Middletown Apocalypse

by Brett Abell

  Charlie sighed. “I couldn’t possibly imagine being happier at the moment.”

  Willa stepped up to Charlie and held out her arm. As his hand slipped through the crook of the proffered limb, his face contorted into a mask of pain.

  “Charlie,” Willa called out, “what’s wrong?”

  After a brief silence, Charlie replied. “I’m okay. For a moment, I don’t know, I felt … my lungs locked up and my brain seized.”

  Willa cupped Charlie’s cheeks in her hands and looked into his emerald-green eyes. She blinked, she smiled … she pulled their lips together, and before she had a chance to realize what was happening, Charlie clamped down on her tongue. Willa struggled against the vise-like force of his jaw and punched against his chest and shoulders.

  Blood rained down from her lips and into the back of her throat.

  She swallowed.

  She swung her knee up until it met Charlie’s groin. He winced and released Willa’s tongue.

  As Charlie stumbled backwards, Willa shouted, “What in the hell was that about, Charlie? Jesus Christ!”

  With nothing more than a grunt and a moan, Charlie tripped over his own gangly legs, shuffled out of the lab, and disappeared into the pitch-black hallway.

  Willa remained motionless, lost in confusion. A puddle of warm blood collected between her shoes; a single drop touched down on the exposed flesh of her right foot. The moment ground to a brief, silent peace. Sound returned—a clock ticking, her heart pounding, a high-pitched whine. The cacophony snapped Willa back to reality. She managed to regain her sense of focus and rushed to the first aid kit. The small mirror on the wall revealed significant lacerations of the tongue. “Shit,” she hissed. The second the words escaped her mouth, they left behind a sting bad enough to warrant a trip to the ER.

  She snatched up her coat and slipped out of the lab, her lips sealed tight against the flow of blood. In the darkness of the hall, Willa Bernheim felt the flesh of her gums, cheeks, and tongue catch fire. She made a pit stop at a drinking fountain and gulped mouthful after mouthful of cold water.

  The stainless fountain ran red.

  The raging fire rushing over the flesh of her mouth grew and spread down her throat.

  “Oh God,” Willa choked out as she dropped to her knees. Her throat was closing, the simple, instinctive act of breathing was now a chore.

  With great effort, Willa pulled herself back to standing and made her way down the hall. Walking on her three-inch heels made the task difficult. She stopped, pulled off the expensive leather shoes, and padded the rest of the way in her stockinged feet.

  The hall spun once, twice.

  Willa dropped her heels to the floor and stumbled to the elevator. She reached a quivering hand to the down button and, after some effort, managed to call the car.

  The chime rang, its song far too loud. The noise echoed within Willa’s skull as if she were up close and personal with the Bells of Saint Mary. Her hands shot up to the sides of her head in an attempt to stem the tide of pain.

  As the elevator doors were closing, the suffering subsided and Willa slipped between the metal doors into the comforting solace of the car. She nervously pressed the button for the lobby and then dropped against the back wall.

  Breath was scarce and painful. Willa gasped and scratched at her throat.

  When the elevator car touched down, the chime again sounded a klaxon of pain against her temples. Willa raced out of the car and toward the exit.

  The chilly autumn air momentarily stunned Willa into a rigored freeze-frame. In the distance, she could hear the roar of a crowd. The game, Willa thought. From the sounds of the crowd, the Middletown Silver Knights were winning.

  Go team.

  Her body released from its pause and stumbled toward her car. Just as she was about to reach for her keys, a voice danced through the dark night and landed in her ears.

  “Evening, Doctor Bernheim.” The voice belonged to Mack Murphy—the evening security guard. He was well accustomed to Willa’s comings and goings at all hours. He was also always there when Willa wasn’t so sure she wanted to venture out into the darkness alone. A gentle giant of a man with a ready smile and tree-trunk neck.

  “You okay, Willa?” Mack asked, his voice rife with concern.

  Willa opened her mouth to answer and a fountain of blood sprayed into the air before her. Mack lunged for Willa just as she collapsed to the ground.

  Hour Four | Mack Murphy

  “Oh my goodness,” Mack cried out. “I’m going to call dispatch and get you some help.”

  Mack scrambled for his radio. “Don’t you worry, Willa, ol’ Mack is here to save the day.”

  Static leapt from the radio before a voice cut through. “This is dispatch.”

  Mack’s voice was deep and steady. “This is Murphy over at the university. I have a woman down in need of immediate assistance.”

  “There’s a unit just a few blocks away, officer. I’ll have them routed to you immediately,” the disembodied voice replied.

  “See, Mack’s got your back.” Mack patted Willa’s hand. Just as he was returning the radio to his belt, Willa moaned and clamped down on his arm. The pain instantly traversed the synapse landscape of his nerves and insisted his brain take action.

  “Stop,” Mack cried out. He placed the palm of his free hand on Willa’s forehead and pressed hard.

  Willa’s jaw bore down. Teeth sank deep into meat.

  “Goddamn, Willa,” Mack shouted, his forearm now a raging fire.

  Willa’s hands scrambled until they found purchase on the guard’s head. A single finger pressed into the man’s right eyeball. He screamed against the pressure.

  The popping sound of the vitreous membrane was muted by the moans and screams of struggle. Pain, however, ran wild across Mack’s system. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked hard. Doctor Bernheim’s jaw gave no quarter. Mack stood, braced himself against what would certainly be a nine or ten on the pain scale, and jerked his arm with enough force to tear meat from bone. Willa came away with a hunk of Mack’s arm dangling from her mouth.

  Willa moaned.

  Mack jumped up and pulled his service revolver from its holster. “Stand down, Ms. Bernheim.”

  She did not comply.

  “I repeat,” Mack barked, “stand down or I will use force.”

  Willa stood and lunged at Mack. Instead of shooting, he kicked her legs out from her, forced his knee into her lower back, wrenched her arms into cuffing position, and slapped the metal bracelets on her wrists.

  “Willa, I never thought I’d be saying this to you, but you have the right to remain silent …”

  As Mack finished reading Willa her rights, the siren song of the ambulance snatched his attention. He stood and shot his arm into the air, regretting the decision immediately as a shock of pain shot from his forearm to his chest.

  The driver spotted Mack and pulled the vehicle up to the scene. Jimmy Frakes stepped out and grinned at Mack. “What’s up, big—holy shit,” Jimmy shouted, “What happened to your arm?”

  Mack pointed at the writhing, moaning Willa. “She happened.”

  Jimmy glanced at Willa and back to Mack. “If I take you to the ER, what are you gonna do with her?”

  “No.” Mack shook his head. “She’s the one you need to take. Something’s not right with Ms. Bernheim. I can drive myself to the hospital.” Mack held up his arm. “Probably just need a couple of stitches. I’ve had worse.”

  “You sure you’re okay to drive?” Jimmy asked.

  Mack nodded.

  Shelly Bauer stepped from the other side of the ambulance and smiled at Mack. “Son of a bitch. Look who the—hell, Mack, who did that to your—”

  Before anyone could answer, Willa leaned up and hissed at Shelly. Blood sprayed from her mouth.

  “Help me get the gurney out, Shelly,” Jimmy said and turned to Mack. “We’ve got it from here. You get yourself to the hospital and have that arm taken care of.”

&
nbsp; Shelly and Jimmy pulled the gurney from the back of the vehicle. The legs automatically dropped down and locked into place.

  “You sure you’ve got this, Jimmy?” Mack asked.

  Shelly stepped to Mack and placed her hands on his shoulder. She turned him and patted his back. “Get to your ass to the ER now, Mack. We’re big kids, we can take care of ourselves.”

  Mack looked over his shoulder and said softly, “I’m just lookin’ out for you.”

  “You always have, Mack. Now, do us a favor and take care of yourself for a change.”

  Mack relented and started walking. Shelly turned back to the ambulance and helped Jimmy hoist the struggling Willa into the gurney. As they lifted her, Willa bared and snapped her teeth.

  “Jesus Christ,” hissed Shelly, “what happened to her?”

  In the background, the crowd roared.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jimmy complained. “I can’t believe I’m missing the homecoming game tonight.”

  “Get over it. It’s just football,” replied Shelly.

  “Just football? Girl, do you know where you live?”

  Shelly shook her head. “Yeah, basketball country.”

  Together, they rolled the gurney into the back of the truck and secured the doors shut.

  The ambulance lit up and sounded its departure with a wailing call into the night.

  *

  Mack stepped into the ER. Cries and moans wafted from the waiting room. A nurse in purple scrubs cut by him in a rush, the smell of blood and something simultaneously revolting and enticing in her wake. Mack stopped and stared as the woman vanished beyond a set of double doors.

  Phones rang non-stop. A gurney crashed through the entryway—the sound of the metal and glass door sliding on its track, grating and loud.

  Sweat collected in Mack’s eyes. The room twisted and compressed.

  “Doctor Bloom, to surgical studio one immediately please.” The voice from the cheap intercom speakers crashed into Mack like a dinosaur in heat.

  A male doctor sped past, stethoscope and clipboard in hand. As he raced off, he shouted over his shoulder, “Pardon me, Mack.”

  Even with his body revolting, Mack managed a smile. The heart and soul of a small town, Mack thought. He tried to return the kindness, but his voice lodged in his throat. Mack turned and refocused his journey on himself.

  Just as he approached the check-in desk, his gut upended and a spray of bloody vomit arched in a morbid rainbow to his feet.

  “Oh my God.” Mary Daniels shot up out of her office chair and raced around to Mack’s side. “Officer Murphy, are you okay?”

  Mack looked up at Mary and shook his head. “I need help,” he croaked through a narrowing esophagus. His lips and chin were coated with chunky blood. Mack’s hands dug at the flesh of his neck as he dropped to the floor.

  Without thinking, Mary dropped down beside Mack and felt for a pulse. “Oh my heavens, Mack, you’re burning up.” Mary started to stand before Mack grabbed her by the throat and pulled her head down to meet his clacking jaw.

  Mack sank his teeth into the flesh of Mary’s right cheek. She screamed out for help as she felt the meat pull away from bone.

  Mary rolled backwards, her hand shooting up to stem the flow of blood and staunch the rush of pain.

  “Help!” Mary shouted as loud as her voice could manage. In an instant, the waiting room was flooded with orderlies and doctors. Mack slowly stood, his head tilting to the left and then to the right. He moaned and swung a heavy arm out toward the nearest onlooker.

  Hour Six | Mary Daniels

  Janice Lundquist stared down into Mary’s panicked eyes. She spoke calmly. “Mary, can you tell me what happened?”

  “He bit me,” Mary cried out. “I was trying to help Mack, and he sank his teeth into my face.”

  Janice turned back to an orderly. “Get me a chair, now,” she shouted.

  The orderly disappeared.

  “Mary,” Janice turned the panic down and dug deep for her Zen, “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

  “Oh heavens,” Mary gasped, “it burns, Doctor L.” Her tear-filled eyes caught the doctor’s gaze. “Am I going to have a scar?”

  Janice smiled and laid the palm of her hand on Mary’s unblemished cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

  The orderly returned with the chair. Together, they managed to get Mary seated and wheeled out of the waiting room.

  From behind, chaos broke out.

  “I don’t have time for this,” whispered Janice.

  From the chair, Mary moaned.

  “You okay, dear?” asked Janice.

  A string of unintelligible sounds drifted up from the chair.

  “I know, I know … bites can really sting,” Janice said, her voice a soothing balm.

  Mary fell silent. Janice turned the chair and pushed it into an examination room. She locked the chair and took Mary’s hand. “You’re … you’re burning up, Mary.”

  She eased the woman onto the exam table and immediately grabbed a digital thermometer.

  “Under the tongue,” Janice said calmly. “You know the drill.”

  Mary opened her mouth. As she did, a thick foam spilled from her lips.

  Janice jerked away, set the thermometer down, and snatched up a pair of latex gloves.

  Mary’s head lolled forward.

  “You okay, Mary?” Janice asked.

  The only answer … a soft moan.

  “Mary, you okay?” Janice insisted.

  “Your … voice,” Mary answered in a fractured whisper. “It’s so … loud.”

  “I’m sorry,” Janice whispered. “Is that better?”

  “Yesssssss,” Mary drew out the answer, the sound distant and haunting.

  Janice helped Mary lie back on the table. Mary’s eyes were shut, her face slack.

  “I’m going to clean out the wound and then stitch it up,” Janice said, and then grabbed the tools for the task. “Can you believe this night? Everyone not at the game must have sipped from the same fountain of crazy. I haven’t seen the waiting room that packed in years.”

  In return, Mary sighed. The second the saline spray washed over the wound, Mary’s arms and hands contorted into fleshy pretzels. Janice gently dabbed at the wound.

  “Oh my God,” Janice’s voice faded into a grim nothing.

  Mary moaned.

  “Mary, I’m going to get Doctor Bloom. I won’t be but a second.”

  Janice turned to leave. Mary’s hand shot from the table and grasped the doctor’s arm with a brutal grip. Janice turned back to see Mary sitting up, her eyes a dingy white and her flesh painted with death’s pallet.

  “Mary,” Janice called out. “You’re hurting me. Let go so I can get the help you need.”

  The python grip did not release. Mary continued staring blankly toward Janice. Slowly, Mary’s lips quivered and rose to reveal her near-perfect teeth—gleaming whites in a backdrop of horror.

  Mary tugged Janice forward, her gaping mouth ready to partake of the flesh.

  “Okay,” Janice barked, “time to let me go, Mary.”

  The wounded woman’s teeth clacked together as the meat drew closer.

  “Help!” Janice screamed. No one responded. She called out a second time. Again, her plea for help went unmet.

  Janice tugged hard, nearly pulling Mary from the table. Instead of matching Janice, tug for tug, Mary leapt from her seated position and came down on Janice. The doctor’s trim weight was no match for the heavier patient. The women tumbled to the cold tile floor, Janice on the losing side of the fall.

  Mary sat atop the doctor. She stared down at Janice and grinned wide. A dollop of pink froth bubbled from Mary’s lips and splashed down on Janice’s eyes and forehead.

  She blinked; her vision blurred and eyes stung. Again, she blinked against the burn. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was a smudge that was once Mary Daniels.

  “What are you doing, Mary? Let me up so I can help you,” begged
Janice. Mary ignored the plea. Instead, she hovered over Janice, like a vulture waiting to dine on carrion flesh.

  “Help,” Janice shouted. The only answer was a shocking crash against the door. Janice called out again.

  Mary lowered her head to Janice and took a great sniff. Before Janice could respond, Mary opened wide and sank her teeth into the flesh of Janice’s neck. The doctor bucked under the attack and somehow managed to roll Mary off to the side before the clenching maw could do much damage.

  Without hesitation, Janice sprung to her feet and crashed through the examination room door.

  A storm of chaos had blown through the hospital. Shouts and cries filled the once peaceful halls. The white tile floor was an impressionist’s take on madness as painted in human blood and offal.

  A cry for help bounced off the walls. Janice turned to see Mary standing in the middle of the hall. Before Mary took a single step, Janice turned and sprinted away.

  Hour Eight | Janice Lundquist

  Outside the hospital, a symphony of horror spilled from every direction. Screams, gunshots, and moans. In the hospital parking lot, a small gathering of bodies stood and swayed together, their dance an arrhythmic nod to every horror movie Janice had ever dared watch.

  “What is going on?” Janice screamed at the top of her lungs.

  As soon as her voice reached the small gathering, their attention immediately shifted and they stepped forward, their gait awkward and monstrous.

  Janice didn’t wait around to see what the group wanted. Instead, she dashed off to the doctors’ parking area.

  “Fuck,” Janice shouted as she patted her pockets. “My goddamn keys.” She stopped and glanced toward the hospital. Lights flicked in a horror-house nightmarescape.

  Janice turned and ran. Her house was less than a mile away; she could quickly cover that distance, snatch the spare key in the fake rock at the side of the house, and disappear into the solace of her home.

  After two blocks, the burning began. At first, it was little more than a pinprick of pain at the base of her neck. Very quickly, that pinprick spread until her entire neck was alight with heat and stabbing pain.