Authors: James Roy Daley
Ignoring James and his complaining tone, Debra tapped her fingers together. Tap; tap; tap. Something felt wrong, something she couldn’t express or explain. It was like she was standing on a landmine.
She looked at James, wondering if his eyes were always so dark.
96
“
There’s so much rain,” James said. “I can’t believe it.”
“
We should call the police now, right?”
“
What’s that?”
“
I should call the police now.”
James reflected on the fire, the burning children and the emergency vehicles that raced to the scene. He remembered the school and the chaos that was inside of it. He thought about Johnny and then blocked his thoughts. He said “no” without realizing it, and with his eyes closed he stepped away from the window feeling a light, yet painful twinge inside his chest. He wondered if he would have a heart attack.
“
Why not?” Debra asked.
“
What?” James opened his eyes. He wanted to shoot Debra more than ever. But he wasn’t ready yet. His thoughts were swaying. He thought about the Bakisi and the urge to kill came down a notch.
“
Why not? Why shouldn’t we call the police? If you’re innocent, I mean. If you’re really innocent, explain it to the cops. It might be a pain in the ass, going to court and everything, but I’ll stand by you. I promise.”
“
I don’t think we should get the police involved, Debra. At least, not yet.”
“
If we’re in danger we should call them. It just makes sense.”
As the words were spoken, Debra realized that the police had told her to stay close to home. She questioned her actions, her words. How much trouble have I caused myself? she wondered. Will I be charged for something? Have I gone that far?
As Debra’s mind rehashed her conversation with the police, James was up to his eyeballs in his own thoughts. He wanted to explain, wanted Debra to understand that before anything else happened––meaning that before the police were involved––he needed to kill the Bakisi. It was the only way.
Lightning blasted the sky, startling both of them.
“
Who do think is out there?”
Debra shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the police.”
“
Did you call them?”
“
No.”
Honest?”
“
I wouldn’t lie to you James. But you’re being stupid.”
James felt his shoulders slump. “Listen Debra,” he whispered. “There’s something you need to know.”
“
What is it?”
The sound of breaking glass filled the air, followed by an unusual, awkward TH-THUMP. One of the bedroom windows had just been destroyed.
James smiled, finished his thought and whispered, “You’re going to die you stupid fucking whore.”
But Debra, who had just released a small, sharp yelp, didn’t hear a word of it.
97
They shuffled down the hall together; James opened a bedroom door. He clicked the light on and stepped inside. Rain fell through the gaping hole where the window had once been. There was broken glass everywhere.
“
What’s the––?” Debra allowed. The room was loaded with furniture from the living room. And it wasn’t just the furniture. It seemed like everything from the entire place was stuffed in there. “What the hell is all of this? Why would you do this to my cottage?”
“
It doesn’t matter. I’ll explain later.”
“
Explain now! What the hell are you doing?”
James stroked the gun. Now, he thought. Do it now. Shoot her in the face. Shoot her in the face and then rape her. Pull the bones from her body and set her hair on fire. Chop off her head. Do it! Do it now! Chop off her fucking head!
“
I’m phoning the cops,” Debra said. She had enough. “I’m not playing this game any longer; you’ve lost your frigging mind.”
She rushed into the common room aiming for the phone.
James spun around; he lifted his arms and said, “Don’t Debra! Please! Let me deal with something first!”
Debra couldn’t believe it: The phone was gone––almost everything was gone. Only a couch, a table and a chair remained. She wondered what to do, and then she remembered that her cell phone was in her purse, which was in her car. But did she want to step outside? No. She didn’t. Not a chance.
“
James, give me your phone,” she said. “I’m calling the police.”
“
No! No police, not yet.”
“
Give me your phone you psycho!”
“
No!”
Before Debra had a chance to escalate the confrontation, another bedroom window smashed. The sound of rain became louder.
“
Oh shit,” James said. “It happened again!”
He scooted down the hallway and opened another door. Firewood was lying on the floor in a pool of broken glass. Without hesitation, James moved across the hallway and opened the third bedroom door.
This time he watched it happen: Firewood smashed through the window. Hundreds of tiny shards blasted apart and three large hunks of glass fell from the sill. Large pieces of glass exploded on the floor, becoming small, dangerous projectiles that bounced in every direction. The firewood landed on a carpet and rolled across the floor spinning.
With the shotgun raised, James walked to the window. He fired a shot into the darkness. The sound was enormous.
“
Debra! My phone…” James reconsidered his words. Did he really want the police here?
“
Where is it?” Debra shouted.
Firewood smashed through the kitchen window. Seconds later the bathroom window suffered the same fate.
Debra ran across the common room with tears forming in her eyes. “Come on, she said. “We’re under attack! Give me your phone!”
Look on the table, James secretly thought while saying, “No Debra! No phones!”
Then the gunshots blasted. It was hard to say how many shots were fired, it sounded like a dozen or more. And as the patio doors shattered and glass went flying into the near empty living room, James thought he was hit. But he wasn’t. Not yet.
But soon he would be.
98
Debra dropped on her hands and knees and then she rolled onto her belly. Tears streamed down her face. Her hands shook and her lips trembled. She could feel the air blowing through the cottage now, and the rain seemed louder than ever. She was confused and afraid; she wished she stayed home. Everything was happening too fast.
Holding the shotgun high, James stepped past Debra. He walked towards the door, the danger, and whatever else lay waiting. A growing puddle of rain was on the floor now, and James realized that every room would be wet. Not that it mattered. After all, a wet floor wasn’t a concern. Living to tell the tale on the other hand…
“
Where are you going?” Debra mumbled, trembling on the floor. A mountain of thunder shook the world around them. “James?”
“
Get down and stay down!”
He imagined that he was the masked executioner and that she was a witch. He imagined a crowd of thousands watching and cheering as he raised the blade above his head.
Where’s the axe? he wondered.
And there it was, lying on the floor near his feet. He set the shotgun down and lifted the axe up.
Now, he thought. Chop off her head now.
He knew it would be easy. Debra was lying face down with her hands over her ears. She was perfectly still. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
James raised the axe above his head.
Another two shots were fired. Both bullets came through the doorway, catching James in the shoulder. He spun in a circle and stumbled back. Pain tore through his body; blood squirted through the air. The axe slipped from his grasp, narrowly missing Debra’s head.
And Debra screamed.
James, still standing, felt strange and distant. He wondered where he had been hit. Then another ripple of pain came, and his thoughts were lost inside a swirl of agony.
Another shot was fired. And another.
More glass fell.
Then came silence. Not total silence. No––not with the storm ripping the neighborhood a new asshole, but for James it seemed like silence. Or death.
Yes, he thought. Perhaps death had come.
He fell then. He fell against the wall and slid down it. And that’s where he stayed––leaning against the wall with his legs folded together, the axe lying across his lap and his head resting against the pinewood wall. Blood bubbled from the double hole in his shoulder, staining his dress shirt red. His eyelids fluttered. Then his eyes closed and his thoughts began drifting, fading…
Debra scrambled towards James on all fours. She ripped open his shirt and rammed a finger into his wound.
James’s eyes popped wide open and his jaw dropped.
“
Man oh man,” Debra said, trying to whisper. “I need your phone you fucking, cracked-out idiot. I need your phone and I need it right now. Where the hell is it?”
She twisted her finger in a circle, scooping meat from his shoulder.
James felt the pain, heard the words, and sensed that something was rooting around inside his flesh, but he didn’t understand. He was adrift within the pain and the confusion. The infection was getting worse now. The beast seemed to be taking control.
“
Who would do this? He whispered, tasting blood in his mouth. “The police?”
“
I don’t think so asshole, but… oh God… I need the phone. Where is it? I need to call 911. This is an emergency James. This is an emergency!”
She rammed her finger in further.
James coughed and moaned. Soot flavored blood filled his mouth. He didn’t know if he was bleeding internally or if he had bitten his tongue. Perhaps it was both.
“
Come on, come on!”
Debra heard footsteps. She felt the aura of an unfamiliar presence and looked up. She was hoping to see a uniform.
Elmer and Switch looked down at her; they were soaking wet. Switch held a baseball bat in the tight swirls of his hand. His eyes seemed to be filled with unstable, stressed-out shame. Elmer had two of Franco’s guns tucked between his leather belt and his jeans. He had a sinful grin on his psychotic face; he looked like a gunslinger.
“
What do you want?” Debra said. She pulled her finger free of James and pushed herself away from the two men.
“
You’ll see,” Elmer said. He yanked the bat from Switch’s grip and raised it high. Grinding his teeth together, he took a swing.
And before the wood hit home, James began laughing.
99
First came nothing, then a terrible, lonely darkness.
Footsteps.
Wind.
Cold.
A long empty road…
No… not empty.
Not empty.
Thunder.
Rain.
Lightning. And with the lightning came a brilliant sliver of light. And inside that brilliant sliver of light, that sliver of simple clarity, an image appeared. An image of people, dead people, a marching band that struggled to march, a band without music, without rhythm or happiness, moving together, walking in silence. They were the walking dead.
It slipped away.
Nothing.
Darkness.
People.
Dead––with feet dragging.
Tattered remains.
Clothing torn.
Broken bones. Crushed limbs. Missing teeth. Burning flesh.
Blood.
Fading.
Fading away to nothing, to red, to dust.
“
I’m going to save you,” a voice said. It was the boy. It was Mathew. He was sitting on a park bench with a balloon in his hand––a red balloon that seemed to be dripping blood.
“
How can you save me?” A voice asked. The voice belonged to the person James had once been, before the infection. He sound normal and nice; he sounded sane.
The boy took a deep breath, as if discouraged. “All I can do is try. I can’t promise you, James. It may not be within my power. But I’m on the other side. I’m with them. I will try.”
Mathew released the balloon. It floated into the air, still dripping blood.
Drip; drip; drip.
James opened his blurry eyes and heard Debra crying––and begging. She sounded like she was in danger. He wanted to help her. He wanted to save her. He wanted to chop off her head and eat her body. But he was hurt. Blood was running along his face, falling to his legs.
I’m sitting in a chair, he thought. I’m tied up. Tied to the chair. But I’ve got to help Debra, because Debra’s hurt. They’re hurting her. Someone is hurting her, making her cry, making her scream. I need to chop off her head.
I owe her that much.
Where have the gunshots gone?
Where are the guns?
James closed his eyes. He wanted them to stop hurting her. He needed them to stop, but… they didn’t. They kept going; they kept doing whatever it was that they were doing. She was crying, begging, screaming.