S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11)

by Tanpepper, Saul

  Stepping through the room now, the skin on her neck prickling, she forced her eyes away from the darkness. Into the other unlit hallway to the staircase.

  Thump.

  Lyssa stopped. “C-cassie?”

  Thu-thump!

  She spun around and stared at the door, her eyes bulging, ears straining. The noise had definitely come from outside. From the back yard.

  “Mama?”

  Lyssa ignored the call. She stood motionless at the boundary between the living room and hallway. She could feel the heat of the candle flame beneath her chin, knew that if something was out there it could see her perfectly well. It would know exactly where she was.

  I’m telling you, stupid, there’s nothing out—

  Something streaked out of the darkness and flashed past the glass. It brushed lightly against the door, a blurry shape of some sort. A hint of a face and eyes. It vanished just as quickly as it appeared. She hadn’t even had time to cry out.

  “Mama, I can’t see. It’s too dark.”

  Dousing the flame with her breath, Lyssa hurried to the door, made sure it was locked. A scream was cued up in her throat, ready to be sounded if that thing chose to show itself again. Her throat felt too small to accommodate it. She turned and rushed up the stairs, her heart drumming against her ribs.

  Halfway up, the thumping sound repeated itself. Lyssa whimpered and kept going.

  * * *

  By the time Ramon walked in the front door a half hour later, Lyssa had managed to convince herself that she’d heard and seen nothing, that it had only been her own imagination heightened by the stress of the day and primed by the suggestions she’d subconsciously picked up from that damn radio deejay during the long drive home. She hadn’t been aware she was even listening, but now much of what he’d been spouting came back to her like a recording.

  The man was obviously paid to generate controversy. But while it might make for good entertainment, she had to face the fact that the ideas he expressed were simply too outlandish to indulge, especially by someone with her level of education. They were too damaging, too inflammatory. Too suggestive.

  And too dangerous. If Cassie were to hear him . . . .

  It was time to heed Ramon’s advice and stop listening.

  Government conspiracies. Dead people.

  Right.

  He obviously thought his listening audience was a lot dumber than she.

  He had been hinting at this theory that the government was dabbling in some sort of supernatural bioweapon. Biowarfare wasn’t, in and of itself, anything new or all that improbable. What was new, however, was the twist he’d finally “revealed” that afternoon, that the military had used the implanted soldiers to carry diseases to the enemy during the last war, a conflict which had been won by a decisive margin.

  Deadly diseases, folks, he’d ranted. Diseases against which there is no cure. And how, you’re probably asking yourself, how would those soldiers possibly be able to do this without infecting themselves? Because — stay with me, folks — because you can’t infect what’s already infected. You can’t kill what’s dead.

  Zombies. He had been talking about zombies. Could there be anything more ridiculous than that?

  But now, sitting in the near total darkness of Cassie’s room and her daughter’s head on her lap, it wasn’t the utter insanity of his ideas which troubled her, but that she almost believed.

  That’s why he’s so dangerous. He gets inside your head. No more Jay Bird for you, honey. Grow up!

  Yeah, it was definitely time to find a new radio station. Listening to that whack job wasn’t helping her deal with real life issues. All it was doing was planting imaginary monsters inside of her brain when there were already too many real ones there. Her mind was way too stressed, too susceptible for that kind of crap. No wonder she was having trouble dealing with even the most mundane things.

  “Hello?” Ramon called from the front hallway. She was relieved to hear him. “Lyssa? Cassie? You up there?”

  She felt Cassie tilt her head up to whisper. “Daddy’s home.”

  Now from the back living room: “Anybody home?”

  “Upstairs,” Lyssa croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again.

  She tracked his footsteps across the room, down the hall, up the steps. A moment later, she sensed him standing in the doorway, a dark shape in the even darker blackness of the hall.

  “In Cassie’s room.”

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked. “Why didn’t you switch over to the panels?”

  It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. “I I didn’t know we were hooked up yet.”

  “I told you.”

  But then he wasn’t there anymore. She didn’t hear him leave, only heard the sound of his hand, or shoulder, brushing against the wall as he went back down the stairs.

  Panels? He expected her to switch the system over? How could she know to do something she’d never been shown how to do?

  She wanted to yell at him, but she was too tired to be angry. And too glad he was home.

  The garage door rumbled open below them. She heard him rummaging around, banging and swearing in the darkness. There was a minute or two of quiet. Then the distant, muted, snap of a circuit breaker followed immediately by a frustrated utterance when nothing happened.

  “I’m going to check the main breaker outside!” he yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

  The sound of the heavy glass door sliding along its track.

  The creak of the boards on the patio decking.

  Be careful! she wanted to yell. There’s something out there. It wants to get inside!

  But of course she didn’t, because there was nothing in their backyard. It had all been her imagination. Just another fabrication because, yes, folks, she was letting her imagination get the better of her.

  A minute passed.

  Then another.

  She waited, her restlessness growing. She shifted and Cassie stirred beneath her.

  Suddenly the lights came on in the hallway. From downstairs, the low whine of the refrigerator condenser starting back up again came to her. The rumble of the central fan in the garage as the air conditioner kicked on. A moment later, frigid air blasted her face from the ceiling vent.

  “Come on,” she said, pulling away. “You, too, Shinji.” The dog jumped up and spun excitedly around, his tail and tongue both wagging in opposite directions.

  “Let’s get some food for you and that puppy of yours.”

  But Cassie held back. “My stomach hurts.” She ran a hand across her nose and sniffed. “I’m sick.”

  “You just need to drink something. And get some food in your stomach.” She found Cassie’s forehead a little warm and sweaty. But then again, so was her own. The house had heated up quickly after the power shut off. “I’m going, honey. You can come down when you’re ready.”

  She reached the bottom of the stairs just as Ramon appeared at the patio door. He stopped, looked down to one side, then leaned over. “Did you see this?” He lifted what appeared to be a severed head with long black hair. A section of its scalp peeled away and flopped to one side as he rotated it.

  Lyssa gasped.

  “I think it’s a crow. Looks like it broke its neck flying into the glass.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A sense of normalcy had reestablished itself by the next morning. The sun came up as it always did. The power was fully restored. People emerged from their houses dressed in work clothes and hopped into their cars and drove away. Or they came out in their robes or sweats to water their tiny gardens ahead of the midday heat. School busses rumbled past; kids went to school.

  But it wasn’t an ordinary day for Lyssa. On the surface, it may have looked normal, but underneath it wasn’t.

  She made Ramon wait for her. She didn’t want to drive in alone, not after yesterday, after the scare with Cassie. Not after the power outage. Or the dead bird. Or whatever the hell was going on with t
he military.

  He’d risen early as usual and was sitting in the kitchen with his coffee when she found him, checking the news on his tablet. That’s when she told him to wait. He hadn’t expressed his displeasure with her behavior in words, but it was evident in the look on his face. It was just a bird, she could hear him thinking. Stop overreacting to everything.

  Or maybe he was unhappy about her leaving him alone with the Ames people yesterday. Not that he could show it. What the hell would he have her do? Their daughter was sick.

  He was still sitting there at the table after she came down from her shower. He was watching Cassie playing on the floor with her rabbit. And Lyssa thought that maybe she did look a little paler than usual. But she didn’t mention it. She’d already pushed too much.

  Ramon made a point of checking the time on his new phone and huffing impatiently. She was tempted to rip it out of his hands and throw it against the wall.

  “We’re not staying late tonight,” she told him. “I don’t care what you have going on. Cassie needs us.”

  He raised his face to her, impassive but for the eyes, which flashed. “I already said I was sorry about last night.”

  He expects you to apologize, too.

  But she wouldn’t. “I needed you here with us! Cassie needed you. She needs both her parents when she’s sick.”

  “She’s not sick. She just got too much sun. Besides.” He stood up and smoothed the creases in his pants. “I do my share.”

  “You read her bedtime stories. You make her pancakes. You tuck her in. That’s not parenting. That’s babysitting!”

  He held up his hand for her to stop. “Let’s not argue right now. We can continue this during the drive if you prefer. Whenever you’re ready.”

  She glowered at him, checking to see if he was just indulging her. “I want to stop off at Drew’s again.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding, “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Ronnie arrived a half hour later, looking uncertain about whether she was even needed.

  “Of course we need you, Ronnie,” Lyssa told her. She apologized for being so brash the day before. “I’d had a terrible day at work.” She left it at that.

  “We’re switched completely over to solar,” Ramon informed the young woman as they were headed out. “So if there’s any problems, just give me a call.”

  Yes, give Ramon a call.

  Lyssa watched them carefully, wondering about the awkward smiles they exchanged. Wondering if they meant anything.

  They didn’t say much to each other after getting into the car and leaving for work. All too soon they were on the highway, entering the flow of the traffic heading east. Ramon commented about the sun being right in his eyes. Lyssa nodded but didn’t answer. It wasn’t like the sun had just yesterday decided to start rising there to spite him.

  He turned on the radio and set it to some music, though thankfully he kept the volume turned down low enough that it didn’t intrude into her thoughts. It was just enough for both of them not to have to suffer the silence.

  “There’s something going on up ahead.”

  Lyssa blinked and turned her head to the front. “We’re in Medford already?”

  “Next exit. Looks like they’re not letting people off, though.”

  He slowed and merged right behind a line of cars trying to exit. One by one they were being diverted back onto the highway by a solitary police officer standing in the middle of the lane, beads of sweat rolling down his hairy arms. A military truck was parked behind his patrol car. Ramon rolled his window down.

  “Sorry, sir,” the officer said, squinting in at them, “but unless you’re a resident or you can prove you have important business here, this exit is closed until further notice.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Are you a resident of the area?”

  “We live over on Maycock,” Ramon lied. “Forest Glen Apartments.”

  Lyssa frowned at him. Forest Glen was where his apartment had been. But the lease had been cancelled the week before.

  Hadn’t it?

  The officer asked for proof of residency.

  Ramon shook his head. “We just moved there and haven’t transferred residency IDs yet. And our daughter’s home alone. We just want to get her and we’ll be on our way.”

  The man glanced impatiently at him, then over to Lyssa. Finally he straightened and turned to look at the growing line of cars behind them.

  “The rental agreement’s somewhere in my papers on the backseat. I can get it if—”

  The officer sighed and waved them through. “Go on,” he said. “But straight there and get your daughter. Then you have to leave. They’re clearing out the town.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I change my mind, sir.”

  Ramon steered the car slowly past the empty camouflage-painted truck, then accelerated up the ramp.

  “Wonder what the hell is going on.” He pointed a finger at the line of cars across the road waiting to get onto the highway. Both the east- and west-bound ramps were backed up. “They really are trying to empty the town.”

  Adding to the surreal effect were the emergency vehicles parked in each of the intersections, their lights flashing. And yet there was little sense of urgency at all. There were no sirens, no megaphone-wielding men demanding that people hurry. Everyone seemed to be taking it all in stride.

  Lyssa straightened up in her seat and stared out through the windshield. “The radio said there was something happening east of here yesterday. I forgot all about it. This can’t be related, could it?”

  Ramon shrugged. “I doubt it, though I can’t be certain. I heard about it, too, so I stayed on 25 to avoid the mess. Only took a little longer than usual to get home.”

  She clenched her teeth and didn’t say anything.

  “Which way?” he asked, as they idled at an intersection.

  “It’s—”

  Something slammed onto the hood of their car. It rose up and began pulling itself toward them.

  “What the hell?” Ramon yelped.

  The man raised his head and glared at them with his bloodshot eyes. Lyssa wanted to scream, but the stare cut her off as surely as if he’d wrapped his hands around her throat.

  “Get out of the way!” Ramon shouted. He opened his window and stuck his head out. “Get the hell off my car. Move!”

  The man dressed in the Liberty costume slowly pushed himself off the hood, but he wouldn’t let them pass.

  “Cops everywhere,” Ramon growled, “except when you need one.” He laid his fist on the horn.

  The man started shouting at them. He was gesturing and pointing behind them.

  “Rame!” Lyssa yelled, pulling his hands away from the horn. “Stop it! He’s trying to tell us something.”

  “The man’s crazy.”

  “Stand your ground,” the man shouted, his voice muffled by their windows. “It’s your home! Don’t let the government force you from it!”

  “Hey, asshole, I said get away from my car!”

  “Ramon!” Lyssa cried. He so rarely swore, and when he did it never failed to shock her. “Leave the man alone.”

  “He’s in our way!”

  The cars behind them were starting to honk. Someone was shouting.

  Lyssa opened her window. The man looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen him before. Or maybe it was just the costume she recognized. “Can you tell us what’s going on? Why do they want us to leave?”

  “Lyssa! Close your window. It’s the same whack job who stands out here on this corner every day. He’s always protesting something. Last week it was the new tax proposals.”

  That was it, the taxes. She remembered the flyer he’d handed to her, though now she couldn’t remember what she’d done with it afterward. She was sure she hadn’t thrown it away.

  “Hey, come here.” She gestured toward herself, beckoning him to her window. “Can you tell me—”

&nb
sp; “I said shut your window!”

  The man edged his way toward her, his faded and tattered robe draping over the hood of the car. His skin — face and neck and arms — had been painted a sickly greenish-white. His eyes were dark, the edges of his eyelids red. “Beware the great corporate vampires,” he told her. “They’ve taken over the government and will bleed you dry!”

  He grabbed the edge of her doorframe with the fingers of one hand and wouldn’t let go. In the other hand he held a stack of printed flyers.

  Lyssa shied away. Something about him frightened her now that he was so close. He didn’t look right. He looked . . . deranged.

  “Great, now you’ve done it,” Ramon complained. “You spoke to him and now he’s never going to let us go. Well, I don’t care. If he doesn’t move, I’m running him over.”

  “No, you’ll hurt him!”

  “A government which feasts on the flesh of the poor,” the man yelled at them, “is itself diseased and dying. They are infected with the sickness of greed! There is no cure for us but to rid ourselves of the scourge!”

  “Let go of the car!” Ramon shouted at him. He started edging forward.

  “They are a cancer! They’re taking over your property, your income! What next? Your body? Your mind? Will they claim them, too? Stop the disease before it takes your soul! Resist! We have everything to lose!”

  Lyssa’s window began to close. With a startled cry, she pulled her head back. “Stop it, Ramon! I want to ask him something!” She fumbled clumsily for the control, arresting the window’s rise.

  “No, Lyssa, we’re going now! We’re leaving this whack job. We’re going to be late as it is.”

  “He’s not crazy— Wait! Mister . . . . What’s your name?”

  “Adrian,” he answered, his voice raspy from shouting. He handed her a flyer from his stack, which he seemed to have just remembered. “Adrian Bowman, ma’am. And I’m not crazy. Please, read this.”

  And for just a moment she could see the madness behind his paint, in his bloodshot eyes. But it wasn’t insanity. It was terror. It was a fear so coherent, so aware, that it reached into the deepest depths of her soul and moved her.