“Welcome to Cast Net. Table for one?”
Rosella saw the man stare at Ester, and then the unreal happened. The man let out a hellish moan and jumped on the chubby waitress. Rosella heard Ester’s screams as the man stripped away flesh from her face with his teeth. Skin ripped away, sounding like torn wet fabric.
She rushed to pull the man off, when another one of the patrons flung her out the way, and grabbed the man around his neck. The crazed man bit down on the patron’s forearm, removing a large chunk of meat. The patron screamed, and pulled his arm away. The attacker pounced on him and began chewing on the Good Samaritan’s throat.
Screams filled the diner, and one of the waitresses grabbed the phone and frantically dialed for the police. The waitress looked at the phone in disbelief and tried again.
“What’s wrong?” Rosella said, climbing back behind the counter.
“It’s not working,” Florence said. “The phones still aren’t working, and that man is blocking the door.”
Just then, one of the women who had been eating alone, stood and staggered toward Florence. Rosella saw the vacant expression on the woman’s face and knew something wasn’t right. She went to warn Florence, but it was too late. The woman pounced on the waitress like a jungle cat attacking an unsuspecting deer. The woman dragged Florence to the ground and fed savagely.
Rosella screamed and backed away. The bell to the diner chimed again, and again, until it fell silent. Rosella peered over the counter and saw more people flooding in. They snarled with twisted expressions and mouths opened wide, exposing teeth. They looked for prey, and when they found it, they attacked. Screams became gurgled chokes. Plates crashing and flatware banging to the floor added to the chaos.
Rosella crawled away, spotting the swinging double doors to the kitchen. As long as she could put a little distance between herself and the mob of crazy people, she could think what her next move should be. She made her way to the doors and pushed them open, just enough for her slender body to fit through. The kitchen was vacant, the cook missing, and Rosella headed toward the oven range.
She screamed when the double doors exploded open, and the woman who had attacked Florence shambled after her. Rosella pushed away, backing up as fast as she could on the floor, and then sprang to her feet. The woman pursued, and Rosella saw strips of meat hanging from the woman’s broken teeth. Patches of the woman’s hair were missing, as if ripped out. A cracked moan escaped the monster’s lips as it moved closer to Rosella. She felt her back hit the stove and knew she was trapped. The zombie came closer. Rosella was on the verge of hysterics. She grabbed a small pot on the stove and swung it, catching the zombie in the jaw, and sending two of its teeth to the ground. It had no effect. She hit it again, but the woman didn’t relent. Scattered on the ground, perhaps left by the cook as he fled the diner, a metal meat tenderizer glistened from the overhead lights. Rosella grabbed it, and with a warrior’s cry, smashed it into the head of the woman. The woman’s face hit the tile with a sick plop. Rosella struck her again, not stopping until the top of the zombie’s head was reduced to bloody pulp, and its body stopped moving.
She didn’t have time to reflect on her kill. Rosella rose from her knees, meat tenderizer in hand, and made her way to the back delivery area. The walk-in cooler was an option, but it was so cold that Rosella thought she would freeze to death before someone would find her. It also didn’t lock, so there was no way to make it secure. She ran to the back door used for deliveries. It was locked, and the only way to open it was with a key that she did not have. The diner owner had the key, and he was always present when deliveries were made. Rosella kicked at the door, but it didn’t budge.
Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed her. One clamped over her mouth, and the other around her neck. She screamed, but the sound was muffled. She was being dragged toward the utility closet, and though she struggled to fight, she was powerless against her attacker. Rosella waived the meat tenderizer like a mad woman. She was done for, and she knew she was seconds away of knowing the pain of having her flesh ripped off. Her attacker shut the closet door once she was inside, and darkness engulfed them. She felt the grip loosen and knew this was her only chance. Spinning around, she kneed the person in the groin, and readied the tenderizer, for what she planned to be a death blow.
“Jesus, Rose. Stop!”
“Barry?” Rosella lowered the tenderizer and stared at the cook, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.
He was hunched over, holding his groin and breathing in a raspy wheeze. Rosella figured the sudden blow had knocked the wind out of him.
“Yes,” he said, panting, “it’s me.”
“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were one of them.”
“I’m sorry, but I saw you, and I knew I had to get you in here as quietly as I could.”
Rosella lowered the tenderizer and crumpled to the ground. Across from her, Barry sat, and turned on a flashlight. His face was pale, and his eyes were wide. He was a young man, fresh out of high school. He had hearing issues from playing his iPod way too loud.
“Barry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were attacking me.”
“I don’t even know what’s going on, Rose. One minute I’m flipping eggs, and the next people are running in here and attacking each other. I recognized those people. Those are our people.” Tears streamed down the cook’s eyes.
“I don’t know what to say. I just killed a woman. If I hadn’t, she was going to kill me. Something bad happened...”
“It’s all that synthetic weed and shit. People getting high, trying to beat the drug tests. Problem is that shit fucks you up more than the real stuff!”
A loud bang, sounding like a gunshot, made the two to jump. It was followed by a long scream that was abruptly cut off. Barry stood and grabbed the chair that was in the back of the closet. He wedged it under the door handle.
“I don’t know what to do. We have some bottled water in here, so we are safe to hide out for a little while. If we stay quiet, then no one should bother us.”
“I guess,” Rosella said. “How long do you think that will be?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I have my cell phone, but the damn thing has no signal. Maybe we can wait for a while and then go for help? Maybe the cops will come. Where are they when you need them, huh?”
Rosella shook her head and cracked open a bottle of water, taking a small sip. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.
“I don’t think it will ever be okay again,” Barry said, sighing.
Rosella knew he was probably right. The two huddled together, moving as far away from the door as they could. The flashlight jumped with each bang and scream. Rosella prayed silently and hoped that the next noise wasn’t the sound of fists slamming on the closet door.
Chapter 10
An Unexpected Visitor
Skylar Caldwell exited the bathroom after placing freshly folded towels in the linen closet. She brushed her long blonde hair away from her eyes and slipped an elastic band around it making a ponytail. Her morning chores were behind her, and she was eager to go online to search showroom floors for ideas on how to redecorate the bedroom.
She and Troy had been living in the house since August 2005, refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Prior to the storm, they had been living in an apartment in New Orleans. Troy was just about to begin the Academy for the New Orleans Police Department when Katrina hit. Their apartment went under eight feet of water after the levees broke. Fortunately for them, they had fled to Botte to ride out the storm. Botte was farther east. They had stayed with her father. What few valuable possessions they owned, having been recently married, they brought with them.
Going back to New Orleans amidst the chaos that followed was totally out of the question, for both of them. Troy had heard the NOPD had chronic corruption problems, which was true of all police forces to some degree, but Katrina exposed it beyond anyone’s imagination.
Skylar didn’t mind returning h
ome to Botte. She had been waiting tables in a restaurant in the French Quarter, and she had grown tired of the long hours and finicky tourist after the three years of working there. She had met Troy while serving him a muffaletta. He had liked the sandwich, but fell head over heels in love with her at first sight. They were married within a year of meeting.
Troy had been working as a deputy sheriff in the neighboring Jefferson Parish at the time, and signed up with the NOPD in order to start a life in the Crescent City. The new job meant better pay and benefits.
Botte was short of a deputy, and Troy immediately warmed up to the idea of keeping law and order in a small town and distancing himself from the drug-induced violence of New Orleans.
Skylar’s father died from a stroke six months ago. When she looked back on the last few years, it almost seemed like her future had been planned, and everything had fallen into place. She was able to care for him in those final days, until he took his last breath. As an only child, the house had become hers.
The laptop kicked on with the warm hum of the internal fan. Skylar grabbed bottled water out of the fridge and sat at the kitchen counter watching her desktop fill the screen. She clicked on the web browser and waited for her homepage to come up. The internet failed to connect. The bars on her router showed full strength. Even an attempt to ‘Try Again’ didn’t prove successful.
That’s just great, she thought. She was looking forward to get back to planning the makeover of the living room. The living room was tastefully decorated in ‘Early Cajun.’ Mounted deer heads with large racks and various fish cemented in action poses hung on the wall. All that, and the early 60’s Sears and Roebuck furniture, had to go.
Her mind drifted, fretting over what to do next, when footsteps on the old wooden front porch pulled her back. Wonder who’s here?
The steps clumped closer. Something bumped the door.
What the hell?
Skylar slid off the barstool and headed for the door. Her curiosity turn to anger as the knob rattled back and forth, held in check by the lock. Damn kids from down the road playing pranks again. There’s nothing worse than summer vacation and bored children. She let her ire get the better of her judgment and jerked the door open before looking out the window to see who it was.
Before she could deliver a tongue lashing to whomever it was about to invite themselves in, Skylar took two steps back and screamed, “Mrs. Jarreau! What happened?”
The old woman from the next property wore a blood stained nightgown covered in bits and scraps of meat. Her bottom jaw drooped showing red stained teeth. Trickles of blood streaked down her chin. Her left eye hung from the socket to her cheek.
The zombie stepped forward and tripped, crashing face first to the floor.
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Did you get in a wreck?”
The zombie moaned slowly and expelled a blast of bodily gas. Skylar gagged and backed away as the putrid odor invaded her nostrils. She ran to the phone, dialed 911, and put it to her ear. The call didn’t connect, and pressing the switch hook several times had no luck in making a connection. Her hand went to her purse and pulled out the cell phone. She bounded to the front door, stepping over Mrs. Jarreau, and scanned the area while it powered up.
There weren’t any cars on the road for as far as she could see. Mrs. Jarreau must have hurt herself at home. Maybe she tripped and fell. From her condition though, that hardly seemed to be a rational explanation.
The zombie moaned again and tried to push itself up.
Skylar ran to Mrs. Jarreau’s side and held her to the floor. “Please stay down, Mrs. Jarreau. Don’t move. You’re hurt pretty bad. Try to relax until I can get an ambulance.” There were no reception bars on the cell phone. “Oh, crap.”
More moans uttered from the old woman with a ferocity that sent shivers up Skylar’s back. Something was terribly wrong.
The zombie forced itself up on its feet. Skylar backed away, giving it all the room that it needed. Her heart pounded, and her mind reeled in a hundred directions, unable to decide on what to do.
The reanimated woman’s arm stretched out toward Skylar’s face. It hissed wickedly and lunged for its next victim.
With the option to fight or flee, Skylar chose the latter. A quick turn on her heels had her pointed to the stairs. She sprinted across the living room and stumbled on a rug before reaching the bottom step.
None of this made any sense. It was like the whole world was falling down around her. No internet, no phones, a crazed, bloody neighbor trying to do God-knows-what to her. It was just like a bad, late night horror movie.
With no more time to waste, Skylar ran up the stairs, and into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She pushed the button to lock the knob, testing it to make sure it wouldn’t move. She leaned with her back on the door, scared out of her mind.
* * *
On the ride back to his house, Troy checked his cell phone for signal strength. It didn’t appear he was going to be able to get in touch with Skylar to see if she needed anything from the grocery store. It never failed that if he didn’t call, there was always something she wished he had picked up. Life was funny that way.
The thousand bucks in his front pocket made his chest swell and a grin curl on his lips. Sky was going to be so surprised when he handed her the ten 100 dollar bills. He tried to think of ways to give it to her. Hold out two closed fists, and say, ‘pick a hand’? ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand’? Maybe just sneak it into her wallet and wait for her to find it. Now that would be an absolute hoot to watch.
The police cruiser pulled into the driveway and crept to a halt in front of the old Cyprus house. Troy shut down the engine, unbuckled the seat restraint, and got out of the car.
As the door closed, he turned and saw the front door wide open. This struck him as unusual. The hot Louisiana weather didn’t allow open doors and windows often, especially this time of the year. What the hell is Sky trying to do, make it cooler outside on the porch? The electricity bill was high enough without making the air conditioner work overtime.
His gazed drifted to the steps as he climbed, and then onto the porch. Drops of red, some smeared by footprints, led the way to the door.
Troy ripped the pistol from its holster, and held it with both hands, in a high-ready position. He placed his back to the façade of the house, and then turned and leaped into the living room, panning the area with the gun ready to fire.
Banging on a door from upstairs jerked his head toward the sound. A loud, eerie moan followed.
He was at the base of the stairs in no time. “Sky! It’s Troy. Sky!” he called as he flew toward the top.
He held his position on the stairs when the intruder presented itself in the line of fire. “Police! Hands in the air!”
A woman in a nightgown pounded on the bedroom door. Her ratty, long black hair hung down to the small of her back. There was no mistaking it, this was their neighbor.
Troy let the pistol point to the floor. “Mrs. Jarreau? What in the hell is going on here?”
The old woman turned and looked at him with yellowing whites surrounding her dead vacant eyes. Her face contorted in a snarl, blood and gunk covered her mouth and gown.
Even though she was a neighbor that he had known for years, the utter revulsion twisting his insides was beyond description. “Stay back, Mrs. Jarreau! Stay back!”
The words fell on deaf ears. The zombie shambled toward the top of the stairs and fell on top of Troy three steps below.
The police officer yelled as he fell to his back, with the zombie riding him like a sled down to the floor. Troy’s head banged against each step. Each blow jolted his focus as hands reached for his throat. Her mouth lowered in for a bite.
He managed to get his left hand on her throat, and keep her snapping teeth at bay, as his descent bottomed out on the floor.
“Get off me, you stupid bitch!” Troy batted at her flailing hands with his pistol, trying his best not to hurt her, yet
.
“Troy! Troy!” Pounding feet down the stairs told him Skylar was at least okay enough to walk. He prayed she had escaped this mad woman’s clutches.
“Sky! Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
“I’m fine. Oh, Troy, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know. I can’t take much more of this. Get back up to the bedroom and holler when you’re there.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Footsteps diminishing reverberated in the wooden stairs told him she followed orders.
“I’m here,” she called down.
Troy forced the gun in the zombie’s face. She opened her mouth wide as if to swallow it whole.
The pistol discharged twice. The old woman’s body went limp. Troy held her tightly by the throat, keeping the same amount of distance, until totally convinced she was dead.
Still on his back, he scooted away until his feet cleared the bottom steps before tossing the body aside.
“Troy! Is it over? Can I come down?”
He rolled on his side and breathed deeply. “Yeah, yeah come on down. It’s over.” His last words a sigh of relief.
Once again, feet pounding the stairs let him know Sky was coming down. Troy rolled on his back and looked at her with tired eyes.
“Did she hurt you?” Skylar asked as she knelt by his side.
“No, no. I’m okay. How about you?”
“I made it to the bedroom before she could get her hands on me. I don’t know what’s going on. It started as a strange day, and it’s only gotten worse. What happened to Mrs. Jarreau? I thought she might have gotten in a wreck or something when she came to the door. But now, I think she’s sick, or was sick. Did you have to kill her? Couldn’t you just have knocked her out?”
Troy sighed. “No, no honey. There was no other way. My life was threatened, and I had no other choice. She may not look like it, but that woman was strong. I was losing any advantage I had in the beginning. I had to kill her. She was trying to claw my eyes out and . . . and she was trying to bite me.”
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