"Karen?"
She blinked. "Sorry, some kind of virus is going around. Hospitals are being overwhelmed. I'm watching this guy's video who's over at Methodist. He can't even get his own mother to see anyone. Damn...looks like she's got a nasty bite or something on her arm."
Jonny glanced at her. "Where?"
Karen was thumbing her phone again. "What's that?"
"Where is going on?" he asked again.
Karen looked at him. "Downtown."
Jonny squeezed the steering wheel tighter. "What's going on? Flu or something?"
Karen shrugged, resuming her thumbing. "I don't know."
Jonny looked back to the road, the traffic starting to lighten. "Right."
Someone was screaming now over the radio. Craig, or whoever was hosting, tried to calm them down to no avail. Karen had stopped whatever she was doing, both staring at the soft glow of the KPFH's Prison Show.
"--fire! Huntsville Prison is burning down. We're over here off Highway 30. Jesus...sounds like...what is that, fireworks or something?"
Another caller, one claiming to be beside the prison on 14th Street.
"Oh fuck--the guards, they're shooting prisoners in the yard--the guards are opening fire, man...oh man, wait...something's not right...the inmates...they aren't staying down. Maybe the guards are using nonlethal rounds...maybe--no, God the inmates are toppling over the guards...they're biting them. Why would they bite them--Jesus, why would they...?"
Crackle and static and then nothing.
Jonny and Karen sat in the silence, listening to dead air.
4
They pulled into Shoreacres just past ten at night. Nestled in a cove on a bay leading to the greater Gulf of Mexico, the little town was covered in dense oaks, pines, and willow trees. One of the many reasons Jonny had fallen in love with the area and put up with the ridiculously priced insurance coverages and that Karen's parents lived only a few blocks away. He loved the trees, but it was the privacy mostly. Not your typical suburb, neighbors mostly kept to themselves, separated and spaced far apart. The only drama he knew about came from Karen's father, a councilman for Shoreacres who was in an unfortunate war between a few other council members and the town's mayor, fighting, keeping them from ruining their peaceful little hamlet, or at least that was how her father had described it. But even that morsel of strife felt far removed from his home, his solitude. He'd never even met any of the council members, as far as he knew.
He took a right on Forest Avenue and hooked another sharp turn up into his driveway that wound to the two-story colonial-looking house he'd bought with Karen. The white panel and red brick colonial was a marginal fixer upper that didn't come cheap, but still. He loved this house. And he loved the space it afforded them, with plenty of rooms for children--eventually, maybe. In the meantime, Jonny had a study. And Karen got a craft room and a reading room. They shared the master bedroom, leaving the last as a guestroom, which was currently occupied by Jonny's best friend, Ashley Polk.
Parking the Jeep next to Karen's Prius, Jonny killed the engine. Without the low rumble, the house felt quiet, and without a single passerby on the road, the neighborhood seemed even quieter than normal. Almost as if they were walking into a ghost town. But then again, it was just after ten at night. Most of the folks who lived in Shoreacres were older, retired or just about there. Not too many parties around these parts.
Another thing Jonny loved about this place.
He opened his door and slid off the driver's seat, stretching and breathing deep the cool night air. Early season crickets were chirping from the trees that edged the property, trees that acted like a privacy fence between houses throughout the entirety of the neighborhood. Moths fluttered around the orange glow of the outside garage light. Dancing in swarms as they were picked off one by one by a colony of bats that lived in a homemade shelter one of his immediate neighbors had built to house them, something about being natural predators for disease spreading mosquitoes, as his jean shorts and polo shirt wearing elderly neighbor had told him. Jonny watched the bats as they fluttered and squeaked before darting back into the darkness of the trees. Down the street, somewhere, a dog barked, howling no doubt at some possum or skunk that'd trespassed on the hound's territory. Looking back behind him down the driveway, the road looked incredibly dark. With only a few street lamps glowing every other block, and the trees that hid the marginally lit homes, when night came, it swallowed them whole.
"Ashley must still be up," Karen said, putting her phone away, crossing over and opening the waist high iron gate towards the back door. They seldom ever used the front door. Only for the postman or those guys in brown uniforms that brought packages from Amazon. Through the windows, the lights were moving inside, flickering shadows, indicating that the TV was on in the living room.
"Feels late, doesn't it?" Jonny quipped, dodging another attempt on Karen's part at discussing their current house guest.
"I guess," Karen exhaled, sounding annoyed as she unlocked the back door.
Inside, Polk greeted them with a wave from her gnarled looking stump, her back to them, her gaze unwavering from whatever she was watching on TV.
"Someone in this camp ain't who they say they are. Right now, that might be one or two or us, but come Spring..." the movie on the TV shifted between a group of harsh faces bundled against the cold, and Kurt Russel's unmistakable roguish beard.
"This movie again? How many times is this now?" Jonny stood behind the couch, behind Polk, gazing at the screen with a partial grin. Truth be told, he loved this movie too.
Polk shrugged. "Nothing worth watching on cable." She turned and glanced up at Jonny. "Heard the Astros got hammered tonight."
Jonny smirked. "Nothing new there." He turned and glanced to see where Karen had gotten to. "Right, babe?" he called to her in the kitchen.
"Not their season." Karen didn't bother looking back at him. She poured a glass of water as she chewed two tiny white benzodiazepine capsules. She grimaced against the sour taste the pill left, chasing it by gulping down the water.
Jonny resisted going to her. He knew how much she hated the attention. She'd had night terrors since she was a kid. Her parents, her mother especially, shared a few of those horrible stories. To inform or to chase him off, he wasn't exactly sure. They certainly didn't know him very well if they thought the latter. He'd had his own share of bad dreams and respected that she wanted to keep her medicine private. From what he could understand, they helped her keep the nightmares in check.
He turned back to Polk. "Did you watch the news by chance?"
Polk kept her gaze on the TV. One of the best scenes in the movie was playing, the part when the survivors of Outpost 31 believe MacReady is one of the things, inflected by the alien. They discuss in a semi-circle in harsh whispers if he really is inflected or if they should let him back into the outpost, or let him freeze to death in the Antarctic storm. The group argues, each suspecting the other of strange behavior. Each gaze met with an equally disturbed suspense.
"Why would I watch the news? Half the time it's the same old bullshit, bunch of noise, showing only the worst things they can find, and when it's political, one channel blames this guy, the other that guy, when in fact neither know their head from their ass. If you ask me, it's all just one big distraction from what's really going on." Polk gestured to the TV. "Carpenter was so right with this movie--we've forgotten how to trust each other because we don't know how. We're incapable because we don't trust ourselves."
Jonny nodded, agreeing in his own way. Not so much regarding what Polk was saying, but that he didn't want to be dragged into another pointless melancholy debate. As he understood it, most people were not trustworthy, but given the chance, they could be. He understood his friend's pessimism, he too had seen the worst in people, the worst in himself. And Lord knows, Polk had been wrung through hell itself. He could only imagine what it must feel like to lose--to have an appendage taken from you. To one day be whole and the next to w
atch as an improvised explosive device ripped through your truck, and through your uniform, and your flesh and bone. He hadn't been there that day. He'd gotten sick. She took his place. And had been hurt. Bad. Sent to the Green Zone Sina Hospital. Molten chunks of iron and steel had ripped through her arm. And he hadn't been there; it should have been him. She'd sat in his place, in the gunner's seat, rear vehicle. She took what was meant for him to endure.
He glanced down at her exposed stump, the skin and bone that's left beyond a healthy joint, the residual limb, the aftereffects of the blast and the amputation. In his mind's eye, he could see the Green Zone surgeons cutting through her skin, muscle, blood vessels, nerves and bone. What was left had been filed smooth in a rounded edge. Her nerves cut slightly higher and retracted up into the muscle. What remained there provided a sort of padding, giving her stump its gnarled shape. Skin sewn back together so whatever scar there would be would not rub against any future prosthetic. Since he first saw the wound, months after the initial surgery, it had shrunk somewhat considerably, forcing her to wear thicker socks as she waited for her next appointment with the VA for a replacement prosthesis.
Shit, that was...what, four or five years ago now?
He gazed at her, wondering what it would be like, if it had been him instead of her.
Would he had remained in Houston with Karen?
Would they had bought this house together?
Or would they have different lives, somewhere else, separate?
He knew having Polk staying here was wearing on Karen's patience. Her sympathies could only go so far, but how could he kick his battle to the curb when it could easily have been him sitting there on the couch with the amputated arm.
How could he, watching her now sitting on the couch, The Thing playing on the TV while she rubbed in some sort of anti-chafing cream on her nub. Balefully staring at the screen as the alien further divided the survivors of the camp?
How could he?
Karen came into the living room, just behind Jonny, and whispered, "I'm heading to bed," and then said much louder, "Don't stay up too late watching horror movies."
Polk waved her hand. "Whatever you say, mom."
Jonny turned to her. "I'll be up soon."
Karen glanced to the TV and back to Jonny. "Liar," she smiled and turned to walk away. Stopping at the stairs, she called back to them, "And don't go crazy tonight with the booze, we're supposed to have lunch with my parents tomorrow."
"Okay, babe," Jonny said. He watched as she disappeared up the steps, listening for the bedroom door to open and close.
Polk must have been listening too. "Beer?" she asked.
Jonny grinned. "Absolutely."
5
"What's next?"
"Good question."
"Well?"
"You still got that Jack?"
"Not booze, what movie are we watching next?"
"Oh. I don't care, so long as you share that Jack you got squirreled away."
"It's not squirreled away, I just--"
"Don't share."
"You're welcome to anything in this house, battle."
"Really?"
"Yes, really... Why?" Jonny glanced at his friend, frowning, wondering where this was going.
Polk grinned in that slight kind of way she got after one too many beers. She pointed a finger, gesturing upward toward the ceiling. She winked with her mouth open in an exaggerated expression of surprise.
"Everything?" she added, slowly for emphases.
Jonny followed the direction of her gesture, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked, confused, and then his eyes widened in realization. "Okay. Not everything, you perv. Get your own woman." He tossed one of the designer throw pillows he purchased with Karen at the Bed Bath & Beyond over in Webster.
Polk caught the pillow, hugging it, laughing. "Why buy a cow when you can get milk for free at home?" she snickered.
Jonny shook his head. "Something is seriously wrong with you. How about They Live for the movie?"
Polk calmed, petting the pillow still in her hand. "I'm more of an Assault on Precinct 13 kinda gal."
"Assault isn't bad, but this late at night we'll be asleep before the first shot goes off." Jonny jumped up from the couch, heading for the kitchen.
"Bring back that bottle of Jack and I'll watch whatever you want," Polk called after him, but then she added, "except for those musicals you and the missus like to watch. The only musical I deem worthy of not being made fun of is Repo! The Genetic Opera."
Jonny snorted. "It was one musical, Phantom of the Opera. You ought to like that, Lon Chaney is famous for that movie."
"Does Karen like the silent picture or the 1980s Broadway movie?"
"Broadway."
"Exactly my point."
Jonny shook his head, smiling to himself. He reached up into the cabinet and blindly searched for the bottle of Jack.
Man, this thing really is squirreled away, he mused.
Finding the bottle, he brought it down and was happy to see that it was still mostly full. Taking two crystalline short fat glasses from another cabinet, he returned to the living room. Polk was on the floor in front of the entertainment center, flipping through her album of DVDs.
"You know we can rent it on streaming," Jonny said, setting down the glasses and the bottle of Jack on the glass top coffee table. "You don't need your bootleg Haji discs."
"Why waste the money?" Polk said matter-of-factly. Discovering the sought for DVD, she inserted it into the DVD player. Returning to the couch, she said, "Tomorrow we watch Assault on Precinct 13, deal?"
Jonny poured the whiskey into the two fat glasses. "Deal," he said, handing her one.
Polk licked her lips, gazing at the handed glass. She took it and sat back on the couch, taking a sip and grimacing. "You know," she said, "I appreciate what you're doing for me, putting up with me living here." Rolling the iceless glass, she took another sip.
Jonny glanced at her, not really caring to make or keep eye contact. He watched as she touched the whiskey glass to her residual limb, the scar visibly beneath her bicep.
"You'll always have a place here, if you want," he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked at his own glass and took a sip. The brown liquid tickled his throat, burning down into his stomach. With half the glass drunk, added to the six pack of beers they finished before hand, he was started to feel the comforting effects. His body relaxing. Warm. His thoughts less focused.
"I don't want to be a burden." Polk set down her glass, fumbling on the coffee table for the remote. "And I'm going to start pulling my weight. These damn VA wizards and their bullshit group therapy. I just can't do that; you know?" She pushed down on the controller and the movie started on the TV. Sitting back, glass in hand, she took a deep gulp of Jack.
"Tell me about it. First time I went to the VA they told me I had moving anxiety, and then right after that they wanted me to participate in some jerk off PTSD group study." Jonny matched Polk's gulp with his own, finishing off his glass. He sat forward and poured some more, raising the bottle, signaling if she wanted a refill.
Polk killed the rest of hers and handed over her glass.
Jonny poured. "And you're not a burden, at all. Okay?"
She took her refill and sipped. Smacking her lips, she said, "I know. It's just how I feel."
"Put that shit out of your head." Jonny leaned back, resting his glass on his stomach. On the screen, Roddy Piper was just discovering the resistance movement and was now trying on a pair of black sunglasses that turned everything into shades of grey.
Polk was watching too. Keeping her eyes on the TV, she said, "I'm really happy for you, Jonny. Not a lot of us find that life, that someone that keeps us grounded. Keeps us sane."
Jonny glanced at her and back to the TV. "Polk?"
"Yeah," she said.
"You've got me."
She regarded him, smirking. "Not the same."
Jonny frowned. "How so?"
Eyes stil
l on the movie. "Wrong team, brother."
Jonny's head rocked back. "Team?" He thought about it and started giggling. "Hey, you take what you can get, right?"
"Give me a tall blonde with huge tits any day of the week."
"I'm not pretty enough?" Jonny mocked.
"Jonny, you'll never be pretty enough."
Laughing, Jonny tossed another designer pillow.
Polk batted it away with her stump, snickering. "Don't spill my drink, asshole."
Jonny surrendered. "My fault."
They both sat in silence for some time, their gaze unmoving from the screen. The movie was playing the scene where Roddy and Keith David go toe-to-toe in some alleyway.
Jonny glanced over at Polk. Looking back at the TV, he asked, "We're going to kill this bottle tonight, aren't we?"
"Yup," Polk said, nonchalant.
"Karen's going to be pissed."
"Yup."
Taj
Part 1
1
La Porte,
Texas.
Taj Singh had been on night shift for far too long, or that was what he was planning on telling his father. His pen posed over the checklist of things he was probably never going to tell him. The youngest of five brothers and two sisters, he had always been given the worst responsibilities. When they were kids, he'd get stuck with sorting the trash. Or scooping the poop from the meager square space they considered to be a front yard. And now, two years on the longest shift at this ho-hum Shell gas station, how was he ever going to have a life working throughout the night, to sleep for a few desperate hours in the morning, and then off to school only to return here once again? His father may own this place, but where was it written that he had to work here?
Taj let the pen drop. He rubbed his eyes with his hands. He felt more like one of those nocturnal creatures he studied in biology than human. What he wouldn't give to have what normal Americans called "a life."
A life...?
"It's impossible," he groaned to himself.
If not for his genes, Taj swore he'd be just as pasty white as some of his other classmates at the University. Right now, according to the large oval clock on the wall, it was just past ten at night, and he was sure those "normal" college-kids, and even some of his fellow Punjabi, the more Americanized ones, were gathering no doubt around some swimming hole, some bar, passing drinks and fuzzy memories between them. Not worrying about making the drive across town to La Porte to start some endless night shift.
Planet of the Dead Page 3
