Since that time, Mr. Wilson has been isolated in the hospital’s critical care unit and is under close supervision. The identity of the person that bit Mr. Wilson remains unknown as does the motive behind the attack.
We’ll keep an eye on this developing story. But for now, back to you in the studio, Tom and Suzie.”
“Ah,” Andrew waved the story away with a hand. “I thought it was going to be something good. Just some dude getting bit on the hand. That’s nothing like a real zombie attack.”
“A ‘real’ zombie attack?” laughed Josh. “And when have you ever seen one of those? Or do I want to know?”
“No, I meant like a real zombie attack on television. I know they aren’t really real, but…”
“Wait,” Josh pointed at the television.
A new reporter was continuing with a related story about two bodies discovered near downtown.
“…a grizzly scene in a near south-side alley. The bodies weren’t discovered for several days due to their secluded location in the alley. The deceased were both middle-aged males and appeared to have been homeless, taking refuge in the alley when they were attacked.
According to police, portions of both men had been consumed, although police were unwilling to speculate as to what exactly had fed on the bodies. While it appears that it was most likely rats or possibly wild dogs, an unnamed source within the police department revealed that there appeared to be a combination of both human and animal teeth marks on both victims.”
“Now that’s a zombie attack!” Andrew nodded, smiling.
“Well that’s just terrible if you ask me,” Ms. Mary eyed the television with a frown.
“No! That’s crazy awesome!” cried young Andrew. “We either have zombies or cannibals or some sort of crazy cannibal serial killer roaming Chicago!”
“Don’t you have a video game to play?” his mother frowned at his youthful exuberance and naivety regarding such dark and disturbing matters.
“Ooh! That’s right!” Andrew grabbed his soda from where he’d set it on the table and hustled back out to the Simpson living room where his brother Jack was playing along with Patrick Trove and most of the other Blender children.
Once Andrew was gone, his mother sighed, “What is this world coming to when kids have been so desensitized by the movies they watch and the shows on television that they think people being cannibalized on the street is ‘awesome’?”
“Just a normal teenager these days,” Michael snorted. “He’s a good boy. But what do you expect? When everything is zombies, zombies, zombies these days, you can’t expect him to take such things seriously. You got zombie movies, zombie television shows, zombie cartoons, zombie comic books, zombie video games. Heck, I even saw zombie action figures when I was at the drug store the other day. It’s the flavor of the week. Beanie Babies, troll dolls, vampires, werewolves, these fads come and go.”
“Zombies and vampires have done pretty well for themselves throughout the years, though,” Josh Justak conceded. “They’ve had decent staying power when you think about it…vampires especially. Zombies as we know them today got bigger with the movie Night of the Living Dead back in the sixties, but stories of the walking dead have been around for a lot longer than that.”
“You don’t want ‘em talking about it, don’t let ‘em watch it,” Ms. Mary nodded forcefully.
“Good luck with that,” Victoria Hines snorted. “Certainly easier said than done. Like Michael said, zombie stuff is everywhere these days…even on the local news,” she pointed at the television where the newscasters had moved on to the seven-day weather forecast.
“True,” nodded Ms. Mary. “I suppose it’s all relative. Reminds me of when I was a kid. I watched the movie House on Haunted Hill, with Vincent Price,” she shook her head. “Scarred me for life. Kids these days would probably be bored out of their warped little minds watching that movie now,” she chuckled.
Christine nodded. “I still remember the first time I watched Friday the 13th. I’ve been scared of going into the woods alone ever since. It was on television the other night and Jack saw part of it. He was laughing at how ridiculous and campy he thought it was. It made me feel so old.”
“How quickly times change,” Ms. Mary chuckled. “And don’t even pull the ‘I felt so old’ card around me. You’re still a spring chicken, little lady.”
Christine shook her head. “Sure don’t feel like it sometimes.”
“You’re doing one heck of a job with those two boys. They’re turning into fine young men,” Michael assured her. “They were great when we went shooting the other day. Andrew really looks out for his little brother. They’re both polite, intelligent, and once in a while, they even listen to their elders,” he laughed.
“Thank you again for taking them,” Christine smiled.
“It was our pleasure,” Michael said.
“I can only hope that Justin is as good as they are at that age,” Josh interjected.
“Thanks,” Christine smiled bashfully, her cheeks reddening at the praise and the pride she felt regarding her sons. “It certainly helps having you all around to give me a hand.”
Suddenly there was the sound of kids arguing from the other room. “Oh boy,” Christine took a deep breath. “See what happens? They sense the praise we’re giving them and have to prove us wrong.”
“Let me take this one,” Ms. Mary gave her a knowing but tight-lipped smirk. “I’ll wrangle those kids.”
“Have at it,” Christine nodded. “Don’t be afraid to use your bullwhip on them if necessary!” she called jokingly after Ms. Mary.
* * *
“Burgers for dinner tonight? I don’t really feel like doing heavy cooking,” Wendell stretched and then stood from where he’d been lounging on the living room sofa.
“Sounds good to me,” his wife, Charla, called from the kitchen where she was pouring them each a glass of red wine. “A little chilly for grilling, though, isn’t it?”
“I like grilling in weather like this. The grill heat feels good. You aren’t out there sweating your tail off like in the summer. Plus, I like getting some fresh air on the balcony. It’s great having a view while you cook as opposed to staring at kitchen cabinets and appliances.”
“Fine with me,” Charla shrugged, carrying their wine glasses in from the kitchen and handing one to Wendell. “I’ll throw some fries in the deep fryer.”
“Mmm, mmm. Nothing like a healthy Friday night dinner after a long workweek.”
“Hey, we do pretty darn good eating well most of the time,” Charla did her best to defend their dinner selection. “We deserve an unhealthy treat once in a while. Takes us back to our childhood days when we could eat whatever we wanted and not pay for it with heartburn and expanding waistlines.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Wendell accepted his wine. “Cheers,” he clinked glasses with Charla. “Here’s to our rotgut dinner!”
“Here, here!” Charla agreed as they both took sips.
“My question to you now, my darling, is what sort of cheese would you like on your burger?”
“Hmm…” Charla considered. “What are my options?”
“Wendell walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Let’s see,” he pulled out a sliding drawer full of various lunchmeats and pre-sliced cheeses. “Looks like we’ve got Swiss, Munster, American, provolone, and pepper jack.”
“I think I’ll go with Munster.”
“I think I’ll take provolone,” Wendell pulled two press-seal baggies from the drawer.
“You know, I think I’ll change my order to provolone as well,” Charla said.
“Two provolone burgers it is. Coming right up!” Wendell tossed one of the bags back inside the drawer and pushed it shut before closing the refrigerator.
Charla kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the sofa with her wine, flipping on the television while Wendell prepped the burger patties.
“Salt and pepper?” Wendell called from the
kitchen.
“Pepper and a little salt, not too much. I’m trying to stay heart healthy, remember?”
“Oh yeah, right!” Wendell scoffed. “Cheeseburgers and fries. Yep, we’re all about heart healthiness here.”
“Hey…red wine,” Charla held up her glass in a sort of salute and giving Wendell raised eyebrows through the pass-thru where he worked in their condo’s kitchen.
The couple’s condo was a two-bedroom, one bathroom unit in a six-story building containing dozens of similarly designed one, two, and three-bedroom units. The building was located in the Village of Lyons, a middleclass community nestled against the curvature of the Des Plaines River where it snaked through Chicago’s near-west suburbs.
The main selling points when Charla and Wendell had purchased their unit had been two-fold. First off, they were able to pick the place up dirt-cheap since it was one of multiple units that had fallen into foreclosure. Second, their particular condo was a top-floor unit with a sizeable balcony that provided sweeping views of the Des Plaines River just several hundred yards away.
Charla let her look linger upon Wendell as he worked to finalize his patty preparations. The man she saw before her was tall, dark, and relatively handsome. He was thin, not necessarily muscular, but intelligent, and that helped make up for what he lacked in manlier physique. And while Wendell didn’t earn a lot of money as a grade school social studies teacher, Charla had to admit, she felt lucky to have him. He was healthy, reasonably attractive, and was a decent cook. And he was stable and he didn’t stray, at least as far as she knew. And that was important. She had to admit, she could have done worse – then again, there was a distant voice deep inside reminding her that she probably could have done better, too.
Wendell exited the kitchen with a platter in one hand that held several hamburger patties and slices of cheese. He held his wine glass in the other. “If you can grab the patio door for me, I’ll get the grill going.”
“Sure thing, babe,” Charla popped up to open the door leading out to the condo’s balcony for her hubby.
“Thanks, ‘hon,” Wendell leaned in for a kiss before passing through the door out to the balcony.
A chilly November breeze whipped inside the condo. “Oooo,” Charla shivered, shutting the door quickly behind her husband. She headed for the couch where she retrieved her wine glass from the coffee table before settling back down to snuggle under a fleece blanket.
Outside, Wendell set his wine and platter of food on one of the grill wings and opened the grill’s lid. Then he bent to turn the valve to the propane gas tank, turned the grill knobs to their “on” positions, and clicked the igniter switch until blue flames leapt to life from the grill burners.
Wendell closed the lid to allow the grill to warm up and burn off some remnants still stuck to its surface. Then he took his wine over to the balcony ledge and looked out over the river, smiling to himself. There was just something about cooking for his wife, and especially being able to do it outdoors. The act harkened back to a more primitive time. It stirred something within him, something that most of the time lay dormant, a sort of subconscious urge to explore primeval instincts – to cook meat over an open flame in the outdoors. It just felt right.
Wendell took a drink of wine and gazed at the rapidly darkening western sky. The last bits of late-fall light gave the clouds a pinkish hue as the sun settled on the horizon.
From his position, Wendell could see the river as well as the bridge that linked Lyons to nearby Riverside just across the river. He loved the history and ambiance of Riverside, he just couldn’t afford their astronomical home values or their associated property tax rates to live there. But this didn’t mean that he couldn’t appreciate the neighborhood from across the river and on evening strolls with Charla.
The layout of Riverside had been designed by famed landscape architect, Fredrick Law Olmstead. Olmstead was probably best known for his design of Central Park in New York City and the grounds at the Biltmore Estate in the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina. Many days after work, especially in the summertime or early fall, Charla and Wendell would take walks along the river. They would follow the riverside trail until they reached its exit near the library in the community’s quaint downtown. There, they might stop in for a beer at an area pub, grab a light bite to eat, or just get a coffee to go.
These walks had a freeing effect on the couple, helping to wash away the stresses of work, the daily commute, or just life in general. Wendell would point out things to Charla, different trees, plants, or birds with which she was unfamiliar. They would talk about how it must have looked there almost a century and a half earlier when Olmstead had completed the winding maze of streets that circuited Riverside and his grand park beside the river. Wendell envisioned a time when men in suits and top hats strolled arm-in-arm with women in lace-fringed dresses, voluminous headdresses, and fashionable parasols. Children would have played with dogs, rolled wooden hoops down streets with sticks, and sailed newspaper fashioned vessels in the river’s gentle current.
At least that’s how Wendell saw it in his mind’s eye, and he did his best to describe his visions to Charla who saw none of them. But she enjoyed listening to Wendell’s historical daydreaming. Rather, Charla saw a time when the likes of “their kind” would not have been welcome in Riverside unless it was to cook and clean for the families living inside the massive mansions. But she chose to keep her mouth shut and let her husband guide her on his fantasy trips into the past. His appreciation for history was what made him such a good teacher, and she had no desire to tread cruelly on the subject matter that he held so dear.
During their walks through the small park between the library and the train station near the center of downtown Riverside, Wendell would often remark how he expected to see a white-painted pagoda with a band and mustachioed Barbershop quartet playing inside it. A group of men in straw hats, and white-dress-clad women would be standing in the grass watching the performance.
A stiff western breeze gusted in off the river and Wendell shivered at his station beside the grill. He’d come outside wearing only the sweater that he’d worn to school that day. That was the one downside of having a top-floor corner balcony; the wind could really cut a person to the bone. It was great in the summertime, but in the winter, it was a whole different story.
The sun had almost disappeared, its last few rays managing to keep the sky lit for a few more minutes. It got dark so early around this time of year, especially after the fall time change.
Wendell opened the grill’s top. The warm air that wafted from within felt good against his arm and face. He grabbed a wire grill brush and ran it back and forth over the grated surface, removing any debris left from the last meal he’d cooked. Then he set the brush down and plopped the burgers on. They landed with a sizzling hiss. Wendell closed the grill, adjusted the burner heat, grabbed his wine, and went back inside to warm up.
After washing his hands at the kitchen sink, he sauntered over to the sofa to spend a few minutes with Charla before he had to go back outside and flip the burgers.
She was watching the early evening news.
“Can you believe these attacks they keep talking about?”
“Attacks?” Wendell frowned.
“You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t heard about these cannibal-like attacks occurring around downtown. They’re calling them the ‘zombie attacks’.”
“I don’t know why you watch that stuff,” Wendell frowned, shaking his head.
“What, the local news?” Charla looked at him in stunned disbelief. “Sorry, some of us like to stay somewhat informed of what’s going on around us,” she said sarcastically.
“All they talk about is the same sad stuff. It just brings you down…at least it does me. It’s always shootings, robberies, protests, hit-and-runs, train suicides. If I wasn’t a teacher, I could take a job writing the script for the Chicagoland nightly news. I’ve seen this stuff so many times. It’s just so damn de
pressing.”
“Well, yes, I’ll grant you that. But it’s the world we live in.”
“Humph,” Wendell snorted. “Not the world I live in…or at least not the world I want to live in.”
“Have some more wine,” Charla insisted, giving him a smirk, a wink, and a nod at his nearly empty wine glass as she tried her best to play off her frustration with him.
This kind of attitude from her husband drove Charla nuts. Wendell didn’t want to accept the world in which they lived, an often very cruel and very cold world. He was a teacher. Charla respected the role teachers played in raising the children of the world to be productive and responsible adults. But she also recognized that the school environment in which they worked sometimes tended to breed a more sheltered sort of existence.
Charla envied her husband in many ways, but it ticked her off to no end when he refused to acknowledge the harsher realities of the real world. And it worried her too. Sometimes she felt that Wendell’s naivety could prove dangerous. He just didn’t recognize many of the potential pitfalls that lay in wait for them in the modern world.
But these opposing viewpoints were what made the couple stronger together. It bonded their partnership of marriage and was what allowed them to work so well together and balance one another. Charla was the worrier, the realist, the strategizing plan-maker who saw the world as it really was. Wendell let things come as they may – the naïve dreamer. But like Jack Sprat and his wife, between the two, they’d so far been able to lick the world’s platter clean. And they’d made a safe and happy life for themselves even in the oft-turbulent landscape of Chicago.
The Last Bastion (Book 1): The Last Bastion Page 8
