There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (88 page)

Something is horribly wrong here, Tits
…

It was the same malefic vibe she’d felt at her home on Monday. Only stronger this time.
Much
stronger. As was the stink.
“We’re in trouble, Ralphie,”
she whispered.

“I know,”
he whimpered. He felt it too.

“
Blooooooood,
”
said a croaking voice, hidden in the dark
.
“Yessssssss! I smell blood! Blood on the pretty little bitch!”

“Soooooo rich! Soooooo hot!
”
said another, coarsely sniffing at the air.

“Lick it!
”
giggled yet another.
“
Lick that bloody pussy! Lick it
all
up! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!
”

Josie groaned. She was, in fact, on her period.

In the deep shadows below, the sound of someone climbing up the metal staircase echoed in the cavernous Firehouse. Steady and unhurried. As Evil almost always is.

Tubby tugged at Josie from behind.
“Come on, Joe! We gotta get outta here!”

Josie’s paralysis was broken as the first of the things came into view. Lonnie Briarson. Chief of the Volunteer Fire department. Two of his volunteers, Jumbo Colt and Ted Tousant followed him up the stairs.

Lonnie had on nothing but his blue work socks; they flapped filthily on his feet as he slowly ascended the stairs. His arousal was grossly evident. Jumbo and Ted were both naked as well, covered in blood and body waste. They, too, seemed to have only one thing on their minds.

             
It had been a busy afternoon for the Moon Island Volunteer Fire Department, although it had nothing to do with the departing storm. Two days prior, the Firehouse’s Dalmatian, Pepperpot, had infected the entire crew with RS13. After returning from the Pines, where she’d picked up the virus on her daily run (in the same manner as Pop’s Mastiff), the two-year-old dog passed on the bug in a most slobbery manner, licking every human face she came into contact with. The rabid squirrel had bitten Pepperpot’s lip and tongue, ensuring that any saliva leaving the dog’s mouth would be twice as deadly.

             
The three unfortunate firefighters awoke on the morning of the 14
th
to find they had changed. Mutated into mindless monsters. Gone was their dedication to the job, their desire to help their fellow man in need. These decent and caring souls were now rabid, uncontrollable, foaming at the mouth beasts, intent on the destruction of the human race—one human being at a time.

             
                            *******

The carnage began as the families returned to the island in the small fleet of working and pleasure boats, all of which had managed to dock before the
Betty Anne
slipped into the harbor that afternoon. As each family walked unawares past the Firehouse, on their way up Main Street, to get to their cars parked in the business district, they were beset upon by Lonnie and his men, roaring from the dark maw of the open bay doors like ravenous bears from their winter dens. The victims were then dragged back into the nether regions of the Firehouse, where the women and girls, no matter the age, were raped and beaten within an inch of their lives. Those individuals the firefighters didn’t kill in a blind rage were left to stumble their way home, naked, beaten, their blood running furious with the mutant strain. Home, where they’d wait for the night. Wait for the coming madness. The men, for the most part, had had their limbs torn asunder, their throats ripped open for the hot blood coursing through their jugulars.

             
Lonnie and his men had spared precious few from the wilding, which had lasted all day.

The Rabids had lay bloody and replete on the limb-bestrewn floor of the Firehouse. They’d smelled the girl the first time she’d walked by the open bay doors but had been too bloated to get up from their grisly litter. Too spent to pursue. Josie had made it easy on them, however, delivering of herself and the quivering fat boy.

If not for their drunken stupor, the volunteers would have already added two more victims to the Firehouse floor. Still, they were plenty fast enough.

Josie knew she and Tubby could never outrun them. They were as good as dead.
Unless
…

“Into the jail!” she said, shoving Tubby up the flight and back into the Sheriff’s Office. Tubby didn’t have time to object. Josie herded him inside the nearest cell and slammed the iron bars shut behind her. She fell on Tubby, tackling him into the furthest corner of the cell, just as the naked men crashed headlong into the bars…

                          *******

They couldn’t locate Bilbo. The emergency generator was running, though, so that meant he had to be somewhere nearby. Bill wouldn’t leave it running unattended for very long. Its main purpose, during a power outage, was to get any customers safely through the darkest bowels of the museum. They could hear the chugging motor all the way up in the lobby. The main power wasn’t back on after all it seemed. The generator in the basement was the only thing supplying electricity to the live wires outside.

              While Bud looked for his dad in their apartment, Gnat picked up the intercom mike on the dash of the lead coffin car on the lobby tracks.

             
Bilbo? You back there somewhere? Come running if you are! We’re in bad trouble, you hear me? Bill? Shit! Hurry up, old man, we fucking need you!”

             
Not liking the sound of his own panic-stricken voice, echoing so stridently in the tunnel, Rusty quickly shelved the mike. He hurried into Bill’s office, turning off the breakers for the marquee. When he returned to the lobby, it was still empty. No sign of Bill or Bud.

             
After checking every room in their apartment, Bud picked up the phone in the kitchen. No dial tone. Of course there wasn’t. He met up with Rusty in the front lobby, disappointed to find his friend waiting all alone. A deep sadness tightened his chest, constricting his already madly thumping heart. Rusty looked up at him, his owlish eyes feverish and wet. Anxious to find Bidwell before it was too late. Which, of course, it already was. Had been for the longest time. Bud grieved for his unsuspecting friend.  At this point he had no intention of hunting down Bidwell
or
his vaccine. Now that Ham and Frank were both dead, what was the point? He’d only gone through the motions to string Rusty along. To keep the little guy from rushing back to the
Betty Anne.
His only focus now was the Bunker—and how best to get them there before it was too late.

             
Piece by piece his dream/visions were falling into place and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to upset the final picture. Bud had an idea that as long as the puzzle stayed unfinished in his mind, that all was not yet lost. The second that last piece slipped cleanly into place was the moment he’d lose control of his own destiny. At that moment only
one
outcome could be the end result. Getting off the island now seemed out of the question. And if that was the case, then the Bunker truly was their last hope.

“Come on, Bud,” Rusty said. “Enough of this tentative bullshit, man! Where’s the reckless
Buddy boy
when I need him! Let’s get the Jeep and pick up the guys!”

At the mention of their missing friends, Rusty’s eyes grew even wider. He looked down at his watch again.

Bud checked his watch, too.
Ten till six!

At some point in their search for his dad, Time had laced on its boogie shoes. “Where the hell are those guys? They should’ve been here by now. It’s getting dark outside, too. Come on, Rusty, let’s go out the back way,” Bud said, running down the hallway. “Lock the door behind you!”

They burst into the lengthening shadows. Nightfall was but a breath away. Someone laughed hysterically off in the distance. It was the first sign of life they’d heard since coming back to the island. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of hilarity that followed the antics of the Three Stooges—it was more like the wild laughter preceding acts of madness.

On the heels of this maniacal laughter was a heart-wrenching scream, coming from the direction of the harbor. By the sound of it, a young lady in distress.

Bud and Rusty exchanged harried looks before making a dash for the Jeep. They splashed their way down to the service bay, the water at once past Bud’s waist. Rusty nearly foundered behind him, the water well above his chest. Unable to open the doors, the boys pulled off the top and jumped into the flooded interior of the Jeep. The bucket seats were barely treading water. As always, though, the key was in the ignition. Bud looked heavenward, and then cranked that mother hard.

Nada. Not even a lonely little click from the solenoid. He was about to call it a “worthless bitch” when:
!!!BBBWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMPPPP!!!

             
Josie’s braying air horn made them jump in their seats. Overhead, in the broken branches of the pine trees, a motley gathering of crows gave rancorous flight.

             
A murder,
Bud thought in a daze, feeling yet another piece fall irretrievably into place.
That’s what a gathering of crows is called. A murder. Black murder…

             
He sat in the flooded Jeep, not sure of his next move. The horn paused, as if out of breath, before bawling again:
!!!BBBWWWAAAAAAAAAMMMMPPPPPP!!!

There was a frantic note to the long-drawn-out blasts. A clear urgent cry for help. 

              “Josie,” Bud said. He got out of the Jeep and sloshed his way back up the flooded ramp, the double barrel clutched tightly in his fist. Rusty struggled to keep up. Neither noticed the dark plume of smoke coming from the direction of the Moon Island Marina, where the largest shrimpboat in the harbor burned hot and bright. The flesh and bones aboard the
Betty Anne
would be dust and ash, long before she settled on the bottom of the bay… 

             
                            *******

While some souls peered down into the abyss, Samuel J. Huggins watched his friends, Frank and Emma Tolson, enter into the loveliest light he’d ever seen. Together and whole, Ralph’s folks looked over their shoulders, smiling at Ham, before disappearing into the light. The sort of light that filters down into a forest after a hard, clean rain. The golden rays like God’s own fingers, beckoning you home. Ham longed to follow his friends, to enter into that embracing light he knew to be God’s love, but it was a journey he refused to travel alone.

              No matter. She’d be along directly. Then they could go together. Like their friends before them. He knew it in his heart to be so. Otherwise, he’d have no recall of his wife at all. For there are no sad souls in Heaven. He felt a hand envelope his own, the soft, warm fingers sliding into their customary slots. “Betty Anne,” he said, smiling.      

             
                            *******

Josie and Tubby lay huddled together on the cell floor for several minutes before they’d accept the fact that their pursuers hadn’t been able to follow them inside. They cowered there, their eyes squeezed just as tight as their puckered sphincters, listening to the Rabids howl in impotent rage, rattling the bars like furious apes at the Zoo. Josie prayed that they wouldn’t have the presence of mind to search out a set of keys to the cells. In that event, she and Tubby couldn’t hope to survive.

              She braced herself and raised an eyelid.

             
The three men were all at the door, yanking on it idiotically. Their angry penises stabbed between the bars and seemed to point right at her. She opened her other eye and sat up a little, untying Tubby from his fetal knot. He whimpered as she pulled his head up from her lap. He seemed even more disturbed by their frank arousal.

“It’s okay, Ralphie. We’re all right,” she said, even as she leaned further into the corner, her face pressed tightly against his sweaty cheek. “They can’t get us.”

“You…you really think so, Josie?”

“Yeah…I think so.”

Josie tried not to look directly at the rabid men. They were like zombies on speed
.
Not at all like the slow- witted and even slower moving ghouls from
Night of the Living Dead
. These creatures darted like bats, pounced like cats, and had an unnatural strength that comes only from insanity. Neither were they stupid and oblivious like the walking undead. True, their rage preceded most forethought on their part. But their shining, lunatic eyes told another story. In their fevered depths was a gleam of terrible understanding.

Josie watched Chief Briarson break off from the other two, still clamoring at the bars, to begin a systematic search for the keys to the cell, going through Rupert’s desk drawers, before moving on to the dispatcher’s station. 

“Joe…is he…” Tubby left it unsaid; too frightened to say the words out loud.

             
“I’m afraid so,” said Josie. She wondered if she should go ahead and use her last bullet on Briarson before he succeeded in his quest.