36 Hours

36 Hours

a tale of the undead by

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

2

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

3

“Your dead shall live;

their bodies shall rise.

You who dwell in the dust,

awake and sing for joy!

For your dew is a dew of light,

and the earth will give birth to

the

dead.

-

Isaiah

26:19

A pearl moon shivered amongst the stars, sleeping in the ink black sky. Its cool glow slithered over the palm trees and ferns adorning the marble walkway. The fronds drooped downwards, perspiring gloom that never seemed to leave, drawing your eyes into a never-ceasing stare. The rapping of shoes against stone echoed between the trees at the side of the path; young and old, couples and singles, men and women, children and grandparents made their way up the path, through the chilled night, into the warmth of the building.

Velvet draperies clung to the windows, pushing back the night, trying to forget that there was an end to the day. People stood in groups amongst the room, talking quietly among themselves, holding briefcases and purses. Some cried, and they were comforted. Against the walls were plaques filled with pictures of a baby; the next plaque showed snapshots of a little girl, six or seven, grinning with mustard on her church clothes. A woman stroked the images and turned her head, closed her eyes, throat quivering. A man placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezed.

Flowers covered the back of the room, where, upon a marble pedestal, sat a small rectangular box made of oak wood with silver lining, velvet insides. The coffin was closed, holding back the young girl. As visitors paid their respects, they shook their head, wondering why such a beautiful young woman would have a closed-casket viewing. The simple answer: “The sickness ravaged her. She isn’t recognizable body or soul.” “What kind of sickness?” Ruffled murmurs, whispers in the shadows and corners, under the ease ways and among the elegant gardens: “The doctors don’t know. It took her slowly over Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

4

a matter of days. They don’t even know how she contracted it. It’s never been seen before.” The visitors huddled together, staring at the coffin, then exchanging frigid glances over to the mother and father, clutching each other; the wife buried her head in her husband’s shoulder, sobbing desperately.

“Taken so soon,” someone said. “So innocent.”

Two men went outside under the cool stars, shedding off their rich jackets. One tossed it over the arm of a bench, and turning away from the building, lit a cigarette. His friend didn’t want one. So they stood out in the cold, one taking drags and blowing smoke into the garden flowers. “Such a pity, a life taken like that. Aren’t there more sicknesses now than ever? It’s like an epidemic.”

The other managed a small sigh despite the pain. “There’s always an epidemic every century. We’re still waiting on ours.”

“It’s about time.”

The friend shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about-“

They swung around, hearing a strange noise from inside the building. A gasp, then silence. They looked at each other. The chain-smoker tossed his cigarette into the bushes, grabbed his jacket, and they trotted in through double-wide French doors. Everyone had gathered around the coffin, staring. The two men pushed their way to the front. The mother and father buried the visitors in their elbows, wedging their way to the foot of the coffin. The tears had stopped; the eyes sparkled. The two men stared at the coffin. It shuddered.

“Oh my gosh…” the mother croaked. Something in her eyes: Hope. The two men gawked at the coffin. It lay still. No – it shook once more and lay still.

The mother moaned. The father held her back. Was it all an illusion?

The coffin seemed to jump an inch off the platform, and inside there was movement, pressured squiggling and shoving.

The mother wailed, “She’s trying to get out!”

“She’s dead,” someone said. “This isn’t-“

Others yelped, “Open the coffin! For God’s sake, let her out!”

The two men jumped forward, answering the call. They clambered over the coffin, grabbing the latches.

The father yelled, “Don’t open it! Please! My daughter is dead!”

His wife clawed at him. “She’s alive! Our daughter’s alive!”

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

5

“Olivia! She is
dead
! She’s been dead for two days! She laid in the morgue
two days
!”

The two men hovered over the casket. It shook beneath them. One of the men backed away, hands up in defense, eyes wide. No illusion. The crowd yel ed, “Let her out! She’ll suffocate!”

“Ginger!” the wife screamed. “Ginger!”

The coffin rattled. A noise from within. It sounded like a cry. The two men stared downwards. The sound came again, hit their ears – their hearts chilled. It didn’t sound right, didn’t sound natural, didn’t sound…
human
.

“My daughter cries for me! Do you hear her?
She cries for me
!”

The crowd hollered, “Let her out!” Those out on the walkway and gardens poured inside.

The two men stared at each other. The coffin quaked. They grabbed the rungs.

“No!” the father hollered, trying to push forward through the throngs of desperate onlookers. “Don’t open it! My daughter is
dead
! Her beauty is scarred!”

They grabbed the rungs.

The chain-smoker said, “She’s going to suffocate in there, Mr. Allen.”

Clawing from within. She was clawing at the velvet coating inside the coffin, trying to escape. The two men grabbed the rungs. The father threw his wife to the side and launched after them; their hands wrapped around the rungs; he hit one broadside with his fist against the cheek. The chain-smoker’s hand gripped the latch as he fell, and the lid popped open; the two men tumbled into the flowers, knocking them over, water and soil and sweet fragrances staining thousand-dollar-suits.

The chain-smoker tried to stand, slipped, and heard muffled screams. The world spun; his jaw ached. His friend kicked him in the groin, and he toppled over; rolling onto his back, he opened his eyes, seeing the plants draped all around him. A bright light stung his eyes. A shadow fell over him, something hit him; he tried to stand as his neck seared with pain; he saw spots and felt his flesh ripping. He could feel his blood gushing all over him. The sounds of screaming died away. The pressure vanished. He lay in the pile of funeral flowers, bleeding all over the stalks, eyes glazing, and he lost consciousness. Two minutes later, he stood.

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

6

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

7

April 23, 2004 Friday

And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and
see. And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that
sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kil one another: and
there was given unto him a great sword.

--Revelation 6:3,4

6:00 a.m.

Ashlie is sick

Conversation with Peyton

The principal knows something

The alarm clock echoed in my ears, pulling me from a dream. In the dream, Hannah ’s dad found out that I had called her, and called me up. He wanted me to come over. In the dream, I expected him to want to beat me down. But instead he told me that he was very proud I was the one his daughter chose. And Hannah jumped into my arms. We got into her violent-blue Sunfire, and drove to the movie. I let my loose fingers drift off the last tendrils of the dream, and turned over in my covers.

Golden light came in through the open window. Birds chirped. A car drove past down on the road. The tree outside my window spread its frosty leaves. A cold wind rushed over the comforter. A typical spring morning. I couldn’t get enough of it. I found myself tempted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep once more. But I refused to do so. The digital clock seemed to race through the numbers, and soon I had slept in seven minutes.

Dad walked in. His eyes were sunken, and he scratched his back. “Are you up?” Groggy.

“I’m up,” I lied, lying in bed.

“You’re going to miss the shower.”

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

8

“I’m up.”

He grunted something and left. I lie in bed. I heard the shower head start to drip, then pour. Missed it.

I got out of bed and beat Ashlie to the shower. She banged on the door, but I drowned her voice out with the shower window. No shampoo. Oh well. My fault. No one ever showered in this bathroom. A measly half-bar of soap. I lathered it over my body, rinsed, dried, and got out. I expected Ashlie to be angry, but instead she half-heartily just shoved me out of the way and lunged at the toilet seat. She opened her mouth, face tightened, and green vomit splattered into the toilet. Bile crept up the back of my throat. I turned away. She said, “Austin?” Raspy. “Can you tell Mom I’m sick? I threw up all over my floor last night.”

Going into Ashlie’s room, I smelt the stench and backed out. I went into my parents’ bedroom. The bedroom’s bathroom door was shut, but wan light escaped from underneath. I woke Mom under the covers. “Ashlie is sick. Puking in the toilet. And she puked all over her floor last night, too.”

“Can you clean it up?”

A prospect short of appealing. “I woke up late…”

But she turned over and disappeared into her sleep.

A glance at the red alarm clock. Mom’s snoring. “Sure.”

Sighing, I hastily grabbed some cleaning solutions, a towel, and some paper towels. Closing my eyes, breathing through my mouth. Grabbed the stale puke up with the towels and threw them into her waste-basket. I slid it next to her bed. She would need it. Then I sprayed the stain with carpet cleaner and scrubbed it hard. Light bled through her window. Glanced at her Dalmatian clock. “No.” I only had ten minutes to get dressed.

Somehow I made it. Grabbed my keys, wallet, some Axe spray. Doused myself.

Dad came in, dressed in his robe. “My work called. For some reason the South Arlington Municipal Courts have been shut down. I don’t have to go to work.”

It meant nothing to me, except, “Then you can take care of Ashlie?”

“What? Isn’t she going to school?”

“Can’t you smell it?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Okay. Yeah. Better than work. I’ll pop her some medicine and buy her some soda from Homer’s Grocery. Do you know if Mom kept any of that club soda punch drink?”

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

9

I went for the door. “It’s in the refrigerator. Shake it up. The fruit settled.”

“Thanks.” Almost half-consciously, “I love you.” Last time I’d hear it. Ever.

“Love you, too, Dad.” But did I mean it? Yes. Yes, I did. The Jeep was parked on the curb. The windows were glazed with a thin layer of frost. The door opened easily, and I slid inside. Threw in the key, pressed the brake, shifted to
drive
, and sped away from home, gunning down the twisting subdivision streets until I reached the road leading east to the intersection settled by Homer’s Grocery and the Clearcreek Plaza. I took a right turn, hitting student traffic through Olde Clearcreek. The time melted away. Considered taking a shortcut, but decided against it. Passed the Junior High School. Parents went in, dropping off kids. Yellow buses lumbered like beasts down the roads, brakes squealing. The High School entrance loomed, and I pulled in. Here at the school the traffic lightened. Found my parking spot. Stepped out of the Jeep. I had enough time. Sigh of relief.

The Sunfire in the dream grilled past, and dove into a parking spot a few spaces down.

I walked over. Through the tinted windows, I saw two friends. And someone I couldn’t quite figure out.

The engine cut. The driver’s door opened. Hannah stepped out. Her brown hair dripped with the last water from a hasty shower, placid eyes twin torches, her tender build unquenchable. Her smile resonated peace. She looked at me warily. I knew she was somehow afraid of me—not afraid like I was an axemurderer. Maybe uncomfortable is a better word. Discomfort was written all over her wan grin. “How you doing?” I crooned.

“I’m fine. Tired.”

Her brother Peyton appeared at the other end, throwing the book-bag over his shoulder. “Hey, loser.”

I fake flicked him off. “Screw you.”

Hannah turned away. No! But I said nothing. Peyton came around from the rear of the car. “Flirting with my sister, Austin?”

Hannah ’s face flushed several shades of red; a glare at her brother.

“Flirting? No.”

“Did you know Hannah went to a movie with another guy?”

My heart crumbled. But I wouldn’t let it show. I shot a look over at Hannah .

“Awesome. Who’s that?”

“No one,” she said.

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

10

“Oh, come on. You
did
go to a movie?”

“His name is Hal.”

“Is he nice?”