by Tim Meyer
As Ben dragged himself across the front porch, he noticed suburban life around him was fairly quiet, which seemed odd for summertime. The street was eerily grim, void of the everyday outdoor functions. It was like everyone had up and left. Maybe they're all on vacation, Ben thought. Or at the beach. It was, after all, the first week of summer vacation, the first week the kids had off from school. People were most likely out and about, doing things that involved cool water and catching sun-rays. Especially since Red River was only a five-mile hike from the shore. The beach was probably packed, every grain of sand occupied. Although Ben hated trips to the beach since childhood, even he admitted today was the perfect day for sand and sun.
But...
Surely there should be someone outside; the kids from down the block riding their bikes; Mr. Weathers from across the street letting his dog out to shit on the sidewalk; the always scantily-clad Miss Andrews watering her plants while all the men on the block watched from their garages as their wives writhed their noses at her from their living room windows; the elderly Philip Morrow trimming his hedges symmetrically even though they were already immaculate.
Someone. Something. Anyone.
As strange as it was to see no one, Ben didn't dwell on it for very long. Instead, he went inside and plopped himself on the couch, drained from his mailbox excursion.
Ben knew he had to call Melissa. She wasn't his favorite person to talk to, and he knew she wasn't going to have anything pleasant to say, but he had to do it. It was a phone call he dreaded, yet enjoyed at the same time. He missed her voice, her nice voice, not the screaming, psychotic voice she so frequently displayed when they were together. Every time he picked up the phone to call her, his thoughts wandered into memories of her, both joyful and painful. They had been married for ten years. They had good times and they had bad times. Ultimately, the bad outweighed the good, something he kept reminding himself of, especially when he was alone with his thoughts, missing the sound of her nice voice.
Ten years, he thought. What the hell was I thinking? Really, they shouldn't have stayed together that long. They only tried to work things out for one reason, and that was Jake.
Jake was eight when his parents split. Like most kids when words like separation and divorce are brought to the dinner table, Jake blamed himself. He cried and moaned about it for days, telling everyone, teachers and classmates included, that his parents hated him and their main goal in life was to ruin his. He acted out in class, on the bus, and at home. Sometimes violently, but mostly Jake verbally disrupted daily routines, using words children his age shouldn't. Before Ben started sleeping on his colleagues' couches, Jake had been a real treasure. He always received fantastic grades and his teachers had nothing but positive things to say about him, especially when it came to manners. “A polite little boy,” a teacher once said. “A real joy to be around.”
That changed quickly once his mother threw his father out. Jake started playing the role of class troublemaker, spending at least one day a week in the principal's office. Getting Jake to do schoolwork—or any work, for that matter—was like pulling teeth without any Novocaine. Teachers began hating him. He lost the friends he made the prior year, creating enemies. Many hours were wasted in after-school detention. Jake Ackerman began his trek down a dark, lonely path.
Then came the decision to leave New Jersey and take Jake to the state his mother grew up in: Pennsylvania. The decision came as quite a shock to Ben, considering he was told his opinion didn't matter, that he had no say in the future whereabouts of his only child. Enraged, he argued with Melissa, even threatened to take her to court, but in the end he gave up fighting and Melissa got her way. Just like she always did. A kid needs his father, his mother's voice chirped inside his head. She pushed for Ben to get a lawyer, but he declined. It was only going to make things worse for Jake, and the kid had been screwed up enough over their inability to stay cordial. So, for the sake of Jake, Ben signed the necessary paperwork and let him go, a decision he'd always second guess.
A kid needs his father.
Ben had no plans of being an absentee father. He would see Jake as much as he could, which the way he figured it, would be at least one weekend a month, sometimes two. The town they moved to was just outside of Pittsburgh, about a five-hour drive from Red River. It wasn't convenient, but they'd make it work. Unless, Melissa wanted to be a bitch about it. And why not? She had been about everything else.
“It's almost been a year,” she said. “It's time to get over it, Benjamin.”
Benjamin. He hated that name. And she knew it. That's all she called him since their separation.
“I think it's time we make it official.”
Ben had been forced to call her the day his illness began. He was scheduled to drive to Pittsburgh the following day, but had to postpone his departure due to the unusually high fever and lack of energy. He knew Melissa wouldn't give half a shit whether he drove out or not, but he was concerned how Jake would take the news. The last time Ben saw him was back in March. He had plans to see him a few times since, but Melissa unexpectedly canceled them.
Too long, his mother's voice echoed in his mind. Way too long. He agreed with Mama Ackerman, but sadly, there was nothing that could be done about it.
“I know,” Ben said. “Look, I know I've been holding off as long as possible—”
“Benjamin, if this is another feeble attempt to persuade me to come back to New Jersey, then you can forget it.” Ben had held off signing any legal documents in case Melissa changed her mind and decided the things that came between them could be worked out, and that maybe they could reignite the flame that had kindled so many years ago. In reality, that wasn't going to happen. “I need you to sign the papers... this is getting to be fucking ridiculous.”
“Okay, so mail me the papers and I'll sign them.”
“I did mail you the papers. Six fucking months ago. You said 'don't worry about it, I'll take care of it.' Well, Benjamin, my lawyer hasn't heard a peep from you since, so what the hell is going on with you?”
He could hear the hostility in her voice.
“Okay, okay. Look, I'm not feeling too well. I think I'm coming down with something. As soon as I start feeling better, I'm driving out to see you. I promise. We'll get everything squared away and we'll be done with it.” Ben took a deep a breath, then exhaled. “Fine. I lost them. I've had a lot of shit on my plate, Mel. Between work and my father...” He stopped. His father hadn't been well. Not at all. The doctors claimed there was nothing that could be done for him. The bottom of his hourglass was almost full. (Their words). Ben usually made sure to visit him at least once a week, sometimes twice, depending how much Mama Ackerman begged him.
“I'm really sorry about your dad, I really am.” Finally, a little compassion. He knew it wouldn't last long. “But this bullshit has gone on long enough. It needs to end soon.”
Ben agreed, only to spare himself the grief of listening to her bitch for another half hour or so. Then, he asked to speak with Jake. There was another moment of silence and Ben knew she was contemplating saying no. She had threatened him in the past, when Ben had been more combative about signing the divorce papers. But today, he was calm. Maybe if he had more strength he would have fought her, asked her to reconsider her life-altering decision, but he had been down that dead end before. Many times. And yet, he still clung to hope, the idea that one day they'd be a family again.
“Fine,” she said. She yelled their son's name so loudly that Ben had to hold the phone away from his ear. Ben heard pitter-patter across the hardwood floor and a second later, he heard heavy breathing in his ear. It made him smile. His heart pumped aggressively.
“Hey, Dad!” Jake practically yelled.
“Hey, Jakester. How's it going?”
“Eh, okay. I missed the last week of school. Wasn't feeling too hot.”
“That stinks. You know, I'm not feeling too well myself. I think I have a fever.”
“That's what I had!
” Jake almost screamed. “The doctor said it's real weird to get sick like that in June, but lots of people are getting it. He doesn't know why.”
“That's weird...”
“Anyway, have you seen the news?” he asked excitedly.
“No, I haven't really watched any TV today. Why? What happened?”
“Oh, man. Crazy stuff is happening all over the place.”
“Really? Like what?” The first thought that popped into Ben's head was another natural disaster. A hurricane, a tornado, or maybe even a tsunami. Something catastrophic that claimed the lives of a few hundred people. Then his mind went somewhere darker. Terrorism.
“Some guy went crazy on a bus in California. The police are saying he was eating people.”
“What?” Ben asked, almost not believing it. He turned on the television, flipping to the first news channel he could find. Sure enough, they were covering a story close to what Jake had described. Only, this event took place inside a diner in Boston. A man stumbled into the joint looking for something a little more exotic than lemon meringue pie. He gnawed on a man's ear for several moments before some brave patrons attempted to subdue him. They succeeded, but not without casualties.
Ben flipped the channel to a different news station—CNN. Same story, different city.
People were going mad.
“David thinks it's drugs. Bath salts or something. Dad, what are bath salts?” Jake asked innocently.
“They're something you put in the water when you take a bath. It's supposed to relax you. Jake, who is David?” Ben had never heard the name mentioned before.
“Mom's new friend. He's over like all the time. He's really cool!” Fucking fantastic, Ben thought. Suddenly, he wondered if David was the first guy to be with his ex since her big move. Second? Third? Thinking about it made him nauseas. “He's taking me to a Pirates' game next week.”
“Super,” Ben said, trying not to sound bitter.
“Don't worry, Dad. It's not like he's her boyfriend or anything.”
Oh, Jesus. “I know, Jakester. And you know what? Even if he was, it wouldn't matter. Your mom and I, we aren't together anymore. Remember?”
There was a pause. “I know...” There was no controlling the sadness in his voice. “I just... I thought...”
“We went through this, Jake. I thought we had an understanding.”
“We do... I just...”
Hope was the word his son was looking for. It was, after all, the same word that bounced around his mind daily.
“Look, Jake. I'm coming out to see you as soon as I'm better. I'm going to stay at a hotel near your Mom's and we're going hang out everyday, I promise. Sound good?”
“Yes...”
“Awesome. Don't worry about anything else, bud. Everything is going to be fine.”
“I just miss you, Dad.”
“I miss you too, kiddo.”
They said their goodbyes and hung up.
Ben remembered wiping the tears away from his eyes with his knuckles before falling into a sickness-induced coma.
He awoke the next morning on the couch, mail scattered on the floor below him. It was dark, so Ben instinctively figured it was nighttime. He swung his legs off the couch, placing his feet on the carpet. They weren't as sore as they were when he went to get the mail. He stretched, yawning simultaneously. He craned his head toward the battery-operated clock on the table next to the couch. It read five-oh-three. He had been asleep for almost fifteen hours.
Ben dragged himself across the carpet, stepping on the envelopes containing worries he'd soon no longer be concerned with.
As he moved from room to room, Ben realized he was back to his normal self. In fact, as the moments passed, Ben started feeling better than he had before the flu incapacitated him.
He grabbed his cell phone from the charger, searched for Melissa's number. He was only calling to inform her that he planned on leaving once he packed a few things. That was all. Just a warning so she could prepare herself. Maybe tell her new boy-toy that it would be best to make himself unavailable over the next week or so.
A smirk found Ben's face while he tried dialing her number, but the call was dropped immediately and Ben realized the phone had no service. He shrugged his shoulders. Strange, he never had issues with reception in the kitchen before. Ben tried the bedroom, achieving the same result. Zero bars. The bathroom, the living room, the spare bedroom, and the garage—all dead zones.
Hm, Ben thought. I knew there was a reason why I didn't cancel the land line.
He took the phone off the receiver. No dial tone. He examined the connection, making sure it was plugged into the wall, and it was. He glanced around the living room, realizing the lights were off. Ben flipped the light-switch and nothing happened.
“Goddamn power outages.” They were common in June when the heat was almost unbearable, especially on his block. It would happen at least once a week, sometimes lasting an hour. But this didn't explain why his cell phone wasn't working.
Ben decided to give the power time to come back on. In the meantime, he could pack his clothes. If the power didn't come back on by the time he was finished, he was going to drive and show up at his ex's doorstep unannounced. He'd still try to call her on the way, but if she didn't pick up... oh, well. Her problem, not his.
Packing his bags took a little longer than he expected. The power remained out when he finally finished. He peered out his bedroom window, staring at his neighbors' houses, wondering if they were having the same issue. He suspected they were. The streets were darker than usual.
Ben decided to wait for the sun before beginning his journey to Pittsburgh, hoping the power would come back on by then. Unfortunately, it never did. Ben found himself sitting in the dark, contemplating his next move. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He wanted to see his son very badly, and a silly little power outage wasn't going to delay his trip another second.
Before throwing his luggage in the trunk of his Sonata, Ben cleaned out the refrigerator, discarding everything that would begin to stink in a couple of days. The power company didn't exactly have the reputation of being speedy. He recalled an incident a few years back, after a fairly-destructive hurricane, when it took them nearly a week to get things running again. He didn't know how long it was going to take this time and he didn't want to take the chance of coming home to a house reeking of spoiled food. After he filled a garbage bag with all of the perishables, he went out the back door and jogged over to the giant garbage can on the side of the house. He threw the bag in the big black can, then whipped out his cell phone.
No service, his cell phone informed him.
Dammit, he thought, moving to the front yard, passing the small bed of flowers that Melissa had once planted, but never took care of. Still no bars. He reached the driveway, holding the phone up in the air, as if it that were going to magically help him establish connectivity.
Ben slumped his shoulders. He was just about to head inside when he heard glass shattering inside his next-door neighbor's house. Curiously, Ben stepped toward the Yoland's two-story ranch. “Rose?” he called out. “Larry? You guys okay?” He crossed onto their property, bounding the steps leading to the front porch. He put his eye up to the front door's obscured-glass window, peering inside. It was difficult to see. He could make out the hallway, but it was blurry. He tried the door knob, but it was locked. Once again, he put his eye to the glass, trying to see what the commotion was. “Rose?” he called again. “Larry?” He knocked on the door, but no one answered.
He was about to give up when Ben heard a noise coming from within. Someone was groaning, an agonizing cry that got Ben's blood pumping. His first thought was one of them had fallen. The Yolands were old and deserved the attention a retirement home could give them. Another moan came from within the house. “Rose?” Ben yelled. “Larry! Answer me!” If someone had replied, Ben didn't hear it. He took a step back, then bull-rushed the door, driving his shoulder into it. The frame cracked. On his second a
ttempt, Ben lunged forward, his body colliding with the door, busting it open. He fell into the foyer, a long hallway lay before him. An awful smell entered his nostrils, instantly making Ben's stomach lurch. He did his best to keep from gagging. He surveyed the area around him, unable to locate the noise he had heard from the porch.
“Rose? Are you okay?” Nothing. “Make some noise if you can hear me.”
The house reeked of death and decay. Ben thought he might become reacquainted with the eggs and sausage he ate for breakfast.
As he stood on his feet, Ben finally spotted what had caused the place to stink like roadkill. At the end of the hallway, Larry Yoland was sprawled on the floor, beyond the doorway that connected the corridor to the kitchen. “Larry?” Ben asked. “You okay, man?” Larry didn't answer. He remained motionless.
As Ben neared the kitchen, the smell intensified. Larry's body became clearer, each step revealing gruesome details. Ben gagged when he reached the doorway. A black cloud of flies hovered above his body, buzzing with fervent joy. The right side of Larry's face had been torn off, exposing raw facial tissue and cavity-ridden teeth. A dark pool of blood circled his body. Most of it, Ben noticed, had come from the gaping hole in his stomach. His entrails were curled on the floor next to him. One of his arms was missing, ripped away at the shoulder, exposing the bone.
Ben shielded his eyes, unable to handle the grisly display. Then, he heard feet shuffling toward him. Whipping his body around, Ben faced the murderer. Rose Yoland stood in the doorway, her lips pursed, snarling. She looked ill, much worse than Ben had over the past week. Her skin was gray. Bloody spittle slowly dripped from her mouth. Her eyes were murky, undistinguished. A deep, animalistic growl escaped her lips.
“Rose? Are you okay?” he asked. Red smears were painted around her mouth. Ben took notice to the blood stains on her night gown as well. Red droplets fell from her filthy fingernails, onto the tile floor.
