by Sean Platt
“What’s going on?” Ken said, pushing past one of the SWAT team and trying to join Jade and Teagan. “You’re not taking them anywhere.”
“On your knees!” one of the SWAT team yelled at Ken, rifle aimed.
Ken’s eyes were wide, face panicked, as he stepped back, “Please, just tell me what’s going on! Where are you taking them?”
“On your knees!” the same SWAT man yelled out.
“Fuck you!” Ken spit out.
The man fired the rifle once, straight into Ken’s head, and he dropped like a rag doll.
Teagan and Jade screamed as the woman pushed them toward the open doors of the waiting van. To see Ken shot right in front of them like that was nothing short of surreal. That they would kill someone so easily meant that now anything was possible. Including government soldiers who kidnap you for your baby.
“Fuckers!” Jade cried, trying to break free, and run to Ken.
Another SWAT man swung a nightstick into the small of Jade’s back, and she fell to the ground in a heap. Teagan’s head was spinning in indecision. She wanted to help Jade, but hands were on her, pushing her, and she couldn’t risk the baby. Everything was happening so fast.
Jade struggled to get up, and the SWAT man hit her again, this time in the ribs, and she screamed. Teagan was being pulled farther away, toward the open back of a separate black van. The world spun as Teagan’s feet threatened to betray her and cause her to stumble to the ground; she reached out for support, someone to hold.
She fell into the woman in the Hazmat suit, looked up at the woman’s face, cold, sterile behind the glass dome.
“Please, don’t hurt my baby,” she said, before passing out.
Sixty-Three
Boricio Wolfe
Oct. 19
3:15 a.m.
Somewhere in Alabama
“So, either of you scrawny fuckers get your dicks wet yet?”
Boricio tore down the darkened dead highway in the armored truck, trying not to notice the nothing seeping in from everywhere while doing his best to keep himself entertained. Entertaining himself wasn’t easy with two passengers who had yet to unzip their flies and give life a decent pounding.
Silence from the back seat.
“What, no stories? Don’t tell me I’m trying to make an almighty pyramid of tip-top fuckers with two bitches at the bottom. I don’t give a fat fuck with fairy wings if you went dipping your fingers into Mayonnaise Mary every other Monday, or the best you ever had was emptying your pecker into your sister’s dirty panties; I want a story. Now,” he said, turning to the boys in the back, “who wants to go first?”
Before either could answer, Boricio said. “Never mind. Fuck you both. I’ll go first. You two think of your stories, then conjure ways to make ‘em not suck while I tell mine.”
Boricio turned his eyes back to the road and began telling his tale.
“I was 13, and no, I ain’t embarrassed to admit it took me that long before I was moving out of Palmdale.” Boricio cackled and slapped the wheel. “I was at my cousin Charlie’s for a kegger. And yeah,” Boricio caught Charlie’s eyes in the rearview, “his name was Charlie, too, except he wasn’t no faggot. He liked pussy, and loved to talk about it. He was my mom’s oldest brother’s kid, a real asshole and about as sharp as a fucking marble, but he hated my old man and looked out for me, which was plenty more than just about anyone else did or wanted to do at that point in my life. So, I was with him one weekend, like I was a few times a year, and he was having one of his Big Gulp-sized soirees at the apartment. It was packed with people. To this day I don’t know what they were smoking in there; I was only allowed a little because Chuck said it was expensive. But one hit was all I needed to Fuck. Me. Up. BAM! I was out like unpaid electric.”
Boricio turned to the backseat. “Y’all listening back there? I’m dishing some primetime entertainment; it’d be nice to see ya’ on the edges of your seats.”
Adam and Charlie laughed, then they both slid forward in their seats.
“Much better!” Boricio slapped the empty passenger seat. “So, I woke up who knows how in the fuck much longer later, with a mountain of empty cups all around me and a bag of hammers pounding in my head, and the speakers Chuck ripped off from City of Strings blaring full blast and making it worse. They were playing … ah, what’s that song, what’s that song ... ” Boricio snapped his fingers then looked to the back seat. “Ah, like you’d fucking know. This was way before your mamas were trying to decide whether they should swallow you or take you in their honeypot.” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Groove Is in the Heart!” he said.
He turned to the back seat. “You ever hear that one?”
Both boys shook their heads.
“Well, believe you me,” Boricio said, “it’s a ripe fucking oldie. Anyway,” he went on, “the inside of my head was practically bleeding, and for some reason I didn’t have no shirt on. Whatever I smoked had fucked up my vision because I couldn't see shit in front of me. I stumbled into the bathroom and puked up everything I had in me. Soon as I was empty, I stumbled back into the bedroom and fell asleep. When I woke up, it felt like just a few minutes later, and I could hear the sound of my zipper coming down. I tried to look up, but couldn't because my head was swimming. Before I knew it, some bitch’s mouth was all on me. I don’t know how many times I’d put mayo on my own knuckle sandwich before that, but there it was, shit happening to me in 3-D. I had an angle on my dangle in no time. I took off her shirt and started kissing her like I saw people do in the movies. She tasted like ash or asshole, but I didn’t care — I was about to FUCK.”
“So, what happened?” Charlie was practically in the front seat, eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. Adam’s mouth was open and eyes wide.
“Well, she went down and put my entire meatsicle in her mouth. I couldn't believe that shit neither; figured I’d wake up any second with my sheets all wet, but sure enough, she just kept on painting the fence, while I lay on the bed squealing like a piglet. Finally she said, ‘You wanna cum inside me?’ I said, ‘Hell yeah!’, then she sat on me. But that was that; I was barely inside before the baby batter was leaking back out.”
“That was it?” Adam said.
“Yeah … except the round of applause. Turned out, Chuck and all his fucking ape friends were in the room watching, maybe 10 of them, and I never even noticed.”
Charlie and Adam started laughing.
“Did I tell you it was some fuckin’ story, or what? Okay, Adam, your turn.” Boricio turned to Adam. “When’s the first time you chopped down the cherry tree?”
Adam looked embarrassed, but knew there was no getting out of the story. “I was 16, and it happened at the park. I’ve never been allowed to have people over to the house, but there was a girl I really liked named Rebecca, and we were in the same group for our sophomore-year history project. I can’t really call her my girlfriend because we never really went out or anything, but I knew she liked me and I liked her. One day school let out early, and my parents didn’t know, so we went to the park to work on our project together. She asked if I wanted to ‘do it,’ but I didn’t think it was the best idea because I always felt like my dad was right behind me even when he was nowhere around. But as soon as she said it, I was hard as a rock. Then she started blowing in my ear and rubbing my pants. Even though I was scared, I finally stammered, ‘Okay,’ and we went across the street and climbed into the back of her old Corolla. It only lasted a few minutes. And it was definitely better than all the ‘practice’ I’d done at home, but not at all like I thought it would feel. She told me I’d done great. I didn’t want to go home, so we sat in the backseat talking for a couple of hours. I ended up getting home later than usual, and my dad walloped the shit out of me.”
“Least you pounded some pussy before your dad pounded you!” Boricio said.
“Yeah,” Adam nodded, though he looked far away.
“So?” Boricio said, “You bang her again?”
Boricio shook his head, then looked in the mirror at Charlie. “How about you, Charlie Brown? When’s the first time you got to bumpin’ uglies?”
“I’m still a virgin,” Charlie said, slightly red-faced. “I used to really like this one girl named Josie, but ever since she started hanging out with Shayanne and the rest of the Bitch Clique, she started giving me the ugly eye. But fuck her, anyway. Like Adam, my stepdad rarely let me leave the house without a detailed explanation, so I didn’t have much of an opportunity.”
Boricio erupted into laughter. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s it. Couldn't be ‘cuz you’re gangly as a fucking Gomer and it looks like you wash your face in fried chicken!” Boricio tilted the rearview and met Charlie’s eyes. “You know I’m just fucking with you, right? This is how Team Boricio bonds, bitch! Now, since you ain’t gonna tell any tall tales about twat, why don’t you spin us a story or two about what a fucker your old man is.”
“Nah,” Charlie said. “Nobody wants to hear that.”
“Yeah, we do,” Adam said, probably wanting to change the conversation to something less embarrassing for both of them.
“Bob wasn’t nearly as bad as Adam’s dad; mostly he just liked to humiliate me as often as he could. Called me Nancy, Mary, even Melinda — any girl’s name he could think of, really. Anything he could do to bring me down a peg while elevating himself. When he wasn’t calling me a girl, he’d call me gay, faggot, and other shit like that.”
“And your mom let him talk like that to you?” Boricio asked.
“No, he usually wore his nicest face around my mom. She knew he gave me a hard time, but not the extent of it. And to make matters worse, he’d convinced her it was for my own good. Like he was doing me some kind of fucking favor! And though he didn’t really smack me around, except for a few occasions, there was this one time he scared the shit out of me. My mom was out with her girlfriend Colleen, all day for a mid-life makeover as Colleen called it, and Bob told me that if I didn’t scrub the trash cans inside-out, which he’d promised my mom he would do while she was gone, he would take me out to the woods and do what he should have done the day he met my mom. He said ‘ain't nobody gonna hear you scream out there,’ so yeah, he never put my hand in a garbage disposal or nothing, but he was a Grade-A fucker for sure.”
Charlie collapsed to the back of his seat.
“Funny thing is, I think I would’ve been able to tolerate Bob if he hadn’t been such an asshole to my mom. But he treated her like total shit, always tearing her down and making her feel small. She used to be fun, before Bob. You can call me a pussy, but she was probably my best friend before she met him. And over time, he sucked her dry, took her joy and turned it into fear and emotional slavery.”
The truck was quiet for nearly a full minute, when Boricio glanced in the rearview and said, “Pussy.”
Charlie closed his eyes and then burst into laughter. Adam joined, and the three of them laughed for about half a mile. Ahead, was a gas station. Lights out, nobody home. Boricio parked, then turned back to Charlie and Adam.
“Most of the world’s fuckers are dead,” he said. “But, Charlie, it looks like you got yourself a raw deal with your personal fucker making it through the apocalypse and then taking your bitch on top of it. How would you feel about the three of us gentlemen paying a friendly visit to dear Ole Bob?”
Sixty-Four
Luis Torres
Oct. 17
6:40 a.m.
East Hampton, New York
Brent, Jane, and Emily stared out the window as the ferry’s lights sliced through the morning fog. The ferry wasn’t supposed to resume until 8 a.m. but the clock read 6:40 a.m.
“It’s time to go,” Brent said, turning to Luis.
“I dunno,” he said, “Something’s weird. Ferry wasn’t supposed to show until 8.”
“Maybe they’re early,” Brent said, “Or maybe 8 is the departure time, but they board early.”
No, something was wrong. Luis felt it in his gut.
“I dunno,” Luis said. “I say we wait a bit.”
“What are you talking about?” Brent said. “You think aliens commandeered a ferry?”
“No, it’s not that,” Luis said, now literally feeling something in his gut. Sharp pain pierced his stomach, causing him to double over. He felt like he had the worst case of food poisoning ever.
“You okay?” Brent asked.
He shook his head, no he was not alright.
He raced up the stairs to the dark, windowless bathroom, then fell to his knees, just making it as his insides flew up and out his throat, then exploded into the toilet. He slammed the door, then reached out and grabbed the flashlight from the sink. He clicked it on, then set it back on the sink, light pointed at the ceiling.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping that was all he had in him. The invisible blades twisted in his stomach another time. He cried out then let loose another explosion into the toilet. The liquid came out thick, like black ropes. He grabbed the flashlight and pointed it into the toilet bowl to see what he’d evacuated. The vomit actually looked like rope. No, not rope. It was moving.
Like worms.
He slammed down the metal toilet handle to flush the mess, then glanced at his arm again. The worms beneath his skin had multiplied. On a whim, he looked at his left arm, which hadn’t been bitten. Worms were racing under his skin there, too. It was spreading throughout his entire body. Infected!
What the hell is in me?!
Outside, Brent knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”
“Go away!” Luis snapped, reaching out and locking the door.
He puked again, then stood, and swung open the mirrored medicine cabinet so hard the mirror shattered.
He scanned the shelves until he found what he was looking for — an old-fashioned razor blade.
Brent banged on the door. “You okay?”
Jesus, this guy is annoying.
“I’ll be out in a bit,” Luis growled, “Go away.”
He grabbed the razor, looked back down at his arm, at the damned fucking worms, and ran the blade across his right forearm.
He clenched through the pain, as blood poured into the sink. His blood was dark amber, almost the color of liquid rust. He set the blade down, and dug two fingers into the open wound, fished for two of the bastard worms, wet and white with streaks of blood, and circled his fingers around them, and pulled. Rather than breaking apart as he feared they would, the worms held as he pulled them like slick noodles from his arm. He pulled six inches, 12, and finally a full 15 inches in length until he’d pulled two entire worms from his body.
He held them up, inspected the heads: a tiny, open mouth, with several needle-like teeth. The worms slithered in his hand, slippery and coated in a mix of blood and black liquid.
Jesus Christ.
He threw the worms into the sink in disgust. They smacked the sink like wet spaghetti, then darted toward the open drain and vanished down into the plumbing.
His mind was in full panic mode, wanting, no, needing to yank every last one of the fuckers from his body. He was about to dig back into his arm when he noticed the wound had begun to heal itself.
Panic receded, replaced by awe as he watched his skin stitch itself together, leaving the wound a memory.
What the fuck am I?
He stared into the mirror, and saw something moving beneath the skin just under his left eye. He closed his lids and leaned forward, letting the top of his head press against the cold mirror.
A knock at the door. Again.
He unlocked the door, yanked it open, and saw Brent.
“What?!” he yelled.
Brent stepped back, eyes wide.
Luis realized he was losing his temper, something he rarely did. He prided himself on remaining calm under any stress. But this was something else. Stress, anger, and fear were dueling for control of his mind … likely along with whatever had invaded his body.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He wasn’t feeling sorry, but knew what he was supposed say. In reality, he felt a sudden urge to hit Brent. Hard. He swallowed it.
Brent said, “We’ve gotta get going. I don’t wanna take a chance that the ferry will leave without us.”
“I’m not going,” Luis said.
“Why not?” Brent’s eyes scanned the bathroom; broken glass, blood, black liquid, and a razor blade. No fooling this reporter. “Oh my God, what happened?”
“Just go; get on the ferry with the girls, and leave.”
“I’m not going without you,” Brent said. “Come on, these people at Black Island can help you.”
“Really? And how do you know that, Mr. Reporter Guy? Is that something your fucking paper wrote about?”
Even though Luis knew he was completely overreacting, he couldn’t help himself. He was getting increasingly pissed each time Brent opened his mouth and didn’t just leave him be. He shouldn’t have to explain himself.
“We need to get you help,” Brent said, eyes meeting Luis’s.
The rage subsided, as quickly as it came, replaced by fear, regret for what he’d said, and a new, bottomless sorrow. Whatever was inside him was fucking with his emotions big time.
“You need to go without me,” Luis said. “Something’s happening. And I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He was on the verge of tears.
“I told you, I’m not leaving you, man. We’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna find our families.”
Luis smiled, unable to meet Brent’s eyes. “That dream, again?” The smile dissolved to tears as he pictured his daughter’s sweet smile. He thought again of their final day together. So many kids these days seemed to be almost born jaded, yet Gracie was still innocent, loving him with a sincerity and openness that melted the walls he’d so carefully built around his heart ... just as her mother had done.
