Zomblog 05: Snoe's War (19 page)

“What the fu—”

My head popped up and his voice just simply stopped. I reached out and grabbed him by the throat before he could finish peeing his pants.
What is it with people and their bodily functions around me?
My claws sank into the flesh of his throat and I had no problem stepping into the room and shutting the door with my foot.

By now, Greg was flopping and jerking like a fish on a hook just pulled onto the dock. It made me briefly remember back to when I was a little girl. My dad’s idea of a father-daughter outing was a trip to a river where we would spend the day not talking while holding a pole with a line in the water, waiting for a fish to bite. How come I hated that so much, but when he died of a heart attack shortly after I turned fourteen, I missed it so much? Hmm…

But back to Greg. As his blood gushed from the holes in his throat, he began to smell like fresh baked bread.  I’m pretty sure I started to drool. Then he did that jitterbug shake and went limp in my grasp.

Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

At some point I sat down at the foot of the bed to enjoy my meal. I was ‘gurging up socks, pants, tenny runners and underpants when I heard the muffled shriek followed by the thud. It seems that Lisa had poked her head out of the bathroom and promptly fainted. She wasn’t dead…just…resting. I went back to eating.

After I finished, I went over to the prone figure sprawled on the stained and over worn carpet. I felt my mouth changing back and my claws were retracting, which got me to wondering. I guess I wasn’t hungry or mad anymore.

I took a good look at the girl I’d laid on the bed. She seemed awfully young. I began poking around the room and eventually found her purse. A driver’s license! Ah-ha!

Lisa Jenkins. The girl in the picture had that I-just-passed-my-driver’s-test grin on her face. Her sandy blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she looked every bit the age of seventeen. The girl sprawled on the bed was sporting a bad dye job. The unnaturally red hair was in need of washing, and the face had grime in some of the creases around the eyes and where the dimples poked in around her cheeks.  But under all of that, I could see hints of the seventeen-year-old in the picture.

Then I found the wallet belonging to the currently-digesting-in-my-belly Greg Pitts. Well, well…it seems Greggy-poo was forty-one. Now isn’t
that
special. Things were starting to get clearer.

I went into the bathroom and washed my hands and face.  The shark mouth and the claws were gone, but the icky skin tone—slate gray—and the scary black orbs where my eyes should be were still a problem. Wait! I’d seen something on the nightstand. I hurried over and scooped the dark sunglasses up and put them on. Next, I dimmed the lights and then sat down on the ratty, burnt-orange chair beside the bed and waited.

After about an hour, Lisa began to stir. She rolled onto her side facing away from me and I heard her yawn. After a little stretching, she eased onto her back again. She must’ve thought it’d all been just a bad dream.

Then she saw me.

“Please don’t scream,” I said, trying my best to sound as unthreatening and non-ghoulish as possible.

“Y-y-you…b-but—”

“I can explain.”
I can?
“But you need to calm down and not get crazy.”

“W-where’s Greg?”

“Ummm…” I wasn’t stammering like her, but all of a sudden, I was the one tongue tied.

“Take off his glasses.” Lisa was struggling to sit up. Just a hint of attitude was poking through the surface.

“You probably don’t want me to do that,” I cautioned, folding my hands in my lap.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“I’m the one who found a baby in a trash can last night,” I snapped, cutting her off. Great, I could feel my fingertips and toes starting to tingle. 
Deep breath, Ava. Wait…do I breathe?
I pressed my lips together and glared daggers through the dark lenses of the sunglasses. I held my breath and counted. When I hit twenty without feeling anything, I distracted my anger by marveling at my lack of need when it came to respiration.  Meanwhile, Lisa was building up a new head of indignant steam.

“…saw you doing
something
to Greg. But your face and your hands…” She was trying very hard to reconcile in her mind something she knew for certain that she could not have possible seen.

“So what are you gonna do?” I blurted. “Call the cops?”

Her face changed.
Ha!
I thought. 
Gotcha there, Little-Miss-Smartypants
. She was caught and I was certain she knew it.

“Look,” I tried to sound pleasant, “I don’t know why you are worried about Greg. He sounded pretty much like a total jerk. And I’m guessing that he was the father of your baby. Last I checked…that makes him a bit of a pedophile. Actually, scratch that whole ‘bit’ part; that is sort of an all-or-nothing deal.  And, if you carried that baby anything close to full-term, you got knocked up at sixteen.
That’s
why he didn’t want you going to a hospital.”

“But…” I could see her seeking some sort of defense. Lisa wasn’t a dumb kid…just misguided.

“When did you run away?”

“I didn’t,” she mumbled, her eyes going down and suddenly finding something interesting about the hands in her lap.

“Folks kick you out?” What is it with parents? Okay, your kid screwed up. Is tossing them into the street and simply turning your back to the problem really a choice?

“Uh-huh.”

I reached over and took Lisa’s hand. I saw and felt her flinch.

“You’re hands are freezing.” She pulled away and had the decency to blush.

That’s because I think I’m dead and now I eat people.
  Nope, can’t say that. At least not right this minute. I’d have to save that for later.

“How ‘bout you come home with me,” I suggested. “This is no place for a girl to be calling home.” Not that my place was all that much better.

“I don’t even know you,” Lisa said, but I could tell that her attempted hold out was a mere formality.

“Ava Birch.” I stuck out my hand.

Obviously she still remembered my cold touch because she scooted back a bit.  Then she seemed to catch herself and sat up straight like she was gathering all her inner strength and resolve. I noticed how she pressed her lips together and that was the first time that I would wonder just how much of a monster I’d become after The Change. I’d have other epiphanies, but that’s for a later time.

“Lisa Jenkins,” she said and shook my hand. Points for her, the wince of revulsion was hardly noticeable. “So, what’s your deal?”

I glanced at my watch. It was almost five. The sun would be coming up soon and I needed to be back home.

“Let’s talk as we pack and go,” I urged.

“Are you like a…vampire?” Lisa asked. She sounded unsure of herself.  As well she should, asking such a silly question.

“No.” I stuffed a wadded up bundle of her clothes in a grocery bag. Of course, I was no longer certain that vampires were a myth. After all, I was a …what? At that moment, I didn’t know what I was.

“A zombie?”

“Did I try to eat your brains?” I snapped.

“Is that what zombies eat?” Lisa ducked into the bathroom to grab some things. “I thought they ripped out people’s guts.  I saw this weird mini-series called
Dead Set
at Brenda’s Halloween party, but—”

“I’m not a zombie.”

That’s what I said, but at that moment, I wasn’t a hundred percent certain. I didn’t know what she was talking about, the last horror movie I’d seen was
Friday the 13
^th
, part 3
. It was awful. I’m more of a
Sleepless in Seattle
girl.

“Well, you’re not normal,” Lisa said, standing in the middle of the room holding two grocery bags with a carry bag slung over one shoulder.

“We can worry about this later,” I huffed. Suddenly I had this urge to find out what the hell I was.

We left the rundown room with the big, dark stain on the carpet that used to be Greg Pitts.  Even if somebody called the police, there wasn’t all that much to go by. I had Greggy’s wallet, which, minus the thirty-two dollars it once held, I stuffed into a garbage can that was sitting on the curb waiting to be picked up that day. Besides, places like that don’t want cops crawling all over the place. I’d almost be willing to bet everyone who frequented that dump had a record…if not outstanding warrants. No…Greg was probably sucked up by a Stanley Steamer rented from the corner grocery store. I never heard anything about him on the news that next night, or any other night for that matter. The big story was about the ‘miracle baby’ and the heroic gas station attendant. Lisa didn’t cry…much.

When we got back to my place, I let Lisa have the bed.  Fortunately for me, she was out like a light in no time. I ducked inside the closet just as I heard the daily ritual of daytime begin.  My phone still hadn’t made a peep, and continued to remain pathetically silent all day.

I heard Lisa get up once and make her way into the bathroom. I was batting around a bunch of very lame excuses that would make my being in this closet sound reasonable. Nothing really stood out, but fortunately, Lisa flopped back onto my bed and was back asleep in minutes.

I spent the day experimenting. I played with my SEEK ability. I tried to make myself mad so that my claws would come out. I figured it might be useful to have those weapons at my beck and call. Unfortunately, my claws aren’t like most of the men I’ve had in my bed…they knew I was faking it. However, I was able to bring on my shark mouth. All I had to do was think about my last meal. Sadly, it didn’t work when I thought about all my former faves like chocolate, bacon, and Ben and Jerry’s.  In fact, thinking about ‘normal’ food didn’t do a thing for me. 

If I could have cried, that would be worthy of my tears, that’s for sure. Just because I don’t respond to those things doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the special place a pint of Chunky Monkey or a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough had for me on one of those crappy days when nothing went right, or my PMS was worse than normal.

I poked my head out when the little crack at the bottom of the door was dark. Lisa was still sleeping. I didn’t smell anything, so I figured that, at the very least, she wasn’t dying. I let her be and went out to my living room.

I was sorting her clothes so that I could wash everything when I heard a knock at my door. The thing was, I knew as soon as I heard it that it wasn’t really an actual knock. Whoever it was had
placed
their hand on the door twice. That ‘knock’ wasn’t meant to be heard by anybody other than me.

I focused my hearing on the other side of the door and heard…nothing. No breathing. No rustling of clothes. In fact, it was a complete absence of sound. Hmm. There went my grizzly bear claws.  Fear brings them out. Who knew?

I moved to the door and, like a total airhead, put my ear to it. Yep, my super-hearing didn’t pick up anything, but maybe if I place my ear to the door I’ll get something. I considered peeking out my curtains, but that seemed silly. Do people really think they can move their curtains and somebody standing outside won’t see? And seriously? Besides the breeze, does glass really protect you from anything?

Still, a girl can’t be too careful I took off my sunglasses.  There was something about this stranger at my door that made me want to be at my scariest. I thought about last night’s snack.  Yay! Shark mouth! Now I was ready to open the door. I grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, ready to pounce.

“Mrrgmph!” That was supposed to be
“What the hell do you want?”
I need to remember that I can’t speak with shark mouth.

“Miss Birch?” A woman was standing at my door. She seemed to take the whole monster version of me in stride. I’m pretty sure she stifled a yawn!

“Murgl?”
Stupid shark mouth
.

“May I come in?”

I cleared my head of all thoughts of food and wiped the thick, syrupy strand of drool off my chin. “Sure,” I said after an over-exaggerated swallow.

The woman stepped past me and I realized that all my claws had retracted as well. I closed the door and clicked on a lamp.  My guest was trying to politely find an uncluttered section of my sofa to sit on.

“My name is Morgan,” the woman began, and then paused.  She looked around with a raised eyebrow, quickly stood, and went to my bedroom.  She turned with an angry look on her face.  “I was led to believe you lived alone.”

“Oh,” I hurried to the door, edging past to close it, “that’s Lisa,”

“You’re childless,” whispered Little Miss State-The-Obvious.  “And you have no siblings.”

“She’s a friend.”

“You don’t have any friends.”

“And you’re kind of a bitch,” I huffed. I felt my fingers and toes start to tingle.

“Oh please,” Morgan said flatly, glancing down at my feet.

“How about you tell me who you are and why you’re here,” I demanded.

“I told you, my name is Morgan and—”

“Morgan what?” I interrupted.

“Just Morgan.”

“What…like Cher or Madonna?”

“Sure.” Ooo, somebody was getting ruffled.

“Okay,” I agreed.  “But what do you want? I’m guessing you are some sort of scary night creature. That would explain why I couldn’t hear or smell you. Also, that might account for why you don’t seem to care that my eyes are like two black marbles, my mouth looks like something out of
Jaws
, and my fingers and toes sprout Ginsu knives when I get agitated.”

“You failed to mention your unnatural pallor.”

“Huh?”

“Your skin tone,” Morgan sneered and made an attempt to sound like she was talking to a six-year-old.  “But I’m here on business.”

Okay
, I thought,
maybe I am stupid
.

“You tried to take your life recently.”  That was a statement, not a question. “When you came to, it was to…this.”  She said it like it was something dirty.

“Fine,” I said with a nod. “But you haven’t really told me anything about why you’re here or who you are.”