by David Lovato
“My flight leaves at 8:55,” Erica said. She brushed a few strands of dark hair from her face. “And thank God it’s a direct flight.”
Brent chuckled and flicked the turn signal to move to the right. His exit was coming up. “I bet you’re glad you took an extra day off work, baby.”
“Yeah! I’ll at least get a day with you before work.”
“I can’t wait!” Brent said.
“There was something else… I want to tell you now, but I sorta wanted to do it in person.” Brent grimaced and looked at Erica for a second and then back at the road as a sign passed him by. It was another mile before his exit.
“What is it?”
“I was just thinking I’d like to go back to school, finish up, and take the steps toward getting certified.” Erica looked over at someone Brent couldn’t see. He heard a child’s voice, saw people walking through the terminal beyond Erica’s shoulder.
“And, you know, I haven’t even told my parents yet. You’re the first one to hear about it!”
“I think that’s great,” Brent said, tapping the brake as he took his exit. “You’ve always wanted to teach, and now you’ll be that much closer.”
“Yeah!” Erica said. Her eyes seemed to glow. Brent couldn’t be happier for her.
“I can’t wait until you get home,” he said at a stoplight, looking at the screen. Erica nodded.
“Me neither. Ugh, I’m getting another call. I’ll call when I’m boarding, okay?” Brent sighed, and nodded.
“Okay, don’t forget!” He laughed.
“I won’t Brent. Talk to you soon.” Erica blew a kiss to the camera, her fingers blackening Brent’s display. Brent returned the kiss, and then he ended the call. The screen returned to the keypad, and that reminded him he needed to call his friend Jeff, let him know when to come over. The light ahead turned red, so he stopped and quickly dialed Jeff’s number, and the phone began ringing.
“Hey, Brent.”
“Hey Jeff, you’re still coming over tonight, right?”
“Man, I don’t know,” Jeff said. “Probably, I just have to take care of some shit before then.”
“Like what, Jeff? Can’t it wait?” Brent looked to his left and saw someone was trying to change lanes in front of him. Brent slowed and signaled to the guy, but he didn’t make any further attempts to move over. “Come on!”
“What?” Jeff said.
“Not you, this dumbass driver.”
“Anyway, I need to pay some bills and get food. I’ve got close to nothing at my house.”
“Okay,” Brent said. “Get some chips and salsa or something. We can snack on that before we order pizza.”
“I’ll be there then. Cool.”
“Okay, make sure to have cash on you. We’re playing for real money this time.” Brent grinned.
“Don’t you worry about that, Brent,” Jeff said. “I’ll be winning all your dough.”
“Well, we can all dream,” Brent said.
“I gotta go, man. I’ll see you and the guys tonight.”
“Yeah. Later Jeff.”
****
Brent leaned back on the couch, gripping a Steven Fletcher novel tightly. On a dark blue cover, in smoky silver letters, it read The Disappearing Ones. Brent hadn’t looked very far from the page for an hour or so, but finally his gaze traveled to the clock on the DVR box across the room. It was almost five. He could have ordered the pizza then, and it would arrive shortly after his friends, but he wanted to wait and see what they wanted.
Brent set the book down on the coffee table and wandered to the fish tank in the corner of the living room. His fondness for fish dated back to his early childhood. In his adult years, he was into all types. Exotic fish were his favorite, and he had several angelfish, a couple silver dollars, some platies, and many others. It was a large tank that took a good portion of space, but it was great to walk over there and see what all the fish were up to.
They fluttered to the surface when Brent dropped some food in. It slowly sank to the bottom, and there was a colorful swirl of different species of fish as the food was quickly devoured. Brent found it relaxing to hover around the tank for a little while as they swam around in the clear water among the various decorations. He felt good whenever he fed them, as otherwise they just drifted around the tank, waiting for him to make his move.
****
“Come on, Brent, what do you have?” Jim said. Brent sighed in defeat as he looked at his hand. He’d been lucky early in the game, but things had taken a turn. He showed his hand.
“Yes!” Jim said. He pulled in his earnings.
“Just wasn’t a good hand,” Brent said. Jeff laughed and looked at him with an ‘I told you so’ expression in his eyes.
The doorbell rang, and Brent scanned the five guys around him: Jim, Jeff, Liam, Nathan, and Henry.
“All right, everybody chip in.” Everyone put money into the center of the green table, except for Liam. “Where’s yours Liam?”
“I uh… got my money mixed up. I bet it.” He chuckled dryly.
“I guess someone won’t be eating tonight.” The doorbell rang again, and Brent grabbed the money and started sorting it.
“Just put it on my tab,” Liam said.
Brent opened the door, where the delivery boy was standing about to ring the bell again. He looked irritated as he struggled to balance the steaming boxes in his hands.
“How much?” Brent asked, looking down at the kid. He was not much older than eighteen, and Brent towered over him by about six inches.
“$38.50, sir.” Brent divvied out the money, added a little of his own since the guys hadn’t scrambled enough, and handed it to the delivery boy. The little guy handed Brent the food and then jogged to his car with his empty pizza warmer draped over his shoulder. Brent took the pizzas into the kitchen, where he and his friends gathered food and drink together and met in the living room to watch TV for a few hours.
All it took to spoil their fun was the screech of tires, a piercing scream, and a loud crash. Brent and the gang jumped up all at once and rushed out the door to see what had happened. A car, smoking like a cigar, was wrapped around a light post. A few others gathered around the wreckage. One neighbor was on the passenger side, trying to determine whether the occupant was alive or dead, and then he opened the door to find a man hugging the air bag. His head seemed to be badly injured. He didn’t move. The driver had also hit the airbag, but was moving away from it, and he looked around. He seemed confused, and unlike his passenger, didn’t have any visible injuries.
“I don’t think the passenger is dead,” said the neighbor on that side of the car. “He’s got a pulse, and he seems to be breathing. Someone call 911.”
“Sir, are you all right?” another neighbor asked the man in the driver’s seat. He was not wearing a seatbelt, and almost fell out of the car when he saw the open door.
The worried bystander tried to help the driver to his feet, throwing the man’s arm over his shoulder and lifting him up. The driver noticed the neighbor’s arm at his chest, grabbed it, and ripped out a chunk with his teeth. The bystander screamed and yanked back, leaving a chunk of meat in the driver’s teeth. Blood rained down to the pavement, and the neighbor stepped awkwardly backward. The driver followed him. People began to murmur and back away from the driver.
“Hey, you!” one of the other bystanders said. He was holding a gun, cocked and ready. The driver’s head tilted up, his teeth were gnashing, and he dove for the man with the gun. A crack rang out, and then people were screaming and running. Then Brent saw why.
There were others approaching. They sauntered aimlessly toward the bystanders, biting and tearing at anyone they could get. They all moved in the same awkward fashion as the driver.
The man with the gun looked at those still lingering around the wrecked car. He seemed ready to use it again if necessary.
“Guys, I’d get back to cover if I were you. This seems bad.” He turned around and headed back to
his house. Brent and his friends exchanged bewildered glances, and did as suggested.
Once they were inside, Liam was the first to say anything. “This is insane! What the hell is going on?”
“This can’t be possible,” Brent said. He went for the television remote and flipped it to the news.
“Reports of people attacking others are coming in from all over the area. We are experiencing a crisis here, people.” The anchor’s voice was calm and cold, and Brent could tell he was just hearing about it and repeating what he was told, blissfully safe from the type of thing Brent had just seen on his own street.
“This isn’t just here, then,” Nathan said. Brent sat with his eyes glued to the TV.
“It appears that Lynnwood Stadium, a work-in-progress football stadium, is the place to go. Law enforcement is setting it up to be a safe place. Everyone in the area is urged to get there as soon as possible. There is plenty of space, and provisions are being rounded up.”
“Lynnwood?” Brent said. “That’s not far from here.” His friends seemed on board with the idea. They split up to get some things together, and then Brent heard Erica’s ringtone. He answered, saw her face on the screen. It was messy with tears and splatters of blood. Her voice was shaky.
“Brent? Are you all right, Brent?”
“Erica! Wha—I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“I won’t be coming home tonight. Some guy bit the shit out of me. People are going nuts here. Please say you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. Look, they’re setting up a safe zone at Lynnwood Stadium. We’re going there soon. How bad is the bite?”
“It’s not that bad. If I can just stop the bleeding…” Brent felt his eyes water as he looked at Erica. She was leaning against a wall in some shop. The light was bright, and she held the phone as best as she could. She tried to keep it away from the bite she’d received. She smiled despite the pain she was in, but the color in her face was fading.
“This was going to be for when you got back to Washington, but I might not get another chance.” Brent reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black box. He opened it and aimed his camera at a shiny engagement ring. It wasn’t the prettiest or most expensive ring, but it was his, and it was for Erica.
Erica looked at it for a minute without saying anything.
“Erica, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” Brent choked on the last word. Erica slumped a little more. Her hand was shaky, and she almost dropped her phone. “Erica?” Brent felt nauseous.
Erica dropped the phone, and it landed with the camera’s lens taking in the ceiling.
“Erica!” Brent said. “Erica!” He threw his phone and the ring down and covered his face with his hands, and quietly sobbed. Jeff burst into the room.
“Brent! Come on, get your shit together! We’re going to the—” He looked at Brent and frowned. “Is Erica okay?” Brent slowly got to his feet.
“She’s… not coming back. I’m going to get ready. We’ll take my car.” Jeff set a hand on Brent’s shoulder as he passed, but Brent pulled away.
****
While Brent gathered some things from around the house, the crazies began clawing and banging at the door and windows. Everyone gathered what they could in bags, and Jeff armed himself with a baseball bat he found lying around.
“Let’s get the hell out!” Jeff said. Always one to try to get a hold of a situation, he led Brent and the others out the door. One of the things was not more than five feet from the door, and Jeff swung the aluminum bat as hard as he could, right at its head.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Liam said. “That’s a person!”
“It’s us or them, Liam, and I know it won’t be me.”
Everyone rushed past the crumpled heap on the ground and settled into Brent’s car. Brent sat in the driver’s seat and looked around briefly at it all. He saw the wrecked car in the rearview mirror, and people were here and there, none moving very quickly.
“What’s the hold-up?” Liam said.
“Just leave him alone,” Jeff said. “He lost his girl.” Brent cringed at that, ignited the engine, then pulled out and went down the street, which was sinking deeper into Hell. There was a man on the sidewalk eating a woman who’d run from her home. People wandered the streets. A man in tears ran to the car as it slowed at a stop sign and slapped at the windows. Brent hit the gas and left him in the dust; he stood there, still visible in the rearview mirror, with a look of defeat on his face.
“Fuck this traffic!” Henry said. “Everybody’s got the same damn idea.”
“I doubt everyone is going to the stadium,” Nathan said. “It hasn’t got enough room for all these people.”
“Yeah, some of these road-cloggers are probably trying to get out of town, somewhere where this shit isn’t,” Jim said.
“Do we really want to be trapped in some stadium for this?” Liam asked. “I mean, a man’ll go crazy locked in one place after a while, and that’s without… zombies.”
“Give me a break,” Jeff said.
“Well, what do they look like to you? Whatever they are, you really want to lock yourself in a stadium with them outside?”
“You got a better idea, Liam?” Brent said.
“Yeah, besides, this can’t go on for too long,” Jim said. “We’ll just hang out in the stadium, eat some free food for a few days, and wait for this whole thing to blow over.”
“That’s the plan,” Jeff said.
“If it ever ends,” Henry mumbled.
On a normal day, the drive to Lynnwood would be about twenty minutes, but the roads were heavily congested. There were honking horns, people yelling for others to move. When Brent and his friends finally arrived at the stadium, there were lots of people waiting to be taken in. Police kept them as orderly a crowd as possible.
The stadium doors were open, and people filed in after being checked by police and having their firearms confiscated. Any other dangerous items were also taken, and Jeff’s bat was no exception.
The doors led into an area where there were several vender stations, none of them up and running, and there was also a ticket counter. Beyond that was the doorway to the stadium. There were stairs leading elsewhere, but the stadium guests were told to ignore them. The field was where the people were supposed to go.
“Look at all these people!” Jeff said while scanning the crowd. There were maybe a hundred people in front of him, and twice that behind. More people were joining the line.
“Yeah,” Brent said.
“Brent, are you doing all right?” Liam asked.
“Not in the least,” Brent said. He hoped turning to look across the field would end the conversation.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened to Erica. I know it must be tough.”
“You have no idea,” Brent said. “But I appreciate the sentiment. Could we just not talk about it please?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Liam said.
The six guys got to their cots, which were more comfortable than they’d imagined. None of them were hungry when the stadium had food set up, but they all went to grab some anyway. Brent brought the cards from the poker game, and they resumed their session, minus the actual money. They played until lights went out so people could sleep. Throughout it all, they talked very little.
Every exit was boarded off and barricaded with wood and spare furniture. There were two officers guarding each exit, and they switched out from time to time with the ones patrolling the field.
Brent decided to call his parents and see if they were okay. He dialed and waited for something, but the call wouldn’t go through. He tried multiple times, but there was no service. Brent lay back down on his cot, wanting so badly to cry. He hadn’t much since Erica’s death. He couldn’t.
When morning came, the hot stadium air was filled with chatter. The police were serving food, and many around Brent and his friends were eating. Brent and the others decided to get up and get some for themselves. There
were tables to eat at but Brent and his friends preferred to eat by their cots. They made small talk, but Brent turned to people watching, just trying to keep his mind busy.
A few yards away, another group of people was eating by their beds. One of them was an old woman. She nibbled on her food, and hovered over a small picture frame for the longest time. A man not too far from her was scribbling in a notepad.
“I wonder what that guy’s writing about,” Brent said.
“Probably his feelings,” Jeff said. “He’s no woman, so he must be a fag.”
“I write in a journal every now and again,” Liam said. He laughed.
“That’s because you’re gay,” Jeff said. He playfully shoved Liam’s shoulder. Brent rolled his eyes, wishing he hadn’t brought it up.
“That woman looks freaking old,” Jim said. “Like she’ll keel over from a heart attack or something any minute now.”
“Why would you say something like that?” a nearby woman said. Brent and his friends turned to look at her. She had been listening to their whole conversation.
“It’s called people watching, lady. I’m not really serious.”
“Well, that’s horrible of you to say something like that. Did you ever stop to think how her family would feel if she did have a heart attack and die in this fucking stadium?”
“I don’t really care,” Jim said. Brent just wanted to stay out of it.
“You know, you’re a horrible person,” the woman said.
“And you’re a bitch who can’t mind her own damn business.”
“Everybody just shut up,” Henry said. “Seriously.”
“I can’t believe you people!” the woman said. “You have no heart!”
“Look at that guy!” Jeff said with a grin. He pointed to a random middle-aged man several cots to his left. “He’s such a dumbfuck, probably retarded. He should have died on the way here. Should have been used for zombie bait.”
“Guys, just shut the fuck up!” Brent said. He didn’t care that Jeff was just trying to egg the woman on. He’d heard enough from all of them. The woman turned away, and Brent noticed his friends were staring at him. “What?”
