by Erb, Thom
World of Swirl
Inside stall #2
Jimbo’s Diner
Cahill crashed to his knees. Brown and yellow liquid painted the inside of the toilet bowl. His gut and throat were afire as his body shook the contents of his stomach loose. He felt like he was dying. Every inch of his thin frame shook uncontrollably—shooting with ungodly pain and torment. His teeth clicked and clacked together so hard he’d thought they would shatter. The agony burst from the bite from the old fucking man back at the roadstop. It radiated out, and with each inch, ripped at him until it reached his sweat-soaked feet. When he was eleven he had pneumonia, and he thought that was the worst he ever felt. His skin was hot to the touch, and it felt like he’d been swimming in the Evart’s pool. His neighbors cared a hell of a lot more about him than his own parents did. They were the ones who took him to the hospital. He felt like the Incredible Hulk had beaten him repeatedly with a baseball bat. That was ten years ago and a million miles away. Cold, darting jolts of pain ripped through his shuttering body, and he knew he was truly dying. Laying here in some shit-hole bathroom, he did something he hadn’t done on a long time. Between jerking spasms of agony and violent puking, he prayed to a God he'd abandoned long ago. Tears fell down his burning skin, and a gusher of blood erupted from his mouth and anus; he hoped the God hadn’t forgotten about him.
He collapsed on the cold, blood and feces covered floor, silent prayers still working on his lips. Jason Marshall Cahill, bled out, and died.
Reanimation came to Cahill in a jolting rush. Like he was rocketing down an enclosed log flume, just like the one he’d seen at Ten Points Amusement Park in Irving. His mind violently sped toward a pinprick of light at the end. No colors, just a burning intense, white light.
The next of his senses to come swirling back was his hearing. Rain pounded the thin roof of the diner. It reminded him of his small bedroom in his parent’s trailer. They were dirt poor, and the trailer was barely livable. The town’s code enforcement officer had actually threatened to condemn the matchbox on wheels a few times. But that stopped when Cahill’s step-dad kicked the dog shit out of the book wormy dude, and he never came back after that. Cahill’s ceiling was basically a piece of old particleboard, covered with old corrugated tin sheet. When it rained, it sounded like all those war movies his step-dad used to watch, that was after he slapped the hell out of him. It was this memory of the pounding rain, and how he would hide from the goddamn drunk and the constant, ting-ting-ting of rain on the tin roof that helped him push the real world out.
As the twisting, turning ride continued, feeling returned to Cahill’s freezing body. Pain ruled every square inch of the dead teen. The bite from the old man was the source of the pain. But it was no longer isolated agony. Daggers of fire tore through each and every bone in his cold body. Every inch of his skin burned with a cold fire. The very marrow of his bones ached like they were filled with broken glass. Every muscle stiffened and felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. The only feeling not returning was his heartbeat. He was dead, and that stark realization made him weep. He wanted to wipe the ice-cold tears from his frozen cheeks, but his limp arms refused to move. The blackness whipped past as the pinprick of light grew closer. Now looking like a distant sun.
Cahill’s death’s log flume ride sped up, and with every bone wrenching second closer to the light he raced, the colder he became. The pain began to recede. Like water after a flood. In its wake, it left desolation and despair. Waterlogged memories and cold, bloated death, as the white light engulfed him. The flood of death washed every aspect of Cahill away, save two emotions that the vile reaper allowed him to carry with him in his new unlife.
The overwhelming need to feed… Feed on human flesh. The second was the ironic brutal awareness that what he was ravenous for was wrong.
His hunger drove Cahill slowly to his wobbly legs and forced out a low groan. He fell against the sink, his undead arms barely kept him from bashing his head on the hard ceramic. He forced himself up and caught a glimpse of the thing he’d become in the dirty, smeared mirror. It wasn’t the face of a dead man that ripped his soul out, no… it was the black tears that rolled down his pale cheeks and the black, empty eyes that ushered them into this cold new world he now existed in.
The moment of horror quickly passed as an aching in his stomach and brain told him it was time. Time to feed, and there was a glorious buffet waiting for him, just outside the bathroom door.
He thought he heard his undead stomach growl, but his drive to eat was coming from a far darker…far more evil source. He clumsily turned and willed his stiff legs to move. It was like trying to move two one hundred pound bags of cement. The doorway to warm, succulent flesh was only a mere five feet away. Cahill had no doubt his new, insatiable hunger would provide him the energy he needed. The thought of actually eating human flesh made him want to vomit, and his heart broke every time he imagined it. But it was hastily wiped away by the more dominant urge. He surrendered to it, and with all his might, shambled his left leg one step closer to the door.
The sweet smell of the living wafted through the thin door. His undead face broke into a grotesque smile as he staggered one step closer.
27
Got Me Under Pressure
I heard the old familiar ring of that stupid bell that Jimbo insisted added ambience to his four-star eatery. His words, not mine. Screw that. To me, it was a fucking pain in the ass, and I threatened to yank the damn thing off the wall every time I came in the joint. This time, it didn’t seem that important. The storm was kicking the black Texas landscape something fierce, and with that emergency broadcast about some insane terrorist attacks, I had a hell of a lot more on my mind than some doorbell Jimbo picked up at Garrett’s Hardware for five goddamn dollars. The brightness of the diner was a welcomed sight. It had been a long day, and with thoughts of Inez weighing heavy on my mind, the New York kid tagging along, for Christ’s sake, I needed some food, a stiff drink, and to take a piss. Even though it seemed the world was swirling down the shitter, Jimbo’s was just the right place. I still needed to get home to Inez and Bellia, but here, I could at least get some chow for me and the girl, call Inez, and make sure they are both okay.
An old black and white TV rested atop a rusty old Coca Cola machine, with its volume turned off. On the fuzzy screen, a local cheap dress jacketed clown gave what appeared to be a current update about the attacks or some shit. I just needed to clear my head and call my girls. The apocalypse could fucking wait.
The jukebox played George Jones’s, “Hell Stays Open All Night,” as I looked around. There were only a handful of people inside the diner. A trucker, named Whitney, I’d seen a bunch of times. A good guy, but talked more bullshit than Carter had liver pills. A couple of college looking kids talking nervously to two Mexican tough guys. I filed that away. And to the left was a lone guy, sitting at the far end of the diner. He had a hood over his eyes and sat slumped. I filed that away too.
Take a goddamn day off, asshole. I never listen.
“So, are we gonna sit down or are you wrestling with redecorating choices?” The girl shoved past me and plopped into the first booth to my right.
“Smart ass,” I said, shaking my head. I followed suit, sat down opposite her, and took my hat off, placing it on the table. I was tired, worn out, and stressed beyond imagination. I was sure the attacks happening on the east coast and over in Europe would be contained with minimal damage. My time in the Corps had trained me, and while I had some issues, I still had faith in our leaders. Whatever this was, in the end, they’d take care of it, and we’d be good. I was far more worried about my fiancé and baby girl—if they’d even be home when I got there. I felt for my bottle and smiled when my shaking hand found its comforting glass.
“Well holeee-sheeeit. Be still my aching heart. Look what the storm dragged in.” Robbie approached with a broad smile on her tired face.
I smiled in return. I liked Robbie. She was a good woman who deserved
a hell of a lot more than what Jimbo kept promising her. He was an old dog, and I knew without a damn doubt he would never learn any new tricks.
“How you been, darlin’?” I asked.
“Glory be, let me make sure my old eyes are seeing right. Yup… Yes sir, that be one and only Texas Ranger, Jay McCutcheon, sitting in my section.” She bellowed the words in her smooth yet, sarcastic way.
I just shook my head, waved her off and laughed. I held my hand out for a menu, which I already knew by heart.
A flurry of motion caught my attention. It was the Mexican thugs that I saw when I came in. The first class scumbags were messing with the couple seated by the bathrooms. The fat one offered me a crooked smile. I filled it away. I kept my eye on them overtop the menu.
“So, where the hell have you been, sexy?” Robbie chomped her gum like a cow chews its cud and winked. “You stepping out on me?” She shot Stacy Jo a glance. Chomping even harder.
“Hells no, Robbie. I came back just to see your sweet ass.” I shot her a wink and caught Stacy Jo rolling her eyes, making a gagging gesture with her finger.
She bellowed a belly laugh, and even Stacy Jo let out a short chuckle. Robbie was painfully infectious that way.
“Ohhhhhh, I bet you say that to all the gals, you velvet tongue-devil.” Robbie laughed again, tapping the girl on the shoulder with her order pad, and giving her a nod.
“I do, actually.” I laughed. She smacked me with her notepad and giggled. It was forced.
I filed it away—an old cop habit. Another one, dying hard.
“So, seriously, I was driving from DFX, and then a storm from Satan’s anus was on my trail. I figured, if we all were going to that great greasy spoon in the sky, no better place in the world than Jimbo’s armpit diner to bite the big'n.” I knew we both were ignoring what was going on outside, she needed to hear my usual charming conversation. Now was not the time to panic.
“So, enough with the ass-grabbing, Ranger. Who might this sweet young filly be?” she asked, raising a penciled on eyebrow at me. I knew where she was going and needed to cut her off quick like.
“This here is Sta…”
“Nikki Prince.” The girl cut me off, her face flushed. She took the menu Robbie offered her, and she wouldn’t look at me. This girl was tough and smart. Not using her real name was a wise move for someone on the run. How the hell did I even know if Stacy Jo was her real name? Her real name aside, I hated to tell her, no matter how far or fast she ran, there are just some demons you can never outrun, now wasn’t the time.
“Well, Nikki, it’s a pleasure.” Robbie handed the girl the menu, all the while looking at me with that arching, inquisitive eyebrow. She knew I was engaged and all about Inez and the baby.
“Ah hell, Robbie. The kid was stranded at Moe’s, needed a ride, so I helped her out. Quit looking at me like that for fuck’s sake.” I turned my full gaze on her and pulled my bottle out from under the table. “Can’t I do a good deed every now ‘n again? I am a cop, after all,” I added with just the right amount of half buzzed indignation.
Robbie flailed her arms about in a ‘No offense’ gesture and winked at me. “That’s true. You are a blessed angel of mercy, Ranger. A godsend indeed.” She laughed and even coaxed another small giggle from the wise-ass New York kid.
“He’s been a true gentleman, ma’am,” Stacy Jo, Nikki, whatever her damn name was, added with a wide grin.
“Well, that’s good to hear. Once upon a time young lady, good ol’ James here was a real lady-killer. And even though it’s hard to see now, he was actually quite the looker in his prime.” Robbie was beside herself with laughter, slapping the pad against her leg. She was a damn laugh riot.
“Ha, you’re one to talk, old woman. Haven’t you’ve been a dish-jockey since Jesus was a mess cook?” I was feeling the effect of booze, stress, and the shit-storm awaiting me at home. My humor was a bit off. To make up for it, I took another sip.
“So, you gonna order something to eat or you just going to have your usual liquid dinner?” She was still chortling, but her shift in tone of voice was warning me she was changing into Mother mode.
“You sure you don’t work weekends in Vegas, smart ass?” I grinned, sipped, and looked at her. Robbie had been a waitress at the Rusty Cactus Diner since Jimbo opened the place after he got out of the Corps, and her tired face wore every year since on it. She and Jimbo had been an on-again-off-again thing since the first day. Neither one of them were the settling down kind. They were perfect for each other. I liked her. She’d been a big help through all of my issues and never gave up on me. I cut her some slack when it came to constantly busting my balls with a sledgehammer.
“What? And take a huge pay cut and lose the glory of defending our great country?” I laughed, and after one of Robbie's patented, I'll kick you in the nuts, looks, I decided I should order. “Yeah, yeah. Give me the Dino- Pulled Pork and some onion rings.” I handed the menu to her.
“Something to drink? Besides whiskey, if you please.” She glared at me, with a holier-than-thou expression, over the top of her glasses perched on the tip of her short nose.
Not hesitating, I said, “Milk, please and thank you.” I returned her smile.
She turned to the kid, shaking her head all the while. “For you, young lady?”
“Um…Just some water would be great.” Stacy Jo’s face flushed. I could see her trying to be sneaky, feeling around her pants pockets and stalling.
I knew she must be hungry, but too proud to ask for help. I hated even more that I liked this kid.
I lightly tapped Robbie’s worn shoe with my boot, and we exchanged a knowing glance.
“Oh, honey, we’re having an end-of the world special. Everything on the menu is free.” Robbie must have been dead-ass tired, because that was the worst move I’ve ever seen her make. Stacy Jo wasn’t a fool and knew exactly what the less-than crafty waitress was trying to do.
“You’re about as subtle as a bull in a goddamn china shop, Rob.” I laughed.
Robbie’s face turned to the color of the Heinz Ketchup bottle on the table.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’m not that hungry,” Stacy Jo lied.
“It’s on me. Besides, according to Ms. End-of-Days here, it could be out last meal. Eat,” I said.
Stacy Jo flicked me a quick look and a faster smile. “Thanks. I’ll have the Tres Hombres Special. With a Mountain Dew, please.” She handed the menu back to Robbie. Lightning flashed. They all jumped like a bunch of nervous nancys.
“That’s some shit kicking out there tonight,” Robbie said. “How’s the roads?”
“Like riding on icy rails, Rob. Hell, it’s the only reason I stopped. Otherwise, I’d be almost home by now. It’s nothing like I’ve seen before. I’m surprised the state hasn’t shut the roads down.” I sipped from my bottle and ignored Robbie’s derisive looks.
A bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree and its sister; thunder added an exclamation point on the attack. It served to suck all the light hearted chatter out of the diner and refocus us on what the hell was going on outside the wind-assailed diner.
“They have, darlin’. About an hour ago, the Texas state transportation secretary issued a no travel advisory. Least, that’s what I thought he said. Hard to tell since old numb-nuts back there in the kitchen insists on keeping the TV’s sound off.” She grimaced, tucking her order pad into her stained apron.
“Ah, hell.” I took another pull from the whiskey bottle and peered through the yellow curd covering the diner’s already dirty windows.
“I’ll let you two love birds catch up. I need to use the little wrangler’s room,” Stacy Jo said with a nervous look over my shoulder.
Robbie giggled. “Oh, it’s at the back of the diner, sweetheart. Take a left at the pay phone. Otherwise, you’ll be peeing in the parking lot.” She pointed to her left, still giggling.
The anxious kid slid out of the booth, quickly heading in the direction of the bathrooms.
&nb
sp; Once out of earshot, Robbie leaned into me, and said,
“I like her. She reminds me of I—”
“Inez? I know. She’s a tough kid,” I admitted.
“What’s her story?” Robbie’s tired eyes followed the young girl as she reached the pay phone hanging on the wall and turn.
“Not sure. All I know is she’s a runaway from upstate New York. That’s all she told me. Well, that and she has family in Mexico.” I drank and wiped my mouth on my sleeve as the storm punched at the diner.
“What happened up at Moe’s?” Robbie leaned against the table.
“She was at the bus station there, used the pay phone and walked outside. I guess she was waiting for a ride. But some of those Arian, scumbag K.S.O. bikers and their old ladies followed her out to the parking lot. And I had to, well…ya know.” I let the words hang out there and drank.
“Always the knight in shining armor, ain’t you, Jay? Never take a day off, do you?” Robbie’s words held a mix of admiration and concern.
I shrugged. “Never said I was smart.” I looked deep into the brown liquid spinning in the bottle. White light splashed across it through tinted windows.
Again, in her nosey, but motherly way, she asked, “How’s things with you an Inez? I know you two have had a tough go of it lately.”
“Things have been good. But, there was an issue on the job today, which is why I need to get my ass back to Houston as soon as we’re done eating here.” I took in the raging storm and wondered if traveling was a good idea. But I was never one who listened to common sense. Maybe that was half my problem. At least that’s what the Shrink back at headquarters had written in my file. But tonight, I needed to fix things and fix them now. The storm of the century, terrorist attacks, and Apocalypse be damned. Come hell or high water, I would be getting to Houston before daylight.
“Oh no. Not again, Jay?” She used the same condescending, but well-meaning tone she always used when I fucked things up. Tonight was not the night. I loved the woman, but her smothering, nursemaid shit was the last thing I needed. I took a long pull and shot her a look that I was damn sure she couldn’t misunderstand. She straightened, and her face when slack, she knew.
