by Amy Cross
“Annie?”
Suddenly Mom grabs the fridge door and swings it shut, and I realize that the alarm had started beeping because it had been open for too long. I was vaguely aware of the sound, but somehow it had sunk deep into the back of my mind.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I stammer, and all that lust for blood is suddenly gone.
“You were staring at me weird,” Stevie says.
“No, I wasn't,” I tell him, even though I think he might be right. “Sorry,” I tell Mom, “I just need to get my sugar levels up a bit.”
At that moment, as if to offer some advice, the toast pops up.
“You shouldn't go to work if you're feeling poorly,” Mom says, as she heads over to the coffee machine. “They won't thank you if you turn up and spread something around.”
“I'm not ill,” I reply, although I have to admit that I feel spooked by just how ravenously I wanted that blood a moment ago. I guess maybe my sugar levels really are a little off. “And I'm going to work. That's final. I need the money.”
“You were staring at me weird,” Stevie grumbles.
“Only because of that stupid hat,” I reply, nodding toward the weird baseball cap with the propeller on top. He got that thing at the fairground a few weeks ago, and he's barely taken it off since. “It makes you look like a moron.”
“Don't say that to your little brother!” Mom hisses.
Stevie scowls at me, so I stick my tongue out at him. In response, he sticks his middle finger up, although of course he does it when Mom isn't looking.
“Grow up,” I tell him as I start putting some jam on my toast.
“What's that smell?” Mom asks, suddenly coming over and sniffing me. “Annie, you realize you need to take a shower before you go to work, don't you? You smell like...” She leans closer and sniffs my shoulder. “You smell awful!”
“Thank you, mother,” I reply, gently pushing her away so that there's no chance of her seeing the bite on my neck. “I know the basic rules of hygiene. I'm going to shower after I've eaten, then I'm going into town, and then I've got a ten hour overnight shift at the restaurant. I'm going to be fine, I just...”
Looking down at my hands, I realize that they're shaking slightly, but I quickly manage to get them back under control.
“I'm going to be fine,” I add, as much for my own benefit as for her. “I just need to get on with things. Don't worry, I'll text you later if -”
Stopping suddenly, I think back to when I woke up just now. I knew something looked wrong with my nightstand, and now I realize what it was.
“My phone,” I say, before letting out a long, irritated sigh. “Where's my phone?”
Chapter Five
Something feels odd today. About the town, I mean. As I walk along Main Street in the afternoon sun, I can't help but notice that there aren't so many people around. Not that Middlewych is exactly a bustling hive of activity at the best of times, but today it's as if almost everyone has decided to stay home. I swear, the vibe out here today is really peculiar and I'm officially creeped out.
Damn, I almost forgot. I swore to stop using the word 'officially' like that.
***
“I've got this one,” Wally says as he holds up a dirty, scratched old phone that looks like it must be at least ten years old. “It's pretty basic, but it's within your price range and it'll do all the necessaries. It just doesn't run apps. And the camera's not too good. And sometimes the sound doesn't work.”
“Is this really the only one under twenty dollars?” I ask, taking the phone and trying to muster some enthusiasm. I'm not a tech geek, but I'd like something that doesn't seem like it could have belonged to Fred Flintstone.
“What happened to your old one?” he asks. “You know, I can try to trace it online. Maybe save you all this time and bother.”
“Thanks, but I already tried,” I tell him. “I turned it off when -”
Stopping mid-sentence, I realize that I must be getting a little confused. I don't actually remember what happened to my phone, but I know for certain that I didn't lose it while I was getting chased up a tree by a wolf. That memory is somehow fake, it's just a dream that's broken through and started to seem weirdly real, but there's no way I'm going to go down the rabbit hole of even considering the possibility that any of that stuff happened last night. I'll figure the truth out eventually, and for now I'm just glad that I seem to have made it home without anything too awful occurring.
“There's another one,” Wally mutters under his breath.
Realizing that he's looking out the window, I turn just in time to see a black car driving slowly past. The windows are tinted, so it's impossible to see who's inside.
“They're jittery after last night,” Wally adds, grabbing his phone and starting to tap away excitedly. “Whatever happened out there, they're not happy.”
“Out where?” I ask, before remembering that Wally's into all that conspiracy nonsense. “Right,” I say with a sigh, “you mean -”
“The secret military base that they insist isn't real,” he says, still tapping furiously at his phone. “There was a strange light coming from that direction during the night, for about three hours.”
“There was?” I reply, thinking back to the light on the horizon in my dream.
“Everyone's buzzing about it online,” he explains. “There are lots of theories, but I'm still sticking with mine. There was some kind of accident out there and they struggled to contain it. This morning, those black cars have been going around town making some kind of show, like they want to remind everyone to mind their own business. Either that, or they're looking for something. Either way, people have noticed. Didn't you see the streets today? Almost no-one's going out. People in Middlewych know when to keep themselves hidden away.”
“There's no military base outside Middlewych,” I tell him. “There's an old airfield, and -”
“The military base is underneath the airfield,” he replies, interrupting me.
“There's absolutely no proof of that,” I reply. “Wally, seriously, people have been going on about this kind of stuff for decades. If there was a secret base out there, don't you think somebody would have at least a scrap of proof?”
“They know how to cover their tracks. They use Area 51 as a distraction, to make everyone think that's where they keep their dirty little secrets, but the real stuff's in places like the M.M.C.”
“M.M.C.?”
“Middlewych Military Compound.”
I can't help rolling my eyes.
“Do you not read my blog, Annie?” he asks. “I can check, you know. I bet I can dig out your IP address, and then I can compare it to a list of everyone who visits. Are you not interested in what's happening in your home area?”
“If there's a secret base out there,” I reply, “then why are people from that base driving around in town, in really suspicious-looking black cars? That doesn't seem like something they'd do if they want to stay out of sight. It's like they're begging for attention.”
“Classic intimidation tactics.”
“You've got an answer for everything, haven't you?” I say, before taking ten dollars from my pocket. “This is all I have, and I really need a phone. Wally, so can you cut me a deal? I'm one of your oldest customers.”
“You're really not,” he tells me, “not by a long-shot.” He pauses, before taking the note and sliding the phone toward me. “People like you need to take their heads out of the sand, Annie Mackenzie,” he continues. “The truth's right out there, waiting to be discovered, and we're expected to sit here like good little sheep and not ask questions. Did The X-Files teach you nothing?”
“What's The X-Files?” I ask.
“You're so disgustingly young,” he grumbles. “Now, please, get out of my shop before I regret giving you such a good deal.”
“Is the phone charged?”
“Don't push me.” He pauses. “There's probably enough to turn it on, but n
o more.”
As I head back out onto the sidewalk, I see one of the black cars parked up ahead and I have to admit that it looks pretty creepy. I still don't believe for one second that some kind of secret military organization would go driving around in those things, but somebody definitely wants to not be seen by passersby. As I get closer to the car, I can't help looking at the windows, but of course I can't see in at all.
Yeah, definitely a little on the creepy side.
Suddenly hearing the crackle of a walkie-talkie, I glance over toward the candy store and see a man listening to some kind of radio handset. He's wearing a dark suit and dark glasses, like he stepped straight out of a movie about creepy government agents, and he glances toward me as I walk past. I feel like I should look away, but somehow his gaze feels almost like a challenge, and it takes me a few seconds before I force myself to focus on the sidewalk ahead.
Behind me, the radio crackles again.
“We'll be back soon,” the guy says, keeping his voice low. “There's nothing to see here.”
More crackling sounds emerge from the radio.
“Repeat that,” the guy says. “The signal just dropped. I think there was some kind of temporary interference.”
I can't help but smile. There's just no way that any kind of government guy would be standing out there in broad daylight, talking into a radio about secret business. With his black car, the guy stands out like a sore thumb here in Middlewych, and I can't help thinking that someone's trying to play some kind of prank. Why would they do that? I have no idea, but people are weird and as I take a seat on a bench and try to switch the phone on, I figure that there's no point trying to understand. I'm not -
“What the -”
Sparks flash from the phone, and I toss it to the ground just as the battery section explodes. I'd barely even touched the button to power the damn thing on, and it went off like a bomb. Checking my hands, I realize that I can feel a faint burning sensation, but at least there's not too much damage. The phone's smoking slightly on the ground, and I'm not sure it's safe to touch, so I figure I'll wait until all the smoke is gone. Then I'll go straight back to the store and get Wally to compensate me with a better model.
Sighing, I lean back on the bench and take a deep breath in the early afternoon sun. As the black car drives slowly past, I can't help thinking that this is one of the weirdest days of my life. I always used to want a little excitement, but right now I'll be happy when everything gets back to normal and Middlewych is boring again.
Chapter Six
“Hey, Mackenzie,” Dean says as I walk past him in the kitchen at work, “you seem kinda slow this afternoon. Are you hungover or something?”
“Not hungover,” I reply, setting a case of sausages on the counter and then opening the lid. “Just focusing on getting things done.”
“Good,” he says, “because we had a message last week from Moolio's corporate division, and they're cracking down hard on employees who under-perform because of out-of-hours activities.”
“What exactly does that mean?” I ask.
“It means that we've been ordered to no longer tolerate anyone who's clearly under the effects of substances when they arrive for their shift.” He comes over to join me, and for a moment he watches me taking the sausages out and placing them on a tray. “No alcohol, and no drugs, within forty-eight hours of a shift starting. Is that clear?”
“I don't drink,” I reply, “and I certainly don't take drugs.”
“And you need to get a good night's sleep.”
“I always do.”
“So what were you doing last night? Out at a party?”
“Dean -”
“I know what goes on at those parties,” he continues. “I hear stories. You kids get up to weird stuff, don't you? There's no need to lie to me, I'm in on all this stuff. I bet you've got videos of all sorts of crazy shit.”
“They're usually pretty boring, actually,” I tell him.
“I don't believe that for a second.”
I wait for him to go away and do something else, but he's loitering like a bad smell and I'm starting to think that he's not quite ready to leave me alone. Dean's always been a little creepy, and I was warned a long time ago to keep my distance, but as my supervisor he's technically entitled to monitor my work and watch everything that I do.
And then, looking down at the sausages, I suddenly feel the hunger again. It's similar to earlier, except that this time I don't think it has anything to do with blood. Dazed and a little befuddled, I stare down at the sausages and I start to realize that I can smell something strong and pungent wrapped up tight in those little casings. It's not the meat that's attracting my attention, necessarily; instead, I swear I can sense some pieces of brain material mixed in with the ingredients, and it's the brain material that I want. I want it all, and I want it raw, and I want it now.
“If you have any videos from last night,” Dean says suddenly, “I need to see them. To make sure that you're complying with the new directive.”
“I need to go and empty the trash,” I reply, turning and hurrying toward the back door, and hoping very much that he won't follow. The hunger has already subsided, although I'm a little startled by how suddenly it came on. I think I really need some fresh air.
***
Hauling another can across the yard, I head around the back of the restaurant and make my way toward the big dumpsters lined up against the wall. This is my least favorite part of the job, but at least it takes a while and that means I can avoid Dean while he – hopefully – finds someone else to bother.
I stop for a moment to open the dumpster's lid, and then I start to lift the can up so that I can empty out the contents.
“What the -”
Suddenly I see a face staring out at me from deep in the dumpster. There's a guy in there, about my age, buried neck-deep in all the muck and garbage that's been thrown out of the restaurant over the past couple of days. And then, just when I start to worry that he's dead, he blinks as he continues to stare at me. I honestly don't know what to say, but this guy doesn't look like one of the typical dumpster divers we were warned about a while ago.
“What are you doing in there?” I stammer finally.
“Nothing,” he replies.
“You're not allowed... I mean, you're really not allowed to be in there.”
“I know,” he says, “and I'm sorry. I just couldn't help noticing all the food in here.”
“It's all past its date,” I tell him.
“Is that bad?”
“It means we could get in trouble if you got sick from eating it.”
“Why would I get sick from eating it?” He sighs. “It's not like I'm having much fun, anyway,” he adds. “I've got a painful gum, so chewing really hurts.”
Looking back toward the door, I realize that Dean's going to go nuts if he sees what's happening. I glance up at the cameras, which I assume are functioning, but I tell myself that Dean won't go through the footage unless he has a reason.
“You have to get out of here,” I tell the guy. “Now.”
“Okay.”
I wait, but he's still staring at me.
“So get out!” I hiss finally.
“Can you turn your back?”
“Why?”
Before he can answer, I realize that his shoulders are bare, and that the rest of him is hidden by all the trash.
“Are you -”
“It's not ideal,” he says, interrupting me. “Listen, I don't particularly feel like explaining. If you just turn around, I can get out of here.”
“And go where?” I ask.
“Does that matter?”
“You can't go out like that,” I tell him.
“I can't stay here.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“Long story.”
I hesitate for a moment, before realizing that there's one thing I can do to help.
“Wait right here,” I tell him as I head to the
back door. “Don't go anywhere. Seriously. Stay in the trash for a couple more minutes.”
This whole situation is ridiculous and, as I slip back into the building, I realize that I seriously have to make sure that Dean doesn't spot me. Luckily, I hear him speaking to someone on the phone in his office, so I'm able to sneak into the storage room and grab some uniforms from the shelf. Dean will totally realize that we're one set of clothes down at some point, but I happen to know that the cameras in this room haven't been working for at least six months. Guessing at the right size, I take a shirt and some pants, and I grab a burger from the grill in the kitchen, and then I slip back out and hurry to the dumpster.
He's still there.
That's good, I guess.
“You can take these,” I tell him, reaching in with the clothes, “but then you've gotta get out of here. If my boss sees you, he'll bust a blood vessel.”
“Thank you,” he replies, taking the uniform.
“Do you live round here?” I ask.
“I don't really know how to answer that question,” he says. “I think you were right, though. I should get out of here.”
“I got you this, too,” I tell him, holding out the burger. “It's not much but, hey, it's not trash either. You don't mind meat, do you?”
“Thanks.” He pauses, as if he's waiting for something.
“Oh, right,” I say finally, as I realize that he still needs me to give him some privacy. I balance the burger on the edge of the dumpster, and then I take a step back. “Please don't let my boss see you,” I add. “And if he does see you, please don't tell him that I helped you. I'm already on, like, my fifty warning.”
