Dawn of the Mad

by Brandon Huckabay

  The two living corpses were now no more than ten feet away. Roman crawled away from his attacker and located his Glock on the muddy ground. The man by the fence took aim at the nearest living corpse and fired. The projectile lodged in the chest of the Hispanic guy and erupted from within. Chunks of dead flesh showered the immediate area. The man dropped to his knees and fell face first into the muddy earth. The bulk of his body was consumed by a blue fire that the rain could not douse. The homeless guy seemed unfazed he continued his slow advance toward Roman. The man by the fence aimed again and fired, achieving the same results. The body of the homeless guy dropped to the ground, to be consumed quickly by blue flames.

  Roman reloaded his Glock and fired at the nearest prone corpse. “Die you bastard!” He fired half a dozen shots as he rose to his feet, the 9mm Hydro- shocks striking center mass.

  The man in the Chuck Taylors ran toward the armless corpse. Behind him was another similarly attired man armed with a large rifle, unlike one Roman had ever seen. Roman ignored them and ran around the back of the pile of stacked cars, looking for Kevin’s killer. He found no traces of anyone else in the area. He turned and saw the two men approach him cautiously, each brandishing their similar weapons of amazing firepower. He looked at his Glock and back at their weapons, wondering why he wasn’t having much luck shooting bad guys. The three men stared at one another for a moment in silence. A radio transmission coming from somewhere on one of Roman’s adversaries broke the tension.

  “Hurry up! You are going to have company. Multiple vehicles are arriving at your location! Get out of there!”

  The two associates stopped and spoke to one another. “We have to hurry, or we will be surrounded!” Yelling over a deafening thunderclap, both men ignored Roman, leaving him standing there. Their primary target was nowhere to be seen. Sirens could now be heard in the distance.

  “We are out of here! Destroy the landing craft!” a voice bellowed from the unseen radio transmitter.

  One of them ran back to the hole in the fence and disappeared through it to the street. The other was about to follow when he turned to Roman, who was still standing there in shock.

  “I would be careful around here if I was you,” the man advised. He carefully made his way toward the half-buried shuttle craft and tossed two round objects with blinking red lights into it from the open door. He ran toward the hole in the fence and jumped through. Roman stood by, holding his pistol by his thigh. He watched with awe as the interior of the shuttlecraft was incinerated and melted beyond recognition, the structure collapsing onto itself. No surrounding objects were affected; the fast but intense blaze was entirely self-contained.

  Within moments, uniformed officers swarmed through the hole in the fence. Roman raised his hands, his pistol in his right and his shield in his left.

  “Police officer, don’t shoot.”

  “Sit down,” Detective Captain Martinez told Johnny Roman. The captain sat in the oversized leather chair behind his desk, and he faced a wall that was plastered with the many decorations and commendations he had acquired over the years. Roman sighed and took the seat he had occupied not that long ago. The morning sun streaked through the open blinds, lighting up the office. Martinez withdrew his cellular phone from his shirt pocket and activated the vibrate mode, before swiveling in his chair to face Roman. He ran his right hand through his gray hair as he leaned his chair back.

  “Roman, your caseload seems to be getting beyond your control. I’ll cut right to it. As of now, you are to no longer assist Detective Seebolt. As a matter of fact, you are to take a few days off, and in that time I hope you can calm down. As I see it, you’re running investigations on your own with some questionable judgment. That junkyard thing was the last straw. I also heard you were at the scene of the hotel murder last night, tampering with evidence.” Martinez spoke calmly and evenly, which surprised Roman; he expected to have a piece of his ass chewed off and devoured.

  Martinez carefully chose his next words before he spoke. “And don’t get me started on your involvement with the missing coroner. I’m having to draft extra officers on overtime for that mess.”

  “Sir, with all due respect,” Roman interrupted, “Seebolt asked me to follow up on some leads, which I did. I think we’re close to cracking this, and pulling me off now would severely limit our resources.” He paused, not sure that Martinez was paying attention to him. Finally, Martinez broke the silence, much to Roman’s relief.

  “I know about you and Seebolt working together, but I take my orders from higher up. What is going on is bigger than you or me. I also thought I had made myself clear. You are being placed on administrative leave pending investigation of your discharge of your firearm. That means you are off the street. Don’t worry, you won’t lose any pay. Anyway, it will give you time to get some sleep. You look like hell.”

  Roman stared at his interlocked hands, resting in the lap of his Levi’s, which still had dried mud on them from the previous night. He had been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight. He figured there wasn’t any reason to say anything more, and now that he thought about it, he was very tired. The speaker phone on the captain’s desk sounded, breaking his thought.

  “Captain, there is a Colonel Little in reception to see you,” a female voice said.

  Hurriedly, Martinez hit a button on the phone and replied, “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

  Martinez looked up at Roman with his “What are you still doing in my office?” look on his face. “We’ll call you when we need you. You are dismissed.”

  Roman nodded and got up. He had reached the door of the office when he stopped and turned to face Martinez.

  “What is the military doing here?”

  “I’m late for a meeting, and I don’t need to answer your questions. You are suspended. I suggest you stay that way.” Martinez retrieved his blazer from a coat rack and nudged Roman out of the way as he left his office.

  CHAPTER 21

  Roman entered his small one-bedroom apartment and turned on the light, which illuminated a cluttered room. His watch showed 9:02 a.m., indicating that he had been up considerably more than 24 hours now, and he was beginning to feel it. His answering machine, on a cluttered table by the front door, showed one missed call. Curious, Roman hit the play button. Within a second of hearing the annoying, high-pitched voice on the recording, he wished he hadn’t.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, John. We were supposed to have dinner with my parents last night. Not only did you miss that, you have missed just about every other thing I have asked you to attend with me. Don’t bother calling me back, since you’re obviously too busy anyway.” The recording abruptly ended. Roman shrugged in indifference.

  He turned and headed across the near end of the living room toward the kitchen. The craving for a cold beer overtook him, blocking any thoughts relating to his sometimes overbearing, and now former, girlfriend.

  At least I can get some sleep, I guess. Caught up in the activity of the past day, he hadn’t stopped to consider how tired he really was. He tossed his jacket onto a worn black leather couch in the living room; it promptly slid off onto the floor, landing on a half-eaten bag of pork rinds. Several empty beer cans sat on his cluttered glass coffee table. The latest issue of Hustler magazine rested on the arm at the opposite end of the couch. Everything from clothes to dirty dishes littered the floor.

  Roman walked into the kitchen and opened his refrigerator. Devoid of any food, the refrigerator was nevertheless well stocked in beer. Roman reached in and grabbed a can of Natural Light. After popping it open, he took a long chug. Inhaling deeply, he reached in and grabbed another can and closed the refrigerator door. He stood a moment in the kitchen finishing his first beer. As he was about to set the empty can on the counter, he heard a series of meows and felt his cat rubbing against his leg.

  “Hey, Morris, sorry I forgot about you. Hang on, buddy.” The meows intensified, and his gray tabby jumped on the counter. Roman opened a ca
n of tuna fish and dumped the contents onto a paper plate, which he set on the counter. Morris immediately went to town, eating hungrily. Roman stroked the cat’s back, watching with a smile as Morris’s tail pointed straight up and his butt lifted in the air.

  A light knock sounded at the front door.

  “Who is it?” Roman asked as he unholstered his Glock.He put the pistol behind his leg as he approached the door.

  The muffled voice on the other side replied, “Relax, its Maynard, Maynard Fontenot. I … I don’t know where else to go.” Fontenot stammered out the last sentence, seemingly rather distraught.

  “How did you find my apartment?” Roman asked.

  “I … I followed you from the station. Sorry. I got lucky you were there.” Roman holstered his pistol and undid the dead bolt. He sighed and opened the door.

  “It doesn’t matter. Come in.”

  Fontenot nodded and walked his large, odorous frame past Roman into the apartment. Roman looked past him into the parking lot outside the door. Satisfied that Fontenot hadn’t been followed, he closed the door.

  “Stinks in here,” Fontenot commented, pulling his shirt over his nose.

  Roman walked into the kitchen and retrieved another beer from the refrigerator.

  “Are you sure you’re not smelling yourself? You smell like a stale fart half the time.” The remark made Fontenot’s face drop slightly, and Roman silently reminded himself to watch the jokes.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Roman continued. “I forgot to clean out the cat box, and I haven’t been home long after a long day out. Beer?”

  Fontenot nodded, and Roman tossed a Natural Light in his direction. Fontenot caught it, pulled the flip top, and took a long pull. Eyeing the couch, he turned around and sat down, taking a moment to flip to the Hustler centerfold.

  “What are you doing over here, anyway?” Roman asked his guest. He crushed his empty can and tossed it into the sink. He walked over to the couch and sat down. Morris ran over and jumped into his lap, purring loudly the moment Roman started scratching his back.

  Putting down the Hustler, Fontenot replied, “I got fired. I consider myself lucky, though. It could have been worse.”

  “Are they going to investigate you or anything, or is that it?” Roman asked.

  Fontenot took another pull from the beer. “No. That’s just it. It’s weird, because two bodies have vanished on my watch, and they hardly asked me any questions. It was two suits that caught up with me. They didn’t say they were police or anything. I think someone or something else is involved.”

  Roman continued to rub his cat, now scratching behind his ears. Morris began to drool, in obvious ecstasy. “Well, I found your bodies.”

  “Say what?” Fontenot finished the rest of his beer and sat the empty can on the cluttered coffee table.

  “Yeah, they looked dead enough although they both tried to kill me before these two guys dressed like thugs came out of nowhere and shot both of them with some high tech weaponry I have never seen. The bodies were incinerated, as far as I could tell. No trace left. They saved my ass.”

  “This is getting too weird. Sounds like CIA or something. I have read about these things.” Fontenot shook his head in disbelief. “So what’s happening with you? Are you still on the case?”

  Roman pushed Morris off of his lap and stood up abruptly. He sighed heavily and stared at a picture hanging above the fireplace, showing his long-deceased father playing golf. “I’m officially on suspension for an officer-involved shooting. The media has been trying to get answers, so the brass is telling me to take a walk for a while.” He paused for a second. “Well, at least that’s what my boss said to me as I headed to my car.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Fontenot said.

  “Yeah, me too. And when they told me I was suspended, they made no mention of any event that has transpired. I was told not even to worry about doing a report, just to go home and get some sleep. It’s all B.S.”

  Fontenot looked hard at Roman. He removed his glasses from his round face and cleaned the lenses with his shirt. “This is heavy, man. You think the Feds or somebody is in on it? X-files stuff?”

  “You know, I would normally tell you no. I mean, this isn’t supposed to happen. The dead aren’t supposed to walk the earth. But with the weird shit I’ve seen, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Fontenot looked around the apartment, taking in its disarray and peculiar smell. “Can I get another beer?”

  Roman nodded, and Fontenot headed into the kitchen. Roman noticed that he seemed to be adjusting to the odor in the apartment, and he decided to let Morris’s cat box be for a while; he wasn’t in the mood to clean it just yet. He was about to head to the bathroom to take a leak when he heard another knock at the front door. Again he withdrew his pistol from its holster and put it behind his leg, his paranoia getting the best of him. He glanced at Fontenot, in the kitchen, who had found a nearly empty bag of Cheetos and was busy finishing the remnants.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” Roman asked Fontenot, who shook his head from side to side. He took a pull from his beer, apparently not concerned about who might be there.

  “Who is it?” Roman asked.

  The response was slightly muffled by the door. “I need to speak with you. I think we can help each other out.”

  “With what?” Roman countered. He looked through the peephole in the door but couldn’t see anybody.

  “I have been following you. I saw you shoot the alien. Perhaps I can make things a little clearer for you.”

  Roman creased his brow when he heard the word “alien.” He undid the dead bolt and opened the door a crack. “Did you say alien? Do you think I’m an idiot?” He put on a tough front to put the visitor on the defensive, but deep inside he was curious. A well-built, tall man stepped from his position beside the door to stand in front of it, where Roman could see him. He wore a black FUBU jersey, with the number 00 across the front, and baggy jeans. Roman was taken aback when he gazed into the man’s eyes. The pupils were a bright green, with specks of blue. The man’s face had a long scar running from the bottom of his left earlobe to the corner of his lip. His short grey hair was spiked straight up.

  “Who are you?” Seeing that the man was unarmed, Roman opened the door and lowered his guard. He noticed another man walking from the parking lot toward the apartment. He was smaller in stature that the first but similarly attired, wearing a Houston Astros baseball jersey that seemed to be about two sizes too big.

  The first man held out his hand. “I am Colonel Johann Chuikova, Spearhead Corps Commander. This is my associate, Corporal Scotts.” Roman holstered his pistol. He shook the colonel’s outstretched hand. “I’m Johnny Roman. I am afraid I am a little confused. Are you some kind of special ops unit or what? I was under the impression it was illegal for the military to conduct operations on US soil.”

  Scotts replied, “We know who you are. And yes, he said, alien.” Scotts smiled after the last sentence. “We are not of your planet either.”

  Roman opened the door wider, stood aside, and let the two men enter his apartment. He again looked around the parking lot and thought a beat- up Ford Mustang parked across the street looked familiar from the last couple of days, but he didn’t think anything more of it. He wasn’t sure why he trusted these two strangers, or even why he believed them, but somehow he did. As both men entered the apartment, Scotts exclaimed, “Wow, it smells in here!”

  Upon seeing the two new visitors, Fontenot pushed past the three men to the door. He looked at Roman and nodded toward the colonel and Scotts. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said to Roman. “These guys have “Fed” written all over them. Later.” He quickly stepped outside and closed the door after himself.

  Roman dead bolted the door behind Fontenot and faced his new guests. “Uh, sit down,” he said, waving toward his couch. The colonel sat down first, at one end, and Corporal Scotts sat next to him. The corporal immediately noticed the Hustler magazin
e and picked it up, and starting thumbing through the well-worn pages.

  “I’ll get to the point,” the colonel said. “We are tracking an alien that has escaped from our sector of space. It just so happens he has landed here on your planet.” The colonel paused, observing Roman for any reaction. Seeing nothing besides the expected stunned surprise, he continued. “We have been watching you for some time, and we feel we can be of assistance to you, and you to us. This creature has the potential to create unimaginable havoc upon your population.”

  “I knew something wasn’t right,” Roman said. “I emptied my weapon into him, and he wasn’t even fazed. And there’s the matter of dead people walking out of the coroner’s office. If that’s connected, I’d agree with you that this has the potential for havoc, all right. But your space alien concept is a little hard for me to take in. I’d buy it if it was a virus or something.”

  “Well, he is an alien to you. He is not of your planet. That is the reality of it. For that matter, so are we. We want to move on him soon, and we could use your help. As for your virus theory, it may not be too far off. He is capable of transferring something to his victims, rendering them incapable of functioning normally.”

  Roman reached into his jeans pocket and removed an ID card he had found earlier, lying on the ground in the junkyard.

  “I found this before the shuttle was blown. Maybe you know what it is.” Scotts reached forward and took the ID. After giving it a quick glance, he announced, “This is a security badge for a Dr. Keitel.”

  The colonel leaned forward and peered at the ID. “I saw an intelligence report awhile back in which he was rumored to be the enemy’s top genetic researcher. Perhaps we are after his experiment. It seems the good doctor was unable to control it.”

  “He was at the research facility we hit,” Scotts added.