Eat, Prey, Decay: 7 Tales of the Apocalypse (Zombie, Dark Fantasy, Dystopian, Horror, & Post-Apocalyptic Boxed Set), page 122
The woman’s shrieks sliced into my thoughts, bringing me back to an unreal reality where the brunette girl Clary was mounting her mother’s body, her small face buried against delicate neck. The squelching sound that accompanied the girl ripping away a dripping chunk of flesh turned my stomach like a tilt-a-whirl on acid.
“Grandma, I think we need to go home.” I pulled on her hand roughly. She was still calling for Grandpa. I wanted to slap her, scream at her, but that wouldn’t help. For a split second, I debated leaving her. She’d lived a good long life and… well, I hadn’t! I wanted to get out of this town, do something big with my life, not get attacked in the pork aisle with a demented senior citizen.
My daddy would call it selfishness and completely immoral, to think something like that. Then again, Daddy had never come face-to-face with a cannibal kid in the middle of Murphy’s. “Grandma, come on!” I raised my voice, trying to get her attention without getting the attention of Clary- the girl still gorging on her momma.
I pulled harder, and like a stubborn mule, Grandma began to move.
It was impossible not to look behind us as I forced Grandma towards the exit. Clary’s mother was slumped on the lower rack of pork, her face nearly obscured by bite marks and blood. Others were yelling and running now, falling over display racks of corn chips and salsa.
“Hurry, Grandma. Please.” I emphasized the please, a harsh whisper that barely evoked the terror churning in my belly. Coaxing Grandma along, I faced the rear of the store and walked backwards.
She was crying now, murmuring Grandpa’s name over and over; her face was pale. I’d never seen her look so scared or so helpless. Even on her worst days, she’d normally work her way back to a childlike happiness after an episode. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re going to be fine.”
The frenzy in the store had reached a palatable fever pitch. Product was all over the waxy linoleum floors. It was almost deranged art- the dirty white canvas beneath our feet now coated in splashes of pudding, juice, and syrups, then those spilled liquids sprinkled with rainbow cereals and coffee grounds.
Screams and shouts and curse words were now joined by music. Johnny Cash’s lyrics seemed to meld perfectly with the scene. A ring of fire. And I had certainly fallen in.
Clary wasn’t the only killer kid now. There were others.
Racing down aisles, attacking adults without prejudice for gender or color. One child mounted the top of the bread display on the other side of the store from us; his toes curled around the edge of the coated metal; his gaze searched the store for his next target…
My heart felt like it would beat from my chest. I had to calm down. I had to breathe. We had to keep moving. My heart- once beating like a racing stallion- now stopped. It stopped dead and, had I been hooked to monitoring equipment, I was positive the absence of a beat would mean I had flat-lined. That I had died, standing there in the middle of inexplicable chaos, I had died because that boy atop the bread display was looking directly at us.
“We have to run!” I pulled harder, but she only moved a fraction faster. “Please.” I whimpered, losing my will to yell at her.
He was leaping, dropping down from the display and landing on all fours like a feral, dexterous cat. His movements were unreal, unbelievable when matched with his slight frame. His sleek black hair was wet with sweat, pushed against his forehead as if he’d recently broken a high fever. Was that what this was? An infection… some mutated, virulent strand of flu? If only I’d read more, studied more. Maybe I’d know what was happening.
I wanted to be a nurse. Nurses could always find jobs, because people would always get sick. I could easily graduate and move out of this crappy town, start a new life for myself, and then send money back to Dad. Maybe he’d even move too, if I could support him some day. Thank him for all his hard work.
We were glued to the floor. I hadn’t even realized that I’d stopped forcing Grandma toward the exit. I had seen death coming, and I had frozen. I wasn’t smart enough to be a nurse. If I was, the boy with black hair racing towards me would have made me run faster, not stop for a hug. I almost laughed. Hysteria. I was hysterical. The only thing more ridiculous would be to spread my arms wide for an embrace with the blood-soaked child intent on ripping me to stringy bits.
My yank on Grandma’s arm wasn’t kind, it was brutal and she yelped in pain. She’d be bruised tomorrow- a large black and purple thing that would make it look like I abused her- but if she were alive to complain, that would be fine with me.
We were almost to the exit.
And that’s when the demon with the jet black hair jumped on Grandma’s back, his nails clawing into her too-large blue cardigan. He’d been so fast. So fast… it had taken him mere seconds to cover the distance across the store. The scream that filled Murphy’s came from my mouth now. Frantically, I searched for a weapon, anything that I could hit the kid with. But we were surrounded by useless things- magazines, gift cards, a stack of little Debbie products.
Grandma was on the ground, having buckled beneath the child’s weight. She was whimpering and screaming, blood seeming to spill from a dozen wounds. I had to help her. I had to. The boy atop Grandma was bent over her, nibbling on her upper left arm.
I began to kick Grandma’s attacker. My first strike wasn’t effective; his mouth stayed glued to her aged body. So I kicked again, moving slightly closer and gritting my teeth. My shoe made contact with his midsection the second time. And once I’d felt his soft body give way, heard his surprised intake of air, and his subsequent growl, I knew I’d keep kicking until he would never hurt my Grandma again.
The boy rolled off of her body, but he was damaged, hurt, he couldn’t get away. And I wasn’t ready to show mercy. I closed the enlarged gap between us and resumed kicking him, every once and a while lifting my foot perpendicular to the ground and slamming it down onto his head.
He was smaller than me, slight even, no more than five. And I pummeled him until his body was battered, bruised, and barely recognizable.
It all happened in a matter of seconds, but in my mind, the play-by-play was infinitely longer. When I realized the boy was dead, that I’d taken his life, I went absolutely still, waiting for the guilt to build in my body like an inflating hot air balloon. It did not. I didn’t feel guilty.
Grandma was on the ground, her body limp and looking small in the oversized sweater. I’d only been turned away from her for a moment, and now a girl with mousey brown hair was chewing absentmindedly on her exposed right calf. “Get away from her!” I screamed, bending over and pushing the girl as hard as I could.
The girl snarled and rolled away from me. It didn’t take her long to recover and she quickly leapt back towards her scavenged dinner. “No!” Another push, but she was smart now, easily avoiding my sorry excuse for self-defense.
Everything around me seemed to fade into the background as I fended off the miniature monster’s advances. I had no idea how I’d get out of the store myself, let alone how I’d get Grandma out… if I could kill this second child and even have the chance to get out. Grandma weighed barely a hundred pounds, but if I dragged her, then I couldn’t defend her.
She needed to wake up, be able to walk by herself. Nudging her with my toe, my eyes staying on the monstrous girl, I mentally begged my grandma to wake up, to be fine. But her face was so pale and her chest was not moving. Please wake up. Please wake up. You can call me any name you want. Just please wake up.
I couldn’t keep pushing the tenacious girl away forever.
I was so tired, exhausted from defending Grandma and scared of the four other kids that were standing a short distance away, eyeballing the situation… maybe wondering if I’d taste better than a wrinkled old woman. I wasn’t going to make it out. I was going to die at twelve, twelve years old and in this stupid town.
That’s when Grandma stirred, just when I’d given up hope and written my sad little obituary in my head. “Oh my god; oh my god. Grandma!” I bent down to help her up, knowing that my diverted focus would likely mean death by cannibal munchkin.
As I reached under her arms and bent my knees to lift, her eyelids fluttered like hummingbird’s wings and finally, her lashes fully parted. To reveal dead eyes, the lovely gray of her irises nearly obscured by a milky film that reminded me of the condensed milk she always used in her banana pudding.
I fell backwards, hands automatically finding their way behind me for support. “Grandma?” I whispered, but, in my gut, I knew she wasn’t Grandma. Not anymore.
The horde of other children converged now, as if her waking up was their cue to attack. The exit was so close, but I was so afraid. If I turned my back to run… they were so fast, they’d catch me in a millisecond. “Grandma, please… oh, god, please help me.” My words were a whispered prayer to a woman that no longer existed.
The shell of my grandma was standing now and her soulless eyes stared at me unblinking.
“Please.” I begged. “Please. It’s me. It’s Bonnie. I’m Rosie’s daughter. Please. Please don’t let them hurt me.”
I clumsily got to my feet, never losing sight of the five cannibal kids and grandma’s body.
Just walk slowly. Don’t let them see how afraid you are.
The boy who’d killed Grandma seemed to hear my thoughts and his pace quickened. They were all so fast. I didn’t stand a chance.
I felt the automatic door whoosh open behind me.
Grandma’s shell was still looking at me. She had moved though and was between me and the kids. We looked at each other for an instance and I could swear I saw a glint of recognition behind the cloudy eyes. She stumbled to her left and grunted loudly as her hands made contact with a large shelving unit to the left of the entrance. The shell of my grandma yanked and Snapple and sparkling grape juice rained down onto the rock-hard floors. Glass bottles shattered into pieces, the sharp shards glinting under the fluorescent lighting.
The deranged kids howled in unison and tried to race towards me. They slipped and slid across the linoleum, now slick with liquid. As they fell, their small frames came into contact with sizeable bottle shards. Clary met the worst fate- a particularly large, jagged piece of dark green bottle found its way into her neck. It must have severed the left carotid artery. Bright red blood that morphed to pitch black sprayed out in a wet fan- like a paint sprayer on the fritz.
I gasped.
Grandma was dead. I had no doubt about that.
But why would a dead woman… try and save me?
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Bon. Just run!
I wasn’t going to the bus stop. I couldn’t stand still, be a sitting duck.
The gas station wasn’t far, two miles at most. I was fast. I could run that in sixteen minutes flat.
***
I was out of breath, out of energy, my throat parched. But I was nearly there. I could see the gas station now, the green and orange sign a beacon to help me navigate my fear and push past my exhaustion. That short distance, a tiny bit further, and I’d be with Dad. He’d make everything okay.
Moving faster now, ignoring the aches and pains, I kept my mind focused on my dad, on getting to him. It kept me going, footfall after footfall against the busted sidewalk. My eyes were refusing to leave the singular door that provided entrance into the station’s store. Keep running, you’re almost there.
The homestretch now, only a few more yards. But the sidewalks in our town were hazardous. I should have been looking down, watching where I was going. A stubborn root system connected to a large white oak had pushed the concrete upwards, creating a hump that often tripped the most sure-footed walker. I knew it was there; my mind had just been elsewhere. The town had petitioned to tear it down, repair the walkway, but the tree was in contention to be on the Texas Big Tree Registry. If it was taller than 110 feet, it would beat out the white oak in Newton County. That was too much fame for the town council to pass up.
A big tree.
That’s the most important thing this stupid town is known for.
That was my thought as I careened forward out of control and face-planted against the pitted, cracked path.
My face started stinging instantly and I knew I’d scraped it up pretty badly. “Ugh,” I moaned, fingering the area that hurt the most. The left side of my face, above the temple stretching down towards the cheek, was one big world of hurt. Looking down at my hands, I let loose a second moan. My palms, which had taken some of the impact and saved my face from worse damage, were bleeding and sported shallow abrasions. A small piece of skin flapped in the breeze.
A noise to my left made me whirl. It had come from across the street. Sunny Valley Daycare seemed inordinately cheerful today; the Texas daylight made it look like a haven for angels. The sight of the happy building made me momentarily forget the scrapes and cuts. Dad’s gas station was right across the street from a bunch of little kids. I hadn’t even thought of that as I’d run here. I’d just wanted to get to my dad.
My heart was a race horse again, threatening to break the gates and run laps around my internal organs. He had to be okay. Dad had to be okay. I couldn’t lose him.
I hadn’t realized my right knee was also hurt until I started limping forward. Looking down, I saw that my only pair of good jeans was torn, revealing more scrapes, more blood. I was almost at the front door though. Just a few more steps.
My eyes were magnetically drawn toward the daycare, as if I expected a flood of mini monsters to pour through the door and towards me at any moment.
The door handle was cold against my palm. I pushed, but the door didn’t budge. An earthquake attacked my body; it sent seismic tremors through every part of me.
Tears began to gather at the corner of my eyes and I continued to push futilely. I wanted to scream for Dad, yell at the top of my lungs, but the cheery daycare across the street arrested my voice. Hope was abandoning me quickly and I slumped against the glass. “Daddy… daddy… I’m sorry. I should have protected Grandma. I’m so sorry.” My words were a whispered prayer against the door, its surface slightly cooler than the hot air around me. My eyes were closed, but they flashed open at the sound of my name.
“Bonnie! Bonnie, don’t come in here!”
I could see him through the glass.
And I could see her.
A willowy child with dark brown hair and sun-kissed highlights framing what once must have been a cherubic face was rummaging through the candy display beneath the register. Her lavender dress was ripped and ruined with dark stains. I didn’t know where to look- at the girl or at my dad’s terrified face?
My indecision probably saved my life.
Because by the time I decided I had to enter the building, had to put myself between Dad and the monster child, she’d come away from the display with a handful of Paydays and her gaze had found my dad. And then she’d started moving towards him. “Dad! Dad!” My palms were pounding against the door. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t open the door. My dad was going to die. Grandma was dead. I was going to be alone. Dad was moving backwards, inching away from the girl, but moving slowly, as if a sudden, fast action would flare her malice.
He was between the soda fountain and the chips display now, his lower half no longer in sight.
The girl was so close to him. My everything hurt. Watching someone you love face death was so much worse than facing death yourself.
That’s when my eyes saw the word ‘PULL’ in large red letters on the small store’s door. It had always been that way. I had entered a million times before to see Dad. Why had I chosen today to go brain dead? So stupid. I was so stupid.
Without thinking, I began to pull the door open. Dad’s gaze darted to the motion and the squeak of the door moving. “No! Bonnie, no!”
His attention on me took his attention off of the murderous girl with the sweet tooth. She launched herself at him, not dropping a single candy bar. Frozen in horror, I watched my dad stumble backwards, lose his footing, and fall towards the floor. The girl rode him downward, her hair fanning out behind her in an almost graceful arc.
I couldn’t see my dad now; he and the girl were obscured by the food displays.
Dad had told me to run, to not come in, but I couldn’t do that. I could not leave without seeing that there was no hope. Otherwise, I’d never accept he was gone.
The door was still pushed inward several inches.
I opened it the rest of the way and walked slowly, as if I approached the gas chamber.
When I rounded the corner, bringing Dad and his attacker into sight, I could not deny that I was officially alone in the world.
The girl’s mouth was pressed against my father’s chin. She was kneeling beside his body; so it was hard to miss the large gaping hole in his stomach.
His legs were still twitching in the after-throes of death. There was no saving him though. The wound was too large, the pool of blood on the floor too expansive.
I was absolutely silent, taking in the scene.
Buried inside my body, I knew was pain, the kind of pain I’d never experienced or been able to quantify. It was an agony, the intense difficulty of losing a piece of my soul.
When the brunette child abandoned my father’s face, there wasn’t much left of it.
Chin, lip and jaw—were missing.
And as she perched herself atop my father, sticking her hand deep inside his belly, her other hand deftly unwrapped a candy bar.
I backed away. I had to get out of here, get outside, start running again. If I stayed one second longer, I would scream until the child killed me too.
A child. I kept calling these kids monsters and cannibals, but it could easily be me. I was twelve, not so much older.
It might as well have been me that had murdered my family.
My body was shaking by the time I pushed the store door open and stepped out into the sun- so inappropriate against the landscape of my mind, which was dark and mournful.
