The Most Uncommon Cold III:

Surviving When the Dead have Risen

Jeffrey Littorno

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The Most Uncommon Cold III:

Surviving When the Dead have Risen

by

Jeffrey Littorno

Copyright © 2014 by Jeffrey Littorno

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author Jeffrey Littorno.

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

     The news came back on after about five minutes. The newscaster was now alone on screen. I wondered where his partner had gone. The man’s professional and cool demeanor appeared shaken.

     “I… uh… I apologize for the technical difficulty we experienced. I am told that we have lost the signal to Luke Roberts in Washington. We will have coverage of the President’s address in just a few moments. In the meantime, here is Lisa Green with the weather.”

     The television was filled with the image of an attractive brunette in a short skirt standing in front of a weather screen. She was struggling to keep the smile plastered on her face.  “Thanks, Ben. Looks like we’re in for another gorgeous day in the bay area today.  You can expect--”

   The picture cut away, interrupting the woman’s report to return to the newscaster. “Sorry to cut in, Lisa, but I am told that the President is about to speak. We now go live to the White House.” The man looked at the camera, waiting for the picture to switch to the White House feed. After a few seconds, it did.

     A podium with the presidential seal on front filled the screen. As the President walked up to the podium, I could not help but notice the toll the presidency had taken on the man. He had entered the office as a young vibrant man. Now as his second term began, he appeared to be at least twenty-five years older.  He looked out at the audience made up of reporters without showing his usual smile.

     “Take your seats please. As most of you should know by now, the country has been experiencing an unusually high level of violent crime and assault in recent days. You can be sure that this troubling issue has been a major focus of my administration. There have been consultations with a variety of notable psychologists and other scientists as well as law enforcement officials regarding this matter.” He looked into the camera before taking a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiping his brow. “These experts assured me the rise in aggression has a logical explanation. One theory offered had to do with the influence of tidal forces…uh… another notion focused upon the possible appearance of a virus affecting one’s ability to control violent impulses. I even heard a theory blaming this whole problem on the prevalence of fast food.” The President paused for a moment and waited for the light laughter to die away. “The point is your government is working with great diligence to put an end to this rash of criminal assaults. An estimate of the exact time which the process of finding a solution will take is impossible to give. For this reason, I am declaring martial law to begin as of today and remain in effect for an indeterminate term.” The room erupted in questions shouted and cameras flashing. “I would advise all citizens to be patient during this time of crisis and avoid leaving their homes.” He turned at once from the podium and left the area, ignoring the storm of shouted questions.

     The empty podium remained on the screen for quite a long time, before static took over.

     “Well, that don’t sound too good,” Lawrence muttered.

     “What does that mean? Martial law?” Taylor asked.

     “It just means they’re taking things seriously. Soldiers are going to come in and take control so that it gets better as fast as possible,” I offered, trying to calm the worried upset young man.

     Lawrence stared at me as if doubting that I was being serious.  “From what I’ve seen, the situation never gets better after the army comes in. In fact, it usually gets a whole lot worse!” He chuckled.

     “But at least it means everybody knows this is going on and they’re doing something about it, right?” Taylor’s voice was once again trembling.

     The detective looked over at Taylor as if just realizing that he was having a difficult time accepting the current situation. “Yeah, I…I think it should will get better soon. With all this extra attention from doctors and scientists, they gotta find a way to fix things.”                                                                                       

     “At least the soldiers should be able to clear out the streets,” I added. “But the thing is we’re going to need to stay inside for a while. From what I’ve seen of our military in action, they tend to shoot first and ask questions later.”

     “You think they might just shoot everything… not just those… shells?” Taylor asked.

     “I’m not sure, but it’s damn sure not worth taking a chance, right?” Lawrence answered.

     “Damn right!” Taylor answered with a grin.

     We turned back to the television, which was now showing another room filled with a crowd of people listening to a speaker at a podium. At the bottom of the screen was a line reading National Institutes of Health (NIH) briefing (Recorded earlier today).

     An older, bald-headed man in a white medical coat stepped up to the podium. “Good evening. I am Doctor Mitchell Ryan, the director of the NIH.” He looked down at the papers he had set on the podium. “As I am sure you are all aware, we have seen a remarkable increase in the frequency of violent attacks in the period estimated to be the last one hundred forty-four hours. During this time, there have been a far greater than normal number of homicides and acts of cannibalism.” The wall behind Doctor Ryan lit up to reveal a map of the United States. He turned toward the map and pointed at it with what looked like a small television remote control. “Now as you can see, whatever is causing this flood of violence began primarily on the coasts of the country.”  Several masses of red dots appeared on the map. “You may recognize the fact that all of the highlighted areas are in regions with busy international airports.”

     One of the people in the audience shouted, “Are you saying this disease came from another country?”

     Ryan looked toward the questioner and looked as though he were about to answer the question but instead turned back toward the map. “We are just reviewing the obvious facts of this scenario. Supposition and extrapolation will come later.” He glanced back at the audience and grinned. “So as we see the most pronounced concentrations of violence took place in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle on the west coast. The areas most affected on the east coast are Boston, Washington DC, New York, and Orlando. The only thing we can say for sure at this point is that one thing each of these areas has in common is a major international airport. Rest assured, we will investigate this shared trait, but this doesn’t mean that we rule out any other possibilities.”

     A deep voice called out a question, “Does the NIH endorse any theories about why the illness did not hit airports further inland such as O’Hare or Denver Airport?”

     Doctor Ryan looked out as if considering whether to respond. After a short pause, he said, “I am sorry to say there is no acceptable theory as of yet, but I remind you all that an occurrence of such recent nature does not lend itself to valid conclusions. It is, therefore, too premature in our investigation to make any speculations, and we do not form random theories without some indications of support from scientific findings.” His expression had an unmistakable smugness. “What we can do is see signs that the incidents are spreading out from the areas of early concentration.” The doctor pushed the remote again, and the red dots grew legs, making them resemble spiders. “We presume that whatever is bringing on these increases in an aggressive behavior is being carried by humans from the initial sites. This is common with the spread of most diseases. As of now, this is all we can say for certain regarding the current situation.” He turned back to the audience and said, “Now, I am sure there are many questions for me.”

     Within seconds, the bustling crowd began shouting questions, drowning each other out. Doctor Ryan watched the commotion for a moment before saying, “One at a time, please.” Hands sprang into the air. He made eye contact with a tall man in the front row. “Yes, Gary?”

     “Thanks.  So can you tell us anything about the symptoms of this disease?” The tall man completed his question with a sneeze.       

     “Bless you,” the doctor replied from reflex. “I wish I could offer specific information about the disease. However, at this time, we do not have such details to give.” 

     The shouted questions began before Ryan had finished his sentence. 

     One question seemed to jump out from the rest, “Is it true about this all starting with the cold that has been going around?”

     The question appeared to startle the doctor. “I… uh… I am not sure where you heard that, but… yes, it is one of the possibilities that is being considered.”

     Lawrence let loose a long laugh, “Hell, Turner, you told me that when I first met you. Looks like you were way ahead of these guys! Remember you asked me if I had a cold?”

     “Yes, it seems pretty obvious, but this is government where nothing is obvious unless you form a committee and produce a mountain of paperwork,” I answered.

     “But don’t you think… I mean, don’t you think if they just came out and said the cold that so many people have is going to kill them, but they aren’t going to stay dead, then people would go crazy?” Taylor stammered.

     We were quiet, considering the insightful question.

     “Yeah, I bet you’re right,” Lawrence said. “They don’t wanna make things worse than they already are.”

     We turned back toward the television to find that it had gone to static.

     “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I need some sleep.” I said and handed the remote control to Lawrence.

     “Yeah, it’s gonna be a busy day tomorrow if we’re gonna check out all these other apartments.” He looked over at Taylor and said, “You ready to hit it?”

     “I guess so,” he answered. “Not sure how well I’m going to be able to sleep with all the wacked out stuff I saw today.”

     I looked at the boy for a moment and said, “You did a real good job today.”

     “Thanks,” he answered and smiled.

     “You’re not gonna kiss him goodnight, are you?” Lawrence snickered.

     Taylor, obviously embarrassed, looked down and shook his head. 

     I chuckled and said, “No, I’m not going to go that far, but I think you should tell someone when they do a good job.”

     Taylor looked up and asked, “So any ideas about where to sleep?”

     “Well, we haven’t even looked in the other bedroom down the hall,” Lawrence said. “I suppose we oughta take a look to see what we got.”

     The three of us headed down the hall to check it out.  Inside the large bedroom were a big bed, dressers, a couple of wooden chairs, and a white wooden crib. 

     I walked to the side of the bed near the closet where the crib stood. The small decals of storks with babies hanging in slings brought a smile to my face. It vanished as the squishing sound of a soaked carpet became clear. At once, I realized I was standing in a puddle. I knew that is was blood without even looking.  In my panic to get out of the puddle, I spun around and almost fell.

     Lawrence grabbed me to keep me on my feet. “Hey, take it easy! What’s the hurry?”

     I pointed at the dark pool in front of the crib.

     The detective moved over and squatted down next to it.  I was astonished to see him slowly stick a couple of fingers in the liquid. He looked at it up close and then rubbed his fingers and thumb together.

     “It’s cold,” Lawrence commented. “Been here for a while.” He glanced up at the crib but said nothing.

     “Looks like Christina had a baby brother or sister,” I was unable to stop my giggles at the same time tears began rolling down my face.

     Taylor had remained standing in the doorway. At the sound of my giggling and sniffling, he stepped next to me. “Are you okay, Mr. Turner?”

     I heard the words, but for some reason could not understand them. Seeing my confusion, Taylor put his hand on my shoulder and guided me out of the room.

     I sat down on the couch in front of the still-snow-filled television. As it had so many times over the last few days, my mind revisited some of the terrible things I had witnessed. However, this time it all came crashing to a jarring halt as it concluded with the image of a baby being caught up in the carnage.

     Some time while I was staring off into space, Lawrence and Taylor had both come into the room.

     “Threw a blanket over that spot,” Lawrence said, watching me. “We sure don’t want Christina seeing that.”

     I nodded in response. “Sorry to lose it like that.”

     “No apology necessary,” he answered as if he had finished talking about it. “We need to get some sleep. So I gotta ask if either of you wants to sleep in the big bed.” He looked to Taylor who was shaking his head.  “Okay, that’s a clear no.  Turner?”

     “I don’t think I’d get much sleep in there. Looks like it’s all yours.”

     Lawrence managed a smile and said good night as he headed back the bedroom.

     “We got these out of the closet,” Taylor told me as he handed me a blanket and a pillow. “Which couch do you want?”

     I looked at the pair of couches and said, “It doesn’t matter, neither of them looks too comfortable.  Take your pick.”

     Taylor jumped on to the smaller couch and was asleep as soon as his head hit the armrest.  For the second time that day, I wished that I could fall asleep so quickly and deeply.

     I watched him sleeping for a few minutes before getting up and turning out the light. The television was still on and cast a gray glow over the room. I leaned back in the couch, grabbed the remote, and started flipping the channels, more out of boredom than any real interest in watching anything. The screen bounced between flashes of snowy static until the image of a scruffy man hunched over an old wooden desk appeared.

     “…that the plans have at last come to fruition. For many years now, we knew this day would come. The evidence is all there. Over and over again, we have identified the members of a certain secret society and have confirmed the existence of documents which detail the specific steps in their plot to assume control of this country and eventually the entire world. The very existence of Area 51 hidden in the desert of southern Nevada is all the proof needed of the government’s treachery. We have known for some time of a research facility in the middle of our country, which is dedicated to the development of deadly viral strains to be used as weapons. Remember the plot to hide the true source of Mad Cow Disease? Who’s to say that this is not just some more of their research?  Or perhaps there was some sort of accident at the facility that released one of these lethal creations? In any case, the events of the last few days fit perfectly with the steps we predicted over a year ago.

     “As we were aware, it would all begin with acts of violence of apparent randomness. Such aggressions, however minor, serve to shake the populace’s faith in the government until there is chaos and societal upheaval.” The man paused just long enough to wipe his forehead with a hand towel on the desktop. “One of the first major steps is for the government to declare martial law, which is what we have just seen our so-called president do. Whether or not he realizes it, he is playing right along with their plan. It does make one wonder if he has somehow been in on the plot from the beginning. After all, this president, unlike those who came before, seems to have appeared out of nowhere. We know little documentation as to his past can be provided. In fact, those who should possess knowledge as to the veracity of his purported background testify that they cannot recall him. No close friends, classmates, coworkers, neighbors, girlfriends, or relatives have come forward to confirm his stories. That alone should be enough to cast doubt upon the legitimacy of his authority and position. Who can say that the current occupant of the White House was not placed there to carry out the secret agenda of the group dedicated to overthrowing the rightfully elected government of the United States of America?”

     He continued in the rant about how the President’s lack of sufficient proof to verify his history or even citizenship was an undeniable sign of his membership in an ominous society made of the rich and powerful. In the speaker’s twisted logic, the precise lack of proof that the President was not in a secret league proved that he was in a secret league; the guilty until proven innocent premise.

     The argument continued even after my head fell back against the arm rest and sleep swallowed me. I was thankful for the dreamless sleep.

Chapter 2

     I awoke to the sound of Christina giggling. I kept my eyes closed for a moment while I listened to the happy sound. I had the idea that perhaps if I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on the joy of a little girl then everything would somehow be all right. Even though my brain told me that whether I had my eyes open or closed the world would never be all right again, I kept my eye lids squeezed closed.

    Then I felt something lightly brush over my nose and heard another burst of high-pitched giggles. I let my eyes flutter open slowly.

     Lawrence was standing over me with a feather duster and slowly moving it toward my nose. The giggling got louder, and I turned to see Christina jumping around nearby.

     “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Lawrence exclaimed.    

     “Sleeping beauty is my favorite princess!” Christina squealed. “Her real name is Aurora!”

     I sat up and looked around the room. A couple of bowls sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

     “Mommy always said no eating in the living room, but Lawrence said it’d be okay!” The little girl sang out as she continued to dance.

     “Now we just need some room to sit,” Lawrence said, nodding toward me.

     I rolled of the couch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in the way of your breakfast.”

     The gun stuck out from between the cushions of the couch where I had wedged it. I pushed it back into my waistband and tried to act as if having a gun there seemed completely natural.

     Taylor sat in front of the television, flipping through channels.

     “Anything good on TV?” I asked as I moved next to him.

     He jumped as if startled and answered, “Nah, just a bunch of snow and a couple of those preacher guys.”

     “Did you get some sleep?” I asked.

     “Yeah, a little. I got up with Christina for a while when she kept crying for her mom,” he looked as if he wanted to say more but stopped.

     “Are you holding up okay? I realize it’s kind of a stupid question but--”

     “So do you think those guys are right?” Taylor broke in. “I mean, do you believe this is the end of the world?”

     I looked at his expression and realized that my response was very important to him. “Are you serious? You’re not really listening to those nutcases, are you?” I punched him lightly on the shoulder.

     Taylor grinned even as he looked embarrassed. “No…uh…I guess not, but the dude looked so sure about what the stuff he’s saying. I mean… he read this stuff out of the Bible, and it sure sounded like it proved what he everything he said.”

     “Fuck that guy!” I surprised myself with the exclamation but not as much as Taylor whose mouth dropped open. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say that, but those religious nuts hurt a lot of people. They can make the Bible say anything they want.” I looked at him for a moment before continuing, “I’m not sure whether you’re a church-goer or not, and I don’t want to offend you.” He shook his head. “Anyway, just use your brain. You’re a smart guy. When did they write the Bible? At least five or six hundred years ago, right? Has anything changed in that time?” We both snickered a little at the question. “It seems pretty ridiculous that we should follow some ideas written at a time when people thought they live in a flat world, giant serpents guarded the seas, evil spirits caused illnesses, and the sun disappeared at night. We have come a long way since those dark days. Science shows us there is a reason and logic to things that happen. We don’t have to rely on myths and fantasy. No more evil spirits and witchcraft. These days, we have science and critical thought. There is an explanation to the workings of nature and the human body. We no longer need to rely on faith that some invisible being oversees everything and keeps it in order. But there are those who want to keep the old ways of things. These people want to deny the logic of science and those who look beyond the explanations of yesterday. Fear is the primary tool of those who wish to stay stuck in the past. They invoke the writings of the old age to try to explain things that they don’t understand and thus show the relevance of the old ways.” I suddenly realized that I had gone off on a wild rant. Taylor was staring confusingly at me. “Sorry, but I don’t think you should listen to those guys.”

     I walked away quickly. I sensed the eyes of the others looking as I hurried into the bathroom. Once at the basin, I splashed cold water on my face. The eyes looking at me in the mirror were bloodshot and wild.  I wondered how I had gone so quickly from being well rested to this disorientation and exhaustion. Without thinking much more, I stripped out of my dirty clothes, set the gun on the counter, and stepped into the shower. The hot water instantly relaxed me, and I forgot everything outside of the stream hitting my face. This might have lasted for five minutes or five hours. I have no idea.

     The knocking on the door broke me out of my meditation.

     Lawrence yelled, “Hey, are you okay in there?”

     I shut off the water. “Yes, I’m fine,” I answered, trying to sound nonchalant. “Why?”

     “Well, you’ve been in there for almost an hour!” He shouted through the door.

      The statement made me dizzy. Apparently, the vertigo and lapses in consciousness I had experienced over the last few days had not ended as I had thought. I steadied myself on the cool tile wall of the shower and hoped with all my might that my flimsy grasp on reality could be maintained. After a moment, I stepped slowly from the tub. I grabbed a big green towel off the bar on the wall.  As weird as it might seem given everything going on, the softness of the towel made me smile, and I felt pretty good.  The dirty clothes were stiff and uncomfortable, especially with the gun again stuck in the waistband.

     I pulled open the door to find the anxious expressions on the faces of Taylor and Lawrence. 

     “Damn! We thought you passed out in there or something,” Taylor said.

     “You okay?” The detective asked.

     I raised my hand to show wrinkled fingers. “Just a little water-logged. That was the first shower I’ve had in…” I paused trying to remember my last shower but could not. “The first shower since I can’t remember. You two ought to be happy since I smell a lot better now.”

     “I sure am!” The boy laughed.

     After a moment, Lawrence laughed as well and said, “You can count me in on that too!”

     A sudden wave of anxiety broke in and made me ask, “Where’s Christina?”

     Lawrence grinned and said, “Oh, the little princess is right this way.” He made a majestic sweep of his hand to show me the way.

     The little girl had dressed in some sort of long light blue satin robe, sitting on the floor in front of the television with its snow-filled screen. She was supplying a variety of voices for the assortment of dolls, stuffed animals, and action figures scattered around her.

     “Mister Teddy, you must guard the door to the palace!” A large naked baby with short red hair shouted in a high pitch as it bounced up and down near the stuffed bear.

     After a moment in which Christina shifted her position and took hold of the teddy bear, Mister Teddy replied in a very deep voice, “Ginger, you can count on me!”

     The sight of her playing just as any child would gave me hope that she would be okay despite everything she had seen.

     As if reading my thoughts, Lawrence said, “Yeah, she seems to be doing okay. Guess she’s a lot tougher than she looks.”

    “Or else she’s just holding it all inside until it bursts out,” I had not intended to say the words aloud.

     Lawrence considered what I said a moment before answering, “Well, I’m not much for helping anyone get in touch with their feelings, so all we can do is keep her safe until...uh…until whatever.”

     I shared his doubts about any notion of a future but could not find anything to gain by getting into a discussion. Instead, I changed the subject by asking, “So how should we go about this? Do you want Taylor to stay here with Christina while you and I check out the rest of the building? Or would you rather stay here?”

     He surprised me with a chuckle. “Well, to be honest, I would rather stay here, but I need to go with you.” He stopped and looked at me as if trying to decide whether to say more. Then he asked gruffly, “Why the question? Are you thinking I’m too old, slow, and fat to back you up?”   

     “No, it’s not that.  I just wanted to make sure your health…make sure you are okay,” I said, suddenly sounding apologetic.

     A long laugh exploded from the big cop. “I’m just bustin’ your chops, Turner. Sure, I can’t move as quick as Taylor but don’t worry about me. I can get the job done.” He stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. “Besides, I bet the kid could use some more time for himself. Christ, he’s seen so much bad stuff already...even before today. He’s not as tough as he tries to act.”

     I nodded.  “Okay, it’s you and me.”

    Taylor walked in from the kitchen and asked, “It’s you and me for what?”

     “Time to go check this place out,” I answered.

     He smiled weakly and said, “Okay, I made some sandwiches for us. I can’t make any promises about how good--”

     Lawrence interrupted him by saying, “No, we need you to stay here. Turner… Kevin…Mr. Turner and I can handle whatever we find out there. What we really need is for someone to stay here and protect Christina.” He looked at Taylor whose expression lay somewhere between frustration at being stopped from helping and joy at being spared from having to go outside the apartment. “I’m sure that you’re man enough to go with us, but I trust you to keep her safe.”

     “Okay, I’ll get the sandwiches,” Taylor said as he turned and went into the kitchen.

     Lawrence and I exchanged expressions of amusement. “I guess you made the--”

     Christina’s shout interrupted me. “That’s my mommy!”

     Taylor, Lawrence, and I moved immediately to the living room. It was the first time I even noticed the glass doors leading outside. The previously closed curtains had now been pulled open, and the glass door opened wide, letting in cool air and the odor of something burning.

     Although the front of the building was at street level, the back rested on a cliff, the result being a balcony rather than a patio.

     Christina was standing on a white plastic chair looking over the railing to the street below. “That’s my mommy! But where’s Bobby?”

     “Honey, you need to come inside,” Lawrence said as he moved next to her.

     We looked down to the street to see a lone figure dressed in what appeared to be a light blue bathrobe.

     “But, Lawrence, that’s my mommy down there. She took my new brother Bobby with her, but I can’t find him. She’s sick and needs you to help her…just like you helped me.” She turned to throw herself into the cop’s big stomach. 

     Under different circumstances, the completely uncomfortable look on the detective’s face as the little girl pressed into him might have been amusing. Under these circumstances, I found nothing amusing. His eyes looked to me as if pleading for rescue.

     “Christina, guess what?” I asked, trying to get the girl’s attention.

     “What?” she asked through sniffles.

     “Well, Lawrence and I are just about to go outside to help your mommy.”

     She smiled and looked back at Lawrence who looked about ready to cry himself. “Thank you so much!” She shouted and hugged the big cop again.

     “The thing is we need you to stay here with Taylor, okay? He knows lots of fun games for you to play.” I looked at the boy who had begun trying to come up with any fun games.

     The sound of gun fire exploded from a few blocks away. I suddenly had the picture of Christina’s mother being riddled with bullets as Christina watched from the balcony. 

     “But before you can play any of Taylor’s wonderful games, I need you to make a promise, okay?” I said, trying to keep my voice light and full of fun.

     “What sort of promise?” She asked.

     “It’s a very special, magic promise,” I paused as she moved closer to me and smiled. “This promise will protect you and give you magic powers.”

     “Will I be like the fairy princess?”

     “If you want to be, you can be the fairy princess. But I need you to promise that you will not go out on the balcony while we’re gone.”

     Christina’s face scrunched up as she put some effort into her answer. “But I can’t look at Mommy unless I got out there.”

     “Oh, so you don’t want to be a fairy princess?” Lawrence asked.

     “Okay, I promise!”

     I leaned down toward her and said, “Okay, why don’t you go get some toys to put in the bathtub with you, so that you can take a bath before we get back.”

     She was quiet for a moment before saying, “Well. I don’t usually take a bath in the morning but okay. I have a plan exackly who I am taking in the tub with me!”

     Christina ran to her bedroom, leaving me with my confused companions.

     “What the hell was all that promise bullshit about?” Lawrence asked as soon as she moved out of earshot.

    “And what makes you think I know a bunch of cool games?” Taylor asked.

     “The last thing we need is for Christina to be out on that balcony to watch her mom get ripped apart by bullets, and Taylor, I’m sure you can come up with some games to keep her mind off of all that shit that’s going on.” I looked over to see both of them nodding in agreement. “See, could be I’m not crazy after all.”

     “Well, I’d hafta say the jury’s still out on that one,” Lawrence muttered, and we all laughed.

     I took the bag of sandwiches from Taylor and turned toward the door.

     Behind me, Lawrence said, “I’m sure you’ll take good care of her.”

     “Anyway, you’ll be back soon, right?” The boy sounded as if forcing optimism into his voice.

     Lawrence did not answer but stood quietly next to me to listen for any sound from the hallway. Hearing nothing, I slowly unlocked and opened the door. The squeak of the hinges echoed down the empty hall.

     We both stepped through the doorway. The big cop turned back to shut the door and found Taylor already pulling it closed.

     “You listen for any sound, okay? You catch sight or sound of anything, get Christina into her room with the door barricaded.” Lawrence commanded with-out waiting for an answer.

     Once again, the two of us stood in the hallway swallowed by a silence that did not calm. We looked toward the motionless bodies at the foot of the stairs.

     After a moment, I asked, “Okay, we got a lot of area to cover. Where do you think we should start?”

     Lawrence simply walked over to the door from where the scratching sound had been coming the previous day. He stood in front of the door as if deciding what to do next. Finally, he turned his head and pressed his ear to the door. This lasted for about ten seconds.  Suddenly, he pushed back from the door and reached for the knob. He glanced over his shoulder to find me standing a couple of yards behind him with my gun aimed at the door. We made eye contact, and he nodded slowly.

     His hand twisted the doorknob, and he pulled. The door rattled but did not open. Lawrence pulled again, but the door would not budge.

     “The deadbolt must be locked,” I offered quietly.

     The detective gave me one of those expressions that you get after stating the obvious.   “Be ready,” he said an instant before launching his shoulder into the door.

     There came the crackling of wood splitting, but the door did not open. Lawrence straightened himself and looked at the door. I charged by him and threw myself into the door. What happened next was straight out of some old slapstick comedy. Expecting resistance, I put all my weight into hitting the door. However, the door had been only slightly stuck. The result was that I basically charge right through the doorway and into the apartment. My momentum nearly carried me over the body. Unfortunately, my foot got stuck between the legs, spilling me onto the floor. 

     The whole thing happened so quickly that I just lay stunned next to the body for a few moments. I looked over into the glassy dead eyes of an old woman. She lie on her stomach and wearing nothing but a bra and panties. I was still staring as Lawrence moved into the room with his gun pointed at the body. I rolled away from the body and expected to hear some movement behind me.

     As strange as it may seem, the lack of movement from an apparently dead body shocked the hell out of me.

     After a minute, Lawrence seemed satisfied that the thing was not going to move and lowered his gun. He then moved over to me and offered me a hand, which I took.

     We both stood over the motionless body, staring without speaking.

     Finally, I said, “I don’t see any wounds, do you?”

     Lawrence shook his head. “No, I don’t see nothing but a poor old lady. Not even any blood.” He moved the body slightly to examine the front. After a moment, he returned the body to its original position. He had clearly gone into his detective state of mind. “We oughta check out the rest of the apartment.”

     The place was immaculate. In fact, it very well could have been used as a model for selling apartments by real estate agents. I looked at the nearly-naked body on the floor and wondered how she had kept the place so clean.

     Lawrence did not appear to be in the grip of such questions as he moved from room to room with his gun raised in front of him. I followed him into a bedroom off the kitchen. The bed was unmade, and a pile of woman’s clothes lie on the floor beside it. But what I saw near the head of the bed that took my breath away.

     The wheelchair had several cushions arranged around the seat and back support. It was obvious that someone had taken care to make the chair as comfortable as possible.

     “You don’t know--” I stopped speaking when I realized that I was alone in the room.

      I found Lawrence near the entrance of the apartment, looking carefully at the bottom of the door. I moved next to him to see exactly what held his interest.

     It became immediately clear what the detective found so interesting. About two feet from the bottom of the door, there was a number of scratch marks. They were not deep and straight like marks made from a screwdriver or a knife. These looked to have been the work of someone frantically attacking the area.

     Lawrence stepped over to the body, stooped down, and lifted one of the arms.  He moved until the hand rested in his own.

     Several of the fingernails appeared to have been worn down to nothing, and some of the fingers looked almost shredded.

    He gently set the hand down and stood.  The detective had a look of satisfaction on his face, and his faraway look made it clear that he had gotten caught up in picturing the scene.

     “What have you got, Sherlock?” I asked in a slightly mocking tone.

     Lawrence walked back toward the bedroom, looking at the floor as he went. After a few steps, he turned back to me. “It seems pretty clear that this one,” he nodded toward the body. “could not walk and crawled out here to the door. There’s no blood, but you can make out smudge marks on the floor as if someone dragged herself.” For the first time, I noticed the marks on the tile floor. “The wheelchair would be hers, and my guess is that whoever cleaned and took care of her didn’t show up for the last few days. That’s why she isn’t dressed.”

     “Very impressive,” I commented. “So what do you suppose killed her… it?”

     “That’s the most important question, isn’t it?” He asked and got that faraway look in his eyes again. “A few days shouldn’t have been long enough for her to die of starvation.” He looked around the room as if looking for something in particular. “I wonder how long since she had water. Little known fact, the human body can go without food for at least three weeks before it basically starts to eat itself, starting with the muscle.” He paused to check if I was listening and found me concentrating on his words like a good student. “Anyway, the thing that kills people faster than hunger is thirst. After only about five or six days, the body starts stealing water from organs and shutting down important functions.”

     “It doesn’t seem like it’s been long enough for either of them to kill this one,” I said. “But we can’t really be certain that the shells have the same biology as us, can we?”

     “No, I guess we can’t, but they can’t be too far off. I mean, they were human a couple of days ago. Couldn’t have changed too much.” He continued staring at the body with an expression of frustration on his face.

     He kneeled down next to the body and slowly turned it over. The sound of the dead flesh slapping the tile almost made me gag. Lawrence stayed so absorbed by what he was doing that he did not notice my reaction. The detective did not move for nearly a minute. Then his head tilted a little to the right, and he reached out to open the mouth. Clearly, the mouth did not open as easily as he had anticipated, and he put his other hand over to push down on the forehead at the same time he pushed down on the chin. There was a distinct pop sound as the mouth came open. The big cop smiled.

     “Okay, are you going to check for cavities?” I asked.

     He shook his head and said, “No, I want to find out if she ate anything. I mean it’s possible she did die from starvation. I don’t notice a bunch of medicine around here like for her heart or any-thing.”

     Once again, the detective’s observation skills impressed me. I had not even thought to check for the presence. Suddenly, the mention of medicine brought a thought to me, and I suddenly found myself rushing to the kitchen and yanking open the door of the refrigerator.

     On the shelf inside the door, I found what I was seeking. I found a half-empty bottle of cough syrup. I lifted it off of the shelf and could feel the stickiness of the fluid on the side of the bottle as well as catch its strong sweet cherry odor.

     “Looks like might have been okay, but she had a cold,” I said, holding the bottle up to show Lawrence and being pretty pleased with my own powers of deduction.

     “Could be, but who knows how long that’s been in the fridge.”

     Lawrence’s words knocked the self-satisfaction right out of me. Of course, he was right. Simply knowing about a bottle of cough syrup in the refrigerator did not tell us whether it had been used.

     He looked at me for a moment, but I could tell his focus had gone somewhere other than me. An instant later, he opened the dishwasher and peered inside.

     “Luckily, the lady of the house didn’t run the dishwasher for the last couple of days.” He pulled out the lower rack out and lifted the white plastic utensil basket.

     Spoons, forks, and knives stuck out from the basket. The detective studied them carefully.

     Finally, I could not stand it anymore and said, “I did not realize what an aficionado of flatware you are. But don’t we have more important things to do?”

     Lawrence glanced back over at me as if he had forgotten that I was in the room. “Well, I figured it might be kinda important to know what killed her.” He looked at me nodding before continuing, “It looks pretty obvious that the lady had someone who came to take care of her, and that that person hasn’t been here for a few days.” He paused while he took a couple of spoons out of the basket and sniffed each of them. The big man smiled and said, “What’s that smell like to you?”

     I moved closer to sniff the spoon that he held out to me. I easily caught the distinct odor of sweet cherry.

     “Looks like you were right the first time. She had a cold, but who dies from a cold?”

     “I think we’ve both seen enough to know that this isn’t any kind of cold like were used to,” I said, acting overly confident once again like I was some kind of expert on the illness. “But we still don’t know what killed her.”

     “What if she died from the cold?” Lawrence asked.

     I considered his question for a few seconds before answering, “Sure would make things easier, wouldn’t it?”

     “You’re not buying it though,” he sounded a bit disappointed, and I felt a bit guilty for squashing his hope.

     “I usually the most optimistic guy in the room,” I started in my attempt to restore Lawrence’s hopefulness. “It’s just that… after all I’ve seen today… But, hell, what makes me such an expert? I don’t know anything that everyone else doesn’t know. I hope that I am wrong… I guess, we’ll know in a couple of days.”

     Lawrence considered my words for a few seconds before replying, “No sense worrying about it right now. We gotta lot of apartments to get to before dark. Better get moving.”

    After pausing beside the door to listen for any sound, we stepped back into the hallway. The place had not changed. It was still unnervingly quiet. Then again, I suppose even the slightest sound would have made it unnervingly noisy. Given the choice, I would definitely go for quiet.

     I walked across the hall to listen at the door, but Lawrence was motioning to me from down the hall.

     “These places will be easy to check later. I wanna get a look around the whole place.”

     He made sense, so I followed him down the hall back to the entrance where we had been the previous day. This time there was no sound outside the front door, which pleased me. The only light in the foyer came from a large skylight. As if acting in some army movie, Lawrence motioned with two fingers towards the stairwell to the left of the door.  I followed closely behind. The bodies from the previous day were still scattered around, and we silently stepped over them.

     We stood on the third step at the base of the dimly lit stair well, staring up into the gloom and stillness.

     “Ready for this?” Lawrence asked quietly.

     “Ready for anything!” I answered with all the false bravado I could muster.

     Lawrence showed no reaction but instead grabbed the metal handrail and started to climb the stairs. He held his gun in front of him stilted upward. Each slow and deliberate movement was made with muscles tensed.

     I crept closely behind, straining my ears to catch even the slightest sound. Until then, I had not been aware of my own heavy breathing. The blasts of air from my mouth seemed to echo through the stairwell. As we continued to climb the stairs, I focused on quieting the noise. I tried to hold my breath in, letting it out only a portion at a time. The result of my effort was that I ended up gasping for air and sensed Lawrence’s eyes trained upon me. He simply shook his head and continued up the stairs.

     There was no sound in the stairwell other than the steps creaking as we stepped upon them and my heavy breathing, which had now been joined by breathing from Lawrence.

     We reached the second floor to find an open doorway to another short dimly-lit hallway. Lawrence put a hand up as a signal to stop, and I did.

     “What?” I started to say more, but he stopped me with a finger to his lips.

     He was absolutely still with his head tilted slightly. It was clear that he had heard something, but whatever it was I had missed it. As I started to move by him, I heard something as well. 

     It was the faint sound of someone sobbing. Despite the faintness of the noise, it seemed to fill the hallway and make it difficult to tell from where precisely the sound came.

     Lawrence crept up to the side of the first door on the right side of the hall. He stood there straining to hear if the crying came from the other side. We made eye contact as he shook his head. I moved slowly to a door on the left side of the hall. It only took a second with my ear pressed to the door to tell that the sound was not coming from this apartment. 

     Lawrence moved slowly up the wall to the next door. After a moment of listening, his eyes opened wider and he waved me over. The sound seemed to grow louder as I approached the door. I could now make out some words being spoken by woman amid fits of crying. 

     “Gary…Gary, wake up…wake up right now,” the words were hissed between sobs.

     Lawrence glanced at me with an expression of curiosity. I stared blankly at the door and wondered what to do next. The detective reached down and twisted the knob. As expected, he found the door locked. He looked toward me as if to confirm that the door was locked.

     In the next instant, I stepped forward and knocked on the door. The big cop appeared to be amazed by my action.

     “Ma’am, you need to open the door so we can help,” I said quietly.

     The crying stopped immediately.   

     I knocked again. “Ma’am, we’re here to help. My friend…I have a policeman with me.”

     Silence was the only response.

     “You have ten seconds before I shoot this lock and bust the door down,” Lawrence stated flatly.

     So much for sensitivity.

     A few seconds later, we heard the click of the door being unlocked. Suddenly, a very thin, middle-aged woman with long black hair wearing a light blue bathrobe stood in the doorway. She lunged forward and grabbed Lawrence’s arm.

     “He needs CPR!” She yelled as she pulled the stunned detective into the apartment.

     I followed close behind as he moved through the doorway.

     The interior was dark, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust. What I saw was a scene of some destruction. The cliché would be that it looked like a bomb went off, but just because an expression is overused does not mean that it is not a perfect description. Broken glass crackled beneath my feet as I walked down the hall after Lawrence and the woman. A shattered coffee table and an overturned sofa and a single chair decorated the living room.

     As the woman tugged Lawrence toward the back corner of the room, she was quietly babbling something, but I could only make out a few of her words. “Sick…my sweet boy… third

grade… help.”

     Lawrence stopped so suddenly that I ran into his back. He did not react as his attention was completely held by what he saw on the floor in front of him.

     The woman’s voice rose until she was nearly shouting, “You have to help him! I know that he’s not gone. You can save my sweet boy!”

     Lawrence pushed her aside and moved close to the small body on the blanket covered with cartoon blue and red puppies. The head was turned at an unnatural angle.  It looked as if someone had poked a hole through the boy’s left eye and out of the back of his head. Blood soaked the blanket and pooled on the floor around.

     The sight made me gag. I turned away sure that I was going to throw up, but the woman’s sobs stopped me.

     “He’s just a little boy…Joe said he was already gone, but I know he’s not. You can save him. You must know CPR. My sweet--” She lunged toward the body.

     In a single sweeping move of his arm, Lawrence stopped her forward movement and brushed her back.  The sudden change of direction left her stunned, and she simply stared straight ahead as Lawrence demanded, “Who shot him?”

     The woman did not respond for a long time, but finally she began sobbing again and said, “Joe…my husband…said he was already gone. Billy tried to bite him…but he was scared…he is just a little boy…my sweet little man.”

     “Where’s your husband?” I asked.

     I thought that she had not heard me and started to repeat my question, but she cut me off. “He’s in the back room.” She nodded toward the hallway off of the living room. 

     “Show us,” Lawrence ordered.

     Without any further response, she simply turned and began walking slowly down the hallway. Her bare feet slid on the white tile floor, every once in a while making a squeaking sound.  She stopped in front of a doorway on the left side of the hall. Lawrence pushed by her to enter the room. I watched from just outside.

     The small bathroom held a toilet, shower stall, and what I assumed was a basin. The reason I had to guess at the presence of a basin was due to the fact that there was a motionless body filling the area where a basin should have been. Lawrence reached up to touch the neck of the body. As he made contact, the body simply slid back and down to the floor. The basin and the surrounding counter were covered with blood. 

     The body on the floor was an older man in light green pajamas. Actually, only a light green area on one shoulder revealed the original color of the pajamas. The rest was dark

with blood.

     “We were all under the weather for a few days… under the weather,” she let out a laugh filled with bitterness. “I gave Billy some of that orange-flavored baby aspirin…” Her words trailed off into silence.

     Lawrence was examining the two bullet wounds in the body, one in the left side of the chest and one in the lower abdomen.

     “You shot him?” I asked.

     “He said Billy was gone, but he wasn’t!” She screeched as if that explained everything.

     “Get her out of here!” The big detective bellowed at me.

     She was now silent. I turned and guided the woman back down the hallway toward the living room. She meekly moved along as directed until we were once again in the living room.

     She stood still as I straightened the couch. I then moved her to sit down. Her gaze was locked straight ahead, and I wondered if she had gone into some sort of delayed shock.

     “Can I get you some water or something?” I asked but got no reaction.

     We sat on the couch like that for about five minutes. I wished there was something to do in such a situation, but I could not think of anything. Finally, I reached over to touch her hand as a feeble attempt at condolence. The absolute coldness of her skin shocked me and brought a memory.

     I was instantly back on the airport tarmac, the butt of a rifle pushing my head to the pavement. A muscular soldier with skin so dark it was almost blue stepped forward. He handed his automatic weapon to another and kneeled down near my head. He fished a blue plastic box about the size of a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. I had expected him to offer a cigarette to the other soldiers, but instead he slowly touched my cheek with the plastic thing. After a few seconds, he pulled it back and announced, “Ninety-eight point six!” At the time, I had wondered why checking my temperature was so import-ant to them. But it soon got buried under the million other unanswered questions I had.

     Now the idea of body temperature became important once more as I sat next to this woman on the couch. I sat there wondering just what to do. Finally, I simply stood up and left her sitting there on the couch by herself as I walked back to the bathroom.

     “I think there’s something wrong with her,” I told Lawrence.

     My words startled him out of his deep concentration on the body. He looked over at me and said, “Well, that’s understandable. She’s probably in shock or something, donchya think?” He paused for a moment as if considering the question. “Here’s what I figure happened. All three of them were sick for a bit. Finally, the kid…uh…Billy turns. Momma isn’t gonna take out her little boy, so that left his guy. He’s the stepfather, I’m guessing. Anyways, he has to shoot the kid, but Momma freaks out and shoots him while he’s washing the blood off.”

     “All of that makes sense and all, but I think that she’s already dead.  I mean, does any of this really matter at this point?”

     He looked at me for a few seconds before shaking his head. “You’re right. The whole world’s taken a huge shit, and one more turd isn’t gonna make a difference. I’m just so used to going through the motions, you know?”

     I nodded and said, “It’s still important to know what happened.”  

     “The only thing that’s important right now is to find out what happened to the gun,” Lawrence said flatly, and, as if on cue, a shot rang out from another room.

     We were both in the living room in a matter of seconds.

    The woman was draped over the body of her son, her body twitching and the pistol sticking out of her mouth.

     I wondered briefly about the idea of a shell still having enough of a conscience to have a sense of remorse and loss.

     “Shit,” Lawrence said as if all energy had been drained from him. He knelt down near the bodies and picked something up off the floor. He held up the little white thing between two meaty fingers. At first, I thought it was a small rock. Then I realized it was something else.

     “Most people don’t realize that your jaw clamps down when you shoot yourself. So if you gotta gun barrel in your mouth, you’re gonna lose some teeth.” He smiled as his state-ment before looking over at my squeamish expression. “Probably not something you needed to know.”

     I nodded and wondered why the woman still had the ability to talk when so many of the others were silent. Then I noticed the clock on the wall, and all such considerations were pushed aside in favor of the more practical matters at hand. It was almost noon. “Crap! We need to get moving. We’re never going to get finished at this rate.”

     We quickly went through the apartment looking for things of use. Lawrence found a couple of flashlights and a stack of coloring books for Christina. I managed to pry the pistol out of the woman’s mouth and even found a box of bullets for it in a desk drawer. In the kitchen, we filled a pillow case with some apples, oranges, bread, milk, and even a six pack of beer.

     “For purely medicinal purposes,” I grinned as I stuck the cans in the sack.

     Lawrence chuckled and said, “It may be just what the doctor ordered.”

     We ransacked a few more apartments and gathered up a good supply of food and some clothes. While the pants I found were a little too big, I cannot express how nice it was to change clothes. We even managed to find a DVD player with a collection of movies that would keep Taylor and Christina entertained. Fortunately, we did not see any other people or shells.

     Before we knew it, the sun was going down and it was just after five.  We hurried back down the stairs to the relative comfort and safety of our new home. Taylor and Christina appeared to have passed the day easily and appeared to have hardly realized that we were gone.

     The sound of a radio playing caught me by surprise. Taylor had brought a clock radio from the bedroom into the living room. So far he had only found stations replaying a recorded message from the Emergency Broadcasting System advising people to stay indoors and await further instruction and a couple with music on a repeating loop. I blushed at the foolishness of not having thought to check the radio for news.  

     As expected, the DVD player was a big hit, and the two of them were immediately digging through all the movies to decide which one to watch first. I was happy to see Taylor acting like a normal kid. The grin on Lawrence’s face made me believe that he was thinking the same thing. I quickly hooked up the player to the television which was still filled with little besides static. Apparently, Christina won the argument about what to watch first, because the selection was an animated story about a princess who would rather fight than act like a girl.  I have to admit that it was not bad. Judging by the interest of Taylor and Lawrence, they enjoyed it as well. It was certainly nice to get lost in a movie and forget about the state of the world. We even enjoyed a dinner of eggs, apple wedges, and toast. If one’s thoughts did not venture outside of the apartment, it was a very nice evening. After dinner, Lawrence broke out a couple of beers, and we sat at the kitchen table discussing plans for the next day. The only plan we settled on was to leave earlier and to search more apartments.

     I guess the tense activity of the day had worn me out, maybe the tension of dealing with death combined with a couple of beers. In any case, I was wiped out by eight thirty.  I trudged off to bed, leaving Taylor and Christina playing cards on the floor in front of the television playing another animated movie and Lawrence dozing in one of the big stuffed chairs next to the couch.

Chapter 3

     The dream swallowed me as soon as I closed my eyes.    

     I was back at home, sitting at the long dining room table. It was the table we only used for special occasions. An assortment of dishes filled the table, so I decided that it must be Thanksgiving, Just after reaching that decision, the aroma of roasting turkey filled the room. I heard Bonnie singing an old pop song in the kitchen. Somehow, in the next instant, I found myself standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching her unnoticed. She did a heartfelt rendition of the ballad with a wooden ladle serving as a microphone.

     “Baby, baby, baby, I’m sorry. No need to treat me so bad!”

     “Pack up the car! We’re heading for Nashville,” I exclaimed and startled her.

     But she never stopped her singing as she slowly turned toward me. I gasped at the sight of her bloody face. Her wide eyes and full smile merely added to my horror. Then I was no longer standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

     I was back sitting at the head of the dining room table. The dishes in front of me had grown, and there were now other people seated around the table. To my right sat Jerry Clark and the waitress from the airport coffee shop. On my left, I found the policeman Lawrence had shot in the station and Glen. Bonnie sat at the far end of the table and next to her was the smirking Principal Thomas. All of my companions around the table displayed their mortal wounds, from the assorted chunks of flesh missing from Glen’s face to the exposed brain tissue of the cop. Still, they all acted as if nothing was amiss.

     “I think it would nice if we all join hands and say what we are most happy for this Thanksgiving,” Bonnie announced cheerfully as she took the principal’s hand.

     My rage filled every nerve of my body. I tingled with fury and felt absolutely drenched with anger. I attempted to stand but was immediately aware of the unbreakable grasps of Glen and Jerry Clark had on each of my hands. I looked from the hideously grinning face of the airport customs agent to the revoltingly happy expression of the young preacher. I tried to speak but my mouth refused to form words.

     “Oh, looks like Kevin wants to go first,” Bonnie said in an exaggeratedly sweet teacher voice. “But someone’s just going to have to learn not to be such a Pushy Patty and wait his turn.” She looked directly at me, and I was not able to maintain eye contact. “I think it is only appropriate that Principal Thomas go first.”

    The young principal smiled at Bonnie and said, “Well, I certainly thank you for the honor, Mrs. Turner.” He turned toward me with a clear smirk on his face. At the same time, I noticed that the broken mop handle was still protruding from his chest. Now it was my turn to smirk. “This year as always I am most thankful to the devoted and talented people around me to make my job so much easier.”

     Bonnie and the others began to applaud like the principal’s words were the most insightful ever spoken. The ovation seemed to go on for an hour. Just as I was no longer able to contain my scream, Bonnie spoke again.

     “I’m sure that all of us are truly humbled by such an eloquent expression of thanks, but who would like to go next?”

     “I just want to say…well, I am thankful for the time I had protecting the families of the community,” the police officer was clearly overcome with emotion at his own words.

     Glen reached over and put his hand on the cop’s shoulder before saying, “Well, I think I speak for all of us in saying we are thankful for having had such dedicated servants of justice as yourself. In addition, I am thankful for being allowed to serve the Lord in helping the weakest among us to see the righteous path to heaven.”

     The words were followed by a few moments of clapping.      

     “Very touching words indeed,” Bonnie commented. “Now who’s next?”

     There was a moment of silence before the waitress said, “I guess I am most thankful for my son. When I gaze into his eyes, I see that he is really gonna be something in his life, really change the world. Every mother thinks stuff like that about her child, but I know my boy is really gonna make his mark…I…uh…” She tried to say more but was not able as she looked down to cry.

     The awkward tension that the emotion created was broken by Jerry Clark exclaiming, “Okay, then! Well, I am thankful for a world in which the lies of the government can be uncovered and revealed by true patriots!” He looked around the table for signs of support but found only blank stares.

     “Okay, Kevin, now it’s your turn,” Bonnie said and looked at me with a slight smirk. “Please, tell us what makes you feel thankful.”

     I started to respond but stopped as I saw the look exchanged between Bonnie and Principal Thomas. I also did not miss their hands tightening their contact. As if she suddenly realized that I had stopped speaking, Bonnie turned to me and said, “Well, don’t keep us waiting for your profound insights on being thankful.”

    The chuckling of those around the table momentarily filled the room. When it died away, I said, “I’m not sure what the hell you people find so funny. You may not realize it, but the world has gone to hell, and there’s nothing to be thankful for!” My voice echoed through the room and was met by angry expressions.

     Glen was the first to speak. “Are you saying that you are not thankful for the blessings God has given to you?”

     Now it was my turn to laugh. “Blessings? You cannot be serious! My life and everyone I cared about is gone. What a fucking blessing! You want me to be thankful for that? I know that people like to say ‘God works in mysterious ways’ whenever they don’t understand how He would have allowed some terrible tragedy to happen, but this…this is just too much. This is too much to believe that any sort of god could have played a hand.”

     “I’m sorry Bonnie, but I can no longer keep quiet,” Principal Thomas said. “In answer to your question, I think I speak for everyone here in saying ‘Yes, we expect you to be thankful’. You may not consider yourself fortunate. However, a look around ought to change your perspective. You are the only one here who fate or destiny or God has allowed to survive.  And I for one sure cannot figure out why the heck that should be. I mean, just a glance around this table shows people who certainly seem to have more to offer the world than you do. In all honesty, do you truly think you can make a more worthwhile contribution than a minister who looks to the health of the soul or educators who work to improve the intellectual abilities or a waitress who serves the hungry? The way I see it, the question you should be asking yourself every second of every hour is do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died.” 

     The words pushed their way inside my brain. I could not escape them as they echoed all around. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? It boomed over and over in my ears. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? I looked frantically around the table for anyone who could help to silence the words.   Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? I looked from Glen to Bonnie to the cop to Jerry Clark to the waitress, but all I found were glares as if to confirm the answer that I already knew. Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? The question continued to explode through the room. I clamped my eyes shut as tightly as I could in hopes of squeezing away the words.

     When I opened my eyes again, the question remained, but the dream was gone. I stared at the white acoustic ceiling above me for a few minutes playing the dream and the question over again in my head.  Do I really deserve to be alive when so many better people have died? Of course, the only possible answer was NO! But along with the obvious answer came something else. It was the notion that the answer really did not matter in the least. Deserve to be alive was just an abstract idea that had no place in this reality, in this world. The only thing that mattered was that I was alive and that I did what I had to do to stay alive. Perhaps, the deserve part could come later when, and if, I helped others as well.

     I rolled out of bed to find Lawrence already in the kitchen drinking coffee. The clock on the stove said it was a little before 5AM.

     “You get any sleep?” I asked as I grabbed a coffee mug out of the cupboard.

     “Not too much. Christina was up crying a good part of the night. Taylor was the only one who could get her calmed down enough to sleep again.”

     “They’re lucky to have each other,” I observed. “He acts like a protective big brother.”

     “And she reminds him what it is like to be a kid again,” Lawrence replied. “I just hope her bad dreams will end after a while. Anyways, I notice he hasn’t mentioned trying to get back to his little sister since that first day.”

     We were both quiet as we thought about this as well as the things behind and in front of us. Finally, the detective broke the silence, “We never talked too much about the woman who shot herself.”

     “Well, other than the fact you can now say you have seen one of the shells talking, I don’t know what there is to say.” I was still dealing with the images of my dream and was not yet prepared to concentrate on anything else. “Maybe it has to do with how long since they changed or something else.”

     He looked at me as if recognizing my preoccupation and asked, “So how about you? Did you get much sleep?”

     I shook my head. “Not good sleep. Let me ask you something,” I paused for a moment as I tried to frame the question in the best way possible. “Do you ever ask yourself why you survived this whole shit storm when so many other people didn’t?”

     “Hmm, sounds to me like you’re wondering what makes you special, you’re standing and not others.” He chuckled as if the whole thing was somehow amusing, which did not please me. I started to say as much when he continued, “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing, because anything’s funny about this. I guess, I’m laughing, because it beats crying. The thing is I’ve been hearing versions of the same question for longer than I can remember. Usually, it’s something like Why me? How come I never catch a break? or What about all the other guys who did the same thing as me? I’ve asked some of those questions myself. The thing is everybody gets breaks and busts throughout life, and the only thing that makes a difference is how you deal with them. The only thing that matters is whether you take advantage of the breaks and pick yourself back up after the busts.” He chuckled again. “Sorry, I don’t usually get into such deep shit this early in the day.”

     I had to chuckle too. “Thanks for the pep talk. I guess, we don’t have much choice about it. Whether we deserve to be alive even when other good people are dead, doesn’t really change the fact that we’re here, and we can’t just give up.”

     Lawrence gave me a confused look as if he had not realized that this was the question.

     I took a quick shower and had a bite to eat and by six thirty we were heading out for a full day of apartment hunting.

Chapter 4

     The routine of going out and searching the apartments for food and supplies never got routine. In fact, Lawrence liked to lecture me on the dangers of getting too comfortable with anything.

     The anecdote that I heard numerous times during our days together involved a former rookie on the police force. The guy’s name was Castillo, and he had been the top of his class all through the academy. The young cop showed great enthusiasm and quickly revealed the reason for his excellent scores at the training. Castillo never hesitated to step up and do whatever needed to be done. Unfortunately, the same enthusiasm that made him stand out from the other rookies also led to his demise. Over time, seems that Castillo got too confident and failed to take care when stopping a suspect. The result was that Castillo ended up with a bullet in his spine and his partner ended up dead.  The young cop never made it out of a wheelchair and never returned to the force. Of course, the story served as reminder to be careful to cover every step in staying safe. 

      An important lesson to keep in mind given the work Lawrence and I needed to do. No matter how many places we found empty or containing motionless bodies, it was crucial to stay ready for anything waiting around the next corner. One of the most common things we came across in our exploration were shells that were extremely weak or had just stopped moving; to say dying would have meant they had been alive. Thanks to Lawrence’s repeated warnings, I stayed keyed up but careful most of the time we ventured out.

     The detective even went so far as to lay out a set of guidelines to be followed. First of all, we never went out alone. In addition, upon entering an apartment, we would explore the entire place to reveal any hazards. Hazards served as a euphemism for shells that wanted to kill us. Next, we would keep each other aware of our location and what we saw at all times. Of course, I reflexively mocked Lawrence’s guidelines as ridiculous and over-protective. However, the practical-ity of having such procedures as well as the danger of not paying attention revealed itself in couple situations.

     One such situation occurred as we made our way through an apartment on the third floor. It took place near the end of a busy day of gathering food, and we were both tired. Not a good excuse, but it is the best one I can provide.

     “Looks like we might find some good stuff for Christina here,” Lawrence said, just after we broke through the door.

     The reason for his comment became immediately obvious. The living room and kitchen contained an assortment of toys. A red and white tricycle sat next to the door. A huge stuffed blue bear stood on the couch. To the bear’s right, a plastic baby doll in a bonnet and diapers rested. On the glass-topped coffee table

in front of the couch, a stack of numerous coloring books and a pile of crayons stood. A semicircle of stuffed animals and dolls had been arranged in front of a large television as if they were enjoying a program.

     “Anything good on?” I asked the gathered toys.

     The television showed the same screen full of snow. The hiss of the static poured out. As I searched for a remote to turn off the television, I realized that Lawrence was no longer in the room.

     Any nonchalance that I had been feeling vanished in an instant. My heart began pounding, and my breath came in gasps. I found it difficult to concentrate as well as to stop from screaming for Lawrence. The absolute panic that had overcome me days earlier in the airport had made a return visit. In the next instant, I found myself charging through the apartment.

     The charge came to an abrupt end as I crashed into the big cop’s back. My crash barely moved his big frame. He turned to regard me with slight irritation. The smile that stretched across his face faltered for just a second. “Looks like we hit the jackpot for little girl stuff!”

     I stood there trying to catch my breath and slow my heart rate as I looked around the bedroom. We stood next to a big white canopy bed with matching pink-purple top and bedspread. An assortment of pillows, dolls, and stuffed animals shared the unmade bed. On the nightstands and the dressers, I saw a wide variety of figurines, candles, and lamps. The place made it impossible not to smile.

     “Well, are you sure we can get all this downstairs?” I asked.

     “Yeah, but it might take some time,” Lawrence answered as if he were already planning how to move the room’s contents.

     At that moment, the small hand reached out from under the bed and dug into Lawrence’s ankle. Whether it was from the shock of the contact, from his attempts to move away from the hand, or the force of the thing under the bed, he fell to the floor. The thing under the bed scrambled out and toward him.

     I stood there unable to move. I became a spectator to the scene as the small shell scurried after Lawrence and he did his best to get away. The shell had stringy light brown hair and was wearing some sort of dress. Bile burst up in my throat as I realized the dress was a princess gown. Wetness of tears running down my cheeks shocked me out of my paralysis, and I sprung forward. The shell was completely focused on catching up with the big cop and unaware of my presence. The gun within inches of its head made sure that it would never be aware of anything ever again. The bullet traveled through its head and into the back wall of the bedroom. A spray of blood and bone and chunks of brain matter also hit the wall and oozed down.

      The motionless shell sat atop Lawrence’s chest until he rolled out from under it. He pushed himself backward until his back was against the wall. The big detective turned toward me and said, “Shit!  What the hell was that?”

     I had sat down on the bed and looked at the thing on the floor. “I think it was the reason that we need to always be careful.”

     He nodded, and we had sat there for quite some time without speaking.

   Given the state of the world, it seems a bit strange to talk about being lucky, but there was no denying that all in all our small group had been lucky beyond belief. I have never been the type to make a habit of counting my blessings, but we had been lucky enough to make our way out of the police station with a functioning car, get Taylor, and find Christina. I would have to figure in comparison to a whole lot of people that put us in the lucky group.  On top of that, we had found a place to stay with a good supply of food and which had, thus far, proven to be safe. We had avoided the few threats that the place held. When you thought about it like that, we might even be in the very lucky group.

     The whole building had been checked out and except for the body disposal, which we were doing day by day, everything was settled.  Christina and Taylor now spent a lot of their time playing in the hallways.

     Over a few days, Lawrence and I had managed to haul most of the toys and a lot of the furniture down from the third floor to our adopted home on the first floor. The whole place soon looked like  a princess’s dream home. Christina was thrilled to inherit all of the treasure. There was a single time that she talked about where we had gotten the things.

     When we had given her the red & white tricycle, she examined every minute detail before sitting on it and saying, “This used to be Heather’s, but now it’s mine.” Taylor, Lawrence, and I had exchanged amused expressions. “It’s okay. I never liked her very much.”

     “Christina! That’s not a nice thing to say,” Lawrence’s expression showed his disapproval of the girl’s attitude.

     “But Lawrence, you don’t know her. She’s not very nice.”

     Lawrence’s mood melted, and he said, “Maybe not, but you still shouldn’t say things like that.”

     “Sorry, Lawrence,” she answered with her lower lip protruding.

     The big cop could not help but smile and said, “That’s okay, honey. Go enjoy your new tricycle.”

     She had sped away with Taylor following.

     “I’d say that someone know how to play you like a fiddle,” I chuckled.

     “You got that right!” The detective agreed.

     Thinking back on that time, I wish it had lasted longer.

     Once we secured the building and got all the food stored in our apartment as well as the place next door, it was time for the gruesome process of disposing of the bodies. If it had not been for the growing smell, I would have suggested just leaving the corpses where they were. Okay, that idea may have been simple laziness on my part. As Lawrence pointed out, leaving the bodies around could attract more shells as well as be the source of other diseases. Surviving the initial threat from the “killer cold”, as it was being called by one of the television hosts, then being killed by some disease carried by the rotting corpses would be the definition of irony. 

     One afternoon, Lawrence and I were in the kitchen discussing the best method for getting rid of the bodies.

     Lawrence was suggesting that we needed to get them out of the building.    

     “I don’t think it’s a good idea to dump them just anywhere outside. That may attract shells from all over the city,” I said. “The last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves.”

     “Good point, but have you seen any place around for convenient body storage?” Lawrence asked before realizing that Christina had skipped into the room.

     “Store-age?” She asked with a giggle. “Mommy said there was store-age in the basement.”

     “Are you sure?” I asked. “What exactly did she say?”

     She stopped skipping for a moment and enjoyed being the center of attention. “Mommy exackly said that some of her clothes were in store-age in the basement.”

     “What a smart little girl you are!” Lawrence exclaimed. “Do you know how to get to the basement?”

     She nodded. “I can show you, but Mommy said that I cannot go down there.”

     “That’s right, honey,” I said. “You should not go down there. Just show us the way.”

     She made a face as if she was considering my request. “Hmmm, I don’t know…” After a moment, she smiled and said, “Okay, I will show you.”

     She giggled and ran out of the kitchen, leaving Lawrence and me to stare after her.

     “Uh, I think we’re so supposed to follow her,” I laughed.

     “After you,” Lawrence pronounced.

     We found her standing near the front door. Taylor looked over from the couch as we turned the locks. “What’s going on?” He asked.

     “Christina is going to show us how to get down to the basement,” Lawrence answered.

     “I didn’t know this place had a basement,” he commented as he followed us into the hallway.

     “That makes three of us,” I said.

     Christina skipped her way down the hall to the front door, and then she turned to make sure everyone was following her. Once we got a within a few yards of her, she spun around to the left and skipped away. At the base of the stairs, she moved up a bit as if she was going to climb the stairs. However, as we got closer, she changed directions and skipped back down the stairs and around the other side of the staircase near the wall. 

     There at the dark corner was a door. Christina stood next to the door, making a show of being bored as she waited for us to catch up to her.

     “What took you guys so long?” She asked.

     “You’re just too fast for us old people,” I said.

     “Okay, Taylor, I want you to take Christina back to the apartment and lock the door,” Lawrence told him.

     The boy started to protest but then stopped himself and said, “Okay, Detective Lawrence. C’mon, Christina, let’s go play a game.”

      She was happy to go with him. “We’re gonna play wild ponies, okay?”

     “Whatever you want,” Taylor answered as he led her back to the apartment.

     After they were out of earshot, I asked, “So what’s with you and Taylor? I mean, you seem to have some great power over the kid. Every parent in America would love to have that kind of control of their children.”

     “You don’t think it’s just my charming personality?” Lawrence asked flatly.

     I chuckled a little. “Well, if you say so.”

     “I told you that Taylor got himself into some trouble some time back. Well, I have to admit I saw something in the kid worth saving and pulled in some favors to keep him from going away for a long time. Some kids younger than him’re already beyond saving. Taylor just made a dumb mistake and being locked up with a bunch of hard cases wasn’t gonna do anything but turn him into something bad. So I just did what I had to do.”

     Discussing the subject clearly made the detective uncomfortable, but I was not about to let him escape without a little ribbing. “Detective Lawrence, you are just a big softy, aren’t you?” He grunted in response. “So I get the fact you made a special effort to keep Taylor from being locked up, but that still doesn’t really explain why he is so concerned about doing what you say. I know plenty of kids who have gotten help from teachers and others but then don’t give a shit about anything they’re told.”

     There was a long pause before Lawrence blurted out, “I withheld evidence.” It was not easy to see him in the dim light, but I could tell that he was looking down as if ashamed. “There was a carjacking that went to hell. The driver got shot, a middle-aged guy. He was an insurance salesman, I think. Had a family and no sort of criminal involvement.  Just a guy who had the bad luck to be driving through the wrong part of the city on the wrong street at the wrong time.”

     “And Taylor shot him?” I could not stop myself from asking.

     He looked at me for a second and then shrugged his shoulders. “What do you think?”

     “I don’t know I wasn’t there,” I answered.

     “Well, I wasn’t there either, but I found a little 38 on the ground near where I stopped the kid. Taylor knows I have the gun. My guess is it’s covered with his finger prints, and that is the only reason he gives a shit about what I have to say,” he said, making it clear he had tired of talking about the subject.

     I grinned at his discomfort and asked, “Did you ever think that he obeys because he respects you? You might just be the first person who ever took a chance on him.”

     “Careful the butterflies and rainbows are flying out of your butt!” He pronounced and turned toward the door.

     I could not help but laugh at the cop’s colorful way with words.

     He pulled the door, and it came open with a groan. We both stood there staring into the darkness beyond, not feeling eager to plunge forward.

     “Ready to go check out the store-age? I asked, trying to keep things light.

     Lawrence did not seem to notice my effort and motioned for me to follow. I hesitated for a moment. Plunging into unexplored darkness was not high on my list of desirable things to do this morning, but it needed to be done and I have to admit that I was curious about what was in the basement. Forcing my brain to be quiet, I stepped onward.

Chapter 5

     The first step screamed under my weight. The creak echoed through the darkness. I froze, expecting something to spring out of the inky black facing me. After a moment, I took another step. Another creak and another moment of breath held.  My heart pounded as I looked back to Lawrence. In the next instant, there was an explosion of light.

     “That might make it a little easier,” Lawrence muttered after flipping the pair of switches on the wall just inside the doorway.

     I grinned at my failure to check for a light switch. “I think you’re right.”

     The stairs and the room below were now brightly lit. I crept downward, still watching for any sign of movement. None presented itself, but that did not ease the tension squeezing every part of my body.

     “Maybe we can get to the bottom before midnight,” Lawrence’s sarcasm was spoken within inches of my ear.

     My first response was to move to the side of the narrow staircase to let him pass, but, just as he started to move by me, I was shoved forward by a need to be off of the stairs. The result was Lawrence being pushed against the wall as I squirted by him.

     He grunted. “What the fuck, Turner!”

     “Sorry… I… uh… sorry,” I stammered once my feet were on the rough gray concrete of the basement floor.

     I stood there looking around at the chaos held there. The basement was much bigger than I had expected. I am not sure why, but I had pictured some sort of 12 by 10 foot wine cellar. This was not a wine cellar. The basement spread over about half the area of the other floors. Along one wall were numerous cardboard boxes. Some were stacked neatly and bound with packing tape while other others had been ripped open and their contents of clothes and papers scattered around the area. Shelves holding various paint cans and cleaning supplies lined another wall. Stacks of several small boxes containing large black trash bags stood on the cement floor below.

     Lawrence picked up one of the boxes and pulled out a large plastic bag. “These could work for wrapping up bodies.”

     I nodded at his comment while picturing the unpleasant task of bagging the corpses.  My latest body count was at thirty-eight.  I figured we would need at least two or three bags per body. My razor-sharp mathematical mind quickly calculated that to mean we had to have around one hundred fourteen bags to get the job done. The absurdity of my doing logistics for the disposal of bodies brought a twisted smile to my face. The line on the package Strong enough for all your business and household needs sent me into hysterics.  I stopped and held onto one of the shelves for support as the fit of laughter rolled through me.

     Lawrence moved next to me. He just watched me for a minute before saying, “I know things seem pretty damn dark right now, but you gotta believe it’ll get better. You gotta keep going.”

     The words of genuine concern made me realize that he thought I was crying. This misunderstanding sent another wave of hysteria crashing down on me. Once I regained some ability to speak, I looked at Lawrence and said, “I’m sure glad that we don’t have to settle for some cheap-ass, bargain-brand trash bags.” I lost my voice to laughter once again as I pointed to the line on the box.

     The big cop stared at the box for a few seconds before a smile broke across his face. The smile then blossomed into a chuckle, “Yeah, we sure don’t wanna use one of them wimpy bags!”

      I wiped away the tears of laughter streaming down my face, trying to regain some sense of seriousness about the task we had ahead of us. However, the release provided by the laughter may very well have been what we needed to face the chore. In any case, I felt a bit better as we explored the rest of the basement.

     Underneath the stairs and across one wall was a series of metal lockers, not unlike those found in high school except these were much larger. The doors looked to be about four-foot wide and six-foot tall. Each door had a padlock attached so we could not check inside. I figured that someday we might want to check out the contents of the lockers, but that could wait. Right now, we needed other things. We found one of those other things just beyond the lockers.

     In a dimly lit corner, easy to miss, was a door. The only thing that made it stand out as a door was a small handle which had been painted with the same greyish white as the walls. I wondered for the briefest of moments at the attempt to conceal the door, but a pull on the handle scattered those thoughts. Just as I started pulling, the door flew open on its own.

     A reflexive twist to the side like some matador prevented the blades of the hedge shears from going into my throat. As it was, I got a pretty good cut in my shoulder.  The blades moved passed me as did the tall thin man holding the wooden handles of the shears. Both ended up a few feet into the basement.   

     Lawrence was standing nearby with his gun raised. The man with the shears stopped abruptly and shook his long gray hair as if the sight of the gun surprised him. A moment later, he again started moving toward Lawrence with the shears pointed out in front of him.

     “Look I don’t wanna shoot you, and I’m figuring that you don’t wanna get shot.”

     Once again, the man paused as if the words caught him by surprise. He was wearing a dark blue sweat suit and sandals.

     “Just set the trimmers down, so we can talk about this,” the detective said in his most calming voice.

      “So you dudes aren’t like those other things?” He continued to hold the shears pointed outward even as he asked the question.

   Even in the tense situation, the sound of the stereotypical surfer voice coming from the man brought a smile to my face. I must have giggled too, because Lawrence shot me a disapproving glare. “No, we’re okay. Not quite sure what all happened, but it’s pretty damn clear the shit has hit the fan!”

     The man lowered his gardening tool. “Yeah, I’ve been listening to all the chatter on the police scanner.  I’m telling you somebody somewhere is totally trippin’ out. They’re talking about dead people coming back to life and walking around and stuff. Give me a hit of that! You know what I’m saying?”

     “So you’ve just been hiding out down here the whole time?” I asked.

   He turned around to look at me as if he was considering his answer. “No, man, I went upstairs a couple of times. I saw some crazy shit going down.” He looked at me as though he was sure that I would not believe what he was about to say. “I swear I saw the old dude from apartment 118 ripping into one of the guys that were here to paint 120. Craziest shit ever! I even went out on the street one day, not much better out there. People just goin’ off on each other for no reason! The whole scene was total madness.” His voice got lower, and he stepped closer as if he was confiding some secrets in us. “Have you dudes ever heard about some of the wacked out experiments scientists did in the sixties and seventies? I mean they slipped acid to people just to see how they would react and whether a little LSD could make someone go off the deep end.” He chuckled a little before continuing. “Hell, they could have just asked me. I would tell them it just helps to free your mind from some of the limits that society places on everybody. Nothing wrong with that is there?”

     “Okay… uh… Mr.…” Lawrence began.

     “Kelly, no mister, just Kelly.”

   “Okay, Kelly, we are just trying to secure the building and dispose of the bodies before they start rotting. Think you can help us with that?”

     “Sure thing, man.” He glanced over at me as I held my arm at the place he had struck me. He saw the blood and said, “Oh, dude, I’m freaking sorry about that. C’mon inside. I got a first aid kit and stuff to fix that up.”

    We followed him through the door in the wall, uncertain about what we would find inside.

     Like so many things over the last few weeks, what I saw in Kelly’s room was not what I expected. Rather than some stoner haven with shag carpet, worn bean bags chairs, futons, and a lava lamp, we stood in a well-decorated apartment with leather furniture, a large oak desk, a huge flat-screen television on the wall, a stove and full-size chrome refrigerator/freezer.

     By the expression on Lawrence’s face, it was clear that he was surprised as well. Kelly noticed our reactions and said, “So you like my little slice of paradise, huh?” He smiled and continued, “Well, it took me a while to put this place together.  I been the head and only maintenance man for this place and next door for… let’s see… I guess, it’s been four years now.” He paused as if surprised by his own words. “Whoa, have I been here for four years? Dudes, that’s a hella long time!” He looked over to see if we shared in his surprise and found our blank stares. “Oh, dudes, have a seat. Get comfortable. I’ll go find that first aid kit.” He rushed off to a closet at the far end of the room.

     Lawrence and I sat down on the big leather couch.

     “So what do you think of our new best friend Kelly?” I asked with a grin.

     “I think he’s one radical dude,” Lawrence replied in his best surfer voice.

     Kelly hurried back over to where we were sitting. He had a blue & white plastic case in one hand with the other behind his back. A smile stretched across his face as he announced, “Okay, I found the first aid kit sure enough. But also found something else that’ll make you feel totally better.” He let out a sort of naughty giggle as he brought his hand from behind his back to reveal a small blue glass bong. 

   I looked over at the big grinning detective and asked, “What do you think, Officer Lawrence? Are you interested in smoking some weed?”

     Kelly’s face turned as gray as his hair. “No way!  It’s like the last days of the world, Armageddon and shit, and I get busted! It kinda figures, I guess.”

    “Relax, Kelly,” Lawrence commented. “Nobody’s gettin’ busted.”  The detective chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know where I’d take you even if I did want to bust you.”

     The relief on Kelly’s face could not have been more pronounced. “Dude, thanks. I didn’t mean no harm, you know.”

     “I think we got some bigger problems these days,” I said.

     “Are you a pi--, I mean, are you a cop too?” Kelly asked.

     “No, I’m… was a newspaper reporter for the Marin Gazette.” The finality of my words knocked the wind out of me for a moment. “But tell me more about this police scanner.”

     “I will, but I think I better take care of the shoulder first.”

    Kelly sat down next to me on the couch. He unloaded the first aid kit on the coffee table and set to work on my wound.

     “Looks like you’ve had some experience with this,” I said, trying to fill the silence.

     “I spent some time in Afghanistan as a medic,” Kelly answered. “Didn’t think I’d be using those skills again.”

    “So howdja go from the military to living in a basement?” Lawrence asked.

     Kelly shot a look at Lawrence that made it clear that he did not like discussing the topic. After a minute, he answered, “Well, believe it or not, I don’t take orders very well. I’m a pretty mellow dude, but some of those officers get their jollies by ridin’ guys until they break. There was this one junior officer named Bartlett, a total bastard trying to impress his daddy the general.” Kelly’s words gained speed as they spilled out of him.

     “This one day, Bartlett was really on my back big time. As one of the newer members of the medical corps, I was charged with inventorying everyone’s med pack and refilling as needed. To do this, I had to get into the supply hut by 0400 to be done by 0630. Anyway, I was there refilling packs at about five thirty when Bartlett showed up. I could tell there was something wrong with the little prick by the way he was being real polite to me, saying something like ‘Kelly, you’re one helluva good soldier, aren’t you? Always showing up on time to get the job done’.

     “I didn’t say anything. I mean, what was I supposed to say? But he just kept going on ranting about what a good job I was doing, and I just kept on doing my job. Finally, Bartlett moved up real close in my face and screamed, ‘Stand at attention, soldier!’ I dropped the pack that I was holding took a step back and directed my eyes straight ahead just as I trained to do. Not sure how long he had me like that, but he was just watching me and laughing the whole time. Finally, he turned to the cart where I had stacked all the med packs that I had finished refilling. I stood there still at attention, and he stood there just staring at the cart. Then he turned toward me with a huge smile stretching across his face. A second later, the motherfucker was dumping all the packs on the floor. The caps and tubes and bandages went all over the place. And the whole time, Bartlett was giggling like some little girl. I stood at attention for as long as I could. I stood there staring straight ahead, trying to block everything out of my mind. But I couldn’t get that picture of his smile and the sound of his giggling out of my brain, you know?

     “I’m not all that sure what exactly happened then. It was all sorta foggy or something.  I guess I must’ve gone over and grabbed Bartlett and hit him. Next thing I know for sure is I was on top of his chest, slamming his head into the floor trying to get the sound of his giggling out of my brain. Somebody must’ve coldcocked me ‘cuz the next thing I remember was waking up in a jail cell.” He looked around at us as if surprised that he still had an audience. “Been a long time since I told the story out loud like this. Anyway, I spent seventy-five months in Leavenworth and then found my way here.”

     “Well, none of that matters much now,” Lawrence said. “Doesn’t seem like a whole helluva a lot matters besides staying alive.”

     “Yeah, I got a pretty good idea about that from the police scanner and the satellite TV,” Kelly answered, nodding his head toward the shelf on the wall.

     Next to the big television was a series of shelves holding electronic equipment. The blinking blue, red, and green lights made the area look like some command center.

     “I guess we have basic cable upstairs,” I laughed. “So you get some of the news channels?”

     “Take a look,” Kelly said, pushing buttons on two remote controls found the coffee table.

     Immediately, the dark screen was filled with the image of an extraordinarily-endowed blonde on a bed, writhing in ecstasy as a nude man kissed his way down her body.

     “Oh, sorry man… I was…” Kelly stammered as he pushed another button and changed the channel.

    The screen now showed a tired-looking older gentleman sitting at a desk, a picture of a globe with WSB emblazoned across on the front and a wall of television screens behind. A few of the screens also showed a picture of the globe with the stations call letters, but others showed scenes of what appeared to be rioting. “…and so we continue our coverage of the conference at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta with Russell Baker on location. Russell?”

    The picture switched to a man standing in a crowded corridor. For a few seconds, the man stared down at some papers in his hand before suddenly realizing he was on camera and looking up. “Timothy, I’m here outside the main conference room at the CDC. As I am sure everyone is aware, today was the first of a scheduled series of conferences between the leaders of medical associations and research groups. They are reportedly here to discuss responses to the epidemic of what has become known as the Uncommon Cold.  Leading today’s session was Dr. Lynn Cartwright, director of the Institute of Research of Infectious Diseases. I believe we have some tape of the meeting.”

     The next view was from the back of a crowded conference room. Panning around the room, the camera revealed people sitting in every available chair as well as many seated on the floor against the walls. Most of them had notepads on which they were writing. After a moment, the camera moved to the front of the room and focused on a short, plump woman standing behind a podium lined with microphones. Behind her was a long table at which were seated about twenty people, some wearing white medical coats.

     “Thank you all for coming today. I am Dr. Lynn Cartwright, and I am the appointed director of this emergency conference of the International Health Organization and more specifically its Global Response Team. The members seated behind me have gathered here to formulate a coordinated response to the onslaught of this just-recognized mutation of the coronavirus. As this virus is one of those responsible for the condition we call the common cold, the mutation had become known in the media and elsewhere as the uncommon cold.” A few snickers could be heard throughout the room. Dr. Cartwright looked out at the audience for a few seconds before continuing, “While I am a fan of black humor as much as the next person, there should be no mistaking the fact that there is nothing funny about the threat of this viral mutation.” She forced a somewhat shaky smile to her face.

     “Please forgive me for a brief lecture on the nature of viruses. My past as a teacher has left me with some habits that are difficult to break. But don’t worry, because this won’t be on a test.”  A flutter of laughter could be heard. “Viruses are essentially tiny agents of infection that can only replicate within the living cells of host organisms. They have been found capable of infecting every type of life form. It has been just over a century since viruses were first identified. Over this time, some five thousand specific viruses have been identified with detailed description. In addition, there are several millions of forms of viruses not including the vast array of mutations. They are present in nearly all ecosystems found on Earth. Viruses are also the most abundant of all biological forms. The evolution of viruses remains somewhat unclear. While certain forms seem to have developed from plasmids, others appear to have evolved from bacterial forms. In the evolutionary process, viruses have served as vital conduits for horizontal gene transfer, which can result in greater acquisition of immunity.”  Cartwright looked out to see that she had gone beyond the understanding of her audience. 

     “Okay, the one thing to take from this is the fact that viruses are considered to be the most basic of life forms, since they hold genetic coding, practice reproduction, and evolve via the process of natural selection but lack cell structure. And as is the case with any life form, they are constantly transmuting, that is, changing into new forms. We believe that is what we are looking at with this new version of the coronavirus. With further details on the symptoms exhibited by those contracting the virus, I turn it over to Dr. Fields.”

    Cartwright exchanged places with a muscular, young man whose skin was so dark that it appeared almost blue. “Thank you, Dr. Cartwright,” Fields said in a rhythmic Jamaican accent. “I am Dr. Benjamin Fields, and I have been heading up a team studying the symptoms common to those suffering from the effects of the virus.” He flashed a mouth full of dazzling white teeth which made it impossible not to smile in response. A moment later the wall behind him lit up with a picture, and all smiles vanished.

     The huge screen showed a trio of shells in a small bare white room with padding on the walls.  A long smear of blood on the padding behind them could be seen. A murmur rolled through the audience. Fields looked back at the picture behind him for a few seconds.  He then turned back to the podium and took a small remote control from inside.

     The screen changed to a plain white background with words typed in the center:  Preliminary Research Report – Coronavirus Mutation Case Studies. The CDC logo filled the space underneath.

     “What you are about to see are the initial findings of our case studies into the physical manifestations of the viral mutation. Again, I must stress that these studies are hardly conclusive as we are forced to rely on an extremely small sampling in the very early stages of the viral outbreak. The interpretations and extrapolations made at this juncture are purely theoretical. And with such an admonition, we shall proceed to our findings.” Fields smiled again, but this time there were few smiles in response.

     The screen filled with the gray face and glazed eyes of an obviously dead man of about forty. “This is Subject Eleven, AKA Elvin. Elvin was first encountered as a patient in Fort Benning’s medical facility. He was admitted to the hospital for extreme cold-like symptoms as well as what was reportedly termed irrational behavior.” The picture now showed the man in a hospital bed with leather cuffs holding his wrists to the bed’s metal railings. Cables led from his arms to an IV bag hanging on a stand and several machines.

     “Elvin presented an ideal case in that he was isolated and under observation over a period before his death and after his… uh… reanimation.” The doctor looked at the picture for a moment before pushing another button.  Video of the scene with a time stamp in the upper right corner began playing. “As you can see, the subject is resting comfortably at this point.” The video sped forward to the point of a nurse’s appearance. “Here we see that the alarm on the heart monitor has alerted an attendant.”  The high pitch tone of the monitor rang out, and the short female nurse began performing CPR on the patient. “Naturally, the medical attendant attempts to resuscitate Elvin until the crisis team arrives.” As if on cue, two men and one woman dressed in light green medical scrubs pushing a cart burst into the picture. The nurse pushing on Elvin’s chest was instantly pushed aside and replaced by a man who attached a manual resuscitator to Elvin’s face and began squeezing the dark blue bag. With each squeeze, the chest expanded, and then slowly shrank again. The squealing of the heart monitor continued until one of the newly-arrived team went over and shut it off.

     The room fell under a smothering silence broken only by the rhythmic grunts by the man doing the chest compressions.  When the compressions stopped, the woman began squeezing the bag and counting one thousand one, one thousand two between squeezes. The third member of the team, an older man, was carefully monitoring the various machines to which Elvin was attached. The routine went on for about five minutes. Despite the time, no one in the audience at the meeting or in the basement with Kelly did anything but continue to stare at the screen.

     The scene did not change until the man who had been checking the machines announced, “Calling time of death at 20:17.” The words halted the efforts of the other two in the room. The man who had been pressing on the chest shook his head in obvious frustration, turned, and quickly left the room. 

     The other two stood near the heart monitor quietly discussing something as the nurse came back into the room and began disconnecting Elvin from the IV and machines. She had released his wrists from the restraints and was in the process of sliding the IV needle out of his arm when Elvin turned his head to look at her.

     “What happened to me?” He asked calmly.

     The nurse jumped back as if she had been stung. “Doctors!” she cried.

     The pair standing near the machines watched for a moment as Elvin attempted to sit up in bed. 

     “What happened to me?” he repeated, twisting his body against the rails holding him in the bed.

     “You’ve been ill and are in the hospital,” the older man answered. “Now, we need you to relax and lay back down while we check you out.” He reached out and nudged his shoulder backward.

     At the instant the fingers touched his shoulder, Elvin sprang forward and into the doctor. He would have been out of the bed and atop the man if it had not been for the metal bed railing and the tubes still attached to his arms. As it was, the doctor found himself knocked back against the wall and slowly sliding to the floor.

     The nurse pushed the alarm button on the wall next to the bed and an intermittent buzzing began echoing through the room and beyond. Seconds later, a pair of orderlies in dark blue scrubs rushed into the room and pushed Elvin back on the bed. The nurse managed to reattach the leather cuffs even as Elvin continued to thrash around in the bed and scream, “I need to get out of here!”

   Dr. Fields paused the video and regarded the audience for a moment before saying, “I am sure you have many questions about what you have seen. However, I ask that you reserve your questions until the end of our presentation.”

     He turned back to the screen and pushed the fast forward on the video.  “As you can see at 20:33… 8:33pm, Elvin was speaking simple sentences and displaying some aptitude for rational thought. However, just thirty minutes later… well, you can see.”

   The video began again at 21:03. Although the setting was the same small hospital room, just about everything else was different. No longer were there any monitors or IV stands in the room. The people who had previously been in the room had been replaced by several armed MPs in uniform and four men in white medical coats standing around the bed. The biggest difference was the thing in the bed. It had little resemblance to the man seen previously. The face was now frozen in a constant snarl, and it alternated between twisting to either side to bite at those standing nearby and throwing itself backward onto the bed. Several times it threw itself backwards so hard that it appeared to be knocked unconscious. It would remain still for about twenty seconds before lurching forward with a jolt and begin trying to bite again.

     “Clearly, Elvin has undergone some distinct changes since we last saw him. His CAT scan showed major differences. The virus left damage very similar to that done by a massive stroke. We see that like many stroke victims he no longer has the ability to speak. However, unlike those experiencing a cerebrovascular accident or CVA, Elvin now appears completely fixated upon attacking those around him. When tested, he seems unable to utilize even rudimentary reasoning skills. That is, he functions at below the cognitive levels of most mammals. I would have to place his intellectual operation as more akin to the amoeba.” The rumbling that had been constant among audience members since the beginning of Fields’ presentation grew louder. “I understand the difficulty in readily accepting the appearance of a new viral strain and its effects upon humans. The virus appears to attack the brain in a way similar to a massive stroke. Again, I must caution that my findings are extremely early in a developmental process which typically takes a number of years before providing any sort of conclusive body of evidence. That being said, Elvin’s case is one of numerous others which have presented themselves in the past month. While the specific durations of each stage varied, the presence and sequence of the stages did not differ. First of all, there is the onset of an ailment which is to all initial appearances identical to the common cold. However, what happens after this is most uncommon.  Next comes a sudden elevation of the symptoms which results in death. Of course, as we have witnessed, the process does not end here. Following death, as defined by the cessation of all functions recognized as life sustaining, subjects are dormant for a time prior to regaining some semblance of life. We saw Elvin’s speech and even fine motor skills on display shortly after emerging from his dormant period. The final stage is one marked by relatively rapid deterioration of both mental and physical abilities. The final stage appears to be simple return to the death state. That is, it is a complete shut-down of all processes.”

     “Like the old lady upstairs,” Lawrence commented.

     I looked over to find him still staring at the screen.

   The audience could hold back the questions no longer, and several of the people were on their feet yelling questions at the doctor.

     A tall red-haired woman in the second row shouted, “How is it possible for these things to speak if they are no longer breathing?”

   Dr. Cartwright stood and walked over to the podium. She smiled at Fields who handed her the remote control and sat down at the end of the table. “Please, I am asking that you take your seats,” she said into the microphone. After the room had quieted and the audience calmed, Cartwright continued, “I realize that the information being presented here today is like nothing you have heard before. To my knowledge, we have never encountered a viral mutation which has the effects of this one.  However, as Dr. Fields stated our studies are ongoing, we are simply reporting our findings as of now.” She looked out at the audience to see many people shaking their heads in disbelief. The doctor suddenly smiled as if something occurred to her. “Okay, I heard one question being asked that I can answer. ‘How is it possible for these things to speak if they are no longer breathing?’” The red head smiled at the sound of her question.  “The answer is that while the subjects are not breathing they are taking in air.” The audience mumbled its confusion, and I was immediately reminded of teaching a class full of high school students. “In other words, air is being inhaled to fill the lungs and make speech possible. However, the lungs and heart are not working to allow for respiration to take place. Likewise, we have been able to detect the faintest of heartbeats in subjects. Let be me restate that, we have detected something like a heartbeat but it is too weak to be heard with a stethoscope or register on most machines. It is surely too weak to do much more than circulate blood to tissue and slow the process of decay.”

     A tall man in a dark suit shouted from the third row, “If these things have a heartbeat, how can we say that they are dead?”

     A flurry of comments and questions followed.

     As soon as there was a break, Cartwright replied, “Perhaps, I wasn’t clear. The heart activity we have detected is very weak, too weak to be termed a heartbeat by any normal definition. It might be more accurate to describe it as heart twinge.”

     There were chuckles from the audience

     “Dr. Fields mentioned that eventually these things die from the virus,” a bearded, chubby man with curly black hair, standing in the aisle on the left side of the room, commented. “Do you have any sort of timeline on how long that takes?”

     “Dr. Fields?” She turned to address the seated doctor.

     He stood and quickly walked back to the podium. “Like I said, the time span of each stage has shown great variety. We have observed subjects that complete the process from shutdown to reanimation to ultimate death in approximately four to six hours, and there have been others that took around twelve hours to complete the process. In addition, we have received anecdotal reports of the process taking several days.”

     Cartwright leaned near the microphone to say, “At this point, I think the most accurate thing to say is that the process takes anywhere from a few hours to a few days. I understand this is a big window and less than satisfying, but it is better to err on side of caution here. We make no claims that our findings are anything based upon sound medical research. We are relying on purely observational findings. The case studies to this point are too few to supply reliable extrapolations. However, in the interest of public awareness, we agreed to this presentation today.” She looked over at Dr. Fields for encouragement before asking the question she was obviously dreading, “Does anyone have any other questions?”

     Immediately, the room became a squirming mass of bodies jumping up and stretching toward her and shouting questions.      

     “How long until there is a vaccine for this?” 

     “Why wasn’t something done to protect the public from this?”

     “Has any terrorist group taken responsibility for the introduction of the virus?”

    Cartwright resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the ignorance of the questions and began responding to them. “First of all, we are still in the very early stages of research into this viral mutation. In order to formulate a vaccine, much more--”

     The doctor felt herself being pulled from behind and dragged over the top of the table. She was aware of the teeth sink into her neck and the warmth of the blood spurting out of her. This was the last thing she felt.

     Chaos took over the room. Some of the audience members rushed towards the stage while others fled for the nearest exit. The result was a collision that prevented much movement in either direction.

     After a moment, the scene was replaced by a screen card that read, “WSB is experiencing technical difficulty. Please stand by.”

     “Well, shit!” Lawrence commented.

Chapter 6

     Kelly, Lawrence, and I stared at the message on the screen for a long time.

     “Whoa! Things are worse than I figured,” Kelly said. “I absolutely made the right choice in staying underground.”

      “Looks that way,” I agreed and looked over at Lawrence who was still looking at the television. “You okay, Lawrence?”

     He slowly turned toward me. “Yeah, I guess it kinda knocked the wind outta me. Things have gotten worse than I figured.”

     Ever the optimist, I replied, “At least now we have some idea about what happened and what we’re facing.” I looked over at Kelly and noticed a clock on the table. It was a little after seven. “Crap, I didn’t realize it was so late!  We’re gonna have some hungry and worried kids waiting for us.”

     “There’s others with you?” Kelly asked.

     “Yeah, there’s a teenage boy and a little girl,” I said without considering my words. Immediately, I sensed Lawrence’s disapproving stare.

     “So we gotta get upstairs, but we’ll be back tomorrow to start clearing out bodies,” Lawrence said.

     “Sounds good,” Kelly answered and opened the door for us to go out into the main basement.   

     As soon as we were out of the basement and back on the first floor, Lawrence stopped and said, “I get that you wanna trust that there’s good inside everybody if you look hard enough. But me, well, I’ve dealt with too many douchebags and shit weasels to trust anyone.” He looked at me but found only confusion. “What I’m sayin’ is you really need to get in the habit of telling people only what you have to.”

     “Are you saying Kelly is a douchebag or a shit weasel?” I asked and was unable to stifle my snicker.

     “I’m only sayin’ we don’t know him from Adam, so we don’t need to go letting him know everything about our situation.”

     I must have been in a pretty good mood, because I felt good enough to needle Lawrence a little about his lack of trust in people. “The way I see it right now is that the number of people in the world has taken a big cut. Judging everyone according to the legal system of the past might be a luxury we can no longer afford.” Lawrence was looking down as if he was a little embarrassed. “It may be smart to trust each other a little more in order to survive.”

     “I guess you’re right,” he apologized. “I guess I’m too--”

     “Hey, I’m only messing with you,” I interrupted. “I have no idea whether we should trust the old hippy or not, but I don’t mind having someone else to help get rid of bodies and anything else we need to get done.”

     “Yeah, it’s good to have another set of eyes to keep everyone safe,” Lawrence said as if trying to convince himself. “But I’m not gonna lie and say I trust him.”

     “Me neither,” I agreed, knocking on the door to the apartment.

     The door jerked open, and I was immediately facing the end of a baseball bat.

     “What the hell,” Taylor yelled. “Where have you been?”

     I expected Lawrence to lay into the kid about his attitude or something, but he was quiet. Finally, I said, “What happened?”

     “Nothing, except Christina got scared that something…you guys were gone so long.” It was clear that Taylor had also been worried.

     As if on cue, Christina stumbled out of the bedroom rubbing her eyes. Obviously, we had awoken her. How much of her eye rubbing was to make sure we realized that we had awoken her I was not sure. “Finally you’re back!” Christina scolded.

     Lawrence walked over and picked her up. He looked at her for a moment before saying, “Sorry we took so long, but we made a new friend.”

     The little girl pushed herself back from Lawrence and looked closely at him. “A new friend?” She scrunched her face into an expression of extreme disbelief. “And what is this new friend’s name?” 

     It was impossible not to laugh at Christine’s performance. Lawrence chuckled and answered, “His name is Kelly.”

     The expression changed instantly. “Kelly from the basement?” She looked as if she had gotten a whiff of some terrible odor. “That’s your new friend? Mommy always told me to stay away from him, not even to talk to him.”

     Lawrence shot me a smug look and before saying, “Your mommy is very smart. You don’t need to talk to him.”

     “You mean there’s some guy living in the basement, and we had no idea that he was down there?” Taylor asked.

     Lawrence put Christine down and turned toward Taylor. “Yeah, he’s got a little hideaway down there. Seems like he knows less about what’s going on than us.”

     “That news conference made it pretty clear that things are going to shit out there,” I said before I caught myself.

     The big detective shot me a look designed to kill. At the same time, Taylor looked at me with curiosity.

     “What’s a pressed confence?” Christina asked.

     “It’s a silly meeting, honey,” Lawrence explained. “You don’t need to worry about it.” He sent another expression of disgust my way.

     Taylor started to say something but stopped.

     “Sorry, I… uh… there’s nothing to worry about you guys. Kelly is going to help us get this place all clean and keep it safe for all of us,” I apologized.

     “I still can’t believe the guy’s been hiding in the basement,” Taylor commented. “So what else did you find down there?”

     “Yeah, did find the store-age?” Christina asked.

     I answered in my brightest voice, “Yes, we did! We found the store-age!”

     “So what’s for dinner?” Lawrence asked.

     “I made spaghetti, but it’s probably cold by now,” Taylor answered, sounding so much like an angry wife that I chuckled.

     Lawrence chuckled as well and said, “Sorry, honey, I promise to do better next time.”

      The frustration on Taylor’s face was clear. “It’s not funny. If I’m gonna cook for everybody, you can at least be here on time.”

     “Knock it off!” Lawrence had clearly had enough. “We both said that we were sorry for being late. I don’t need a lecture about it. I appreciate that you’re helping out, but don’t act like your shit don’t stink.”

     Taylor spun around and left the room as soon as Lawrence’s last words were out.

     “Don’t you walk away from me!” Lawrence yelled and started to follow him out.

     I am not quite sure what gave me the idea that grabbing Lawrence’s arm would be a good idea, but that is what I did.

     “We ought to let him go cool off.”

     He turned on me with such ferocity that I expected to be on the floor in a matter of seconds. The fury was gone in the next instant, and he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He’s gotta be tired and all.”

     Christina had been watching all of this and said, “We have to stop fighting with each other.” With that simple observa-tion, she left the room.

     “Well, I guess the princess has a point,” I said. “I wonder if she has any idea about how well she has you wrapped around her little finger?”

     He looked at me with a stern expression, which quickly melted into a grin as he said, “Yeah, I bet she has a pretty good idea about that!”

     “Well, let’s go see what Chef Taylor had made for dinner.”

     We found him in the kitchen at the stove stirring a big pot. The room was filled with the smell of tomato sauce boiling.

     “Man, something smells great in here!” Lawrence exclaimed.

     Taylor stopped stirring, let out a sigh, and continued stirring.

     Lawrence walked slowly to the stove and looked over Taylor’s shoulder at the pot. “I had no idea you were such a good spaghetti cook.”

     A puff of air was the response.

     “C’mon, Taylor, I’m trying here.” he said and turned to leave the kitchen.

     “I know that,” Taylor answered without looking away from the stove. “But when you guys didn’t come back I just started wondering about what I would do if… uh… if you never came back. I’m not sure if I could… keep everything together.”

     I looked toward Lawrence wanting him to say something. Instead, he just paused for a moment listening to Taylor and then left the kitchen.

     A few seconds later, Taylor turned away to see if he was alone in the kitchen and saw me. The tears welled up in his eyes despite his best efforts.

     “Hey, he cares about you,” I said, unsuccessfully trying not to sound ridiculous.

     The teenager looked at me unsure that I was serious and then asked, “Then why does he always act pissed off with whatever I say or do?”

     “Now, I’m just guessing here, but I’d say he acts that way precisely because he cares about you and wants you to succeed.”

     Taylor blew out a puff of air. “You really think he gives a shit about me? He sure don’t act like it.”

     I smiled at the absurdity of a childless man like myself acting like some expert on parenting, but I said, “Sometimes when an adult cares about a young person he might come across as mean to protect him.” I paused a moment to see if Taylor was listening or laughing. He was listening, so I continued, “I know you two have some history but not the details. The important thing is you found each other again in the middle of all this chaos.”

     “Yeah, when you think about it, that’s pretty crazy,” he commented. “But that still doesn’t explain why he acts like a dick.”

     “Well, that’s one I can’t answer. All I know is that some people act that way when they really care about someone or something they’re afraid of losing.”

     My answer seemed to satisfy him. After a moment, he said, “You should go tell him the food’s ready when he is.”

     I found Lawrence sitting on the couch staring into space. He was so deep in thought that I had to repeat, “I think it’s time for dinner.”

     Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable. Besides having some of the best spaghetti I can remember, Taylor and Lawrence got along better than ever. A couple of times, I thought I caught a glance from Taylor as if to say you may have been right. Of course, there is a very good chance that this was just my imagination.

     The next morning about six we headed back down to the basement and Kelly. It was clear that he was not used to being roused out of bed that early. We all realized that a gruesome day of body removal lie ahead of us, and that seemed to keep conversation to a minimum.

     “I’ve been thinking about all these bodies, man. It’d probably be better to get them outta of the building,” Kelly said. “I got an idea about a good place to put ‘em.”

     Without any further discussion, we followed Kelly to a dark back corner of the basement. There was a door which we had not noticed before.  Kelly fished a ring of keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door knob, and turned the deadbolt. He pushed the door open a little, and a blast of cool air rushed at us.

     I could not remember the last time I had been outside the building. There was a sense of freedom, but I also felt more than a twinge of fear at the unknown which lay ahead.

Chapter 7

     Kelly opened the door a few more inches and then waited, listening for any sound. Only silence. After a moment, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open all the way. It opened on a cement set of stairs leading up to street level. Dead leaves and pieces of litter lined the ground in front of the door.

     “There’s a storage shed out here in the alley,” Kelly said quietly as he stepped slowly through the doorway. “I never had any reason to consider it about before, but that might be a good place to stash bodies.”

     I had to smile at the absurd idea of ever having considered good places to stash bodies in the world of a few weeks past.

     Lawrence and I stepped outside. I stood looking up the steps which appeared to lead right into the bright blue early morning sky.  Under normal circumstances, this would strike me as something of a positive omen. Of course, these were anything but normal circumstances, and the sight now just seemed like a cruel hoax. 

     I must have stood there looking upward longer than I realized, because Lawrence asked, “Any chance we can get started before dark?”                  

     I trotted up the stairs and stood beside Kelly.  The narrow alley allowed very little sunlight make its way down to illuminate the area. Despite the bright blue sky, it remained dark and gloomy.  The alley was about a hundred feet long and twelve feet wide. A tall brick building made up the other side. A white metal storage shed sat a few yards away from us.

     “So what’s inside?” Lawrence asked.

     Kelly paused for a few seconds as if trying to remember exactly what the shed contained. “Near as I can remember, there’s an old floor polisher, cans of paint, and just some junk that the owner never got around to throwing away.”

     “Nothing we can use?” I asked.

     “Not that I remember, but we can take a look,” Kelly answered. However, even after his words, none of us moved from where we stood.

     Finally, Lawrence asked, “So is there any access to the street from here?”

     Kelly gestured to his left and said, “There’s a ten foot cyclone fence at that end and a locked gate at the other end.  I never saw anybody back here, but I guess if those things really wanted to get in they could.”

     He walked over and untwisted the wire that was holding the shed door closed. He lopped the wire into the hole in metal wall and pulled the door open. The high-pitched squeak of the hinges echoed down the alley, making all of us freeze. We waited for any sound in response. A few seconds later, there was a soft shuffling from the far end of the alley. It was the sort of swoosh sound that would come from dragging feet. The noise was not loud but only seemed that way from the focus we gave it. It was also this concentration that caused us all to jump when the first slaps hit the gate.

     We stayed where we were and watched the gate shake. The rattling and slapping of the gate lasted for about a minute and then stopped abruptly as if interest had been lost.

     “Is there any other way back here?” Lawrence whispered.

     “No,” Kelly whispered back.

     After another minute of listening for shells, I stepped inside the shed. It was darker than expected, and my eyes took a bit to adjust. In the shadowy darkness, my imagination turned every blurry shape into a threat. I tried to catch any sign of movement. Suddenly, there was a click behind me, and the shed exploded with light.

     “That might make it a little easier to get around,” Kelly said. “I’m kinda surprised this place still has power. Hasn’t been used for so long.”

     Two long fluorescent tubes overhead hummed and flickered. Several cabinets, brooms, mops, plastic garbage cans, doors, and a red utility wagon lined the walls.  In one corner, an old silver floor polisher slouched nonchalantly. Nearby, I spotted something that we could use. There were three or four big canvass tarps piled on top each other.

     “This oughta work, right?” Kelly asked.

     “I don’t see why not,” Lawrence answered. “I mean all we need is some room to stack the bodies.”

     With that we were off for a full day of body moving and storage.  The first ones were the most difficult. Well, actually first one was the most difficult.

     We started on the third floor with the logic that those would take the most effort to get to the storage shed. The first apartment just to the right of the stairs held two corpses. One of them was in the bedroom. The blood-soaked nightgown was nearly dry but still stuck to her body.

     As I stood in the bedroom doorway, I made the mistake of looking at her blood-stained, decomposing face with the gaping gunshot wound in the forehead and was immediately doubled over. The contents of my stomach surged from my mouth and onto the floor around my feet.

     “Ah, shit! Lawrence yelled. “Turner, this is gonna be a helluva long day without you tossin’ your cookies every time we come across a body.”

     “Grody, dude!” Kelly contributed as he pushed by me into the bedroom. “So I wonder what happened to this chick. Wait! I think it’s Miss Carlson.”

     I glanced up at the body and muttered, “I shot her a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Lawrence said. “Her significant other is in the other room with his head nearly torn off.”

     My eyes would not stay away from the body on the bed. My damned imagination would not let me see just a dead body. Instead, I was treated to a full picture of what had occurred prior to her ending up in the bed.

     “You’ve just got that dang cold or whatever it is.” A young man in a light blue t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants standing next to the bed handed her two yellow tablets and waited for her to swallow them before offering her a glass of water.

     The woman smiled weakly and said, “Thanks for being such a good nurse.”

     “Just get some sleep. I have some papers to grade, so I’ll be in the extra room. Call me if you need anything.” He kissed her on the forehead and said, “You’re so cold! Let’s pull these covers up.” He lifted the blankets until they were just under her chin and left the bedroom.

     Somewhere in my mind a fast forward button got pushed, because the woman in the bed began changing rapidly. She twisted back and forth in the bed, sat up quickly and fell back down. She was still with her eyed closed for a few seconds. Her lids flew open revealing glassy eyes beneath. She sat up slowly and moved off of the bed. With the accelerated speed, her movements appeared jumpy and mechanical. The woman spun around towards the head of the bed and then back the other way. In a sort of goosestep, she moved out of the room.

     “Thanks for being such a good nurse,” she said as she marched down the hallway and through an open door.

     The room was obviously an extra bedroom that served as store room as evidenced by a number of boxes stacked around. In addition, it had taken on the role of office as evidenced by the large oak desk where the man was sitting.

     “Thanks for being such a good nurse.”

     The words clearly startled him, and he turned to say, “You should be in--”

     The rest of his sentence was cut off as the woman lunged into him. Obviously taken by complete surprise, the man never even made any real attempt to defend himself. A few seconds later, blood was spurting from his neck. He was on the floor with the woman atop him. Her face was still pressed into him. Her cheeks covered in blood, and a sort of combined slurping and splashing sound could be heard. The picture continued like this for several seconds. When the woman finally pulled back, it appeared as though the man’s head was only attached by the knobby-looking spine.

     She stood up a moved aimlessly around the room. Finally, seemingly by chance, she found the doorway and marched into the hall. First, she turned left and smashed into a closet door where she left a bloody handprint. From there, she moved into the bathroom, turned on the hot water in the basin, and pulled down a towel rack from the wall before returning to the hallway.

  “Thanks for being such a good nurse,” she mumbled.

     She moved into the living room where she sat down on the couch for a minute. It was a minute in which she simply stared straight ahead. Suddenly, she stood straight up, turned, and walked into the kitchen.

     The woman stood directly in front of the refrigerator for a few seconds before reaching up to pull open the door. She stared inside and then raked the contents of one shelf onto the floor. Completely oblivious to the bowls and jars breaking around her feet, she held her hands together in front of her as if she was carrying a bowl. From the refrigerator, she trudged through the food and glass on the floor to the oven. She set her imaginary bowl on top of the stove and bent down to open the door of the oven. She peered inside as if checking for something and then retrieved the imaginary bowl from the stove.  The pantomime continued as she slid the bowl into the oven, closed the door, and turned a knob at the back of stove top. She paused a moment as if considering any other necessary tasks.

     All at once, she spun around and walked determinedly out of the kitchen. The woman moved straight into the bedroom and got back into bed. She lay there on her back completely still, staring up at the ceiling until I walked into the room and shot her in the head.

     The sound of the remembered gunshot brought me back to the present and the dead body in the bed.

     My companions were staring at me as I returned to reality.

     As soon as we made eye contact, Lawrence asked, “Can we get this done?”

     “Uh… yeah, sorry for making you wait,” I mumbled in reply.

     “You okay, man?” Kelly asked.

     “Yes,” I said. “Just not looking forward to a day of dealing with bodies.”  

     “Dude, just do what I do. You gotta tell your brain they’re not real. I mean your brain can really do a trip on you if you let it. So what you gotta do is trick it.”

     I chuckled. “Okay, I’m listening. How do I trick my brain?”

     “Haven’t you ever been some place that you totally didn’t wanna be?”

     “You mean kinda like here?” Lawrence spoke my thoughts.

     “Most definitely like here,” Kelly said and grinned at him. “So the thing to do is imagine the most unreal shit you can think of and put those thoughts into your brain. Like with these bodies, you gotta think of ‘em as some sorta mannequins out of a store window or maybe from a wax museum, anything crazy like that. It totally takes your brain outta of it, you know?”

     “So is that how you made it through Afghanistan?” I asked.

     “That and a shitload of good drugs,” he answered matter-of-factly.

     I have to admit that my first thought was to ridicule the idea of tricking your brain. However, I followed Kelly’s advice and made it through what was a decidedly gruesome day.

     We started off by wrapping the body on the bed in the sheets and dragging it to the window which overlooked the alley. 

     Kelly opened the window, pushed out the screen, and said, “Guess I don’t have to worry about replacing those things anymore.”

     He picked up one end of the bundle and I picked up the other.

     “You ready to see if this mannequin knows how to fly?” I asked.

     “Let’s do it!” Kelly said as we heaved it out the window.

     We grinned at each other, ignoring the disgusting thud the body made on the ground below.

     What followed throughout the rest of the day was a virtual rain of bodies from various windows onto the alley below. By about five thirty, we had cleared the third floor and about half of the second. Of course, the alley was littered with bodies, but we figured they would stay put until the next day.

     All in all, we finished the day feeling pretty good about things in general. We headed down to the basement and shared a couple of cold ones. In my mind, it was one of those beer ad moments when the hard-working guys get together for a beer at the end of the day. It’s odd to think back on it and realize just how quickly humans can adjust to just about anything, including the disposal of previously-moving corpses.

     Every night as we returned to the apartment, it was clear that Taylor and Christina were relieved to see us. The two of them were growing quite close, and I remember thinking that the support they gave one another was probably the one thing which could help them cope in such a terrifying situation.

     We started early the next morning. Whether it was the energy that comes from having a clear task to accomplish or simply the break from thinking about the state of the world, the mood was upbeat. At least, it was upbeat at the start of the day.

     That mood vanished quickly as we started out by clearing the alleyway. The previous day we had simply tossed the bodies from above without worrying about clearing the ground below. Now it was time to get those bodies into the storage shed.

     “I saw a cart in the basement that could be handy for moving these things into the shed,” I said as we stood at the top of the stairs looking over the scattered bodies.

     Lawrence looked at me with surprise. “Well, if you aren’t the practical one! Good idea! But these things are gonna stink to high heaven no matter where we stack ‘em.”

     “Gotta bag ‘em,” Kelly said. “There’s some heavy duty trash bags in the closet that oughta do the trick.”

     “Yeah, and I tarp to throw over everything might keep the smell down,” I offered.

     Lawrence grinned and said, “Listen to you guys! If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d been doin’ this kinda thing all your lives.”

     Strange to think of the comment as any sort of compliment, but that is precisely how I took it.

     Lawrence stayed in the alleyway looking over the shells as Kelly and I went down to the basement to get the utility cart and bags.

     Once we were out of Lawrence’s earshot, Kelly said, “Never thought I’d say this, but your friend’s not bad for a pig.”

     It had been a very long time since I heard a policeman referred to as a pig, and I chuckled. “Well, I’m not sure were exactly friends, but, yeah, he’s not ‘bad for a pig’.”

     He got a big roll of extra-large black garbage bags out of a cupboard, and we hauled the cart up the stairs. Lawrence was standing over a body near the end of the alley.

     “I don’t think this big gal is gonna fit in a bag,” the detective said almost apologetically.

     Kelly answered, “Well, no need to worry about it right now. I think we can figure out something when the time comes.”   

     I wondered what exactly he had in mind, but soon forgot about it when we began bagging the corpses. I did my best to follow Kelly’s advice and picture the bodies as unreal. For the most part, it worked. But every once in a while, I would catch myself looking at face of one of them and wondering about how they wound up on the floor of an alley getting stuffed into an extra-strength trash bag. Most of the time, I tricked my brain, but every once in a while, it tricked me back.

     There was a guy in his early twenties that I imagined to be a college student.

     “All I need is a passing grade in this class so I can keep my scholarship,” he was pleading with a professor.

     “I’m sorry, Mr. Connors, but your work this semester has been less than satisfactory,” a smug-looking older man with curly gray hair and a bushy mustache sitting behind a big oak desk replied. “Had you come to me earlier as suggested, I might have been able to offer some assistance. Now, I am afraid it is too late.”

     “Professor Michaels, there must be some--” He was interrupted as I pulled the trash bag over his head. His knees were locked into place, but I was eventually able to make them bend and tied the bag closed.

     I bagged a few more bodies and moved them away from the others. As I moved to the next one, I noticed a chubby woman with dark curly hair that reminded me a great deal of my fourth-grade teacher Miss Randall. Immediately, I was back in her classroom.

     “Class, we have a treat today. Kevin has written a new story,” she told the class in the special tone that fourth-grade teachers have. “Kevin, please come up and read it to the class.”

     “Way to go, Kevin!” My friend Terry called as I walked to the front of the room.

      Miss Randall handed me the few sheets of paper joined by a staple in the upper left corner. My hands shook as I took them. I had always been a good writer, but reading in front of an audience petrified me. I tried to keep my eyes down so as not to see the people watching me, but they shot up just enough to catch a glimpse of Kim Roberts. She had long golden brown hair with butterfly clips in it and was absolutely beautiful, the hottest girl in all of the fourth grade classes and maybe the whole school. There I was standing in front of the class, shaking like an idiot and feeling like I was going to puke. Then something totally unexpected happened. Kim Roberts looked right at me and smiled. At that moment, I felt like the most powerful superhero ever imagined, like I could do anything. I read my story, and they laughed at the right times, and they were quiet at the right times, and they clapped at the end.

     “Turner, are you gonna bag her or take her out on a date?” Lawrence yelled.

     I heard Kelly laugh and felt embarrassed.

     I shoved the body into the bag, tied it closed, and moved onto the next one. Thankfully, my embarrassment quickly turned to determination, and it kept me focused on the job at hand. When I finally ran out of bags and looked around after about an hour, the filled black bags were scattered around the alley with only seven or eight bodies left uncovered.

     “Got any more bags?” I asked.

     “That’s it for the bags,” Kelly announced. “But we got a couple of trash cans.”

     Lawrence looked a bit doubtful and said, “I don’t know about getting these things to fit into cans. It was hard enough gettin’ them into bags.”

     “Dude, leave it to me,” he said and headed back down into the basement.

     “Yeah, dude, leave it to him,” I said.

     The big cop looked at me and shook his head. “Well, seems like he’s got some plan, so I guess both us dudes have to just wait and see.”

     We did not have to wait for long as Kelly trotted up the stairs with a stack of three dark green plastic garbage cans. He set the cans at the top of the stairs, smiled at us, and scurried back down to the basement. A moment later, a dark green plastic lid flew up the stairs like a Frisbee and landed on the ground near the cans. A few seconds later, another one flew up and another lid followed.

     Both us simply watched the flying disks without saying anything.

     The next sound did bring comments. It was the distinct sound of an engine being pull started. 

    “What the fuck!” Lawrence yelled.

    “Is that a…” My words were drowned out by the roar of the engine.

     A moment later, Kelly emerged at the top of the stairs holding the smoking chains saw and wearing a dirty white and green canvas apron and an old pair of safety goggles. He grinned at us before walking over to one of the bodies and sawing it in half.

     The body had very little blood spray and cut pretty easily. Funny the things you notice when someone starts cutting up a body with a chainsaw.

     Kelly was already working on the third body when I heard the gate rattling. I walked over to see more than twenty shells banging on the gate, trying to get into the alley. I could not believe we had not realized that the sound of the chainsaw would attract every shell within a mile.

     I looked through the gate at them. It had been a while since I really looked at them. None of them was talking now. I suppose the scientists on television had been right. The shells lose the ability to speak soon after changing. Also noticeable was the fact that most of them were just sort of trudging along almost aimlessly. It was only when one of them shook the gate or made some other noise that they seemed to have any real focus.

     The gate looked strong enough to keep them out, so I returned to the others.

     “Everything okay?” Lawrence yelled over the sound of the chainsaw.     

     “Yeah, it’s just all the racket brought a whole herd of them to the gate!” I yelled back. “The gate looks strong enough!”

     “Well, let’s clean up!” Lawrence shouted as he drug a garbage can near one of the bodies and began putting the severed limbs into the can.

     A minute later, Kelly finished cutting and turned off the chainsaw. The whole scene took on such an absurd appearance that it was actually fairly easy to convince my brain the whole thing was unreal. I actually caught myself grinning as I watched Lawrence and Kelly lifting an armless, legless torso into one of the trash cans. The one thing for which I was thankful was that the shells did not bleed a lot. Since their hearts were no longer beating, the blood did not circulate. Never having cut up a fresh body, I can only imagine that there would be much more blood present.

     I stepped up and started dragging one of the full bags toward the shed. I had only gone a few yards when Kelly trotted over and lifted one end of the bag.

     “Thanks,” I said.

     He nodded in reply.

     We dropped the bag against the back wall of the shed. That was the first of many bags and cans in the shed. When we were all done, I threw two of the tarps over the top. 

     As we left the alley, I looked over to see that the crowd of shells had thinned out considerably.

Chapter 9

     After a quick lunch in the basement which was surprisingly good despite the grisly sights of the morning, we headed back to finish clearing the second floor.

     I cannot say that the task of clearing the bodies ever got pleasant, but the repetition and practice at removing myself from the reality of the task made it bearable. I think the doctors call it disassociation although it probably does not matter much what it is called. The important thing is it worked.

     By around six, we had the second floor cleared with the bodies littering the alley below. Just as we had the day before, we headed to Kelly’s place in the basement for an ice cold beer. I cannot remember a beer tasting so good. After another of Taylor’s delicious dinners, I slept better than I had in a long time. Nothing like a day of physical labor to quiet the brain, I suppose. Never mind that the work involved dismembering corpses and bagging body parts.

     The next morning we started back at the job of clearing the alley of bodies. This time we had only the smaller trash bags gathered from various apartments, which meant all the bodies needed to be cut up. 

     It did not take Kelly long to emerge from the basement with his chainsaw, goggles, and bloody canvass apron. For the most part, Lawrence and I simply stood back and commented as Kelly went about his work.

     “It sure is nice to see a man who clearly enjoys his work!” I yelled as Kelly began cutting an extremely large male body.

     Lawrence stared at me for a minute, trying to decide whether I meant to be serious or not. Apparently, he decided that I did not, because he answered, “I wonder what union he belongs to!”

     We both laughed, and Kelly glared at us with curiosity. Lawrence shook his head to let him know that everything was okay. The goggled hippy shrugged his shoulders and went back to cutting.

     Strangely, I found the task of bagging the dismembered corpses much easier than dealing with the whole body as we had done the previous day. Whether the separate parts seemed less than human or that I had become numb to the whole process, it did not matter. The result  was I made it through without any problem. By noon, we had bagged all the parts and stashed the garbage bags under the tarp in the shed.

     Before going inside, I again went over to the gate to check out the crowd that had gathered at the sound of the chainsaw. There appeared to be quite a few more than the day before as if word had gotten out about the noisy alley. The idea stayed with me, and I wondered if the shells had any means of communication. As I observed a woman dressed in a tank top and running shorts move aimlessly through a crowd of other shells and occasionally bumping into them, the idea of any sort of communication seemed unlikely. The intermittent grunts seemed to be nothing more than reflexive, signifying nothing.

     My companions headed into the basement. The disinterest of the others in the behavior of the shells surprised me. It seemed clear that if we had any chance to survive we needed to understand everything we could about the shells.

     Another thing that surprised me was Kelly’s apparent disinterest in visiting our apartment. We had invited him several times for dinner, but he had found a reason to decline each time.

     My curiosity about his behavior was swept away as I caught sight of the shell of a chubby teenage girl wobbling quite a bit, standing near a light pole on the edge of the sidewalk. The swaying grew until the teenager was stumbling around a few steps here and there. Finally, the movement stopped. She stood in place for a moment and then collapsed to the ground as if her legs had turned to rubber. I waited for further movement that never came. The other shells did not seem to notice the body.  Well, most of them did not notice the body.

     A muscular-looking shell with short blond hair shuffled his feet right into the body. The presence of something blocking his movement appeared to confuse him. He stared downward for a moment before resuming his shuffling. The result was that the body on the ground moved slightly with each impact of his feet. This continued for what seemed like five minutes before the shell gave up and shuffled off to the left of the body. 

     I wondered at the sudden collapse of the shell. I thought of the shell we had found in the apartment that seemed to have just quit moving. Perhaps there was some connection. My focus on the shell was very deep, which caused me to jump when the hand touched my shoulder.

     “Everything okay?” Lawrence asked.

     “Uh, yeah… I just noticed one of the shells that just quit running and collapsed like the one we saw upstairs.”

     “And you think there has to be some connection, right?” He asked with more than a hint of ridicule.

     “Well, I don’t know if there’s a connection or not,” I shot back. “But it might be important for us to know.”

     He nodded and said, “You’re right. I just don’t like being around those things.”

     The giggles burst out before I could catch them. They were not the contagious sort of sound that might come after hearing something silly.  After a moment, I managed to bite off the sound although the tremors continued.

     “You think I like spending time with them?” I asked.

     He shook his head and grinned. “No, I don’t suppose you do. But the fact is you’re still out here talking instead of inside.”

     I realized he had a point and laughed. “Okay, I can’t argue with you there. Time to get inside.”

     We walked together inside. Still, I could not shake the feeling that I had just noticed something significant about the shells even if I did not completely understand it.

     Once we were back in Kelly’s room enjoying a lunch of microwaved hamburgers and cold beer, I could not keep my thoughts inside. “What if those things are dying?”

     It was as if I had hit the Pause button. All movement stopped instantly. After a moment, both faces turned toward me.

     “Whoa, are you thinking those things might be short-timers, dude?” Kelly asked as if he was overwhelmed by the concept.

     Lawrence did not show any such reverence. “C’mon! That’s horse shit! You think these shells, walking corpses, or whatever you wanna call them are just gonna fall over?”

     “Right, my idea is that these things are running out of steam is horse shit, but the fact that dead bodies are walking around is perfectly logical!” My voice had risen to a scream, leaving Kelly and Lawrence stunned and uncomfortable.

     “Whoa!  Dude, calm down,” Kelly said. “You’re gonna have a coronary or something. None of us know exactly what’s going on or what’s gonna happen. You could be right.”

     He looked over at Lawrence as if to signal him that it was his turn to offer something.

     It took him a few seconds to put his words together. Finally, he said, “Sure, none of us can tell the future, I guess. Who the hell knows what’s gonna happen? The thing to do is worry about getting through right now.” He looked from me to Kelly as if checking to see how his comment was received. 

     “I don’t know, I guess I am just looking for a reason to be hopeful,” I replied. “Without hope for the future, I don’t see much reason in even bothering to worry about getting through right now.”

     There was a long pause, before Lawrence broke the silence with a chuckle. “Well then let’s just hope you’re right!”

     Kelly giggled a little, and I just shook my head.

     We headed inside to Kelly’s room and had a surprisingly enjoyable lunch. Maybe it was the comfort of having a routine that put each of us in a good mood.

     The mood lasted through the day and into the evening. When Lawrence and I returned to the apartment, Taylor and Christina were happy to see us as always. We had truly become a family.

     Over the next few weeks, we managed to clear the building of all the bodies, stockpile the supplies from all the apartments in a few places, fortify all the places where shells might be able to get inside, and, perhaps most difficult of all, get Kelly to join us for dinner.

     The whole thing was actually pretty uncomfortable.  From the second he walked through the door with a six-pack, the maintenance man was obviously uncomfortable. I introduced him to Taylor which went as expected. The introduction to Christina was another matter.

     From the instant the two made eye contact, the loathing of one another was clear. No matter how many times the conversation got lively it wound up with Kelly and Christina ignoring or glaring at each other. In fact, I do not remember either of them directly addressing the other.

     It reminded me of a party Bonnie and I had thrown. It had been her idea to invite a couple of old friends who were recently divorced. When I voiced some concern about inviting both of them, Bonnie had replied, “We’ve known them for years. I’m sure our friendship can survive even though their marriage couldn’t.” The result had been that the party had a decidedly chilly atmosphere as the two

spent the evening alternating between glaring at one another and trying to impress the other with how much fun they were having. The affected laughter and conversation was more than irritating. Near the end of the evening, the two finally confronted one another which resulted in a loud shouting match. As far as I can remember, that was the last time we saw either one of them.

     It seems odd to get the same awkward feeling from a little girl and a man, but that is precisely what I got.

     Anyway, at the moment we finished eating, Kelly made an excuse to get back to the basement. As soon as he closed the door behind Kelly, Lawrence turned and asked Christina, “What the hell was that all about?”

     I thought I saw the little girl batting her eyelashes. “What’s the matter, Lawrence?”

     The big cop could not keep from smiling and said, “I think you know what the matter is.  You and Kelly looked about ready to kill each other the whole time.”

     “Yeah, Chris, what’s up with that?” Taylor asked.

     With three sets of eyes focused squarely upon her, Christina realized that she was not going to escape the question and answered, “I told you Mommy said to stay away from him.” She looked around at the blank expressions of her audience, then she turned her eyes to the floor and mumbled, “And one time... he… uh… tried to kiss me.”

     A second later, Lawrence was standing near her. “What did you say, Christina?” It was a quiet voice but one which was obviously struggling to stay calm.

     The room was silent for a moment, until the little girl said, “He… Kelly… he tried to kiss me… and stuff.”

     A sort of grunt burst out of Lawrence, and he spun around and headed for the door.

     “Hold on a second!” I called, but he continued to unlock the door without pausing.

     I leaned against the door as he unlocked the last deadbolt. “We need to talk about this. You don’t know the whole story, and we need Kelly’s help to…”

     A look of pure rage from Lawrence cut off any further words. I backed away from the door as he yanked it open and walked into the hallway.

     I looked at the terrified expressions of Christina and Taylor before hurrying out of the apartment.

     “Lawrence! Let’s talk about this!” I called.

     He did not even pause as he strode toward the stairs.

     Taylor moved past me. “Detective Lawrence, you gotta slow down,” the boy said as he moved in front of him. “Don’t do something stupid.”

     Lawrence did stop this time. But as I watched, he was tense while trembling slightly and looked as though he was getting ready to swing at Taylor. After a few seconds, his shoulders relaxed and the trembling stopped. He chuckled as he said, “You’re right. I can’t go off half-cocked and end up doing something I’m gonna regret.” He looked over at me, flashed a crooked smile, and then turned back toward Taylor. “I’m just gonna go talk to him and find out the whole story. Hell, it’s probably nothing.”

     Lawrence stepped forward. For a moment, Taylor stood in place but then moved out of the way. The big cop walked past him, but this time his gait had an exaggerated casual manner.

     Taylor glanced over at me as if looking for guidance. I shrugged and trotted after Lawrence. Neither of us said anything as we walked down the stairs to the basement.

     When he reached the door to Kelly’s room,

Lawrence looked around as if checking to see if Taylor and I were still there. “I’m just gonna find out what happened. Bet the whole damn thing is some silly mistake,” he said in an amazingly calm voice as he knocked on the door.

  Taylor and I exchanged looks of amused embarrassment as we realized that we had overreacted to Lawrence’s anger.

     After a moment, there was rattling from the other side of the door as locks were turned and a chain was unhooked. The door opened to reveal Kelly’s smiling face.

     “You guys back for another cold--”

    He never got a chance to finish his question. As soon as the door was open, Lawrence threw himself inside. The door flew back with such force that it seemed as if it would shatter. 

     In the next instant, Lawrence had Kelly on the ground and was sitting astride his chest. I rushed to get the two apart. Somehow before I laid a hand on Lawrence, he had his gun in his hand and was pointing it in Kelly’s face. I had no idea where he had gotten the gun. The weapon could have been tucked inside his belt, but now it did not matter. The gun was in his hand, and he was ready to kill Kelly.

     “So you like to kiss little girls, hunh? Well, here’s something else you can kiss,” he said through clenched teeth. Kelly’s eyes widened with fear as Lawrence forced the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

     Everything in the room froze until there seemed to be absolutely no movement.

    Whether real or imagined, it seemed that Lawrence’s finger actually trembled on the trigger, and I waited for the explosion as the bullet blew out the back of Kelly’s head. Rather than by an explosion, the silence was shattered by Christina’s scream.

     “Lawrence!  No!” She ran up next to him and howled, “Don’t hurt him!”

     Lawrence twisted around to look at the little girl. The gun came out of Kelly’s mouth, and he turned toward her with an expression of terror combined with over-whelming confusion. Taylor’s eyes as well as my own were also fixed on her.

     Being the center of attention did not please the girl. She began to tremble, and the slap of her small shoe on the concrete floor echoed through the basement.     

     “He didn’t do the stuff I said,” she muttered with her eyes fixed on her shoes. After a moment of no sound, she started to bawl and ran from the room.

     Lawrence’s knees cracked as he raised himself off of Kelly’s chest. He extended a hand to help Kelly off the floor. The maintenance man regarded the hand for a moment before slowly taking it. Once on his feet, he stumbled backward a few steps and glared at Lawrence.

     “What the fuck, man? What was that all about?” He went on without waiting for an answer. “That is completely uncool!”

     Now it was Lawrence’s turn to look at his shoes.    

     “Sorry, I thought… I mean… Christina said you tried to kiss her.”

     Kelly let go with a laugh that was anything but cheerful. “Are you serious, dude? You came down to my place and stuck a fucking pistol in my mouth because of what that little bitch told you?”

     Lawrence’s body tensed at the attack on Christina but then went slack again.

     “She said you kissed her,” Taylor said quietly.

     “No, I never touched that little… I never touched her,” Kelly said. “The only reason she has to hate me is ‘cuz I complained to her mom about leaving toys in the hallway. Some days you could hardly make to down the hall with all the dolls and tricycles and--”

     The scream was faint and high-pitched, but it was enough to stop everything else. Before Lawrence or I had even reacted, Kelly was flying up the stairs. His long legs seemed like a blur as we hurried after him.

     By the time we got into the hallway, three shells were shuffling toward Christina. The little girl was huddled into a ball in the corner at the opposite end of the hall. Her head was tucked down, so I couldn’t see her face. Her body shook with the spasms of sobbing.

     “Christina,” Lawrence yelled. “Stay right where you are!”

     The shells turned slowly at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. The little girl did not react but simply continued to shake.

     Lawrence and I looked at one another trying to decide on the best course of action. In the next instant, Kelly rushed forward into the crowd of shells. The movement seemed to catch the shells completely by surprise. Kelly moved by them without much trouble. There was a young guy wearing only light green boxers and a black t-shirt with large skull and crossbones, an older woman in a pink terry cloth bathrobe and one slipper, and a heavyset black man wearing a dark blue sweat suit.

     Kelly had scooped up Christina in his arms by the time the shells turned and began shuffling toward them. The young guy was very close to grabbing Kelly when Taylor charged in with a block that would have made the defensive line of the Oakland Raiders proud. The shell was on the floor with Taylor standing defiantly above it. Kelly managed to zigzag his way past the others without being touched.

     Once he got to the basement door, he looked back at us and said, “I’ll be right back to help clean this hallway.”

     He carried Christina down the stairs.

     “Shit, Kelly’s gonna miss all the fun,” Lawrence said as he stepped forward next to the shell in the jogging suit. The cop quickly had his gun in hand and up near the shell’s ear. He looked toward me and grinned as pulled the trigger.      

     The roar of the gun filled the hallway, and the bullet travelled through the shell’s head and went into the wall a few inches from the ceiling.

     After a pause of a few seconds, Lawrence walked up to the older woman in the bathrobe and put his gun in the middle of her forehead. Brains and blood splattered onto the wall behind her.

     I stood there stunned by the glee with which the big cop executed the shells.  My shock was immediately replaced by horror as I glanced over at Taylor to see him repeatedly kicking the head of the shell on the floor.

     “Taylor!” I yelled. “There’s no need for that!”

     The young man continued kicking as if he had not heard me.

     “Taylor!” I yelled again.

     This time, he turned and stared blankly at me.

     “What the hell, dude?” Kelly asked from behind me. “You put a hole in the wall.”

      Lawrence and I both looked at him with disbelief. Here we were standing in a hallway full of corpses, and the guy was worried about a hole in the wall. Our amazement was pushed aside by the sound of liquid hitting the floor.

     Taylor was no longer attacking the shell. He was now standing with his hands against the wall as he vomited onto the floor. Lawrence walked over and put his hand on his back.

     “It’s okay,” Lawrence said in a surprisingly comforting voice, which pushed aside the images of violence from moments previous. “Just get it out, son.”

     “Look what I did!” Taylor cried through sobs and shudders. He looked down at the body a few feet from him with its crushed skull exposing gray brain matter and then vomited again.

     “It’s okay,” Lawrence repeated, unsure of what else to say.

     “C’mon,” Kelly said. “Let’s go downstairs, and we can clean this up later.” 

     We all retreated back to the basement.

     Kelly was careful to bolt the door behind us, but as he did so I noticed his gaze was focused upon Lawrence. Something in his expression sent chills down my spine.

     The events of the coming days proved my sense of foreboding was justified.

Thanks for reading The Most Uncommon Cold III: Surviving When the Dead have Risen.  Please take a moment to leave a review at http://www.amazon.com/Jeffrey-Littorno/e/B004UMNNVW

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The Most Uncommon Cold I: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

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Please enjoy this excerpt from Bloom’s Desk:

With the news footage, Glen’s mind flashed back on similar pictures, and he felt the nausea beginning to make a comeback. Finally, in an effort to clear his mind, he switched off the television and simply stared at its black screen. The reflection on the screen played a rather dull program featuring a man sitting on a couch rubbing his temples and gazing straight ahead and then tightly clinching his eyes closed. This show lasted for about 15 minutes. After this time, Glen stood and headed upstairs to the computer in the extra bedroom.

              As he opened the door, he was met with the smell of dust and cardboard. This room had become a storage area.  Boxes were piled along the walls. Inside were the various mementoes of Glen’s travels and Christine’s life in Korea. Against one wall, an area had been cleared for a small computer desk.

              He sat in the chair in front of the desk and stared blankly at the screen for a few moments. Suddenly, his hand shot forward to rest atop the mouse. The desktop computer sprang to life when he moved the mouse on the plain black pad. The screensaver, which jumped out at him, was a photo of Christine’s and his own smiling face taken at their wedding reception. As the device was moved slowly around the pad, it resembled less a modern electronic input tool than a planchette on a Ouija board.

              As the small white arrow moved around the computer screen, the only image in Glen’s mind was that of a headstone. The arrow settled on a small rectangle at the top of the screen. Inside of the space, fingers typed the words “Robert Bloom”. The arrow moved to a box labeled “Search”, and the mouse button was pressed. In a matter of seconds, links and text filled the screen.

              The common element in all of these links and bits of text was Robert Bloom.

              Glen clicked on the first link. The monitor was filled with the columns and photographs of a badly copied newspaper page. The masthead displayed “Santa Rosa Press Sentinel” in ornate script, and the date on the line below was December 21, 1976. He did not have to go far down the page to find the target of his search. The headline in thick black block letters declared:

BLOOM ARRESTED FOR THE MURDERS OF 9 PEOPLE

              The story below reverted to typical newspaper font, but the content of the article still carried the community’s sense of shock at the vicious nature of the killings.

In related acts of deadly violence that shook the faith of this community over the last 3 months, 9 people were brutally murdered in a series of attacks. After an exhaustive investigation and cries from the public, the person believed to be responsible for these deaths has been arrested. The alleged perpetrator of the crimes, Robert Bloom, was arrested yesterday at Theodore Roosevelt High School. Bloom has been an English teacher at the school for the past 23 years. Colleagues of the teacher expressed profound surprise at the arrest.

              The article went on to detail the facts of the crimes. Nine people from a variety of areas around the city had been killed. Originally, the crimes seemed entirely random and unrelated. The victims had shared no knowledge of each other and were killed in different manners. One of the victims, a homeless man named Lawrence Parks, was beaten to death with a blunt object, most likely a baseball bat. Another, a janitor at a downtown office building, had died after apparently being forced to drink cleaning fluid. The police investigators had been stymied by the randomness of the crimes and a lack of physical evidence as well as the absence or unwillingness of witnesses to the crimes to step forward with assistance. Eventually, the case broke when Bloom’s increasingly erratic behavior was reported by the school’s principal. Upon searching Bloom’s house, the police found bloody clothes connecting the teacher to the crimes. When confronted by the police, Bloom appeared confused but otherwise showed no emotion as he was placed under arrest.

              As the article had been written just after Bloom’s arrest, there was no mention of what eventually happened to the teacher. Glen continued his search. Glen clicked on several of the other underlined phrases on the page. These links took him to related stories. He skimmed through articles on the comparison of Bloom to other infamous murderers such as Jack the Ripper. There were also articles with interviews of physiologists and experts on the criminally insane discussing Bloom’s probable “mindset” and incidents, which likely shaped his condition. In addition to the professional views of the crime and perpetrator, there were numerous editorial commentaries. One article advocated for stricter guidelines and background checks on potential teachers. Another discussed the need for closer monitoring of the materials and practices of teachers in the classroom. A number of the letters to the editor promoted a return to corporal punishment and instruction in morality as a way of preventing future acts of violence. There were several comments on the irony of the murderer's name being a reference to a flower, a thing of beauty contrasted to the ugliness of violence. It appeared that there had been several nicknames assigned to the killer, but “Bloom & Gloom” was the clear winner. Glen skimmed through the entries with an occasional sigh or chuckle at the opinions and offered solutions.

              He clicked on another link from the newspaper archives. This story dated December 27th was headlined,

ALLEGED MASS MURDERER FOUND DEAD IN JAIL CELL

Robert Bloom, the alleged murderer of 9 people, was pronounced dead at 8:45 this morning. Bloom was found unconscious on the floor of his jail cell in the Santa Rosa Police Station. Officer Jay Bernard was first to find Bloom and attempted unsuccessfully to revive him. The former high school teacher was arrested on December 22nd for the crimes. Since his arrest, Bloom had been held in the police station rather than the county detention facility for his own protection.

              A photograph was positioned next to the article. Glen looked closely at the face in the picture. The smiling face of an older man with short dark hair and a well-trimmed mustache certainly didn’t seem to be that of the “heartless monster” as was depicted in various articles on Robert Bloom.

              One of the final articles detailed how Bloom was killed by Officer Dan Kennedy who was later discovered to be related to one of Bloom’s victims.

              When he finally felt full of the sources on the topic, Glen realized that it was nearly dark outside. According to his watch, it was now 6:35. He headed back downstairs to check the news for any updates on the murder. Instead of updates, the channels were filled with in-depth reports on the latest show business scandal, syndicated sitcoms with laugh tracks to make sure that audiences didn’t miss the wacky jokes and 24-hour news channels which focused on breaking international events rather than some barely consequential murder on the streets of Northern California.

              It was time rather than any internal rumblings that reminded Glen he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He left the television on as he headed to the kitchen to begin foraging for dinner. The cupboard yielded a can of tuna, some bread, and a box of goldfish crackers. The drawer to the right of the sink held a silverware tray and an old metal can opener. He opened the can of tuna and held the lid on as the oil trickled into the slightly calcium-stained silver sink. As he was reaching for a bowl in the cupboard near the stove, Glen heard the name Robert Bloom spoken. It stopped his arm in midair. He turned quickly expecting to find the speaker standing behind him.

              When he found no one behind him, he realized that the voice came from the television. Glen trotted quickly back into the living room to the television. He stood close to the set as he watched the news story.

              An older black man was anchoring the news program and seated behind a desk with a dark blue backdrop that had a picture of a globe with “24-HOUR NEWS NETWORK” scrolling across the equator.

              “…Police are completely baffled at this time as to how the description given of the killer could so closely match the appearance of Robert Bloom, the man known as Doom & Bloom, who killed 9 people in the seventies.” The screen filled with the drawing of a middle-aged man with dark hair. Glen was surprised to recognize the face he had seen in the photograph on the computer. Although this man looked slightly younger and had no mustache, there was something in the eyes that stood out. The eyes seemed to grab you with their absolute coldness. The newscaster’s voice continued, “The sketch done as a result of the description given by the sole witness of the deadly assault early this morning on the east side  of  the  city has  been  shown throughout the area. As a result, several people have responded to police with the identity of the man as notorious killer Robert Bloom. Since Bloom died nearly forty years ago, police are understandably skeptical regarding the reliability of this information. We will have more details on this story as they become available.”

              So now Glen had fragments of memory that gave him the name of a dead murderer who seems to have returned to take up his hobby once again decades after his death. He felt the urge to laugh at the sheer insanity of what was happening. The question of how he fit into this madness prevented the teacher from enjoying the lunacy. The impulse to laugh quickly turned to frustration and the desire to hit something. Glen’s breath came heavy through his nose. His fists were clenched so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palm. Throughout his body, the muscles tightened like rubber bands stretched to their limit.

              In the midst of Glen’s state of exasperation, the television screen suddenly bounced to life with  the  animated appearance  of  a  talking  white rabbit jumping around in a dizzying attempt to sell a breakfast cereal. Thanks to that rabbit, Glen felt his body start to loosen up a bit. His sneer relaxed into a smile. His breathing became more relaxed. This began the next stage of the process as the teacher moved on to denial.

              He laughed aloud as he thought of the reaction to his scruffy appearance at the morning’s staff meeting. The mirth continued as he considered the fact that he was afraid of a desk. He remembered the carving of a nude Principal Wells on the bench in the office. The laughter grew louder and slightly more maniacal as the idea of his after-hours stroll to the cemetery came to mind. He recalled the seriousness of the police as they stopped him on the lawn of the school. The act of laughing gave the teacher a much-needed outlet for the tension that had been building within him over the last week. After a few minutes of such cathartic activity, the laughter stopped except for an occasional chuckle that came almost as a convulsion.

              By the time that his laughter had ceased, Glen had convinced himself that any serious consideration of the last week and his connection to a long-dead murderer was unwarranted. He had simply had a few bad days. Nothing to worry about! In fact, a new school year was beginning and that was cause for celebration.

              He headed to the kitchen and reached up to the seldom-used cupboard above the refrigerator. Inside was a dusty, unopened bottle of Scotch, which had been a wedding gift. He set the bottle down on the tile countertop and got a small water glass out of the cupboard and two ice cubes from the freezer. He hunched over slightly closer to the level of the counter to pour.. The brown liquid spread over the crackling ice cubes to fill the glass three- quarters to the top. Glen grabbed the bottle and returned to the couch. He set the bottle on the table in front of him. Not usually a drinker of anything stronger than beer or wine, the teacher was surprised to find that he truly enjoyed the feeling as the cool liquor warmed his throat and stomach and then spread the warmth through his entire body.

              Taking a deep breath, he reached for the remote control and began to search for something of interest.  There was a very popular “reality” show about a group of people dropped into a remote jungle location and filmed as they formed various alliances as a means of survival. Another program centered upon a young woman trying to choose a suitable candidate from a group of young men eager to impregnate her. Under normal circumstances, Glen found such shows insulting and uninteresting. However, something about the warmth of the Scotch made the programs entertaining. Another drink and he found himself actually interested in the type of a man for which the young woman said that she was looking.

              After a view minutes, the search began again. When the screen was filled with the black & white image of a young man and woman walking through a graveyard, Glen knew that his quest was over.  The young man was mocking the woman’s fear of their surroundings. “They’re coming to get you, Barbara.” He taunted the woman. Of course, the movie was George Romero’s The Night of the Living Dead. It was a movie that had been the most frightening of Glen’s life. He could remember seeing it as a boy and not being able to get the images of flesh-eating zombies out of his head. Something about the starkness of a black & white film made it seem more real. Now armed with a full bottle of Scotch, he was ready to watch the movie again. By now the ice cubes had melted, but Glen did not notice as he finished another glass. The movie was not nearly as frightening as he remembered. Of course, the fact that the liquor had kicked in and blurred his vision slightly may have affected the experience. By the time the lone survivor of the ordeal rushed out to greet his rescuers, Glen had fallen asleep with a nearly empty glass dangling in his hand.

              In his dream, he was wandering through a graveyard like in the movie. It was a gloomy afternoon. The sun was shining but somehow its rays failed to add light to the scene. The place was eerily silent. Glen thought he was alone when suddenly Vincent Marcone, the caretaker from West Hills Memorial Park, popped up from behind a headstone like one of those cardboard cutouts used for target practice.

              “Hiya, Glen!” He said before disappearing again.

              The teacher quickened his pace as he continued walking between the rows of headstones. Ahead and in the row to his right, Jim Fontaine popped up as if on a spring. His friend looked pale and lifeless. Then he smiled showing crooked yellow teeth, “Mr.  Davis, you  are certainly  a dedicated,  caring educator.” He dropped from sight as quickly as he had appeared.

              Glen spun to his right and began jogging between the headstones. All of a sudden, the nude form of Principal Wells sprung up from behind a headstone off to his left.

              “Mr. Davis, I am at a loss for words!” As she spoke, maggots fell from her mouth and slid down between her pale, sagging breasts. And then she was gone.

              The teacher ran and now his run had become frantic with no other purpose than to move away from this place. He fled blindly through the maze of headstones until his knees simply buckled and threw him face first to the ground. The soil seemed unusually soft and comforting as he lay there catching his breath. There was no sound except for his heavy breathing. The sound seemed to echo around him. After a few moments, Glen raised his head to look around. What he saw made him throw his head back down to the dark protective comfort of the soil.

Standing right in front of him was Robert Bloom. He did not have the surrealistic almost comical figure of the other people Glen had seen popping up around the graveyard, and he was standing nearby rather than behind some headstone. He was dressed in the dark suit that was his usual courtroom attire as shown in the newspaper photos.

              Although in dreams time is a difficult if not impossible thing to gauge, it seemed to Glen that he kept his face pressed firmly down into the moist soil for at least 15 minutes. Finally, he lifted his head to face what was in front of him. Bloom stood where he had before Glen buried his eyes. The killer was emotionless as well as motionless. After a moment, he shuffled closer to Glen and extended his hand as if to assist him in standing. Instead of taking the hand, the teacher pushed backward away from it. While still on his hands and knees, he turned to scurry away from the still extended hand attached to the serial killer of nine people. To anyone witnessing the strange scene, it would have appeared very similar to that of a fearful puppy about to be swatted with a newspaper by his master. In his dream as well as in his living room, Glen let out a series of whimpers and whines. This vignette continued with Glen scurrying away and the figure following until Bloom spoke in a loud, commanding voice.

              “Okay, playtime is over.” He froze out of both shock and fear at the sound of Robert Bloom’s voice with its slight European accent. “Now sit still and listen to what I have to say.” The assertiveness of a teacher’s voice was easily recognized in his words. Glen turned to face Bloom.

              As the two made eye contact, Robert Bloom said, “You are going to assist me in my final lesson.”

              Before these words had had a chance to entirely sink into Glen’s mind, the telephone’s ring yanked him from the graveyard of his dream. He saw the empty glass was now on the floor next to the couch. The television was showing animation of some children playing in a schoolyard. The telephone rang again, and Glen tried to shake the gauze of his dream from his aching head. He stood slowly and moved to the kitchen to answer the call. The clock on the oven showed 12:40. The phone was on the far end of the counter. He answered it just as it began to ring once again.

Bloom’s Desk by Jeffrey Littorno is available at

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