by Tristan Vick
In the tumult, a long jagged piece of glass had broken off from one of the window panes and pierced Alyssa’s right thigh. Before she could even react to the searing pain of serrated glass tearing into the meat of her leg, a snarling Dr. Beckford’s hand clutched her ankle.
Alyssa screamed as she looked down to see Beckford’s blood soaked teeth clacking at the open air as he tried to pull her into them. His jaws snapped at her relentlessly, like a crazed shark driven mad by the scent of fresh blood. Tearing at her clothes, the mad doctor managed to get a hold of her white lab coat, and drug her back.
Thinking fast, Alyssa tore the shard of glass out of her leg with a yelp and, using it like the blade of a knife, slammed it down onto the doctor’s hand. It went straight through his flesh and pinned his hand to the floor. Alyssa looked at him in horror as he continued to try and grab at her with his free hand. What was wrong with him? Even pain didn’t seem to register. He just kept tearing at her jacket trying to sink his meat hooks into her.
Kicking her feet, Alyssa managed to wriggle her way out of the white lab coat and backpedalled her way out from underneath the cabinet. Crawling on her hands and knees, Alyssa scrambled toward the door. Looking back to see whether or not the doctor was pursuing her, she barely noticed her purple diary lying under the cabinet.
“Shit,” Alyssa grumbled.
Stumbling to her feet, glass popping under her heavy footsteps, Alyssa hobbled back toward the cabinet. Reaching underneath, she snatched up the diary. Beckford tore his hand from the glass spike without so much as a whimper and began thrashing and clawing at her. Squeezing himself under the cabinet, he tried to follow her, but got himself wedged in. Growling in anger, he snarled at her.
Alyssa held her purple diary to her chest and watched the crazed Dr. Beckford flounder to get himself unlogged from the small trap he’d mindlessly gotten himself in. Not knowing how long it would take him to get free, Alyssa spun around and, feet crunching on broken glass, she fled from the room. She didn’t dare look back.
Limping down the hallway, Alyssa stopped to tear out some remaining slivers of pesky glass. Groaning as she tore each agonizing piece out, she dropped the shards of glass onto the checkered linoleum floor and watched as blood seeped out from her leg wound.
Alyssa pressed down on the gash with her palm, hard, to try and stop the bleeding. But she knew she would need stitches. That’s when the doctor stumbled out of his office like a drunkard and snarled at her.
Alyssa screamed so loud that it frightened the rest of the animals. Suddenly the whole clinic was in an uproar. She quickly limped away as fast as she could with a crazed Dr. Beckford hot on her heals. Sensing he was gaining on her, her fright and flight instinct kicked in and she ducked into the nearest room she could find—the dog kennels.
Sweat glistened on Alyssa’s sternum as she tugged on her tank top to let cool air lap at her skin. Even though her shock was finally beginning to wear off now, her thoughts were struggling to grapple with how strange the events of the past forty-eight hours had been.
Alyssa couldn’t believe she had survived the terrible string of unfortunate events the day had brought. Everything from the doctor’s going insane, then being attacked, getting injured in the assault, fearing for her life, finding a first-aid kit in the dark amid snapping jowls, stitching herself up, and the worst part of it all, being the only one to escape the kennels with her life intact. At least her morning couldn’t get any worse, she told herself.
Looking back over her shoulder she watched as the animal clinic went up in flames. The poor animal she’d used the flare gun on burned along with all the rest. Ominous black smoke streamed out of every orifice of the clinic and rose into the sky like the sundry heads of a wraithlike hydra.
The thought of those poor animals burning alive weighed heavily on her. It seemed so cruel and inhumane to just let them die like that. If she could have put the animals to sleep somehow, save them from the misery the flames caused, that would have at least made her feel better.
She was still having difficulty figuring out just exactly what was going on. What was with the sudden bite cases? Rabies can be spread through a bite, sure. But like most contagious disease it had a gestation period. She had never heard of a strain that acted so quickly. It seemed the moment someone was bit they almost instantaneously began feeling the effects of the virus. She had never seen anything like it.
And what the hell happened to Dr. Beckford? None of it made any sense. Even having been bitten, there was still no way the virus could have taken him so quickly. It just wasn’t possible. But he had gone completely cannibal-crazed eat-your-face mad in less than twenty-four hours. It all seemed like a bad dream.
Standing in the parking lot Alyssa looked around at the pines which lined either side of the road. It was all so quiet. In fact, apart from the light wisp of the breeze and the crackle of flames, there were no sounds at all. Certainly someone would have called the fire department by now, she thought. But nothing. No wail of sirens or blare of horns. Not even a curious spectator loitering on the side of the road to watch the small clinic on the outskirts of town burn up. Instead, only a deep lingering silence filled the air like the calm before a storm, which, in Alyssa’s opinion, was always a bad omen.
3
A Mother’s Worst Nightmare
RACHAEL’S ALARM WENT OFF AT six am sharp as usual. Reaching over she smacked the snooze button and promptly fell back to sleep. Moments later she jolted herself awake and squinted at the clock again. Her head throbbed.
“Dammit,” she mumbled to herself, her voice dry and rough. She rubbed the temples of her forehead, adding, “A little too much wine for you, sweetheart.”
Just then she sat up in bed with a frightful worry. Her heart raced. What if Hector had called for her in the night and she had been passed out like a veritable Rip Van Winkle?
Wrapping herself up in a silky nightgown, she cinched up the sash around her waist and rushed down the hall. Rachael barged into Hector’s room and gasped at the sight of an empty bed. Her chest filling with panic, Rachael darted into the living room where Hector liked to watch his morning cartoons before school, but he wasn’t there either.
“Hector?” Rachael called out. “Where are you, babe?”
From behind the kitchen counter Rachael heard a strange noise. It sounded like a grinding of some sort. Slowly she eased up to the kitchen nook and peered around the counter. Covering her mouth she fought hard not to scream at the terrible, stomach churning, sight she beheld.
Hector was crouched over their cat, Trixie, eating her disemboweled remains. He slurped up the entrails and licked his bloody fingers. Rachael crouched down and put her hand on Hector’s shoulder. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might explode in her chest. “Honey, what are you doing?”
Hector didn’t respond to her touch. Looking over his shoulder he let out what sounded like a grumble, as if he didn’t appreciate the interruption, and went back to chewing on what remained of poor Trixie.
“Stop it!” Rachael demanded, and she forcefully grabbed Hector by his arm and tore him away from the dead cat. His arm felt awfully cold and clammy. Hector gazed at her with milky-white eyes. He wore a vacant expression on his face and his mouth was dappled with specs of red gooey cat entrails. His skin was a jaundiced hue which gave him a sickly look. Rachael recoiled, letting go of Hector’s arm, and was about to scream but quickly smothered her mouth with a cupped hand.
“Baby,” she said in a whisper, “I think you’re sick. We should get you to the hos—”
Without warning Hector lunged and grabbed ahold of his mother’s arm and sunk his teeth in. Rachael grimaced with pain and let out an animal-like whimper. Instinctively, she defensively shoved Hector back. As Hector lurched back he managed to tear of a bit of flesh from her arm, which caused Rachael to squeal with horror filled agony. Hector slammed into the stainless steel fridge behind him, which shook and rattled from the harsh impact.
Be
fore Rachael could begin to feel sorry for slamming her son into the refrigerator, however, Hector bared his blood drenched teeth and lunged at her again. His jowls snapped at her with the ravenousness of a wild animal. Again his teeth dug into her, piercing her right shoulder. Rachael screamed out in pain, but she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know why he kept attacking her. “Hector, it’s me, your mom!”
Somehow Rachael had to get him to stop. Wrapping her arms around him she pulled him tight to her chest and held him there. He fought and squirmed desperately to get out of her grasp, but she managed to hold on tight.
Rachael wrangled him into the living room, but he wouldn’t stop writhing and kicking wildly, attempting to break free of her. It took all of her strength to maintain her hold on him.
In his fit of rage, Hector somehow managed to kick the island counter with such a force it knocked them both back into the kitchen table. The two of them rolled over the table top and tumbled off the other end. Getting to her feet, Rachael felt Hector’s hands reach around her and his fingernails suddenly dug into her chest. His nails cut jagged red lines across her breasts as he tore at her flesh.
Wincing form the pain, Rachael tried to pry Hector’s cold fingers off of her, but his strength was inhuman. Reaching over with her free hand, she found the empty wine bottle she had left out the night before. They must have knocked to the floor in their tumultuous tumble.
Gripping the bottle neck with a tight grip, her knuckles as white as bone, she closed her eyes as she smashed the bottle down onto Hector’s head with all hear strength. The blow was so severe that it sent what felt like the sting of a thousand hot needles up Rachael’s arm. The impact sent Hector staggering back and he fell over the back of a toppled over chair.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rachael murmured, half beside herself. She couldn’t believe what she had just done. Rachael looked down at her aching shoulder. Rivers of red blood trickled down her neck and arms, and gathered to form droplets that ran off her tightly clenched knuckles. That’s when it dawned on her that she was fighting for her life.
Hector shambled back to his feet and bull rushed her. Rachael swung what remained of the jagged bottle as a warning for him not to come any closer but it didn’t seem to have any effect. He slammed into her abdomen and sent her staggering backward. Her foot nicked the corner of the sofa and she tripped over it. Her backward momentum caused her to crash through the glass coffee table in the middle of the room. Glass crinkled, popped, and shattered under the weight of her fall.
Rachael sat up slowly and pulled a shard of glass from her elbow, and quickly discarded it. Hector inched forwards with blood soaked hands and blood encrusted fingernails, reaching out for her. Crawling backward on her elbows, to evade his swipes, Rachael’s hand searched around for the bottle, but she couldn’t find it. It had rolled all the way to the other side of the living room.
Hector kept creeping closer and closer. His tiny bare feet dragged across broken glass with a horrible scraping noise as he closed in on her. He seemed to be oblivious to the pain and the trails of blood smears he left behind.
“Hector, it’s me, your mother! It’s mommy! Don’t you recognize me?” Tears swelled in Rachael’s eyes but her son did not respond to the sound of her voice.
Reaching down, Rachael retrieved the standing lamp and used it to block Hector’s advances. But he kept on pushing forward, until Rachael felt her back pinned to the wall. But this didn’t deter Hector’s advance. He continued pressing forward until the light bulb crunched into his chest.
Rachael’s motherly instinct kicked in and she dropped the lamp, opened her arms wide, and embraced her rabid son. It was the only thing she could think to do. She felt Hector breathing on her neck with a disturbingly cold breath. Just as she was about to speak to him she felt a horrible searing pain in her neck. Rachael reeled back but Hector had dug his nails into her back. She couldn’t shake him off. Not this time. He was latched on to her like a koala bear from hell.
Rachael’s instincts screamed for her to get away. Grunting, she pushed herself up and staggered toward the window. With a crash they both fell through the glass.
Catching ahold of the curtain, Rachael dangled out of her sixteenth story window. Slowly, she pulled herself back up, her arms aching tremendously with each tug. Reaching up her bloodied fingers clenched onto the windowsill and she climbed back through the window.
Tumbling to the floor, Rachael laid staring up at the ceiling, panting. Her whole body ached from the assault. Grunting, she forced herself to sit up and looked out the gaping hole where the window once was and scanned the ground below. On the pavement, laid the distorted and broken frame of what remained of her child.
“No!” she gasped. “Oh god, no. Please, no. This can’t be happening. Oh, God!”
Rachael ran as fast as she could to the elevator but for some reason the power had gone out. Come to think of it, nothing worked. Only her alarm clock was functional, but that’s because it ran on batteries. Mashing the elevator button was getting her nowhere, so she decided to take the stairs instead.
Leaping down two and three sets of stairs at a time, she flew into the lobby and darted toward the main entrance. Once outside, she came to the middle of the street and put her hand up to block the brilliance of the morning sun. Frantically scouring the street, she looked for the body of her dead son. Rachael walked over to the exact spot he had landed, but there was nothing there except for a large splotch of blood. Looking up and down the street with worried eyes, Rachael began bawling out her son’s name. “Hector!” she screamed. “Hector!”
Out of breath, Rachael slowly collapsed to her knees. She was too numb to cry, so she just sat there staring down the street. It’s just a nightmare, she told herself, hoping it was true. Hoping she’d wake up and everything would be back to normal. Back to the way it was before this god awful day.
Rachael looked up at the sky. She watched white clouds waft across a vast blue dome. It was serene, peaceful, but somehow it didn’t feel quite right. There weren’t any jet trails threading the sky above, nor was there any sound of traffic in the streets below. No morning dog walkers. No joggers. No kids on their way to school. The world had fallen deathly silent.
4
Entanglement
THE OFFICE DOORS RATTLED VIOLENTLY causing Jennifer Hurley to jump in fright. Entering into the waiting room of Callahan & Salinger law firm was, what appeared to Hurley, to be a good looking copyboy. He was a fantastically well built, well groomed, dark haired man of Italian descent. “Yummy,” she thought to herself.
Pushing a cart over to the secretary’s desk, he pulled out some mail and set it down. Hurley couldn’t help but eye his tight buttocks as he turned to walk away. As he did she made sure to cross her long legs, accentuated by her black miniskirt, and flashed him a flirtatious glance.
The young man smiled and then headed down the hall and took a left. Jennifer went back to staring out the tall windows which lined one side of the waiting room. One of the reasons she picked Ramirez as her attorney was that she had a corner office. Anyone with a corner office was a closer. Hurley knew this woman could get whatever Hurley asked, even if she asked more than what was within her means.
As she gazed out was the white-washed sky, her mind wondered. She was beginning to wonder where Rachael was. She was already thirty minutes late and Hurley was getting impatient. Tapping her nails on the glass counter she looked up at the secretary. “Do you know when she’ll be in?”
“Ma’am, like I said before, sometimes Ms. Ramirez has to drop her son off at school. She might not be in until ten.”
“But you didn’t get a call from her, did you?”
“No, ma’am. No call. But you know how it is being a mother.”
Hurley glared at the secretary, who was a twenty-something stuck up snob. “How old do I look to you?” Hurley asked defensively.
The secretary’s eyes widened as she realized she had cause a small offense. “I’m s
orry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Hurley crossed her legs again and began tapping her purple painted nails on the glass again.
Feeling awkward, the secretary got up and asked, “Do you want anything from the break room? A coffee or tea perhaps?”
Hurley smiled politely and said, “No thanks.”
The secretary scurried off and disappeared around the same corner the cute paperboy had turned down.
Jennifer didn’t feel like waiting around another fifteen minutes, so she stood up and walked to the elevator at the end of the hall. As she waited for it to come up she heard the young secretary giggling. Feeling annoyed that the elevator was taking forever, and the fact that listening to the giggling was slowly driving her crazy, she turned left down the hall and headed toward the break room.
Upon entering she found the cute copy boy necking the secretary with his hands all over her. They both stepped back in surprise, as if they were two teens making out on the couch suddenly caught by their parents’ late return. Hurley put on a fake smile. “I changed my mind,” she said, addressing the secretary. “I think I will have a cup of tea.”
Brushing her skirt down, the secretary rushed over and opened a cupboard above the sink. “What would you like? We have Darjeeling and Earl Grey.”
“Darjeeling will be fine,” Hurley said.
“Sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced,” the young man said, extending his hand. “My name is Jesse Zanato.”
Hurley shook his hand and smiled at him. “Nice to meet you,” Hurley replied, brushing her blonde bangs from her crystal clear blue eyes.
Zanato smiled at her and she smiled back.
“Here’s your tea, miss.” The secretary handed Hurley the cup of tea and Hurley took a sip. Just then the phone began to ring in the lobby.
“Oh, that might be Ms. Ramirez now,” the young girl said. She looked at Hurley and back at Zanato, then turned to go answer the phone. As she did, Zanato bent forward and slapped her on the ass. She giggled and ran out of the room.
