Undying (3 page)

  We pull up to our home. Still no sight of the family cat. Usually he's waiting in the driveway or the window. It's dark, now. I hope he comes home tonight. I'll leave his little door open for him. I can hear a woman shouting a few houses down the street. Domestic disputes are all too common in today's society. I don't have time to worry about someone else's failing relationship anyway. I open the screen door and unlock the dead bolt to the main wooden door. I hold them both open for Penelope. We get inside. She looks at me with those eyes that gaze into your soul. I close the door.

  "What's bothering you?"

  It was such a great day. I'm not ruining it, now. I try to think of some other thing that could be bugging me, something else to change the subject and avoid catastrophe. I got nothing. I know I really shouldn't and, believe me, I'm trying not to. It's no use. Against my better judgment, I blurt out my feelings. Maybe she'll be understanding.

  "So, why are you always bringing some new guy into your life?" I hear how much of an ass I sound like but it's too late, the words are out.

  Mind you, I fully understand that there was probably a million better ways I could have worded that. Emotion can cloud your judgment. Years of insecurity and creepy nameless guys constantly popping up is finally getting to me. This should be fun.

  "Excuse you?" There it is, her evil voice. The kind of gut wrenching voice that only a loveless mother uses. A voice I've hated since childhood.

  "For years you always have some new douche bag guy friend that you fail to mention. Did you even notice I was still there when that guy showed up?" Maybe it's just the high of finally being a made man but, I've had enough. She will hear me out.

  No more one sided fights. Both of us are going at it now. I voice my insecurities and she points out my flaws. She tells me she's unhappy and she has been for a while. Then the insults start flying back and forth. A commotion outside that sounds like firecrackers forces us to yell louder at each other. I don't want to deal with this shit. Everything is supposed to be fixed. As I think that, she says it. Then why are we even fighting? Can't we just go to bed and forget about this? The banging and shouting outside is getting ridiculous. I can't hear myself think, much less the hurtful things the "love of my life" is saying. She stops, frustrated with trying to yell over the ruckus.

  "What is that?" I ask.

  "Fireworks?" She could be right. Why so many and why is everyone shouting like there's a concert going on out there?

  "Fireworks. Yeah." Then it hits me. "Wait. It's nowhere near July."

  We find a middle ground and stop fighting. I grab the baseball bat from the closet we store the vacuum in. I hold it with my mightiest grip and we head to the door. I unlock the bolt and swing it open, ready to yell at some annoying neighbors. I open the screen and we step into the front yard. I stop as soon as I hit the grass. My mouth falls open.

  Smoke everywhere. The night sky glows a low orange, some lowlight reflecting off the ashen clouds above. There must be a fire nearby. There's smoke in the distance too, it's everywhere. There must be multiple fires. Before I can think too much about it, gunshots echo from down the street. Six or seven of them. I almost pee myself. Is that what we were hearing the whole time? There were so many of them. I walk closer to the front of the yard and look down the street. I don't see anything crazy going on either direction. Let's rationalize. It may be some gang shooting or something. This isn't the best of neighborhoods and there's a ton of apartments not more than a five minute walk away. Might have even been the cops doing all the shooting.

  "What was that? Was that a gun?" Penelope is terrified, her fighting voice has subsided, now.

  Before I can answer, an earsplitting crash shuts us both up. We look to the intersection. At the corner across from the one our house is on, a car plowed through the stop sign and into the corner of a cinderblock wall. Penelope and I look at each other and both start running to the car. I see movement inside. We run around to the driver door. Penelope opens the door. Inside is an old lady. What looks like her best Sunday dress is covered in blood. She moans in pain. Penelope tries to help her out of the car. The old woman makes a strange gurgling hissing noise. We both step back. I've never heard anyone make a noise like that. I can tell by Penelope's face that neither has she. The old woman falls out of her vehicle and starts convulsing on the ground. She contorts and wriggles on the ground while making a series of very disturbing noises. She brings herself to her feet. It looks like the crash broke her nose. It isn't bleeding anymore but, clearly, it was a minute ago. Not to mention, her nose is smashed in, making her face look flattened. I look down and notice where all the blood on her dress came from. Her throat is torn open. There's a dark red gaping hole with small shreds of meat hanging from it. They dangle and sway as she stumbles into our direction.

  "Stop.. No." Penelope starts backing away.

  "Let's get back in the house. W- we need to call the cops." I grab her hand, it's shaking as much as mine.

  My knees give way as I try to walk. I feel drunk and confused. What's wrong with that woman? How can she still be standing? I look back and see her following us. Her eyes look so vacant. The lights are on but nobody is home. I don't know why. There's something so unnaturally terrifying about this woman. I find myself just wanting to get away. I don't want her to touch me. I don't want to look into those haunting eyes. I pull Penelope and we start walking faster. We hop up the curb and walk into our yard. Penelope is getting her phone out to call 911, I assume. I watch the old woman. She's staring at us. Her head randomly twitches to the left and she makes a chilling growl while doing it. She gargles and drools on herself. Her saliva is dark brown like the spit of a person chewing tobacco. It makes me feel sick just looking at it. She goes to step up on the sidewalk. Her foot gets stuck in the drainage ditch. She tugs at it, determined to get to us. She falls forward. A disgusting wet snap of bone unlike anything I've ever heard almost makes me throw up. Her leg folds forward and her shin snaps in half. Her face hits the ground and she snarls like an angry dog. She looks up at us. Crazy bitch. She's still reaching for us. I don't believe it. I stumble back. We need to get inside. This isn't right. I turn to Penelope.

  "Call the cops!"

  "I can't." She's crying. "The call won't go through."

  More gunshots, from right around the corner this time. I grab Penelope and we run inside. It takes both hands for me to lock the tiny latch on the screen door. It is in this moment I realize that I dropped my bat when that old lady's leg snapped like a wishbone. I curse to myself and look outside before I close the wooden door. She's still looking at me. That psychotic old lady is still trying to crawl towards us. I can't begin to grasp how or why. I do understand that we need to get away from her. That much is painfully clear. I slam the door and lock it tight. Penelope is trying the land line, now. Judging by her outburst and throwing the phone at the wall, she still can't get through.

  We don't really talk. We turn off all the lights and go into the bedroom. We lock that door too. I get my grandfather's old rusty double barrel shotgun from the closet. The gun is older than I am and has seen some hard days. There's a small crack running down the wood of the butt. It will do for a few shots. I don't have much ammo for it. I open the small box next to it. Seven shells. What am I supposed to do with seven shells? It will have to work. I have to make it work. I need to protect her. This will get us through the night. Eventually, after several hours of pointlessly looking out of the blinds and failing to get through to the police, we decide to lay down. The street lights have been out for a few months, now, in this area. I haven't been able to see anything before this, I'm not sure why we even try looking now. The gun is in the corner, propped against the shelf we keep our books and shot glass collection on. I hold her tight. She shakes and cries uncontrollably. Somehow, we eventually manage to fall asleep. My eyes close as I stare at the numbers on the alarm clock. All night. All God damned night I dreamed of that old lady. I dreamed that she was always right behind me. Crawling at me. Twitching violently in a way that humans are not meant to. Lastly, the sputtering choking noises. I cringe in my sleep. I can feel myself grinding my teeth in my dream. I dream that I'm in a grass field. It's really hard to see. My vision is blurred. I manage to find my way to a chain link fence. I peer through the fence at a light so bright it hurts just to look at it. Then nothing. I wake. My first feeling of the day is a worrisome pit in my stomach, knowing instinctively that something is wrong.

  I open my eyes the next morning. The first thing I smell is smoke, like burning weeds and rubber. The smoke isn't unbearable, but it is definitely present in the air. I look around at the bed. She's not laying next to me. I look around the room. Not even the cat is in sight. At least, there are no gun shots. I wonder what happened. Maybe, just maybe, everything is fixed now. The army probably stepped in and took control of whatever the hell is going on. I throw the covers off of me and look for my cell phone on the night stand. I don't remember putting it to charge but I know I do out of habit every night. I follow the charger cord and find the phone on the ground. I light up the screen to see that I don't have any new messages. That's odd. My phone hasn't charged much. I look around and notice the alarm clock is blank.

  "The power is out." She stands in the door way.

  The first thing I notice is she's dressed like she is about to go out. Only instead of a purse, she has a backpack hanging over her shoulder. Where did she find the time to pack anything, I think to myself. I wouldn't dare speak out and risk starting the endless trend of fighting with each other about everything again. Everything is supposed to be better and we are going to figure things out.

  "Yeah, I noticed that. How is it out there?"

  "It's bad. There's just smoke everywhere. I can't see anything out there. The random gunshots seem to have stopped but I heard a lady screaming not more than an hour ago. It.. It was awful." I can clearly see that she's shaken up.

  I get up and embrace her. The intoxicating scent of her hair fills me with delight. Before I can enjoy the moment too much, I feel her pushing away. I look into her eyes and what I am met with feels cold. It isn't like I'm really looking into the eyes of someone I've known for years, but a stranger that is all of a sudden, unsure of me. I can see it all over her. I know from experience. I try to ignore what I feel as best as I possibly can.

  "Are you alright?"

  If there is anything that calms a girl down, it is rhetorical questions. After her further explaining the seriousness of our situation, I become the nervous one. She says things to me on the way to the living room, but I don't really hear anything she's saying. She's going on about the Ebola virus again but what we saw last night was not Ebola. My heart is racing. My mind keeps wondering if things are really as bad as she says or if maybe she's just blowing it out of proportion. Yeah, that has to be it. I'm willing to bet the fire department is just right down the street and people are already flooding the closest grocery store to prepare for cookouts. Ritualistic American consumerism won't skip a beat. We bounce back from anything. The more I convince myself, the better I feel. Then I take a peek through the blinds. Oh, damn it. What the hell happened last night?

  "What? What's wrong?"

  I don't answer her. I stare through a small crack in the blinds, petrified with disbelief. The sound of her repeating my name sounds distant and muffled. I pull down a section of the blinds to get a better look. I see smoke. Thick gray smoke makes it hard to see anything beyond the front yard. I wonder if that lady is still out there. I can't see anything that looks like a person but, honestly, a bus could be out there and I wouldn't see it. God, I really hope that old lady is gone. A small yellow glow is coming from directly across the street. I think it is safe to assume our neighbor's house is on fire. Penelope is not going to react well to that. She is good friends with the girl that lives there.

  "Hey! What is it?" She tugs on my sleeve, finally getting my attention.

  "It's just.. I did not think it was this bad. I can't see anything out there. Where are the cops?"

  "What?" She pushes me out of the way and peers out the window. "It wasn't this smoky earlier."

  "I wonder what's going on out there."

  "I need to go." She steps back from the window.

  "What? Why?"

  "I should make sure my parents are okay." She goes for her cars keys.

  "We shouldn't leave the house." I try to be the voice of reason. "It's dangerous out there."

  "You stay here. I'll check on my parents and come back with help. I promise." She's already at the door.

  So, that's it? You're going to just leave. I don't say it. For some reason, I don't say anything. I just watch her leave. She doesn't so much as say "goodbye." She opens the door and the smoke from outside pours into the house like a scene from a Dracula movie. I can't see anything outside beyond the grass. I don't see anything that looks like it could be that old lady. I try to tell Penelope to be careful but she's already slammed the door shut. Okay, be calm. Let's try to be a man about this. She's coming back. I should just make myself useful while she's gone. I know. I will gather supplies just in case we have to leave town.

  I go to my closet in the bedroom. I have a dark green backpack that I used to take with me on camping trips. In the front pocket is your standard issue useless stuff. A Swiss army knife, a compass, and a small first aid kit. In all reality, the first aid kit is only really good for tending small cuts and scrapes. I'm not enough of a survivalist to do much else with it. I nestle a change of clothes tightly on the bottom of the big compartment in the backpack. Next, I head to the kitchen to check the cabinets. I'm looking for canned food, a particular type of canned food. It should be something that isn't going to go bad anytime soon. It should be something you can eat without cooking it. Since I have no idea how to use a Swiss army knife to open cans, the food I pick should have a pop top. I look through the contents of the kitchen. It appears that my options are canned fruit and mini sausages an old coworker used to call "monkey dicks." I'm sure that'll be pleasant to think about. Fortunately, I have enough food to fill the backpack. I zip it up tightly and set it on the coffee table, ready to go. I retrieve the shotgun and set it on the couch with the box of shells. Well, now what? I'm far too nervous to just sit still and wait around. I go into the garage and grab four empty milk jugs we had set aside for recycling. I rinse them out several times and fill them with water. You can never be too prepared. I set them on the coffee table with the bag.

 
I run over to the blinds and peel them open for the tenth time in five minutes. I'm like a nervous crack head checking for the cops. Surprise, it's smoke. I think it's getting worse out there. The wispy orange and gray cloud blows past the house. At this rate, I figure the wind will clear out the smoke but it just keeps coming. I stand there for at least half an hour, looking at the same thing the whole time. I decide to go shower and change my clothes. I'm not getting far in my pajamas. I'm relieved to find that the hot water is still on. I shower quickly. It would be embarrassing to hold up Penelope and her parents because I needed a bath. I turn off the water and pull back the curtains. The cold air is numbing. I grab my towel and wrap myself in it. I hear some commotion, sounds like banging, coming from the front of the house. Maybe they're here. I dry off as fast as I can. I swear, I hear the front door close. My clothes stick uncomfortably as I try to force them on. I pull on the last sock and spring out of the bathroom, hair still dripping wet. Nobody is there. I run around the house. Nope, nobody's been here. I check outside again through the blinds, now permanently bent where I've been pulling. Just the same billows of smoke. I listen closely.

  The screech of tires making an attempt to stop. A loud clash of steal followed by shattering glass. I jump back from the window. I hear another crash and then the sound of an engine roaring away into silence. That must have been something big, a truck, perhaps. I don't bother going back to the window. I wouldn't be able to see anything anyway. I need to sit. I could have quite possibly just heard somebody die. I sit on the couch and get out my cell phone. Nothing new. I send a text message to Penelope telling her to let me know when she get to her parent's house. She better be careful out there. As I think about her, I hear the scream of a woman coming from down the street. It can't be very far at all. What the hell is going on out there? The pit of dread in my stomach twists. I bury my face into my hands. She better be careful out there. God damn it. Why did you leave? Why the hell would you go out there? I can't take the suspense. I call her. The phone rings and rings. Forever it feels like. It doesn't go to voicemail. It just keeps ringing. I wait. I listen to the annoying tone. I wait for it to stop and be replaced with her some voice. That doesn't happen though. It keeps ringing. I look down at my phone. It says that I've been connected to this call for over eleven minutes.

  "What the hell?!?" I bark in frustration, as if it will scare things into being fixed.

  I call her again and again. Never waiting more than a minute before hanging up and trying again. I don't understand why it's not going to voicemail. That's very odd. I find myself pacing, unsure at what point I stood up. I decide to give calling her a break. I check everyone's favorite social media, SoNet. That is really weird. Nobody has posted anything today. Nothing. Not a single complaint or funny picture being shared. I have a cousin out of state. I wonder if he's experiencing the same thing where he is at. I search his name and click on his picture. The page won't load. No matter how many times I try, it just says "error loading page." I go back to my main news feed. Nobody posted anything useful last night. Nothing that gives a hint to what is going on. I see a post from my childhood friend, Jesse. "I'm hiding from them in the trees. Not sure how long I will have service up here. Somebody come find me." I'm guessing he went on one of his hikes yesterday and got stuck out there. What does he mean by "them," like the old lady? Is that happening to everybody? I wonder if Jesse survived the night out there. The nights have been getting cold enough inside a house. I can't imagine sleeping in a tree. The Jesse I remember could and would. He was always a nature guy. He would talk about trying to live in the wilderness. Just leaving his home and parents behind to go live in the woods. We were imaginative kids. He would always say that he didn't belong here. As if there was some part of the world, that he's never been to or seen, calling out to him. A place he is truly meant to be. A real home. I think this is what got me considering making something of myself too, one day, outgrow this town and move on. I don't belong here. Hell, Jesse might be stuck in a tree but I'm stuck in the city. He may be better off in events like this. They say the city is the worst place to be in a natural disaster. I believe it. There's so many desperate people crammed into a little area. You never know what could happen. God, I hope Penelope is safe. I call again. It rings endlessly. I hang up the call when I notice I only have a quarter of my battery left. I better save it for when she calls back.

  I go to the kitchen and open up the fridge. I better use some of this stuff. It's just going to go bad anyway. These thoughts reinforce the justification to make a sandwich twice the size as I normally would. I heap on the mayo and cheese. I'm gonna need it for the steak's worth of bologna slices that are on this bad boy. I devour the sandwich like I haven't seen food in days. As I return the ingredients to the fridge I see the milk. This won't be good by tomorrow, better get at it. I take several gulps straight from the jug. If only Penelope was here to see me. She would always get so mad when she would catch me drinking from the carton. Then she would get more mad when I would laugh. I couldn't help it. She's just so damn adorable when she's mad. I smile and put the milk away. I get back into the living room. The couch would look a whole lot more comfy without that shotgun on it. I push it onto the floor and lay on the couch. I stack two of the tiny throw pillows and set them under my head. It takes some adjusting to get comfortable. Before I realize that I've achieved comfort, I'm out like our lights. When I close my eyes the room is a light blue from the bit of mid afternoon sunlight that's making it through the smoke.

  When I open my eyes the room is black. The only light is the dim glow creeping through the blinds. Panic sets in. I begin asking myself every question I can think of. What time is it? Why is the power out? Where did Penelope go? How long was I out? Where's my phone? Where are the damn police? Where is everybody? What is going on? I start freaking out. I grab my phone from my pocket. The bright screen burns my eyes. There are no missed calls or new texts. I try to text Penelope but it won't send. Every few seconds it gives me to option to resend the failed message. I give up. Then I go to SoNet. The application won't load. You know it's the end of the world when social media is down. I back out of the application and notice I have no service. My phone isn't even displaying the time anymore. I begin to freak out again. I stand up and check outside. Less wind and less smoke. The fog is now moving at a slow drift. Instead of only being able to see light, I can actually see most of my yard and driveway. Penelope's car isn't there. I really wish it was. Why would she leave? I need her here right now. I need her.

  "Help me!" A young woman's voice coming from outside.

  My heart skips a beat. Could it be? She's back! My love! I look around. I don't see anyone. Could I be hearing things?

  "Somebody! Please!" Her voice is closer now.

  She appears from the smoke. Terror and sweat dripping from her face. She's young and beautiful but not my wife. She runs into my yard for some reason. Not far behind her, I see three people. They're running like they are drunk. As they get closer, I see that one of them is an older woman. She is running with a heavy limp. The others are men, not much older than myself. The young girl bangs on the screen door and yells for help. The people are getting closer. They are reaching forward like they are ready to strangle her. As they approach, I see that there is something clearly wrong with these people. Something in their eyes. I can't explain it. They are just so empty. They are different than the eyes of a drug addict or the eyes of a madman, they are the eyes of.. a dead person. That's not possible. Something's just wrong with them. They are crazy
and
on drugs, that has to be it.