by Fuchs, A. P.
Hopefully they’d still be able to make a difference before it was too late.
5
The Rat
Billie spent the night at Des’s place. She was going to go home with the milk, but after hearing several gunshots echo outside, Des insisted she stay with him and go home in the morning. But when morning came, they ended up getting caught up in a world of playful conversation and video games. Besides, both had enjoyed spending time together after being so far removed from another living soul for so long.
This evening, Billie had fallen asleep on Des’s La-Z-Boy. She said she just wanted to close her eyes for a minute and take the edge off a budding headache, but Des knew better. Not eating properly slowly took you down and now it was finally catching up to her. He’d make sure she got some food in that stomach of hers before she left.
Des stood over her sleeping form, hands at his sides, mouth closed, eyes fixated on her face. Seeing her like this, so peaceful, so at ease, made him wish he was someone else, someone who wasn’t such a geek. He didn’t know for sure if a “geek” was how she viewed him, but he’d seen other girls roll their eyes at him the way she sometimes did, seen other girls not look him square in the eye when he spoke to them. It was a role he was used to playing, though. His sister, Jante, who died the day the rain came while waiting for his parents to pick her up from a college class, had a friend, Shelly. Shelly was dead, too, but Des would never forget her.
Shelly came over to the Nottingham residence regularly, and while she and Jante would sit around the kitchen table nibbling on chips and popcorn talking about their latest crush, Des would always eavesdrop from downstairs, one ear listening to them, the other listening for Xbox monsters.
It drove him nuts that he was attracted to her, and he knew full well it was just a high school crush because only high school crushes were of the kind where you fell head over heels for someone without really knowing them. Each night, lying in bed and waiting to fall asleep, he thought about her. He imagined her wearing a white T-shirt with black, form-fitting pants with bell-bottom legs and bringing her into his arms. Imagined running his hand up her back and his fingers through her shiny red hair. Imagined her closing her perfect blue eyes as he leaned in to kiss her.
Imagined her embracing him and returning his affection.
But that was only a dream.
One night, while everyone was out except him, Shelly came over, looking for Jante. At first, it appeared Shelly was going to leave when he told her that her friend wasn’t home, but after seeing the look of heartbreak on her face, he invited her in for iced tea. Shelly accepted and the two talked, mostly about Jante, and each time he tried to probe for the source of her sadness, she’d look away and turn her glass on the table, the look on her face that of impatience as she waited for him to stop talking.
Shelly left that night. She didn’t even thank him for the iced tea.
It was the last time he saw her alive.
And now it was happening all over again with Billie. He’d only known her for about six months, having met her online while folks gathered on the Haven message board to get organized and figure out what their next move would be and who would help who. At first they only exchanged a few words on the board, mostly business, but when they found out how close they lived to one another, the few words on the board turned to private messages. Then the private messages turned to a few emails before they decided to meet one evening just to say hi and see a human being face to face. Even though they never really hung out all that much—as most people hated going outside unless they absolutely had to—they got to know each other well through emailing and, as the months passed, the deep feeling of his having known her all his life crept in. Before he could stop it, he realized he had given a piece of his heart away.
Billie sighed in her sleep.
Should he wake her? It was already getting late. Maybe he should just let her sleep and he’d walk her back to her place in the morning?
“Sleep good,” he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Billie stirred and blinked open her eyes. “Oh. What time is it?”
“Quarter to twelve.”
She reached her slender arms passed her head and stretched. “Yeah? Man, slept too long. You were supposed to wake me after twenty minutes or so.”
He smiled. “You didn’t say that.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
She brought her arms down, adjusted her glasses and lowered the foot rest. She paused a moment to gather herself before standing. She ran her palms down and over her hips, straightening her jeans.
“Be back in a second,” she said and headed for the bathroom.
“Don’t forget to flush!” he called after.
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Ha, ha.” She turned the bathroom light on, went in and closed the door behind her.
Des plopped himself down on the La-Z-Boy and tapped the armrests with his fingers as he waited. He closed his eyes.
Billie screeched from the bathroom.
His eyes popped open and he bounded from the chair and ran down the hallway. He nearly fell into her when she opened the door just as he approached it. “What? What’s wrong?” He looked past her and scanned the bathroom, half expecting an undead to be in there. The coast was clear.
“Why don’t you fix this?” she demanded.
“What?”
She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him, pointing to a half-foot-tall-half-foot-wide hole in the drywall just below the sink.
“That’s where the pipes are,” he said.
“No, you jerk.” She tugged him closer and shoved him toward the hole. “That’s where the rats are. I swear I just saw one. It poked its ugly little head out, looked at me, then disappeared.”
“What are you talking about? Are you stoned?”
“Are you? You live in an apartment with rats!”
He crouched down. “Billie, there have never been rats in this building.”
“Well, there’s one now.”
He smirked. “Get outta here.” Des got down on all fours and peered at the shadowy hole in the wall. “There’s nothing there.”
But what if there was?
Des got down lower, leaned close to the hole, a small shudder running through him at the thought of really getting close and peering in and glancing side to side inside the wall. “I need a flashlight.”
“Do you have one?”
“Yeah, but no batteries.”
“Great.”
He got closer, took a deep breath then exhaled hard through pursed lips.
He brought his face close to the hole, listening carefully for any sign of life. A foul smell wafted from the hole, the stench from the neighboring apartments finally having seeped into the walls despite the previous owners’ body parts having been removed about ten months ago.
Holding his breath, he put his face up against the hole and did a quick glance side to side into the dark of the wall.
“See anything?” Billie asked.
“Nothing. Don’t hear anything either.” He paused. “Wait.”
There was movement behind him. “What?”
He snapped his arm back and scurried his fingers up her foot. Billie shrieked and leaped back.
Laughing, Des looked up to see sheer terror on her face.
“Don’t ever do that!” she shouted.
“Come on, don’t be such a chicken. It was just—” Something tickled his fingers. When he looked down, a large brown rat with goop-slicked hair and stark white eyes lunged at him.
Screaming, Des doubled backward. The rat got flipped up in the tumble then landed squarely on his chest.
“It’s on you!” Billie screamed.
“No—” Its tiny sharp claws dug into his chest through the tank top then jumped for his face. Des blocked its attacked with his palms, striking it backward. The rat flew through the air and hit the wall with a dull thud. It fell to the ground and got to its feet just a
s Des did the same.
“Get out, get out!” He shoved Billie toward the hallway.
The second they were out, he grabbed the handle to close the door, but the rat jumped out before he could and landed some distance away.
Man, that sucker’s fast, Des thought absentmindedly. If it was an undead rat, he expected it should move slowly like its human counterparts.
“In there!” Billie shouted, pointing to the bedroom.
The two went in and closed the door behind them just as the rat smashed into it hard on the other side.
Silence.
“Do you think it’s dead?” Billie asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe, but I think it’s already dead, if you know what I mean.” He flicked on the bedroom light.
She nodded. “Then it’s affecting animals now, too.”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“We can’t stay here.”
“I know.”
“We have to go.”
“I know.”
“We can’t get out.”
“Okay, Billie, I get it. I know that, too.”
“What?” She looked at him, brow furrowed.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
THUD!
They looked at each other, eyes wide.
THUD!
“Okay, let’s go,” she said.
“How?” He pointed to the bedroom window. “They’re all boarded up and my hammer’s in the hallway closet.”
She ran to the boards over the window and tugged at their edges with her finger tips. She couldn’t get a solid grip.
“See?” he said. “They’re on there tight. And they’re doubled up, too, so they’re as thick as steel. Well, not steel, but you know what I mean.”
“So we’re trapped.”
THUD!
“Yup,” he said. “Unless . . .”
“What? You gonna go out there and kill that thing?”
“Got any better ideas?”
Billie didn’t reply.
“Okay, then away we go, right?” he said.
“What? What’re you talking about, ‘away we go’?”
“I go out there, kill it, then we leave, yeah?”
“Okay, fine.” She crossed her arms. “Do it.”
“You don’t want to help me?”
She threw up her arms in frustration. “How?”
He thought for a moment. “Okay, how’s this. You be in charge of the door.”
THUD!
“In charge of the door?”
“Just open it when I say, okay? Sheesh.”
THUD!
“Fine.” She stomped over to it.
“Thank you.”
“You gonna go now?”
“Yeah, unarmed. That’s real smart. Wait a sec.” Des went to the closet, slid the door open and began pulling the hangers off the bar. “If there’s one thing I hate about this place, it’s the super small closets. I mean” —THUD!— “how is anyone supposed to fit anything in here? They’re, like, four feet wide!”
“Maybe they were meant for little old ladies who don’t have many clothes,” she said sarcastically.
“Yeah or a place to hold their cats. Maybe.” He finished taking the clothes off the bar then popped the bar itself off the supports. The long, wooden bar was a little over an inch thick, solid wood straight through.
He hefted its weight. Probably around fifteen pounds. Good enough.
THUD!
He joined Billie by the door; his heart kicked into overgear. “When I say ‘now,’ you open it, okay?”
She didn’t reply.
He put his face close to hers. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Be careful, all right?”
“Don’t really have a choice.”
THUD!
“I’m serious.”
He took a step back and held the bar like a baseball bat. “Me, too.”
Okay, deep breath. One, two, three. “Now!”
Billie yanked open the door.
The rat jumped into the air.
Des swung hard and swift.
With a skooshy smack the wood made contact, knocking the rat back into the hallway wall. A burst of dark red splattered on the wall on impact. The rat dropped to the floor.
“There, that was easy,” Des said, chuckling.
Sqweesqweesqweesqweesqweesqweesqweesqweesqwee . . .
A horde of rats scurried into view of the door.
Billie shrieked and ran over to him.
For a split second he debated the two of them getting up on the bed, but a lot of good that would do them. The rats would jump up anyway and . . .
The rats dove into the air and came at them like a swarm of bees.
“Come on!” Des grabbed her by the hand. He waved the bar in front of him like a windshield wiper, knocking the rats away each time some jumped up and tried to take a piece out of his face.
Billie crashed into him, jumping and skipping as they ran down the hallway to the door.
Des grabbed the doorknob and pulled. The door didn’t open.
“It’s locked, you idiot!” Billie shouted.
What’re you giving me—No time! He unlocked the chain, the deadbolts and ran out with her in tow and slammed the door behind them.
Thudthudthunkthunkthudthudthunk. The rats plowed into the door.
Breathing hard, he was about to put his head between his knees when Billie took him by the hand and pulled him down the hallway and up the stairs. The two worked frantically to unchain and unlock the front door of the building and then headed outside.
They finally stopped to catch their breath once they reached the sidewalk.
“Did you see that?” he said, glancing toward the building.
“Yeah. I can’t . . . believe . . . they just . . .” She took another deep breath.
“What now?” he said.
“We’ll go to my place. Let’s just get inside and we’ll talk there.”
“Good idea.” He grinned. Des Nottingham: Rat Wrangler.
“Let’s go.”
The two walked briskly down the sidewalk, each glancing over their shoulder every few seconds to see if the rats escaped and they were being followed.
The sidewalk remained bare for most of the walk home.
Until a shadow lurked in the distance.
It was coming toward them.
6
Mr. Shank
Billie stopped walking and grabbed Des’s arm. “You see that?”
Des squinted, eyes forward. “Yeah.”
“Do you think—?”
“Maybe.”
“We can’t turn around either.” She looked over her shoulder, checking for the rats. There were none. However, though she couldn’t be sure, she thought she might have heard a soft thudding on the air, possibly the rats having escaped Des’s apartment and now banging on the entrance door.
“Can’t see anything. He’s too dark, too far away. Let’s cross to the other side. That way, if it is one of them, we should have a bit of an edge, some distance, and can run,” Des said.
“Okay.”
The two crossed the street, neither one taking their eyes off the shadowy figure on the sidewalk. They walked cautiously along the sidewalk, eyeing the dark figure across the way. It kept walking down the sidewalk, slowly. There was still a chance it was someone out for a late-night stroll but not likely.
They kept a steady pace, neither speaking but both thinking the same thing: get ready to run in case it was one of the dead.
As the figure across the way drew closer and came into clearer view, Billie asked, pointing, “It’s an old guy. Do you know him?”
Des surveyed the old fella before answering. “I think so.” He leaned his head forward on his shoulders, as if the few inches gained from doing so made it easier to see. “Hey, it’s Mr. Shank.”
“Yeah?”
“Pretty sure.”
A load of weight melted off Billie’s chest. “Oh, good. For a second there I thought w
e were in trouble.”
“Well, even if it was one of them” —Des’s voice suddenly took on a more confident tone— “we’d still be okay, I think. Those things move slow, remember? We could have outrun it no problem.”
“But the rats. Those guys were fast.”
“But still rats. So far, none of the dead have exhibited any sort of speed. All walk as if they have dumbbells strapped to their ankles.”
“I suppose.”
They kept walking, hoping Mr. Shank would look up from the sidewalk and see them. He never did and kept his eyes to the ground as if he was verifying his feet were in fact touching the pavement with each step.
Shank was about forty feet ahead of them, still on the other side.
