The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance

by Ray, Timothy A.

  He texted that he was coming home, then put his phone in his pocket. He would need to preserve the battery as long as possible, needing to have contact with his wife later for pick up, and not sure if he’d be able to charge it while hanging out in the airport. Some airports had areas for that, but they were usually the newer ones. Midway didn’t look to have been upgraded in the previous ten years from what he remembered on arrival, and he doubted they had USB hubs for him to plug into.

  “Okay Buddy, we’re here.”

  He looked through the windows at the check in counters and was relieved to see only a few people in line. “I appreciate it,” he answered, tipping five dollars on his app, and quickly stepping out to get his bags from the trunk.

  The car pulled away just as he turned and stepped onto the curve, determined to get the hell out of Chicago, and hoping he’d make it to his flight on time. As this morning proved, anything could happen, and he wasn’t in the shape to handle anymore. He was going home no matter what, even if he had to steal a car and drive.

  Something seriously fucked was going on and he wanted no part of it.

  II

  Sitting still on a plane had never been harder.

  He had expected to get stopped going through security. He was technically running from a crime scene, of which he had somewhat been involved with, and was eluding the authorities by fleeing the state. Technically, he’d done nothing wrong. He had seen a situation, called the police, and what followed hadn’t been on him. Yet, questions about Jerry’s state before the shooting needed to be answered, and although he didn’t have any to give, his disappearance would bring his innocence into question.

  Who disappears after watching their coworker get his head blown off if they had nothing to do with what happened leading up to it?

  Me.

  The idea that they would have contacted airport security to stop his departure was naïve. He knew that. But it hadn’t stopped him from nervously fidgeting his way through the line, from his heart thundering in his chest as he passed through the metal detector, or from his eyes constantly darting around while he put his shoes back on, sure that at any moment someone would step up and ask him to follow after. He was even more surprised that he didn’t get a “random” check. He always got randomly pulled from line and nearly strip searched whenever he went through; someone was looking out for him.

  The officers had to have entered his room by now and noticed his absence, but nothing was left behind to indicate that he had ever been there other than a name on a sheet at the front desk, which he’d initialed upon checking in. The room had been reserved under his company’s name and credit card, none of his personal information given over to the hotel, and they would have to call Rhodes in order to get that. His phone hadn’t gone off, no one from the office had tried to reach him, and he took that as a sign that the wheels were slowly turning in his favor.

  He let out a sigh of relief when he boarded the plane, not caring that he had a middle seat, nor the fact that the guy sitting next to him kept shifting his elbow way to close to his ribs. When the plane had finally taxied and taken off, the flood of pressure that had been filling him since it all began seemed to flush completely out of his system, and he was able to get the trembling fingers to steady once more, and his pulsing temple to finally back off and give him peace.

  The one thing that the two-hour flight did give him was the chance to go over everything that happened and try to come to terms with what he’d experienced.

  First thing that popped into his mind was something out of a horror movie, and he immediately dismissed that as hogwash. Those kinds of things didn’t happen in the real world. Horror movies were designed to exploit people’s fears, to bring them to life in fantastical and horrific ways, and were rarely based on any kind of realistic circumstances. No boogeyman killed kids in their nightmares, no guy in a hockey mask chased kids through the woods with a machete, and the dead did not come back to life and start eating people. What had happened might defy immediate explanation, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  A few years back, there had been a news story of a man that had been infected with rabies down in Florida and went about trying to eat his neighbors. To the people involved it might have appeared to be straight out of a Romero film, but there was a scientific reason, a medical condition that had caused it, not a virus that reanimated the dead into walking cannibals.

  The dead just didn’t come back to life.

  Yet, he had seen the damage to Jerry’s neck, could recall in vivid detail the exposed bones, the torn flesh, and the massive blood loss apparent on the man’s clothing. To think that he could continue standing, much less chase him down and nearly break through a door seemed preposterous and defied rational explanations. Drugs could push people beyond their limits, cause inhuman demonstrations of strength, the ability for the body to keep moving past normal means, but biology was still restrained by the laws of nature.

  A torn-out throat meant death, not a lunatic charging at police officers, getting shot multiple times, and still tearing into the officer as his partner put a bullet in the man’s head.

  It was straight out of the Walking Dead, and it was giving him waking nightmares that would not stop. Well, almost. There had been no yellow eyes, instant decay, or shambling undead monster chasing after him. Jerry had looked just as he always did, minus the injuries and bloodless face, and the eyes, those rage-filled eyes. Still, not something he’d seen before, as the shows and movies he’d watched over the years really played up the monster look of their creatures, not wanting it to appear anything close to a real human being. Monsters were okay, humans eating humans, not so much.

  Unless you had a liver served with fava beans and a nice chianti.

  A shiver snaked up his spine.

  III

  The fasten seatbelt sign came on, and he glanced out the window; they were starting their descent into Denver. Shutting down his iPad and stowing it in his backpack, he quickly buckled his seatbelt as his anxiety began to build once more.

  While in flight, his phone was off, his contact to the outside world completely severed, and he was in a cocoon of safety that only thirty-five thousand feet could provide. Once the wheels touched down on the tarmac however, all that was lost.

  Would there be voicemails from his work? Would his wife be frantically trying to get ahold of him, having been contacted by both his employer and the Chicago Police Department? Were there officers waiting for him at the gate with orders to put him on the next plane back? None of this anxiety he felt would end until he was on his connecting flight and in the air once more, and even then, he’d be stressing the moment they began their descent into Sky Harbor.

  Hell, even the safety of his own home wouldn’t quite feel the same, the worry that someone might be knocking on his door at any second with extradition orders back to Illinois plaguing his mind. Would they go that far? He witnessed two minutes of whatever had happened, had no personal involvement in any of it, and was completely innocent of wrong-doing; with the exception of fleeing the crime scene that was.

  The plane touched down and he resisted the urge to immediately power up his cellphone. He knew that realistically it wouldn’t matter, that the airlines insistence that they be turned off was bogus, but why push it? The real world could wait for a few extra minutes while they taxied into the awaiting terminal. He was in the back of the plane, and would have plenty of time to wait while the rest of the passengers in front of him disembarked to check his phone.

  He wondered if this was how drug mules felt when landing at their destination, waiting to see if the DEA would be waiting for them at the gate, and tried his best to steady his breathing and remain calm.

  Hitting the power button on his phone, the plane having come to a complete stop, he tried not to watch as it went through its boot up process. He had bought a charging stick before boarding the plane and had recharged the battery while in flight, just in case he needed to use it more tha
n usual on this layover.

  Carrie: Is everything all right? Why are you coming home? What happened?

  There were no voicemails, no other texts, just the one from his wife responding to the one he’d sent before boarding his plane. Maybe he had dodged a bullet after all.

  Taking his backpack from the overhead compartment, he slid it over his shoulder and hit the shortcut for his wife’s cell on his home screen.

  “Hello?” she immediately asked, answering on the first ring. It was almost as if she’d expected him to call at that exact moment.

  “Were you tracking when my plane would land?” he asked casually, trying to sound calmer than he actually was. They had started moving towards the front of the plane, and he wasn’t out of the woods yet, so it was best not to frighten her any more than needed.

  “Kelly called, told me what flight you were on. Asked me how our kids were doing. Nice one genius, I had to wing it. What exactly did you tell them?”

  “That I had a family emergency and had to get home,” he responded, kicking himself for not warning her of his false story ahead of time. Not that it mattered, he was done, even if his employers weren’t aware of it yet.

  Still, he hated getting caught in a lie.

  “What’s the real reason?”

  It was not something he wanted to get into while in the jetway surrounded by a bunch of strangers close enough to kiss. “Doesn’t matter. I wanted to come home, so I am.”

  “Just like that? Honey, I miss you. I really do. But we can’t afford to be short a paycheck right now. We have bills to pay,” she said in her disapproving tone, like he was doing something reckless. “When I told you I didn’t care about it, I was thinking of how much I missed you not the looming rent payment.”

  “I’ll find something at home.”

  “If you could do that, you wouldn’t be on the road,” she returned.

  He was starting to feel anger rise within. His inability to fully explain what happened, her assumptions that it was some impulsive act instead of something deeper, was pushing him to the edge. “It’s hard to do an interview while in another state,” he countered. “Look, there were other reasons for me wanting to come home, things I can’t talk about right now. I need you to trust me, okay? And don’t answer any more calls from work, or from out of state until we have that talk.”

  The phone went silent.

  “What did you do?”

  Of course she’d go there.

  “Why does it have to be something I did?” he asked, stepping into the terminal, eyes scanning for cops, aware of the irony of that statement and his current fears.

  “Who are you worried about calling me from out of state?”

  “Can you not just trust me? Please? I didn’t do anything wrong, I promise you. That doesn’t mean other people will see it that way. Look, I’ll be at Sky Harbor at 11:30, can you just be there to pick me up? I’ll explain then.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay. Just get home safe. We’ll work it out when you get here. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he told her, then hit the end button.

  His bladder informed him that he needed to make a pitstop, so he began walking in that direction, thinking of what he might be able to get to eat, and bad in need of a cigarette. Luckily, Denver had a smoking lounge, one that you had to buy a drink to be in, but it was there nonetheless. It was better than nothing, which more than a few he’d been through had to offer, and he had to take what he got. Maybe he’d forgo the Pepsi he’d usually purchase and go for something stronger; he needed it.

  Chapter 4

  I

  The second he realized that it wasn’t all in his head was when a voice on the airport intercom announced that all flights had been grounded. Until then, he had convinced himself that what had happened that morning had been a fluke, some kind of isolated incident that would be explained later on; not part of a of larger scenario. But when the President of the United States grounded air traffic without explanation, he knew that he’d witnessed the beginning of something far more terrifying.

  While passengers streamed towards the airline counters to find out what was going on, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and began walking in the direction of the luggage conveyers. The bags were already being offloaded, and he wasted no time getting on the train to the other side of the terminal where his suitcase would be waiting. If he had to, he’d leave it behind, but best to at least check first. He had a head start, as he had a feeling that this was somehow connected to what he’d experienced that morning, while the rest of the passengers were busy trying to find out why they were getting stranded in Denver for no apparent reason.

  Standing on the train, he brought out his phone and called his wife once more.

  “Hey, what’s up? You getting on your plane?” his wife asked in her dopey sounding voice. It was about time for her to go to bed, and she was already not happy about having to stay up to get him. She’d hate what he was about to tell her next even more.

  “First, I’m not going to be at Sky Harbor. All flights have been grounded.”

  “What?” she inquired, sounding more awake, aware that something serious had to be happening in the world. The last time he could recall that happening was after 9/11, and there had been no talk of any terrorist attacks on the news beforehand. “Planes grounded? What’s going on? Are you okay? Is it another attack?”

  “They haven’t really said anything,” he commented, stepping off the train and heading towards the baggage claim. “Just that the flights have been grounded and that they are unable to make travel arrangements until they have an idea of when it will be lifted. I’m trying to get ahead of the crowd here. Can you log into Enterprise and rent me a car?”

  She grunted and in his mind, he pictured her sitting up in bed. “Why would I need to do that? Just have your work reserve you one. We don’t really have the money right now.”

  He looked around and noticed that he was by himself, the conveyer belt already starting to spit out bags, and had at least a few moments of privacy. “Jerry attacked me this morning and was gunned down by the police. I didn’t want to stick around after that and got Kelly to book me a flight before she knew what was going on. By now I’m sure she knows, and I doubt she’s going to be willing to help me out here.”

  “He attacked you?” Carrie blurted, now sounding like she was fully alert and on the move. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I was able to get back into the hotel before he could get to me, but baby, he was fucked up. I mean—really fucked up. Like, shouldn’t be walking around kind of shit. I called the police, they showed up and he attacked them as well. They blew his fucking head off. I decided I’ve had it, I’m done, and need to come home. So I called Kelly, got a flight out, and headed straight to the airport. I keep expecting someone to stop me, to try and take me back, and I’m afraid that if I stop moving, that’s exactly what will happen. But now, with this flight grounding thing, I’m starting to worry that what happened this morning is just the beginning, that I need to get on the road quickly and get out of town. So can you please book me a rental before they’re all taken? There are a lot of people being stranded here, and I’m probably not the only one that’s going to need a car.”

  “Okay, they’re all out of economy class. They have mid-size or SUV.”

  Without thinking it through, he told her to book the SUV, not knowing what might come at him on his drive home, and feeling better about that option than the other. When she started to complain about the price, he told her to book it anyway. She growled something under her breath, but he ignored it, having spied his suitcase and snatching it from the conveyer. Other passengers had started to show up, and things were about to get crowded down here.

  Walking towards the van that would take him to the Enterprise part of the lot, he said, “Honey, I get it, can’t really afford it. I just have a bad feeling and I can’t shake it. I want to get to you and the kids as soon as I can manage. Spe
aking of which, pack some bags, go get them from school, and go to Dad’s cabin up in Show Low. Can you do that for me? I can head there from here, and hopefully all of this will be over by then. I would just feel better knowing that you were on the road as well.”

  “Are you asking me to call into work? Right after you quit your job? Seriously?”

  “The President just grounded a country’s worth of airplanes. The last time that happened, we were under attack from terrorists. I have not heard a peep out of the news outlets, nothing is posted on social media, and the airlines themselves don’t seem to have a clue as to what’s going on. I just, I know, okay? Please? Pack your bags for the weekend, go get the kids, and meet me at the cabin. Just for once, listen to me?” he begged, needing to know his family was okay before setting out into the madness that was Denver.

  “I’ll call in for tonight, but if nothing is going on by morning, I need to plan to be back here for work tomorrow night.”

  That was the best he was going to get. “Okay. Thank you. Call me when you’re on the road. I need to get checked in and out of here as fast as possible. I’ve got to go.” The van had come to a stop in front of the Enterprise lot, and he quickly got out and grabbed his suitcase. “I love you Honey. Be safe and get the kids up to that cabin.”

  She sighed, “okay. But you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do when you get there. Drive safe.”

  More than I already have? What does it take?

  “I will,” he promised instead, and hung up. The Enterprise agent had come out of his shack with a handheld device, and he began relaying his information for the reservation. They walked over to a black GMC Acadia, and the agent checked the mileage as Kyle threw his suitcase in the backseat. As the agent walked around checking for dents, he put his bag on the passenger seat and anxiously watched to see how many more people might already be showing up awaiting their turn. There were only a few for the moment, so everything looked okay, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way.