by Damon Novak
“I’m Clay Baxter,” said my brother. “Tanner’s the sick one, and this is Cole.”
She took us both in again, then looked at Tanner, slumped in the wheelchair. “Okay, then. Bring him into the spare bedroom,” she said, turning around and hurrying inside. We lifted the wheels up over the two steps from the garage into the house and followed her in.
“Okay, let’s lift him onto the bed,” she said. “What’s wrong with him?”
I described the first symptoms when he was driving, followed by everything he’d exhibited before he passed out.
“Why didn’t you stay at the ER? They’ve got an excellent team there. I interned there, and have a current residency.”
I looked at Clay, and he nodded. “Have you been watching TV at all?” I asked.
“We haven’t,” said Clay, on the heels of my question, “but there has to be something about this by now on all the news stations.”
She walked to the dresser across the room where the television was mounted on the wall. “I was actually in the living room, watching some TV movie or other I had recorded when you came to the door,” she said. “I don’t watch much news anymore. It’s all bad, and I prefer to escape over getting depressed about the state of the world.”
We watched as she turned turned toward the TV. I said, “News crews have to have caught up with it by now.”
She picked up the remote and hit the switch. When the screen lit up, she turned it to one of the big three networks.
Sure enough, there was a BREAKING NEWS logo across the top, and the screen showed an aerial view, obviously shot from a chopper or a drone. The streets and sidewalks within view were black. People ran for reasons unknown, zigzagging between police and civilian cars, parked catawampus throughout the shot. Another small box said LONDON, ENGLAND. The picture switched a moment later, showing LOS ANGELES. It was the same.
“Oh, my God,” whispered Dr. Lake. “What on earth?”
The scroll read, ‘BLACK RAIN LEADS TO SICKNESS AND CHAOS ACROSS THE WORLD.’
I turned to the doctor. “Please help my brother, ma’am. Can you?”
She muted the sound and turned back to the bed. “Yes. Let me get my things. And I also need to call my daughter.”
She seemed to be lost in a million thoughts. I just hoped she had enough here and now left in her to tend to Tanner.
Ω
Before she left the room, she stopped and leaned on the doorframe. Turning to look at us, she said, “How are you two feeling? Did you get caught in that black rain?”
I figured I should be honest. None of us knew what it did to you yet, and we had no way of knowin’ what was to come.
“I did,” I said. “So did Clay here, but not as much as me. Tanner probably got the same amount as Clay.”
“Do you feel okay?” she asked.
I glanced at Clay and he nodded. So did I. “It came on fast with Tanner,” I said. “Not sure why we’re not sick.”
She nodded and hurried off, returning a moment later with a bag and a cell phone in her hands. She put the bag down on the nightstand and dialed the phone. She put it on speaker and placed it on the table. We heard the ring tone.
I should’ve figured Georgina for a multi-tasker, bein’ a doctor. She removed a light from her bag and raised Tanner’s eyelid as the phone went to voicemail.
Her daughter’s voice came on, sayin’ she wasn’t available, and to leave a message.
“Roxy, baby, it’s Mom,” she said, while shining the penlight into Tanner’s eyes. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right. Please call me as soon as you get this message, okay, sweetie? I love you. And don’t worry about me, because I’m okay.”
The words of the message she left faded into the background when I saw Tanner’s eyes. His pupils were totally dilated and didn’t react to the light much, if at all, and were slightly hazy.
“I’ve … never seen anything like this on anyone except dying patients. Did he get that black rain in his eyes?”
“Maybe a little, but I probably got as much, and CB was drivin’ a boat, so he had it right in his face,” said Clay. “We were all out in it, like he said.”
“CB?” asked Dr. Lake.
“That’s what my friends call me,” I said. “Anyway, I was covered with that black crap. Haven’t even showered yet. Just hosed down.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Cole.”
“Fine by me,” I said.
Other than deciding she preferred Cole over CB, Dr. Lake looked uncertain about what to do. I looked over at Clay, and we both gave her the time she needed to figure things out.
A moment later she put the light down and stood. “If neither of you have showered, I think you should. There’s a bathroom right at the end of this hall, and there’s a linen closet in there. Go ahead and get a fresh towel and bathe. Both of you. This might absorb into the skin, and if that’s true, it may have depended on the status of your pores at the time.”
I nudged past Clay and said, “I’ll go first! Like you said, I got the worst of it.”
Ω
Clay went in for his shower right after me, and when I came out, Tanner was still out like a light, his breathin’ shallow and harsh, his color almost ghost white.
Dr. Lake had apparently come into the bathroom and tossed my dirty coveralls in the trashcan, because I saw ‘em in there. Magically, there was a clean, terrycloth robe hanging on a hook on the door. I put it on. It had the initials R.L. on the pocket.
When I walked out, Dr. Lake was sitting in a chair in her living room, staring at a TV news station, the sound down. Without looking up, she said, “They say the black rain was all over the world. It started at the exact same time, everywhere.”
I walked around the sofa and said, “You mind?”
She saw me indicating toward the empty cushion, and waved me into it. I sat. “Sorry, Dr. Lake, but that ain’t how weather works. It don’t just start rainin’ all over the world at the same time.”
“So, if they’re wrong, then it’s mass hysteria,” she said. “But I think you know, the black stuff on the ground out there tells a different story.”
I knew it wasn’t no mass hysteria; the world was painted black and nobody knew why. “You flip around to other channels?” I asked.
“I don’t know where all the news stations are,” she said. “I just got Digital Light Cable about a month ago, and haven’t studied the station lineup page yet.”
Just then, another field reporter, who appeared to be almost cowering, came on the screen. There was a stack of boxes behind him, as though he were broadcasting from a storage room.
“We were at the hospital, and had just gotten inside, when … well, I don’t know what happened. There was blood, and … a man … .”
“You don’t have to get into it, Jeff,” a voice off screen said. I figured it was the cameraman.
The young reporter, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two years old, nodded. “Thanks, Frank. Anyway, I got an email a few minutes ago, linking me to a YouTube video. It’s of a tribal elder from the Henomawi Indian Tribe, named Climbing Fox Wattana. He says he started this.”
“You got a computer here? And Internet?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. Let me get it.”
She disappeared, and returned a few seconds later. “Here. It’s fully charged and connected to the network.”
“Thanks.” I took it and launched the browser. Bringing up YouTube, I searched for Wattana and Henomawi.
The image of a very old man appeared on the thumbnail. It was entitled, “A Message From Our People.”
“This is it,” I said. “He’s claimin’ responsibility for the rain.”
“That’s nonsense. You just said what I said wasn’t how weather works. Well, it surely doesn’t work by a Native American curse.”
“I’m gonna take a look anyway. You can take it with a grain of salt.”
I clicked on the PLAY arrow.
The brown-eyed
man with long, gray hair that fell beyond the camera’s view, wore what appeared to be a ceremonial-style jacket or smock. It was intricately beaded over tanned leather, but there were tiny, black spots all over his shoulders.
The base of the video image featured a black stripe with the man’s name in bold white letters, Climbing Fox Wattana.
He wore a dark brown, beaded headband wrapped around his forehead, with a well-worn, brown brimmed hat sittin’ just above it. Climbing Fox had his hands folded in front of him as he sat cross-legged in front of a window. Behind him, through the glass, a rain was clearly just startin’ to fall. As it grew in intensity, I recognized it as the black rain.
“I am Climbing Fox Wattana, the spiritual elder of the Henomawi Tribe. We are a proud people, but we will soon be gone from this earth. Our land and our homes were taken from us long ago, and we have dwindled away to near extinction on our small reservation.”
He leaned forward, balled his arthritic hand into a fist, and slammed it down on the floor where he sat.
“Fifty acres is all they would give us! It was a death sentence from the start, and it was well known. One of your white leaders coined a phrase, which I have taken to heart. The message is, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’ I will tell you now, what I have begun. You cannot stop it. You will all perish, as my people have done. I have nothing more to lose, nor does the Henomawi Tribe.”
Two younger men stepped into the frame and helped Wattana stand. He turned toward the window and stared out as the black rain intensified, turning day into night, just as I had experienced in the swamp.
“The sky will rain black ink until it blocks out all else. When it ceases, it will mark the onslaught of your dead upon the remaining living, their purpose to ravage your bodies, eat your flesh, and render you to shreds of meat and shards of bone. The cruelty forced upon our people deserves to be repaid in kind. That is what is underway. Only I have the power to stop it, and I have no intention of ever doing so.”
He turned and nodded to the men off-camera. One stepped in, holding a gleaming, chrome revolver with a pearl handle. The shaman took it. Without a word, he raised it to his head, the barrel pressed to his temple.
“Turn it off!” shouted Georgina. “I can’t –”
The camera suddenly grew unsteady, as though even the person filming it was taken by surprise. Now in the form of an amateur documentary, it appeared that Wattana fired the gun, and along with the spray of blood, bone and gray matter, dropped out of the camera’s view.
The camera’s lens seemed to come to a rest on the floor, aimed up at an awkward angle to the wall, showing the aftermath dripping down the panelin’, just out of focus.
I had just managed to get the sound down before he fired, and Dr. Lake had already turned away.
I closed up the laptop and stood, movin’ toward Dr. Lake. “You alright?” I asked, my hand gentle on her shoulder.
She nodded, but didn’t look at me.
A sound broke through the gaps in our conversation, and I jerked my head toward it. It was comin’ from the bedroom where Tanner was. It sounded like a man’s low voice, but it was guttural; almost a gurgling.
I practically jumped up, leapfrogging over the back of the couch with one planted hand and running toward the guest room.
When I rounded the corner, Clay was approaching the door from the hallway, wearing a robe identical to the one I had on, only it was maroon. It also had the initials R.L. embroidered on the pocket.
We stuck our heads in the door as Dr. Lake came up behind us.
Tanner was sitting up in bed, the covers having fallen off him. Black veins ran just under his skin, the lines twisted and uneven, like an insane spider had spun a disturbed web over him.
The most horrifying thing about him was his face. His mouth hung open, his teeth exposed. The gums looked like they’d pulled up and receded, and all his teeth looked longer. He’d clearly bitten the inside of his mouth, because blood was runnin’ down his chin.
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” asked Clay.
“If you ask Climbin’ Fox Wattana, you might not wanna hear the answer.”
“What?” he asked, his expression confused.
I pushed past him and ran inside. “Tan, buddy, lay back.” I turned back toward them. “Grab a towel or somethin’!”
Before I had the chance to look back at my brother, I felt a powerful hand grab my neck and crank me sideways. I was in a half-bend when I turned to ask for the towel, so I wasn’t ready. I lost my balance, teetering on one leg, and I fell over his legs and actually tumbled out of his grip and over the bed, landing on the floor on the other side.
“Jesus!” I said, looking back up at him.
He was crawlin’ over the bed, his arms swipin’ out toward me like what he’d just done wasn’t unintentional.
The next thing I knew, Clay was behind him, grabbin’ his arms, sayin’, “Tanner, man, relax! Just calm down! You’re sick!”
Tanner leaned forward and sunk his teeth into Clay’s arm, snagging the bare wrist where the robe had pulled back.
“Ow!” shouted Clay, putting one hand on top of Tanner’s head and pulling him back while he tried to free his arm.
I was wild-eyed now, as Tanner was growlin’ and bitin’ harder, tearin’ at Clay’s skin. Clay screamed as Tanner finally jerked his head hard, rippin’ a deep chunk from my oldest brother’s wrist.
Clay lay behind him, breathin’ hard, his eyes panicked as he stared at the ragged wound on his arm.
“Tanner!” I shouted, but nothin’ got his attention. Once he had torn the meat from Clay’s arm, he became less enraged and just rested on his brother as he chewed on it. His tongue, no longer pink, but a whitish lump, licked the blood from his lips.
I felt bile comin’ up my throat and choked it down.
“Come here!” shouted Dr. Lake, and I saw she had gotten a towel from somewhere. Clay rushed toward her and she wrapped it around his wrist. “Put pressure on it. Go sit down before you get lightheaded.”
I’d scrambled back to my feet and started toward Tanner again, hopin’ to just push him down on the mattress and reason with him. He needed to calm the fuck down. I knew he had no idea what he’d done, because he just looked delirious and crazy.
“Don’t go near him!” shouted Dr. Lake, as I reached out to take his shoulders.
I’m no dummy. I stopped and took two steps backward. I looked at him. He had swallowed the last little piece of my brother’s arm, and turned toward me again.
“Come out of there!” she shouted. “Your brother is showing signs of rabies, at best. Something unknown at worst. Neither’s good!”
I ran toward her, and she yanked the door closed behind me as I entered the hallway.
My heart was poundin’ so hard in my ears, I’m not sure I could’ve heard anything if she’d have tried to talk to me. Instead, she pulled me into the living room and I dropped back down on the sofa, tryin’ to catch my breath.
“What the hell’s up with Tan?” asked Clay, peeling back the towel to examine his wound. “Jeez, he bit the crap outta me.”
“He’s clearly in a state of delirium,” said Dr. Lake. “I just tried 911, but nobody is answering.”
“I coulda told you that,” I said. “We tried back at our shop earlier. They showed up, but they were mostly useless. Said they were slammed.”
“It’s not safe to go back in there,” she said. “If he’s not rabid, then something else has affected his brain. He needs to be restrained.”
My thoughts kept jumpin’ back to the crazy witch doctor who’d claimed responsibility for this, and I couldn’t get it outta my head that he’d been ready to film what he had. He had to have known.
Then he killed himself. Nothin’ shows how fuckin’ serious a man is like suicide. Someone who’s got nothin’ left to lose.
I pulled out Tanner’s phone and tried to call Lilly. It went to the all circuits busy message. I sent her a text. First, I decided not to menti
on Wattana’s video or the news reports.
IT’S CB I’M WITH CLAY TANNER’S SICK I HAVE HIS PHONE
WHERE ARE YOU??? Came back immediately.
STAY HOME, I typed.
DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?
YES, I wrote, but had no idea what to say next. I wanted to be there with my sister and my dad, but I didn’t know how we were going to get past our current situation with Tanner.
DAD’S SICK. THOSE KIDS RAN AWAY.
The words froze me. Not the ones about the kids; to be honest, I was relieved they were gone. We didn’t need more people to deal with, and maybe they met up with first responders or somethin’.
But my Pa. If he took ill that fast, it couldn’t be a good sign. My face must’ve translated the words to my expression, because Clay said, “What is it, CB?”
I dialed 911. All circuits busy. I tried Lilly’s phone again. Same thing.
Resorting to text again, I typed B HOME SOON.
I had no idea whether I was lyin’ or not, but I knew that’s what I wanted to do.
“We have to go in there and figure out how to help our brother,” I said. “He was fine. Can’t see him changin’ this fast.”
“Look at the news!” said Georgina Lake. “This is happening equally fast everywhere else.”
“Do you live alone, Dr. Lake?” asked Clay. “Is your husband at work or something?”
She eyed him suspiciously and stepped toward the gun, which she’d earlier put on a table, accessible to the fastest person in the room. I knew she’d begun to trust us, because of that act.
“He’s askin’ to see if there’s anyone you need to get to, or wait for,” I said.
She shook her head. “Divorced. Richard liked to screw his nurses.”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” I said. “But will you help us? You got a shot of somethin’ that can put him out?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t have anything like that here.”
Something slammed into the closed bedroom door, makin’ it shudder in its frame. It was a one-timer, but now there was a strange scratchin’ sound that set my nerves on edge. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I knew it was my brother behind there, and he should’ve just opened the damned door if he wanted out. It didn’t have a lock.
