Dark Recollections

by Chris Philbrook

  At about 4pm things started to slow again. The mob at the counter was only two or three people deep by then, and finally it slowed to a trickle. Phil noticed this one character when he came in immediately, but was surprised after he kept his eyes on him. He was a tall dude, little over six feet. Hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and had a strong look about him. Like he’d take no shit from anyone today. Phil was sure he’d be the one to rob them, but he just stayed in line, kept his eyes peeled on the door, and everyone around him, and was a model citizen. Phil wasn’t sure quite what to make of him when he motioned for him to come up to the counter.

  “What flavor of destruction can I get for you today sir?” Phil asked, trying to stay somewhat positive.

  “Well I need one rifle, one shotgun, and one pistol if possible.” The big man said politely to Phil.

  Phil nodded, “What would you like young man?”

  “Well if you still have any, I’d like a Glock handgun, preferably one of the 9mm’s with a 17 round mag, or one of the .40 cal models. I’d also like, uh,” he looked at the racks behind Phil, searching for what he wanted, “a 12 or 16 gauge pump or semi-auto, and a .22 rifle. Preferably one that uses a clip if possible.”

  Phil nodded knowingly. He immediately started liking the big fella. He knew enough about weapons that he knew what he was asking for, and he seemed confidant in doing it, and just struck Phil as someone who’d also use them appropriately. Phil nodded, sent out an “ayup.” And went to gather the man’s order.

  Phil checked for the Glock, but they were out. Instead he grabbed a few of the Sig-Sauer pistols, which were top grade firearms to show the guy. Phil came back and told him the bad news.

  “Son we’re flat out of the Glocks, all models, those went pretty early I think. We do have some Sig’s left over. One 9mm and one .40 cal. Either of those work for you?”

  The younger man nodded, “Yeah, the 9mm is fine.”

  “Terrific, I’ll grab the rest of what you need. You care what models or anything?” Phil asked him.

  “Use your best judgment. I trust you guys.”

  Phil smiled at him, and went to get the rest of what he asked for. He grabbed the Mossberg Tactical .22, which was a clone of the M-16 and M-4 rifles the Army used, and a shotgun he felt the guy would like, another Mossberg, the Model 535 ATS. Both were high quality, and would be put to good use by the guy. Phil was confident. When he returned to the counter with the man’s order, he had piled up some supplies to go along with his guns.

  “Ammunition? How much you think you’ll be needing?” Phil asked as he laid the guns down on the counter.

  “All of it?” The guy joked. Phil and he shared a little laugh.

  “Tell you what son, I think I can spare you 4 boxes of .22, 10 boxes of the 9, and 4 boxes of the shotgun shells. Will that work?” Phil started getting the boxes out from under the counter before the other man answered.

  “It’ll have to do I guess. If I need more than that I guess we’re in a lot more trouble than we realize.” He smiled and looked warily out the door. Phil could tell this man’s head was screwed on straight. He watched the exits, kept his hands free, had his knees bent just slightly so he wasn’t flat footed. Clearly someone with some time served in the military.

  “Young man I’m gonna give you the hook up here. I’ve got some spare magazines for the rifle and the pistol if you’re interested. Two each.” Phil waited for his response before taking those out from under the counter.

  The big man’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning, “Hell yes I’ll take them.”

  Phil nodded again and grabbed the clips, “this everything?”

  “Yeah I think so, for now at least.” The man pulled his wallet out and took a credit card from inside and got it ready to hand to Phil.

  As Phil wrote up the receipt for everything he looked at the state and federal paperwork normally required for all the weapons. He shook his head to himself and decided it wasn’t needed for this sale.

  “So what’s the news, has it gotten worse or better?” The big man leaned on the glass counter and asked.

  “Well,” Phil took the credit card and swiped it, “McGreevy out there keeps giving us updates. Guess it’s pretty bad out there, but it sounds like the Staties are doing a good job of keeping it under control. He just said a few minutes ago that the only people attacking other people are from out of state so far. People who have been bitten or something. Seems like it’s only spreading slowly up in this neck of the woods. Might get lucky with all this.” Phil handed the man his card back. He noticed the name was Adrian M. Ring on the card. The receipt printed shortly after and the man signed it for Phil.

  “Well Mr. Ring, you use these carefully, and be safe. Have a great day.” Phil said to the guy.

  “Thanks Phil. I appreciate it. Your name tag is crooked by the way.” He pointed and smiled at the name tag Phil had long since stopped giving a shit about. Phil huffed a little laugh and dismissed it. They exchanged one last nod, and the man gathered his stuff and left.

  The store finally had a lull right then. Gratefully Phil sat down on the stool behind the counter and took stock of the store’s heavily depleted inventory. They had less than a dozen shotguns and rifles left for sale, and only perhaps a dozen pistols left. Most of those were of the “pea shooter” variety though. Derringers used mostly for show, or target pistols. Phil chuckled quietly thinking about how they’d probably be closing up shop today due to there being nothing left to sell to anyone.

  Phil rested his eyes for a minute and opened them again when he heard a car screech into the parking lot. It pulled up so close and so fast to McGreevy’s cruiser that it damn near hit him. He could see through the door that the car had out of state plates. McGreevy barked out a few commands to the driver, and backed away. The driver got himself out of the car, and started towards the entrance of the store. McGreevy moved himself between the man and the door, and drew his service weapon.

  Phil moved to the end of the counter near the door and put his hand on the revolver he kept holstered on his hip. Bob and Mike were also behind the counter, but sped around it towards the door to get a better look at what was happening outside.

  Phil could see clearly that sitting in the passenger side of the car there was a young kid, maybe 12 or 13 years old. He was absolutely mortified at what was happening. Phil knew it was the driver’s son immediately. McGreevy leveled his weapon at the chest of the driver and yelled for him to freeze again. The driver was sliding along the front fender of the car, leaning heavily, like he was drunk. He slid one hand along the hood absently as he moved, like his arm was dead weight. That was when Phil noticed the crimson stain spreading out from the man’s forearm. His bluish white shirt sleeve had a menacing red stain on it.

  Phil couldn’t see well enough at his age to see if the man was frothing at the mouth, or if he was clearly out of control, but McGreevy could. The Officer’s service weapon barked angrily a few times, and the driver immediately went flat on his face like a sack of mail. Mike and Bob grabbed their guns and bolted out the door. Phil just stood there behind the counter. He’d seen this before, back in Vietnam, and had seen enough already. He didn’t need to see any more dead bodies.

  A screeching of brakes down the street echoed shortly after the gunshot. Another car, this one a grey import sedan sped in reverse, returning to the Moore’s parking lot. Phil could see through the window enough that he made out that it was Adrian, the man who just left. Apparently he was returning to see what had happened. The muffled screams of the adolescent boy in the car were starting to get louder when Mike and Bob started hooting and hollering.

  McGreevy took a few steps closer to the fallen body of the out of state driver, and put one more round into the back of his head. Phil could see Adrian and the Officer exchanged glances before he drove off. That was the last time he saw the Adrian guy.

  McGreevy called in the ambulance immediately, and notified the Chief. The rest of the Moore’s staff helpe
d McGreevy with the kid. He was hysterical, and they got him as far away from the scene as they could, which turned out to be Mr. Moore’s office. Luckily, Mr. Moore had a talent for dealing with kids, and especially the hysterical ones. It didn’t hurt that he had another Danish in his desk either. Just minutes later the ambulance pulled into the parking lot with the Chief’s cruiser in tow.

  It took almost an hour to get everything figured out. It took another five minutes for everything to go to hell after that. The young boy, whose name turned out to be David, had just arrived in town from out of state, where he and his family lived. As he told it, in slight hysterics, his 8 year old younger brother had gotten rushed to the hospital in his hometown during lunch at school. Apparently he had been choking on something, and they were unable to clear his airway in time. He suffered some form of brain damage, and as David put it, “he had become a veggie burger.”

  David’s mother and father made the decision just hours ago to pull the plug on their son and donate his organs to other needy, sick children. So with doctor supervision, they removed David’s little brother from life support, and shortly thereafter, his little heart stopped beating.

  David said he wasn’t sure what exactly happened then, but his mother and father were crying a lot, and were holding his little brother when something bad happened. His mother was hurt, bitten badly by his little brother in the neck. McGreevy, the Chief, and the paramedics surmised that it was an arterial spray, probably caused by a bite to the neck. She bled out all over the hospital room, and died within seconds. While trying to save his wife, David’s father was bitten in the arm by his dead son too.

  David said that his father backhanded the little boy as hard as he could, and the two of them left the room, slamming the door behind them. Phil cringed as the details were spilled out by the young boy. He was far too young to have witnessed such horror.

  David described through tears that the hospital had become a nightmare. Staff was leaving because it was too dangerous, some patients were dying from whatever conditions that brought them there, and more and more ambulances kept showing up with hurt and dying people from all over. The little boy said that within minutes of his brother dying, there were dozens of the sick, attacking more and more of the living.

  He said his grandparents lived here in town, and his father got them out of the hospital, fighting off more than ten of the rampaging monsters that seemed to multiple faster than possible. The father and son got to their car and escaped north on side roads to here. David said about 30 minutes into the drive his father started to not feel well. His bite wouldn’t stop bleeding no matter how much pressure David put on it in the car. He also said his father started to get sleepy, and was sweating like he was running a marathon. They stopped here so they could get a gun and a first aid kit. His father was scared of the hospitals now.

  Everyone in the office was floored by the story the child shared. The silence was awkward, and palpable. No one knew what to say to each other, let alone to the child. David yawned though, and took off the baseball jacket he was wearing, and a paramedic broke the silence.

  “David what’s that blood on your shoulder?” The young female paramedic asked as she pointed to the kid’s collar. He had a small dark brown stain right in the middle of the shoulder and the neck.

  “Oh it’s nothing, when we were escaping I got bit by one of the nurses that got sick, I’m fine though.” David yawned again and wiped his brow, which was now covered in a thin film of sweat. Everyone else in the room shifted back, away from the kid. The Chief moved his body slightly, putting it between the kid and the entrance to the hall.

  “Wha…” David tried to ask what was wrong, but the word half fell out of his mouth, and he collapsed face first out of the chair, straight to the floor. The two paramedics yelled for space, and the Moore’s employees quickly exited the room as they got to work. The two police officers stayed inside, gathering equipment and handing it off to the paramedics. All of the other men gathered in the hall just outside the room, trying to watch what was happening.

  The two paramedics worked feverishly to figure out what was happening to little boy. They checked his vitals and tore his shirt off to get a better look at the bite on his shoulder. Once the wound was exposed everyone gasped. The bite mark was very deep, and was surrounded by an angry red halo of infection. The flesh was swollen and was turning a slight shade of grayish blue right at the edge of the teeth marks. A very unhealthy wound indeed.

  Within a minute the two emergency technicians were performing CPR on the limp boy. They pumped his chest vigorously while squeezing an air bulb connected to a plastic mask on his face, trying to get life back into his tortured little body. The boy’s arms and legs jumped with every powerful chest compression. They struggled for nearly ten minutes before they slumped to the floor next to his dead body, defeated. The male paramedic’s eyes welled with tears, and soon after, everyone was rubbing their eyes, and all were in shock from what had just happened. The Chief excused himself out of the room, unable to contain his emotions. Not 20 minutes ago this young boy was talking, had emotions, and was alive and well. Now he was on the floor dead, his life gone.

  The whole group of people assembled was in shock. No one spoke at all, at least not until David started to twitch. Both paramedics jumped into action and wiped their eyes clear of tears. Phil’s heart leapt out of his mouth as he felt a sudden burst of hope. All he could think of was his two grandkids out there somewhere, and about how he hoped nothing like this would ever happen to them.

  The two paramedics started to take David’s vitals and get an oxygen feed on his nose. His little frame went from twitching to still again in seconds. The two paramedics hovered over his chest, confused. Then his eyes snapped open, and all hell broke loose. David’s dead eyes focused on the woman EMT right above his head, and he snapped up at her, biting the underside of her arm viciously. A gout of blood sprayed all over David and the floor of the office as she leapt away, clutching her arm. As soon as that happened the other paramedic grabbed David by the shoulder and pinned him to the floor, but his wrist was too close to the kid’s face, and David turned his head and chomped down on him.

  His little teeth dug into the wrist until blood flowed freely, and the medic had to yank away. This turned out to be a terrible mistake though, as when he yanked away David’s teeth stayed firm, and a giant chunk of the wrist came free from his arm, severing tendons and veins. He fell onto his back holding his bleeding arm, blood vessels exposed, screaming, and started to go into shock.

  The Moore’s employees were flat out dumbfounded. Their entire world had been turned on its head in mere minutes. As they stood slack-jawed the little teenager sat himself up and crawled across the office floor to the frozen medic with the bleeding wrist. With no compassion, no malice, and no emotion whatsoever, he bit the arm again, ripping another chunk out. It was as if he were a machine, slowly, silently consuming the meat in front of him. The paramedic tipped over, slipping even further into shock as he was eaten alive one child sized bite at a time.

  The lady bitten in the arm who had tried to resuscitate David shoved her way past the Moore’s men, screaming for them to get out of her way. She took off at full speed down the hall and out into the store. They could vaguely hear the bells ringing on the door as she left. Eventually, the shock of what was happening was shattered when a gun went off.

  Phil had quietly drawn his revolver and shot David in the side. His little frame was tossed violently against the corner of Mr. Moore’s desk from the impact of the heavy slug. His back snapped in two as he was bent around the edge of the desk. He crumpled in a heap on the floor.

  “Jesus Phil it was a fucking kid!” Mike screamed.

  Mr. Moore yelled back in Phil’s defense, “Shut the fuck up Mike. That kid was sick, and he woulda eaten you just as soon as he got done with the guy in there.” Mike shook his head in disbelief.

  “Sir, you know I love you, but I am the fuck out of here. I gotta
get my parents and my girlfriend, and my dog, and head up to our hunting cabin, this shit ain’t funny anymore.” Bobby said, looking desperate. Mr. Moore nodded, and Bobby was gone out the front immediately. He passed the Chief who had run back inside, gun drawn.

  Mr. Moore walked slowly into his office, and knelt over the prone form of the paramedic. He checked his neck for a pulse, but shook his head. There was no pulse to be found, and now they had a dead paramedic to add to their growing list of casualties.

  Mr. Moore looked up to his son the Chief and shook his head in total disbelief. You could read the expression as plain as day.

  “This can’t be happening.”

  Suddenly Mr. Moore’s face twisted in pain, and he let out a yelp and grabbed at his ankle. From behind him, the corpse of little David had taken a bite out of his Achilles tendon. Mr. Moore tilted forward and fell on his side, scrambling as best as he could to get away from the wrecked body of the boy. The Chef stepped into the room, and he and McGreevy began firing at the child. The racket was deafening in the hall. Officer and Chief emptied their weapons into the little boy, sending his body flipping back and forth all the way into the corner of the office until it came to rest propped up at an odd angle against a file cabinet.

  Phil’s ears were ringing loudly as the two men ended their barrage on the boy. Mike started to mumble quietly, shaking his head. All he could manage, over and over, was, “no.. no.. no..” Eventually he turned, and walked out of the store. Ben looked around the room, and without waiting for any acknowledgment, walked out following Mike.