And it did. He held his breath until the car whooshed around him, shaking the Corvette as it flew by. The cop had definitely seen him pitch the weed. There wasn’t any way he couldn’t have. So there was possibly something serious ahead.
Something serious in Brownsville? Yeah right. He laughed at his own idea.
Then there were two fire engines, followed by three police cars –one of them the sheriff’s. Each one caused the Corvette to wobble as they passed. And when he looked up there was a streak of black smoke rising into the air just ahead. It was impossible to tell what had caught fire because tall trees lined the road.
The smoke wasn’t thick or anything. It was just a streak –a single streak. The parade of emergency vehicles had flown to it like ten birds going after a helpless cricket. John Q’s tax dollars at work, Justin smiled. He revved up the engine and did a u-turn in the middle of the road.
3
Smoke drifted into the sky as the convoy of emergency vehicles drove into Libby Van Lou’s driveway. There wasn’t much time to look at the burning field –a woman was screaming from somewhere in the house. Donahue nodded to Deputy Anderson, and they both drew their glocks as they approached the door. The firemen were drawing out the hose and running to the smoke, and the other officers were helping them in the background. But none of that mattered to Donahue. There were people inside –people that were alive.
Alan kicked open the door and made his way in, Anderson followed closely. There was a staircase going up to the left and the kitchen and dining area were on the right. The window above the sink had been broken out and glass was scattered over the wooden floor.
“Never had to use my gun before,” Donahue muttered.
“Me either,” Anderson said. His pudgy body was jittering underneath his uniform and the top of his bald head was shining from the sweat. “Are you ready to do this?”
Donahue nodded.
A deep cry wailed from above them. It sounded like a high pitched scream from an elephant. The men exchanged excited glances, pleading for the other to lead the way. It was followed up with another short scream. This wasn’t a goddamn break in. This wasn’t some woman being killed or raped by a man. This wasn’t even a man at all.
“Aw man! I don’t know, Alan!” Anderson whimpered.
“I’ll lead.”
Anderson crept up the stairs behind the sheriff one slow step at a time. Donahue was too scared to go up, he wouldn’t admit it, but it was true. He took a few more steps and stopped about half way up. Another god awful growl erupted from the room above.
“What the hell you think it is?” Alan asked.
“I don’t know, man.” Anderson was almost in tears. He was worthless unless he was pulling someone over for a cracked windshield. “Could it be a wild animal?”
Screw it.
Donahue sprinted up the final steps. His backup held still for a moment with a confused look on his face, but then followed. The sound of breaking glass came from the room next to them. It hit him, right then. He didn’t want to see what was in that room. Donahue placed a hand on the doorknob and prayed that it wouldn’t turn. If it was locked he could just walk back out as if nothing had happened. There was no reason for forcing an entry, right? No fucking reason at all.
“Are we going?” Anderson whispered.
The doorknob turned. The door opened, creaking as it swung loosely on the hinges.
It was a child’s bedroom. Toys were scattered all over the wooden floor and the walls were covered with prints of football helmets. Donahue took another step into the room, knelt over, and puked.
“Oh man! Sweet Mother Mary and Joseph,” Anderson whined and turned away.
There was a lake of blood expanding out from the closet in the back. Donahue stood and winced at what he saw. Four children lay in the pool of blood, motionless.
“It was a goddamn monster,” Anderson cried. “It was a fucking monster.”
“Take a breath, buddy. Calm yourself down.”
Anderson walked over to the shattered window and breathed like a man dying of asthma. Nothing was outside but a view of the neighbor’s house. It was quite a ways down to the ground too, and no real way to climb. There was no way anyone could have gotten out. But they weren’t dealing with an anyone. They were dealing with a something.
Donahue looked at the children a little closer, and coughed. He almost threw up again, but didn’t. All four of their heads were twisted around backwards. There was no sign of Libby Van Lou.
“I don’t believe this shit,” Anderson said.
“Yeah, we’ve established that.”
“No come over here. There is no way they could have gotten out of this window.”
Donahue walked over and peered down. He was right. The house went straight down to the ground, about twenty-five feet. There was nothing to climb on, and nothing to land on that would cushion the blow. And yet the window broke out when they were standing right outside the door. Their hesitation had cost them. It had cost the children and their mother.
“This is our fault,” Alan said. Anderson looked up at him dumbly. “We should have been in here. Instead we shook outside like two school bullied fairies.”
The radio on his belt exploded in static and the heavily accented voice of Deputy Lopez spoke: “Sheriff you better get out here. We found something big, over.”
Alan didn’t even pick it up. He was staring at the bodies of the children on the floor. Their eyes hung out of the sockets and their lips were in a helpless circle shape. They were kids. They were just kids.
I could have stopped this, he thought. I’m the goddamn sheriff and I could have stopped this and I didn’t!
“Sheriff, do you copy? Over.”
“I’ll be down in a minute, Lopez. Over and out.”
* * * * *
Donahue sprinted out of the house, keeping his eyes on the grassless front lawn. The neighbors from the north and south were both gathered in their yards, watching everything like some kind of sick television show.
“You all right, sheriff?” Anderson asked.
“I think I’m going to be sick again.”
Anderson nodded and walked away to the scene of whatever everyone was staring at. Donahue dropped down to one knee and put a hand on his stomach. The images of those children were fresh in his memory, and they would be for a long time. Their buggy little eyes were oozing out of the skull, and their mouths were open in the innocent little o. Murders weren’t supposed to happen in a town like this. In a town like this nothing was supposed to happen, but there were four kids in that house with their heads going the wrong way. That was more than nothing. That was fucking sick.
He grabbed his radio. “We’ve got four dead bodies upstairs –all children. Someone please call the –”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence. A storm of bile and yellow chunks splattered onto the green grass beneath him.
“Jesus,” he whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lopez running up behind him.
“Sir, something crashed.”
Donahue nodded then lifted a finger. He upchucked again. Lopez put a hand on his back.
“You ok, sir?”
“I just saw four dead bodies –all children. I’ve never been better.”
There was silence between them while they both stared at the ambulance pulling into the driveway. The lights flashed but the sirens were silent.
“I think it’s a spaceship, sir,” Lopez said.
“What?”
“I think it’s a spaceship that crashed.”
Donahue pulled himself to his feet.
“Sir–”
“I’m coming.”
When he arrived he found a gigantic silver sphere about the size of a Volkswagen lodged in the ground. Smoke wafted up from the object, but the fire had been extinguished. There wasn’t a scratch on the damn thing. It looked like it had just come out of the goddamn factory that made it –whatever the hell it was. Not even a chip, or a black mark fr
om the fire. He could even see his reflection in it.
“What in the hell is going on?” Donahue asked.
“Think we have a visitor, sir.” Lopez came up behind him.
“No.” Donahue shook his head. He couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t want to comprehend it. Aliens were in science fiction movies. All that stuff about government cover ups was bullshit. America likes bullshit. That’s why it was so damn popular. That's why Fox News reigned supreme in Kansas. But that wasn’t a goddamn space ship from another planet sitting in front of him. Those things weren’t real. There were four dead children upstairs. They were real. But this wasn’t. Someone was fucking with them.
“This is where the monster came from,” Anderson thought out loud.
“It can’t be. This isn’t right. None of this makes any sense!” Donahue kicked some dirt up into the air with his shoe, and then kneeled down to his knees again. He could feel his stomach acting up.
A paramedic came jogging over. “Where are the bodies?”
“Upstairs, follow your fucking nose!” Donahue said.
The paramedic, just a kid –maybe 26, nodded and jogged over to the coroner, who was waiting with body bags.
“The woman is missing,” Donahue said.
Lopez nodded. “What do we do, sir?”
“Fuck me, I don’t know!”
4
Twenty years old. Happy birthday, kiddo.
He pulled himself out of bed that morning and took a good look around at the room that had been there for him the last twenty years. Puke green wallpaper, faded brown carpet, a small window in the middle of the west wall, a computer sitting on a scratched up wooden desk, a stereo on the floor with a stack of CD’s next to it, and a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. He walked over to the window and peered out. It wasn’t a bad day. The sun was up, and he could tell by the trees outside that the wind was blowing moderately. It was about the weather one would expect for the middle of May.
After changing into a black T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, Russ walked out into the hallway. Once again he admired the area around him. It had been there, unchanged, for the last twenty years. White wallpaper, with a tint of orange, covered with prints of roses. The hallway extended at least fifteen feet, maybe more. There was the bathroom on the left and another bedroom on the right (They hadn’t used the bedroom in forever. It was probably filled with dust and mold and other lovely things).
He walked the length of the hallway and into the living room, headed by the old tube television at the front. It had been there for about ten years. Within the room were also two leather recliners and a leather sofa –all red. The leather was cracked and at some points the interior was peeking out. His parents rested in the recliners, positioned on either side of the couch. Blinds hung down over the main window and blocked out the light, but just enough got through for Russ to see the dust swirling in the air.
“Something wrong?” Russ muttered. Both of his parents had their eyes shut.
He walked into the room and sat down on the couch. The leather felt cold against his skin, and he broke out into gooseflesh. Neither one of them responded to him. They both sat –mother to his left and father to his right– in silence with closed eyes.
“Are you guys awake?”
Russ grabbed a TV Guide mini-magazine from the end table and chucked it at his dad. It flopped in the air and landed in the old man’s lap.
“Dad?”
They’re dead, buddy.
“What?”
All of his senses peaked at that moment. He could feel the dust in the air being sucked into his mouth and down to his lungs, where it settled. His heart kicked, and the smell of decay suddenly set in. It reminded him of the dead skunk smell whenever he passed one on the side of the road.
They’re dead, Russ.
Then the faint smell of a familiar perfume touched front of his nose. It was a perfume he hadn’t smelled in two years, and it was immediately clear to him where it came from. His prom date –his prom date that ditched him just two years earlier, Jessica Welch. Her smell lingered in the room.
She did it, Russ. She killed them both. Look for yourself.
He looked up at the corpse of his father. There was a small red circle in the middle of his forehead, and coagulated blood was stuck to the recliner. His mom was just the same.
“Jessica?” he whimpered. “Jessica, did you do this?” He wasn’t even sure if she was there, or if he was sane. Everything around him seemed horrifically surreal. He had been listening to a voice that was supposedly coming from inside of his head. And yet his parents were dead, in the recliners with holes in the front of their skulls.
But there she was. She walked in from the same hallway Russ had, hypnotizing him with her shiny blonde hair. She was wearing her red prom dress, and her skin was the color of paper. Her pupils were like two red gems, shining as the dim light from the window bounced off of them. Her breasts filled the dress perfectly, and everything about her that he liked was in that room, but there was something dark too.
“What’s the matter Russ, don’t you want to be with me?”
Russ had fallen off the sofa and to his knees. He didn’t know what to think or what to say. None of it seemed to be really happening. When his eyes made contact hers he wasn’t sure if he was in heaven or hell –or neither.
“Shoot her!” The coarse voice spat from his mother’s corpse. He turned and saw her stand and reveal the hole in the center of her head, which now appeared much larger than it had before.
“She’s right, son! Shoot her!” His dad arose too.
Both of their bodies were gray and dripping with that horrific crimson liquid.
Jessica tossed a pistol over in front of him.
He eyed it. “What the hell is going on?”
“Shoot her son!”
“You want me, Russ, don’t you? You always have.”
“Shoot her!”
Russ reached for the pistol–
* * * * *
He was awoken by the sound of his mother’s voice screaming his name. Russ blinked his eyes, adjusting them to the murky light inside his room. Everything around him returned to normal. The surreal feeling of the world was gone. Now it was real.
She shouted for him again. Russ pulled himself out of bed while rubbing his eyes and put on his usual black attire –jeans and T-shirt, and of course the chain wallet. He ran a quick comb through his long black hair, which appeared as a black shaggy bowl covering his head down to his nose.
“Russ, your car!”
“I’m coming!”
He jogged down the rose walled hallway and into the living room. His mother was standing by the main window gaping at his car as if there were a dead body on top of it. He drove a 1992 green Ford Escort. And when he walked up to see what she was looking at, he found that the side window was smashed and the driver side door and trunk were hanging open.
No.
As a graduation present his parents bought him a pair of subwoofers and an amplifier –both of which were kept in his trunk. It was nice to have his music to the point where it would drown out the engine (which wasn’t difficult. It was only a four cylinder). Every time he turned on music he could actually feel it with him, not just hear it.
But they were gone. He didn’t want to go look in that trunk and see an empty space where they had been.
“Where’s Dad?” he asked.
“Joe’s at work, honey. I think he had an appointment over in Wichita. He should be back in an hour or two.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes. They said all units were busy, but they would try to stop by this afternoon.”
“What?”
She shrugged. "Break-ins aren't huge emergencies."
Russ opened the front door and took a step out onto the porch. It was clear from this angle. He had a better view of his car. It sat in the driveway in front of a broken down RV, which was caked with rust. There was a big oil stain beneath
it, casting a small rainbow to anyone who would look in that direction.
He took another step.
Not only was the passenger side window broken, but the driver side was too. Russ didn't know why that was necessary.
He heard his mother mutter something about how much her knees were hurting as she disappeared from his view, probably walking inside to sit down in one of those horrid recliners and watch her soaps.
“No, please…” he whispered under his breath.
He walked over to his car, facing it from the front. There were bits of shattered glass on the cement. He was too afraid to go to the trunk first. He didn’t want to see.
They’re gone, he thought. They’re gone –they’re gone –they’re gone.
He walked around the driver side and peered in through the broken window. His CD player was still there, as was his case filled with CD’s. His eyes met the trunk door, which was in an upright position over the back window. The sun gleamed off the shiny green color and made him squint for a brief moment. He walked over to the back and looked down. The only thing left was a cluster of wires.
* * * * *
Russ drove to the sheriff's office. It was a short drive, about three minutes. It was located about a half mile north of him on Washington Avenue. When he arrived, the parking lot was empty except for a blue Ford Ranger, which was the sheriff’s normal ride to work and back.
Russ’s stomach quivered when he took a step out of the car. There was no sign of human life in the vicinity. There was a small anthill on the way to the door, but nothing else. A hot gust of wind suddenly caught his face and he was forced to cough.
The office itself was a small building, about the size of a barber shop. Just to the north was the fire station, and to the south was the emergency center. There were three desks inside, one of them was completely empty and had a thick layer of dust on it. Another one appeared nicely organized. It had a few pictures of relatives on the front side and a LCD monitor sitting on the corner. The desk labeled “SHERRIF DONAHUE” was at the back of the room, right next to the two built in holding cells. It was cluttered with papers.
Super Zombies from Outer-Space Page 2
