Then the screaming started.
An uncontrollable yelp escaped from his lips as the screams were displaced by the frenzied snarls of a pack devouring its kill. Darryl fought the instinct to jump up and run, to get as far away as possible from that pack of crazed animals. I can't just jump out the car and run, he thought, the dog outside, it’s… waiting for me. The breathing on the other side of the door had stopped, but the smell lingered, filling the car’s cabin like a dense fog. It’s still out there, it heard me and it knows I'm in here. Darryl wished he had his gun, or for that matter, any kind of weapon. Instead of looking for keys, I should've found something to beat the shit out of that dog with, like a tire iron. Darryl knew he had to make the first move, lying face down on the floor of the car, he was in a vulnerable position. If the dog decides to jump through the broken window, there’s no way I can defend myself. He lifted his upper body, slowly transitioning from lying on his stomach to resting on his knees, while keeping his head below the window. Ok, all I gotta do is bust this door open real quick. If I jump out fast enough, maybe I can—
The Impala jerked sideways, throwing Darryl forward, face first, into the door panel. Before he could regain his balance, there was a loud metallic crunch as the entire door exploded outward in a shower of shredded aluminum and plastic. Darryl spilled out of the car, landing hard on his injured arm. “Shit!” he screamed as the pain engulfed him. He rolled onto his back, his legs still resting on the car's running board. He looked up, and what he saw staring back at him, not more than three feet from his face, was a monster.
Darryl “The Blaze” Strickland never considered himself a punk. As a young, up-and-coming gangster, he considered himself invincible, afraid of nothing. No matter what the situation, “The Blaze” always handled his business like a man. That is, until now. As Darryl stared up at the most horrifying creature he had ever seen, his body and mind simultaneously failed him, the former letting loose his bowels and the latter, his sanity.
25
“This is the Emergency Alert System. At 10:39pm central daylight time, a super bolide meteor exploded approximately ten miles above the southeast portion of Houston Texas. The resulting shock wave and fires have caused extensive damage to roads, buildings, and the utility infrastructure. Please shelter in place. Unless you are in imminent danger, do not attempt to evacuate the area. The Office of Emergency Management, FEMA, and the National Guard have been deployed to secure the area and to administer aid to those in need. The region sustaining the heaviest damage, all of the inner loop south of interstate highway ten, has been declared a federal disaster area. As such, the dusk-to-dawn curfew that had been in effect has been extended. Until further notice, a twenty-four hour curfew is in effect for the region encompassed by interstate highway ten to the north and the west, south, and east portions of the highway 610 loop. No unauthorized vehicles or persons are allowed to travel in, out, or within the affected area without proper authorization. For the safety of all residents, this curfew will be strictly enforced. This alert will repeat every thirty minutes.”
“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Jack Arnold said, his voice revved up with a flair usually reserved for a circus carnival barker, “is your hard earned tax dollars at work! Well, I call it tyranny! The government is using this disaster, if that’s what it really is, as a cover to revoke all your rights as a citizen of these United States of America! Curfews, armed soldiers patrolling the streets, not for your safety, oh hell no! They’re there to make sure you obey and that you stay where you’re told. And God forbid if you exercise your second amendment right to carry a weapon to protect your property and your loved ones. I heard the brown shirts have the authority to shoot on sight any citizen they see carrying a weapon. That’s just crazy!”
“This is Jade Helm all over again Jack,” Suzanne Reynolds chimed in, “they’re not telling us what’s really going on. If it weren’t for the dedicated ham radio operators out there letting us know what is really happening across the city, we would truly be lost. God bless those men and women, they are the true American patriots.”
“Suzanne, I’m scared, I truly am. I’m scared for this city, this station, and this great country of ours. Something awful is going on right outside these doors! Maybe it’s a natural disaster, maybe it’s a terrorist attack, or hell, maybe it’s the rapture! The ham radio community is calling it the Scourge. They think it’s a bio-weapon unleashed by an enemy of democracy. Something that turns ordinary citizens into stark raving mad monsters. Something so horrible that our own government, a government sworn to uphold the rule of law and to serve and protect its citizenry, is powerless to do anything about. Thing is, we don’t know. We’re being kept in the dark. But I do know this. People are dying and many, many people are missing! They are being snatched up and sliced up by some ungodly creatures straight outta the pits of hell! And since those who have been sworn to protect us have instead abandoned us, it is up to us, to each one of you, to stand up and fight to take our city back! We will not go down without a fight! To all my patriots out there, keep listening to this station for more information. We will continue to broadcast for as long as we can.”
Elisha tapped the radio’s off button then turned to face the group. “Well, you heard it right from the horse’s mouth. The city has officially gone to shit. It’s time for us to skedaddle.”
Crystal sat on the floor next to Jamarco, her back against the wall, cradling Paul’s head in her lap. A dark gray stain had begun to spread across his bandages. And though he was still unconscious, his body had begun to twitch and his shirt and pants were damp from sweat. “I don’t remember nominating you to be our leader,” she said, “nobody but you believes the crap that show is spewing. Anyway, you heard the announcement, the city’s on lockdown. And we can’t just leave Moji, the doc, and this other woman behind. I say we sit tight and wait for the cavalry to show up.”
Elisha visibly bristled at Crystal’s suggestion. “Missy, this here—he patted the gun on his hip—is the only nomination I need to speak my mind. I don’t give a pig’s ass what or who you believe. I know the government is lying through its teeth about what’s going on. You’re too stupid to see the evidence that is right in front of you. What do you think is happening to the people in this very room? Do you think this is the flu? No, this scourge shit is real! So me, Emma, Tommy, and Frank plan to ride outta here and head to the hill country. And I wasn’t invitin’ y’all to come along. I might have made an exception for the doc but right now he looks sicker than a choir boy after an all-night bender.” He bent down and sniffed the air above Paul’s head. “Wound smells rank too, like gangrene setting in. Y’all say the Reingold woman did this and then ran off?”
“Yah,” Jamarco said, “like we told you Mr. Jenkins, Mrs. Reingold woke up actin’ like a crazy woman. She slice up Dr. Kuan’s face, then she run outta here like a bat outta hell.”
“Well, she didn’t come down to the lobby,” Jeremy said, “I would have saw her. She must have gone upstairs.”
“That doesn’t sound like anything the Catherine Reingold I know would do even if she were sick,” Emma Watson said, “I think something untoward has happened to Catherine and these two have something to do with it.”
“Now now Emma,” Elisha said, “just calm yourself. I’ve been telling you that folks been getting sick all over the city. These ladies—he waved his arm over Moji and the other woman lying unconscious on the floor—are infected with whatever it is that was let loose when the bomb exploded. I was here when they brought in Mrs. Reingold. I can tell you that she wasn’t a well woman.”
“Well, you’re my brother and I trust you’re telling me the truth, but I don't believe my good friend was capable of such a horrific act. Elisha, you know these heathens know how to lie and cover for each other, that’s what they do. They can’t be trusted.”
Jamarco took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. He’s been at the receiving end of Mrs. Watson’s bigotry before.
He knew she could be a nasty woman. He remembered the advice Mr. Sims gave him after Mrs. Watson had dressed them down in the lobby for “listening to the devil’s music” while on duty. He said, “That woman is as racist as they come, but if you want to keep your job, just smile and do whatever it is she wants you to do.” He learned to swallow his pride and endure the humiliation. She’s just an old sad woman, he thought. Not worth losing my job over. He glanced at Crystal. He hoped that she was too busy caring for Dr. Kuan to pay attention to Mrs. Watson’s ranting. He glanced over at her to check her mood. He didn’t like what he saw. Crystal’s demeanor had changed. Her eyes had grown wide and she clearly looked agitated. He leaned close to her, “Mrs. LaMont, ignore Mrs. Watson,” he said, whispering in her ear, “she’s just an old woman looking for attention.”
Crystal looked at him but her eyes burned straight through him as if he weren’t there. She carefully placed Paul’s head on the folded blanket that served as a makeshift pillow, stood up, and jutted an index finger in Mrs. Watson’s direction. “Who in the hell you calling a heathen, bitch?”
“How dare you speak to me in that tone!” Emma said.
“I’ll speak to you any damn way I want, bitch!” Crystal said as she lunged forward, hand outstretched, reaching for Emma’s throat.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” Emma shrieked as she shrank back from Crystal’s advance.
“You just hold on there, little missy,” Elisha commanded, one hand outstretched to block Crystal’s approach, the other reached for the gun at his hip.
“What you gonna do, shoot me cowboy?” Crystal said. She slapped his hand away from her chest.
“Ok little lady, just calm down,” Frank said, stepping forward from behind Emma.
“I ain’t your goddamn lady!” Crystal said. She ignored Frank and moved toward Emma, who had retreated backward through the room until her back was pressed against the front door. “You best watch your mouth bitch because I will mess you up!”
Jamarco jumped up and grabbed Crystal’s hand. “Mrs. LaMont—Crystal—please come back and sit down.”
His hands shaking, Elisha stepped back and fumbled the gun from its holster. His finger slid smoothly through the trigger guard and he raised the gun with both hands.
Oh my god, he’s going to shoot her! Thomas thought. He was to Elisha’s right, standing behind Frank, about six feet from the pistol now aimed at Crystal’s chest. He dove forward, hands outstretched, launching his five foot three inch frame like a missile at Elisha’s elbow. He tackled Frank and then Elisha just as the gun went off.
When Jamarco saw Mr. Jenkins raise the gun, he pulled Crystal to him, wrapped her in a bear hug, spun her around, and dove to the ground. He felt as if they were falling in slow motion. He held Crystal in a tight embrace, they were face-to-face, his back was to Mr. Jenkins and his gun. The muzzle flash burnt the room in white light, the sound of the gunshot reverberated off the walls, and the screams and shouts in the room fell away to ringing in Jamarco’s ears. He felt Crystal’s body tense, her eyes flared, and her mouth opened to form an agonizing scream that he could barely hear. No! he thought, fearing the bullet had found its mark.
Thomas, ears ringing from the gun blast, collapsed on top of Elisha and Frank, entangled in a pile of writhing arms and legs. For at least a few seconds, he had them both pinned beneath his body. He could see his Uncle Elisha’s hands. They were empty. Where’s the gun? he thought.
Paul awoke; tense, angry, and afraid. His face burned with a pain his mind didn't understand.
Kill him! a voice commanded. The thought surprised him, It was in his head, in his voice, but it was not his own. Kill him! he—it—said again. Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! He was compelled to stand. He was in pain, terrible, terrible pain. His face felt like it was on fire. He could smell the decay wafting off his skin. This body is dying, it/he said. There was so much noise! So much confusion! So many thoughts, climbing one over the other. A loud noise! There, among the three entities, was the one it/he was looking for. Yes, that one! Kill him! Ignoring the pain this body felt, it/he lunged at the target.
Jeremy disliked the entire Jenkins clan—Emma, Elisha, Thomas, and even their numb-witted cousin Frank—they all, as his half-sister Claire used to say, got on his last nerve. He was standing near the front door when that old witch Emma Watson slithered her way back to join him when Crystal got in her face. Ha! The old bitty deserves to have the crap smacked out of her, he thought. He was thinking of something appropriately condescending to say to her when he saw Elisha pull his gun from its holster and point it at Crystal.
Things happened fast after that.
Jeremy was already ducking for cover when Thomas tackled Frank and Elisha. The gunshot was deafening in the small room. Stupid frigging hillbilly! Jeremy thought as he fell to one knee and brought his rifle to the ready. To his left he saw the Jenkins boys in a heap on the floor. On his right, Jamarco was on top of Crystal, from the looks of it, trying to hold her down. She’s screaming like a banshee, he thought, hopefully that means she’s not hit. Then he saw something he wasn’t expecting.
Dr. Kuan was awake.
Jamarco was supposed to have given him a full dose of ketamine, he should still be out cold.
Jeremy watched as Dr. Kuan stood up and moved his head from side to side, as if he were looking for something. How can he be awake? Something definitely ain’t right. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and looked down the sight at the doctor’s chest. He took a deep breath, then held it.
Elisha was face down on the floor. He could feel his nephew’s breath on his neck. “Get off me, you miserable sack of shit!” he said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Thomas didn’t respond to his uncle’s outburst. He was frantically searching the floor in front of his uncle with his hands. Found it! Thomas’ outstretched fingers felt the ridged grip of the pistol before he saw it. It was lodged under the blanket of the unconscious woman. He used his fingertips to pull the gun towards his palm then wrapped his hand around the grip, careful not to get his fingers anywhere near the trigger. He no sooner had the gun in his possession then he was forcibly yanked backwards by the collar of his shirt. “H-H-Hey!” he balked. It was Frank.
“You trying to get me killed Tommy!?” his cousin Frank screamed, spattering Thomas’ face with spittle. “Elisha almost shot me! Are you retarded or something?” Then without taking his eyes off of Thomas, he shouted, “Jamarco, shut that heifer up!”
Most of Thomas’ shirt collar was still gathered in Frank’s fist, leaving very little room for Thomas’ neck. He was having trouble drawing in enough air to respond.
Elisha struggled to push himself into a sitting position. “Damn it boy, you made me drop my pistol!” He looked up at Thomas and shook his fist at him. “Boy, I have half a mind to—”
Thomas stared at his uncle with wide, terrified eyes. He lifted the pistol and pulled the trigger.
Jeremy hesitated. His instinct told him that the doc had come down with what the folks on the radio were calling the scourge and in the best interest of himself and everyone else in this room, he should put a bullet in doc’s chest. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He eased his finger off the trigger. Paul’s a good man, he thought. I’d much rather shoot one of these Jenkins boys. Without moving the gun sight from Paul’s chest, he glanced to his left to see Frank fussing at Thomas and Elisha roll up off the floor, his beer belly resting on his bloated thighs. When he glanced back to his right, Dr. Kuan was airborne.
The second gunshot seemed louder than the first. The sharp clap of sound sent pain through her jaw like a bad toothache. “Dear sweet Jesus!” Emma cried out and fell to her knees. She slumped against the front door, closed her eyes and held her hands over her ears, trying to soothe the pain and shu
t out the chaos erupting all around her. “Jesus,” she prayed, “why have you forsaken me? What have I done to deserve this?” Her tears of fear and frustration welled and spilled in heavy droplets, tugging the pancake makeup from her cheeks, and carving beige rivulets to her chin.
Breathing was the least of Thomas Jenkins’ problems. No, he knew quite well what was going to happen a few seconds after his cousin Frank calmed down and stop trying to choke him to death. They were going to ask him to explain himself. And what are you going to tell them Thomas? You gonna tell them that you panicked when you saw your Uncle Elisha pull a gun on the best friend of the woman you’re secretly in love with? That you surmised, in the split second one gets to decide such things, that a close relative shooting the best friend of the person you hoped one day would look upon you favorably as a potential mate would not win you any bonus points? He looked up at his cousin Frank, who was ranting incoherently and spraying spittle all directions like a broken lawn sprinkler. He couldn’t really hear what Frank was saying over Crystal’s shrieking. He pointed at his neck and ears, trying his best to communicate with gestures that he couldn’t hear what Frank was saying and he couldn’t possibly answer any questions as long as Frank had his shirt twisted into a tourniquet around his neck. No, he thought, I’m going to have to tell the most bigoted family in America that one of their own was hopelessly, totally in love with a black woman. His Uncle Elisha was sitting up now, shaking his plump fist and looking at him with eyes full of murderous intent. In about two seconds, he’s going to notice his gun in my hand, snatch it from me, and shoot me with it. Thomas was not familiar with guns. He had never held or fired one in his life. The gun felt heavy and awkward in his hand. His uncle started to rant, and Thomas lifted the gun with the intent of handing it over so his uncle would shut up and Frank would maybe let him take a breath, when he noticed a shape emerge from the back of the room. It was the doctor, and he was...flying. The doctor was stretched out, feet off the floor, hands out front, like he was diving for an infield fly ball. His trajectory would carry him directly into the back of his Uncle Elisha. And even though the doc’s head was still wrapped in bandages, Thomas could tell the face behind the leaking, wet gauze was contorted by rage. A guttural roar spilled from what remained of the doc’s mouth, ejecting teeth, gums, and blood onto the floor. Thomas had no time to think. He swung the pistol up and out at arm’s length, parallel to the floor, and fired.
The Scourge Page 26
