The whole place stinks like fake roses, he thought to himself. It's like the upholstery was soaked in the cheap shit spray they sell at the dollar store for your bathroom.
Still he'd been there more times than he could count on both hands. His mind drifted back to those intimate moments, the way her tiny hands softly traced invisible lines between the freckles of his chest, the heat of her breath, the impossible wetness that always invited him in. She'd wanted him to stay the night despite his quick turn around, but he knew he couldn't. His spirit was willing but his flesh…well…it just wasn't performing with the same youthful vigor for which he was once proud. The truth was that he just didn't have it in him anymore to drink and screw all night, no matter how exciting it was to fall asleep with a beautiful woman who wasn't his wife.
“I used to be able to go all night, then pop up and work four days straight like it was nothing,” he reminisced. “What happened to that guy? I miss those days.”
He was no longer a young man, and every passing day served to remind him of that fact. Everything from the graying hairs at his temples to his utter exhaustion to his flagging libido only reminded him that he was no longer in his prime, no longer thriving and growing, but slowly being diminished by the ravages of time. He'd seen countless commercials for low testosterone on television by this point and they had started to make him wonder about his own failing chemistry. To make matters worse he'd had more than a little trouble performing the last time he'd stayed in the RV with Sandra. He'd even considered scheduling an appointment with his doctor to ask about it. He wasn't very good at following through with things like that though. That was his wife's job and since they were most definitely heading in two different directions now, little things like check-up's were falling by the wayside more and more. In fact it had been over a year since he'd been to the dentist as well.
“Just one more night,” Sandra pleaded when they got off the London flight. “I need you. I'm heading back home in a couple of days. I'm not sure when I'm coming back. It's complicated.”
Edgar sighed. It was always complicated with Sandra. She'd threatened to break it off before as well. He stared at the shiny metal buttons that gleamed in the sea of bright blue on her uniform, searching for the right way to say what he had to say. The last thing he wanted was to push her away. He just needed the sleep.
“It's not you,” he said at last. “I'm just tired is all. I'm flying first and I've got almost no turn around. I'm just praying I can sleep.”
“That's too bad,” she said, a hardness creeping into her voice as the wall came back up and the soft, delicate creature he'd grown so fond of retreated somewhere back behind it.
She thinks you're losing interest in her sexually, a voice in the back of his head screamed. He didn't want their sessions to end but something told him that, like everything else, it was inevitable.
Everything falls apart, he thought. It's just a matter of time.
“Please don't,” he said, grabbing her gently by the shoulders and turning her back toward him. “I want you so much right now I can barely see straight. I'm just tired that's all. Blame it on the FAA. Blame it on the airline. Hell, blame it on the Grouch if you want or one of the other prick ATC's. Just don't blame it on that smoking hot body of yours. Okay?”
She looked up with wet eyes that held back tears. He thought about the confession she'd made the last time they'd woken up together, that she couldn't sleep right unless someone else was there with her, that she was deathly afraid of being alone.
“Do you believe me?”
“I believe you,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said, letting her go. He felt embarrassed by his sudden show of emotion. He was usually in complete control of himself at work. He nervously glanced around to be sure no one was watching them. People streamed past them with almost no regard. The only person interested was a curious child of no more than two who was wound between his mother’s legs. He had his fingers in his mouth and openly gawked at them.
“Take this,” she said, holding up the sleeping pill. “You'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow.”
“How does it work? I don't want to be hung over tomorrow.”
“It burns off before you wake up,” she said. “I promise. Tomorrow morning you'll wake refreshed and feeling like a new man in a new world. I promise.”
He took the pill from her and she kissed him on the mouth, pulling back and staring into his eyes.
“Take good care of yourself until I see you again,” she whispered.
“You try to stay out of trouble,” he said. “Be safe.”
She turned and left without another word.
I wonder who she'll end up with tonight, Edgar thought darkly, knowing with a kind of painful certainty that she would not go to bed alone. He thought of the other pilots out there, the quiet community that had sprung up of cheaters and other lonely souls. He was surprised to realize he didn't know most of them, other than casually, and didn't care to know them. He'd been embarrassed when he'd passed them on the way to her RV while they'd waved and said hello with big smiles. It wasn't what he was doing that left him feeling less than friendly with her neighbors. Far from it. It was because he knew they probably took turns with Sandra when he wasn't around. Behind every one of those big smiles was a secret. As they waved to him they were laughing that they'd had her last, that she was an easy lay, low hanging fruit. Edgar never was one to willingly share his toys. Surely there was a long line to get to that RV and hear 'The Gambler' while she worked her magic.
Back in the day, women like her were hanged for being witches, he thought with a smirk, by the very men they shared their beds with.
He popped the pill into his mouth and washed it down with a handful of cupped water from the faucet. It tasted heavy and metallic, as if it was flavored by the dirty pipes that carried it. He winced as he choked it down, then relaxed on the bed until dark waves of sleep took him under. He didn't know if it was the long flight or the frustration of knowing that some other man would be enjoying the sexual ministrations of his favorite flight attendant, but he was out in less than fifteen minutes. In the back of his head he could still hear the country music he hated but had grown to associate with her and that pungent love shack on wheels. One lyric kept repeating as he passed out, his mind finally letting go of everything and surrendering to the chaos of the unknown.
Know when to walk away…and know when to run.
He awoke to the sound of his alarm going off. It had been loudly beeping for over ten minutes. The power in the room was out. The alarm clock provided by the hotel was digital. It sat blank and useless, giving him no indication of when the juice went out. He tried the television, but it was dead too. He threw the remote in frustration. It was already getting hot. The AC unit was turned off. He fiddled with the knob, but nothing happened.
“This is exactly why I depend on my own alarm,” he said to the empty room. Outside in the hallway he heard a loud groan, which he mistook for another tired traveler violently protesting the coming day.
“Right there with ya, buddy!” He shouted at the door but didn't get a response. He walked into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. It was cold from both faucets.
“What the fuck is going on? Whole damn world is gone to shit.”
He walked back into the room and began to dress. Back in London, he could splash on some cologne and take a hot shower. He had a spot he preferred not far from Heathrow's sprawling grounds, a five-minute ride by cab. They always knew just how to treat him there. He enjoyed everything about the United Kingdom better these days. Hell, even the cabs were nicer!
Maybe I should just give up and move there. After all, it's not like my wife would notice.
He hadn't talked to Theresa in over a week, but she was never far from his mind. He just didn't know what to do about her anymore. He realized that he should have called her when he landed and explained the change in his work schedule. She'd be expecting him lat
er in the day. He picked up his cell phone and saw that it had no signal. The battery was low too, despite being plugged in all night, because of the power outage. Instinctively he grabbed his iPod. Anger coursed through him as he saw it, too, was almost completely drained now. Listening to his own mix before take off was also one of his rituals, on the rare occasions he flew first. He'd made a fast paced rock mix to get him pumped up for the first leg of the trip. Then later, when it was time for another pilot to relieve him, he'd listen to the chanting of Tibetan monks as he fell asleep. Now all that was out the window.
“Looks like the day is going to be a total loss,” he grumbled. He picked up the phone to call downstairs and complain, but the line was dead.
“Guess I won't be talking to Theresa today after all,” he said. He reached over and picked up his complimentary bag of morning coffee. He stared from his hand to the one-cup brewer like a caveman trying to figure out how to use a computer. Slowly the realization dawned on him that he would not be enjoying a fresh cup of piping hot coffee to start his day.
“Great,” he said aloud to the empty room, his frustration growing. “Just great. No shower. No cell service. No morning news. No iPod, and now no coffee. This is just perfect. Looks like it's going to be a great fucking day.”
He threw the coffee bag hard against the wall. It opened on impact, spraying fragrant grounds across the bed and nightstand.
*** *** ***
Edgar never bothered to check out. It was a habit he'd gotten into when he was in college that had stuck with him. When he was ready to go, he simply walked out and shut the door behind him. Over the years he'd learned to take the keys with him, in case he left something. Later when the bill came in he'd compare it to his checkin receipts. So far he'd never had a problem with being overcharged. Usually he just breezed past the front door in uniform with his aviator glasses on, and didn't bother to acknowledge the employee working the front desk – if they even spoke to him. But as he stepped out the door that morning he decided it was time to have a quick chat with management about the falling standards, and maybe ask for a discount on his room.
“They can do better than this,” he said. “A lot better.”
The hallway was dark. The power was out in the whole building. Edgar wondered if it was just this block or all of Los Angeles. He made his way to the stairs. The emergency lighting was on. He held the rail cautiously as he walked down and exited the Radisson, ending up out in front of the hotel instead of in the lobby as he'd planned. He stepped out into the bright sun with his carryon. The door shut behind him and in the same instant his heart leaped into his throat and his mouth went dry. All around him were signs of total chaos. It looked like some psychotic artist had painted the parking lot and grounds with buckets of human blood and entrails. He looked down next to his foot and saw a woman's hand with her engagement ring still on. It looked like it had been chewed off at the wrist. He turned it over with the polished tip of his shoe, and it fell in the grass near the planter. His eyes wandered from it to what looked like a human rib cage resting in the valet parking next to a blood soaked Cadillac Escalade with the doors left wide open. Edgar slowly walked over to it until he could make out the sound of the car door binging. The keys were still in the ignition. The carcass next to it looked like it had been torn apart by savage beasts with dull teeth. There were bite marks on top of the ripped flesh as well as on some of the intestines drooling out the bottom where the stomach and legs should be. Edgar saw that there was hair growing out of some of the skin, and figured it didn't belong to the woman who had lost her hand.
“What the fuck is going on?”
He turned in wide circles. The hotel lobby looked empty, but it too was covered with dark, coagulated blood. There were bloody handprints smeared on the glass windows and doors at the entrance. He turned back to the street and saw in the distance that there were figures moving out onto Century Boulevard. Then he spotted an Asian man limping away at the far end of the parking lot. Without thinking he jogged toward him, doing his best to catch up with the slow moving man in the tattered business suit.
“Hey,” he called out. The man stopped but did not turn around or reply. “Hey, man! What's going on out here? Are you all right?”
Edgar could see the street more clearly now. It was filled with abandoned cars; some had smashed into each other and were left behind, others were left idling. In between the cars were what looked like dead people slowly moving around. They were all ages and from all walks of life. Men, women, and children, all races, all dressed differently. Some were missing body parts like arms or legs. Some had huge bloody wounds showing through their tattered clothing. Some had blood pouring from their eyes like tears. All of them had the gray skin associated with long-dead corpses. Edgar thought about an article he'd read in an in-flight magazine about a Zombie Walk in Las Vegas during a horror convention. He thought about the images in the article, but they were nothing like this. Those were happy, smiling faces covered in bright red makeup and hand-torn clothing. This was something else altogether.
The Asian businessman turned around to face Edgar. It felt like having the wind knocked out of him in slow motion. The whole world seemed to tilt sidewise as his half-eaten face came into full view. Edgar fought back the sudden urge to throw up at the gruesome sight of him. Frayed skin tissue radiated out from where huge chunks of flesh had been ripped clean. There were grooves in the remaining skin that made it look like it had been peeled off or scratched away by dull instruments.
Like human teeth, Edgar thought, or clawing fingernails.
In some places, Edgar could see down to the boney material he assumed was part of the man's skull, especially near the temples. The man was grinding his jaw absentmindedly like a drug addict. With each movement Edgar could see deeper into the layers of exposed muscle as a dark red, mucus-like substance leaked out over the remaining flesh. Worst of all were the man’s eyes. There was a jaundiced haze forming over them with evidence of blood in the right eye, partially obscuring the cornea. The pupils themselves were dilated and empty of consciousness, like two wide-angle-lens closed circuit cameras pulling everything around them into some unspeakable void.
What could have happened to him to leave him in this condition?
Edgar realized he could hear the man moaning, even though he was over a hundred feet away. There were no car horns, no traffic sounds, and worst of all, no planes. Edgar glanced up nervously to confirm his suspicion and saw not a single aircraft in the sky. As he looked back down, the man with the gnarled face raised his puss-covered hands in his direction and let out a delirious howl of hunger. The next thing Edgar knew the man was charging at him, his limbs oddly flailing as he moved.
“What the fuck?”
It was all he could manage before his 'fight or flight' instinct finally kicked in. He felt his legs go from being two solid and unyielding slabs of concrete to feeling like thin, rubbery trees as they abruptly unlocked, threatening to pitch him to the already hot asphalt of the parking lot. He wobbled for a millisecond as the awareness reached him and his adrenaline kicked in, then he pivoted and turned to run. His arms moved like two unattached windmills; his heart was racing now, pumping hot fear and fresh panic into him. It felt like he'd just slammed down ten shots of espresso all at once! Every thought ceased, his generally incessant inner monologue going surprisingly quiet as the reality of the danger of his situation fully set in. He seemed to be moving at half speed, the way he did sometimes in dreams, where everything else was moving normally and he was mired down in molasses. He felt the muscles of his right calf seize up as he urgently kicked away from the ground in an attempt to force start a run, and no lack of warming up was going to stop him from escaping.
Not today, he thought with fierce determination.
He sprinted forward a few steps, feeling a new confidence enter into him. It didn't matter what was really going on. There would be plenty of time to figure all that out later. All that mattered now was that he esc
ape in one piece. He locked his eyes on the open door of the Escalade and decided it was his best chance for sanctuary and a possible getaway. His feet pounded against the ground as he turned toward the door, and he gave it all he had. He marveled for a split second about how amazingly resilient the human body was; how the mind, so often murky and tired and muddled, could be cleared instantly in the face of an eminent threat to one's survival.
It's written in the DNA, he thought.
He heard the feral animal grunts of the man behind him. He tilted his head slightly to see if the walking nightmare was in his peripheral vision, all the while keeping his body moving straight for the refuge of the sports utility vehicle. He saw a flash of oily, thick, inky black hair matted with blood, and something else that looked like brain matter. It was moving incredibly fast. His heart thundered in his ears as he pushed his body for more, but it wasn't enough. He felt the cold hand clamping down on his shoulder as spikes of panic raced through him, making him numb.
There was something heavy on the back of his legs, pushing the fabric of his suit pants into the crease of his knees. He felt the back of his right shoe push hard into his silky dress sock, and then come loose. The next thing he knew something solid hit him in the lower back, right where he hurt the most from sitting through long flights. Then the ground came up, rushing unexpectedly toward his face. He put out the palms of his hands to break his fall. He felt a sharp sting as they connected with the hard ground, drawing blood. He tumbled forward and the monster clinging to him rolled with him like a heavy sack filled with foul liquid. A strong smell overpowered him, and he realized it was coming from the man. He came to a clumsy stop flat on his back, nearly knocking the breath out of him. The palms of his hands screamed in pain, but he held them up to force the man back. The smell of fresh blood only seemed to drive the man further into a frenzy as he snapped viciously at Edgar's face, leaning over and drooling what smelled like rancid meat saliva, missing his face by near inches.
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