The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 7

  “Who the fuck heard me say anything about Vinnie?”

  She shook her head and poured the shots.

  Vinnie lined up a shot with the two ball. He’d have to cut it. He sunk it in the opposite corner.

  “Nice cut.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jenny brought the three shots over and placed them on the table next to Vinnie’s cola. Billy slipped her a twenty and pulled her close.

  “Billy!” She hit him on his shoulders, but he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She struggled, but there was that smile again.

  Vinnie shook his head and took his next shot, missing.

  Jenny broke free. “You old perv.” She bustled back to the bar while Billy leered at her as she went.

  “Your shot, Billy.”

  Billy was still watching her, as if he could pinch her ass from across the room by sheer will. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

  He approached the table, leaned over, and sank a ball. And another. He ran all the way to the eight ball. “Corner pocket.” He sunk it. “And that’s all she wrote.”

  Just then, the front door swung open, and Chief Holbrook came strolling in. He nodded to Jenny.

  “Hi, Chief.”

  Vinnie was downing his cola. Johnny threw back one shot. Billy downed one, wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, and then he threw back the second.

  “Vinnie, what are you doing out so late?” asked Holbrook.

  “He just got back from a date. I talked him into one harmless game.”

  Holbrook eyed Billy with palpable disdain. “Well, it looks like that game is over. I don’t think your father wants you shooting pool at one forty-five in the morning with the likes of Billy Blake.”

  Johnny, feeling awkward, looked down at his shoes.

  Billy returned the glare. “Oh, Chief, if I didn’t know you so well, my feelings would be hurt.”

  The two men never broke eye contact.

  Vinnie downed the last of his cola quickly. The carbonation burned his throat. “I gotta run anyway. Thanks for the game.”

  “Any time,” said Billy, still eying Holbrook.

  “Later, Johnny.”

  Johnny only nodded.

  Vinnie hurried out of the bar, waving goodbye to Jenny. He took to the street, grateful to be released, and he was home in moments.

  He let himself through the gate and then the front door. The house was dark. Thank goodness his father was asleep—one less awkward exchange.

  Once in his room, he took off his shoes, pants, and shirt and threw himself on his bed. He was exhausted, the kind of exhausted from a good day and a sense of accomplishment. He was even too tired to brush his teeth.

  He closed his eyes and thought about Dharma, but within minutes his thoughts turned into dreams. Vinnie was content.

  ***

  Mike Brunello lay in bed, tossing and turning. He rolled over and stretched his arm across the bed. He felt his Ramona lying next to him. She was warm.

  He snuggled close to her, feeling her body against his. It was a welcome feeling. He didn’t know why, but in that moment he felt so lonely.

  He opened his eyes, and the feeling of Ramona next to him evaporated into the shadows of his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes as he realized his bed was empty, except for him. He looked at the clock. Two twelve in the morning.

  Damned water pill. He got up to urinate for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night.

  ***

  Tara sat up in bed in the dark of her new bedroom. The room felt strange to her, but it was more than the room. She felt strange to her. Nothing was as it should’ve felt like.

  She looked at the lump in the sheets beside her and felt a wave of anger and resentment at Marcus, though she didn’t know why.

  She slid out of bed and padded into Tyrell’s room. She watched him sleep from his doorway, watching his little chest rise and fall with each breath. The anger rose up in her, and she lowered herself onto his bed, kneeling next to Tyrell.

  He rolled over toward her, his mouth moving in his sleep. She reached down and placed her fingers lightly around his neck. She watched him breathe some more as the anger welled up inside her and burst into rage.

  She closed her fingers tightly around his neck with a strength that felt strange, even to her. His eyes opened, and he tried to scream, but no sound was allowed to escape in her grasp.

  He began to pull at her hands and then claw, flopping around the bed, but she held him fast. She was on auto-pilot now. No feelings, except rage. No thought except to end her son’s life…

  Tara Bigelow sat up in bed, trembling in a cold sweat to the white noise of the air conditioning. She thought she might’ve screamed, but she wasn’t sure.

  “You all right?” asked Marcus.

  “Yeah,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m okay.”

  “Another nightmare?”

  “I’m okay, Marcus. Go back to sleep.”

  “Maybe you need to go back on the Zoloft again. You know, to even you out a bit.”

  Even her out. That’s what she thought happened while she was on Zoloft for a year-and-a-half after Tyrell was born. “I’m okay,” she insisted. “Really. It was just a dream.”

  It was just a dream. Memories, really, of when the postpartum possessed her, planted thoughts and feelings in her head that weren’t hers.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  She got up and shook, but it wasn’t all from the crisp air conditioned air. She left the bedroom and looked in on Tyrell. He was in a deep sleep, the kind children have after a busy day of playing hard.

  She went to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She slashed cool water on her face and looked in the mirror at herself. She figured the dream was because of some mild nerves about the interview tomorrow.

  She had worked with women like the one Dr. Loews had described. She knew how to handle them. She just preferred not to be around them at all.

  She went back into her bedroom and slid back into bed. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to have any more nightmares. She needed to bring her A-game tomorrow, and she needed her rest.

  The only problem was the subconscious took orders from no one.

  ***

  Billy rolled his tongue around inside Jenny’s mouth as he lay on top of her, sliding in and out of her. She closed her eyes and moaned with each thrust, clutching the sheets in sweet agony.

  He pulled out of her. “Turn around and grab the headboard.”

  She gasped, caught her breath, and rolled over. She pushed herself up onto her knees and grabbed the headboard. He quickly slid up behind her and reinserted himself. He put his hands in the hollows of her hips and fucked her some more.

  When they had finished, they lay there side-by-side panting in the bed as the old window unit pumped out semi-cool air.

  Suddenly, a wave of guilt passed over Jenny. Billy wasn’t her type at all, or at least that’s what she told herself. However, one thing had led to another and here they were.

  “You’re clean, aren’t you?”

  Billy smirked. “This’s a hell of a time to ask a question like that.”

  “Well, are you?”

  “Honey, if I were clean we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

  “Just get out.”

  “With pleasure.”

  ***

  Marie Russo lay restless in her bed next to Mario. She had been in the mood before they went to bed, but Mario had said he was tired. He’d been tired a lot these days. Working and taking care of his mother was no bargain.

  Marie felt guilty for thinking so, but she just wished Mama Sophia would croak already. The woman had been in a decline for two years now, and it was taking its toll on her husband.

  He was going to see her in the morning after picking up some donuts along the way. She would’ve gone too, but someone needed to run the store. Besides, it was true that Mama Sophia didn’t like her.

/>   Maybe it was just as well. The last time Marie joined Mario on a visit, Mama Sophia acted as if she didn’t recognize her, as if she had no recollection of Marie whatsoever.

  Marie wasn’t sure if this was legitimate or just an act. For not having recognized Marie, Mama Sophia was still awfully cool toward her. Either the old bitch was faking, or perhaps she was picking up on whatever she detected when she first met Marie.

  There were remarks about Marie’s Sicilian heritage.

  “Why couldn’t you find a nice Napolitano girl, Mario?”

  “Don’t turn your back on her, Mario.”

  “Just remember, Mario, when Sicilians hug you with one arm they stab you in the back with another.”

  “Mario, what if your babies come out dark?”

  Mama Sophia almost didn’t come to their wedding, which was fine by Marie at the time, but her absence would’ve been like a knife in Mario’s heart. He was able to convince her to attend the wedding in the end after much begging and pleading.

  The reception reminded Marie of a grade school dance. The Napolitano side and the Sicilian side each stuck to their side of the banquet room with little to no interaction with the other half. Marie remembered that when she and Mario went from table to table to greet their guests (which took all goddamned night because there were four hundred guests), when she was at one side’s table, the other side shot them dirty looks, and vice versa.

  Marie’s family was no bargain either. Poor Mario, when they were dating, Marie’s father insisted on chaperoning them. Two grown adults requiring a chaperone—but that was the Sicilian way.

  She remembered her father, a stern man, sitting through the movie Black Rain with them. He kept sucking his teeth and shaking his head every time Michael Douglas cursed or someone got killed.

  Any other man would’ve run screaming the other way, but not Mario. Maybe it was because he was Italian, raised in the old school. He understood. His patience paid off because he eventually grew on her father. When he asked for her hand in marriage, her father was impressed by the gesture and granted his blessing.

  Mario was a good man. He was a peacekeeper in both families, and she admired him for it. He deserved time with his mother, and she would be patient. Mario would go and keep Mama Sophia company, recount memories, and talk about the old days. She seemed to remember fifty years ago better than fifty minutes ago, but the doctor had said that was the normal pattern of senile dementia.

  Marie lay there and wondered if her children would be so good to her one day. It wasn’t easy when her mother died. Mario was right there at her side at the hospital. Her mother had tripped on the edge of a carpet and fallen, breaking her hip on the coffee table.

  When she was recovering in the hospital, she had become so confused. She mistook Mario for Salvatore, Marie’s brother. Mario didn’t correct her. He only smiled and played the role. “If it makes her smile,” he always said.

  Marie would be patient. Her base needs would have to wait until Mario was less distracted. She reached down and slipped her fingers beneath her pajama shorts and tended to her hunger.

  ***

  Lenny lay in his bed with the air conditioning straining to cool his small room in the hotel. He wore a half grin as he dreamt of riding on the Magma cycle with Billy sitting in the sidecar. The boardwalk was crowded with life-sized pizza slices and ice cream cones wearing contorted faces that tried to eat the tourists.

  Lenny nodded gravely to Billy, who began firing the magma cannon at the ravenous food monsters. With each hit there was an explosion, and pieces of pizza, cotton candy, and taffy plastered the frightened tourists. When all was said and done, and everyone was covered in sugar and nougat, Lenny and Billy were praised as heroes and given the key to the city.

  Lenny rolled over on his side and squeezed his pillow tightly, reveling in the glory of a super job well done. Smuggler’s Bay was safe…

  …for now.

  ***

  Chief Holbrook walked home from The Jolly Roger. He enjoyed this time of night. Smuggler’s Bay was quiet. The Bennies were back in their hotel beds with their families and friends sleeping peacefully. The Guidos were out of the bars and clubs and in their beds as well…or someone else’s if they were lucky.

  He was looking forward to taking Robbie on the boardwalk this weekend and going on some rides. This time of year it was difficult for Holbrook to break away and spend time with his son. There was always some kind of emergency or pressing matter.

  Robbie never complained though. Holbrook was grateful for that. He was a good kid. Despite growing up in Smuggler’s Bay, the kid never grew tired of the attractions, and he never took them for granted.

  Holbrook supposed it wasn’t just the games and the rides. It was time they spent together doing ‘guy stuff.’ Racing cars in the arcade, riding the water slides, driving the go karts…Holbrook relished these moments with Robbie.

  After Labor Day, when things slowed down to a crawl, he would have plenty of time to hang out with Robbie. Even though school started, they always had the weekends. The boardwalk was still open and there were no lines for anything. It was like they had the whole boardwalk to themselves.

  Holbrook strolled up to his front door, weary from the day’s work. It was a long, hot day, as was every day during peak season. He and his officers had their fill of public intoxication, fist fights, underage alcohol poisoning, and storeowner complaints. They’d wake up in a few hours and start all over again.

  But, for the moment, Smuggler’s Bay was quiet.

  Chapter 6

  August 21

  Chief Holbrook struggled to pull the man off his deputy, but his jaws locked on his deputy’s arm like a pit bull, and the driving rain made him slick. It was like trying to catch a greased pig.

  “Jesus, Jim, get this crazy fuck off me!”

  The man with dark circles under his eyes ripped off a chunk of Gary’s forearm with his teeth and began to chew it.

  Holbrook grabbed Gary and dragged him away from the cannibal, as Gary clamped a hand over his wound. Blood squirted between his fingers, and he groaned in pain.

  As the entire town of Smuggler’s Bay had inexplicably degenerated into rioting, the other officers were grappling with other attackers who were snapping their jaws at them like a bunch of land sharks.

  “Use the Tasers!”

  Officer Pike shoved a very sickly looking woman off of him and unsheathed his Taser. He aimed and fired the barbs right into her chest. The Taser clicked as it sent 50,000 volts into the woman.

  She didn’t even flinch.

  She lunged forward and grabbed the officer, closing the circuit. His body went stiff, and he fell to the ground, taking her with him.

  “Help him!” Gary shouted at Holbrook.

  Holbrook lowered Gary to the boardwalk and ran to his fallen officer, extending his baton. He began to swing, connecting with the woman’s arms, but she showed no indication of pain. Instead, she was rather intent on trying to bite Pike’s face.

  Her arms broke from Holbrook’s blows, which brought her closer to her target as she collapsed under her own weight. Pike palmed her forehead and pushed her teeth away from his face, bending her head backward at what should’ve been a painful angle. Her putrid breath made him want to puke.

  “Help me, Jim!”

  Holbrook didn’t know what drug this girl was on, but he’d never seen anything like this. The smell was beyond disgusting. He swung at her head, and he felt her skull crack under the force of his blow, but she kept snapping at the officer beneath her.

  Screw the civilian review board, and screw the mayor. This was now a matter of self-defense. Holbrook brought his baton down on her skull repeatedly until her head actually caved in. The woman gave one final death rattle and became still.

  Pike threw her lifeless body to the side, and Holbrook pulled him to his feet. “You okay, Joe?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. What the fuck’s going on?”

  Holbrook looked around them. T
here had to be at least a dozen of these attackers.

  “Where’d they all come from?” asked Joe.

  “Probably a damned drug party. I’m thinking bath salts.”

  Holbrook drew his gun and aimed it at the assailant lunging at Officer Joann Campbell, a middle-aged man with glasses askew on his face, dressed in khaki pants and a tropical shirt.

  Joann sent him flying backward with a well-placed front kick. She hit the man square in the chest, but the man appeared unfazed.

  He looked at Joann and snarled as he staggered his way back over, reaching out for her.

  Remembering the girl whose skull he caved in, Holbrook aimed for the man’s head and fired. The man dropped immediately and lay still, bleeding out on the boardwalk.

  “Shit! Gary!” shouted Joann over the thundering surf. She splashed through the brine in time to pull an old woman who had tripped over her own walker and was crawling toward Gary. Gary was kicking her reaching hands away with his feet, but she just kept coming.

  “We need some backup on the boardwalk,” shouted Holbrook into his radio. “We have multiple assailants biting our officers.”

  His radio clicked, and there was a voice, but he wasn’t able to make out what it said over the wind and thrashing surf.

  Joann grabbed the old woman by the ankles and pulled her away from Gary.

  Holbrook started to walk over to them to help, but there was the crash of a wave and a wooden bench slid across the boardwalk with the surge of water, taking his legs out from under him.

  He dropped his gun, which got washed up against the roll-down metal gate of Billy Blake’s shop. He crawled toward it, sea foam and salt water splashing his face and blurring his vision, as he felt something large wash up against him.

  He turned around to see Joann shoot the old woman in the head, when a hand reached out for his face. He rolled sideways and out of the grip of a young blonde haired woman reaching out for him, her dark eyes feral with hunger.