A New World: Untold Stories (9 page)

“You had better fucking start mellowing out,” Mark grunts from the exertion.

The man is much smaller than Mark, but seems to match his strength and is definitely much quicker. Just when it looks like Mark is about to get the upper hand and throw the man from him, the stranger twists with amazing agility and strength, going after Mark once again.

What the fuck? This dude is fucking crazy
, Sam thinks, unable to pull out of his transfixion.

The attacker scratches the side of Mark’s face, leaving a trail of parallel marks with blood droplets leaking out.

“Motherfucker!” Mark yells, trying to get in a position to leverage his weight and get a good shot in.

Mark’s yell turns into a scream as the man sinks his teeth deeply into his shoulder. Meg yelps in fear. This manages to shake the rest of the group out of their fixed amazement. Sam hears a bottle hit the ground and break as James jumps in and grabs the man from behind.

“Dammit, dude, mellow the fuck out,” James says, trying to pull the man away from Mark.

The man squirms and wriggles in James’s grasp. Turning in his arms, he starts after James. Just as the man starts tearing into him, Mark unloads into the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the side and onto the pavement. Scrambling to his feet with astonishing speed, the man screams and lunges at Mark. Mark’s fist meets the attacker’s head for a second time, square on the nose. The man’s momentum is immediately halted. His head rocks backward and he falls to his knees. Shaking his head, with streams of blood flowing outward, the man growls and rises quickly, going for Mark again.

“Stay…the fuck…down,” Mark grunts, delivering another solid punch to the head.

The man falls, apparently disoriented, but begins rising again. Gaining his knees, Sam sees a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. The movement becomes clear as a large branch, wielded by James, slams into the man’s face toppling the attacker backwards. He falls to the ground and doesn’t move, blood streaming from his nose and the corner of his mouth, mixing with that already on his face.

“That’s one tough motherfucker,” Mark pants.

“Are you alright, Mark?” Meg asks.

“Yeah, man, are you doing okay?” Sam adds.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” Mark answers, wiping his face.

“I can’t believe he bit you,” Sam states.

Mark pulls his T-shirt to the side, exposing a gouge with teeth marks surrounding it. Blood is smeared on his skin around the injury, both Mark’s and the attacker’s.

“I’ll be damned,” Mark comments.

“Why would he attack us anyway?” Meg asks.

The rest of the group, Sam included, are still in place, shocked by what just transpired but slowly coming to their senses.

“I don’t know,” Sam replies, stepping closer to the unconscious man. “Look at him. He seems sick. Maybe it’s some sort of fever thing brought on by the flu.”

A wailing siren picks up intensity. All eyes turn down the street thinking someone, in fact, did call and the wreck reported. An ambulance, the first moving vehicle they’ve seen, shoots by a cross street several blocks away, quickly appearing and vanishing. The siren fades, becoming just one more of the many heard across the city.

“Well, we should go see how the driver is doing,” Sam says.

The feeling of being on some sort of adventure has left the group as they walk cautiously across the road. All but Mark and James still have their bottles in hand, but they are forgotten as they approach the open window.

“Meg, stay back,” Sam says as he sees what lies inside.

“What?” she queries.

“Seriously, you don’t want to see this,” Sam states.

“He’s right, sis. Keep back,” Mark says.

Even from a few paces away, it’s easy to see the mess inside. Blood is splattered on the inside of the shattered windshield and slow-moving streams trickle down the outside of the door. Through the open driver’s window, a body lays slumped back in the seat, bloody and unrecognizable. The remains of a spent air bag hang loosely from the steering wheel.

“What the hell, man? Did that happen from the wreck?” James asks.

“I don’t think so. The windshield isn’t broken, only starred, and the air bag would have prevented them from slamming into it,” Sam says, looking over the scene.

“Are they…dead?” Mark asks.

“I’m not reaching in there,” James declares.

“Chicken,” Sam says.

“Right. And who is the one who didn’t even set their beer down when that dude attacked?” James responds.

“I didn’t…well…fuck you.”

Sam approaches and reaches through the window. With an unsettled feeling in his stomach and nausea rising in his throat, Sam presses against what he takes to be a man’s bloodied throat. The man’s face has gouges and chunks ripped away with a large flap of skin hanging off his cheek, exposing several bloodied teeth. He holds his fingers against the cooling flesh feeling for a pulse. Finding none, he backs off, close to throwing up.

“Fucker’s dead,” Sam says, recovering and wiping his hands on his jeans.

Mark steps closer. “It looks like the dude who attacked us was, well, eating him.”

“Seriously? That’s way fucked up,” James says, remaining a few steps away.

“I don’t know. It sure looks like it though,” Sam adds.

“That’s disgusting as hell,” James states.

“Well, what do we do?” Mark asks.

“I’m not sure there’s much we can do. I suppose we go back to the house and call it in,” Sam suggests.

Some of the others are gathered around the man Mark knocked unconscious, talking quietly amongst themselves. Meg stands by herself in the center of the turn lane. The night is still without a breath stirring. The silence and residual heat from the day seems to stifle the area, like a blanket has been thrown over the city. The air carries a calm and peace yet with an underlying tension. The silence is broken as several dogs in the neighborhood begin barking, first one, then with others joining in almost immediately.

“Hey, uh, guys. There are a couple of people running this way,” Meg says, pointing down one of the side streets.

“They must have heard the crash and are coming to check it out,” James states, looking down the dark street where Meg is pointing.

“How many?” Mark asks.

“I think I saw three when they passed under the street light,” Meg answers.

The barking of the dogs takes on a more frantic nature, or perhaps it’s just Sam’s imagination. He eases away from the car to get a better view as he can’t see very far down the street Meg indicated.

“Holy shit they’re fast. They were just, well…” Meg begins.

Three people emerge from the darkened side street, coming to a halt in the light. Seeing the group around the fallen man, they lift their heads and emit screams similar to that of the crazed man. Their high-pitched shrieks roll down the tree-lined avenue. With a quickness that is startling, they dart toward the group standing around the man on the ground.

“Meg, get back,” Sam yells, starting toward her and finally dropping his Samuel Adams.

Amidst the shrieks, other bottles fall from hands and hit the ground, shattering on the hard surface. Before the huddled group can react, the running figures plow into their midst. Screams erupt, startled terror from the one group, and hunger from the other. Three of the four go down before the onslaught, falling hard to the ground with the attackers on top.

Sam makes his way to Meg, who stands rooted to one spot, and shoves her behind him. Mark and James hurtle past heading for their stricken friends.

“Stay here,” Sam says, and follows.

The growling figures on top are clawing and biting at those on the ground. Screams of agony pierce the night from those taken down. The fourth, left unmolested, is tugging at one of the figures trying to pull it off one of the downed members. One of the attackers rises and lunges at the one trying to help, knocking him to the ground and tearing into him.

Mark hits the nearest attacker, plowing into the figure and driving it off one of the fallen. The screams, once filling the night, fade and become moans of pain. James approaches another interloper and kicks it in the side. The attacker emits a cough as air is forcefully exhaled and rolls to the side. Mark is punching at the one on the ground when the remaining crazed one rises and starts for James from the side. Before it reaches him, Sam slams into its side, tackling him to the ground.

Sam hits hard with the body beneath him. He’s never been in a fight before so he’s not sure what to do. His heart is racing with fear, but he couldn’t very well let James get taken like that. The man beneath him is struggling for all he’s worth. Sam wrestles, trying to pin the man down, to gain some sort of leverage, but all he can do is hang on as the man is relentless.

Before Sam can register it, he’s thrown upward and to the side. A blur of dark movement is all he sees before a heavy weight falls upon him. He’s barely aware of the bodies beside him and feels fingernails rake his cheek and neck. Screaming mostly from fear, but also from the burning sensation from several deep scratches, he fights to block the man’s hands, which seem to be everywhere at one.

The man’s face is inches from his own, snarling as he tries to get closer to sink his teeth into Sam’s flesh. Expecting to see a crazed look in the man’s eyes, Sam instead sees a ferocious intent. There’s an intelligence to it, but it’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. Feral comes to mind as he continues pushing to keep the man away. He feels the strength of his arms failing. Teeth sink into his cheek.

Oh god no.

Suddenly, the weight is lifted from him. Standing above him is Mark with one arm wrapped around the attacker’s throat. The man struggles violently in an attempt to break the hold. Sam weakly strives to gain his feet, nausea and fear mixing. The attacker pushes and pulls against Mark’s arm, managing to gain a little leverage and sinks his teeth into the exposed skin.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Mark yells, letting go of the man.

Sam feels dizzy as he stands on wobbly legs, but his mind quickly clears. Expecting to be hit again from their attackers, he looks quickly about. His frantic scan shows bodies on the ground and the one remaining figure lunging at Mark. Sam reacts and grabs the assailant from behind, not really knowing what he’s doing but wanting to help.

Sam’s action interrupts the man’s attack, allowing Mark to get in a swing. Sam stumbles as the force of the punch knocks both of them backward and he has to let go in order to regain his balance. Mark slams another punch into the attacker, knocking him to the ground. He then picks up the branch James had dropped and begins hitting the man repeatedly. Sam watches in horror as blood sprays outward from the man’s face. Mark, panting, releases the branch.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks.

“Yeah…yeah. I think so,” Sam answers. “Where’s Meg?”

Sam feels a hand on his shoulder. With a start, he spins quickly to find Meg. “I’m right here.”

“What about James?” Sam asks, looking at the pile of bodies intertwined with each other. “Oh, fuck! Is everyone down?”

“There’s more coming!” Meg shouts nervously.

Sam turns and sees several figures running along the main avenue, more than they’ve seen so far.

“We have to get out of here,” Mark states, grabbing Sam and Meg each by an arm.

“What about the others?” Sam asks, reluctantly being pulled along the street.

“They’re gone, or going to be. We can’t stand up to that many if they’re like the others,” Mark says with a frantic edge to his voice.

Meg runs along the street with Mark. Sam understands the situation. Well, perhaps not understanding it, but he is aware of the danger. However, he shakes free from Mark and looks at the ruin around him. Several of the bodies moan, but he’s not sure if it’s coming from his friends or from the ones that attacked them. Under the glare of the lights, he sees puddles of blood and several streams of the liquid trickling toward the gutter.

He’s at a loss as what to do. Part of him says help his friends…carry them to safety. A larger part is filled with the flee portion of the fight or flee response. With adrenaline coursing through him, he feels his rapidly beating heart and hears his panting breath above the screaming runners that are quickly approaching.

“Come on, Sam, hurry,” Meg shouts.

That shakes him loose from staring at the destruction at his feet. With a last glance, seeing James lying amidst the bodies with blood streaks across his face, he runs after Mark and Meg.

“My house. We’ll lock the doors,” he shouts, catching up with them.

It’s a short run back to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The shrieks intensify with their flight, echoing off the sides of the houses and seeming to fill the entire neighborhood. With their adrenaline-fueled run, the ones behind still manage to close the distance. Sam feels tunnel vision swoop down.

He sees his house ahead with light shining from the open windows, hears their feet slapping on the pavement, and the sound of those chasing them. They break into an all-out run. Panic fills him. His house doesn’t seem to be drawing any closer yet he hears those behind rapidly gaining. The three of them put on a burst of speed, all focus centered on making their legs run faster. The parked vehicles of their friends pass swiftly as they run up the driveway. Sam has a momentary thought of getting into his car but he knows he won’t have time. Plus, the keys are sitting on the kitchen counter.