Tortures of the Damned

by Hunter Shea

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” Max barked.

  Jesus, it’s impossible to have even a second to yourself in this pit, Max thought. The only time he didn’t have his brother and sister attached to him was when he was in the makeshift bathroom, and even then, Miguel would inevitably need to go the moment he closed the curtain.

  Max turned the battery-powered lantern so he could study the bowie knife better. The blade was long, going from the tips of his fingers to well past his wrist. It was wide, too, almost as wide as his palm.

  He’d pocketed the knife when he was helping the adults put more of those survival backpacks together. He knew there was no way they’d ever put one in any of the kids’ packs.

  Buck had the knives in a long piece of cloth with pockets sewn in to hold each knife. There were eight in all, and no two were exactly alike.

  How bad did Buck think things were going to get?

  The man had socked away a lot of guns and knives. It was as if he had prepared himself to wage a one-man war.

  But the war had already started, hadn’t it? Whoever had thrown the first punch was definitely in the lead—for now. Max imagined every awful scenario that could be waiting for them when they eventually left the shelter. He’d even tried to come to grips with what he thought was the worst possible outcome—that they would stay down here forever, occasionally going out to gather more supplies, the shelter being the only safe place left for them to live out a meaningless existence.

  “I’m going to pee my pants, Max.”

  Max slipped the knife into his pocket, careful not to jab the tip into his leg.

  Miguel had had his first accident in years last night, and the pants he had on now were his last pair until the others dried, which took forever down here.

  He couldn’t let his brother spend the rest of the day bottomless.

  43

  “Dan, you all right?”

  He heard Buck round the corner into the yard and gave a shaky, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Mrs. Fumarelli’s dog, Bruce, lay in a bloody, crumpled heap. The shotgun had almost split the dog in half. Daniel had been shocked at the kick of the gun and how far Bruce skidded across the patio when the shells tore into him.

  Buck whistled. “Holy crap, why’d you kill Bruce? He was more bark than bite. Come to think of it, I didn’t even hear him barking.”

  The shotgun shuddered in Daniel’s hands.

  “He didn’t. I came back and knocked on the door. I even pressed my ear against it to see if I could hear Mrs. Fumarelli shuffling around inside. When I didn’t hear anything, I was going to go out front when I saw Bruce slowly coming out from behind the garbage pails. You had to see him, Buck. Something was wrong. Really wrong. His eyes were red. I’m not talking bloodshot. They were the deepest red I’ve ever seen. Blood was leaking out of them.”

  They looked at the dog’s carcass. Blood was everywhere, including the sides of its muzzle. It was impossible to tell what it had looked like before.

  “Did he attack you?”

  Daniel fought back a burp that was sure to lead to worse things.

  “I was waiting for him to do his usual song and dance. I thought it might get Mrs. Fumarelli’s attention, if she heard him barking and growling. Instead, he just showed his teeth, reared back, and jumped at me. I don’t even remember pulling the trigger. It happened so fast. One second he was there, looking mean as hell and sick or something, the next he was dead.”

  Buck scratched his head under his hat. “Might have been sick with hunger if he’s been out here this whole time. He was a loyal dog. Maybe he didn’t want to go far from her, so he stuck around, getting hungrier and hungrier. When you came around, you must have looked like a walking pork chop.” He slapped Daniel’s back, hard. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You had to defend yourself. If he got ahold of you, you’d have been a sorry mess.”

  Daniel looked at the surrounding houses. Despite the deafening shotgun blast, no one had come out or even gone to their windows to see what was happening. He craned his neck up, staring into the oncoming raindrops.

  “You hear that?” he said.

  Buck shook his head.

  “This time of year, when storms roll in, all you hear are birds flying away from it. I haven’t heard one since we left the house. I can see why there might not be any people around, but where the hell are the birds?”

  Buck kicked a rock across the patio. “I haven’t a clue. Come on, let’s go inside and make sure Mrs. Fumarelli is okay.”

  As they walked, Daniel thought about what Rey and Dakota had said about the horses, and the dog that had attacked the guard at the reservoir. Those weren’t separate, random events. Like the power, something had affected the animals—but what?

  They climbed the steps to the front porch, and Buck used the butt of his shotgun to break out one of the windows. He crawled inside, his belly catching on the lip of the windowsill for a second before he flopped onto the floor. “Guess I’ll never have a career as a cat burglar,” he said, wiping bits of glass from his shirt and pants. Daniel followed him inside with a little more grace.

  The house was dark and dusty. The wall behind the small tube television was crammed with framed photographs of Mrs. Fumarelli’s family. She had five children, and Daniel had lost count of how many grandchildren he’d seen visiting.

  “Mrs. Fumarelli, it’s Buck Clarke and Daniel Padilla,” Buck shouted, trying to make his voice carry through the gas mask. “We want to make sure you’re all right. We have a safer place where you can stay.”

  The house remained silent.

  Buck tilted his head toward the stairs. “I’ll check upstairs.” His footfalls sounded like an elephant stomping on wood. If Mrs. Fumarelli hadn’t reacted to the shotgun blast, broken window, or his ascent, Daniel held out little hope of her being in the house.

  Her dining room table was bare except for a tidy stack of mail. She had a beautiful breakfront with fine bone china on display. Little knickknacks from a full life were amid the dinner plates and serving bowls. There was a pewter barrel from Niagara Falls, an ashtray that had never seen a cigarette butt from a Poconos resort, figurines of flamenco dancers from Madrid. There was even a photo of her and a man, he assumed it was her husband, holding each other underneath the Eiffel Tower at night. They looked to be in their forties, smiling, in love.

  He thought of all the times Elizabeth had asked him to go to Europe. His fear of flying kept them grounded in America, though he had taken her to Mexico, by car, for their second anniversary. It’d been a hell of a drive and not likely to be repeated.

  The floor creaked overhead as Buck went from room to room.

  Daniel continued into the kitchen.

  His knees locked when he turned to the left.

  Mrs. Fumarelli was sitting at the kitchen table. Her head had slumped forward, resting on its side, her milky, vacant eyes boring into him. He didn’t need to feel her pulse to know she was dead. A pool of dried blood spread out beneath her open mouth.

  “Buck! Buck! I found her!”

  44

  Buck draped a clean sheet over Mrs. Fumarelli’s body, then went downstairs to find some wood and nails. Daniel came down with him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Buck said, “I’m going to board up that window we broke. I don’t want any stray animals coming in here and having a go at Mrs. Fumarelli.”

  They found what they needed in the garage and made quick work of sealing up the window.

  While they worked, Buck considered what had killed the poor woman. Probably her heart, though that didn’t explain the blood. She could have had a heart attack or a stroke and hit her face on the tabletop. It was just a shame that with so much of her family nearby, she had to die alone. Even Bruce was outside when it happened.

  They went out the back door. It was the kind that locked itself when you shut it.

  “You still want to check out that doctor’s office?” he asked.

&nb
sp; Daniel surprised him with his sure answer. “I have to try. It doesn’t look hopeful, but we haven’t gone very far.”

  They walked side by side in the middle of the street, stealing glances at the houses. A sun-faded drawing of a Disney princess was taped to the inside of a front window. That’s where the Parker twins lived, four-year-old girls who rambled their scooters up and down the block any day the sun was out. A handcart leaned against Mr. Otello’s house across the street. The man was always carting something as he endlessly worked on his pristine house. Where was everyone?

  “We must look terrifying,” Daniel said. “If I saw us, I’d pull back the blinds and wait for us to pass.”

  “Well, I’m not taking this mask off just to make people feel better. Better to be feared than dead.”

  The rain started to come down in earnest by the time they made it to the end of the street. They had to go two blocks, make a left, and walk down three more to get to the doctor’s office. Buck wasn’t relishing the fact that he’d be soaked down to his underwear by the time they were done.

  Daniel pointed at a brown Tudor house to their left. “Did you see that?”

  Buck looked over. “No.”

  “I thought I saw those curtains in the bottom left window move, like someone either walked past them or quickly pulled them shut.”

  “It’s good to know someone is around. I’d hate to think we missed a mass rescue. Our neighbors could be sipping mai tais in Cancún for all we know.”

  “More like they’re in some cramped gym taken over by the military, eating bad food and stiffening up from sleeping on cots.”

  Buck smiled. “It’s good to see your cynicism, Dan. You’re going to need it from here on out.”

  Daniel stopped. “There it goes again!”

  Indeed, the curtain was moving. Suddenly, it was jerked to the side. A girl, she couldn’t be more than twenty, pressed her face to the window. They moved closer, stopping at the fence outside the house. Daniel held up a hand in greeting. Buck had seen her from time to time in the corner store, though he’d never spoken to her. He remembered her ears had always been plugged with earbuds so she could listen to music while she bought energy drinks.

  The girl looked terrible. Her skin was paler than milk. Dark bruises hung under each eye. Her hair was greasy and matted to her skull.

  She held up a hand, asking them to wait. Her head bent down. It looked like she was doing something with her hands that were out of sight. She paused and looked up at the gray sky.

  The patter of raindrops splashing on Buck’s hat was picking up the tempo. Rain sluiced down his visor, distorting everything he saw.

  The girl lifted a sketch pad to the window.

  It said: DON’T COME IN HERE. WE’RE ALL SICK.

  She turned it around. YOU HAVE TO RUN AND FIND A SAFE PLACE. NOW!

  Buck turned to Daniel. His stomach tightened into a knot.

  “Why do we have to run?” Buck shouted. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear him. Daniel did his best to pantomime why?

  She pulled the pad away and scribbled quickly. The windowpane made a vibrating thud when she smacked the pad against it.

  RATS!!!

  “Rats?” Buck said. “What the heck does she mean?”

  Daniel turned on his heel and tugged on Buck’s arm. When Buck spun around, he understood.

  Dozens of rats poured out of the sewer opening across the street. The same was happening all up and down the block.

  And they were all headed for him and Daniel.

  45

  The sick girl at the window had disappeared. Daniel yanked Buck’s arm, leading him back down the street and away from the onslaught of sewage- and rain-soaked rats.

  “Come on, Buck, we have to get back to your house!”

  As far as he could see, black and brown furry bodies, some bigger than kittens, scurried out of every sewer opening and drainpipe.

  The rain must have been flooding them out of their dark hiding places. It was coming down in drenching buckets. Steady, riverlike streams ran down his visor, branches connecting until they emptied onto his shirt.

  “I don’t believe this,” Buck said.

  Daniel pulled hard. “Hurry!”

  A pink-eyed rodent came up to Daniel’s shoe, attempting to nibble on his heel. He kicked backward, sending the rat flying into the gathering mob.

  Buck flinched when one tried to climb up his pants leg. He knocked it off with his shotgun. It also snapped his inertia.

  They ran, followed closely by a tight-knit pack of undulating bodies. So many were up ahead, seemingly on a crash course with them, that Daniel considered jumping off the sidewalk and smashing in the door of a nearby house.

  “Maybe we should get on the roof of one of the cars,” he said, panting heavily.

  Buck urged him on. “They can easily climb up a car. Just keep going.”

  Lightning flashed, affording a terrifying glimpse into the true hell gathering around them. It was immediately followed by a heavy crash of thunder. The rainfall intensified, smearing his vision. At this rate, when there was no lightning to bring everything into stark contrast, Daniel could barely see.

  Maybe that’s a good thing, he thought.

  Where the hell were all these rats coming from? Were there always this many just below their feet?

  And rats were normally afraid of people, scurrying away the moment they’d been spotted.

  Not this swarm. It was as if they’d been intentionally starved and the storm was the dinner bell. Daniel pumped his legs harder. He’d be damned to survive the bombing of the city only to become a vermin’s main course.

  He cast a quick glance behind him to make sure Buck wasn’t too far behind. He could just make out the big man’s outline.

  When he turned back, his shoulder clipped a tree. He spun sideways, losing his balance and hitting the concrete hard. Buck’s hand dragged him up before he could regain his bearings.

  “I can’t see in this thing!” Daniel barked.

  “Just keep going straight.”

  Aside from the lack of vision, his heavy panting was making it almost impossible to breathe in the gas mask. Frustrated, he ripped it from his head, letting it dangle along his back.

  “Are you crazy?” Buck shouted.

  Daniel was immediately baptized by the storm.

  The rats took up every square inch between them and Buck’s house, which was only a couple of hundred feet away. He shivered, thinking he could hear their chorus of starved chitters amid the howling storm.

  “Just shoot and stomp,” Buck ordered.

  “What?”

  “Clear a path. Whatever you don’t hit, squash. Don’t slow down. Shit, I wish I’d brought the grenades.”

  Daniel jumped when Buck’s shotgun erupted. A cone of crimson rats rose from the pack, flopping their entrails over their advancing brethren.

  Something made a wet pop under Daniel’s foot and he almost lost his balance again. Looking down, he saw three rats working their way up his pants, mouths chomping with yellow teeth. He smacked them off with the butt of the shotgun, leveled it at the ground, and pulled the trigger. More rats went flying, pieces scattering in every direction. Buck took another shot, as well.

  They carved a path as best they could, but it was impossible to avoid squishing them by the dozens, as well.

  He shoved his revulsion to the darkest recess of his mind, veering from the sidewalk to the side of Buck’s house as fast as his legs would take him.

  46

  The pounding at the door put everyone on high alert. Alexiana grabbed the .38 she’d taken from the gun locker and ran to the shelter door.

  “Is it them?” Elizabeth asked. Miguel ran into her arms, clutching her as if she were all that stood between him and the omnipotent pull of a black hole.

  “This whole shelter is soundproof, so I can’t hear. If they don’t give the knock code, I can’t open the door.”

  There was more frantic rapping.
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br />   Gabby and Max remained by Rey’s side. He had managed to pull himself out of bed, though his legs looked very unsteady.

  Alexiana made a fist and knocked on the door twice, paused, then three rapid knocks.

  The rapping stopped.

  Elizabeth jumped at the answering knocks. Three knocks, a pause, then two.

  “It’s them!” Alexiana cried, entering the code and unlocking the door.

  Buck leapt into the room first. He was soaked through. His cowboy hat flew from his head when he slammed his legs into the table.

  Daniel was next. Elizabeth’s heart rocketed into her throat when she saw her husband wasn’t wearing his gas mask. Had something happened?

  “Close the door! Close the door!” Daniel barked.

  Alexiana screamed. The gun fell from her hand. She tried to close the door but it wouldn’t shut all the way.

  Buck shouted, “Everyone, grab a bag! Liz, help me get Dakota and Rey!”

  Elizabeth looked to Daniel, then Buck, Miguel fastened to her breast. “What’s going on? Daniel, what happened?”

  When Alexiana jumped onto a chair, Elizabeth finally looked to the door and understood.

  Hundreds and hundreds of rats galloped inside, leaping over each other’s bodies.

  Still holding on to her son, she slipped two of the survival bags over her shoulder. “Gabby, Max, grab a bag and run! Follow your father!”

  Daniel took their hands, running against the tide of rats. The eager rodents made clumsy bounds at them, trying to hold on with claws and teeth.

  These rats weren’t running from something. They were running to them.

  “Alexiana, help me!”

  Her neighbor stared at her, past her, refusing to get off the chair. Elizabeth ran to the bunkhouse. Buck had a huge canvas bag over one shoulder, Rey leaning on his other. “Can you run for a spell?” he shouted. Rey nodded.

  “You go ahead of us, Lizzie,” Buck said. “I’ll guard the rear.”

  Dakota had gotten out of the bed, the haze of her fever taking a backseat to the sea of rats at her feet. She hopped and squealed, shaking them from her legs. Elizabeth wrapped her arm around the girl’s waist, pulling her along. Miguel kept his face to her chest, refusing to look. It was best he didn’t.