“You!” A voice boomed over a megaphone, “You in the truck! Exit the vehicle very, very slowly! Hands first!”
“Don’t shoot!” Thomas shouted as loud as he could, “I’m coming out.” As instructed, he thrust his hands out the door and waved them around. “See? My hands are empty.”
“Just take it slow,” another voice said.
This voice was much closer to the truck. Though the voice was unamplified and muffled, Thomas could tell it belonged to a man.
“I am taking it very slow,” Thomas replied as he stepped off the runner and onto the garage floor...directly into a pool of blood. The pool thinned and streaked across the concrete and toward the wall like someone painted the floor with a human-sized brush. The streak traveled up the wall a ways before stopping abruptly. “Oh god, Auntie...” he grunted before doubling over and vomiting a stringy stream of bile onto his shoes.
“Sir!” the voice said, suddenly very agitated, “I need you to straighten up, step away from the door, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Ugh god,” Thomas said. His eyes slowly panned the area. About a dozen dogs, many with their entrails spilled onto the concrete, were lying dead around the truck.
“Sir, I will not ask you again!” the voice said, “step away from the door!”
“Ok! Ok!” Thomas said, forcing himself to lean back. He was still lightheaded and woozy from the involuntary emptying of his already empty stomach. “What the hell is wrong with you guys? Why did you shoot up the truck?”
“You have exactly five seconds to start walking!” the voice, somewhere off to his right, commanded.
“Ok ok, take it easy!”
Thomas’ view of the parking garage entrance was partially blocked by the open truck door. He took a step forward and immediately felt his stomach go sour. His Uncle Elisha lay spread-eagled on the ground, bloody mounds of chewed flesh where his arms and legs used to be. “Oh jeez,” he said. He bent over and retched, bile and saliva drained off his chin, mixing with the streaks of fresh blood on the concrete. He heard running. A pair of black boots speckled with droplets of crimson entered his field of vision.
“Stand up right now or I will shoot you where you stand!” the voice said.
Thomas couldn't stop himself from shivering even though he didn't feel cold. He did as he was told and straightened up. The voice belonged to a soldier. He was in full combat dress; body armor, camouflage, helmet with the little camera on top, and to Thomas’ surprise, a clear, full faceplate gas mask, the kind with the big round canisters hanging off either side. The face behind the mask was rough hewn; a real life version of the countless squad leader avatars he encountered in many a video game. But what Thomas was most aware of, was that he was staring down the barrel of an assault rifle. “Sorry, ok? That man on the ground, he’s—was—my uncle,” he said, turning his head so as not to have to stare at Elisha’s mangled body. “Do you have to point that gun at me? I’m unarmed and I smell like piss and puke. I’m not in a position to hurt anybody.”
“Hold your hands out in front of you, palms down, fingers spread,” the soldier said.
Thomas’ hands were shaking badly, he was having trouble holding them steady. He couldn't take his eyes away from the rifle's barrel as it oscillated back and forth, like a metronome, keeping time with the soldier’s head movements. “May I ask why you are wearing a gas mask? Should I be breathing the air out here?”
“Don’t ask questions, and keep your hands out in front of you where I can see them.”
“I’m trying, ok? But it's difficult to concentrate with your gun pointed at my head.”
After he took a long look at Thomas’ hands, the soldier seemed to relax a little but he didn’t lower his weapon. “You can put your arms down now, but stay where you are, don't move.”
Thomas let his arms drop to his sides. “Thank you, uh—he squinted at the soldier’s name patch—Higgins, Corporal Higgins. Is that right?”
The soldier said nothing but gave Thomas a slight nod of confirmation.
Corporal, I'm not feeling so great, do you mind not pointing the gun at me?”
Corporal Higgins ignored Thomas’ request. He stood statue-like for several seconds then suddenly cocked his head to one side then took a couple of steps backward, lowering his weapon in the process. He cupped his hand to his ear, nodded a few more times, then Thomas could see his lips moving, like he was talking to someone. After about thirty seconds of conversation, he dropped his hand away from his ear and returned his attention to Thomas. “Did any of the dogs bite or scratch you?” he asked.
“No,” Thomas said, speaking quickly, “I mean, one jumped in the truck and was going berserk, but I managed to get it away from me. Why? What was wrong with those dogs? It looks like they tried to...to eat my uncle. Why would they do that?” Corporal Higgins hushed Thomas with a show of his upturned palm, then again began talking to himself. Thomas figured some kind of radio was built into the gas mask. He was also sure that the conversation they were having was about him.
Corporal Higgins broke off the conversation he was having with himself and looked up at Thomas. “Did that thing on the ground over there attack anyone else that you know of?”
Thomas saw two people in hazmat suits exit from a large armored military vehicle that was parked just inside the parking entrance. They unfurled a large plastic bag next to the thing that killed his cousin Frank. They lifted the body, lowered it into the bag, then sealed it. They loaded the body into the rear of the vehicle then re-boarded the vehicle and closed the doors behind them. The sight of the monster’s grotesque head hanging from its elongated frame like heavy fruit on a tree made Thomas feel nauseous all over again. “What is that thing?” he said, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Corporal Higgins to hear.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” the corporal replied, “I'm gonna need you to answer my question.”
“Yeah, ok ok,” Thomas said, his voice quivering as the memory of the attack ran through his mind, “That thing jumped off of that wall and smacked my cousin Frank so hard that half his face hit the ground before he did. He flew backward about five feet before landing right over—”
He pointed to where he remembered Frank's body landing. It was gone.
“He was right over there,” Thomas said, pointing, “he shot one of the dogs and then that thing jumped off the wall and hit him. There’s no way he survived that. Where did his body go? Did you guys pick it up?”
“No, we did not.”
“Then where did it go? Dead bodies just don’t get up and walk away!”
“Sorry, I wish I had the answer to that question.”
Thomas’ eyes grew wide, dilated. He fixated on the red streak that weaved across the parking lot. “Look at this trail of blood,” Thomas said, pointing at the ground with a trembling finger. “That has to be my aunt's blood, right? One of those things must have dragged her over the wall.” Tears began to stream down his face. “I tried to save her, you know? The dogs were biting her legs. I tried to pull her back in the truck but then that big dog jumped in the cab and I had to fight it off. When I looked for her again she was gone, just gone...” Thomas buried his head in his hands as sobs of grief racked his body.
Corporal Higgins cupped his hand over his ear again.
Thomas looked up, his cheeks glistening with the copious amount of snot he had expelled from his nose. “I want to know who you’re talking to Corporal!” he said, “My aunt could be dying while you stand here doing nothing!” He took a couple of steps toward Corporal Higgin’s position. “I demand to speak to someone higher in the chain of command!”
Corporal Higgins swung his weapon up and aimed it at Thomas’ chest. Thomas immediately stopped, then backed up, his hands raised in surrender. Corporal Higgins mouthed ‘stay where you are’ then ended his conversation with the person at the other end of his radio. He walked back over to Thomas, stepping close enough so he could speak softly but still be heard through the g
as mask. “Sir,” he said, “you’ve seen that thing we put in the body bag. You've seen what it can do. If one of those things took your aunt, do you really think she’s still alive?”
The question hit Thomas like a ton of bricks. He suddenly felt very tired and scared. My Auntie Emma is dead. Then, just as suddenly as the first, another odd thought suddenly crossed his mind, Everyone that has ever given a shit about you is dead.
“What is your name?” Corporal Higgins asked.
My name? Thomas thought, surprised and confused that the obvious answer to the question wasn't immediately clear to him, My name is… “Thomas,” he said finally, “Thomas Jenkins.”
“Thomas, I apologize for shooting up your truck, but as you probably can imagine, we gotta a real shit show going on right now. We're here to help, but I'm gonna need you to follow my instructions exactly. Is that understood?”
“Yeah, sure. I'm just a little freaked out right now. You can understand that, right?”
“Sure, I get it,” Corporal Higgins waved his hand nonchalantly in the air, “It’s not every day you wake up and your entire city is blown to crap, buildings on fire, with dead bodies everywhere. Not a pretty sight.”
Thomas was starting to feel tense and irritable. The feeling intensified the more he focused on Corporal Higgins. He recognized the emotion—It was hate. “You seem to be comfortable with the death and destruction,” he replied in a low monotone.
“No need to get testy Thomas, we’ve all got our jobs to do. I happen to enjoy mine.” He let the silence linger between them for a few seconds before continuing. He pointed at the residence building, “Is this where you live?”
The feeling of intense hatred Thomas felt for Corporal Higgins faded as quickly as it had come. He felt his face flush with embarrassment. “I'm sorry I responded like that. I don't know what got into me. Yes, yes, I live in the building, on the second floor.”
“Are there more people inside?”
“Yeah, almost everyone was home when the blast hit. We have mostly elderly residents and most of them were sleeping when the explosion occurred so they're ok, just scared. But a few were standing near windows so they got hit by broken glass. But we were lucky, because one of the residents was a doctor that…” Thomas’ voice trailed off and a voice, foreign and distinct from his own, invaded his thoughts. He must not know about the deaths! it said, He is a threat to us! Protect your queen! The negative emotions came back with a vengeance. Kill him! Kill him! the voice demanded. The urge to lunge at Corporal Higgins and choke the life out of him was so great that Thomas felt disconnected from his body, like someone else had gained control of his motor functions. His body jerked and twisted awkwardly, forcing him to grab onto the truck’s bed side with both hands for support.
Corporal Higgins raised his rifle. “What are you doing? What's wrong with you?”
“I...don't...know,” Thomas said, fighting to contain the unexplained rage. “I’m feeling…I’m feeling...” Thomas felt something within him—an other-thing—slither out of the dark recesses of his innermost fears, tear through his subconscious, and take root in his present, in his now.
Corporal Higgins hefted his weapon to his shoulder, looked back at the military vehicle, raised his free hand, and waved. The two people in hazmat suits exited the vehicle carrying weapons. They turned and began to walk toward Thomas and Corporal Higgins, but the bulky suits made their progress slow.
The corporal looked at Thomas with a mix of pity and contempt. “Mister, you’ve got ten seconds to convince me you're not infected with the scourge or you're a dead man.”
Thomas wanted to tell Corporal Higgins to calm down, to reassure him that he, Thomas Jenkins, was harmless. But he couldn’t. He was no longer in control of this body. What’s happening to me? was the last coherent thought Thomas Jenkins would have.
“You’ve got five seconds!” Corporal Higgins said.
Thomas spun around and rushed toward Corporal Higgins. There were three loud pops and Thomas felt the air rush out of his lungs and a searing pain explode across his chest. He had been shot, severely wounded, yet his body didn’t collapse or even slow down. Instead, he plowed into the corporal, knocking them both to the ground. He was on top of the corporal, who flailed his arms wildly, looking for his dropped weapon while screaming words Thomas could no longer understand. Thomas felt his mouth open, then tasted sweat and flesh as his teeth sunk into Corporal Higgin’s neck. He felt blood spray into his mouth and nose as the corporal’s body twitched then went limp. The other soldiers were close, he could hear their heavy footsteps and muffled vocalizations. When he sat up, straddling the near lifeless body beneath him, he had the corporal’s rifle in his hands. He pulled the trigger and sprayed a stream of bullets indiscriminately in the direction of the approaching soldiers, watching in detached silence as they dove to the ground while bullets ricocheted off of the garage ceiling. The soldiers recovered quickly and returned fire, their bullets tearing through the flesh of Thomas’ shoulders, neck, and face, forcing his body to move in a jerky, backward dance, flailing like a flimsy BB gun target at the county faire. Pain filled his thoughts as he fell backwards onto the legs of the former Corporal Higgins. But for an instant, right before death relieved him of his suffering, Thomas felt something other than pain, an emotion that felt strange and out of place given his current circumstances—it was elation.
35
Jeremy stood over the body of the late Dr. Paul Kuan, holding the last of the doc’s bandages at arm's length before flicking them carefully into a pile in the corner of the room. “What do you think did that to his face?”
Jamarco glanced in the direction of Paul's body before quickly looking away. “I...I...I am pretty sure it was da bullet smashin’ his head dat kill him dead.”
“For heaven's sake Jamarco, have you completely forgotten how to speak English!”
“I'm sorry Mr. Walls, when I get scared or nervous my patwah accent comes out.”
“I don't know what a pat-twat is, but if you’re gonna be of any use to me going forward I'm gonna need to be able to understand what you're saying. Understood?”
“Yes sir, I will try to do better.”
“Good.” Jeremy bent down until his nose was inches from Dr. Kuan's face and sniffed, “There’s a definite decomp smell, but his face looks, I don't know, melted.”
Jamarco’s face twisted in disgust as he watched Jeremy hover over the body. “Aren't you afraid of catching it?” he said.
“The scourge? No. If it were contagious, we would all have it by now. No, I think the good doc was done in when Mrs. Reingold scratched his eyes out.” He stood up and peered out the doorway of his apartment, looking down the dark hallway. “You think she's still in the building?”
“Who?” Jamarco asked, confused.
“Mrs. Reingold! Who do you think I was talking about?”
“I'm sorry Mr. Walls,” Jamarco said, trying to sound genuine, “I thought you were talking about Miss Douglas.”
Jeremy sighed, “Yeah, something strange going on with her and those other two.”
“They be possessed, that dis their problem.”
“You're doing the pat-twat thing again.”
“Sorry.”
“Come on, let's catch up with them. I'm not buying any of that devil crap the old woman was spouting. But despite the curfew, we can't stay holed up here with no access to clean water, food, or electricity. That explosion did a hell of a lot of damage. It may take a search and rescue team days to get to us, and by then most of our residents will be dead. We need to find some help for them and those three delusional ladies who are about to walk outside to god knows what.”
Jamarco pushed himself off the wall. “You’re right Mr. Walls. Let’s go, I'm ready.”
They walked out of the apartment, headed for the stairwell at the end of the hall. As they entered the stairway, a pounding roar echoed off the walls.
“That’s the sound of a machine gun,” Jeremy said, “
a very big machine gun.” He began to run down the staircase, only stepping on every third tread. Come on, we have to find out what they’re shooting at.”
“Wait, wait mistah Walls!” Jamarco said, slowing to a stop at the landing, “We don't have a gun, how we supposed to defend ourselves?”
Jeremy had reached the ground floor. He looked up at Jamarco. “Simple,” he said, “we stay out of the line of fire.” He yanked open the door and ducked into the lobby.
Jamarco crept carefully to the ground floor, then pressed his ear against the smooth steel of the stairwell door, listening for signs of danger. Thirty seconds of silence passed before he felt comfortable enough to crack the door open. “Jah protect me,” he whispered before squatting down and darting through the door and into the lobby beyond.
36
“She knows you're here,” Wilma said.
“I know,” Moji replied without thinking. Why did I say that!? she thought. She was lightly chewing on her lower lip, a habit she developed as a child. It was something she did when she was scared or worried. Moji didn't want to admit it, but she was experiencing feelings that were not her own: a mixture of urgency and aggression, of pain, suffering, and something else...helplessness. It’s Lara, she thought, it has to be. She's returned and this time I’m not going to be strong enough to stop it. After all these years, I'm losing control.
Crystal leaned against the stair railing, staring at the two women sitting hunched together on the concrete steps. It had taken some time to guide Wilma down the dark stairwell, as she was old and fragile and still weak from being unconscious for so long. Now that they had reached the ground floor, none of them could muster the courage to continue into the lobby. “I'm really freaked out right now,” she said, “You two are huddled together like conjoined twins and I don't know what you're talking about, but I got this feeling like I do and I'm really scared of something that's on the other side of this door, but I have no idea what that something is or why I'm even afraid of it. Can one of you just please tell me what the hell is going on?”
The Scourge Page 31
