The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (37 page)

Part IV

A Sea of Blood

Chapter 19

Tara tossed and turned in bed as she wrestled the ephemeral demons inhabiting her dreams. It was just seconds in the real world, but inside her vast subconscious it felt like hours.

She sat up in a cold sweat as stale, cooled air wafted on her wet skin, raising goose bumps. She looked down at her side and saw that Marcus wasn’t there.

Sunlight crept around the edges of the curtains, and as the boogeymen evaporated on the morning air, she decided she might as well get up. She slid out of bed and padded out of her bedroom. The door was already ajar.

She planned to shuffle to the kitchen, hoping that Marcus had the foresight to brew a fresh pot of morning Joe. However, when she entered the hallway, she saw Marcus standing outside Tyrell’s room, staring at the closed door.

She smiled and crept over to him. “Let him sleep,” she whispered. “He had a trying night.”

Marcus turned his head slowly to look at her, a long strand of black drool hanging from his bottom lip. He had shadows under his eyes, and his expression was listless.

Poor guy had a rough day, himself, yesterday. “I’ll make the coffee,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “How’s the bite?”

Marcus reached out for her and palmed her face, grunting like a caveman.

“Stop it!” she said, prying his hand of her face. “That’s not funny.”

Marcus reached out for her again.

Tara pinched her nose. “Not yet. Not until you’ve had a shower, buster. You stink.” However, it suddenly dawned on her that it was more than a nasty case of morning BO. Marcus didn’t look well. He looked…

“Screeeaahhhh!” He reached for her again, snapping his jaws at her like a rabid animal.

“Marcus, no!” she cried out, as she backed down the hallway to their bedroom.

He shuffled after her, grunting and growling.

“Marcus, it’s me. Whatever it is, you have to fight it.” However, her appeals to reason and self-control went unacknowledged.

She wanted to scream, but she didn’t want to wake Tyrell. As long as he was in his room with the door closed, he was safe. For the moment.

A tear streamed down Tara’s cheek as her husband made regurgitating sounds in his throat, tracking her with angry, hateful eyes.

It brought her back to a time when she had no control over her own body and mind. She was shamed by the memories of sudden, inexplicable paranoia she had felt toward Marcus and the uncontrollable rage she had hurled at him in form of word and fist.

She remembered how he had tried to reason with her.

“Marcus, please. You can fight this. I love you, honey.”

She also remembered how his words made no difference.

Marcus followed her into the bedroom as she backed into the bed. She crawled up onto the mattress, pleading with him. “Please don’t hurt me, Marcus. Please.”

She remembered how he had pleaded with her, but her postpartum depression hadn’t responded to pleas. In fact, the begging had only made her want to hurt him worse.

He crawled up onto the mattress with her, cornering her against the headboard. His jagged mouth twisted into a sinister grin, a look that promised pain. A look she had never seen on her husband’s face before.

What was she going to do? She didn’t have the strength or the will to fight him. She understood what it felt like to have an alien force take over your reason and will.

Tara turned her head away from Marcus as he crawled over to where she crouched, like a mouse who knew the cat was going to win.

Then she heard Tyrell’s voice in the hallway. “Mommy? Daddy?”

Her head jerked back around, and she saw Marcus pausing, looking over his shoulder as he spilled black content from his mouth onto the white sheets.

Tara realized in that moment that she couldn’t allow herself to be taken. After Marcus was done tearing into her, Tyrell would be next. She shoved down the feelings of shame and guilt, replacing them with something better—a mother’s protective instinct.

Tara kicked out and sent Marcus tumbling backward off the bed. She reached out and grabbed the lamp from her end table, yanking the power cord out of the wall.

“Mommy?” Tyrell stood in the doorway.

“Baby, Daddy’s sick! Get out of the house! Now!”

Tyrell stood there, shocked.

Marcus tried to get to his feet. He threw up on the floor, spewing green and black syrup all over the carpeting.

“Mommy?”

“Ty, he’s like those people on the boardwalk! Get out of the house!”

Marcus looked up at his son, as he crouched on all fours, and his lips spread as he let out another shriek.

That was all it took to startle Tyrell out of his paralysis. He took off down the hall screaming.

As Marcus rose, Tara turned the lamp in her hand, gripping it up by the light bulb, and swung at his head, connecting with the hard base of the lamp.

Marcus dropped to his knees, stunned from the blow, and Tara jumped over him, tumbling onto the floor. She scrambled out the doorway when she felt one of Marcus’s hands clamp down on her ankle. She began to feel herself dragged backward, her nightshirt pulling up around her waist, as she saw Tyrell watching from down the hall.

“Get outside! I’ll be right behind you!”

Tyrell hesitated, concerned for his mother.

“Now!”

She waited until she saw him disappear around the corner. Then she flipped over and sat up. Marcus was about to chomp down on her leg. She felt the black ooze dripping onto her bare skin, hot and sticky.

She swung the base of the lamp and connected with his temple, but his grasp was still tight on her ankle. She swung again, missing his head and shattering the base of the lamp on the doorjamb. The light bulb shattered in her grip, and glass fragments ripped her skin. She felt hot blood run over her palms.

Marcus pulled her closer and opened his jaws wide, splitting the skin at the corners of his mouth.

Tara jammed the sharp fragment of the lamp into his mouth, wedging it in place.

Marcus finally let go of her ankle and started swiping at the lamp he had wedged in his mouth keeping him from his hot meal.

Tara scrambled out on her hands and knees into the hallway and pushed herself to her feet. She dashed downstairs and yelled, “Tyrell! Tyrell!”

Marcus screeched from upstairs.

Her eyes darted around the living room, looking for her son.

The front door opened, and she heard his voice. “I’m here, Mommy! Outside!”

Relieved, she dashed to the front door, snatched him up, and ran into the morning breeze under an angry sky, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

Mike awoke in his soft leather recliner in front of the television. He looked over and saw Dharma sleeping on the couch, her clothes from the previous night still on. He slowly and quietly pressed the lever to return the chair to a sitting position, careful not to wake her.

Something on the stairs caught his eye, as he had the odd sensation that he was being watched. At the top of the stairs he saw Salvatore and Alessandra peeking between the slats of the wooden bannister.

Mike smiled and gestured for them to come down, but he quickly put his index finger to his lips to indicate that they were to do so quietly. The children both smiled and nodded, and they began to creep down the stairs.

Mike stood, turned off the television, and met them at the landing, where they looked up at him expectantly. He silently gestured for them to follow him into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, he bent down at the waist and whispered, “Who wants some cereal?”

Hungry and eager to begin the day, both children nodded in enthusiasm. Mike gestured for them to sit at the table, and they did. He went to the cabinet and pulled out three bowls. He put them on the table and grabbed some spoons out of the drawer. They clinked softly as he placed them on the table.

Alessandra neatly arranged her spoon next to her bowl, while Salvatore watched Mike.

Mike went back to the cabinet and pulled out a box of bran flakes. He knew it wasn’t children’s cereal, but it was all he had in his daily struggle to stay regular.

As he poured the flakes into Alessandra’s bowl, she did her best to manage a polite smile. Salvatore, however, grimaced at the sight of the bran flakes.

Mike held up a finger as an idea just dawned on him. He reached up into the cabinet and produced a box of raisins, holding it up for the children’s approval. Salvatore shrugged, but Alessandra nodded eagerly.

Mike shook the box over their bowls, and raisins tumbled down onto the dry, brown flakes. Mike put the box of raisins on the table, and Salvatore poured some more out on his flakes as Mike got the milk. After pouring a generous amount in each bowl, at last he sat with the children.

They all dug into their cold breakfast in earnest, and no one talked so as not to wake Dharma. Mike was grateful for the silence because that meant they couldn’t discuss what had happened on the boardwalk yesterday or where their mother was. In fact, after a deep night’s sleep, the whole fiasco almost felt like a bad dream.

Salvatore pantomimed drinking from a glass.

Mike jumped up, grabbed three glasses, and slid them onto the table. He went to the fridge and held up a carton of orange juice.

Salvatore gave a thumbs up.

Mike walked over to the table and began to fill their glasses.

“Morning, guys,” said Dharma from the kitchen’s doorway.

“Morning, Dharma.”

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

She sat at the table. “Bran flakes, my favorite,” she said, flashing a sardonic smile.

Mike grabbed another bowl and spoon for her.

Dharma poured herself a heaping bowl, piled on some raisins, doused it all with milk, and filled her glass to the brim with orange juice.

“Now there’s a girl after my own heart,” said Mike. “From what Vinnie told me, I thought you only ate salads.”

“Sometimes,” said Dharma with a mouth full of flakes. “Mostly so I didn’t look like a pig in front of him. But a girl’s gotta eat.”

“Amen,” said Alessandra, and they all shared a laugh.

However, the levity was brief as it was strangled by a looming sense of dread. The children still didn’t know what happened to their parents.

Dharma traded a knowing look with Mike, who shrugged.

“So, are we going home today?” asked Alessandra. “Not that we didn’t have fun…” Her smile faded as memories of the violent attacks resurfaced in her mind.

“Uh, the Police Chief was supposed to come by yesterday, but he understandably had his hands full,” said Mike. “There’s been…”

The phone in Dharma’s shorts rang. She pulled it out and answered. “Hello…Oh, hi, Vinnie. Yeah, we all slept well…We’re eating breakfast right now…bran flakes with raisins…” She looked around the table. “Vinnie told me to say that that’s gross.”

“Tell him it’s not
that
bad,” said Alessandra, smiling at Mike.

Mike appreciated the gesture.

“No, we’ve got the situation well in hand…No, you go and help your father prepare the store….Okay. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone.

“You know, you should help your mother with the Sunglass Hut,” said Mike, feeling guilty that Dharma was detained. “I can handle this.”

“Where’s my mom?” asked Salvatore. “Are we going home?”

“Your mom called us last night,” said Dharma, cutting Mike off, “and she said you could spend the day here.”

“But I wanna go home,” insisted Salvatore. “No offense,” he added for Mike’s benefit.

“None taken,” said Mike.

Dharma reached out and put her hand on Salvatore’s. “There’s a lot going on with the police and the search for your grandmother. No one’s even home right now.” At least that part was true. “With the storm coming, they have to look after their store as well, so it looks like we’re going to have to have some more fun, just the four of us. Just for a while more.”

Salvatore regarded Dharma dubiously.

Even Alessandra looked tentative about the whole situation.

“I’m going to run out and help my parents secure the

Sunglass Hut. Then I’ll come back with some food and games we can play. Do you guys like board games?”

The children nodded uncertainly.

“I like video games,” said Salvatore.

“I’ll see if I can grab my console on the way back, but in case we lose power, I’ll bring some board games too.”

“You don’t have to do any of this,” said Mike. “You’ve already done enough.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dharma. “A friend in need.”

The reference warmed Mike’s heart. He really liked Dharma. She was a nice girl, and he was happy for Vinnie. Now, he was proud that this wonderful girl regarded him as a friend.

“Hey, we can challenge Vinnie to a racing game later. He’s a car guy, but I think we can take him,” added Dharma.