The vehicle was decked out, the best possible ride home. They needed comfort after their ordeal.
They would need the time to come up with the story and so forth.
They took off by six in the morning, and Bret covered that driving. They stopped just before noon.
“Up ahead,” Bret announced. “Sign for a small town.”
Both sleeping men mumbled, so Bret took the exit. Of course, the exit didn’t lead directly to the town; she had to make a turn.
No big deal.
She could tell by the name and of course the sign announcing two-thousand-something population, that Hooks, Texas was going to be small-town charming.
It was. Perhaps farm-small town charming.
One of those corn towers greeted them at the gas station and souvenir shop. The shop and restaurant had signs miles up the road.
From the dusty windshield Bret could see the small town. A one-stoplight place, a single street, both sides with shops. It was set about 100 yards from the Old Farm Market boasting of Texas BBQ.
“Whew, it’s hot.” Bret declared. “The air isn’t even working.”
Darius sat up with a ‘huh’ as she pulled into the parking lot. “Where are we?”
“I thought we’d stop for food,” Bret said. “Take a break.”
Darius looked at his watch. “Wow, it’s late.” He reached around to the back seat. “You up?” he asked Blain.
“Yeah.” Blaine stretched. “Whoa, look at this place. It’s great.”
“Yeah, it is.” Bret crinkled her brow. “It’s awfully quiet and dead though. I don’t see a car or a person.”
“It’s too hot,” Darius said. “They’re all staying in the air conditioning.” He reached for the car door. “Ready?”
Bret nodded and opened her door. All three stepped out.
Blain grunted. “God! It’s hot.” He pulled out his phone. “Hey you two, go ahead. I see a money machine down there. And I think I see a sign that says espresso.”
Darius squinted. “Yeah, it does. Good eyes.”
“Eagle eyes when it comes to espresso.”
“I love coffee,” Bret said, “But not even I want a coffee now.”
Blain fluttered his lips. “Nothing better than an iced espresso. Go on in, I’ll be right back.”
Bret and Darius nodded and headed to the long wooden porch of the brown, log-style building. They watched Blaine, with his phone, move down the street toward town.
No sooner did Darius reach for the door, it swung open.
“Holy shit, get in here!” the elderly man yanked Bret inside. “We saw you pull up. Wondered what the hey was taking you so long out there.”
At first Bret looked at Darius then to the room full of people standing there.
Everyone watched them. Staring. Some people huddled, some sniffled.
Curiously, Darius glanced at Bret. “Are they looking at us like this because we’re strangers?”
Before Bret could answer, the elderly man huffed. “No! For crying out loud. Didn’t you listen to the radio? Did the state police stop ya coming in on the road?”
Bret shook her head.
The elderly man whined. “Figures, they abandoned us. Maybe they’re getting backup. Well, you two come on in, it might be a long wait. Make yourselves at home.”
“Wait for what?” Darius asked.
“Until it’s safe. It’s not safe out there,” the man said.
Darius asked. “Because of the heat?”
“The heat? No.” the man shook his head. “Can heat do that?” He pointed out the window.
Darius and Bret moved closer to see.
Off to the side of the porch, not far from where they parked the car, were two bodies. Both bloodied, both a mangled mess. Limbs scattered about, blood formed a pool.
“Not safe for a second.” The man repeated. “Last three people who tried to leave met that fate.”
At the same time, Darius and Bret looked at each other and spoke out in concern, “Blain.”
Blain didn’t walk fast, nor did he pay attention. One hand wiped the sweat on the back of his neck; the other hand held his phone.
He was sending text messages.
He wasn’t a pro at it. Good, semi-fast, but not one of those pros who could walk and type while never looking at the phone pad.
His phone allotted 160 characters. His message was long. He spoke of the heat, the trip, and the return shortly. It was to a girl he had met at a karaoke bar in Pittsburgh. He didn’t think he’d hear back from her, but was glad she sent a message. When was she returning?
Mid-walk down the street he heard banging, or rather knocking. It sounded like hands against a window. Blain paused, looked up and to his right. Inside the hardware store there were four people, banging on the window to get his attention. They were saying something, waving for him to go in.
Blain smiled. Waved, and held up a finger stating he’d be back.
He felt important. Oftentimes when he was in small towns such as Hooks, people would recognize him from the news and he’d be treated like some big celebrity. He always made time for his fans. Without him and their faithfulness to his reports, he wouldn’t be the star reporter he was.
He kept walking, chuckling as they pounded insistently at him.
“Gotta love it,” he said to himself, with a shake of his head and a laugh.
Growl.
He heard, paused, thought nothing of it, and hit the ‘send’ button.
Growl.
What the heck was that, he wondered. He flipped the phone closed, put it in his pocket, heard the soft growling again, and just as he looked up to check out the noise, he heard someone call his name.
“Blain!”
Darius? Blain turned around. “Oh, hey.” He lifted his hand in a wave and halted midway when he saw Darius and Bret at the end of the street. Why does Darius have a shotgun?
“What’s going on?” Blain shouted.
“Get inside now!” Darius replied.
“What?” Blain walked toward Darius.
Growl. It was louder. More than one. The second he saw Bret spin on her heels and run back to the farmer’s market, Blain slowly peered over his shoulder.
‘Holy fuck!’ blasted through his mind when he saw the pack of dogs. All breeds, shapes and sizes, all of them in a row, snarling, jaws dripping a thick white saliva.
Whether or not it was a good idea, Blain ran. But he made the mistake of not thinking. Pulling a ‘horror chick-flick’ move, he didn’t think to run into the building two feet away; he ran toward Darius.
“What are you doing?” Darius yelled.
The moment Blain took off the dogs went from snarling to barking and they pursued.
Darius raised the shotgun and quickly moved closer.
Nine. There were nine dogs. The second the first one leapt toward Blain, Darius fired.
With a yelp it flew back. Taking a few charging steps forward, Darius pumped the chamber of the shotgun, and fired again.
Down went a second dog.
He didn’t hesitate. It was like a video game. About the fifth dog that he shot, the others seemed to get the message and ran off.
“Oh my god. Oh shit.” Blain grabbed his chest and hyperventilated, trying to catch his breath. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“In the Army. I was a marksman. Plus I hunt.”
“You, the ecological guy? You hunt.”
“One must help keep the delicate balance of nature.” Darius shrugged then opened the weapon, reached into his chest pocket and began to load it. “Fucking people, man.”
“What? They were dogs.”
“No, they’re fucking hiding from the dogs. This is a farm town in Texas.” He snapped the gun closed. “One would think everyone in this town is a certified NRA member.” He pumped the chamber. “Why are they hiding from the dogs? Why are they not just shooting them?”
“You think maybe because it’s their dogs?”
D
arius looked at him.
“Seriously, the dogs are coming from somewhere. Bet the people in this town own them and just don’t want to shoot their own pets, even if they have gone mad.”
“But why?”
“But why won’t they shoot their mad dog?”
“No, why are they going mad?” Darius looked out. “Doesn’t make sense. Rabies. Heat. I don’t see any more. But I’m sure they’ll be back.”
“Where’d ya get the gun?”
With a twitch of his head, Darius indicated back. “Restaurant had it. That’s why I don’t get them not shooting the dogs. Let’s head back.”
“Sounds good. They don’t have alcohol in there, do they?”
“Probably do.”
“Good,” Blain said as he took a step forward. “I can use a . . .”
Yap.
Blain paused then finished. “Drink.”
Both he and Darius cocked an eyebrow and exchange curious looks when they heard it.
The high-pitched yapping. Yap-yap-yap.
They turned around to see, at high speed, a Chihuahua racing their way. Before either of them could react, the vicious barking little animal jumped up at Blain and plunged its needle point fangs into his legs.
Blain screamed. He shook his leg trying to shake off the dog who didn’t just latch on, but rather gnawed at his flesh.
Like a field goal kicker, Darius shot out his foot, nailing the Chihuahua. The dog flew back, landed and rolled.
Darius raised his gun.
“Wait. You aren’t gonna . . .”
Bang.
He blasted the little dog with the shot gun. Like a water balloon a burst of blood and flesh exploded.
Darius whistled. “That was a good shot if I do say so myself.” He pumped the chamber and looked over. Blain was on the ground. Blood oozed from his leg. “Oh, shit, we better get you some help.”
Nodding with a wince, Blain reached up and took Darius’ hand.
***
“Let me get this straight,” Colin said, speaking to Darius on the phone. “You are in Texas. You stop at a diner. There are people screaming at you to get in, three dead bodies and the cause of it all was dogs?”
“Yeah, can you believe that?” Darius said. “Nothing was on the news.”
“Not that I heard. I’ll check. Were they wild dogs?”
“No, domestic dogs and I think they were rabid,” Darius said. “Just from the behavior and salvia.”
Colin paused to think.
“Still there?”
“Sounds very Stephen King-like.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You think there’s a connection with our plant anomalies and this incident?”
“I’d like to say yeah,” Darius said. “But I can’t see it. I can see the heat causing them to go mad, but rabies?”
“It’s possible that a rabbit or bat bit one of the dogs, and they spread it.”
“Possible.”
“So back to the story. There were all kinds of breeds?”
“Yes.”
“And even though you played canine Rambo, our Blain was still attacked…by a Chihuahua.”
“Yes.”
Colin snickered. “Sorry.”
“No, I laughed too until I realized.”
“He has rabies,” Colin said.
“Bingo. Or should be treated as such.”
“Did you bring the dog with you to the hospital?”
“No, I shot it with a shotgun.”
“Twelve, twenty, or twenty-eight gauge?”
“Twelve. Remington. Classic 870. It was sweet.”
“You shot a Chihuahua with a Remington twelve-gauge shotgun.”
“Yep.”
“I see why you didn’t bring the dog to the hospital. How is Blain?” Colin asked.
“In pain. He has to stay for a week, so we’re gonna have to head home.”
“Trip delayed approximately?”
“Half day. Okay, I’m going back inside the hospital to get Bret. Are the kids okay?”
Colin chuckled.
“What? What is so funny?”
“So domesticated you are,” Colin said. “Actually if you need some pointers on being a step parent.…”
“Ha, ha, ha. Last Bret talked to the kids, I heard they were prepping for you to have that position.”
“Hmm, yes, quite the honor. We’re headed to the drive-in tonight.”
“You’re…you’re taking Bret’s kids to the drive in?”
“Me and Chuck, yes.”
“That sucks.”
“What sucks, Dare-Dare?”
“You’re prepping to be their step father.”
“No, more like…grandfather. Have a good one.” Colin hung up. He peered through the sliding glass doors to the girls as they swam in the pool, making sure they were okay. They were. He returned to his blue grocery store bags, but hesitated in unpacking the things he purchased to take to the drive-in. Walking to the basement door, he opened it.
“Luke?” Colin called down. “Any news or word on the ticker about mad dogs attacking in Texas?”
“Nope.”
“Thanks.” He closed the basement door, chalked up the dog incident to just that, an isolated, unrelated incident, and he returned to preparing for the night.
***
Like the bat phone, Colin had a red phone installed at the bunker. Bruce called it a bunker even though it wasn’t underground, more so because they had to bunk down until the mayhem ended once the ice age started.
Bruce worked there every day, twelve hours a day. Just he and Bobby.
He had just set down the red phone and stared at it, tapping his fingers on the resting receiver.
“Something wrong?” Bobby asked.
“Um, no.” Bruce shook his head.
“What did Dr. Reye want on the bat phone?”
“He just wanted to invite us to the drive-in tonight.”
“The drive-in? We haven’t been to the drive-in since I was twelve.”
“I know.”
“What’s playing?” Bobby asked.
“Classic night. Dracula, Frankenstein versus the Wolf Man and Night of the Living Dead.”
“That’s a fuckin’ sweet combo. All black and white at the drive-in.”
“That’s what I thought,” Bruce said.
“I think we should go.”
Bruce nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’ll call him back and tell him to hold a space for us. Should be fun..”
“I would think . . .” The echoing voice called out. “Fun should not be a word you’d be using when faced with the world’s extinction.”
After a squint of his eyes through the dirty room, Bruce focused in on Winslow, whose wheelchair was being pushed by a tall thin man in a suit.
“Excuse me, sir.” Bruce walked toward Winslow. “This is private property.”
“I’m Mr. Winslow,” Winslow said. “Barry, push me closer. You must be Mr. Weiss.” He extended out his hand.
“Mr. Winslow,” Bruce shook it. “Heard much about you. Glad to meet you in person.”
“What is fun?” Winslow asked.
“Oh.” Bruce waved out his hand. “I was discussing with my son, Bobby, here, that the drive-in is having a classic night. We may go.”
“Classic night?” Winslow asked. “As in classic films?”
“Yep,” Bruce nodded. “One of which is Night of the Living Dead.”
“Sounds fun.”
Bruce smiled. “That’s what I said. You ought to join us.”
“I may.”
“So what brings you here?”
“I just wanted to check the progress and see how things were going.” Winslow looked around. “Will I have private quarters? What I have witnessed, people are in groups of four.”
“You’ll have your own quarters,” Bruce said.
“And who is building the transportation?” Winslow asked.
Bruce pointed to Bobby. “My son’s wor
king on it now. I’ll be helping him in a bit.”
“Hmm,” Winslow rubbed his chin. “You both must be very educated men to be able to do that.”
“Well . . .” Bruce tiled his head. “Bobby here is more educated that I am.”
“I see.” Winslow turned toward Bobby. “Are you finding this difficult?”
“Nah,” Bobby replied. “Been doing it for so long it’s second nature.”
“Really. Wow. I’m impressed. Did you work for NASA?”
“Ex . . . excuse me?” Bobby said.
“NASA,” Winslow stated. “If you’ve been doing it for that long, I just guessed you worked for NASA. Can I see it? I have never had a close-up look at a space ship.”
“A . . .” Before Bobby could answer, Bruce cleared his throat to silence him.
“The transportation is delicate,” Bruce aid. “Mind if I call Dr. Reye about that?”
“Go right ahead,” Winslow said.
“Dad,” Bobby whispered. “A spaceship?”
After waving off his son, Bruce walked to the bat phone.
***
Not that Bret knew what she was looking at, exactly. She had an idea, reflecting back to her grandmother being in the hospital with an infection. It was nearly as bad.
Blain lay in the hospital bed, which was tilted. Intravenous pumped drugs and saline through him; a vital signs monitor beeped every so often to announce that it worked.
His leg, swollen three times its size, was packed in ice.
He was not conscious.
A single knock on the open archway drew Bret’s attention from Blain.
“There you are,” Darius said, slipping through the curtain.
“They moved him quickly,” Bret said. “He went from the ER, to a room, to Intensive Care in four hours.”
“Hmm.” Darius rubbed his chain. “Probably a precaution.”
“Then why didn’t they move him here right away?”
Darius shrugged.
“Four hours.”
“Speaking of which, it’s actually been five.” Darius looked at his watch. “Ready to take off?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you ready to go? We lost a lot of time. We need to hit the road.”
“You can’t possibly be serious, can you? His vitals are low. He’s not responding. Fever high. The doctor was in here and said his white blood count was astronomically and frighteningly low. I don’t know what that means, but still.”
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