Turning to Meg, Sam hears a sound of rending metal and breaking glass, barely audible over the music. He notes that Meg seems to be the only other one that heard it as his attention sharply shifts toward the house and streets beyond.
“James…James!” Sam says, getting his attention. “Turn the music down. I think I just heard a car crash.”
“Really, man. I didn’t hear anything,” James replies, turning the volume down anyway.
“Yeah. I think I heard it too,” Meg says, still focusing toward the front of the house.
“Someone better not have hit my truck,” Mark states.
“No, I think it was farther away than that,” Sam says, rising with his now opened beer in hand.
“Well, shit, let’s go check it out then,” James says, turning the music down even further.
The eight of them rise, several reluctantly with having found their comfort, and make their way through the side yard to the front.
Standing in the driveway, their house situated at the end of a short cul-de-sac, they stare at the main street two blocks away. It’s normally a busy street with cars passing all times of the day or night, but there’s not a single one to be seen. Most of the houses around have some form of light seeping through drawn curtains. No one else is out with so many having come down with the flu. Without the music and the house blocking the sounds, faint, wailing sirens drift through the night, seeming to come from all parts of the city.
“That’s busier than it’s been previously,” James says, referring to the constant sound of the echoing sirens. “I told ya it was going to get worse.”
“It’s quiet. Almost too quiet,” Sam mutters, as if the sound of his voice might disturb something just out of sight.
The group stands, beers forgotten in their hands, transfixed by the sirens and lack of background noise they usually associate with the city. There is always some sound, usually from cars passing on streets. It’s unnerving that there aren’t any to be heard.
“Where did you say the crash came from?” Mark asks, stepping between Sam and Meg.
Mark’s six-four, linebacker physique overshadows Sam’s five-ten. Mark doesn’t need words. He just steps where he wants, when he wants.
Sam is startled from his reverie, a little annoyed at being separated from Meg. “Um, oh yeah. It sounded like it came from the main street.”
“Well, let’s go check it out then,” James says, winking at Sam.
Sam nods and starts down the street, mostly to get clear of Mark’s looming presence. The others follow along the darkened cul-de-sac that is lit only at the corners by overhead street lights. In the quiet, Sam hears their footsteps on the hard pavement, something he’s not sure he’s really ever heard until now. The sirens hang in the background as the group takes periodic drinks from their bottles. If it wasn’t for the faint wailing, reminding them of the flu virus sweeping throughout the world, and the fact that each of them has lost friends to it, it would seem like they were out on an adventure. Beer and barbeques always seem to lead to one escapade or another.
A block away from the main road, the group walks through a pool of light at the cross street. Sam notes that they haven’t seen a single car pass, which is unusual even with a lot of people sick. With the number of beers in all of them, the others may not be aware of just how strange it is, but it’s something that stands out to Sam.
At the intersection, with the street lamps brightly illuminating the main road, and blocking out the stars, Sam looks both ways down a street devoid of moving vehicles. A half block to the right and across the three lanes of pavement, there is a white sedan that veered off the road and hit a telephone pole head on. Wisps of steam drift out into the night air from the sides and front of the crumpled hood. The shattered windshield prevents any view of the interior, but there is someone standing at the driver’s side window.
“Hey! Is everyone alright?” James calls.
A man, dressed in a dark T-shirt and green checkered flannel pajama bottoms, spins at the shout. He turns from his attention at the window, quickly glances at the group, and resumes his focus on the vehicle.
“Whoa! Was that blood all over him? Whoever is in there must be pretty messed up,” James says.
“Does anyone have their phone?” Sam asks.
Everyone goes through the ministrations of checking their pockets for phones only to realize that they left them all on the patio.
“Hey, dude! Has anyone been called?” James shouts across the street.
The man turns and, with a snarl, begins running toward them. Sam sees the person clearly for the first time, his pale face glowing under the street lights, with the lower part of his jawline seemingly covered in a dark substance. The man’s eyes catch the light just right and reflect a silver glow for a fraction of a second.
“What the fuck?! There’s something not right about that dude,” Sam says, a quick sliver of fear clenching his stomach.
The man continues his charge toward them, lifting his head and emitting a high-pitched scream into the night.
“Hey, buddy. Hold it right there,” Mark says, stepping to the front.
The man gives no indication that he heard and, if anything, begins running faster.
“I said stop!” Mark commands.
Sam is rooted in place, watching the scene unfold. A few steps away, the man leaves his feet and launches into the air. With his arms outstretched, he plows into Mark, the force of the impact knocking him backward. Only Mark’s size prevents him from tumbling to the ground, but his beer is jarred loose from his grasp and shatters as it hits the pavement. Stumbling backward a few steps, Mark wraps his arms around the man, wrestling with him and attempting to throw him off. The man only growls deeply and claws at Mark.
“You had better fucking start mellowing out,” Mark grunts from the exertion.
The man is much smaller than Mark, but seems to match his strength and is definitely much quicker. Just when it looks like Mark is about to get the upper hand and throw the man from him, the stranger twists with amazing agility and strength, going after Mark once again.
What the fuck? This dude is fucking crazy, Sam thinks, unable to pull out of his transfixion.
The attacker scratches the side of Mark’s face, leaving a trail of parallel marks with blood droplets leaking out.
“Motherfucker!” Mark yells, trying to get in a position to leverage his weight and get a good shot in.
Mark’s yell turns into a scream as the man sinks his teeth deeply into his shoulder. Meg yelps in fear. This manages to shake the rest of the group out of their fixed amazement. Sam hears a bottle hit the ground and break as James jumps in and grabs the man from behind.
“Dammit, dude, mellow the fuck out,” James says, trying to pull the man away from Mark.
The man squirms and wriggles in James’s grasp. Turning in his arms, he starts after James. Just as the man starts tearing into him, Mark unloads into the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the side and onto the pavement. Scrambling to his feet with astonishing speed, the man screams and lunges at Mark. Mark’s fist meets the attacker’s head for a second time, square on the nose. The man’s momentum is immediately halted. His head rocks backward and he falls to his knees. Shaking his head, with streams of blood flowing outward, the man growls and rises quickly, going for Mark again.
“Stay…the fuck…down,” Mark grunts, delivering another solid punch to the head.
The man falls, apparently disoriented, but begins rising again. Gaining his knees, Sam sees a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. The movement becomes clear as a large branch, wielded by James, slams into the man’s face toppling the attacker backwards. He falls to the ground and doesn’t move, blood streaming from his nose and the corner of his mouth, mixing with that already on his face.
“That’s one tough motherfucker,” Mark pants.
“Are you alright, Mark?” Meg asks.
“Yeah, man, are you doing okay?” Sam adds.
“I can’t believe he bit you,” Sam states.
Mark pulls his T-shirt to the side, exposing a gouge with teeth marks surrounding it. Blood is smeared on his skin around the injury, both Mark’s and the attacker’s.
“I’ll be damned,” Mark comments.
“Why would he attack us anyway?” Meg asks.
The rest of the group, Sam included, are still in place, shocked by what just transpired but slowly coming to their senses.
“I don’t know,” Sam replies, stepping closer to the unconscious man. “Look at him. He seems sick. Maybe it’s some sort of fever thing brought on by the flu.”
A wailing siren picks up intensity. All eyes turn down the street thinking someone, in fact, did call and the wreck reported. An ambulance, the first moving vehicle they’ve seen, shoots by a cross street several blocks away, quickly appearing and vanishing. The siren fades, becoming just one more of the many heard across the city.
“Well, we should go see how the driver is doing,” Sam says.
The feeling of being on some sort of adventure has left the group as they walk cautiously across the road. All but Mark and James still have their bottles in hand, but they are forgotten as they approach the open window.
“Meg, stay back,” Sam says as he sees what lies inside.
“What?” she queries.
“Seriously, you don’t want to see this,” Sam states.
“He’s right, sis. Keep back,” Mark says.
Even from a few paces away, it’s easy to see the mess inside. Blood is splattered on the inside of the shattered windshield and slow-moving streams trickle down the outside of the door. Through the open driver’s window, a body lays slumped back in the seat, bloody and unrecognizable. The remains of a spent air bag hang loosely from the steering wheel.
“What the hell, man? Did that happen from the wreck?” James asks.
“I don’t think so. The windshield isn’t broken, only starred, and the air bag would have prevented them from slamming into it,” Sam says, looking over the scene.
“Are they…dead?” Mark asks.
“I’m not reaching in there,” James declares.
“Chicken,” Sam says.
“Right. And who is the one who didn’t even set their beer down when that dude attacked?” James responds.
“I didn’t…well…fuck you.”
Sam approaches and reaches through the window. With an unsettled feeling in his stomach and nausea rising in his throat, Sam presses against what he takes to be a man’s bloodied throat. The man’s face has gouges and chunks ripped away with a large flap of skin hanging off his cheek, exposing several bloodied teeth. He holds his fingers against the cooling flesh feeling for a pulse. Finding none, he backs off, close to throwing up.
“Fucker’s dead,” Sam says, recovering and wiping his hands on his jeans.
Mark steps closer. “It looks like the dude who attacked us was, well, eating him.”
“Seriously? That’s way fucked up,” James says, remaining a few steps away.
“I don’t know. It sure looks like it though,” Sam adds.
“That’s disgusting as hell,” James states.
“Well, what do we do?” Mark asks.
“I’m not sure there’s much we can do. I suppose we go back to the house and call it in,” Sam suggests.
Some of the others are gathered around the man Mark knocked unconscious, talking quietly amongst themselves. Meg stands by herself in the center of the turn lane. The night is still without a breath stirring. The silence and residual heat from the day seems to stifle the area, like a blanket has been thrown over the city. The air carries a calm and peace yet with an underlying tension. The silence is broken as several dogs in the neighborhood begin barking, first one, then with others joining in almost immediately.
“Hey, uh, guys. There are a couple of people running this way,” Meg says, pointing down one of the side streets.
“They must have heard the crash and are coming to check it out,” James states, looking down the dark street where Meg is pointing.
“How many?” Mark asks.
“I think I saw three when they passed under the street light,” Meg answers.
The barking of the dogs takes on a more frantic nature, or perhaps it’s just Sam’s imagination. He eases away from the car to get a better view as he can’t see very far down the street Meg indicated.
“Holy shit they’re fast. They were just, well…” Meg begins.
Three people emerge from the darkened side street, coming to a halt in the light. Seeing the group around the fallen man, they lift their heads and emit screams similar to that of the crazed man. Their high-pitched shrieks roll down the tree-lined avenue. With a quickness that is startling, they dart toward the group standing around the man on the ground.
“Meg, get back,” Sam yells, starting toward her and finally dropping his Samuel Adams.
Amidst the shrieks, other bottles fall from hands and hit the ground, shattering on the hard surface. Before the huddled group can react, the running figures plow into their midst. Screams erupt, startled terror from the one group, and hunger from the other. Three of the four go down before the onslaught, falling hard to the ground with the attackers on top.
Sam makes his way to Meg, who stands rooted to one spot, and shoves her behind him. Mark and James hurtle past heading for their stricken friends.
“Stay here,” Sam says, and follows.
The growling figures on top are clawing and biting at those on the ground. Screams of agony pierce the night from those taken down. The fourth, left unmolested, is tugging at one of the figures trying to pull it off one of the downed members. One of the attackers rises and lunges at the one trying to help, knocking him to the ground and tearing into him.
Mark hits the nearest attacker, plowing into the figure and driving it off one of the fallen. The screams, once filling the night, fade and become moans of pain. James approaches another interloper and kicks it in the side. The attacker emits a cough as air is forcefully exhaled and rolls to the side. Mark is punching at the one on the ground when the remaining crazed one rises and starts for James from the side. Before it reaches him, Sam slams into its side, tackling him to the ground.
Sam hits hard with the body beneath him. He’s never been in a fight before so he’s not sure what to do. His heart is racing with fear, but he couldn’t very well let James get taken like that. The man beneath him is struggling for all he’s worth. Sam wrestles, trying to pin the man down, to gain some sort of leverage, but all he can do is hang on as the man is relentless.
Before Sam can register it, he’s thrown upward and to the side. A blur of dark movement is all he sees before a heavy weight falls upon him. He’s barely aware of the bodies beside him and feels fingernails rake his cheek and neck. Screaming mostly from fear, but also from the burning sensation from several deep scratches, he fights to block the man’s hands, which seem to be everywhere at one.
The man’s face is inches from his own, snarling as he tries to get closer to sink his teeth into Sam’s flesh. Expecting to see a crazed look in the man’s eyes, Sam instead sees a ferocious intent. There’s an intelligence to it, but it’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. Feral comes to mind as he continues pushing to keep the man away. He feels the strength of his arms failing. Teeth sink into his cheek.
Oh god no.
Suddenly, the weight is lifted from him. Standing above him is Mark with one arm wrapped around the attacker’s throat. The man struggles violently in an attempt to break the hold. Sam weakly strives to gain his feet, nausea and fear mixing. The attacker pushes and pulls against Mark’s arm, managing to gain a little leverage and sinks his teeth into the exposed skin.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Mark yells, letting go of the man.
Sam feels dizzy as he stands on wobbly legs, but his mind quickly clears. Expecting to be hit again
from their attackers, he looks quickly about. His frantic scan shows bodies on the ground and the one remaining figure lunging at Mark. Sam reacts and grabs the assailant from behind, not really knowing what he’s doing but wanting to help.
Sam’s action interrupts the man’s attack, allowing Mark to get in a swing. Sam stumbles as the force of the punch knocks both of them backward and he has to let go in order to regain his balance. Mark slams another punch into the attacker, knocking him to the ground. He then picks up the branch James had dropped and begins hitting the man repeatedly. Sam watches in horror as blood sprays outward from the man’s face. Mark, panting, releases the branch.
“Are you okay?” Mark asks.
“Yeah…yeah. I think so,” Sam answers. “Where’s Meg?”
Sam feels a hand on his shoulder. With a start, he spins quickly to find Meg. “I’m right here.”
“What about James?” Sam asks, looking at the pile of bodies intertwined with each other. “Oh, fuck! Is everyone down?”
“There’s more coming!” Meg shouts nervously.
Sam turns and sees several figures running along the main avenue, more than they’ve seen so far.
“We have to get out of here,” Mark states, grabbing Sam and Meg each by an arm.
“What about the others?” Sam asks, reluctantly being pulled along the street.
“They’re gone, or going to be. We can’t stand up to that many if they’re like the others,” Mark says with a frantic edge to his voice.
Meg runs along the street with Mark. Sam understands the situation. Well, perhaps not understanding it, but he is aware of the danger. However, he shakes free from Mark and looks at the ruin around him. Several of the bodies moan, but he’s not sure if it’s coming from his friends or from the ones that attacked them. Under the glare of the lights, he sees puddles of blood and several streams of the liquid trickling toward the gutter.
A New World: Untold Stories Page 8
