by Jeannie Rae
“The Harley’s over here,” he nodded.
Joe turned toward the parking lot, ushering Kate ahead of him, when in his peripheral vision, he spotted a figure. Turning his head, he saw a woman sprinting straight for him. The woman had blood smeared all over her face. In her fifties with black hair pulled into a tidy bun, she raced forward in her stained, blue sweater and filthy slacks. She bolted at a speed that could rival a dog. Joe had ten yards on her as he started toward the parking lot. He only made it a few feet from the Ferris Wheel, before he felt her pawing at his shirt.
Knowing that he couldn’t outrun the woman, Joe dodged to the side, to gain distance from her. It worked, separating himself from her by only an arm length. The woman launched herself toward him with all her power. Side-stepping out of her grasp, Joe felt her fingers graze this shirt. The woman stumbled, falling to a knee, but took little time to stand once more. Joe found himself beneath the wheel again. With his pulse pounding, he waited for her to launch at him, then he would slide out of her way and race to the parking lot where is motorcycle waited. He made brief eye contact with Kate who crouched next to the saddlebag of his motorcycle, waiting for him to join her.
The woman slowly pivoted, finally facing him. Her voice created a deep throaty growl like none he’d ever heard before this night. Flashing her teeth as though she were some rabid animal, she poised her body to sprint. Joe dug in his feet, knees slightly bending, as he readied himself for his run to Kate and their escape from this nightmare.
An unexpected, TONG echoed from above, along with a long, pained scream. Before Joe could look skyward toward the sound, a man slammed onto the asphalt, a couple of feet behind the crazed woman across from him.
Joe felt like his heart stopped at the sight of the motionless man who’d fallen off the Ferris Wheel. The woman turned her attention to the man, throwing herself on top of him and burying her face in his chest. The shock of it all had Joe frozen in place. He could still hear the screams from atop the wheel coming from whoever this man belonged to. Joe noticed that the slow moving savages were drawing closer to him.
Joe jogged to the parking area, toward the motorcycle gleaming in the distance, like a beacon of light offering a ride to safety. Kate nervously buckled her helmet as he approached the bike.
Joe plunked on his basic black, half helmet. Swinging his leg over the bike, he secured the chin strap and looked over at the fire truck. Fifty yards across the parking lot, the crowd of savages had surrounded the truck and were scaling it from all angles. At least two dozen scrambled onto the back, near the ladder, while even more clambered onto the cab and hood of the truck. They slammed their hands against the windows, as even more flocked toward the scene. A fire truck, which had undoubtedly been responding to the brutality that had occurred at the carnival tonight, now needed help.
“Dad! Let's go,” Kate tapped his back with her palm impatiently as she hopped on the back of the bike.
Joe took a deep breath and started the engine. The loud roar of the Screaming Eagle exhaust pipes caused several members of the maniacal crowd to turn and take notice. Few members of the crowd began to split away from the mob and sprint in the direction of the rumbling motorcycle.
Resolving that he, alone, could do nothing to help the firefighters, he knew he needed to get Kate to safety. Shifting to first gear with his black, leather boot, he began to lay off the clutch and roll back the throttle. As the bike took off, he noticed that some of the refugees from the wheel were now on the ground headed toward the parking lot. Joe rounded the nearest corner, losing sight of the carnival and all of the people in it. Concerned for the remaining people, but thankful to be safely away from the carnival, Joe let out a bittersweet sigh of relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Roxy sped down Hells Canyon, she watched in surprise as Ann sat silently for nearly twenty seconds in the seat beside her. Realizing that she mistakenly misjudged Ann’s condition as dead, relief washed over Roxy that she hadn’t begun chest compressions on a live person.
“Are you okay? The turn for the hospital is just after Saddle Brook Park. I thought I lost you there,” Roxy said lightly.
Ann whipped her head in the driver’s direction, her eyes—dark and vacant like the trespassers that had invaded Roxy’s home. She sprang forward snapping her teeth at Roxy. Repeatedly chomping, each time her blackened teeth generated a clank as she slammed her mouth shut, inches from Roxy’s face and arms. The dogs in the backseat stood obnoxiously barking—nearly in unison at the passenger. Roxy slid her body up against the car door, trying to stay away from Ann’s clamping jaw.
“Ann!” Roxy screamed.
Ann continued snapping savagely without pause, while letting out throaty growls and snarls. In her terror, Roxy didn’t realize her foot depressed the gas pedal even further, accelerating the vehicle, faster and faster, while trying to stay clear of Ann’s mouth. Still buckled in her seat, Ann hadn’t taken the safety belt off yet, keeping her mouth sheer inches from Roxy. Ann lunged toward Roxy, as far as the seat belt would let her go. Roxy could feel Ann’s warm, sticky breath on her neck and shoulder. She scooted even farther toward the door, flinching with each snap of Ann’s teeth. Using the steering wheel as leverage, she inadvertently jerked it to the right. The vehicle went up onto the curb, both women thrashed to the left. The bumpy grass beneath caused the vehicle to bounce around, before suddenly coming to a violent stop, smashing into a tree.
The airbags deployed on both sides of the vehicle. Dust lingered in the air as Roxy opened her eyes. For a moment, she felt uncertain of her surroundings. Then she heard it, a deep snarl and jaw chomping coming from her passenger. Her dogs were barking in sync with one another, like an alarm, alerting her to danger.
“Ladies, quiet!” she commanded. They stopped the barking, switching to low, subtle growls.
Roxy turned toward what had once been a normal seeming woman, and maneuvered her body beyond Ann’s reach. She slid her hand to the steering column and carefully pulled the keys from the ignition. Quickly reaching down, Roxy pressed the release button on her seat belt. Ann vengefully lunged at her hand, narrowly missing it. She’s quick, Roxy thought. She pulled the metal door lever, popping the door ajar. Being careful not to let it swing out, she held the handle and glanced back at her dogs.
“Stay,” she said calmly as she put her palm up at them. She didn’t want the dogs to come charging over the seat to get out. That would put them right in biting range for Ann.
Roxy opened the door slowly and stepped out. The dewy grass felt like ice beneath her bare feet. Closing the door gently, with her palm still up facing the pooches, her eyes locked on theirs through the backseat window.
She opened the back door, and her dogs bounded out. Grabbing her boots, shirt and the bat from behind the seat, she closed the door and walked to the back of the vehicle. She tucked the keys into her pocket and opened the hatchback as quietly as possible. Roxy retrieved a duffle bag with two granola bars, bottle of water and a half-full jug of dog treats. Looking up toward the passenger, she could see Ann thrashing in the seat, but making no attempt at exiting the vehicle, seeming more like a caged animal than the woman she met earlier tonight. Roxy pulled her socks out of her boots and slipped on her left sock and boot, then the right. Slipping on her blouse, she closed the hatch gently.
Roxy rounded the vehicle coming up on the passenger side, with her bat in hand and duffle over her shoulder. Still strapped into her seat, Ann persisted her snarly-toothed fury, slamming her face into the window with such force and agitation, that the dogs at Roxy’s side began to growl at the spectacle.
Roxy deduced that Ann couldn’t seem to free herself from the seatbelt and would likely remain stuck in the car until Roxy and the ladies had left the area. She rounded the front of the vehicle, advancing toward the park. “Come on ladies.”
Striding steadily through the park, she canvassed the area in all directions, weary of her surroundings. The fresh scent of pine trees soon
became smothered by the polluted smell of smoke creeping into the park. Dozens of trees of various species and sizes were all around her. A slight shimmer of the moon briefly reflected off the surface of a duck pond to her right, before the moon disappeared behind one of the few clouds across the sky. The scents swirling around were vibrant and distinctive. It may have been the adrenaline, or perhaps the absence of others in the park this evening, but Roxy’s hearing and sense of smell were overwhelmingly potent. The native shrubbery and plants that she’d seen so many times before were now only a blend shadows. She felt a degree of safety traveling with her dogs, although the darkness felt as if it were swallowing her whole.
“A flashlight would be nice,” she said aloud.
They were about forty yards into the sweltering park with no breeze to ease the night’s temperature, when she heard an unnatural rustling ahead. Roxy froze in place. The dogs seemed unalarmed for the moment, stopping as well, looking to her awaiting their next move. Roxy needed to make sure that the ladies didn’t bring any unnecessary attention in their direction.
“Ladies, quiet,” she turned profile to the dogs and held her palm up to them again. She back stepped to the nearest tree, only four large steps away. The ladies followed Roxy obediently, their eyes locked on the palm in the air. She stood behind the tree, peering around it and glancing back at the dogs on her right. They sat patiently looking up at her, until both resolved to lie down. She watched in the direction of the shrubs that lay about fifty feet ahead, where the sound had originated, but there was no sign of a disturbance.
Standing alone, save for the beloved canines at her feet, Roxy made her best attempt at making sense of this situation. These people must… they must be sick or something. Right? It would be the only explanation that could make sense to her. Everything happened so fast, she couldn’t imagine how her neighborhood had unraveled so quickly. Peering out in the direction of the disturbance, she felt as if she were losing her sanity. Did I really hear something over there? Now, uncertainty crept through her mind. Nothing about this night made any sense to her.
As Roxy placed a shaky foot out from behind the tree, she inhaled through her nose and picked up a scent. A mixture of cologne or antiperspirant, smoke, and a musky smell that could only belong to a man slithered through the air. As she stepped out from behind her tree, a shadow emerged across the park. The shadow of a massive man began striding straight toward her. She watched cautiously, not knowing what to do. Valuable seconds were passing, as he moved closer. Her heart pounded so hard, she could hear it in her head. Is he one of them?
“Stay,” she turned to her ladies.
She dropped the duffel and gripped the bat tightly in her hands, swinging it up on her shoulder in a batter’s stance.
“Get back!” she snarled, channeling a demonic-toned voice that her mother had used when angry. She shot over the most vicious look her face would make, in case he could see it in the darkness.
He stopped suddenly, even took a step back, as if startled. She couldn’t assuredly make out anything but his silhouette, which looked impossibly muscular, like a giant bodybuilder.
“Are you okay? I know you’re not one of them. Have you been bitten?” His voice sounded deep and powerful.
“No. Are you one of…them?” She hesitated, gripping her bat.
“Well, from the one’s I’ve seen, they don’t talk or even have much intelligence. So I would have to say no. I am not one of them. My name is Dave,” his large, brawny arm reached out, his hand inviting a handshake.
“Mine’s Roxy. Do you know what is going on? What’s happening to all these people?” She asked, keeping her distance and ignoring his extended hand.
“Not sure, I think it’s the bites though. I think when someone in bitten by one of them, then they turn into them. At least that’s what I’ve seen so far. What have you seen?” He stood strong and confident.
He tucked his hands inside his pants pockets, and kept his distance. This eased Roxy’s racing mind as to whether to trust him or not. Although he towered over her, his demeanor cast a nonthreatening vibe.
Roxy took a deep breath, as she lowered the bat and decided to explain the events of her evening to this stranger. She hoped that this encounter, with a new acquaintance would end better than the last one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Boots adjusted his black, straw cowboy hat as he looked to Walker in the passenger seat of the Angora issued SUV. They were in route to a carnival in midtown to find their target, McFarland. No one had been home at the residence of their target. A prying neighbor had been delighted to let Boots and Walker know where the McFarland family had gone for the evening. After driving to the far edge of the shoreline to McFarland’s residence, they had to turn around to come all the way back to midtown, fighting traffic the entire way. Apparently, everyone tried to avoid the traffic on Dixon, jamming up the rest of the streets. Some were even getting out of their cars and fighting with each other. Many of the main roads they had taken, where either stopped in gridlock or had large crowds clumped together in the streets. There had been a few protests in the last few weeks, in front of City Hall about recent budget cuts, but it seemed that citizens weren’t particular tonight about where they caused disruptions. At the first sign of trouble, Boots turned off those streets and utilized back roads and shortcuts to get to midtown, but it took twice as long as usual to get across town.
“What do you think is going on with these targets?” Walker asked, stuffing their Angora uniforms into a duffel bag and hoisting it over the seat.
“Got me,” sighed Boots. “Maybe these people we’re picking up are really sick, contagious or something. Or maybe they’re throwing their guts up. You know, Mr. Meadows wasn’t really clear. He told us, what he wants us to tell them. That could be a far cry from what’s really going down.”
“Man, that’s not funny. You know I’m no good with blood,” Walker said.
Boots knew how sensitive Walker could be when it comes to blood, and that’s why he threw that part in. He remembered last Halloween. They had been out on a training mission, when Rhino had sliced his hand open. Walker had been laughing and chattering with the other guys and hadn’t seen what had happened. Rhino—being the ornery SOB he always was, walked up to him, shoving his hand in Walker’s face while asking for a bandage. Walker passed out cold. To Walker’s credit, it had been a nasty gash, but not worthy of fainting in Boots’ opinion.
“We’ll checkout this carnival. If all seems right we’ll pick him up, if not, we’ll radio it in,” Boots shrugged his shoulders.
Boots and Walker have been partners on excursions like these for the last year and a half. Their personalities mesh well with one and other. Neither one tries to take the lead. Instead, they both step up when the situation calls for it, as a team.
Boots drove the vehicle through midtown, wearing a plain, white tee underneath a lightweight, unbuttoned, long sleeved shirt, with black cowboy boots beneath his blue jeans. Short stubble on his face matches the medium length, sandy blonde hair on his head. The gentle creases around his deep, blue eyes and mouth reveal that he is in his late thirties. His body is muscular, with a reddish tan upon his skin. He is in relatively decent shape although he has a bit of a pudgy belly that swells over the top of his jeans.
Walker sat on the passenger side with his elbow on the edge of the door and his head resting upon his fist. He looked down at his baggy jeans and picked at a loose string on the seam of his light blue shirt. He has on a blue hooded, zip-up tee that reads SUBLIMINAL and matching blue high tops with orange laces. If Walker isn’t in uniform, then he is wearing promotional gear for his brother’s band. He is about the same height as Boots, six-three. But Walker looks much smaller than Boots, as his body is comparatively skinny, having very little muscle and even less fat. His smooth dark, nearly chocolaty skin, contrasts his deep-green eyes.
It had taken them far longer than expected to get through town. The carnival sprawled across the par
king lot of a shopping center called Willow Lake Marketplace, which housed a department store and various other smaller entities on Marshall Boulevard. They pulled into the driveway at the back of the shopping center. Driving along the side of the department store, they could see the bright lights of the carnival up ahead. Half of the parking lot was dedicated to the carnival, while the other side was for carnival parking. Boots parked the truck next to the department store, just behind the carnival area. He wanted to stay low on the radar, in the event of trouble with their target.
“What’s going on here?” Boots asked stepping out of the truck.
“Damn. Riots maybe? You think it’s protesters? Maybe they coordinated a town-wide offensive through social media,” Walker offered.
They walked around to the front of the truck and studied the carnival before them in trepidation. Half of the power to the carnival was out. There were a few people stuck on the Ferris Wheel screaming for help. Some people were trying to get off the rides themselves, while they were still in the air. There were masses of individuals scattered all over the carnival that looked as if they were fighting with each other. Many people were injured and bleeding. A fire truck and two ambulances were parked on the other side of the carnival. People were all over the emergency vehicles climbing on and hanging off of them. Their vantage point made it near-impossible to catch a decent view of the carnival.
“Boots, we are not going to be able to find McFarland in this rioting, man. People are all bloody over there. We gotta go,” Walker smacked his hand on the hood of the truck, thumping his leg.
“Radio it in. I’m going to try to get a little closer for a better look,” Boots moved in closer to the carnival, with a hand near his gun tucked in his waistband.
He rounded the corner of the department store, jogging toward the ticket booth ahead. With not even a line, it looked abandoned. As he scanned the crowd, his pace slowed to a stop.
