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Original Fiction: Don't Forget Your Helmet Chapter 13-14

Hey folks! Here's another installment for you ck bastards! Slowly reaching the end of this crazy tale, it's been fun to write, and hope you guys have enjoyed it! Things are reaching critical mass in this little corner of Northwest NJ. It's the end of the world as we know it! And I feeeeeel fine!

Dont Forget Your Helmet Chapter 13-14Chapter 13.

"What's his name again? Comrade? Bradly?... Help me out here Sammy." Roger Dennings, the Roto-Rooter man asked, shining his newly acquired flashlight in Sammy's face.

"Conrad. Mortimer. Dewey." Sammy replied.

It was time to get out of The Healing House as quickly as posble; Conrad was making this task difficult however, as he would not leave the bathroom. Henry began banging on the door in earnest.

"Conrad!! We have to leave! We got to go! You need to come out! And make sure your wiener is covered!" Henry barked.

There was an audible click, the door opened a crack and Conrad stuck his head out, eyes wide and trembling.

He had neglected the towel handed to him previously, and was standing there completely nude.

"Holy sweet hell, son... This is ridiculous. Here." Roger searched around, found the hamper that was overturned, found a pair of sweats and a faded black Tee-shirt that read used to read "Jimmy's Towing", handed them to Conrad.

"I don't know if you understand what the hell I'm saying, and right now I don't care. You need to put this shit on, and we gotta vamoose, skidaddle, beat our feet... We gotta get the fuck out of here, you hear me? It's not safe here - - -"

"Not safe! Not safe!" Sammy interrupted.

"See? That's right Sammy! It's not safe here Conrad, hurry up, we need to leave!"

Neil, tting in the dark, banged on his flip board in agreement.

Thummp. Thummp. Thummp. Sounds on the steps. Martin Tork was now awake, and ascending the stairs. The flashlight's gleam created these dancing, cascading shadows that dipped and bobbed, in conjunction with the lumbering form now almost vible from where they stood.

Neil began banging, Henry spun around, "He's coming up! He's coming!"

Moaning, something fell, a low grumbling, sounds like several objects were being kicked around.

Sylvia Chow was coming around again, stumbling through the books and papers and other debris strewn about the room. Once she found the door...

"The nurse! The nurse!" Sammy yelled excitedly, pointing at the door to Neil's room. Dennings spun around, quickly closed the door. Grabbed Henry by the arm, brought him closer.

"Listen Henry, we're getting out of here, alright? But we need to handle some shit first. I need you to hold this door to shut, can you do that? Put both hands on the knob, brace your foot against the wall, and don't let her come through, alright?"

"Gotcha!" Henry agreed, straightening his helmet.

"Change of plans, Conrad... Stay in the goddamn bathroom." Dennings ordered, followed by a muffled "Awright", from Conrad.

"Neil, ya alright?" Neil gave him a thumbs up.Thummp thummmp thummp. Martin was almost at the top of the stairs.

Clawing could be heard on the closed bedroom door, Henry's hands beginning to turn white with pressure as he was pulling the handle closed with all of his might. There wasn't even any restance yet, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Martin was swaying on his feet at the top of the stairs now, his one good eye was pinned on Dennings, the other was non-existent. He began to lumber forward with his arms outstretched and that's when Roger bolted forward, his boot catching Martin dead center in his chest, and he tumbled backwards like a rag doll. The ckening sound of cracking bones, and then the sound of snapping as Martin's girth collided with the handicapped chair on the stairs rail, tearing it right off the inline it was attached to.

Martin was now very still, his body twisted in a ways that defied the phycs of human anatomy. Right arm completely hyper extended and bent backwards, left knee now inverted, bent deways with his tibia vible. His neck was almost a perfect right angle, appeared that his head was completely disconnected and only stayed on due to skin. He'd be up and about in no time, but he certainly wasn't going to be climbing those stairs again, that's for sure. No r.

Bannnng bannnnng scrattttch, a kind of screech, almost catlike.

"Can't....hold....shut...." Henry groaned, he was sweating profusely either out of fear or anxiety or both, and the knob slipped out of his hand. He tumbled onto his back.

The door swung open, Sylvia Chow rushed forward to pounce on him, and that's when Roger's wrench busted her right in the face. A shower of teeth, spittle, blood, and a portion of Sylvia's lower jaw hit the wall, and rattled to the floor like crudely made dice.

"Again, real sorry about this Miss Chow... But what needs to be done, needs to be done." Dennings lamented, as he shoved her back into the room, closed the door behind him. All that could be heard were a series of heavy blows with a kind of metallic sound, and then those dampened to a pulpy wet squelch. And then a kind of hacking, guttural sound, indicating Roger's dinner had just evacuated his stomach. When Dennings finally exited the room, his boots were covered in gore, face pale, no wrench in hand, puke still on his chin and his shirt. He looked like total shit.

At least his arm stopped bleeding and didn't hurt anymore. There was that. But a kind of mental fuzziness was occurring. He couldn't pinpoint what it was at the time; there were distractions of course, but it was there. And it was slowly growing.

"Alright, Henry, ya ok? Sam? Neil?"

You couldn't tell exactly how Sammy was, his expresons were always the same. And Neil, well for a man trapped in a wheelchair, all you had to do was look at his expresve eyes to know he had probably crapped himself at least once. Henry, well... Henry was Henry. And at least he had some form of protection on his head.

Dennings began banging on the bathroom door.

"It's safe, we're leaving. Come on out!"

The bathroom door opened a crack, a mop of hair came into view, and then the rest of Conrad himself came out. His shirt and jogging pants were on backwards, and somehow he found a pair of red flip flops in the dark. It'd have to do.

"Do you know what's going on, Conrad? Any idea at all?" Dennings asked, with a bit of inflection in his voice, and a hint of frustration.

"Nope!" Was his response.

Fucking wonderful... I'm surrounded by retards, stuck in this shitty town... Maybe if we can make it back to my truck and that fucking thing is gone... Who am I kidding? The engine block's probably cracked.

"Ah Jesus. Alright, Henry. There another way out of here without having to go back down those stairs?"

"Uhm... Yeah! Safety ramp! Leads to the back! Follow me!" Henry shouted exuberantly. Roger handed him the flashlight.

"Light the way, champ." He said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Good, Sammy? Conrad? Follow, alright? I'm gonna wheel Neil out of here, let's get out of this crazy place."

The corridor stretched on past several rooms on both des; several outlines of picture frames could be seen on the walls, and now the safety ramp could be seen. It lead down and around to the ground level, which lead out to a set of double doors. The coast was clear, for now. They kept to the trees, and moved as stealthily as they could, as far away as posble.Chapter 14.

Let's take a short respite; give these guys a little breathing room.

They'll be alright for now. I'll tell you a spoiler. They're about 12 minutes away from bumping into Jen, who at this point is completely out of her mind. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Come with me, we're going to become ephemeral and glide through the chaos unheard, and unseen. We are witnesses after all, and there are things to see.

Remember that big Methodist church? The one that looked like it came out of a history book? It's no longer a place of sanctuary. God packed all his bags and took the Holy Spirit with Him. Tonight was the weekly Youth Group gathering. Reverend Brandt was taking care of last minute clergy buness in his little messy office on the top floor of the Church, right behind where the giant white cross hung, filling out paper work and reviewing this coming Sunday's sermon. "Judge Ye Not" was to be the topic of discuson.

It was quiet in this little room; a man of God needs quiet. He never heard a thing until it was much too late.

Down in the recreation room, Dave Flannigan, the church's youth group leader was busy cleaning up the fun and games of tonight's gathering. The kids had played volley ball in the meeting hall which doubled as a gymnaum, had sang songs, played a weird Christian veron of Duck Duck Goose, and then the children's sermon (regarding God's love of abstinence, oddly enough), and now most of the kids had left. The few stragglers were awaiting their parents, and were hanging out near the entrance way to keep out of the rain, when the bangs on the old oak double doors began. And when the doors finally opened, and the dead muddied faces of folks long gone appeared, the kids screamed and ran back to the gym to tell Dave.

Being a believer in God, but a kid at heart himself, Dave thought this was just some kind of a prank and played along thinking he was just going to get goosed and laugh about it... Until he came to the end of the hall and found young, chubby, 12yr old Tommy Conklin's bloodied Nikes, and then the sleeve of his jacket with his arm still inde of it, no amount of prayer would ever remove the visuals from his eyes. And as the kids screamed and the only adult they had access to that might be able to save them collapsed and fell unconscious...

***

Mitchell Dumas died of smoke inhalation in the service of the Stanhope Fire Department 4 years previous trying to save a terrified Cocker Spaniel from the 2nd floor of a burning home after it's masters had been safely evacuated. Less than 2 hours ago, Mitchell Dumas had dug himself out of his grave in the local Stanhope Cemetery, and trundled his way back to Fire Station #3. The Station had one of those sliding poles we see in all the movies, connecting the garage bay and second floor.

And upstairs tonight, the boys had a whole lot of nothing to do; except for playing poker around this folding lunch table, suck back a few beers, and watch the ball game. They didn't even hear the garage door slide open, or Mitchell heading to the utility closet to suit up and find the axe, or the destruction of the inbound/outband receiver radio... But when he went around to the back, and began climbing the stairs with the axe-head clanging on the ground

behind him, oh they heard that.

And when he lifted the visor, and they saw who he was, it was much too bizarre for any kind of explanations that would never come. What came were screams, and an axe, and some teeth.

A few moments later, the truck was revving and "Big Red" was back on the road. The police barricade that was set up was no match for the close to 14 ton red monster on wheels, and the truck smashed right through that like it was marathon runner finish line tape. They were now

headed to Mayor Raimes' estate. The Mayor was having a little "after party" get-together for his daughter Vicky's sweet 16th birthday. They were right in the middle of a 10 o'clock toast, when the truck busted through the outde gate, destroyed the lawn, demolished the screened gazebo (running over 2 of Vicky's friends who in the middle of being intimate and died before they had the time to be surprised), and barreled right through the guest wing. The screams seemed to echo on that hill, and fan out like human fire rens that gnaled no one at all.***

Moses Epstein, local dentist in Byram Township for years until his heart just stopping one evening while watching Saturday Night Live reruns, woke up in his grave earlier today. Took him quite a while to finally break out, but when he did, he brushed himself off and placed the Panama hat that he was buried with on his head. His mind, what was left, was tapped into and recharged by the thing inde him that granted his new unlife. He began to recall appointments he had to keep. Very important dental appointments. And so he just began moseying his way through the field of stones, appearing somewhat normal - Just an old man, going for a walk. In the rain. He moved quite slow, but he was determined to reach his destination. Even if it took all night. And it would.***

A little boy named James had just crawled out of his parent's bedroom window in the dark and the rain and climbed up on the roof; cold, terrified, and alone. His parents were very much dead, yet very much alive. Along with his ster, and the family cat who died several months ago...And even Butch, who would ruffle his hair and give him a snarky smile, and leave the house lingering in the musk of sex and bad decions.

And so there he was on the roof. Hands cupped over his own mouth like an organic microphone screaming "Help me! Someone help me! Please help me!". Screams that would go unanswered. Screams that joined the multitude of din that swirled up and out through the falling rain. There was no help, no heroes.***

Homes were trashed and broken into, screams were heard, shattering glass gleamed in the night and the rain. Local bars received these unexpected guests, people ran, others were trampled, fires occurred with no one to put them out. There were not enough police; in fact there weren't any left after a while. And by the time the News began to report on these happenings, and the government began to intervene, it was already too late. There were plans to seal off the entire town, first with blockades which would prove to do absolutely nothing to contain the chaos, and then with armed forces; which proved equally as fruitless. These happenings were occurring like wildfire, and spread faster than the flu. The CDC couldn't be contacted and provided no input; they didn't even know what these things were. A few of them were eventually captured and studied, placed in containment units, dissected, scrutinized to the smallest molecule. The only empirical observation was mply these things had absolutely no reason to be alive. And they weren't. They contradicted science and rational thought. They contradicted God; while everyone on the planet was slowly becoming one. These latter contingency plans would not be put in effect until long after this story is over, but we should know, it won't help. They were the end of everything, and this is how it happened. You can fight it, you can lock yourself in your panic room, you can run for your life in the hills, you can have all the guns you want. You'll only postpone the inevitable. It's in the water, it's walking toward you, it's already in you, and when you die, you will become one of them. See your friends and family becoming them. You can't fight that, nobody can. They were an unending nation of things you couldn't kill. Friends, family, loved ones, things you didn't want to kill. Things you'd become. And they knew it. The fucking things inde of them KNEW it. They were your future, and being that, we have no future. You have death approaching you, looking like your wife and kids and best friend. And that's all there is to it, son. Lights out. End of story. But that's all later. Much later.

To be continued

Copyright 2012