by Terry Yates
For a moment, he thought he was having an anxiety attack, his breathing having become a little labored. He knew what an anxiety attack was. A lot of people didn’t. Good. What about the moon? Was his last name Moon? His first? Moon Mullins, Moon Martin, Man in the Moon, the Moon is Blue. Moon Glow. Moonraker. James Bond. Moon…stars…Galileo…Copernicus…Nicholas Copernicus…wait! Copernicus. Copernicus. Nicholas. That sounded vaguely familiar. He thought for a moment, but nothing came to him.
“Here you go.”
The man looked up to see Kyler once again standing over him holding some tablets.
“These ought to do the trick,” Kyler told him, shaking the tablets and holding out a bottle of water. “Come on. Take ‘em. You need some rest. Maybe if you just relax for awhile, something may come back to you.”
The stranger looked up at Kyler. He trusted him for some reason where he didn’t trust the military man at all. He’d even felt a little distrust when he had first seen the rest of the group even though he knew most of them were harmless to him. Why would he have the need to feel such distrust? Why did he feel somehow…threatened?
“As your doctor, I’m ordering you to take these…okay?”
The man looked at Kyler for another moment, and then nodded his head. He propped himself up again on his elbow once more and held his hand out. The doctor dropped one pill, then another into his hand. He took a breath, then popped both of the tablets into his mouth at the same time. The pills tasted bitter as they began to dissolve on his tongue. He quickly took the bottled water and poured some into his mouth, much of it missing his mouth and running down his cheek and onto the table. Once he swallowed the pills, he lay back down on his back again and began to stare at the ceiling.
“Go ahead and get some sleep,” he heard Kyler say as he continued to look at the ceiling. He nodded his head and closed his eyes. As the sedative began to take effect, all he could think of was the one word. Moon. Moon. Moon. After a while, everything began to feel peaceful. He felt as if he were floating on a cloud, drifting ever upward, but having no fear of the ascension. Ever skyward, he seemed to move, floating, drifting, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He smiled. Whoever he was, he guessed he wasn’t afraid of heights.
CHAPTER 23
It was five o’clock in the afternoon and most of the refugees were gathered again in the mess hall. Potts had wanted everyone to stay together. He made people use the latrine in pairs. He didn’t want to lose anyone on his watch.
With the exception of Pvt.’s Gibson and Hawkins, who were roaming the perimeter as guards, and none too happy about it, Potts himself, who was doing God knew what, and Sgt. Cohen, who was in Potts office trying to raise anyone he could on the base radio, everyone was asleep or at least, resting. They were all dressed in army fatigues while their clothes dried. Sam Fong and Zack Olsen built a small fire in one of the semi-destroyed barracks and everyone was able to hang their wet clothes around the fire to hopefully dry, with the exception of Opal Munn who stayed in her nightgown. Wilbur was sound asleep on the table next to hers. That was the farthest distance that Kyler had seen between them since Cpl. Munn had entered the hospital.
“Drip dried. See?” she had told Kyler when he had tried to talk her into getting dry and getting some rest.
“Yeah, well, you’re eighty-six, Miss Munn, and with a broken hip, which isn’t going to get any better if you don’t get some rest.”
“But it’s already better, Doctor,” she answered, a strange smile forming on her lips.
She stood up and slowly began to twirl around in a circle for the doctor. Amazing! He had been around her now for several days. He had X-Rayed the hip himself, and it had indeed been broken, but here she was, twirling like a ballerina right before his eyes. Come to think of it, she hadn’t had any real trouble getting around since she left the hospital. As a matter of fact, she had been more or less helping Wilbur around than vice-versa.
“Okay. Okay,” he told her as she continued to pirouette in front of him. “Sit down now and let me at least look at that bite.”
“Okie-dokie,” she said smiling, then sat in one of the few remaining chairs that remained in tact. “I’m all yours.”
Kyler gave her his best “what am I gonna do with you” smile, and began to pull her gown down over her left shoulder. The bandage that he had applied the night before was stained with dried blood and puss, giving it this almost red, yellow, green color. He should have checked this before now, but with everything else going on, and the fact that she looked better going out of the hospital than into it, he had not given her bite a lot of concern.
He pulled the tape off the bandage and slowly pulled the gauze away from her shoulder. Oh shit, there was dried blood and puss all over her shoulder. He took a rag from the ragbag and poured some water from an Ozarka bottle onto the rag, and began to clean the wound. He gently wiped away the crust until he could see skin underneath it. That was almost all he saw. Skin. He cleaned from the outer edges of the blood/puss stain and worked his way to the middle. When he had cleaned it all, he was left with almost nothing. Where she had had at least an eight-inch in diameter animal bite the night before, she now had what looked like a circular grouping of mosquito bites. There were no scabs or even bruising. It was just red…and disappearing…like when you get slapped and the outline of the hand is there for just a moment before gradually fading away.
He looked down at Opal who was still smiling up at him, her eyes penetrating his. She looked like a Stepford Grandma, smiling but you couldn’t be sure about what. Her brown eyes seemed to take up both eye sockets.
“Strange, isn’t it,” she said, that smile of hers really starting put the creeps into him.
“It’s more than strange, Mrs. Munn. It’s unheard of. It almost defies the laws of medicine.”
“I would like to brush my hair now I think, Doctor,” she said, still smiling, but with a tone that told Kyler that she was done with him.
“You have a brush?” he asked, as he applied a new but smaller bandage to her shoulder. He could’ve just put a band-aid on it, and she would’ve probably been fine, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. The way this island was working right now, that bite might just come back.
“Yes,” she answered, “my Wilby packed everything for me. “A lady needs her brush, doesn’t she?” That smile of hers had gone from starting to put the creeps into him, into a full fledge infection that was spreading through his whole body at a rapid-fire rate.
“I suppose she does,” was the only answer he could come up with. He looked at her one last time, her now piercing eyes still gazing almost lecherously at him. When he turned and walked away, he could still feel her eyes burning a giant hole in his back.
He walked over to check on Michael Blum who was out like a light. Before he even reached the table, he was blindsided by Zora LeMarque who put one hand on his shoulder and the other one in the crook of his arm. She turned him in mid stride away from Michael’s table towards the lone empty one.
“Here…lie down,” she said, almost forcing him onto the table.
“No, I really need to check on…”
“Sit. You need rest, doesn’t he, Nurse?”
“Yes, he does. He’s been at it for two days now,” came Nurse Walling moving toward them, stopping just in front of Kyler. “Get some rest, Doctor. You’ll be of no use to anyone if you don’t get some sleep. Doctors are taught in med school how lack of sleep affects the eyes, the reflexes, and the brain.”
“There’s no one here so badly off that Nurse Walling or I cannot handle right now.” Zora said, forcing him to sit on the table. She forced his shoulders down onto the table while Nurse Walling lifted his feet up and stretched them out on it.
“I can’t…”
Zora shushed him and put her finger to his lips, cutting him off from saying anything else. He didn’t know what he would’ve said anyway, muttering “I can’t” had just sort of been a reflex, because as soon as head had hi
t the table, he began to grow sleepy. God, she looked hot in army fatigues. Hell, she probably looked hot in anything she wore…or didn’t wear.
He could hardly feel Nurse Walling removing his shoes, or Zora pulling a Pequot coat over him that had been found in one of the barracks’. He could not have kept his eyes open if he had pried his eyelids apart with car jacks. All of his cares disappeared. He forgot all thoughts of hurricanes and jet crashes, and burn victims that turned into werewolves, and old ladies that almost made him drop stink pickles every time they looked at him, or men with big knots on their heads and no memories in them. He just drifted away. Deep, peaceful sleep came almost immediately.
CHAPTER 24
As Michael Blum awoke, his leg began to throb. He could never figure out how pain disappeared when you slept. It didn’t make any sense. How could pain know when to leave and come back again? Yet, he had just had a nice dream where he was with his family having Christmas vacation in Aspen like they had done for so many Christmases, and he had felt absolutely no leg pain in his dream.
He dreamt his father was extremely proud of him for skiing down a black slope, which everyone knew were the most dangerous and treacherous slopes at any ski resort. He had slalomed all the way down the mountain, skirting mogul after mogul until he reached the bottom, his parents waiting for him, arms open and smiling. Then, just as quickly, their smiles disappeared, their open arms closed, and he fell over where he stood, the pain shooting through his legs.
When reality kicked in and he realized where he was and whom he was with, the loneliness began to flood through him once more. Why had they left him at the hospital? Were they alive?
He felt around for his glasses, which he had laid across his chest. They had fallen off his chest and under his side. He felt both eyepieces to see if they were both intact, hoping he had not rolled onto his side while he was asleep and crushed them. He felt one, then the other. Both were intact. He put them on and stared at the ceiling for a moment. He could hear the wind and rain still beating down outside. He looked at his watch which amazingly enough, still worked after all it had been through lately. There were two small scratches that hadn’t been there last week. His father would be pissed at him, scratching an expensive watch simply because you broke your leg, swam through a hospital, or watched a mythical creature kill three people. “You should’ve been more careful,” he would say.
He squinted his eyes through the slightly scratched watch face. Six-fifteen. Was it morning or evening? His brain was so foggy from lack of rest that he couldn’t remember. He slowly sat up, being careful not to move his leg too much. The splint had hurt like hell when Dr. Kyler had first put it on. He didn’t want to screw up the splint and have to go through that all over again.
Once he sat up, he turned his head toward the once open mess hall doorway. It wasn’t open anymore. Someone had put the door back on. He guessed it was probably that maintenance guy. He seemed to be able to fix anything. He looked out the door to see that it was still daylight outside. He thought for a moment. Had he slept a long time or just an hour or so? Was it dawn or late afternoon? Let’s see, it was summer and the sun rose about six a.m. and got completely dark at about nine in the evening. He looked out the door again. It must be late afternoon. He had only slept for a little while.
He looked around the room at his sleeping companions. The model lady and her photographer slept side by side on one of the long tables while the model’s husband slept in a chair, his head straight back, and snoring loud enough to bring ships to port in a dense fog. He saw the doctor on a table, flat on his back with his hands folded over his chest. He didn’t move. To Michael, he almost looked dead. Lauren O’Hearley’s parents were sitting on each side of the table where she still lay unconscious, both of their heads down on the table, fast asleep. The old lady was even asleep next to her army grandson, a gross smile plastered across her face. The old man…that Mr. Burns…slept on a table, looking more like a corpse than the doctor. He saw that the Dixon lady and her baby were asleep. The stranger was also sleeping peacefully, his head turned away from him. On the table directly next to his, slept Zack and Rob Olsen. To Michael, it was like one of those vampire movies where the vampires are all sound asleep during the day, holed up deep inside a cave somewhere. He didn’t see the nurse or the beautiful lady with the black hair and bra to match nor Col. Potts, Sgt. Cohen, or any of the soldiers.
At that moment, Michael heard a noise that made him jump straight up. It not only made him jump straight up, it made his skin crawl. It was a growl…and it was close! He looked toward the doorway. Nothing. He waited. Still nothing. Just about the time he’d convinced himself that he had been hearing things, he heard it again. This time there was no mistaking it. It was a growl and it was coming from outside the door. His eyes remained fixed upon the door, the fear…no…the terror creeping through him and chilling him to the bone. It was back! The werewolf was back and that little door was not going to keep it out.
He put his hand to his mouth in a silent scream as he saw shadows moving about under the door. Whatever it was, moved left and right…back and forth…it wanted in. Every few seconds, it would sniff under the door as if it were searching for its next snack. Then came more growling. This isn’t supposed to happen in broad daylight. It’s supposed to happen after dark, when the sky is clear and the moon is full, not while there’s still light out.
He didn’t know what to do. No one was waking up. They were too dead to the world to even hear it. He felt his heart racing. He couldn’t run away and he couldn’t scream. More growling and sniffing under the door. Michael thought that his heart was going to beat out of his chest. What should he do? He could see claws scratching in the dirt just under the door. Why wasn’t it just breaking down the door? Why didn’t it just tear the door from its hinges? Because it was toying with them, that’s why.
Michael looked to his right. Who should he wake up, Zack or the doctor? Stuck in his silent terror, they were both just as capable. He tugged on Zack’s pant leg. Nothing. He tugged again. Still nothing. Finally, he gave Zack’s pants a great big, hard pull, which was answered with a gasp and a hard kick in the face from Zack as he shot up terrified, his eyes and mouth wide open. Michael had completely missed Zack’s look of terror when the sixteen year old’s tennis shoe connected with his cheekbone, causing the old camera flashbulbs to go off in his brain and sending him almost crashing to the floor. He saved himself by rolling over onto his stomach and hanging onto the table for dear life, the pain in his dangling leg now magnified by a thousand.
Zack jumped down and helped Michael back up onto the table.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Zack asked, his eyes still glazed from the sudden awakening.
“Outside! Outside! Outside!” Michael repeated over and over, having broken his silence. “Outside!”
“What’s outside?” Zack whispered, not wanting to wake everybody.
“It! It! It!” Michael rasped, still not able to get his voice to rise above a few decibels.
“What are you talking about? What it?” Zack asked, finally getting Michael back into a sitting position.
“It! It! It!” Michael continued to exclaim, jabbing his finger toward the door with every single “it”.
Zack turned to the door, but didn’t see anything. Maybe the twelve year old had just had a bad dream, unlike himself who had been dreaming about Samantha Gould, a flight attendant’s outfit, and a large cake with the words “Who da’ man?” written in big red icing letters on the side of it.
“What did you see, Mike?” Zack asked him, studying his face.
“It…the thing…the werewolf!”
Zack turned again to the door before the word werewolf was out of Michael’s mouth.
“It’s still daylight out. It can’t be it,” he told Michael.
Michael’s sweat stained forehead and wild frightened eyes, told Zack that he had, at least, thought he’d seen the beast.
“Stay here,�
� he told Michael, and began to slowly walk towards the door.
“No!” Michael whisper shrieked, still unable to raise his voice above a whisper.
As Zack moved closer to the door, Michael tried to get someone’s attention, but had nothing to throw. If he had crutches, he would’ve beaned Gringo in the head with one, but he had nothing. All he could do was watch as Zack moved to the door.
Zack continued to move cautiously toward the door. Upon reaching it, he put his ear to it. Nothing. He moved to his right six inches and slowly looked out of the plastic tent window. Michael watched as Zack looked both ways out the window. Then they both heard it. The growl. It was somewhere in front of the door.
Zack had jumped at the sound of the growl, but he hadn’t screamed and he hadn’t run away. It had simply startled him. The thing was sniffing under the door again. Zack started to bend down and look under the door, but he thought better of it. He’d seen too many movies where the teenager looks under a door or through a crack and the mask wearing killer sticks an ice pick through the crevice just as the loud, scary musical crescendo plays causing the audience to jump in their seats.
Michael wanted to cover his eyes but couldn’t. All he could do was sit and watch Zack be extremely stupid. Zack should be getting help, but no…there he was, two feet from a werewolf and still trying to get a look at it. He should be scared to death.
As the sniffing continued, Zack moved back to the window again. “God don’t do that!” Michael silently screamed, but it was no use. Zack looked out the window again. Michael waited for the inevitable giant, hairy arm with the big claws to rip through the plastic, grab Zack by the face, then pull him out of the tent where the sounds of growling and Zack’s screaming would be heard over the wind and the rain until there would be silence for a moment, then Zack’s body would come flying through the tent landing, of course, in front of him, Zack’s lifeless face staring up at him, eyes wide and mouth open, with an expression that said…”I wish I hadn’t done that”. But Zack continued to look out the window toward the ground in front of the door. Michael squinted his eyes in dreaded anticipation, but instead of the big hairy arm tearing through the tent and grabbing him by face, Zack just stood looking down.
