The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel

by Edward P. Cardillo

  They flipped their hands over, palms up. Sean had blood on his fingers.

  “So, if you pushed this old woman out the front door, why are their bloody fingerprints on this railing, and then on the railing on the balcony next door?” asked Holbrook.

  “I-I don’t know,” said Pete.

  “How about you?” Holbrook asked Sean. “You have blood on your fingers.”

  “I don’t know,” said Sean. “I think I might’ve tried to jump to the next balcony when we ran back here, before we pushed her out of the room.

  Holbrook gestured for them to go back into the room. He followed them, touching nothing and leaving the back door ajar.

  “Officer Pike is going to be taking statements. In cases like this, in a crowded motel, there’s usually someone who heard something, maybe even someone who even saw something. Are you two sure there isn’t anything you’re not telling me? Anything you’re leaving out? Maybe something you forgot?”

  Pete and Sean looked at each other.

  “No,” said Sean.

  “No, nothing I can think of,” added Pete.

  Holbrook got on his radio. “Pike, I need you in four seventeen.”

  The radio crackled. “Okay, Boss.”

  “So, are you going to look for our friend?” asked Pete.

  Holbrook took off his hat, scratched his head, and replaced his hat. “Thank you, Alice. That’ll be all.”

  Alice nodded and left the room.

  Holbrook gestured for the two clowns to sit on the beds, and they did. He took out his pad and pen. “Names.”

  “Pete McCarthy.”

  “Sean Molina.”

  “And your friend’s name?”

  “Nathan Moran.”

  “Can I see some identification?”

  Pete and Sean fished out their driver’s licenses and handed them to Holbrook, who looked over each one carefully.

  Officer Pike entered the room and blocked the doorway. “Joann couldn’t make it, because she’s at Mario Russo’s house. His mother was reported missing.”

  Christ. Two missing persons in one night? “She eloped?”

  “Looks like it,” said Pike. “Mario and Marie said she was sick. Threw up all over the place and was acting out in front of the children. Joann’s talking to them right now. She sent Breslin.”

  Holbrook wondered if Mario’s mother could’ve been the crazy old lady who threw up all over these rooms. That would’ve been some hell of a coincidence.

  Holbrook turned back to the two clowns. “We’re going to need you two to come down to the station to give written statements.”

  “But, what about Nat?” asked Sean.

  “We’ll look out for your friend. We’ll need a full physical description and a photo, if possible.”

  “I have some photos on my phone,” said Sean.

  “Me, too, I think,” added Pete.

  “Was he all dressed up like you two?” asked Holbrook?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’ll need pics of him both in and out of clown makeup to disseminate to my officers. We can print out the pics down at the station.”

  “Sure, Chief,” said Pete. “We wanna help.”

  “Jesus,” said Sean, “I hope Nat’s okay.”

  “Why don’t you gentlemen come with me?” said Holbrook. They stood and nodded.

  Holbrook turned to Pike. “Everyone accounted for?”

  “So far,” but I only canvassed this floor.”

  Get some statements from the buildings in the front, particularly the rooms facing this back building. Something happened on that balcony in the back, and I want to know if anyone saw anything.”

  “I’ll get Breslin right on it,” said Pike. “I’ll finish checking out this building.”

  “Great. I’m gonna swing by the Russo’s on the way back to the station.” Holbrook waved a hand. “After you, gentlemen.”

  Pete and Sean took the lead out of the room, and Holbrook followed closely behind. As they stepped outside, the air felt warmer and there was a hint of burnt orange peeking over the horizon, chasing away the darkness.

  He had two missing persons in Smuggler’s Bay, and with reports of a struggle and blood all over these rooms, Chief Holbrook wondered if he also had a homicide on his hands.

  * * *

  Holbrook pulled up to the Russo residence and parked next to Marie Russo’s car on the street, behind Joann’s squad car. Joann stood there with her pad and pen taking down information, and Mario Russo sat on his front step, wearing blue boxer shorts and one of the tee-shirts from his shop, reading ‘Smuggler’s Bay, The Home of Family Fun.’ His face was beet red.

  Marie stood next to him. She wore shorts and a faded pink tee. Her hand rested reassuringly on Mario’s shoulder. There was a neighbor in a similar getup sitting on the other side of Mario, trying to comfort him as well. There were a few neighbors looking on from their front doors and windows.

  Holbrook turned to his two clowns. “You two, stay put.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  Holbrook got out of the car and moseyed up the front walk to stand next to Joann.

  “Thank God you’re here, Chief,” said Marie, frowning.

  Mario muttered to himself. “It was a mistake. I should’ve left well enough alone.”

  Holbrook nodded to Marie. “What’ve we got so far?” he asked Joann.

  “They said that Sophia Russo, Mr. Russo’s mother, had been behaving erratically last night, using foul language in front of the children. She threw up in the kitchen. They took her temperature, and she had a fever.”

  Mario looked up, his face terror stricken. “She’s out there somewhere, all alone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mario,” said Holbrook. “We’ll put an APB out. I thought she was in a nursing home.”

  “I took her out of that place,” said Mario. “Marie said it was a mistake.”

  “When did she come home with you?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Walk me through last night. Every detail is important. Leave nothing out.”

  “We took her home,” said Mario. “We cooked her dinner. That’s when we noticed the strange behavior.”

  “What kind of strange behavior?”

  “She wasn’t touching her food,” said Marie. “And then she started looking funny at the kids. Then she accused me of being the devil, and she threw up all over the kitchen table. And I mean threw up. I couldn’t believe a person could have that much in them.”

  Holbrook grimaced. “Then what?”

  “Then Mario cleaned her up and put her to bed. She ran a fever, so Mario went to get her some Tylenol, and she grabbed my arm and told me…” Marie looked tentatively at Mario, who just sat there shaking his head.

  “Go ahead,” prompted Holbrook.

  “She told me to picture her face when I…had relations with other men.”

  “Relations?”

  “That’s not how she put it,” said Marie. “She said ‘fucked.’”

  “I see. At what point did you notice she was missing?”

  “We went to bed,” said Mario. “I woke up in the middle of the night…” He thought about his elderly mother masturbating furiously on the bed. He remembered how she looked at him. “…she seemed…strange.”

  “I checked on her later in the night,” added Marie, and she wasn’t in her room. I figured maybe she was finally hungry and went to fix a plate in the kitchen. That’s when I saw the front door was open. I ran outside onto the street, calling out for her, but she wasn’t anywhere.”

  Holbrook pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “It sounds to me like a case of dementia. When you’re talking about a demented individual, they can act out of character and even elope from the premises.”

  “I don’t think so,” said the neighbor sitting next to Mario.

  “Excuse me?” said Holbrook.

  “This is Dr. Bigelow,” explained Joann. “She just so
happened to be Mrs. Russo’s psychologist at the nursing home.”

  Tara stood and extended her hand to Holbrook. He shook it.

  “You don’t say,” said Holbrook. “So what’s your theory, doc?”

  “Well, I was seeing her right up until she was discharged, and she hadn’t shown any signs of dementia.”

  “So, what do you think it is?”

  Tara crossed her arms. “Well, sudden onset of uncharacteristic, erratic behavior, loss of appetite, paranoia—I think it could be a UTI…urinary tract infection.”

  “Urinary tract infection,” Mario repeated. “So, there’s a reason for all this.”

  “Yes,” said Tara, “but she needs to be put on antibiotics right away.”

  “I should’ve never brought her home.”

  “Mario,” there was no way you could’ve known this was going to happen,” said Tara.

  “Do you have a recent picture of your mother?” asked Holbrook.

  “I’ll go inside and get one,” said Marie. She disappeared into the house. She came back outside holding a picture of Marie sitting in a chair at the nursing home. A stern expression contorted the old woman’s face. Mario crouched next to her, smiling.

  “This’ll do,” said Holbrook. “This’ll do just fine.”

  Suddenly, Holbrook’s radio crackled. “Chief, it’s Lawson. You there? Over.”

  “Christ. What now?” Holbrook handed the picture to Joann. He picked up his radio. “Yeah, Lawson. I’m here. Over.”

  “You have to come up to the boardwalk. Marty Figueroa was opening up the public restroom on Neptune when he found a body in front of Billy Blake’s store. It looks like Billy Blake…but…he’s all torn up. Over.”

  Holbrook regretted that the Russo’s had to hear that. They were traumatized enough as it. Poor Mario’s heart was bound to give out on him at this rate. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Over-and-out.”

  “I’ll put out an APB right away,” said Joann.

  “Don’t worry,” said Holbrook. “We’ll do our best to find your mother as soon as we can.” He pointed to his squad car. “I’ve got a couple of tourists who said they were attacked by an elderly woman behaving erratically last night, throwing up everywhere.”

  Mario perked up. “Do you think that’s Mama Sophia?”

  “Not sure,” said Holbrook, “but how many erratic old ladies throwing up all over the place can there be in the Bay? If we find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Thank you, Chief,” said Marie.

  “Thank you for your input, doctor,” said Holbrook.

  Tara nodded. “Let me know if I can be of help. She trusted me. If she gives you a hard time, maybe I can help facilitate.”

  Holbrook nodded his appreciation.

  “Chief,” said Mario, “find my Ma.”

  Holbrook nodded, and he and Joann walked back to their cars parked on the street. Holbrook fished for his keys in his pocket and handed them to Joann. “Take my car, and get an APB out right away. There’re two massive storm fronts coming tomorrow, and they’re talking hurricane strength winds and massive flooding. We have to find Mrs. Russo, and soon. Take statements from these two and put them on ice for drunk and disorderly conduct.”

  Joann looked at the two men in the backseat. “Clowns,” she said as if uttering the most profane of curse words.

  “I’ll take your car and check out this body on the boardwalk.”

  Joann handed him her keys.

  Holbrook then opened the rear door and addressed his two passengers in the back seat. “You two clowns behave yourself, or Officer Campbell here’ll kick your ass up and down Smuggler’s Bay.”

  The two weary clowns looked startled by the threat and the implication that they would even try anything like that. Holbrook slammed the door shut.

  Joann got in the driver’s seat and pulled away as Holbrook watched.

  He then got into Joann’s squad car and headed up the street to the boardwalk.

  “Take down my cell phone number. Just in case,” said Tara.

  Marie pulled out her cell phone, touched the screen a few times, and looked up at Tara. “Go ahead.”

  Tara rattled off her number, and Marie punched it into her phone, saving it as a new contact.

  “That’s my cell,” said Tara. “Call anytime. Any way I can be of assistance, you let me know.”

  “Thank you so much, Dr. Bigelow,” said Marie.

  “Please, call me Tara. Mario,” she placed her hand on his shoulder, “they’ll find her. She’ll be okay.” She knew she shouldn’t have been making guarantees, but Mario needed some reassurance. He was looking pale, and Marie had mentioned something about a heart condition.

  Mario put his hand on top of Tara’s on his shoulder. “Thanks, Tara.”

  Tara walked back across the street to her house where Tyrell and Marcus were looking out the front window. When she came back inside, Tyrell ambushed Tara with a barrage of questions.

  “Did they find that man’s mommy?”

  “No, Tyrell. Not yet.”

  “Are they going to find her?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “It seems like it.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “They need to get her some medicine right away.”

  “If the police find her, are they going to arrest her?”

  “No, they’re going to take her to the hospital so she can get medicine. Why don’t you sit at the table, and I’ll fix you a bowl of cereal?”

  “Can I have Magma Man Flakes?”

  “Wash your hands and have a seat.”

  “Yay!” Tyrell ran into the bathroom, and Tara heard the faucet turn on.

  “She’s ill?” asked Marcus.

  “Sounds like a UTI to me.”

  “They’ll find her. It’s a small island.”

  Tara walked into the kitchen, opened a cabinet door, and pulled out the Magma Man Flakes. “In her current mental state, we’d better hope they don’t find her washed up on shore somewhere.”

  Marcus opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the milk. “You think she’d drown herself?”

  Tara placed the cereal on the table, pulled three bowls out of the next cabinet, and placed them on the table. “Not intentionally.”

  Tyrell came barreling into the kitchen, which signaled the end of the morbid conversation. He pulled open a drawer, grabbed three spoons, and slammed the drawer shut.

  “Easy, little man,” said Marcus.

  They all sat down at the kitchen table, and Marcus poured three bowls of cereal and milk. They dove enthusiastically into their breakfasts.

  “Hey, you know what today is?” asked Marcus with a mouth full of cereal.

  “What?” asked Tyrell, milk dribbling down his chin. He wiped it away with his arm.

  “Use a napkin!”

  Tara reached over to the counter and snatched three napkins from a small wicker basket. She handed one to Tyrell and one to Marcus. She laid hers down next to her bowl. “It’s Circus Faire, you little piggy.”

  “Yeah, there’s going to be a parade and everything,” said Marcus.

  Tyrell frowned. “I don’t like clowns.”

  “Why not?” asked Marcus. “Clowns are fun.”

  “They’re creepy,” said Marcus, shoving an oversized spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Tara. “It’s like the circus.”

  “Do you think he has one of those clown phobias?” asked Marcus.

  “What’s a phobia, Mommy?”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” said Tara, shooting her husband a look. “You like parades. Plus, I saw a sign that Blackbeard’s Pier is offering half priced games this afternoon.”

  “Cool! I wanna play the shooting gallery. And the racing games. And the one where you shoot the alien robots from the next dimension.”

  Tara and Marcus chuckled.

  “How do you kn
ow about alien robots from the next dimension?” asked Tara.

  “Everyone knows about them,” declared Tyrell.

  “Oh, I see,” said Tara.

  “If you’re not scared of alien robots from another dimension, then you shouldn’t be afraid of clowns,” said Marcus.

  “But clowns are bad men.”

  Marcus and Tara looked at each other.

  “What would make you say that?” asked Tara.

  “There were two of them in the back seat of that police car.”

  “They might know where Mr. Russo’s mother is,” explained Tara. “That’s what the Chief said. They’re not being arrested. They’re helpful clowns.”

  “Oh,” said Tyrell, heaping another pile of cereal into his little mouth. This time he remembered to wipe his mouth with his napkin.

  * * *

  Chief Holbrook saw Officer Lawson standing over a heap covered in a blue tarp in front of Billy Blake’s store. The sun had now cleared the horizon but was now partially obscured by an overcast sky, the harbinger of the storm that would descend upon Smuggler’s Bay tomorrow. Lawson perked up when he saw Holbrook.

  “What’ve we got?” asked Holbrook, looking up and down the empty boardwalk, and then down at the blue tarp, its edges flapping in the ocean breeze.

  Lawson reached down, grabbed a corner of the tarp, and pulled it back, revealing a mangled body.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” said Holbrook running his fingertips over his five o’clock shadow. “That’s Billy Blake, all right.”

  “Marty found him. Called me right away. Looks like he was murdered.”

  Holbrook squatted on his haunches to get a closer look. Billy was contorted in an awkward position, as if he’d been dragged. Blood smears on the boardwalk by the body confirmed it. “He was beaten and stabbed repeatedly, then dragged. This was personal.”

  “What was he doing on the boardwalk so early?” asked Lawson.

  Holbrook took in the shredded, blood-soaked clothing. Billy’s shoes were off his feet. “Early for you is late for him. Billy would sometimes get drunk and then sleep it off in his store.”

  “His keys are right there in front of the lock on his gate,” pointed out Lawson. “Looks like he was trying to get in. Who do you think would’ve done this to him?”

  “Half the Bay hated his guts, myself included,” admitted Holbrook. “Could’ve been anyone. Did you call the coroner?”