by Steven Till
"Hey sweetheart... No, I'm down at the Shack having lunch." He had to plug his ear as four Pittsburgh police cruisers flew by, sirens wailing. "No, I'm fine, just some cops driving by... I'd love to come home, but I'm swamped at work. I gotta try to bang out some initial site designs for the client meeting tomorrow... I should stay late tonight too... Okay, okay, I'll come home at my usual time... Yes, I promise to be safe... Yes, straight home, I promise... I love you, too, baby... Don't worry hon, everything will be fine... Alright, buh-bye."
He hit the end call button and slid the phone back into his pocket. When he turned around Ronnie was staring at the police scanner that sat at the end of the counter behind the myriad of condiments. His outstretched hand holding Nathan’s lunch. A look of seriousness had washed over his best friend's face as he listened to the small radio. He couldn't discern what the dispatcher was saying, but he could tell by Ronnie's uncharacteristic expression that it wasn't good.
"Sorry 'bout that, Eve called, all worried about some type of disturbance on the South Side."
Grabbing the huge foot-long dog from Ronnie's catatonic grasp seemed to snap him back to reality.
"Huh, oh, right, no problem man. How’s Eve doing? She okay?" he asked, turning the volume up on the scanner.
"Yeah, she’s fine. Just worried about all the stuff on the news. What's going on?" Nathan mumbled, stuffing a good three inches of his lunch into his mouth.
"Sounds like there's a huge riot going on right across the river. The dispatcher's been sending all kinds of fuzz down that way."
Through the static Nathan could hear the dispatcher rattling off various police codes and unit call-signs. He didn't understand a word of it, but he was able to pick out a few key, important phrases. Officers in need of assistance, shots fired, officer down, SWAT units en-route, and ambulance and fire teams are on the way.
This caused him to stop mid-chew, mouth still stuffed with dog. He and Ronnie looked at each other, not sure what to do or say next. Finally, after an awkward silence, He choked down the remaining bits of lunch that engorged his cheeks.
"Well, I'm not sure what the hell is going on across the river, but I do know that I have a shit ton of work to finish up. If hell is breaking loose, no doubt Eve will continue to hound me to leave ASAP," Nathan said, grabbing some napkins from the dispenser on the counter.
"Peace out homie, let me know when you leave work. Maybe we could go check out the fun later," Ronnie said as he turned up the police radio even louder, captivated by the steady flow of chatter.
"Yeah, we'll see," Nathan replied over his shoulder as he began to hurry across the street.
He rushed back to the office to find his colleagues plastered to the giant video wall. No one had moved from their various perches, taking full advantage of the not-the-norm events to forego any semblance of productivity. Great, looks like I'm the only one who remembers about the super duper über important deadline tomorrow, he thought as he walked past the zombies staring at the news.
For the next two and a half hours he immersed himself in the job at hand. He jammed his Skullcandy ear buds into his ears and allowed Angels and Airwaves to drown out the chaos. He took a moment to wipe away the fatigue from his eyes, leaned back in towards his screen and continued to work at record speed. Just before he was able to put the finishing touches on the new web site designs, cries of panic sounded over the music blaring in his ears.
He stood up, removed his earphones and headed towards the lobby, where all his colleagues stared out the large picture window opposite the video wall. Some employees had bolted for the doors, leaving without a word. Following the gazes, he looked out the window as well.
The weather had taken a downward turn; dark clouds rolled over Mt. Washington, blotting out the remnants of daylight. Then he saw what had thrown everyone in a tizzy. Across the river, explosions erupted at Station Square and down East Carson Street, adding to fires that had already broken out.
Time to go.
Nate was already out the door.
CHAPTER 6 GRANDPA
Ronnie watched as his friend gobbled the rest of his lunch and headed back to work. He didn't blame Nathan for snubbing the special. Some people just didn't have the intestinal fortitude that he did. One of these days he'd get a sweet review in the Post-Gazette's Food section and the Dog Shack would be famous. Although Nathan wasn't always supportive of his culinary creations, he could always count on him. He was always there for him. No matter what. If he were ever stuck "in the shit," there wasn't anyone else he'd rather want watching his back.
He shooed away the remaining customers that lingered outside the Shack and grabbed the police scanner off the counter. He walked out the side door and pulled down the metal grate over the front of the hot dog stand. Better tighten shit up, he thought as he closed the padlock in place. Waaaaaay too many crazies out today.
He placed one earphone in his left ear and pushed play on his iPod, pumping the sweet vocal platitudes of Miley Cyrus into his head. In the other ear, he jammed a different headphone which fed him a steady stream from the police radio. Having ADHD did have its advantages. It allowed him to rock out with his favorite tween sensation while keeping up to date on the shit which was hitting the proverbial fan.
Ronnie strolled down Grant Street at a casual pace. He could hear siren after siren over the scanner, which now told him that the Governor had deployed the National Guard. People raced by him in the opposite direction. Cars jammed every intersection in an attempt to flee the city. The dispatcher on the radio began to lose her professional tone and now sounded panic-stricken as she directed units to shut down all bridges and tunnels out of the city.
He reached Ft. Pitt Boulevard, which now served as a parking lot as cars trying to leave the city stretched as far as the eye could see. Crossing the street, he approached the far side of the road closest to the Monongahela River. Ronnie wasn't shocked by much, but the sight before him made his stomach drop.
“Daaaaaaaaaaamn,” he uttered as he felt for the iPod in his pocket. A couple clicks later, Hannah Montana switched over to Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters.” Station Square, a tourist spot loaded with various shops and restaurants, was ablaze. The fires stretched all down Carson Street and razed about a two mile swath of bars, night clubs, eateries and shops, which comprised the bustling South Side area. Screams, screeches, cries and gunfire sang like a macabre chorus from Satan’s choir. Pandemonium ruled the South Side and all Ronnie could do was stand there in awe of its destruction.
He abandoned his plan to walk the Smithfield Street Bridge to Station Square and instead turned right. He headed towards Point State Park, where the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers converged to form the Ohio. Horns sounded from the cars packed in gridlock to his right, but he ignored them. His attention was now focused on the elderly man standing before him.
“What’s up grandpa,” he said. The old man took a shaky step, shuffling towards him. “Whoa, dude, you alright? You ain’t lookin’ so hot there pops.”
The man took another step, his pale face pleading with him. His mouth was moving, trying to say something.
“What’s that?” he said as he removed the headphones from his ears.
“Whaaaaat’s haaaaaappening toooooo meeeeee?” asked grandpa in a raspy, shallow voice.
“Honestly bro, it looks like you’re dying,” Ronnie replied.
“I’m soooooooooooooo huuuuuuuuungryyyyyyyy...” grandpa retorted.
“Aw bro, you’re in luck! I just happen to have the freshest delicacy back at my dog shop,” he replied. “You like wontons?”
The old dude who looked like he was dying took another shakey step. “Ruuuuuuuuunnnnn,” he rasped. A thick red sauce that reminded Ronnie of barbecue bubbled out of the man’s mouth.
“Oh shit bro! You’re REALLY not lookin’ so hot. You should go see a doctor or something.”
“RUUUUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!!!” the man shouted. He then opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tong
ue.
“Um, no offense dude, but I like chicks.”
Ronnie saw the man’s tongue slither out from between his yellowed and blood-stained teeth. The forked end opened to expose the gruesome barb. At this point he thought that this would be a good time to take the man’s suggestion and book it the hell out of there. He would have left, but having never backed down from a fight, his upbringing and his pride kept him rooted to the pavement.
Grandpa reached out and grabbed his wrist, clenching so tight he could feel the blood immediately stop flowing to his hand.
“Look dude, you really don’t wanna do this. I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will seriously lay you the fuck ou...”
The man’s other arm swooped across him, back-handing Ronnie across his jaw. Grandpa’s grip on his wrist seemed to have tightened and started to hurt and now his jaw throbbed. This dude is a lot stronger than he looked, he thought. He grabbed the arm that held the vice grip on his wrist and spun underneath, doing a dosey-doe with grandpa. The old man released his wrist and staggered to regain his balance.
“Yeah, that’s right, I am all OVER them Bruce Lee moves!” Before the man had a chance to right himself, Ronnie landed a right hook, shattering the man’s nose. More barbecue sauce spurted out the man’s damaged nostrils. A left jab liberated his partial dentures, leaving a giant gap in his mouth.
He took a step back from the dying man who bled barbecue sauce, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. His knuckles hurt, but they weren't bleeding yet. Still plenty of punches left in them, he thought.
“That’s right you pasty asshole, how’d that feel? You see these guns, son? These are the Guns of Navarone mothafucka!”
And with that, Ronnie went in for the knockout punch. He couldn't explain what happened next. The man jumped ten feet straight up, raining that gross barbecue sauce as he hung in mid-air for a split second. A moment later, grandpa landed behind him. Ronnie spun around, preparing to throw a hammer fist, but the old man stopped his arm and his momentum with one hand. A split second later and pops had his mouth on his forearm, the remaining teeth penetrating his flesh.
“AAAAGGGHHH!” he cried as he pummeled the man with punch after punch. Finally, the man released his jaws, a look of anguish on his face.
“I don’t want to eat youuuuuuuu...” said the creature.
“Don’t worry, you won’t, you crusty, old, geriatric piece of shit!” Ronnie exclaimed as he grabbed the back of grandpa’s neck and slammed his head face-first into the curb.
What remained of the man’s teeth shattered as his open mouth wrapped around the edge of the curb. Ronnie shot up and planted his steel-toed Timberland boot into the back of the Grandpa’s head. A loud snap resonated as the jaw broke. He didn't stop with one kick. This fucker had bitten him and now he had to pay. He stood over his attacker and continued to drive his boot into the back of the skull. A flood of expletives escaped Ronnie's mouth in-between each swing of his leg. Every kick preceded a loud, nauseating crunch. The lower jaw broke away from the face, the vertebrae in the neck snapped, and the skull caved in, exposing barbecue covered brains.
Exhausted and out of breath, he walked over and leaned on the railing overlooking the river. Assessing the damage to his left arm from the old man’s teeth, he cringed as he looked at the blood that was gushing from his torn jacket. He looked across the water. The low-lying clouds reflected the orange light from the blaze which burned along the opposite banks.
Trippy, he thought. Really wish I had some ‘shrooms right now.
He began to feel light headed. Not wanting to pass out and be easy pickings for any more deranged old farts, he took off his belt and tied it around his bicep. Hopefully, it would stop the bleeding.
“Time to go find Homie-G-Funk,” he said under his breath as he shambled his way back into the city.
CHAPTER 7 WAKE UP CALL
North Hills, Suburb of Pittsburgh
Forest Glenn Apartment Complex
A warm, wet tongue moved in broad strokes up and down her face. Hot breath immediately followed; it smelled like a week old bean burrito. She opened her eyes to the sight of Boomer's black and pink spotted tongue flopped to the side of his large, earnest smile. The black, sixty-two pound mutt stared down at her and pawed her to get up.
“Aw Boomer, what time is it?” she moaned as she turned to the clock radio on her nightstand. Two forty-five PM glowed back at her. SHIT! She had over slept. Another late night of research, the third one in a row, had taken its toll. Even best-selling authors needed their beauty sleep.
Boomer gave a soft grunt-bark and licked her again on the cheek. “Okay buddy, I’m up, I’m up.”
Evelyn Gray arose and shuffled into the bathroom. After a quick shower, she made her way into the kitchen. She flipped on the small counter-top television, then moved on to the coffee maker. She was mad that she had slept most of the day away, but was thankful for the extra rest. The past few weeks had been hell while she finished up the last few chapters of her manuscript. Her editor Edith, an abrasive middle-aged woman from Long Island, had been pressing her hard for the remaining pages of her new crime novel.
The local news droned in the background as she finished preparing the coffee grounds. She noticed that the usual dull news seemed different today. The anchors looked distressed and didn't have the usual fake smile that they wore when they reported the day's bad news.
She felt Boomer lean up against her leg, and reached for a bacon flavored Busy Bone from the cupboard. Evelyn stared at the television as the newscast continued their coverage of the growing pandemonium. The impact of the stories hadn't sunk in until she heard a horrifying statistic. “Approximately seventy-five people have died so far in the South Side uprising...” the anchorwoman said.
WHAT??!!
The Busy Bone fell from her hand as she stood there in disbelief. Boomer snatched up the bone and trotted off to his favorite spot on the small landing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window by the front door.
“My God,” she whispered as she continued to listen to the news, this time, more attentive to the details. She poured a large cup of coffee, straight up. As more details of the events unfolded, the more terrified Evelyn got. I've got to call Nate, she thought as she reached for the kitchen phone.
The phone rang and rang. Finally, he picked up.
“Nate? Nate, you weren't at your desk, where are you?” she asked, her voice in an obvious panic.
“Nate, what’s that sound? Are those sirens? Are you okay?” her pulse increased. The commotion on the other end made it impossible for her to hear her fiancé on the other end.
“Honey, I want you to come home, there’s terrible things going on across the river from you, it’s not safe... Screw the client meeting... NO! You can’t stay late! It’s really bad out there. People have died... Your usual time?” she was getting angry. Nathan could be such a stubborn ass sometimes. His biggest problem was his optimism. That and the fact that much of the time he felt that she overreacted in most situations.
“Promise me you’ll be careful... Promise that you’ll come straight home, no stops along the way... I love you too. I’m scared baby, I need you here... Alright, I’ll see you when you get home.”
She placed the cordless phone back on its charging cradle. The TV continued to display various images of people in the streets fighting with police officers and each other. Rioters broke storefront windows and poured in and out to loot whatever they could get their hands on. Evelyn continued to stand in stunned silence in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. She finally had enough, hit the power button, and made her way into the living room.
The anger that she continued to feel towards Nathan had changed to worry. She hoped and prayed that he would keep his word and be home at his normal time. She didn't think he had a clue how serious things were getting. Had he known, he would have made a beeline to his car and then out of the city.
Her cell phone rang, startling the thirty-one year old, which cause
d her to drop her coffee. “Shit!” she exclaimed as she ran to grab some paper towels; answering the phone on the way.
“Hello?”
“Eve? Hey it’s Jules, are you watching the news?” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“Not anymore. I couldn't stomach it for long. What the hell is going on Jules?” she asked her best friend of fifteen years. Julie and Evelyn had met during their early teens and had been besties ever since. Julie moved into the same apartment plan as her and Nathan last year, which was nice when they wanted to get together.
“Damned if I know. I hear that it’s not just on the South Side. Looks like shit’s been going down all over the place. Where’s Nate, is he there with you?”
“No, he’s at work,” Evelyn replied in a flat, annoyed tone.
The irritation was clear in Julie's voice. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you talk to him? He knows it’s not safe down there, right?”
“He knows. He’s going to be heading home shortly,” she lied.
“I don’t know girl, that man of yours has some screwed up priorities. You need to sit down with him and ta...” A crash cut Julie’s lecture, followed by a scream, then another crash, and then the call went dead.
“Jules? Julie?” Evelyn tried calling back, but Julie’s voicemail was the one who answered. Three more attempts yielded the same result.
She threw on some clothes, slid on her high leather boots and grabbed her coat. She paused before closing the closet door. After a moment of contemplation, she grabbed the aluminum softball bat that leaned against the vacuum cleaner. “Be good Boo, Mommy will be right back.” she said as she closed the front door behind her.
Forest Glenn was a decent sized apartment community situated in a valley surrounded by trees and hills, thus the name. The plan consisted of sixteen buildings arranged on two streets, forming a giant “L” shape. Evelyn sprinted down the street, turned left at the corner and continued down the cross street to Julie’s place. She could hear screaming as she moved down the road. At first she thought it was Julie, but it was much too close; Julie’s apartment was on the far side of the plan. Movement caught her eye to her left, and as she slowed her pace, a door to unit 127 opened.
