by Jones, K. J.
Syanna said, “Wake up, sugar. Time to eat.”
Another shake. Rebecca stirred. She sat up. The girls stepped back. She looked hideous. Worse than normal bad when sick in bed and not showering.
They masked their disgust with smiles.
“Hi,” Phebe said. “We’ve been worried about you. How do you feel?”
Rebecca looked at them, then around the room. They watched. Her face did not show recognition.
“We brought you some water.” Phebe took it from Syanna. “Can you drink a little for us?” She sat at the side of the bed.
Rebecca’s gaze locked on the water.
“You need to hydrate, sugar,” said Syanna.
Phebe brought the water to Rebecca. “Just a little –”
Rebecca went spastic. She knocked the water away. It spilled on her comforter. She backed away from the spill, wide eyed, appearing terrified.
“Whoa,” uttered Syanna.
“Okay,” said Phebe. “Uhm. We’ll just leave you to sleeping then.” Her eyes implored Syanna.
“We’ll be here, if you need us, sugar. Just holler.”
They scooted out, closing the door.
“What was that?” asked Phebe.
“I know I get grumpy when I’m sick, but that was ridiculous.”
“We need to get her to the hospital or something.”
“Should we call an ambulance?”
“I don’t know,” said Phebe. “Let’s call our moms and ask them what we should do.”
2.
Phebe and Syanna shopped at Walmart, along with what appeared to be half the population of the Greater Wilmington area. Everyone wore face masks and eyed each other with suspicion. Carts overflowed with non-perishables. Some people had two, even three carts, loaded to the top. The non-refrigerated milk sold out. Large shelves of bottled watered stood cavernous in their emptiness. People behaved worse than when a big hurricane had been predicted. They didn’t usually hit the condensed milk and granola. Some people had print out lists in hand from survivalist websites. They had become preppers.
The girls grabbed the last of the batteries, and an old lady sneered at them for it.
“We’re never gonna afford all this,” Phebe complained, as she pushed a full cart.
“We’ll charge it, sugar. We won’t have to pay for it. Money will mean nothing soon.”
“You’re insane, Sye.”
“Am I? Look around. At what point does American cheese slices sell out? It never goes bad. It’s not even food.”
“And if the end of the world doesn’t come and I can’t afford the credit card bill, what do I get to do to you?”
“You can say you are right. For once.”
Screams emanated from the back of the store.
“What’s that sound?” asked Phebe.
A mass of running footsteps.
“Oh Lord,” said Syanna.
Everyone in their aisle froze.
“Zombie!” voices yelled.
Their aisle broke into a mad panic.
Syanna yelped and ran to Phebe. The panicked aisle crowd ran towards them. They grasped each other’s hands. There was no choice but to run ahead of them or be trampled by them. Forced into the main aisle, a wave of humanity pushed against them. Aisle displays smashed apart. Feet trampled cereal boxes and bags of potato chips. Dip jars shattered. They cleaved to each other, trying to hold together. Crushed by people at the sides and pushed from the back into the people in front of them. The sounds of screams deafening. Beneath their feet, they could feel they were stepping on people who had fallen. There was no way to stop. The wave swept them to the front and out the open automated doors.
They found themselves outside in the parking lot and breathing cool, unrestrictive air. They headed to Syanna’s SUV. When another danger confronted them. Hysterical people getting behind the wheel. The girls played dodge ball with crazed drivers until they reached the safety of the SUV.
Inside, the doors locked, they held each other until they stopped shaking. It was the most terrifying thing either had ever experienced.
And there was not a frothing at the mouth person in sight.
An hour of shopping, and they left the parking lot with nothing but bruises and frayed nerves. Undoubtedly, people had been seriously injured, if not killed, in the panic.
“Slow down,” Phebe order Syanna, as they drove towards home.
“Sorry.” Syanna eased off the gas. “I’m shattered. I need a drink.”
“You and me both.”
“Think there’s shit happening at the ABC store?”
The ABC store was the only place North Carolinians could buy hard liquor.
“It’s at least a smaller store,” responded Phebe.
“We’ll just get drunk for the End Times.”
“Oh, they missed that part in Walking Dead. All the drunk people.”
“Probably confused them for zombies.”
They looked at each other, and the laughter erupted.
Syanna whooped, “Zombie apocalypse, here we come.”
The credit card was hit with vodka, gin, and dark rum, plus mixers. They may not have restocked bottled water, but they had tonic.
On the drive home, Syanna clicked on the radio. She heard an ad and quickly hit the next station button. They caught a Rolling Stones song, and they sang along.
“Jumpin’ Jack Flash.”
It cut off abruptly.
“What the …” Syanna reached for the buttons. A sound came through the speakers. Her hand retracted. They knew that sound. Everyone in America for decades knew that sound. It usually ended with “This was a test of the emergency broadcast system. This is only a test.”
When the alert stopped, a voice said:
“This is an emergency alert for the Greater Wilmington, North Carolina area. This is not a test. The governor of North Carolina has declared a state of emergency. All residents within the receiving range of this message are ordered to return immediately to their homes and to not leave their homes until instructed. Lock all first-floor doors and windows. All non-vital businesses are hereby ordered to close and send all employees home immediately. All residents with outdoor pets are advised to bring in these pets. Stay on this station for further updates.”
Ahead of the SUV, vehicles lined up at a gas station. Cars from the other side of the road kamikazed across traffic to get in. The line quickly went beyond the apron into the street.
Syanna changed lanes to avoid them.
By the time they reached home, a DJ was on, giving more information.
“Folks, board up your first-floor windows like a hurricane coming. Nobody’s telling us what exactly is going on, but we all know things have been getting really weird. There’s crazy people running around town. Yesterday’s cop shooting of a cannibal is not the only one anymore. There’s real bad things happening. So bad that the governors of here and of South Carolina have declared the Carolinas a state of emergency. Expect National Guard, I’m hearing. So help is coming to back up our police. Just get your families safe. And bring in the cat and dog.”
Syanna turned off the engine. They sat there a long moment, staring at their two-story rental, feeling far away from the safety and comfort of their families.
By the time they lugged in their bags of booze and locked the dead bolt, their cell phones rang. Their parents had heard the state of the emergency report on their local news.
Phebe’s mother demanded Phebe leave for New York immediately. No excuses. Get in the car and start driving. Syanna’s parents told her she should not come home to Georgia. She’d have to drive through South Carolina and it was not safe.
“We’ll go to New York then,” Phebe said to Syanna. “It’s Interstate Forty to Ninety-five. We’ll be in Virginia in a few hours. But we have to bring Rebecca to the hospital.”
Syanna had herself wrapped in a throw blanket on the couch, sipping a gin and tonic. “It’s crazy out there. Where’s that stupid ambulance we called,
like, forever ago?”
“What else do we do?”
“Like the news said, stay home. Board up the windows.”
“We don’t have plywood. We always left for hurricanes. Campus always closed. We went to Boone the last time.”
“The mountains were beautiful. We had a good time.”
“Stay focused, Sye.”
“On what?”
“Becks isn’t getting better. You saw her. We have to do something.”
“Call Matty. He’ll know what to do. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Are you just shutting down or what?”
“I don’t have a clue what to do anymore, Phebe. This is above my pay grade.”
“Wow. Okay. Take a nap. I’m going for a jog. Maybe it’ll clear my head and I can figure out what to do. Maybe it’s my pay grade.”
“Out there?”
“Nothing’s happening in our neighborhood. It’s quiet. I won’t go far.”
“You’re crazy. Whatever. Carry a big stick.”
3.
“Are they going to suspend you?” Officer Jimbo Conway asked Sergeant Brown in the corridor of the police station.
Officer Mazy Baptiste smiled to them as she passed.
“No,” Brown answered Jimbo. “Not in a state of emergency like we are.” He called, “Baptiste?”
“What’s up?” Mazy asked.
“How’s Johnson?”
Her face fell from happy to serious. “They won’t release her from the hospital.”
“Why the hell not?” Brown asked. “It’s just a bad bite.”
She shrugged. Her phone went off. Looking at the screen, “Oh, God, it’s my mama.”
“Uh-oh,” said Brown, a smile breaking up his face. “Better answer Mama.”
She looked at Jimbo. “Bet she seen the news.”
“I’d let it go to voicemail,” said Jimbo.
“Can’t.”
“Best. Roll call’s less than a minute. They’re gonna be telling us about the National Guard coming in.” He moved to kiss her on the cheek.
She backed away, looking at him like he’s crazy. “We’re at work.”
Brown laughed. “Best kept secret everybody knows about, y’all.”
4.
When all the doors upstairs were closed, it was as dark as night. Only the dim illumination of the bathroom nightlight to see by. That’s what Syanna Lynn walked into after her nap. Wrapped up in a big pink robe, she neglected to turn on her bedroom light. She bumped into the bathroom door frame in her grogginess before entering.
As the toilet finished flushing, she opened the door and flicked off the bathroom light. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark. But her feet knew the route back to her room.
A growl.
She froze in mid-step. The little hairs stood on end. She did not want to look.
A movement sound.
“Oh Jesus, not again.”
The end of the hall was pitch black, but growling came from it.
She inched her way to her bedroom, hoping this was a dream. If she moved slow enough, maybe reality would reestablish without scaring her.
The monster shrieked. She turned in time to see a human form burst from the dark into the dim lighting. It charged at her.
She screamed and kicked it. It stumbled back. But regrouped and lunged at her. Her feet ran for her room. The monster grabbed her by the robe. Sash released. The rope dropped.
It seized her and tossed her down the hall towards the stairs.
She rolled over on the carpet at the bathroom threshold. Hair covered its face. A grotesque mouth came down at her. She kicked both feet up into its face. The monster stumbled back.
She rushed to stand. The monster on her too fast. It lifted her up and slammed her against the wall. She saw stars. A fist came down on her head. Her knees gave. She felt phlegm dripping onto her bare shoulder.
Fight-or-flight to max.
She hard-kicked its leg. The knee gave. She ducked the monster's arms and stood. Bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come on!”
The monster screamed and attacked. She jumped up and grasshopper kicked it in the face. It stumbled back, shaking its head from a broken nose. She side-kicked it in the stomach, knocking it back more.
A roar escaped her lips. She dove at it. Both feet struck its stomach. She dropped straight down onto the carpet. Her hands braced the fall.
The monster teetered at the top of the stairs. Arms flapping.
She scurried to her feet and kicked it.
“Die, fucking monster!”
It went over. A second later, the thud of hitting the foyer tiles. The crunch of bones.
Syanna laughed. “Son of a bitch, got you.” She hit the light switch and triumphantly looked down the stairs.
Her face dropped. She screamed, “No!”
Phebe unlocked and opened the front door. It hit something. She looked to see what was obstructing the passage.
Her face filled with shock. She looked up the stairs to Syanna.
“What happened?” Phebe dropped to her knees. “What happened?”
She checked Rebecca’s neck for a pulse. Dark blood pooled around her head. Her eyes stared unblinking. Phebe watched her chest for breath, then began CPR.
“It was the monster,” Syanna wailed.
Tears dripped off Phebe’s cheeks. “C’mon, Becks, breathe.” She stopped compressions and moved to give mouth-to-mouth.
Syanna tore down the stairs. She knocked Phebe away.
“What the …” Phebe fell backwards.
“She’s sick.” Syanna’s voice uncharacteristically low and serious, sounding older than her years. Her small, manicured finger pointed to Rebecca’s mouth. “Look.”
Drying foam surrounded Rebecca’s brutally chapped lips. Snot dried from her nose. Her skin looked gray.
Phebe scurried backwards. “Oh my God.”
“The monster was Becks all along.”
Syanna turned and walked into the kitchen. She made a tall glass of gin and tonic, with mostly gin.
Phebe sat and watched her roommate die. She hugged her legs and sobbed.
With her large G&T, Syanna skirted around the body and walked upstairs. She came back down with a sheet under one arm and the pink gun in her hand. She placed drink and gun down and covered Rebecca with the sheet. Then took up drink and gun and walked away.
In the kitchen, Syanna gathered her dissertation research materials in her arms, library books and all. Opening the back door, she threw it out in a flutter of loose-leaf papers. She closed and locked the door. Then sat at the table and drank, gun close by, wiping at her tears.
5.
Matt Gleason walked into his apartment, keys in hand and a small gym bag hanging off his shoulder. After a double shift, twelve-hours each, with merely cat naps between, he was looking forward to beer and dinner. Followed by glorious sleep. His roommate Tom, a pothead, watched TV in the living room portion of the great room.
“How's Jeremiah?” asked Matt from the kitchen.
“Don't know,” Tom responded, prone on the couch.
Matt dropped his keys on the counter and bag on the floor. “When was the last time you checked on him?”
“I heard him moving around in there. Maybe he was praying.”
Jeremiah was their Christian missionary roommate. An oil-and-water relationship. Matt usually had to referee.
Matt looked at the closed bedroom door. As the TV went black and quiet for a moment, he heard Jeremiah moving around and his cough. So he went to the fridge for that beer and to peruse the food inventory.
“You know we’re in a state of emergency,” Tom said.
“Yeah.”
As he backed out of the fridge with his beer, Matt heard Jeremiah's bedroom door open. “Hey, Jeremiah.” He popped the tab. Jeremiah stood in the bedroom doorway, the room behind dark.
Matt saw the flash of him dash across the living room. His beer hand lowered as his brows scowled. Jeremiah ta
ckled Tom, punching him with spastic, wild abandonment.
“Shit.” Matt put down the can of beer on the counter. He hurried into the living room.
Tom screamed. His arms up and legs pulled in to block the steady, spastic blows.
Matt closed in on Jeremiah's back. He tried to haul him off the pothead. But Jeremiah did not give. Tom slid onto the floor. Jeremiah had Tom's raised forearm in his mouth. Matt yanked Jeremiah back with all his strength, for it took all of it. Jeremiah was shorter than him by six inches and nearly half the weight, none of which was muscle. Yet Matt struggled. Once getting him off Tom, Matt turned and threw him face first into the wall. Blood smeared on the white paint. Jeremiah turned around, blood and saliva dripping off his chin. His nose and eyes ran. His eyes with pupils so dilated, they looked otherworldly and insane. His body shook as a super charged, revved up engine would.
“Ease down, buddy,” Matt said in a soothing voice, as if talking to a panicked horse. His hands raised for both the gesture of calm and to defend himself if need be. “Just ease down there.”
Jeremiah blinked. The grimace of his mouth relaxed. His eyes returned to normal.
Tom rushed to the kitchen. He grabbed a wad of paper towels and shoved them onto his blood-dripping forearm. “Fucking bit me!”
“Shh,” Matt reprimanded. “He's had a flu blackout.”
“That's a flu blackout? He's on that drug!”
Jeremiah, appearing like himself again, looked around bewildered. Slowly, his eyes went to Matt. “What …? How'd I …?” He turned to look at his dark bedroom, trying to remember getting out of bed and coming into the living room. Then back, wondering why Matt stared at him. He turned to the kitchen and saw Tom glared at him. Bloodied paper towels held to his arm. “What happened?”
“You just had an H1N3 blackout,” said Matt. “It's alright now.”
Jeremiah touched his mouth. “Why am I bleeding?”
“Probably just got a busted lip is all.”
Jeremiah's voice raised in panic, “Why is there so much blood!”
