Dan and Pat exchanged looks.
“A sub!” Ivan shouted in realization. “You have a friggen sub down there, don’t you?”
“We need the truck goddammit!” Dan’s impatience was coming to a head.
Ivan thought for a minute and then nodded for them to follow him into the front door of his house. In the living room, they saw the rest of the Ivan’s “clients” readying to go underground. While Ivan and Dan spoke privately, Pat looked around at the half dozen or so motley crew members who actually had the foresight—and the cash— to buy a spot in a bunker preparing for the impossible. He looked at their faces; some looked frightened, and some looked relieved.
Then he saw a face he recognized. It was the rapper, Camden. Pat had confiscated the CD of the rapper’s debut album from his son last summer. The bad boy rapper sat on the couch with the woman he had chosen to bring with him to his doomsday crib. His mom. She cradled him as he sobbed quietly.
In the kitchen, an attractive Asian woman was preparing noodles in a large glass dish. Across the room, two people were holding hands having a prayer session.
The security guard again entered the room, picked up two large, rugged cases and returned out the back door. Pat followed him to view a cleared area, fenced off with nothing beyond but miles of thick forest. Several infected had already gathered on the outskirts and were standing at the other side of the fence biting and clawing at the metal fencing.
Pat followed the man carrying the case towards what appeared to be the bunker entrance. He went through the large steel door, walked down a flight of fifteen concrete steps to a second steel door. That door opened into a state of the art survival bunker. There was the main vestibule area, with decontamination shower stalls, cubbies for clothing and possessions, and multiple locks and latches on the wall. Beyond was a storage area equipped with MREs, gas masks, radiation detectors, water bottles, purification systems, and a stack of iPads, still in their boxes. Everything the modern prepper would need.
A few feet further into the shelter there was a circular communal room, with chairs and a couch, and a coffee table with a stack of board games. The surrounding wall had seven doors; one that was open showed a small living quarters with bed, desk, and chair. It resembled the cut rate hotel rooms Pat stayed in while he was on the campaign trail. The Asian woman followed him in. Pat smiled and said hello, and she provided a polite but insincere smile in return but did not speak a word and went on to the kitchen area.
Pat turned around to find himself face to face with Ivan.
“That’s my wife, Marifi.”
“She is lovely,” Pat said. “Where is she from?”
“The Philippines,” Ivan replied and then changed the subject. “I will give you and Dan my truck but I need you to do something for me first.”
Pat noted that Ivan appeared much calmer than before.
“This bunker was the first of what was going to be dozens, perhaps hundreds, of deluxe survival shelters nationwide. I already had the property and locations picked out. I had clients ready to purchase their spaces; I was waiting to raise some additional capital.” Ivan explained this as if he were pitching a room full of venture capitalists looking to invest. “This outbreak is either the end of the dream, or the greatest marketing catalyst I could have imagined.” He looked off in no particular direction, imagining his empire of Doomsdays Inns.
“Anywhoo, everyone here has paid a significant amount of money to have a place in this shelter. But one is missing. I ran a contest on my radio show and website where one of my listeners could win a spot. A kid won. I really did not think he would want to come, figured he would be with his folks, but twenty minutes ago, his beacon went off. The kid is alive, and not far from here. I owe this kid his spot. You and Dan go to his school, get the kid, bring him back here, you have whatever you need.”
“Ivan, you have no idea what it’s like out there,” Pat protested. “If the kid was alive twenty minutes ago, he’s most likely dead now. Even if we could get to him, how could we know where he is, who he is, and how would we get back alive?”
“He is alive,” Ivan said with certainty, “and he is in a safe place for the time being. You will be able to find him; you know the location he’s at very well. He’s at Holy Friends School.”
The two of them walked back up to the surface. Pat noticed even more of the hungry creatures were amassing against the outer fence. Obviously, whatever this was, it was spreading fast.
“Behind the guardhouse is a passage under the fence,” Ivan said. “It will get you back to your car. I’ve given Dan what he needs in case you have trouble. Get the kid, and bring him back here, and you’re on your way with Furio. Without the kid, I won’t be opening the door again, so this may be the last time we speak.”
The rest of the survivalist group entered the bunker, each taking one last look at the sky before going below. Ivan followed them, and reached out and grabbed the door handle, as Dan came alongside Pat.
Ivan struck a nostalgic tone, “If you don’t come back…it was good seeing you again, Patrick.”
And with that, Ivan closed the door and he and his group of weirdoes were sealed underground. The door locked with a loud, metal on metal Ker-chunk sound. Pat and Dan set off to a place they thought they’d seen the last of fifteen years earlier, to do something they also thought they had done again and again way back when, rescue a nerd in high school.
Chapter 27
Epic Fail
In the Holy Friends High School auditorium control center, high above the folding red fabric seats and the stage where many a drama club had performed The Sound of Music, poorly, two boys sat against opposite facing walls, silent, pensive, staring off at nothing in particular. Eric, wearing his school uniform white shirt, black pants and striped tie, sat on the hard floor. He was watching his classmate Colin, decked out in and identical outfit but missing the tie, who was struggling to light the last miniscule roach from a fat joint he had smoked earlier, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. Eric thought about how he had envied Colin just yesterday.
Colin had but one daily goal in life: to get stoned. It was a simple and easily obtainable goal. Eric had considered trying to become a burnout at one time, as it seemed like such an amazing alternative to all the unobtainable desires and goals that filled his tortured and lonely days and nights. He desired to have girlfriends but lacked the core requirements that would interest a typical high school girl. He was not a jock. In fact, his failed attempts to participate in organized sports while in high school were so epic that they were legendary. He wasn’t handsome, he wasn’t tough, and he wasn’t popular. He was smart. Not so much book smart, but quick-witted. That was a commodity that was of no interest to the girls in school, they saw him as obnoxious. He desired a stable home life, but a bipolar mother and absentee stepfather shattered that wish. Now, most of all, he desired a way to survive another day.
He sat on the floor, knees at his chest, under the lighting and sound console of the auditorium technical control booth. Colin sat against the black painted wall directly across from him. Beneath him swirled a cauldron of blood, body parts, and the sounds of shrieking and tearing flesh. Two hours earlier Eric had been sitting in 1st period History with Mrs. Lynch. She was one of those educators who wanted to be the “cool” teacher; who actually had popular students over to her house for dinner or to hang out. Even Eric thought that was creepy. It was not a pedophile type situation, but more likely a woman who probably loved her own years in high school and felt that by having the popular kids over to her house, she was reliving the glory days. Mrs. Lynch was discussing something about the Jamestown settlement when it happened.
He thought back to that morning, he had been reading a passage in his history book:
Skeletal Evidence Confirms Cannibalism at Jamestown Colony.
The fact that cannibalism had occurred at the Jamestown colony was never in much doubt as there are at least half-dozen accounts, by people who lived t
hrough the period or spoke to colonists who did, describe acts of cannibalism.
Colony leader George Percy wrote: "thatt notheinge was Spared to mainteyne Lyfe and to doe those things which seame incredible, as to digge upp deade corpes outt of graves and to eate them. And some have Licked upp the Bloode which hathe fallen from their weake fellowes." In other words, there were colonists who ate the dead and drank their blood—cannibalism.
It's not clear how many deceased colonists were cannibalized. About three hundred people inhabited the fort in November 1609. By spring, there were only sixty, described by newly arriving colonists as "looking like skeletons."
Preoccupied with the ass of Robin Mills, the cheerleader who sat in front of him, Eric had read no further. He had no fear of her turning around to catch his gaze. She had no reason to turn around and look his way, as he was nothing. He may have as well been an empty desk. That morning, Robin was wearing a particularly low riding skirt that allowed Eric to catch a glimpse of her ass cleavage, and he figured that was the best thing that was going to happen to him all day.
The running and screaming in the hallway had broken his concentration on her body. What the hell was going on, another attempt at a senior prank?
Douchbags, Eric thought to himself.
Mrs. Lynch opened the door and stuck her head out to investigate, but was immediately grabbed by two unknown adults. They dug their teeth and nails into her face and began to tear. Within seconds, she fell back into the classroom, sitting against the door, her nose, left eye, and most of the skin on her face from the neck up was gone. She wore a red mask with pearly white teeth, screaming.
Her arm, which was still hanging out the door, was jerked violently and her body sucked through the doorway opening like a piece of string being sucked into a vacuum. There was a moment of stunned silence from the classroom, followed by almost simultaneous screaming and panic. The kids ran for the windows, some for the back door, which was futile since it opened to the same goddamn hallway that contained the monsters that had sucked out and devoured their teacher. For once, Eric’s quick thinking paid off, and he ran for the rear closets.
He knew there was a trap door leading to the passageway under the school. He had learned about this when assisting with the school plays. Under the school, there were long tunnels that housed the wiring, plumbing, and janitorial supplies. He had tried to curry some favor with the cool kids by showing them this last year, but they called him a weirdo and asked why he was walking around under the school like a troll. After that, he kept his mouth shut.
As soon as he climbed most of the way down the hatchway in the closet, he called back to his classmates to follow him, but it was too late. The attackers were in the room, shredding the kids like paper dolls. He saw Robin’s skirt, still tight on her form, which was now missing above her waist. He closed the door above his head. How did this fucking happen? He’d seen yesterday’s website postings that were discussing the “Skells”, as they were being referred due to their emaciated, skeletal appearance, but this was ridiculous, even to internet fantasy standards of ridiculousness.
Not his worry now, he needed to get somewhere safe, and he needed a weapon. He knew Louis’ work room was down here. Louis was the school janitor, an okay guy, meaning that he just mopped the floor and was not trying to molest any of the kids. He did have strong Nazi and racist leanings though, which had been shared with Eric in one very strange and inappropriate conversation Eric was forced into when helping Louis wire the stage for the senior class recital. If anyone had a gun or a knife hidden in the school, or some sort of weapon, it would be Louis the Janitor and it would be in his workroom.
He made his way down to the storage room where he found large canisters of paint thinner, cleaning supplies, chemicals, a lot of propane, mops, and brooms. No weapons though. He found a locked chest under a cot and used a broom handle to smash through the top. Inside was Louis’ lunch, extra overalls, and a stack of interracial porn magazines. A Nazi who dug interracial porn? Christ, this guy was complex. No knives, no guns, no samurai swords, though he did find a large industrial flashlight. He turned around to head out of the space and came face to face with a Skell.
He stood frozen, he did not swing, he did not fight, he fucking froze and closed his eyes tight and waited for the first bite. God what a fucking loser he was.
“Shit man, what the fuck?” the Skell said.
What?
Skells didn’t talk; they shrieked, they moaned, they even belched, but they didn’t make conversation.
Eric opened his eyes and saw Colin Burke, slack jawed, dull eyed, pale, and drawn. In other words, he looked normal. He and Colin had been friends in grade school. Colin was a good athlete, and fun to hang with. They both idolized Colin’s older brother, who was a consummate burnout. They were often regaled by his stories of drug usage in school, dropping acid in first period and being out of his mind by lunch, huffing whip-its, smoking pot in the woods. By freshman year, Eric and Colin had drifted apart, as Colin was following the path of his brother. By sophomore year, Colin had lost that spark of youth, and walked around stoned 24/7. He was lucky enough to also have been smoking a joint in the passageway under the gym when the hordes overwhelmed the school.
“Colin, we need to get out of here, they’re fucking killing everyone up there!” Eric said, grabbing Colin’s hoodie sweatshirt frantically.
“No shit, asswipe, what is your plan?” Colin replied pushing Eric’s arms off of him.
“The birds’ nest!” Eric said in sudden inspiration.
The bird’s nest was what they called the control booth that housed all the stage lighting controls, as well as sound systems, in the auditorium. It was a good twenty-five feet above ground, and only accessible via ladder. They would wait there until help arrived.
That had been hours ago. There was a glimmer of hope early on, when the sound of sirens and shots heralded the arrival of local cops, but the bloody, headless torso wearing the blue uniform that was dragged into the auditorium by two Skells told the story of law enforcement’s epic fail.
It was then that Eric had remembered his phone with the rescue app given to him last year. He pressed the app which was supposed to act like a homing beacon for quick retrieval should the world come crashing down. It was now over an hour since he pressed it for activation. He never really thought it was an actual rescue beacon, more likely some sort of cyber snooping device, but when he saw no other option, he activated the app and hoped for the best. So far, it seemed that once more he had been played the fool. He peeked over the console and looked out the glass case to see the endless wave of Skells below, streaming in and out of the auditorium, bloody, savage, striking at the air, perhaps aware of their presence above.
They looked down into the sea of warped faces below.
“Hey, Colin,” Eric nudged his friend. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you piss on them.”
“Dude,” Collin replied as he unzipped his fly, “this one is on me.”
A pathetic act of defiance, yet still it eased two pressures, the one in their bladder and the one in their ego. That was over an hour ago, and their spirits were now dampened.
Eric looked over at Colin, who was smoking what was left of his final joint. “You want to do something”?
Colin shrugged and looked back at him vacantly.
“Let’s burn this fucking school to the ground,” Eric said with a confidence unfamiliar to him. For the first time since 8th grade, he saw that spark return to Colin’s eyes. They climbed down the metal ladder and headed back to Louis’ chemical cleaner and propane filled closet.
Chapter 28
Black & White & Red All Over
As Pat and Dan pulled up to the burning school, they assumed the beacon must have been a wild goose chase. The kid had to either be burned to a crisp or torn to pieces and somehow whatever part of him that held the transmitter had managed to send off a phantom signal. As they got closer, they saw the two boys; they had managed
to scurry onto the roof of the burning building. They clearly did not have much time left; the section upon which they were standing would soon be engulfed in flames as well. Dan pulled the car as close the remains of the structure as he could. The leaping flames confused the Skells and distracted them from other movements. The two boys shimmied down the drain pipe and made a dash for the car. Pat and Dan got out of their car, guns drawn to give them cover.
The boys were not more than ten feet from the car when a flash of black and white came out of nowhere. The old nun grabbed the slower boy and sunk her teeth deeply into Colin’s throat, taking him to the ground like a lion on a stoned antelope. Dan and Pat ran over to try and help, but when the nun raised her head and growled, they realized who it was. The blood running down her chin and flesh hanging from her teeth made her somewhat more… recognizable. It was Sister Puglia.
It was almost in unison that Pat and Dan fired their weapons. The barrage of gunfire split the woman in half.
“Hey, Pat, what’s black and white and red all over?”
Pat looked at his friend with disbelief. “Dan, you’re a sick fuck.”
This was going to be a tough one to explain in confession.
Chapter 29
Cul-de-Sac
In a quiet cul-de-sac in Tinton Falls, NJ, Tom Willis was standing in his bathrobe and slippers. In his left hand he held his cup of black coffee, in his right, the morning paper that had been dropped on his driveway. He was reading the headline when he noticed the unusually large amount of emergency vehicle sirens off in the distance. It sounded like it was coming from every direction—police cars, or ambulances, or fire trucks, he wasn’t sure which.
His neighbor Dave also emerged, having noticed the chorus of sirens. “What the hell is going on, Tom?” Dave inquired.
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