by Bryan Smith
Before she could reply, he strode into the apartment and flipped a switch. Light filled the kitchen and made the shadows in the dining room recede. Emily let out a sigh and followed him into the apartment. She closed the door behind her, although it almost seemed a pointless gesture—anyone who wanted in now could easily gain entry.
Jake met her nervous gaze and seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ll figure out a way to secure the door. Maybe jam that table between the door and stove.”
Emily smiled. “Thank you.”
“If nothing else, I think we can at least safely assume we’re alone here.” Emily noted the deep sadness in Jake’s voice. He’d dated Kelly prior to her coming out a couple years later and had always remained close to her. “What a fucking shame this all is.”
Emily didn’t say anything to that. What was there to say? A tragedy of unparalleled proportions had occurred. She’d missed the news coverage in the earlier part of the day, but Jake had told her enough to know that millions of people had died. Perhaps billions. She tried to conceptualize the possibility of that many people dead and just couldn’t do it. It was too much. She decided that for the time being she would only concern herself with her own safety and her own small patch of the world.
And Jake, of course.
Jake moved into the dining room and flipped another switch. Light gleamed against the inlaid glass panels of the dining room cabinets. Emily opened the refrigerator and was pleased to see a supply of adult beverages. One six-pack of hard cider, another of Guinness Extra Stout, and a bottle of Korbel. She removed two of the brown Guinness bottles from the six-pack and looked for an opener.
Then Jake called out to her: “Emily! Come here.”
There was an urgency in his voice that caused her to abandon her search. She hurried through the dining room and into the living room, the still unopened bottles clanging together in her hand. “What’s—”
She’d been about to ask him what was wrong, but there was no need—she saw at once the cause of his outburst. A little girl of about eight or nine huddled in a corner of the living room. She wore the uniform of a schoolgirl, a pleated skirt and a navy blue sweater with a crest. She had long light-brown hair in pigtails. An expression of terror made her pale and vulnerable features resemble those of a fragile doll.
Emily glanced at Jake. He no longer seemed quite so self-assured and able. He was visibly baffled by how to deal with the frightened girl. Emily wasn’t so sure, either, but she had a hunch the girl might respond better to a female entreaty. So she set the beer bottles on an end table next to the sofa and moved into the center of the living room. The girl’s eyes widened and she pressed her back up against the wall.
Emily forced a smile. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re not going to hurt you.”
The girl gave her head an adamant shake. “You broke in. You’re burglars.”
Emily laughed softly. “We’re not burglars, silly. We’re friends of Laura and Kelly. Do you know them?”
The girl nodded. “Laura is my Auntie. I come here sometimes. I’ve never seen you before.” She lifted a finger and pointed over Emily’s shoulder. “Or that man.”
Emily shrugged. “I’ll tell you the truth, okay? I’m friends with your Auntie, but not real good friends. I’m not over here much. But that man there.” She indicated Jake with a jerk of her head. “He’s real good friends with Kelly. Maybe you’ve heard Kelly talk about him. His name’s Jake.”
The girl’s expression changed then. A mistrustful glint remained in her eyes, but it was clear she’d relaxed some. Her gaze went to Jake. “You were Kelly’s boyfriend?”
Emily glanced backward and saw Jake shuffle farther into the living room. His hands were shoved into his pockets. She guessed this was a subject he’d prefer not to discuss with a girl so young, thus the obvious discomfort. “Yeah,” he said, standing beside Emily now. “I was.”
“What’s your last name, then?”
“Dunham.”
The girl nodded. “And what was Kelly’s middle name?”
Jake laughed. “You ought to consider a career in law enforcement when you grow up. And Kelly’s middle name was…is…Kelly. That’s a trick question, you sneaky devil. She goes by her middle name. Her first name is Lynn. Usually it’s the other way around. Kel used to pretend to be mad at her parents about it.”
And now the girl smiled. “Yes. You pass.”
Seeing the girl smile did wonders for Emily’s mood. It was so good to see another living person at the end of this dark day. And not just any person. A young, smart girl with a vibrant personality. It was disturbing that she’d been left to crouch in darkness all day. She hoped like hell Kelly and Laura were safe elsewhere, but the girl’s presence here all by herself didn’t bode well for that. Emily decided she would look after the girl if no rightful guardian came forth to claim her. It would be a big responsibility, but she wouldn’t leave the girl to fend for herself.
The girl extended a hand. “My name is Abigail. But you can call me Abby.”
Emily smiled and accepted the girl’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Abby.” Her smile receded. “You don’t happen to know where your Aunt Laura and Kelly are, do you?”
The girl pulled her hand away and her expression darkened. She tugged on one of her pigtails and chewed her lower lip. Emily felt awful for asking Abby a question with such dreadful implications, but she had to know the answer. The girl lifted her face and Emily saw barely restrained tears glimmering in her eyes.
Abby’s voice emerged as a stammer: “I-I…”
Emily scooted closer and pulled the girl into her arms. Abby buried her face in the older woman’s bosom and unleashed a torrent of sobs that shook her frail slip of a body. Emily stroked her hair and made gentle cooing noises. She glanced back and saw a grim expression on Jake’s face, a look that was equal measures concern and fear. She knew how he felt. Neither of them were at all experienced in the care of a child. And now it fell to them to care for one in a dangerous new world. She hoped they would be up to it.
Abby put her hands on Emily’s shoulders and pushed out of the embrace. She stared at Emily through eyes that were puffy and red-rimmed. She sniffled and said, “Kelly left early this morning to go to her job. She makes sandwiches at Provence.”
Emily nodded. Provence was a shop on 21st Avenue.
Abby wiped tears from her face with the back of a hand. “Laura walked to Provence with her. She was supposed to come right back.” Fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “And n-n-n…now she’s n-never coming back.”
Emily pulled Abby into her arms again and glanced again at Jake, who’d just returned from the kitchen with a bottle opener. He popped the top off one of the Guinness bottles and drank deeply from it. He picked up the other bottle and asked her the question with a look.
Emily nodded.
Jake popped the cap off the second bottle and set it on the end table. Emily left it there for the moment, content for now to allow little Abby to cling to her as long as she needed.
* * *
The green dumpster behind Provence sat as still as the cars parked in its rear lot. A dog sniffed the ground around it. The dog had the coloring of a collie but its fur was short and it was lean of body like a greyhound. Something shifted inside the dumpster and the dog’s floppy ears perked up. Then there was a scraping sound as the dumpster’s sliding door was opened from the inside. The dog grinned and wagged its tail happily. It recognized this scent. This was someone it knew, a friendly human who lived in the same building as its master.
Laura Brandner eased her head through the opening and cautiously surveyed her surroundings. She saw cars. She saw what was left of her lover, Kelly. The broken body was still on the ground near the store’s rear entrance. Laura’s breath hitched at the sight of it. One of those flying things had snapped Kelly like a toothpick and she lay now at a hideous angle, her dead eyes open and staring at dirty asphalt. Laura’s stomach convulsed and she averted her eyes from th
e sickening sight.
She saw the dog looking up at her with an expectant grin. “Hi, Maggie.”
The dog wagged its tail.
Laura reached down to stroke the top of Maggie’s head. “Yes, Maggie’s a good girl. Oh, what a good girl…”
A single tear etched a path down her cheek. “Oh, good girl. Oh, Kelly…”
Laura pulled herself through the dumpster’s opening and dropped to the ground. She felt stiff and sore from a day spent huddled in the dumpster. More than that, she was filthy. The stench of all that tossed-out food had made her sick. She’d thrown up and the smell of her stomach’s regurgitated contents had only made things worse. She longed to take a long, hot shower.
And she needed to be away from this place. She walked over to where Kelly’s body lay and knelt next to her. She planted a kiss on a cold forehead and muttered her last respects. She hoped somewhere some trace of Kelly’s special essence could hear these words.
Maggie sniffed at her ear.
Laura’s scratched the dog behind the ear and stood up.
“Let’s go, Maggie.”
The dog followed her out to 21st Avenue. Much of what remaining energy she possessed went out of her as she took in the carnage. There was a lot of blood. A lot of death. She had witnessed some of the destruction from inside Provence. She and Kelly had holed up in there with other store employees during the initial onslaught of screeching death. A few hours later, during a perceived lull, Laura convinced Kelly they should try to make it back to their apartment. Kelly had thought it a dumb idea, but Laura had been adamant. They had to go back for Abby. The emotional urgency eventually wore Kelly’s resistance down and so, along with three other Provence employees, they had ventured outside.
They were attacked at once. Kelly was killed instantly.
Laura took the only refuge available, the dumpster. Where she remained the rest of the day, listening while people around her were slaughtered. Now, from this vantage point, it looked as if the entire world must be dead. Other than the dog at her side, there was no evidence at all of any life. That this horror had occurred at all was awful enough, but having to face it alone, without Kelly, depressed and sickened her.
Her top priority now was to find out if Abby was still safe at the apartment. Emotionally, she wasn’t ready to concede the possibility that her niece might be dead, too. But, as she took in the sight of the shattered store fronts and cars with their tops ripped off like the lids of cans, a more pragmatic part of her accepted the likelihood that sweet little Abby was no more.
She would cling to hope, however, until she discovered definitive proof of the girl’s death. So she turned to her right and started down the sidewalk along 21st, with Maggie trotting at her heel. She moved slowly, stepping over bodies and debris with care. The street lamps were on, which made the going easier than it should have been at night, but the path was treacherous and she slid one time when her left foot came down on something wet and squishy. She regained her balance and glanced down, wincing when she saw she’d stepped in a pile of body parts.
Grateful that she’d already purged the contents of her stomach, she quickened her pace and soon moved beyond the section of 21st dominated by shops and restaurants. The apartment where she’d lived with Kelly was only two more blocks away. As she neared the building, she began to perceive a couple of dim, shadowy figures a few blocks further down. Her heart gave a lurch and she came to a sudden halt. But Maggie barked and sprinted ahead.
She saw one of the dim figures turn in her direction and immediately let out a big breath. She’d at first thought she might be seeing more of those creatures, but this was not the case.
She heard a voice call out: “Maggie!”
The dog barked excitedly.
Laura smiled.
At least someone in this world was having a happy reunion tonight. She didn’t know Maggie’s owners well, but she was thrilled they were here. It would be nice not to go through this horror alone.
She took a step in their direction.
But then something clamped over her mouth and pulled her into an alley between buildings. A jolt of terror burned through her. Some man had a hold of her. He was big and strong and she could feel his erect penis pushing against the seat of her jeans. She tried to scream, but his hand muffled the sound. She kicked and flailed, but the man pinned one arm behind her back and wrestled her to the ground. He rolled her over, sat astride her, and drove a fist into her jaw that rendered another scream stillborn.
Laura’s vision went fuzzy. Her assailant was just a black blob, a shifting shadow within the deeper darkness of the night. The man drove another punch into her jaw and she felt pain beyond anything she’d experienced before. She thought her jaw might be broken. Forget screaming now. She could only whimper. And the man silenced even that by clamping his hand over her mouth again.
At last her vision cleared and she saw the man’s face.
She recognized him.
Aaron Something-or-other.
A young businessman who was a fixture in the shops and bars of 21st Avenue.
He meant to rape her.
Maybe even kill her.
And there was nothing she could do about it. He was just too overpowering. And he looked crazed. The manic gleam in his eyes made her think of Charlie Manson. Then he showed her the hunting knife and she closed her eyes.
No need to bear witness to the coming atrocity.
She thought of Kelly, and hoped she’d soon be seeing her in a better place.
And she thought of Abby and prayed for the little girl.
* * *
Aaron dragged the unconscious lesbo deeper into the alley, pulled her behind a dumpster and sat with his back flat against a building’s wall. He’d heard footsteps approaching and so had thought it prudent to get himself and his victim out of sight.
The footsteps paused.
Then he heard a woman’s voice: “I could swear I saw her right about here.”
And now a man’s voice: “And you’re sure it was that girl from Provence?”
The woman said, “I don’t know. I thought…maybe. I looked this way and saw her, then Maggie came running up. When I looked up again, she was gone.”
“Well, she doesn’t appear to be around now. Let’s keep moving.”
Then they were gone.
Aaron let out a breath and returned his attention to the girl. He sat astride her and grinned. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties. And she wasn’t bad-looking for a carpet-muncher. He’d seen the bitch holding hands and making googly eyes at her girlfriend several times at the Villager Pub, so he knew what her orientation was. Which was why he wanted her awake for this. He wanted her to know what was happening to her at the hands of a man. Her slapped her face several times, but she never stirred. It occurred to him that maybe she was faking, but it was just a passing thought. He knew he’d nearly knocked her head off with that last blow.
He sighed. “Fuck.”
Oh, well.
He cut her clothes off, shed his own clothes, and violated her. He was done barely a minute later. And she was still unconscious. He put his clothes back on and sat astride her again.
He placed the knife at her throat.
His nostrils flared at the sight of her breath moving in and out. He imagined Emily in this cunt’s place and felt some fresh stirrings at his crotch. The image clarified before him, as vivid as a picture on a high definition television screen. Here was Emily. There was that delectable mouth. That delicate chin. Those pretty, pretty eyes. And her throat, so slim and tender, an Audrey Hepburn throat.
He growled and punched the knife through flesh.
The body beneath him jerked.
And Aaron giggled as he watched the beautiful red river flow out of the dead woman’s throat.
CHAPTER TEN
Near Halethorpe, MD
September 29
9:40 a.m.
Jasmine Holtz decided it was time to get back on the road. The eerie
emptiness of the motel she’d been holed up in for the last day was getting to her. There’d only been one other car in the lot when she arrived. A dinky old red Chevette with a pale blue right fender. It had that cobbled-together look of a junker. Jasmine had searched the motel for signs of its owner—to no avail.
When she peeked outside after waking up this morning, the Chevette was gone. Weird, and not a little bit creepy. She was surprised she hadn’t heard the car’s owner skulking about in the night. She was even more surprised she hadn’t been awakened by the sound of the car’s engine as it started and drove away from the motel.
Later, when she was on the road again, she wondered why the Chevette’s owner hadn’t disturbed her much nicer vehicle. She expected to encounter a degree of lawlessness in this drastically altered new world. There were no rules now, at least no enforceable ones. The owner of the Chevette, stealthy as he/she evidently was, might have come into her room and taken the keys to her BMW. Or worse. A predatory male might have raped her and killed her first.
She obsessed over the mystery for a while as she drove. Mostly because she needed something to occupy her mind other than the relentlessly bleak unfurling vista of destruction that was I-83. The Chevette’s owner had to have been aware of her presence. The sleek and shiny BMW would’ve been impossible to miss, parked so conspicuously right in front of the motel. The mystery person had obviously been lurking somewhere out of sight the whole time. She just couldn’t figure out why that person hadn’t come forward at some point. Even the most casual observer would have seen that she was no threat, just a slim, unimposing woman in her early 40’s.
But, for reasons she couldn’t imagine, the motel’s phantom guest chose to stay out of view and then steal away in the night. The mystery didn’t just baffle her—it infuriated her. She wished whoever it was had come forward. She needed company. The quality of the company almost didn’t matter. The presence of any other human being—psychos obviously excepted—would make her feel so much better.
