APOCALYCIOUS: Satire of the Dead (7 page)

             
                                                   
Part One

             
             
Scenes from the Apocalypse

  
Chapter 1 - Action 7 Aftermath

Parkersburg, West Virginia 

             
Claire Fontaine stood beside the open passenger side door and checked her make up in the side mirror of the Action 7 News van and straightened her nearly perfect auburn colored hair. The cold December air blew in blustery gusts but her hair barely moved. She knew how to prepare for the spotlight. She had always been a fixture at the center of attention, from high school cheerleader, to prom queen, and now to television news reporter. Parkersburg, West Virginia was, however a stepping stone. There wasn’t enough notoriety in this Appalachian shithole to suit her tastes. California or New York was where a woman of her talent and looks belonged.

             
“You look fine, Claire,” said Mitch Rodriguez as he shrugged the heavy camera to his shoulder.

             
“Thanks Mitch, too bad I can’t say the same for you,” said Claire. This was familiar territory for the two. Mitch rolled his eyes, but remained silent. He knew that when it came to Claire it was best to just let it go or you would have to listen to that mouth of hers for the rest of the day. She turned her attention to a pock-marked, heavy set man wearing a pit-stained white dress shirt and red tie that he had loosened from his collar. He didn’t seem to mind the cold. “Hey you…” she started.

             
“Drew. Drew Finley,” he interjected, and then added with a sly look “The ladies call me Dre.”

             
“Yeah…right… sorry
Drew
, things are a little bit hectic,” she said.

             
He smiled a politico grin that made her wary of him. Something in that smile was just weird. “Not a problem, Ms. Fontaine. I’m a big fan of yours,” he said and she felt his eyes crawling over every square inch of her exposed flesh and she was suddenly grateful for the cold weather and the bulky clothes that hid her well-sculpted physique.

             
“Are you ready Mr. Finley?”

             
“You bet,” he said with that creepy, too-toothy grin.

             
“Mitch?”

             
The camera man nodded and held out her microphone. She took it and positioned herself in front of the camera.

             
“In three…two…one…” he pointed at her.

             
“This is Action 7 News on the scene of the Farrell Company Fun Factory.  We are standing outside, directly behind the Police cordon where, just minutes ago Parkersburg Police took into custody lone gunman, Michael Steven Dunlap, age forty-three from Parkersburg. Security cameras recorded Dunlap as he entered the Farrell Company Fun Factory as he did every morning. But this morning was different; Dunlap came armed with an AR-15 assault rifle and an agenda to kill as many managers in the small factory as possible. At last report there are eight confirmed dead and seventeen wounded. Here with me is long time employee and supply manager Drew Finley.”

She turned to Finley who stood beside her, still smiling. She thought to herself that the creep didn’t look very upset about the deaths of his co-workers; maybe he was a shoe-in for a promotion now. Mitch turned the camera with her actions and captured both in the frame. “Mr. Finley what can you tell us about Mike Dunlap?” she waved the mic under his chin.

              “Well, I knew Mike for about six years. He was always a good worker and seemed to get along well with the other employees.”

             
“What about the management staff that he seemed to target during his rampage?”

             
“Well, yes, he did have some trouble taking orders at times.”

             
“Was there any indication that he was capable of this sort of violence?”

             
“No. He was a pretty quiet guy. I don’t think anyone would have seen this coming,” replied Finley. He looked directly into the camera and smiled that alligator grin and Mitch felt like he was looking right through him. When Mitch was in the Army, they called it a thousand yard stare.

“Rumor has it that Dunlap was transferred to
Waynesburg, Pennsylvania due to a staff shortage at Parkersburg jail; is there any truth to that?” Claire asked Finley.

Finley turned his thousand yard stare back to Claire, shrugged and replied. “That’s what we heard too, I overheard a couple of the cops talking and that’s what they said; all I know is that I’m glad that kook is out of
this
town.”

Claire returned the mic to under her chin and Mitch happily turned the camera back to her with Finley out of frame. From his peripheral vision Mitch watched the freak stare at Claire for a few moments, than walk to his car and quickly drive awa
y. Mitch thought that Dunlap had not been the only kook here.

Mitch adjusted the camera and with a sudden sense of urgency gestured with his free hand to Claire, pointing behind her. She turned and allowed Mitch to get a better angle.

She raised the mic back to her lips and said “As you can see, the Coroner is removing the bodies. They have each been zipped in a heavy black, plastic body bag and… what the….” she caught herself from cursing, but Mitch couldn’t blame her; he had just seen what she had. 

             
Not just one, but three of the bags resting on gurneys gave sudden jerks, as if the corpses were having a synchronized spasm. The bags jerked again. Now another one joined in, then another, then all of them. EMTs saw what was happening and tore open the zippers of those nearest them.

             
“Are you getting this, Mitch?”

             
Mitch gave a shaky thumb up and kept rolling.

             
“It appears that there are survivors that had been pronounced dead. I’m not sure how a mistake of this magnitude could have been made, but we are witnessing these events unfold live on Action 7 News.”

             
One of the EMTs leaned over a jerking body; he placed his ear over the chest and listened. Suddenly the body raised both arms upward and clamped down over the EMT’s head, holding it pinned to his chest. The man that was supposed to be dead leaned upward, his jaw distending like that of a snake’s and bit into the back of the emergency medical tech’s neck. The EMT screamed as the man tore out a large chunk of flesh and then broke free from the dead man’s teeth as he instinctively clutched at his neck. Blood spurted in long arcs from between his fingers. His eyes were wide and round, his face pale as he dropped to his knees.

             
“Oh my God…” muttered Claire.

             
The living dead man fell off the gurney, stood on shaky legs and staggered down the alley out of camera shot. Another EMT had his wrist trapped in the grasp of another of the
dead
men. He jerked it free without getting bitten, but the skin was torn by a jagged fingernail and dripped blood. Police ran to his aid and held the man down and re-zipped the body bag around him. Police Chief, Tom Harmon, stormed toward them with a hand palm out toward the camera. “Shut that damn thing off!” he ordered.

             
Mitch removed it from his shoulder, but left it angled toward the action still rolling.

             
“Chief, Claire Fontaine Action 7 News. What can you tell us about…?”

             
“I know who you are lady, now get the hell outa here before I shove that camera up your perky little ass!” roared the cop, his face was flushed and a huge vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead.

             
Mitch watched as the reporter’s eyes blazed. Claire was not used to people talking to her in such a way. She was used to getting whatever she wanted.

             
“I could go to the Mayor for that comment Chief,” she warned.

             
“Good, go do it; just get the hell out of
here
or I will personally arrest the both of you and lose your equipment somewhere in the evidence locker for the next year.” His eyes were locked directly on hers. Finally she relented.

             
“C’mon, Mitch,” she said in a tone that the camera man knew he would be hearing for a few hours. He really just wanted to go home and see his wife and daughters.

             
The Chief stood on the corner and watched them pull away. He made sure they were good and gone before he turned back to the mess that remained. He had no idea what had just happened here, but he knew that he would have the answers within the next ten minutes or some heads were gonna roll.

   
Chapter 2 - My What False Teeth You Have, Grandma

Peebles
, Ohio 

             
The old, wooden, rocking chair squeaked at its apex, keeping slow, steady time as Heather Kilbourne stared longingly out the frosted pane of glass. Part of her wanted to go out there and enjoy the snow like she did when she was young but the biggest part of her preferred to stay where she was. Playing was for kids, kids that had plenty of energy and a world free of cares and worries; that was not her. She sat with a large plate of cheese cake on her lap and watched as the snow falling in light, lazy flakes.

             
She listened to the rising and falling crescendos of December wind as it whistled through the skeletal trees that surrounded her house like jagged ruins of castle walls. It was a perfect day for listening.

             
So she listened to her old familiar ghosts.

             
She had inherited the two story farm house from her grandmother two days ago after the sweet old lady had finally grown weary of battling the cancer that had slowly rotted her from within.  As a lot of old farm houses do, they had their own cemetery plot in a secluded spot of the property. It was peaceful there, with only twenty or so stones standing as reminders of the past and that was where her grandmother had wanted her final resting place to be, there with her family that had gone before her with an old iron fence corralling the family closely together. The house itself was by no means, a pristine mansion, but she loved the old house and all its old house sounds; it suited her tastes well. It was secluded and quiet, far removed from the noise and bustle of the city, and most importantly, it held countless memories of her grandma doting over her. Heather wondered what ever happened to that sweet, wide eyed little girl she once had been.

The snow drifted in long elegant waves against the old house and the wooden porch. It looked like a white ocean caught in a frozen frame of time; a moment that only she was privy to.

             
Heather had once been a beautiful woman, but over the years she had grown to think of herself as ugly. Her body had once been slender and toned, but years of chronic depression had left her sedentary and she had gained a considerable amount of weight. The curves she saw on others she perceived with a quiet, subtle envy that made her succumb to the habit of eating when she was feeling sad. Rubenesque; that was a word she had heard more than once, but it was just a politically correct way of saying she was fat. Her hair was a light blonde with the occasional streak of brown and gray. She wore it pulled back into a braided pony tail. She hadn’t been to a hair salon in over eight years, instead she cut her own hair when she saw fit. Usually she dressed in blue jeans and a plain tee shirt, but lately, pajamas had become her normal attire. She had stopped wearing make-up because she thought that it felt like a wax mask on her face and she had no reason to take the time to apply it; after all the television never judged her.

             
She absently ran a fingertip over the faint scar above her left eye, a souvenir from a life she left behind, only to be haunted by the memories that had created it.

             
She preferred the sanctuary of solitude and had few friends. Those she did have she kept at a distance. Trust was something that had broken inside her a long time ago. Anyone that got too close, she pushed away, whether it was a conscious act or not, she wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was; no one had been capable of making her feel the way she did when she had been a child.