The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (32 page)

“Chicken parm wedge?”

“Salad,” she corrected. “With
grilled
chicken on top.”

“Oh, c’mon, Marie. I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous I eat.”

She pointed a long red fingernail at him. “You remember what the doctor said. Do you want to end up in a nursing home because you have a stroke?”

Mario deflated, sulking like a kid who was refused his way by his mother. “My Ma would let me have one.”

“Well, if she comes back you could ask her to make you one.” Before Mario could reply, Marie was already out the door.

He waited until he heard her car turn over and pull away. He crept to the front door and peeked out the window. All clear.

He padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. He peered in, looking from shelf to shelf. Nothing but condiments and raw chicken.
Dammit.
Marie threw out all of the junk food. No leftover pasta, Veal Scallopini, or Soppressata.

He opened the kitchen cabinet and reached all the way to the back, behind the coffee mugs. Nothing. She even got his secret stash of potato chips.

Mario laughed to himself. Of course she did. She knew the kitchen better than he did. This was what he got for avoiding the kitchen like the plague.

Shame on him. His Ma taught him how to cook. His Ma…

His anxiety stoked his hunger pangs, and his stomach felt like it was tied in a knot. Wait a minute. There was the peanut butter that she hid in the cabinet next to the stove, where she kept the coffee and tea.

He reached down, opened the lower cabinet between the stove and the sink, and pulled out the containers of coffee and boxes of tea. He pulled out a box of garbage bags and felt around.

Nothing.

Mario stood and looked around the kitchen, defeated. He looked at the clock. Eleven. He had an hour or so. He could fry up a piece of the raw chicken and eat it before Marie returned with the kids. There was so much confusion with his Ma missing that she’d never miss it.

He reached up to the cabinet above the stove and saw there was still olive oil and breadcrumbs. No tomato sauce. Desperate times called for desperate measures—ketchup would have to do.

He pulled down the breadcrumbs and olive oil and grabbed the ketchup out of the fridge. He laid out three plates. He took out a piece of chicken and placed it on the first plate. He cracked a couple of eggs on the second plate, and then he poured some bread crumbs on the third.

He pulled out a frying pan and put it on the stove. He poured a generous coating of olive oil and put it all over a medium flame.

He turned back to the plates, dipped the chicken cutlet into the egg, and then the bread crumbs, first one side, then the other.

He grabbed the breaded cutlet with his fingers and lowered it gingerly into the pan, where it began to sizzle. He looked up at the clock. Twelve after eleven. Plenty of time.

He grabbed the three plates and put them in the sink and washed his hands. He reached into the silverware drawer and pulled out a fork to turn the cutlet. He felt better already. It wasn’t going to be his best work, but it was better than salad with grilled chicken.

Then he heard a knock at the door.

A chill went down his spine.
Shit. Did Marie come back already? Did she forget something?

Then another knock. Or was it more of a thud?

Mario turned the cutlet in the pan and laid the fork on the stove. He supposed he could throw it in the garbage, but then Marie would see the frying pan and the dishes in the sink before he had a chance to wash them.

He was resigned to the fact that he had to face the music. Marie would yell at him, and then she’d probably eat the cutlet herself. He’d yell at her for re-hiding the peanut butter and removing his secret stash of chips, and she’d yell how she could never trust him again.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Mario went to answer the door. He opened the front door and nearly had a coronary when he saw Mama Sophia standing there looking at him with dark eyes and dried, crusted blood down her chin and on her nightgown.

“Ma!”

He flung the storm door open so quickly, he knocked her down. “Oh, Ma! I’m so sorry!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Geez, Ma, are you all right?”

Before she could respond, he pulled her inside the house. He let go of her and ran into the kitchen. “I gotta call Marie! She went out looking for you!”

Mama Sophia lurched forward toward the kitchen, shuffling toward her son. He grabbed the land line and started to dial when he turned and saw her walking into the kitchen.

He hung up the phone. “My God! What’s wrong with me!” He laid the phone down on the counter. “You must be hungry! And thirsty!”

He ran over to her, grabbed her, and lowered her into a chair at the kitchen table. She grunted as her butt hit the seat.

“Sit here. I’ll get you something to drink.”

She reached out for him, but he ran to the cabinet and pulled out a glass. He held it under the ice dispenser built into the refrigerator door, filling it to the top with ice, and then ran to the kitchen sink. “I’m cooking some chicken. It’s all yours. You must be starved.”

Mama Sophia snapped her jaws while in her seat, and then struggled to stand.

He saw her try to get up. “Sit, Ma. Rest.” He ran the faucet until the water was cool, and then he filled the glass to the top. The ice clinked as he shuttled the glass to his mother. She swiped at him and growled.

“Poor Ma, you can’t even talk. Here.” He held up the glass to her lips as she leaned forward, and he tilted the glass, spilling water down her chin and into her lap.

“Oh, sorry, Ma.” He dashed back to the counter and snatched a couple of paper towels off the roll. He saw her trying to stand, so he placed his hand on her shoulder to keep her seated. “Here, let me clean you up.” He dabbed her chin and neck with the paper towels, which began to absorb the blood and bile. “Ew. Gross. Look at you. You’re a mess.”

The chicken cutlet, forgotten, sizzled behind him, burning on one side when Mama Sophia leaned forward and bit his hand. Hard.

Mario yanked his hand away. “Jesus, Ma! What did you do that for?”

She snarled at him, eyes wild with hunger.

“Now, listen. I know you’re upset. I know you must be angry with me, but you need to realize that I’ve been worried sick.”

Mama Sophia lunged at her son, swiping with jagged fingernails, catching Mario on his forearm. He cradled the scratch, stepping backward away from her. “Ma! What’s wrong with you?”

Mama Sophia turned her head up and made regurgitating motions, gurgling in her throat.

“You’re sick. That’s right. What am I doing? I need to get you to a doctor.”

Mario turned and grabbed the cordless phone off the countertop and dialed 9-1-1. The phone rang twice and an operator picked up. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

Suddenly, Mama Sophia let out a loud banshee wail that startled Mario. He dropped the phone on the tiled kitchen floor. “Jesus, Ma. What’s wrong?”

She got up and staggered over to where he stood and reached out her arms. Mario, confused, opened his arms to receive her embrace, only when she grabbed him, she sunk her teeth into his neck.

“Ahhhh!” He pushed her away, and she fell backward onto the kitchen table. He reached up and put his right hand on the wound on his neck. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood.

“Fucking bitch!”

She was on her feet again, laughing, a horrible guttural sound, flashing teeth coated in a dark red syrup.

“Holy shit,” Mario gasped, and he picked up the phone off the ground. “Sir, are you there? What’s your emergency?”

“It’s my mother…she’s a fucking vampire!”

Mama Sophia hurtled toward him again, and he fended her off as best he could while still holding onto the phone.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“She’s trying to bite me! She’s attacking me!” He slapped her grimy hands away as she clawed at him. “I need an ambulance for my Ma!”

“Sir, can you get to a safe place?”

“Safe place? Where? I’m in my kitchen.”

Mama Sophia tripped over her own feet and fell to the floor, but she grabbed Mario’s leg on the way down, tugging on his shorts, pulling them down.

“Now she’s trying to pull my pants off!”

“What’s your address, sir?”

“Sixty-nine Neptune Ave! Sixty-nine Neptune!”

Mama Sophia got a grip on his naked calf and sank her teeth in.

“Ahhhhh!” Mario threw the phone down and stepped backward into the stove, shaking his leg, but Mama Sophia held on.

He turned and grabbed the frying pan off the stove and brought it down on her head, spilling hot olive oil everywhere, burning his legs.

“Ahhhh! Goddammit!”

Mama Sophia clung to his meaty calf like a rabid pit bull.

He took another swipe, missing her head and throwing himself off balance. Mario tripped over his Ma and fell face down on the floor, the frying pan cracking a kitchen tile from the impact.

Mama Sophia crawled on top of his back and sunk her teeth into his shoulder as he cried out in pain. Mario tried to reach back and swat her off, but he couldn’t reach.

Crying in pain and terror, he dragged himself along the kitchen floor, hoping she’d fall off, but she didn’t. She pulled a mouthful of flesh off his shoulder and started chomping on it loudly.

Mario rolled over on his back, crushing Mama Sophia under his weight, and he reached for the frying pan. She sunk her teeth into a fleshy part of his back, and he rolled off of her, but she clung to him like a hungry tick.

Mario and Mama Sophia both looked up as they heard the storm door open.

“Marie, help me!”

Marie dropped her purse on the floor when she saw Mama Sophia on top of her bleeding husband. Mama Sophia smiled impishly at her as she chewed on her son’s flesh and fat.

“You evil fucking bitch!”

Mama Sophia let out another shriek and made those regurgitating sounds as Mario lay helpless underneath her, bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

Marie reached into the entryway closet and pulled out a baseball bat kept there for intruders. She rushed Mama, bat raised high in the air. She brought it down, but Mama Sophia rolled off her son just in time. Marie ended up bringing the bat down on Mario, who wailed in pain.

“I’m sorry, honey!”

Mama Sophia lunged at Marie, her grubby hands grabbing at her legs. Marie recoiled, falling back into the stove. The back of her tee-shirt caught fire, and she started spinning around, swatting at the flame on her back.

Marie’s twirling caused Mama Sophia to fall to the floor, which bought Marie enough time to drop the bat and pull her shirt off. She threw it down on the tile and picked up her bat.

Mama Sophia was back on her feet and charging, but this time Marie swung and connected with the old woman’s skull.

Mama Sophia’s head hit the side of the stove, shattering the glass on the oven door. Mama Sophia tried to pull her head out, but her neck was hung up on jagged glass.

Marie brought the baseball bat down on her back again and again. “Die, fucking bitch! Die!”

The last blow tore Mama Sophia’s neck free as black, syrupy blood sprayed all over the oven and kitchen floor, but it didn’t slow her down.

Mama Sophia reached out for Marie, who hit her on the top of the head. Marie heard a crunch, but the old witch kept coming, snarling at her like an animal.

Marie grabbed the handle of one of the kitchen drawers and pulled it off the track and out, smacking Mama Sophia on the side of her face and spilling silverware and utensils all over the floor. Marie picked up a pair of salad tongs and beat Mama Sophia about her face with them, but it didn’t do much damage. She threw them to the floor and picked up a large metal ladle and swung at the old fiend, but also to no avail.

Marie opened one of the lower cabinet doors just as Mama Sophia lunged at her, blocking the attack. She reached inside, groping frantically at whatever was there.

She pulled out a cheese grater as Mama Sophia pushed the cabinet door shut again. This time Marie pounced on her, pressing down on her putrid face and grating back and forth, sheering off her mother-in-law’s lips as the old crone bit the metal.

Jagged nails and pointy fingertips probed at her rolls of belly fat as Marie pressed down, but she needed something better. She stood and reached for the largest knife in her set sitting in its butcher block holder on the counter.

Mama Sophia was back on her hands and knees. Marie backed away as Mama Sophia crawled after her, snapping her jaws like a piranha.

Marie gripped the black handle of her eight inch chef’s knife, dropped her knees to the hard tile, and plunged the large knife into the top of Mama Sophia’s head.

Mama Sophia went still and dropped, smashing her teeth on the hard tile. Marie hunched over, exhausted, and sighed deeply.

It was over.

The body began to twitch in a death rattle. Marie grabbed the black handle and twisted the knife. There was a wet sound, and Mama Sophia moved no more.