatever it is though, it seems to affect its victim’s minds, driving them to fits of uncontrollable laughter and violence, and this is what has caused people to start calling the victims chucklers.”

  Erica recalled thinking of them the same way while she was in the theater, and considered it an apt description. As she watched, the camera shifted as something caught the cameraman’s eye. Erica watched in horrified fascination as one of the policemen in riot gear began beating on a neighboring officer. The camera zoomed in and caught the attacking policeman’s face. Oh God! The man was laughing. Within seconds, the line broke and the mass of chucklers overwhelmed the police.

  “Run! Run!” The reporter’s face was panicked, and the camera began to shake. From off camera, Erica heard a mocking voice mimicking him, “Run! Run! Whoo, hoo, hoo, hoo!” The view on the screen swung dizzyingly skyward, and briefly showed a view of Orion’s Belt. Then it zoomed in on the reporter’s face. It more than zoomed in, it impacted the man’s face directly. It withdrew, showing a brief view of the reporter’s cheek, cut and bleeding from a deep laceration. Then it zoomed in again. Withdrew, zoomed, withdrew, zoomed, each withdrawal showing more and more damage to the reporter’s face until the screen went black. Even then the man’s screams persisted, as did the laughter of his cameraman until the screen went back to the two stunned anchormen sitting in the silent studio.

  One of the men must have suddenly realized they were back on the air because he cleared his throat and looked into the camera on set. “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. We seem to be having technical difficulties.”

  His co-anchor looked at him in disbelief. “Technical difficulties?” He shook his head, then repeated, “Technical difficulties!” And he began to laugh. “Yeah, we’re having technical difficulties all right. It looks like some prima donna reporter got greedy and kept insisting on a close up!” He jumped up and rushed at the camera leaning in to the camera, pulling back, leaning in, pulling back, and laughing the entire time. He ran back to his spot at the anchor desk and snatched up a laptop from where he’d been sitting. “Hey David! You missed your cue!” And he smashed the laptop into David’s face. He raised it over his head for another strike when the screen went black, leaving Erica staring dumbfounded at the television.

  Oh my God! It’s everywhere.

  Chapter 61

  Ken Holtzapfel

  Counting His Coup

  Ken took a deep breath as the first of the mob came into sight on the ramp ahead. He’d gotten well over an hour of rest, almost as if they couldn’t figure out where he was. But the light on the elevator should have told them which way he went, and there was only the one floor between them. He also recalled how they were just the slightest bit clumsy. It reminded him of someone who was drunk. Not shit-faced, puke-on-the-seat hamm
ered, but more like they’d had just a couple too many. And he definitely knew the difference. In his line of work, he’d seen all kinds of drunks, and the more he thought about what he’d seen, the more convinced he became that these people were drunk, or high on something. Even now, watching them come toward him, there were little missteps and dragging of the feet that reminded him of someone who was just a bit inebriated.

  Could it be some kind of gas? He shrugged mentally. That was going to be a question for people who were a lot smarter than he was. He would be happy to just live long enough to hear about it on the news tomorrow.

  He waited, conserving his strength, not moving until the leaders were within a few yards of his position. When he judged they were at the right distance, he ran to the side and once more swung his trusty tire iron. The first attacker went down, and Ken jumped back. Two more came at him, and he ducked beneath their grasping arms and stepped through, shouting as he swung at their legs. He distinctly heard the crack of breaking kneecaps and they both fell, and winced at the pain he was dealing out. But the hair on his neck stood up as he realized that even after the damage he had done to them, they were still laughing and reaching toward him.

  There wasn’t time to think too much about it, though, as the rest of the mob was about to reach him. He ran several steps back before turning to face them again. He hated to draw them deeper into the garage, fearing that they might find Angela hiding in the Cadillac. But there was no way he was going to be able to make another run up the ramp. Looking over the crowd, he tried to count how many he had left. It looked like there were still nine bodies jostling each other as they tried to rush him.

  He stepped in and swung, spinning as he moved past them, now drawing them away from the Caddy. Two of them actually bumped into one another, and another one fell over one of their companions with the broken knee. Ken took advantage of their momentary disorientation and dropped another one with a tire iron to the head. Eight left standing.

  “Come on, you bastards. Let’s get this over with.” He reversed his grip on the tire iron, holding the lug wrench end in his hand as he jabbed forward the flat, pry bar end as if it were a sword of some kind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really a sword, and the end didn’t penetrate his target. It shoved him back, though, and that gave Ken a second to slam the side against the man’s head. It didn’t drop him, but caused him to stagger a moment. Ken hit twice more in quick succession before he was forced to jump out of reach from another attacker. He moved past them, toward the ramp once again, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man he had hit repeatedly finally fall to the concrete. Seven.

  Ken was breathing heavily again, and his legs felt like spaghetti. Gettin’ old is a bitch, ain’t it? Two of the mob reached him at the same time and he stepped aside, getting one of them between him and the other attacker. He kicked at the man’s knees to distract him, then stepped in and swung the lugged end of the tire iron into his head. Six.

  Stepping back, Ken swung again as the second of the pair moved toward him. He missed, striking the man’s shoulder instead of his head, and the man moved too close for another strike. Before he could do anything more, the man had Ken by the waist and bowled him over, landing on top of him and knocking the wind out of him. Ken shouted and bucked his hips, trying to get the man off of him, even as the man leaned in close. Ken recalled once more the sight of a man leaning in to a woman, biting down as she screamed, and spitting something into the street. He had little doubt of his attacker’s intentions. Ken frantically worked the tire iron out from between them and shoved the pointed end at the man’s neck. He hesitated a second at the thought of what he was going to do.

  Could he really take another person’s life? The sight of another laughing face coming into view over the man’s shoulders decided Ken, and he shoved with all his might. Blood poured from his attacker’s throat, splashing Ken’s hand, running down his arm to soak his shirt sleeve. And all the while, Ken screamed in rage and fear, even as another part of his mind calmly counted. Five.

  He barely made it to his knees before the next one was on him. It was the woman in the hooker heels, and he barely evaded her reaching nails. He swung the bloody iron again, smashing her ankle. Laughing even as she fell, she reached for him as he rose shakily back to his feet. Four. Ken stumbled back as the others rushed at him. There was no finesse or thought to their attack. Nothing but a brutal rush, and that incessant, insane laughter. He realized he was backing farther into the garage, and once more thought of Angela hiding in the Cadillac. Got to lure them away from there. He gulped a deep breath, then reversed direction. He stumbled briefly in his weariness, but managed to get past them as they reached for him.

  Exhausted, Ken staggered a few steps farther and turned to face them once more. He barely had the strength left in him to stay on his feet, and he groaned as he saw them giggle at the game and come after him again. He backed up as they came, getting ready to brace himself for another round, when a hand grabbed his foot. He looked down to see Hooker Heels sink her teeth into his left calf. He screamed. He’d never realized how strong a person’s jaws could really be, and he felt tissue rip as he yanked his leg away from her. He swung at her as he fell, but it was already too late. Even as she collapsed, Ken knew she had killed him.

  The last four fell on him, laughing and clawing as they pushed him to the floor of the garage. He swung the tire iron at the closest as he fell, and felt a satisfactory crunch as a skull caved in. Part of him wondered at how quickly he had gone from crying over the taking of one man’s life, to screaming in triumph as he took another’s, less than a minute later. “Three!” He shouted it at the top of his lungs, counting his coup to the world. If he was going to die, he was determined that they would know they’d been in a fight, by damn!

  He tried to swing again, but they were too close. One of them knocked the tire iron from his grasp, whether intentionally or not, and Ken immediately latched onto his throat. He squeezed with all his might, and he had the satisfaction of hearing at least one laughing voice go quiet for the moment. The man still strained forward though, and another laughing face appeared beside it. Ken reached for that throat also, thinking to choke that man, too. But the last man threw himself onto the pile, and the weight of three attackers was too much. Ken missed his target, and felt a sudden agony as teeth latched onto his middle and index fingers. Insane laughter in his ear let him know he only had seconds left. Crazed, giggling eyes strained against his failing arm.

  Suddenly, the head lurched to one side and the eyes rolled up in their sockets. There was a scream of anger, a woman. As the man fell to the side, Ken saw Angela swing a black metallic object again, and another attacker fell. The last one finally realized there was another source of danger for him, but it was too late. Angela swung one last time, and the object that Ken now recognized as a scissor jack slammed into the man’s face with a crunch of bone and cartilage as his nose broke. He dropped beside Ken on the concrete, limp and lifeless, at least for the moment.

  Angela stood over Ken, panting, tears rolling down her face. “Are you all right?” She dropped to her knees beside him.

  “Thanks to you, yeah.” He started to push off the ground and yelped. He looked over at his mangled fingers. He hugged it to his chest, cradling the bleeding hand close to him. He held out his other hand. “Can you help me up?”

  He almost fell again as he tried to put weight on his torn right calf and winced at the pain. Angela helped steady him as they looked around them at their attackers. There were still a couple of them that were conscious, but crippled, trying to drag their way toward Ken and Angela. Ken didn’t have the strength to care. “I don’t think coming down here was such a great idea,” he told his companion. “It just traps us if more of them come.”

  She nodded. “Maybe we can hole up in a building or something. Someplace with more than one door.”

  He nodded, and she helped him limp to the elevator. The doors closed and Ken leaned back against the wall as the
elevator climbed. “There’s a police depot a couple of miles up the freeway. If you can make it there, they should be able to help.”

  “Me? You mean us.”

  Ken shook his head. “With my leg messed up, I’ll slow you down too much. I’ll find someplace to hide, and this time, you’re going to have to go without me.” He looked at the scissor jack that she still clung to. Blood dripped off of the base where she had caved in the skulls of his last few attackers. “I think you can take care of yourself for a couple of miles, can’t you?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not going to work. I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “I appreciate that Angela, but you have to face—” The elevator chimed and the door opened. They stared out at dozens of laughing faces. The closest to them was a young boy wearing a Scrooged T-shirt. Several others were dressed nicely, as if for a nice evening out at the theater. They rushed the elevator, overwhelming Ken and Angela.

  Unbelievable agony tore through his body as nails and teeth ripped at him and Ken wasn’t sure whether the screams he heard were his or Angela’s. Teeth clamped down on his forearm and he felt muscle tear. That time, he didn’t have to wonder whose screams he heard. His throat was raw and he thrashed about, trying to break free of the dozens of hands that held and pulled. He caught a brief sight of Angela, blood pouring from several scratches over her eye as more laughing people pulled at her limbs and clawed at her exposed skin. Her mouth opened and her throat worked, but if she screamed, Ken couldn’t hear her over his own shrieks of agony. A laughing face rose up before him, lifting a bloody object over his head. Ken briefly recognized it as the scissor jack Angela had been carrying. The jack came down, and he didn’t wonder anything at all.

  FRIDAY

  NOVEMBER 25

  Chapter 62

  Linton Bowers

  Moving Out

  Linton awoke to Michelle shaking his shoulder. “Lint. Time to get up. We need to get out of here.”