Elvis was running back and forth across Shelby’s patio, barking at his fallen owner. Shelby was on her back, legs splayed in awkward directions, her bathrobe wrapped around her body. Just to the left of her was a cigarette, still smoldering, and a worn copy of the bible. To her right was a pocket-sized, snub nosed revolver.
Dana felt sick. It was too much.
Too much, too much, too much.
An acrid, sour pit formed at the bottom of her stomach and seemed to grow and grow. The Coopers down the street. Her former student, the pervert, at the Xtra Mart. Earl Ross following her around the Shop-and-Save, salivating over her. Aircraft falling from the sky. And now poor, innocent, eccentric, crazy, peculiar Shelby, frozen at her feet.
Elvis looked up at Dana, raised his tiny head, and wagged his tail repeatedly.
Yap! Yap!
“Come here. Come here, Elvis…” Dana said, and she reached out her arms.
The wild Pomeranian dashed forward, close enough to the patio fence that Dana could lean over and pick him up.
Dana started for the police car when she heard a voice behind her say, “You have more than one?”
She turned around and grinned at what she saw. At the bottom of the building’s steps was Jim. Tucked under his arm was a chubby, happy little Pug.
“I do now,” Dana said. Her voice warbled.
Dana’s smile faded as she noticed Jim’s expression turn from excitement to dread. Jim was looking just to the left of Dana, behind her—and he looked worried.
“What is it?” she asked. She felt as if Jim had spotted a giant spider on her shoulder that only he could see.
“Wait in the car with the dogs, I’ll be right in.”
Jim approached Dana and handed her Elliott. Clumsily trying to balance both pups, Dana twirled around and slid back into her passenger seat.
Unhurriedly, Jim strode towards the mangled hunk of smoldering fuselage that had landed in the apartment parking lot. Something moving beside it had caught his eye.
For the love of God,
Jim thought. A torso in a double-breasted jacket pulled itself forward by its skeletal arms. Its head was bald in some areas, exposed skull where hair should be. Both eyes were missing. Its jaw hung open wide. Broken. From the ribcage down were nothing but mangled innards and tattered shirt. It let out a throaty growl as it dragged itself forward by its hands.
Jim crouched in front of the being and examined it. An outstretched palm swung down a few feet from Jim’s boots and pulled against the pavement.
“Captain R. Cooper,” a warped nametag on the being’s blazer read.
Well, what are the odds of that?
Jim stood back up and grimaced.
Russell Cooper’s decimated remains dragged themselves ever closer. His tongue wiggled and writhed in his cavernous mouth. Hungry. And yet, as terrifying and wretched to behold as the unfortunate captain was, Jim couldn’t help but feel bad for him.
When the captain was close to Jim’s feet, he stopped pulling himself any further and sniffed the air; his shattered, mangled nose twitched at Jim’s scent. Russell’s jaw drooped even further and let out a grotesque mixture of unsettling sounds.
Gulch. Glurp. Slurp.
Jim took a few steps backward, and the pilot continued his advance. With his hands on his hips, Jim assessed the helpless captain. The officer began to reach for the pistol at his hip, then decided otherwise—
It’s not my call to make.
“What was that?” Dana asked, as Jim returned to the driver’s seat.
“The pilot of the plane that just crashed, apparently.”
Dana shuddered. “And he was
alive?”
“Not exactly,” Jim answered.
The shivering puppies huddled themselves between Dana’s feet.
Dana let out a long sigh. “Jim, I—”
“You don’t even have to ask,” Jim said. “I’m going to wait for the evacuation at my house with Chloe. You’ll stay with us. All three of you.”
“Are you sure?” Dana asked. She had met Jim only once or twice before—it was a mighty offer from someone who was practically a stranger outside of parent teacher conferences. But, Dana was glad that Jim had brought it up; her options had become extremely limited. She drooped forward in her seat. No car, no home, no
anything
. It was all slowly burning right in front of her.
“You’re a lifesaver, Jim. Really.”
Jim chuckled. “What’s the little one’s name?”
“Elvis.”
“Funny name for a dog,” Jim said, and he drove onto Oak and pointed his car towards home. “Elvis lives.”
Dana smiled and reached down to pet Elliott, and then the excited Pomeranian. “Elvis lives.”
“Was that a plane?” Nolan asked, breathlessly.
The front door of Chloe’s house clicked shut.
“Yes,” Chloe panted. “Where’s my dad? Dad!”
Chloe called out for her father. Her words bounced off the walls of the dimly lit living room. No response.
Nolan slid a light switch on the living room wall behind him. Gradually, a standing lamp brightened in the corner of the room.
“Dammit,” Chloe said as she stomped towards the kitchen and back to the living room. Frustrated, she called up the stairwell behind the living room. “Dad! Dad?”
“Shouldn’t he be home by now?” Nolan asked.
“With all of this shit going on,” Chloe grumbled, “I’m guessing he was mandated.”
“Mandated?” Nolan was peeking through the living room blinds. There was nothing left in the sky but a long, black streak of smoke.
“It means he was forced to work overtime.” Chloe picked up a grease-stained pizza box on the living room coffee table, then brought it to the kitchen and threw it out. “It happens all the time.”
“When did he go into work last?”
“Yesterday…at noon.”
The two stood in the living room, checking their math.
“He’s been working for over a day straight now, Nolan. Even for my dad, it seems excessive.”
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Nolan said unsurely. He stepped back from the window and noticed a blinking red light in the corner of the room. “Have you checked your phone lately?”
Chloe tugged her iPhone from her pocket. “Yeah, still nothing.”
“Maybe he’s having a hard time getting through to your cell? It looks like someone left a message on the answering machine.”
Chloe uncrossed her arms and approached the outdated machine. She had asked her dad countless times to get rid of the home phone; the two rarely used it, both of them relied on their cell phones. If there was a message waiting from her dad, she would be thankful they kept it. She pressed a square key on the machine and it hissed to life.
The first message was from her dad’s partner, Min. He had left it yesterday morning. “Yo Jim, don’t forget a change of clothes so I can kick your ass at some darts after work.”
The second message was from 10:27 AM. When it played, Chloe jumped back from the machine. It was nothing but four seconds of a woman screaming. Horrifying, awful, bloodcurdling screaming. Chloe felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck after it finished playing.
The third and final message was from 11:05 AM. As soon as it began to play, Nolan gasped with relief. It was unmistakably the voice of his father.
“Mr. Whiteman,” the voice said. “It’s Greg Fischer. If you get this, and you’re with Nolan, or if you see him…please tell him that we love him, and that we’re all right, and that we hope he’s okay. We’ve been trying to call him all morning but can’t get through. The National Guard is here with all of these tanks and busses, and they’re bringing us to…Albany?” Greg’s voice paused for a moment. “Yeah, Albany. We don’t know what’s going on, and we really don’t have any say in the matter. Please, if you’re with Nolan, please look after—”
The message cut off. A robotic voice on the answering machine alerted Chloe that the memory was full, and earlier messages should be deleted to make room for new ones.
Nolan sat on the couch and trembled. “They’re okay,” Nolan said quietly. “They’re really okay.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. No service, no new messages, no missed calls…but it didn’t matter anymore. The relatively recent message from his parents filled him with a sense of hope he hadn’t felt all morning.
“I told you they were fine,” Chloe said.
Nolan closed his eyes and sunk into the couch.
“I’m going to make some lunch, I’m starving.” Chloe started for the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”
“No thanks,” Nolan said.
Chloe was slightly annoyed that Nolan didn’t follow her, or offer her help. She recalled how little sleep he had the night before, working on Miss Nacarrato’s English paper.
I’ve had the same day you’ve had, Nolan. I’m tired too.
With a shrug, Chloe headed to the kitchen and checked her cupboards. Not much of anything, really. With her dad constantly working, and not having a car of her own, grocery shopping was a difficult chore to accomplish in the Whiteman household. She opened the freezer and found a frozen pizza inside. It could have been in there a year, but it didn’t matter. She was famished.
The pizza was the cheap, microwave kind. The kind that cooks with gooey and rubbery cheese and a brick crust. Not really
pizza
as far as Chloe was concerned, but it was better than nothing. She unwrapped it, threw it in the microwave, and set a six-minute timer.
Chloe leaned against her kitchen counter, looked out at her tiny yard beyond the window over the sink. A breeze blew through, rustling branches and leaves. Even though the sky was still overcast, the view was kind of pretty. She took a deep breath. The sight of her lawn swaying in the gentle wind relaxed her. While the microwave hummed beside her, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, a familiar face was standing in her yard.
“Mrs. Hatfield,” Chloe said as she recognized her next door neighbor. Chloe waved through her window, but right away realized that something was wrong with her neighbor’s gait. She walked jaggedly, as if her knee joints were locked in place. Her head started to slant at a funny angle when she noticed Chloe in the window.
Chloe gulped. It was the same awkward way that Alicia walked on the bus, the same way Max Baker’s dad looked outside of the cafeteria.
Chloe felt something brush against her arm.
“Pizza?” Nolan asked with a yawn.
“You scared the hell out of me, Nolan.”
“What’s going on?”
“Go back in the living room. Make sure the front door is locked and all the windows are closed, and wait. She sees us in here.”
“Who?” Nolan leaned over the counter and looked out. He saw Chloe’s neighbor shambling through her backyard.
“Wait in the living room,” Chloe repeated. She sprinted past Nolan and up her stairwell.
Chloe rushed into her bedroom. Her socks slipped on the wooden floor and she almost fell over. She dropped to her knees beside her bed and fished a small metal box from under it. The box clicked open and revealed a small 9mm. Chloe pulled out her keys and unlocked a cable that ran through the barrel of the gun, then jumped to her feet. She could hear a sudden banging coming from the kitchen downstairs. Hurriedly, she went to her dresser and opened a drawer filled with socks and underwear. She dug through it and found a loaded, ten round clip under a pair of fuzzy socks. She jammed the magazine into the gun and racked the slide, causing a bullet to load into the firing chamber of the gun.
Chloe came flying down the stairs and into the living room, where Nolan was still waiting. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Call 911,” Chloe said as she breezed back into the kitchen.
Nolan followed her, picked up the kitchen phone, and dialed.
Mrs. Hatfield’s mangled face was pressed hard against the window above the kitchen sink. She looked inside and screeched. Her eyes darted from Chloe, to Nolan, and back to Chloe.
“It’s busy,” Nolan said.
“So try again!” Chloe ordered.
The figure outside howled and began beating at the window with a tightly clenched fist. With one hand, Mrs. Hatfield punched at the window, and with the other she pulled and tugged at the skin on her cheeks. After a chunk of flesh tore off in her fingers, Mrs. Hatfield howled again, and bashed her forehead into the window with such force that the glass began to splinter.
“It’s still busy, I can’t get through.”
“I don’t want to have to do this,” Chloe murmured. She drew the gun in front of her and pointed it at the window. “I
can’t
do this,” Chloe cried. “Alicia is already dead because of me, I can’t murder my neighbor.”
“She’s not your neighbor anymore,” Nolan said. “You’ve watched the news all morning. She’s infected, she’s as good as dead.”
“Jesus,” Chloe exclaimed, “I don’t see you volunteering to shoot her!”
“She’s trying to kill us!” Nolan hollered.
Chloe gestured as if she would hand her gun to Nolan. “You’re more than welcome to take care of this.”
Nolan swallowed. “Let’s just wait in the living room. Maybe she’ll leave us alone if she can’t see us.”
Chloe lowered her gun. “Sure Nolan, let’s try it your way.”
Nolan and Chloe retreated to the living room. To both of their surprise, the commotion in the kitchen ceased after only a few short moments.
“See?” Nolan said. “Should we go back and look?”
“No,” Chloe said plainly. “We sit and wait, here.” The microwave in the kitchen dinged. Her pizza was finished cooking.
The two sat tensely in the living room, silently. Nolan chalked up the uneasiness to the unwelcome visitor in the backyard, but for Chloe something much deeper was simmering beneath the surface. She and Nolan had been best friends for so long, and she really adored all of his quirks and shortcomings. But today, with the chips down, she felt as if she was seeing her friend for the first time. He was sheepish, weak. Not quick to act. Chloe figured that if it wasn’t for her, Nolan would be dead twice over by now. When she thought about it long enough, it wasn’t a problem that was exclusive to today.
“Why didn’t you beat up Andy?” Chloe asked, breaking the silence of the room.
Nolan thought about the green pickup out front, and the daring escape from Henderson High that Chloe orchestrated. “You had it under control—”
“No. Not today.” Chloe crossed her legs. “When he and I started dating, why didn’t you beat him up? Weren’t you mad when you found out? I always pictured you hearing the news for the first time and punching him right in the mouth.”
“Chloe, I—” Nolan stuttered.
“You didn’t even care, you just went on with life like everything was the same and that it didn’t matter.”
Nolan felt his body slump into the couch.
“I don’t know why, Chlo’. I’m not a violent person, I guess? I probably didn’t hit Andy for the same reason you never hit Ashley Connolly. I thought we were, you know. Above that.”
“You’re right,” Chloe said with a laugh. “I never hit Ashley Connolly. But when I found out about your little escapade with her on the football field, I cornered her in the girls bathroom and called her a fucking slut. I threw a notebook at her, Nolan.”
“I never knew about that—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Chloe groaned. “I sat in detention for a week.”
“I thought you said you got caught cheating on Mr. DePierre’s chemistry midterm?”
“I was never caught cheating. I was just too embarrassed to tell you what happened.”
“Why are we talking about all of this?”
“I don’t know, Nolan. Maybe I’m just wondering why even with the fucking world ending around us, you don’t really give a shit about me.”
“Hey, that’s not—”
“Have you even applied to college yet, Nolan? Did you care at all when Colorado State accepted me? Of course you didn’t. I was going to move half way across the country, and what—it was all right, right? Because you’d be living in your bedroom, smoking weed with David Kline and playing Xbox—”
“That’s fucked up, Chloe, he’s dead now—”
“Maybe that’s the best thing to have happened for you today.”
Nolan jumped up from the couch. “Real classy, Chloe. That’s messed up, and I
know
you don’t mean that.”
Chloe curled her legs towards her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees, and started rocking back and forth.
“You were off with your baseball player and his rich fucking parents, you seemed happy to me,” Nolan yelled, pacing the living room behind the couch. “Remember the winter ball?
Unchained Melody
?”
“We were freshman, Nolan. You had braces. You smelled like grilled cheese. It’s been four years. Don’t pretend like this is all news to you, don’t act stupid. That night my dad came home early and caught us watching ‘The Evil Dead?’ After you left, I got a twenty-minute lecture that spiraled into him not wanting me to end up a beauty school drop out like my mom. He asked me if I knew how condoms worked, for Christ’s sake!” Chloe paused for a breath of air and to compose herself. “Everyone else could see it, Nolan. Just not you. It makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me, you know?”
Nolan continued to pace the same three feet of floor behind Chloe’s couch. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Chloe started to sniffle. “And that
bastard
Andy Kinney, Nolan. I never told you, I thought you knew…I thought everyone knew. I didn’t know who to talk about it with…he—”
A thunderous crash from the front door interrupted Chloe, followed by a wicked howl and shriek. Chloe snapped forward and grabbed her pistol from where she left it on the coffee table. A pounding and beating at the door boomed through the living room. Through a narrow, stained window in the front door, Nolan could see Mrs. Hatfield’s contorted face thrashing forward.