This Dying World: The End Begins (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Chris sat with Anna at the kitchen, filling her in on all the details he didn’t want to talk about in front of the kids.  She shook her head in disbelief as he went over every moment, answering every question she posed to him.  He choked up when he told her that Faith had seen the horrific slaughter as they exited the building.

Anna leaned in and put her hand on his knee.

“She’s okay for right now,” Anna said softly.  “We’ll talk to her about it tomorrow and see if she’s going to need to talk to someone.  Maybe her school has a counselor or something.  You relax and finish your coffee.”

She left him alone in the kitchen and went upstairs to start her nightly ritual.  Deep in thought, Chris sipped his steaming coffee as he watched her disappear up the stairs.  He followed the sounds of her footsteps upstairs as she snuck into Faith’s room.

Despite her nap earlier on, Faith was still exhausted.  She had finished her nuggets in the truck, and had fallen asleep soon after they got home.  He heard Anna sing a soft lullaby, the bed creaking as Anna took her normal seat on the edge of Faith’s bed.  Chris closed his eyes and savored the return to normalcy.

He stood and made his way to the living room, flipping on the TV more out of reflex than true interest.  Everyone in the house had their nightly habits. His involved local news and waiting for the weather report.

Chris sat back in his recliner as images began to fill his 62 inch plasma, the TV he bought because it was 10 inches larger than Dan’s.  He would admit it was a petty rivalry.  Petty or not, he still won the TV war.

“Only for the weather,” he told himself.  He took another sip of his coffee and tried to let his tensions slip away.

The news anchors always looked to him as out of place for the region.  It was a farming community, filled with people accustomed to living in the country.  Hard and rugged was the usual description for most of his neighbors.  The anchors on the other hand looked as if they had been plucked from New York, and were being forced to live their lives without their daily latte or weekly pedicures.

Mike Strong, which Chris highly doubted was the name this man was born with, never went on air without a perfectly pressed suit.  His jet black hair always meticulously shaped, slicked to the side with enough gel to be considered an environmental hazard.  His chiseled facial features almost made him look like a clone of Dick Tracy.  His chemically sprayed tan gave him the hue of a very healthy carrot.

Cynthia Sommers was young, only joining the news team within that year.  Her blonde hair hung to her shoulders framing her heavily made up face.  Ice blue eyes were accentuated by the dark eye liner that seemed to be the fashion of the day.  To Chris it made her look like a fashion conscious raccoon.  Artificially inflated lips were covered in a peach lipstick that stood against her brand of fake tan.  She wore a red dress with a neckline that plunged deep enough to expose the tops of assets God had clearly not installed Himself.

Together they made up the most out of place news team in the Midwest.  He figured that the two pop tarts wouldn’t be able to rile him up very much if they tried.

He was wrong.

“In international news,”
Mike began. 
“authorities have confirmed what had originally started as mere internet rumors.  There is a new illness emerging from all corners of the globe.  Authorities confirm that governments have been aware of a potential threat, but chose to keep it silent from the public while it was being investigated.  Human rights groups have demanded a full U.N. inquiry.

Global tensions continue to build as fears of the rumored Superflu continue to spread.  Hospitals in England, France, Germany, and elsewhere have reported attacks on staff by an enraged populace.  Authorities claim such incidents are isolated however, and are currently under control…Cynthia.”

“Thank you, Mike.  Here at home, reports of attacks on medical staff have cropped up as well.  Harlem Hospital Center in New York was the first to report such an incident earlier today.  At about 2 pm, a patient who had been admitted for flu-like symptoms attacked and killed two staff members before being shot by police.  Hospital officials had very little comment other than to confirm those deaths.  Other injuries were reported, but they have been deemed not life threatening.

Shortly afterwards, violent outbursts began developing nationwide.  Reports of injuries and even deaths have been reported in Chicago, New Jersey, Buffalo, Boulder, San Diego, and Los Angeles.  Even now, new reports of physical assaults continue to pour in.

Spurred by the day’s events, local governments have begun to coordinate against the outbreak of mass violence.  Many states have placed National Guard units on standby, while police and other emergency personnel have been recalled and put on extended shifts until the situation is resolved.  Back to you Mike.”

“Why this illness has led to such violent episodes is a question many across the world are trying to answer.  Psychologists believe that frustrations have reached a tipping point over recent failures to prevent the spread of diseases such as SARS, H1N1, and the deadly Ebola virus.  This, along with with economic hardships, racial tensions, and political polarizations have created a perfect environment for outbursts such as the ones we are witnessing tonight.

Meanwhile, many other scientists believe those who are committing such acts may actually be infected with the disease, and their actions are a response to a sort of infection induced delirium.  Of course, whispers from the religious community have already touted this as the beginning of the end of days.”

“I hope not, Mike,”
Cynthia stared at the screen with a painted on smile.
 
“I have an appointment with my stylist this weekend.”

Mike’s laugh was as fake as his tan.

“Well we can’t have that.  You hear that guys?  You have to cancel that apocalypse until after the weekend.  Sports and weather are next.”

Chris stared in disbelief.  He rose to his feet as he realized his fears were just broadcast to him on the nightly news.  He sped towards the kitchen, his hands running across his pistol secured to his belt.  He pulled his phone free from the charger and punched out a quick message to Dan.

“You watching the news.  WTF is going on?”

“Yeah.  Abby says her big bosses said it’s nothing to worry about.  Same shit as the bird flu scare.  People on edge and the media feeds into it.  That’s what she was told anyway,”
Dan’s reply read.

“I saw some shit today.  Seems to be getting much worse.  You want to come out until we know what’s up?”

“Long day today for both of us.  We’d kill ourselves driving before we got there.  Will sleep on it and figure things out tomorrow.  World’s not going to end overnight, right?  Going to bed, TTYL.”

Chris exhaled as he set his phone down.  He wanted to call Dan directly and try to change his mind.  He knew getting his brother out of his house would take a miracle once he had gone to sleep.

“Chris,” Anna called down before he had the chance to dial Dan’s number.  “Someone’s out by the chicken coop.  He looks like he’s trying to open the fence.”

“Can you see who it is?”

“No, I already took out my night vision contact lenses,” she said sarcastically.

“Smart ass,” he said as he started putting his boots on.

“Better than a dumb shit,” she replied.

Chris put on his jacket and started towards the door, checking again to be sure his pistol was securely fastened.  He thought about it and grabbed his pump action 12 gauge from the front closet.  It wasn’t as impressive as the weapons he had stored in his basement safe, but it was usually enough to discourage visitors.

He loaded four shells, chambering one and set the shotgun on safe.  Chris stepped out into the cold winter night, irritated that on top of everything else, he would probably need to chase some bored teenagers off his land again.  He promised himself one day he would fill that shotgun with rock salt and give someone a gift to remember him by.

The wind blew across the open field, the icy grip of winter assailing him as he stepped out onto his porch.  A foul odor carried in the air.  Though he was used to strange smells coming from the various livestock around the area, this particular scent seemed off.  He decided to check his animals once he dealt with the intruder to be sure he had not lost any in the latest cold snap.

He could just make out a silhouette at the gate to the coop in the darkness.  How Anna saw anyone outside was a mystery.  The coop was over a hundred feet away, and it was almost pitch black.  As he approached, the smell of rot suddenly hit him square in the face, causing his tear ducts to go into overdrive.  The figure was on his knees, hunched over something on the ground.  He moved in closer, and heard the painful wail of a chicken.  Feathers torn from its body scattered around the ground near the stranger.

“What the hell are you doing!?” he shouted.  He leveled the shotgun at the man’s back.  “Stand up right now or I swear I will shoot you where you sit!”

His breath froze when the chicken thief turned towards him.  Its bloated face was covered in feathers and blood.  A pale eye hung from its socket, rolling back and forth across its face.  The other milky white eye bulged outward, ready to pop out with the least amount of pressure.  Skin from its right cheek was shredded, gravel and dirt embedded in the cherry red tissue.  It rose up, bending in half from a deep channel running across the chest.  An unbuttoned dress shirt bore the imprint of large tire treads.

In shocked disbelief, Chris could only watch the thing.  Its twisted form shambled towards him, reaching for Chris with mangled hands.  He stepped backwards, almost falling over his own feet as he retreated.  He raised the shotgun and squeezed the trigger.

He braced for the recoil that didn’t happen.  It only took a second before he realized his folly.  He flipped the safety off, and squeezed again.

A deafening boom shattered the night’s silence.  The shot finished the job that started with whatever vehicle had run over the monstrous thing.  Entrails poured to the ground as its torso fell forward, leaving the legs standing and immobile.  It was undeterred.  It pulled what was left of its body along the ground.  Internal organs, purple and bloated, dragged behind it leaving a trail of dark blood across the gravel.  It hissed, its teeth clacking together as it inched closer to Chris’ feet.

Chris pumped another round into the chamber.  He took a calming breath and took aim at the creature’s head before firing again.  Rock and dirt erupted from the ground as the shot tore through the thing’s skull.  The torso went limp, arms falling within inches of Chris’ shoes.

The crunch of gravel behind him had him spinning on his heels.  No more than thirty feet where he stood, a young woman shambled across his field and onto the makeshift road that cut between his barn and the house.  She was in better shape than the chicken man.  Her cold, inhuman eyes stared at him, sending a new wave of fear down his spine.  Her unkempt, curly red hair made her appear as if she had just woke up from a short nap.  She wore a flowery nightgown so sheer she may as well have worn nothing at all.  If not for her dead eyes and the uncoordinated gait, Chris could have mistaken her for a sleepwalker.

Her name was Janet.  She was the oldest daughter of his closest neighbor, Jake.  Jake owned a hog farm a few miles down the road.  They had become fast friends since Chris took up residence in the old farmhouse.  They would meet every other Saturday for coffee before heading to the feed store.  They shared a love of the outdoors, hunting, and firearms.  He, like Chris, chose a life of quiet farming and solitude after leaving the service.  He moved his family to the area twenty years before Chris, and planned on living the rest of his life there.

Jake had introduced him to Janet on one of their Saturday morning coffee trips.  Jake had recently hurt himself after falling from a ladder.  Janet was worried that her dad would continue to do stupid things like fall off ladders he had no business being on at his age, so she decided to move back home.  Jake’s wife had passed a few years prior, so Chris was happy Jake wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“Janet, please don’t make me do this,” he pleaded.

She bared her teeth, growling like a wild animal.  She came at him, a dense froth forming at her lips.  He saw that the woman that he knew was gone.  He set the shotgun on the ground, drawing his pistol from its holster and taking aim at her forehead.

“Forgive me Jake,” he said.  Chris looked down at the ground and pulled the trigger.  He heard her body fall to the ground as he picked up his shotgun and started back to the house, wiping the tears away.

Anna ran to him as soon as he walked through the front door.  She wept as she threw her arms around him.  He held her tight until her tears dried.  But she never stopped shivering.

“What the hell happened!?” she blurted out.  “The news is saying things have gone crazy!  Riots are breaking out all over the place!  Then I heard you shooting!  I was afraid something happened to you!”