by Steven Pajak
Continuing southward and moving away from the kindergarten classroom, I made my way quickly toward the extended day care. I approached the room at a run, when my foot suddenly skidded in something slippery and I slammed painfully onto the cold tile, landing on my left side, jarring my left elbow and knocking the wind right out of me.
I didn’t feel any immediate pain, but I suspected I’d suffer later, when the initial shock wore off and adrenaline no longer flooded my system. Rolling onto my stomach and pushing up onto my knees, I looked back at what I’d slipped in. In the dark hall of the school the liquid was almost black.
Black and slippery. Black and slippery.
Jesus Christ, it’s blood and a lot of it.
Standing once again, feeling my heart pound in my chest and my pulse racing, I traced the origin of the puddle. The blood trail led to the day care’s west entrance. I put my hand on the knob and tried to open the door, which moved a few inches and then stopped. Something was blocking the door. Using my shoulder and shifting my body weight, I leaned against the door and pushed it open. Even in the darkness I could see an arm and the back of a woman’s head. The lower half of her body was still partially blocking the door.
Shoving harder this time, I managed to get the door fully open. I moved in quickly, trying not to trip over the body or step in the pool of blood that surrounded the dead woman. She was either Ms. Lewis, the day care instructor, or Ms. Ivy, her assistant.
I immediately went to one knee when I came more fully into the room and aimed the SKS. No movement in the room. As my eyes adjusted further to the darkness, I noticed the room was in disarray. Two of the small tables were overturned and the chairs were scattered all about the room. The television set was toppled and the screen was cracked in a long zigzag pattern. There were more blood patches around the room and each looked like pooled oil in the darkness. My eyes took all this in, and in less than a second, dismissed it all quickly when my gaze locked on the three small forms that lay on the floor near the windows.
I ran quickly and dropped down to my knees next to the three children. The SKS clattered to the floor beside me, shattering the silence of the night. My poor Katie lay before me with her neck torn open and much of the flesh from her upper right shoulder bitten to shreds. My little Mark lay beside her. His thin legs were bitten all over. I could see the exposed bone of his left thigh. My babies were holding each other’s hands.
I screamed, then. I screamed loudly until my voice failed. I held my children in my arms and cried until my head hurt. I held each of them close to me, smoothing their hair and whispering to them in the cool, dark room. My sobs wracked my body like jolts of electricity, each bringing forth an anguished, unfamiliar noise. I don’t know how long I held my children before I became aware of the wet noise that issued from somewhere deeper in the room. I could not remember if I’d heard the wet sound when I’d first entered the room and had just been distracted by the devastating sight of my mangled children.
Slowly laying my children’s bodies back onto the cold tile, wincing as Mark’s head lolled to one side —I grabbed the SKS and turned to survey the room. The sound came from the front. In my mental image of the room the sound would be coming from near the teacher’s desk. The sound grew louder as I approached; it sounded like someone chewing with an open mouth.
I moved silently across the room, reaching into my left hip pocket to pull out my flashlight. When I was just a few feet away from where I remembered the desk standing, I pushed the button and activated the LED. I yelped when I saw Ms. Lewis and the horror she held within her hands. Her face was covered by her blond, blood streaked hair. She was chewing on the left leg of a young boy. His little body moved limply on her lap as her teeth tore into his flesh.
Rage took over and blocked out any sane thoughts. I didn’t take time to wonder why the thing hadn’t heard my screams and attacked. I didn’t even wonder why, now, with my flashlight pinning it like a spotlight, it only remained focused on its meal. Instead, blinded by my rage, I dropped my flashlight and took the SKS in two hands. With all the might I could muster, I brought the butt of the gun down hard on the back of the monster’s head as she bent to take another bite of the child’s flesh, and took great satisfaction from the bone crunching sound produced when metal and wood struck her skull.
I lost all control of myself, then. I lifted the SKS and smashed it against the creature’s head over and over. I smashed at her skull until my shoulders ached and I could no longer breathe. To anyone on the outside listening I sounded like an animal grunting and growling with the force of each blow. When I could no longer lift the SKS above my head, I slid down to my knees and let the carbine fall from my weak hands. In the canted beam of light that still emerged from the fallen flashlight, I caught a glimpse of Ms. Lewis. There wasn’t much left of her head; I had caved it in and smashed her brain to the consistency of jelly.
I vomited, turning my head to the side in just enough time to avoid getting it all over my knees. I gulped great breaths of air into my tortured lungs, and stayed there on the tile until I thought I’d be able to stand again.
After a long while, I went to the rectory.
CHAPTER 3:
Last Rites
The rectory was an attractive yellow brick two-story building situated on the extreme west of the school property, midway between the church and the school. I’d been there a couple of times in the past to request copies of baptismal records and to drop off our donation envelope. I did not know the place well, but I knew enough for my intentions.
The attached garage was at the rear of the building with driveway access from one of the secondary roads that passed the front of the church and led to the main parking lot. The rectory was surrounded by chest-high shrubs that screened off the lower level windows and the side entrance to the garage. Although the rectory was far from being an eye-sore, the architects did their best to mask the rear of the building since it was in direct view from the front of the church. I slipped through a small barren spot between two of the shrubs on the east side of the rectory.
From where I stood it appeared that all of the lights were still out. If Father Thomas was in there, he gave no indication through use of electricity. Perhaps he’d taken my advice and was praying for forgiveness or deliverance in the dark. I would deal with him soon enough, but right now, I had to honor the dead.
The garage door was locked; the electric opener kept the heavy door held firmly in the closed position. I approached the garage’s only side window, cupped my hands against the glass and peered inside. The darkness was deep and almost impenetrable but I was sure that what I needed was in there. I’d watched Ray, the grounds caretaker, carrying his equipment to and from the garage many times when I’d picked up my kids from scouts or other after-school activities.
Again I used the butt of my trusty SKS to smash the upper pane of the garage’s sole window. Carefully I reached in to unlock the lower sash and then slid the window up. I unslung my go bag and dropped it into the dark garage and then climbed over the sill, setting both feet on the cold concrete. I crouched just inside for a moment, letting my night vision adjust a bit and at the same time listening for any kind of movement.
After a minute of silence I pulled out my flashlight and turned it on. The LED illuminated the entire space with crisp white light. In front of me, in the center of the garage, two vehicles stood coved by heavy tarps that were turning gray with age. To my immediate left, against the east wall was a work table that was neatly cleared. Tools hung on the wall from a pegboard in front of the work table.
Ray was well organized. I was envious; my garage was a mess by comparison. To my right was the side access door which was dead bolted. I spotted the light switch and the garage door opener switch on the right side of the access door where one would expect to find such things. I walked over and turned on the overhead light so I could save my flashlight for when I might really need it. I didn’t open the larger garage door but I did thumb the dea
d bolt open in case I needed to make a hasty retreat.
Moving around the two tarp-covered vehicles, I made my way toward a set of wall-to-wall shelving units. As tidy and organized as anyone I’d ever met, Ray had all of his equipment stored neatly in large plastic bins which were all labeled. There were bins with extension cords, holiday decorations, flags, lights, ribbons, banners, and all sorts of other things. There was a large two-tiered tool box on the far southwest wall. Beside the toolbox was a double-door cabinet where I found what I needed. I took a spade shovel and pick axe from the pegs where they hung neatly inside of the shelving unit. Carrying them both under my left arm, I slung the SKS over my right shoulder and exited the garage via the side door, leaving it stand open.
I cut back through the opening between two shrubs, crossed the north-south service road and made my way to the center of the grounds. After some deliberation, I chose a spot in the grassy area near a small circular garden, where four gray stone benches sat arranged in a semi-circle. Even in mid-November the roses were still in full bloom. Red and white and beautiful they filled the garden. In the center of the roses stood a statue of Saint Nicholas, the catholic saint of children. On either side of him stood a boy and girl, his hands resting on their shoulders. In this place, I planned to lay my children to rest.
It took more than an hour to dig the first hole. It was rough going in the beginning. I have to admit I’m a bit out of shape. I became winded quickly and kept pausing to survey the area because I had a constant feeling I was being watched. I didn’t want to be taken off-guard and killed before giving my children a final resting place. After the first grave, the second went quicker as my body adjusted to the labor. I continued to dig graves for the other children I had found in the day care room. I assumed something must have happened to their parents and I could not bear the thought of leaving their small bodies in that room among the remains of Ms. Lewis.
I made one trip back to the garage after digging the third hole. I was feeling dehydrated and I’d left the water in my go bag. I was gone for just a few minutes and when I returned, refreshed but still wary of the work ahead of me, I spotted movement at the north entrance. Setting my go bag down, slowly I reached down and picked up the SKS. I paused only a moment to confirm a round was chambered before I moved in closer for a better look. I found one of the crazies feasting on Nancy’s right thigh. These things seemed to have a fondness for necks and thighs. I shot the wretched thing through the head and left him to rot where he lay.
There were no other interruptions and within another hour and a half I finished. When all was said and done I had five crudely dug graves. My hands felt raw and blistered and burned all over. I had a pair of gloves in my damn go bag but I hadn’t even thought to put them on. I cursed myself. I had to stop doing stupid things like that or I wasn’t going to make it back home. Stupid things, especially stupid little things, could prove to be my undoing.
As hard as the digging had been, the next part was harder. I had to return to the day care. I had to bury the children.
I carried only the SKS with me, slung over my shoulder, because I would need both hands for the delicate work. I put two stripper clips of ammo in my back left pocket and my flashlight in the hip pocket. This time I remembered to put on my gloves. Although I could be stupid at times, I took comfort in the fact that I did actually learn from some of my mistakes.
I moved through the school as quietly as possible. I had not had time to search the place room by room, so I had to be cautious because there could be other crazies around. At this point, I did not want to draw any attention to myself. I was tired and my mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been earlier in the day, and my stomach was screaming for food. The last thing I wanted was a close-quarters conflict in the dark.
When I entered the room, I went to the right, toward where Ms. Lewis’ dead body lay. When I bashed her skull in, I’d been too angry and disgusted to look and see who she’d been dining on. My flashlight revealed a chubby blond haired boy. His name was Ryan. He’d been in my daughter’s class. Ryan was a funny kid and he’d always been good to Katie. Ryan’s throat was bitten out and his left shoulder torn to pieces. Again I thought about how many of the crazies I’d seen bite the neck. Perhaps it was just a natural place to strike. Perhaps their animal instincts just took over and demanded they go for the throat.
I put my flashlight away and removed Ms. Lewis remains from Ryan’s body. I cleaned him as best I could, using pieces of Ms. Lewis’ torn shirt that weren’t stained by blood or brain matter. Gingerly, I lifted him into my arms, getting one arm under the crook of his knees and the other behind his back, just like I carried my kids when they fell asleep in the car and I had to carry them into the house. I walked with him out to the garden and placed him into the fourth grave. I’d only dug it four feet deep, but I figured it would be deep enough. There weren’t many wild animals in the area that would dig down that far.
After setting the boy into his final resting place, I spent a few moments buttoning his shirt and trying to smooth his hair. I used a bit of my water to clean his face a bit more. I crossed his arms over his chest and left him.
I returned to the room and this time used the flashlight to find Red’s body. Red was also in my daughter’s class. I didn’t remember his real name, just that they called him Red because of the shock of orange hair on his small head. His body lay just a few feet away from my daughter. I didn’t take inventory of his wounds; instead I bent and lifted him gently and then carried him to the third grave.
After I lay Red in the ground and cleaned him the best I could, I had to sit for a minute. My arms were shaking and I’d broken out into a sweat. A slight breeze blew through the courtyard and chilled me. The foldable jacket I wore was windproof, but it didn’t really do anything to fight the cold from seeping into my bones. I wish I’d grabbed my vest. I wished a lot of things at the moment, but I didn’t have time for wishes.
I drank some more water to quiet my stomach. I’d have to eat soon. When I put the bottle back into my bag, I noticed movement in the rectory. I caught the movement in the upper floor out of my peripheral. I stared intently at the windows for a long moment. I thought I saw a figure there, looking out at me, but there wasn’t enough light to make out the features. It could only be Father Thomas.
“I’ll see you soon,” I shouted. If it was him, I wanted to let him know that I intended to keep the promise I’d made.
Now it was time to get my boy. Mark was a little on the small side for his age and his lifeless body felt so small and vulnerable in my arms. I carried him vertically, with his head against one of my shoulders and my arm around his butt. I held his head against me and kissed his hair as I made the long walk through the dark hallways. When I got outside I sat on one of the benches overlooking the roses and held my little boy for a while. I found myself rocking him like I did when he woke from a nightmare and had trouble getting back to sleep.
With regret so deep it hurt me physically I laid my boy into the second hole I’d dug. I knelt in the hole with him and crossed his arms over his chest. I smoothed his hair with trembling hands, but even now, I couldn’t get his stubborn cowlick settled. I leaned over and kissed him once on each of his cheeks.
“Sleep well, son.”
I struggled to pull myself from the hole. I was racked with sudden tremors and I couldn’t stop myself from bursting out into tears. I sobbed loudly; those strange, guttural sounds came from deep within me. I crawled on my knees to one of the benches and used it to pull myself into a standing position. I took deep breaths trying to regain some semblance of my composure.
It took a few minutes before my breathing was normal. I wiped burning tears from my eyes and swiped at the snot running down my nose and the corners of my mouth. I noticed how silent the night was, except for the occasional puff of wind that soughed through the nearby trees and brought tin melodies from the wind chime at the center of the gazebo.
The SKS was riding up on me and choki
ng me a bit. I was suddenly aware that my right arm was bleeding at the elbow. Something had torn through the light material of my jacket and gouged the skin beneath. I’d need to check on that and dress it before it got infected.
I realized I was stalling, putting off the last trip into the bowels of the school.
Trying to be brave for my daughter, I stood taller, readjusted the SKS to a more comfortable position and strode boldly through the shattered hole I’d made in the glass door.
For the last time I entered the extended day care.
I knelt beside Katie, slid my hand under her neck, and lifted her head slightly. Her eyes were open and she seemed to stare past me. The expression on her face was one of pure horror and I prayed to God that I’d never have to know what transpired in this room. I couldn’t bear knowing how frightened my little girl had been. I couldn’t stand to know how my children screamed when teeth tore into their flesh. I couldn’t think about those things, because I’d lose my mind.
My poor Katie. She was my first child and I spoiled her something rotten. She was a daddy’s girl to the core and everyone knew it. I didn’t care. I was so proud of her. She was the greatest daughter a father could ask for. She was an excellent student, a kind friend, and a great sibling. She always took care of her brother and watched out for him. She taught him everything she knew and she did it with the patience of a saint.
With my left hand I lifted her left hand. When I first found them, she’d been holding hands with her brother. In death, they’d sought each other out. They’d locked hands and no matter what happened, they did not let go. Although I died inside seeing their two small hands folded together, I took some comfort in knowing they were not alone. They had been there for each other, just as I’d always told them they should be.
I lifted my little girl into my arms. She’d gotten so big this last year—she was growing like a weed. But I held her ferociously against my body while I walked her out of that place.
