The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel Read online

  “That was very dangerous,” reprimanded Tara. “Lenny, you could’ve gotten yourself or these officers seriously hurt.”

  Joann and Anne hoisted underwear man to his feet. His eyes were each going in separate directions, and he was muttering to himself, but he was more compliant now.

  “We gotta get this one to detox,” said Joann.

  “I’m on it, said Anne.” She radioed for an ambulance.

  “Are you okay, Jo?” asked Billy, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  Joanne smiled for a second. “Yeah.”

  Lenny was already put off by Joann yelling at him. Now he watched Billy talk to her.

  Billy’s hand moved down to the side of her arm.

  “Where the fuck was Zack while all this was going down?” Billy accused more than asked.

  Zach appeared at the front of the store. “This guy was crazy. He came into the store in his underwear yelling and cursing at the police officers.”

  “He couldn’t do anything to help,” said Anne.

  “And I wouldn’t want him to,” said Joann.

  “Do you want me to fill out any paperwork?” asked Billy.

  There was that smile again. “Yeah, I’ll need a statement from you,” said Joann.

  “I’d be happy to give it. Say, I’m not in trouble for layin’ this guy out, am I?”

  Joann smiled again. “I think I can let this one slide. Just this once.”

  Lenny watched the whole interaction, his face burning with shame. Shame that he almost got Officer Joanne hurt. But there was something else. Was it jealousy?

  Lenny had tried to be the hero, Officer Joann’s ‘knight in shining armor,’ and he screwed up. Here was Billy, who was supposed to be Lenny’s sidekick, saving the day. He saw the way Officer Joann smiled at Billy, and it burned his ass.

  He wanted her to smile at him that way!

  “Are you okay, Lenny?” asked Joann with a little less annoyance in her voice, but like an exasperated parent asking a child who just ran into the middle of the street if he was okay.

  Lenny looked down at his feet again. “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you go off with your friend here?” said Billy, gesturing to Tara. “I’m gonna talk with Jo for a bit. Tie up loose ends.”

  “Don’t you want a statement from me?” asked Lenny in a desperate attempt for Officer Joann’s attention.

  “That’s okay Lenny,” said Joann frowning. “I’ll take care of this with Billy.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Tara. She put her hand on Lenny’s shoulder and turned him in the other direction. They both began to walk down the boardwalk.

  Lenny, his pride seriously wounded, looked over his shoulder at Joann and Billy and couldn’t help but feel left out.

  Part III

  The Road To Hell Is Paved With Clowns

  Chapter 13

  MacAteer sat behind her desk frowning at the opulent flat screen television in her office, watching the weather report. There was a knock at the door.

  “Enter.”

  José Avelo, Director of Maintenance, came in.

  MacAteer didn’t even give him a chance to sit down. “José, have you seen the weather report?”

  He remained standing. “Yes, Miss. They say two storms are coming and are going to make a superstorm the day after tomorrow.”

  “Are we prepared for a loss of power?”

  “Yes, I’ve been testing the backup generators.”

  “What about the electronic lock to the dementia unit’s doors?”

  “Yes, the backup generators should keep all of the electronic locks working.”

  MacAteer was beginning to wish there were physical locks on those doors, but that would be a fire hazard and a violation of all kinds of code. She crinkled her nose as she saw a large graphic of two gigantic white swirls spinning toward each other over the map of the east coast. A simulation showed the merging.

  “What about flooding? Are we prepared for that?”

  “I’ll get the sandbags out and prepped.”

  “Good.”

  “The wall around the backup generators should keep any water out.”

  Just as he said that, the weatherman on the television mentioned something about the possibility of a surge of ocean water potentially causing record flooding.

  “Let’s hope so, José.” The statement was not meant to reassure.

  It was a threat.

  * * *

  “What’s wrong, Ma? You don’t like the pasta?”

  Mama Sophia looked at her plate as if the food was going to eat her. Pasta? She had no idea what her son was talking about. His bitch wife served her up a plate of squirming maggots.

  “Yeah, it’s good, Nana,” said Alessandra. Salvatore shoveled a large heap of penne into his mouth, sauce dripping down the sides like blood. Was it blood?

  Did no one see this? Any of this?

  “Nana isn’t so hungry.”

  Mario frowned. “Ma, you have to keep your strength up. You’ve lost eight pounds since you’ve been in that place.”

  “Don’t forget who put me there,” snapped Mama Sophia.

  Marie silently watched Mama Sophia, ignoring the barbs hurled her way about her cooking. She noticed that there was something off about Mama Sophia. Her face was sallow, and she appeared weak. There was something wrong.

  The old witch was dying.

  “C’mon, don’t start with that. You’re home now, with us. You have your own room and good food.”

  Mama Sophia huffed at that last part.

  Marie’s mind raced a mile a minute with possibilities. What if Mama Sophia was declining, or even dying? Maybe she could convince Mario that taking his mother home was a bad idea. Maybe he would consider bringing her back.

  If she died in the meantime, it’d be win-win.

  Marie smiled. “Mama Sophia, I slaved over a hot stove to make a hot, Italian meal just for you. I bet you never got a meal like this in the nursing home.”

  Mama Sophia just gawked at Marie, apparently speechless. She knew it! She always knew it. That puttana of a daughter-in-law was a demon.

  As Marie smiled at Mama Sophia, her teeth jutted out in all directions, razor sharp points, a long, forked tongue dancing over them. Worms slithered all over her plate as she shoved a forkful of them into her jagged mouth.

  Marie was secretly amused by Mama Sophia’s inability to respond. Did the old bitch finally run out of insults?

  “Diavolo!” Mama Sophia finally said, pointing a finger gnarled from arthritis at Marie. “Diavolo!” She began throwing the horns at her son and grandchildren, protecting them.

  “Daddy, what’s she doing?” asked Salvatore, frightened.

  “Please stop, Nana,” said Alessandra.

  “Ma, please,” said Mario.

  “Maybe Mama Sophia needs to lie down and rest,” suggested Marie, doing her best to hide her pleasure at the old crone’s unraveling.

  “She needs to eat something, is what she needs to do.”

  “Diavolo! The evil eye! She’s got the evil eye!”

  “Mario!”

  “All right, Marie!” he snapped. He slipped his hand under Mama Sophia’s arm and began to gently lift her up. “C’mon, Ma. Why don’t you go lay down for a while? I can make you a plate later on.”

  Mama Sophia tried to squirm out of her son’s grip. “I will not eat anything that that puttana made for me! She’s trying to kill Mama Sophia!”

  “Mama Sophia, the kids!” Marie rebuked.

  Alessandra looked as if she was going to cry. Salvatore just gawked at his Nana, horrified by her outburst.

  Suddenly, Mama Sophia was still. She looked down at her hands, at her crooked, wrinkled fingers as if she had touched something she shouldn’t have and now had it all over her.

  When she looked up, her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened as vomit erupted. Brown puke cascaded out her mouth and all over the kitchen table as the children and Marie backed away in horror. Ma
ma Sophia hunched forward as she spilled the contents of her stomach like a geyser in a seemingly endless stream, a curious volume considering the woman hadn’t eaten much since she’d come into their home.

  Finally, the vomiting stopped, and Mama Sophia wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

  “Jesus Christ,” cried Marie.

  “Mommy, it smells!” said Alessandra.

  Mama Sophia stood there, hunched over, looking at the steaming mess she’d just made all over the kitchen. “Nana is sorry, children. She’s not feeling well.”

  “C’mon, Ma, I’ll clean you up and take you to bed,” Mario said softly.

  She allowed herself to be gently corralled out of the kitchen and through the living room, to the bathroom. Mario took one of the washcloths from the cabinet and ran it under the sink. He cleaned her up, removing her house-dress and tossing it in the garbage. He then took her to the bedroom in back.

  Mama Sophia walked arm-in-arm with her son. He reminded her of her late husband—What was his name?—God rest his soul.

  Mario flicked on the light to their guest room, and he led Mama Sophia over to the bed. He gently lowered her until she rested gently on the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded, and he left the room. He returned a few moments later with one of Marie’s nightgowns. He slipped it over his mother and helped her push her arms into the holes. Then he bent down, his knees creaking, and took her shoes off her feet.

  “Lay down, Ma.”

  She hesitated. Finally, she made eye contact. “Mario, I’m so sorry. You’re such a good boy.”

  “I know, Ma. Now lay down.”

  Mama Sophia lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling, her vision beginning to haze over.

  “Do you want the air conditioner on?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m freezing.”

  Mario walked to her bedside and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  He left the room as Mama Sophia hugged herself. Her vision was fogging and tinted red. Maybe it was the fever.

  Mario returned with Marie, who held a thermometer. He was taken aback by his mother lying on the bed with her arms folded over her in a death pose. “Ma, Marie’s going to take your temperature.”

  Marie knelt by the side of the bed and held out the thermometer over Mama Sophia’s face. She pressed the button to zero it. “Open.”

  Mama Sophia did what she was told. She opened her mouth and allowed Marie to slip the thermometer under her tongue. She closed her mouth over it.

  Marie waited until the thermometer beeped, and then she took it out of Mama Sophia’s mouth.

  “One hundred and one.”

  “Jesus,” said Mario.

  “Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain,” admonished Mama Sophia. “I didn’t raise you like that.”

  “I’ll go get two Tylenol,” said Mario.

  “And a glass of water,” reminded Marie.

  Mario left the room, and Marie felt something touch her hand. She looked down. Mama Sophia was clutching her hand, her eyes wild. Marie tried to pull her hand away, not wanting to catch anything this vile woman had.

  Instead, Mama Sophia pulled her downward. Closer. Her strength was uncanny. Marie leaned in. The old woman wanted to tell her something.

  Mama Sophia smiled, her mouth a wide gash, her rotting teeth forming a nasty grin. “When you fuck other men, do you think of my son? Do you picture his face?”

  Marie gasped. “You old pig. How dare you?”

  Mama Sophia’s face contorted. “Next time you fuck another man, I want you to picture my face. This face.” It was horrible. She looked like the possessed doll in that movie, the one where the doll tried to kill the boy it belonged to and his mother.

  “Get off me,” said Marie, trying to pull her hand away.

  Mama Sophia clamped down. “Sharing is caring.” She spit into Marie’s face.

  Marie let out a yelp as Mario appeared in the doorway, two pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “What’s going on?”

  Mama Sophia released her grip, and Marie flung herself backward, wiping her face with the bottom of her blouse. “She spit at me, Mario! And she said horrible things!”

  Mama Sophia lay there and shrugged sheepishly.

  Mario put his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  Mama Sophia thought it was a meaty shoulder. She was looking forward to sinking her teeth into it.

  “Are you all right?”

  Marie shook his hand off. “No, I’m not all right.”

  “You get the kids ready for bed. I’ll take care of Ma.”

  Marie glared at him. “When the kids go to bed, you and I are having a talk.”

  “Okay.” What else could Mario say?

  Marie stepped into the living room and saw both her children standing there, eyes wide.

  “Is Nana okay?” asked Alessandra.

  “Brush your teeth and start to get ready for bed,” Marie commanded, a little more harshly than she wanted.

  “Aw, what about TV?” asked Salvatore.

  “Tonight you two are reading before bed. In your rooms.”

  Alessandra saw that Mommy was upset and wanted to talk to Daddy, probably about Nana. She quickly went into the bathroom to begin preparing for bed.

  Salvatore huffed and puffed but followed after his sister.

  Once the kids were in their rooms reading, doors closed, Marie closed the door to Mama Sophia’s room and joined her husband in the kitchen. He was leaning against the kitchen counter.

  “Mario, bringing her home was a mistake. She’s not well.”

  “We have to give it a chance,” said Mario. “The social worker said that abrupt changes in setting can cause confusion in someone her age. She’s fragile.”

  “Really? Do you want to know what your fragile mother said to me when you left the room?”

  “Marie, it’s the fever.”

  “Your mother asked me if I pictured your face when I was fucking other men.”

  Mario squirmed. “Marie, please, keep your voice down. The kids.”

  “And then you know what she told me after that? That I was to picture her face when I was fucking other men.”

  “Marie…”

  “I know. The kids. That’s exactly my point. They don’t need to be around this. Mama Sophia is sick.”

  “She’ll get better.”

  “Oh yeah? And what if the fever doesn’t break?”

  “It’ll break, Marie.”

  “The last thing the kids need is to wake up and find their Nana dead in their house. They won’t sleep for weeks.”

  “You don’t want her in this house. You never did. You never liked her.”

  Marie grabbed fistfuls of her curly black hair in exasperation. “She spit in my face and called me a whore. She called me the devil in front of our children, her grandchildren.”

  Mario put his hands up in front of him. “Calm down, Marie. When her fever breaks, she’ll feel better. I think we both need to get some sleep. Circus Faire is tomorrow. You’ll be at the store, and the kids will go to the parade. I’ll tend to Ma.”

  “Mario, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “Let’s go to sleep, Marie.”

  “If she’s not better in the morning, we’re taking her to the hospital.”

  Mario nodded. They padded to their bedroom, but not before Marie checked on Alessandra and Salvatore. Both were sound asleep. Salvatore left his light on, having fallen asleep in the middle of reading a comic book. She picked up the Magma Man comic, placed it on his end table, and turned off the lamp.

  She looked down at her precious son and smiled to herself. Mario might’ve had his head up his ass, but she had to hold it together for the kids. They were innocents in all this.

  Besides, Marie had Mama Sophia on the ropes. Between her behavior and her illness, she was pretty sure she could convince Mario to take her back to the nursing home.

  Lat
er that night, Mario woke from a dream that evaporated into the air conditioned darkness within seconds. He shook his head and looked at the time. A little past midnight.

  He slid out of bed and padded out to the bathroom. He emptied his bladder, flushed the toilet, and washed his hands. As he left the bathroom, he heard panting coming from Mama Sophia’s room.

  He crept silently to her door, which was slightly ajar, and he gently pushed it open. He strained to see in the darkness, but all he could make out was the dark shape of his Ma lying down on top of the bed. Her legs were apart and bent at the knees.

  He was about to call out to her to see if she was all right when he heard something peculiar, a sound that caught his attention. There was a wet sound as her panting became louder and faster.

  Mario screwed up his face in disgust as he realized what his Ma was doing. Jesus Christ, in his guest bed in his family’s home no less. He looked away in revulsion, gazing down the hall to see if Marie or the kids were stirring.

  When he looked back into the room, Mama Sophia had stopped panting. She was sitting up. Was she looking at him?

  “Ma?”

  No answer. She just sat there, an outline in the darkness, no discernible features.

  “Ma? You all right?”

  Nothing.

  He flicked the light on and was startled by the sight of his mother grinning widely at him, her eyes sinister, her face frozen like that of a demonic doll.

  “Ma…”

  She didn’t move. She only gawked at him like a demented joker, the kind you see at the top of the spring in a jack-in-the box.

  Mario turned off the light.

  Feeling awkward and sickened, he pulled her door closed so that it was only open a crack, and he crept back to his bedroom. He slid back into bed and pulled the sheet up to his nose, staring at the door to his bedroom.

  Was he waiting for it to move? Christ, was he afraid of his own mother? He grimaced at the fresh memory of the wet sounds and her spread legs, the demonic look on her face, and he tried to roll over on his side and shut his eyes.

  He managed to try to relax, telling himself that Marie was probably right. It was a mistake to take Ma home, and in the morning, he was going to bring her back to the nursing home.