The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  “Let me see your arm,” the Asian man said.

  Crystal held her arm up for the man to examine. The indentations on her skin where Moji bit her were deep and already bruised, but only two of the teeth penetrated deep enough to break the skin. Blood trickled slowly down Crystal’s arm toward her elbow. She gulped air to calm herself and waved her free hand toward Moji’s prone figure. “What the hell was that all about? What did you give her?”

  “Miss Douglas will be ok...for now,” he said without looking up from his inspection of her wound.

  He gestured for one of the men to hand him the metal tray.

  “How do you know Moji?” Crystal asked.

  “My apologies for not introducing myself. My name is Dr. Paul Kuan. I live in the unit next to Miss Douglas, number 1012.”

  “Nice to meet you Dr. Kuan.”

  “Please, call me Paul.”

  “Ok Paul, can you please tell me why my friend, along with those other two people, are lying comatose on the floor? And what did you mean when you said that she would be ok for now?”

  “Of course Miss...?”

  “LaMont. Crystal LaMont.”

  “Of course, Miss LaMont. Like the other two—he swept his arm in a wide arc—I injected her with a strong but safe sedative. We decided that it would be best to keep them sedated until they can be properly diagnosed.”

  Crystal gazed at the people lying on the mattresses, both had remained motionless during the entire incident. “You mean to tell me that the same thing that happened to Moji happened to those two?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Paul took a gauze bandage and one of the dark colored bottles from the tray. He brought the bottle close to her face so she could see the label.

  “This is hydrogen peroxide. Your wound is not serious but it is important that we clean it thoroughly. This will sting a little.”

  He twisted the cap off the bottle and poured the peroxide liberally over her wound, using his free hand to hold her arm steady. Crystal winced and sucked in a lungful of air through clenched teeth. “Damn it! I forgot how much that stuff stings!”

  Paul ignored Crystal’s complaint, choosing to keep his eyes locked on her arm, watching the peroxide froth vigorously around the open wound. After the peroxide chemical reaction had abated, he gently patted her arm with a gauze bandage, soaking up the remaining peroxide and the small amount of blood that continued to leak from the small, incisor-shaped punctures in her arm. He smiled at Crystal as he began to dress the wound. “No, I don’t know why.”

  “Excuse me?” Crystal said, distracted by the throbbing ache left by the peroxide bath.

  “The answer to your second question. I don’t know why these women are experiencing these symptoms. Some people on the radio are reporting that a meteor exploded relatively close to the ground over Houston, causing damage to many buildings and the electrical grid. Others are saying it was a terrorist attack. I am not an expert in these matters so I cannot speak to whether the explosion had anything to do with what is making them behave as they do. I am saying that once they can be transported to a hospital, a proper diagnosis can be done. Until then, I believe it is best to keep them sedated so they are no danger to themselves or others.”

  Crystal squinted her eyes a bit and looked again at the two people lying unconscious on the floor. Sure enough, they were both women. “So you’re telling me that thing that exploded is causing people to lose their mind?”

  “No, no. I did not say that. I said I do not know what is causing it. It could be anything. It could be stress, some contaminant in the building, or yes, something released by the explosion. But whatever it is it doesn’t seem to be affecting everyone because none of us have fallen ill.”

  Crystal nodded and then gently stroked the freshly applied bandages on her arm. “Well, I hope you’re right.”

  “I hope this as well, Miss LaMont.”

  “Please call me Crystal. And thank you for patching me up.”

  “You’re welcome...Crystal.”

  Another voice spoke up from the shadows behind the doctor. It was one of the men who had tackled Moji to the ground. “Missy, you and the little doctor there can pretend everything is going to be alright but those with eyes to see know what’s really going on and it ain’t no exploding rock from space. That’s what the government wants you to believe and that story is a crock of horse shit if I ever heard one.”

  “Please Mr. Jenkins,” Paul said, turning to face the short, pot-bellied man, “we’ve already debated your theories. We’ve all agreed that it would be best to stay safe within the confines of our building until daybreak when we can better assess our situation and have a much better chance of contacting the authorities.”

  Yeah, I agreed to wait. But that was before Jamerco—”

  “My name is Jamarco,” Jamarco interrupted, “Ja–mar–co.”

  “Jamerco, Jamarco, whatever. Point is, we’re wasting valuable ketamine on these zombies Ja–mar–co keeps dragging in here when we should be packing up our supplies and heading for the hill country. There’s no telling what kind of poison the terrorists have released over the city. If we don’t get out of here now we may not be able to later.”

  “What in the hell is he talking about?” Crystal asked.

  “Mr. Jenkins,” Paul said, “believes that the explosion was a terrorist attack on the city and we need to flee into the countryside before the unprepared—he refers to them as zombies—descend upon us, preventing our escape.”

  Elisha Jenkins looked visibly upset. He stepped into the doctor’s personal space, his belly nearly touching Paul's waist, and pointed a taut index finger at his chin. “You can try and dismiss me all you want chinaman but what’s happening here is no joke. You think the government is going to tell you the truth about what’s going on? All night we’ve been listening to ungodly screaming and gunshots. You think that’s normal? I’m telling you it ain’t! We need to get out of here and it ain’t doing anybody any good to keep telling yourself that pack of lies while the city goes to shit in a handbasket.”

  Paul stared at the floor and said nothing, but he looked anxious. He exhaled noisily and began to collect his medical paraphernalia and place them back on the metal tray.

  Crystal had heard enough. She squeezed in between the two men. “I don’t know who you are Mr. Jenkins and, to tell you the truth, I really don’t care. But you got some nerve making demands like you really know what’s going on.” Crystal faced him and looked down on his partially bald head. In her bare feet she was almost six feet tall and by her reckoning she towered over Mr. Jenkins by a good eight inches. She stepped close to him and threw her shoulders back, using her height to her full advantage. “The doctor is doing the best he can in a messed up situation and all I hear you doing is talking foolishness. If I were you I’d try turning that radio to a real news station instead of listening to that bullshit coming out of Joe and Suzanne’s mouth.”

  Elisha wasn’t intimidated. He looked steadily into Crystal’s eyes, the steel blue of his pupils glowering with a practiced hate that made Crystal uneasy. “Missy—”

  “And my name ain’t no damn missy! It’s Crystal LaMont. You can call me Mrs. LaMont.”

  “Whatever, missy,” Elisha said, ignoring her request and turning away while dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Thing is, some strange shit is going down. The real radio stations, as you call them, are saying that a meteor exploded over the city, blowing out windows and knocking out the power. They’re saying that the government is ordering everyone to stay indoors and off the streets—for safety reasons. But ain’t it funny that the main stream media ain’t saying nothing about all the craziness going on. People running around acting all crazy, attacking folks for no good reason, folks shooting at anything moving. You were out there, weren’t cha? You tell me that what you saw and heard wasn’t a little bit out of the ordinary, even for a natural disaster?”

  He’s right, Cry
stal thought as she diverted her eyes from Elisha’s nefarious stare, but I’ll be damned if I give this bastard the pleasure of letting him know. She shot Jamarco a stop-me-from-killing-this-man look.

  “Mr. Jenkins,” Jamarco said, scrambling to his feet from his sitting position next to Moji to stand beside Crystal, “maybe we should go downstairs and talk to Mr. Walls. I think we should let him know if you’re going to do something different than what we agreed to.”

  “There’s really nothing to talk about boy. The only reason I gave Jeremy a lick of my time was because he has the gun, and like my pappy always said, the man with the gun makes the rules.”

  “Well, we should still go and talk to him. He’s gonna want to know what happened to Moji. And he still has the gun.”

  “Boy, just because he gets to make the rules doesn’t mean I’m obligated to follow them. This damn bomb or meteoroid or whatever the hell it is caught us flat-footed. Since I couldn’t think of something better, I agreed to Jeremy’s and the chinaman’s stupid plan. But with people going crazy and darn near acting like real zombies, me and my family—he pointed to the other two men standing behind him—we came up with a better plan. I’m gonna go fetch my sister from her apartment, then I’m gonna go door-to-door, all the way to the twenty-fifth floor if I have to, and find us some supplies and hopefully a few like-minded patriots in this liberal infested shit-hole of a building. And when I get back I promise you there will be a new sheriff in town.”

  Elisha moved to leave but one of the men—the younger of the two—grabbed him by the arm to halt his progress.

  “Unc-Uncle Elisha,” the young man said, his high pitched voice sounding hesitant and somewhat scared, “shouldn’t we at least take a few lanterns with us? We don’t have any weapons and God knows what may be lurking in the building’s nooks and crannies.”

  Elisha looked aggravated. He swatted the young man’s hand away. “Thomas, I swear boy, sometimes I’m ashamed to admit that you’re my kin.” He pointed at the other man. “Frank, grab a couple of those lights so my girly nephew won’t piss his pants.”

  Frank nodded and snatched up two lanterns off the floor.

  Crystal recognized Elisha’s nephew. Though she didn’t remember his face, that squeaky voice was hard to forget: he was Thomas, the Tower’s doorman. She didn’t know who the other man, Frank, was but his demeanor screamed slime ball. She decided that he couldn’t be trusted as far as she could spit. “Hey!” she said, “You just can’t take those! There’s barely enough light in here as it is.”

  “Ain’t none of these drugged up heifers going to be moving anytime soon,” Elisha said, “and the way you been ogling Je-mark-co, I thought you and he might fancy a little less light.” He broke into a slow, crooked smile, lips peeling back to expose a row of stained and rotten teeth, arranged like a broken picket fence. “Anyhow, it’ll be light soon. Just open the drapes and y’all will be just fine.”

  Elisha pointed toward the front door. “Let’s go boys. We got some foraging to do.”

  Frank handed one of the lanterns to Thomas and the three of them filed out the door and disappeared down the hall.

  14

  It was the final play of the big game. Darryl was split wide left. The defensive back was laying off him, about eight yards off the line of scrimmage and just off his outside shoulder. He’s protecting the sideline, Darryl thought, this motherfucker thinks I'm too scared to go inside. The ball was snapped. Darryl sprinted directly toward the DB then juked left. As soon as the DB opened his hips to give chase, Darryl juked right and cut toward the opposite sideline. The DB twisted around and tried to recover, but his feet got tangled and he fell helplessly to the ground. Bye motherfucker! Darryl thought. Running full speed, he turned and looked back for the ball. He could see the quarterback scrambling to the right, trying to find him. His mind did a double take when he realized that the quarterback wasn't wearing a helmet. His view suddenly zoomed in on the quarterback’s face. It was Moji.

  “Blahz, muthafuka, wak uphs!”

  The ball was in the air. It was a perfectly thrown spiral, arching toward the back corner of the end zone. Darryl adjusted his speed to put himself between the ball and the safety. I got his shit. He leaped and turned to look the ball into his hands...and it morphed into a globe of blinding light.

  “Awww, what the fuck?” Darryl said as he snapped his eyes shut to the light that poured into his left pupil.

  Bruce let go of Darryl’s eyelid and swung the flashlight away from his face. “Thaht woke yourhs assh uphs.”

  “Brute?” Darryl said through clenched teeth. His right shoulder throbbed angrily, the pain ebbed and flowed in waves, forcing him to gasp several times before he could speak again. “Oh man, that shit hurts.” He was sitting on the kitchen floor, propped up against the base cabinet at the end of the island. His right arm was bound and immobilized against his body with some sort of makeshift sling. Between his sprawled legs, a flashlight, standing on end, was illuminated and pointed at the ceiling, creating a small bubble of light that barely enclosed him and Bruce. “Hey man, what the hell happened?”

  Bruce had his back turned to Darryl. He was busy rearranging items in a big red box. “I duh know,” he said, then turned to face Darryl, “somethin blewh uphs.”

  Darryl flinched then sucked in air through his teeth when he saw Bruce’s face, “What the fuck happened to your mouth? Shit is all fucked up.”

  Bruce gingerly touched his swollen lower jaw with his fingers. “I thinh I hith ith oun tha ed ofs tha counna.” He dug in his pocket then held open his hand, “I loss some teefhs.”

  Darryl looked down into Bruce's open palm. There were three complete teeth—one incisor and two molars—in his hand. “Damn, that's messed up,” he said, using his left hand to gently inspect the bandages covering his own injury. “Who patched me up? I don't remember shit after yanking myself off of that spike.”

  Bruce's eyes lit up and what Darryl thought might have been a smile momentarily flickered across the mounds of swollen flesh on his face. “Meh!” he said, as a sliver of unchecked drool rolled down his chin. “I usedh tha firsth a kith I foun undah tha sink.” He pointed at the big red box behind him.

  “What the fuck do you know about first aid kits?”

  Bruce's eyes narrowed. “I knowhf enough to save your blach assh.” He reached into his mouth with his thumb and index fingers and pulled out several wads of blood-soaked cotton. “Ugh, this shit tastes nasty. I had to soak the cotton with peroxide before I put it in my mouth. Anyway, after high school I couldn't find no work. The welfare office had a flyer from the Red Cross about free emergency medical technician training. So I signed up.”

  “So you're an EMT? I didn't know that.”

  “Nah, I couldn't pass the drug test. But lucky for you I learned a lot about patching motherfucker’s up.”

  Darryl managed a smirk. “Still hurts like a bitch but at least I'm not going to bleed to death. Thanks man.”

  “Well, you still need to see a doctor. I packed it pretty good but it can still get infected. Now that you're awake maybe we can get outta here.”

  “Is everybody else alright? Where's Queen?”

  Bruce was quiet. Darryl couldn't read Bruce's face, as swollen as it was, but his eyes betrayed a sadness that Darryl had never seen before in his friend. “Bruce,” Darryl's voice cracked as he forced out the words, “Queen is not dead is she?”

  “Nah,” Bruce half whispered, “at least I don't think so.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I don't know because she ain't here.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me right, she ain't here.” Bruce snatched the flashlight and pointed toward the great room. “When I woke up, you were lying face down near that shit piled up on the wall over there. No Queen.”

  “Maybe she wasn't hurt and she went to get help.”

  “Do you see how blowed up this house is? She was standing right in the moth
erfucking line of fire. There's no way in hell she didn't catch a good piece of that shit.”

  Darryl pointed at the pile of broken furniture in the great room. “Did you...look in there? Maybe she got buried.”

  “Yeah, I looked around in there. I'm telling you man, she's not here. After I got you fixed up, I even went outside looking for her.”

  Darryl's mood brightened. “Yeah, she probably hooked up with Reggie, Jamal, and Hazel. They were outside when that shit hit. She probably left with them. Did you check to see if any of their cars are gone?”

  Bruce shook his head and stared at the floor. “I'm sorry Blaze.”

  “Sorry about what?” Though the light from the flashlight was dim, Darryl saw that Bruce's cheeks were damp.

  “When I went outside I didn't see anybody at first. Man, it was so dark. I never seen it so dark outside before. The smell of smoke was so bad I thought the house was on fire, but it wasn't coming from this house. It looked like it was coming from the next house over. I could see the glow from the fire through the trees. I could hear a siren like, you know, from a fire truck. I thought, maybe they saw the fire and headed that way to get help. So I headed that way too to see if, you know, I could catch up with them. It was so dark and there was so much shit everywhere, you know, tree limbs, trash, all the lawn furniture, even with the flashlight I couldn't see that far ahead of me, so I was going slow, looking down at my feet. That's why I didn't it see it until i was right up on it.”

  “See what?”

  “The pool, man, the pool!” Bruce said, his voice revving up into a high pitched squeal.

  “Alright man, calm down. What happened at the pool?”

  Bruce dabbed tears off his face with the hem of his bathrobe. “The top of one of those big ass trees had snapped off and fell in the pool, it covered almost the whole thing. I didn't think nothing of it until I got closer and noticed how dark the water was when I shined my flashlight on it. It was all murky, like somebody had poured a bucket of black paint in it. And that's when I saw them.”