Gerald Dean Rice's Blog, page 96

Fleshbags, ep XLIV

Sentinel and Veronica were
close. They'd begun seeing more and more
of those things, but keeping away from them was easy. All they had to do was walk in the other
direction. It was like they were
harmless for the most part. Some sucker
had been outside walking around like nothing was going on when one of them
leapt on him.

Somebody should have been doing
something about this. Somebody should
have been here to save people. But that
wasn't about to be Sentinel. He'd saved
Veronica by default. They were hiding
behind a glass repair shop, looking down whatever street this was. Somewhere down that way was the next city,
but it looked like it had been roadblocked.

"I don't know, but I think we
should try to make a run for it," he turned and said to Veronica. She was really bad off. She'd given herself two more shots of
whatever that stuff was, but it seemed to have less and less of an effect. They had to have medics on the other
side. One of them could help her. "You gonna be cool?"

"Yeah." Veronica put her head against the side of the
building. It was cool outside, but he
could see a sheen of sweat on her forehead in the glare of the floodlight
overhead. She closed her eyes. "No."
She fumbled a hand into her pocket and pulled out her last needle and
popped the cap. Sent's stomach
clenched. "I need you to give me a
shot."

"Nuh-uh." He shook his head, suddenly feeling eleven
years old again. "No way. Can't."

"Please, I need you to—"

"Look, maybe I can run over there
and get somebody to come back and help you."

"Something's wrong. Something's really, really—" Veronica tried to
jab herself with the needle, but came in sideways with it and folded it to the
side. She held it up and looked at it,
then opened her hand and let it roll off her palm. Veronica turned her head and projectile
vomited. When she looked back at
Sentinel, something about her face was wrong.

He stood. She screamed and arched her back as it looked
like her stomach was being inflated by a balloon. It rolled down over her crotch and between
her legs. She was trying to say something but it was garbled like she
had a mouthful of water.

Sentinel didn't wait for what was
coming next. He turned and ran around
the corner, heading straight for the roadblock.
It looked about eight feet tall but if he could get a running jump he
could scramble over the other side. He
might have to take a spill, but a broken ankle was better than whatever might
happen otherwise.

He heard her footfalls behind him,
but didn't dare to look back to see.
Where ever she was was too close.
He was about a hundred yards away when the first voice called out to
him. It was dark, but not too dark for
them to see a crazy person was hot on his heels. No way was he stopping to pull out ID. Eighty yards and then two voices were
shouting. Sixty yards. Fifty.
By forty yards his legs were burning, but he couldn't stop. By thirty yards several voices were shouting,
but he could hear the guns as they were getting ready to shoot.

Sentinel realized he wasn't going
to make it out of the city. But they'd
have to stop him. At twenty three yards
the first shot fired, clipping his thigh.
He spun almost ninety degrees but kept his feet, kept running. Veronica was getting closer and he pushed his
body harder, the pain and hot gushing blood running down his leg as distant
from his mind as possible. Then several
more shots fired, stopping all his forward motion as all but one hit him in the
chest. At first he thought the wind had
just been knocked out of him as he dropped to the ground, but then he heard the
sick wet sucking sound as his collapsing lungs were trying to suck air through
the fresh holes in his body. He put one
hand up to cover one of the wounds, the other planted on the ground to try to
rise. Nothing worked and he slid back
onto his shoulder.

Several more shots sounded,
hopefully at Veronica. She seemed like a
nice enough lady. At least before.

Sentinel knew he was fading
fast. Already his arms and legs were
numb to his elbows and knees. He closed
his eyes. He had to get out of here.

"Hurry up," he tried to say.

Fleshbags, ep XLIII

"Hey, what's that?" she asked him. He looked at her and she nodded toward his arm.

"Oh, that." Dwight shook his head. "One of those things out there tried to bite me. It's cool, though. Didn't get through my shirt."

A thousand and one alarm bells rang at once in her mind and she shut them out. He probably needed a Tetanus shot along with any number of blood tests for disease. But she was not about to start taking care of somebody else. She rolled onto her back and Dwight quickly climbed between her legs. It was about time somebody took care of her.

 

Sarah wasn't getting out of here anytime soon. That man who looked disturbingly like Bill was at the top of the stairs. Good thing he couldn't get the door open, but she had no idea how she was going to get out of here.

There was a loud boom from upstairs, followed by what sounded like the running footsteps of several people. A gunshot sounded just outside the basement door and seconds later it opened.

Several men filed down the stairs, covered from head to toe in black. Sarah had no idea what kind of guns they were carrying, but she was pretty certain the last one had a flamethrower.

"Thank God you're here!" she shouted. For some strange reason they started pointing their guns at her.

"Secure!" several of them shouted. Then one stepped ahead of the rest.

"Ma'am," he began, "everything's going to be okay. We need you to hold still and not make any sudden movements." He pulled out some kind of black metal and glass handheld thing and stepped closer to her with it. It looked like a bigger version of one of those metal detector wands they use at the airport. He looked like he was ready to run away from her as he waved it over her neck and chest.

"What are you—" she began.

"Just a moment, Ma'am." Tiny red lights flashed on the wand and it gave off a pinging sound. The soldier leapt away from her and the others spread apart like the Red Sea. The one with the flame thrower took a few steps forward, pointing the business end at her.

Sarah knew something bad was about to happen when that wand went off. Her brain had enough time in the milliseconds left of her life to process what was about to happen. Had she known she had conceived a few hours ago she might have tried pleading for the life inside her. She might have begged them to find her husband who had come to Mr. Anders house only for the both of them to go missing. But of all the things she could have said, none of them summed up how she felt than what actually came out of her mouth.

"Billy," she said before she burned.

Fleshbags, ep XLII

When she finally made it to the door she had to stand there and figure out the locks. Momma and Daddy didn't have locks on any of the doors and she wasn't sure how to finagle it. She poked at it first then she grasped at it and pulled. It turned just the littlest bit and she gasped her excitement.

There was a bump and she just knew it was Diallobé on the other side of the door. Her hands fumbled over themselves as she grabbed at the lock and tried to make it go a little more.

"Just a minute, baby and I'll have it open!" she shouted. It had been so long since she'd seen him, but that didn't make sense, she was only twelve. No time to think about that—she just wanted to get this door open and smother him with kisses.

Finally, the lock clicked and she snatched at the handle. The door creaked open and there he was, her David. He was a little wet, though. And naked. She giggled. Maybe they could take a shower together.

"Is that for me?" she said, pointing to whatever it was he was holding. It wasn't a bouquet after all. She had no idea what it was. It looked like thick ropes tied to him some kind of way. He put his arms up, reaching for her. She put her arms out too, welcoming him in for a hug.

Magda slipped under his arms and squeezed him. He was a little softer than she remembered. And he didn't smell like strawberries or any of the other fruit Daddy grew. He smilled like… like… like cow patties.

"Diallobé, you smell awful."

Then he squeezed her tighter than anyone had ever squeezed her before. Magda tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let go. She tried to speak, but couldn't draw breath. All of a sudden she realized she was just a little old widower woman who'd gotten out of bed a little confused. She didn't know why her front door was open or who this strange, stinky man was with his arms around her and his head pitched back with his mouth open.

Mrs. Carter tried to call out to Ms. Kara, but there was just no air to be had. She caught sight of the stranger's hazel eyes just before his face disappeared into the side of her neck. Teeth tore into her, biting her over and over.

She couldn't remember who, but he'd reminded her of somebody.

"Did you hear something?" Dwight asked.

"No." Even if Kara had, she wouldn't have cared. For so many years she'd spent her life caring about what other people thought or what other people wanted at the expense of herself. Her mother had pushed her into being a home health aid, she'd never been interested. Her whole life she'd been dressing a certain way, thinking a certain way, acting a certain way based on other people's expectations.

Dwight was exactly what she needed. An outcast. Somebody nobody liked. She lifted her head off his chest and looked at him. Even she didn't find him handsome with his pitted skin and that was perfect. If things ended between them tonight or if they had a life together after this she would be happy. He would be like a badge to everybody who saw the two of them together that she was no longer going to live her life based on what other people wanted.

Now that was a bump.

"Tell me you heard that."

"Yeah," Kara groaned. It was probably Mrs. Carter out of bed. She'd probably heard them and that definitely meant her job. Well, she definitely had nothing stopping her from starting her life anew. She looked at Dwight again, an idea better than going out there filling her mind. She reached beneath the covers and felt him. He must have had the same idea too.

He put his arms behind his head, closed his eyes and smiled.

Fleshbags, ep XLI

"Momma, he wants to marry me!" she'd said much too loud. Diallobé had pulled away from her. She turned back and he was at the top of the stairs, but still on the porch. Momma looked back and forth between the two until he'd turned, leapt off the porch, and fled.

In between then and the next time she'd seen him her mother had developed the bone cancer. It was funny how suddenly okay it was for her not to be married. She'd been expected to care for mother, who'd taken her time dying, lasting until Magda was twenty-two. By then she'd met Charlie who took her up north and been drafted into World War II before they were even three months married.

By chance she'd seen him working at a gas station. Charlie had begrudgingly taught her how to drive and one afternoon after she'd gotten off work at the factory he'd stood up off his stoop and sauntered over. The face was as handsome as ever, stubbled now, and he'd added even more muscle to his considerable bulk beneath the dirty blue coveralls.

"Can you fill me up?" she'd said to him, intending the sentence in every way possible.

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes didn't rise to meet his and he went over to start pumping. She was a little embarrassed, but the feelings she'd locked away all those years ago broke through the dam of her shyness and she called his name. At first he only stiffened, but when he turned around she could see the light in those hazel brown eyes. She'd found her man!

They'd made love that night and every night after for a full week. Magdalene, as she was calling herself now, told him everything that had happened to her after that and he'd told her how he and his father had to run north after his father had killed a white man who'd refused to pay him for shoeing a horse. His hair was cut short and it fit him.

She'd gotten pregnant and thought it might not be so bad. That perhaps she could leave Charlie and they could move to Canada. They were a lot more progressive over there and not as likely to look at a mixed race couple the same way they would over here.

But then she'd gotten the phone call.

Charlie was on his way back. He'd been injured and needed her to care for him.

Diallobé understood they needed to stay apart for a while, just until after Charlie had recuperated. But then they'd found out he was getting a Purple Heart and as her pregnancy advanced, her own mother's words came back to her.

If she were having a little girl, what would she say to her? How could she keep her from becoming a little whore and a harlot if Magdalene had turned into one? She visited Diallobé's bed one last time before telling him they couldn't see each other anymore. He'd wanted to kill Charlie, had told her how he would do it with his bare hands if she'd wanted. But Charlie was her husband and she'd made a vow.

Mrs. Carter was thinking about that stupid vow now, listening to the two of them at the door. She'd make sure she told Chuckie Junior when he got here. He'd hear aaaaall about it. But now she had to get to the front door to let her Diallobé in.

She knew her mind was confused. It was like Magda and Magdalene were two separate women in her head, both pulling her in opposite directions and pushing at each other and she was tearing in half like a wet paper towel. Mrs. Carter couldn't trust her eyes anymore or her ears even when she knew exactly what she was looking at. Everybody had told her that over and over again, but not this time. When she'd gotten out of bed to open up the blinds for some sunlight she'd seen him. He was standing there, holding a bag or a bowl of fruit, she'd started waving at him. He had those same rock hard shoulders after all these years and that powerful chest. He didn't appear to be wearing any clothes, but she'd lost all her prudishness years ago.

Best of all, there was no Charlie to get in their way.

She'd pointed toward the front door and began hustling there when she'd creaked the door open a tad on Ms. Kara and whoever that was underneath her. Everything on her was abouncin' and ajigglin'. Momma would have called her a little whore and a harlot and Magda nodded in agreement.

Fleshbags, ep XL

Had Ms. Kara been watching it wouldn't have happened. Had Chuckie Junior not been beaten to death by a police officer infected by a man-made virus it probably wouldn't have happened. Ms. Kara would have urged her back into bed. Chuckie Junior would have sat down and talked with her. He had had a way with his Auntie Magdalene. She'd raised him since he was two.

But Chuckie Junior didn't have a way with anything anymore. Right at the moment Magdalene Carter was shuffling her way down the hallway toward her living room the seventeenth soldier in a row was unintentionally stepping on what remained of Chuckie Junior's face. A tank had rolled over his body first, thoroughly crushing it, followed by several men on foot.

And Ms. Kara. Well, she and some boy were in Chuckie's old bedroom doing awful things. They were so loud they'd woke her up. Her first thought was to catch them in the act—throw a pitcher of ice water on them like a pair of wild dogs the way they were going at each other in there.

But hearing them made her think of her Diallobé. He was a sweet, barrel-chested colored boy she'd had a crush on when she was twelve in Mississippi. He'd had the biggest smile and a thick head of the curliest hair that come down to his shoulders. Magda liked to run her fingers through it and give it a tug when she got to the ends. He didn't mind, though.

Diallobé was just thirteen, but already built like a man. Six-foot two with hair on his chest and a few springs of hair on his chin. He worked her daddy's farm and she would bring the workers water on hot summer days. She'd fallen in love with him the day he'd asked her for a second glass and instead of drinking it, he dashed his shirt and poured it on his face and head, the water glistening off his taut muscles.

Momma had seen her body starting to develop. She'd pulled her aside before church one Sunday and questioned her until Magda had had to admit she'd begun the curse a few months earlier. And ever since then she'd been on her daughter about marrying to keep her from sinning.

"Better to marry young than an eternity of damnation," her mother had liked to say. She would bring these old men over to court and would spend more time talking to them than they would talking to Magda. No, she had to put on her for-special dresses and sit quiet with her hair let down (Momma despised her hair being down at any other time—that was what little whores and harlots did) at the white three-legged table Brent had built with Momma's knittings and other things on it. She was never ever allowed to touch anything, she was only to keep prim and proper while those old men's eyes would begin their slow turn away from Momma and begin a slow climb all over her, with their hats held low in their hands (and over their crotches).

But Momma wasn't concerned about damnation when it came to Brent and her other brothers. Butler and Johnson were older and already married (Magda suspected they hadn't had to be prim and proper), but Brent was only fourteen and he never had older women come courting him. She always caught him down by Simpton's Creek sticking his hand up some girl's blouse or down her skirts or trying to shove his tongue in her mouth. She told on him every time, but Daddy only smiled and patted her on the behind to usher her to Momma and she only looked away and shook her head.

No, it wasn't fair. And marrying one of those old coots would've been a damnation of a kind, wouldn't it? They probably didn't have more than ten years left and they would spend every moment of it pawing and looking at her and showing her what they were hiding underneath those crumpled up hats.

Magda was not interested. And she told Daddy as much. He did his usual whenever she expressed her opinion and laughed like he was looking at a mongrel dog doing some stupid trick for food. But then she got an idea. Diallobé was high-yellow. If she presented him right, they just might let her. Oh, she didn't want to marry him just yet—maybe when she turned sixteen or seventeen, but if she had to do it, he was who she wanted.

He'd always been shy around her. Every time Magda'd talk up a storm and he'd just stand there like a beautiful lump. She'd seen a picture book once with the statue of David in it. That's what Diallobé looked like to her when she talked to him.

She'd never met a Christian with hair as curly as his so she'd coaxed him into a barn and combed hog's fat through his hair to straighten it and tied it into a knot at the back of his head. Magda had figured it would be simpler not to tell him what she'd intended to do, but to spring it on him at the same time she told her mother. Daddy wouldn't have anything to say if Momma approved and she'd figured if her momma tried not to give her blessing her own words would come in handy for Magda. They'd walked hand-in-hand for a moment until he'd unlaced his fingers from hers. She'd rushed him home, slapping his hand away every time he'd try to itch his hair.

Magda looked him over one last time, buttoning his shirt all the way up to the top. She could tell it was uncomfortable on his throat, but he'd only smiled at her. She'd knocked on the door and waited for her mother to answer. It had felt strange waiting on the porch of her own home, but when her mother opened the door she couldn't help but smile.

Fleshbags, ep XXXIX

"Shhh," Loman said. He wasn't sure those things wouldn't come back and try to get through that door.

"No." Ms. Marta giggled. "I mean the military. Somebody. They're outside!" He looked and sure enough, men dressed in all black with big guns were passing by the window. A moment later there were several gunshots. Had he waited five minutes they would have charged in ahead of him.

"Where's my daughter?"

"Cindy's in the potty." Ms. Marta grabbed him by the wrist and led him over. The other teachers were gathering the children and filing out of the room. "You can wait with her." She turned and hustled away with four children. She turned back before she left and Loman looked at her.

"Ms. Mila gave her life to save the children," Ms. Marta said. "She's a hero." He didn't know what to say to that and she didn't wait around for a response.

"Baby?" Loman said. He was almost scared to look at her.

"Daddy!" his little girl said. It was music to his ears. "I going to potty!"

"You just hurry up, okay?"

"Okay."

It took over a minute for her to finish and it felt like forever. She insisted on washing her hands and considering the good guys were just outside, Loman figured it should have been all right. She pulled off some paper towel and he scooped her up in his arms and gave her a big squeeze and a kiss.

"Were you scared, honey?"

"Yes, Daddy. I want to go home."

"That's where we're going right now."

But when he turned one of them was staring at him. Along with the initial shock, Loman coughed out a laugh. It looked just like the cop who had put him in handcuffs a few hours ago.

"Look away, baby." But Loman's daughter had already tucked her head in the crook of his neck. He gripped the ice scraper and held it up, ready to strike. The cop-thing looked away from his whimpering daughter, then to him, then to the pseudo-weapon in his hand. It looked down at the gun in its own.

Could they use a gun? Were there even any bullets in it? Maybe if he charged he could push it back. Make it shoot him and hopefully attract the soldiers outside and they'd blow it away before it could get to his daughter.

It looked at her again. What the hell was up with that? Then it looked at him.

Then it turned and walked away.

Fleshbags, XXXVIII

Ms. Mila's leg hurt. Someone had shot her, but with all these fleshbags here why would they be aiming at her?

She didn't know, but she also didn't know how her Audi got here when she opened her eyes. The top was down and the radio was playing "California Dreaming" (the Bobby Womack version, she'd always loved him). She stood up and dusted herself off. They sky had opened up and it had turned into a warm, sunny day.

Ms. Mila looked down at her throbbing leg and saw a nail was sticking out of it. She plucked it out and it felt better instantly. She probably had to get a Tetanus shot, but the day was much too nice for her to worry about it. Ms. Mila hopped in her car and pulled out of the playground and onto the street.

There was fog in the distance, but she knew it would clear up soon. She turned off Eighteen and onto Crooks. I-75 was about a mile ahead even though she couldn't see it. She'd ride the freeway non-stop until she got to Florida.

Loman climbed out of the window of the truck. It wasn't as easy to do as the Dukes of Hazard made it look and he almost lost his grip and fell. With one leg dangling, he tried to reach for the runner, sitting on the edge of the open window. He couldn't reach, so he braced his foot on the inner door and climbed out.

He'd never been able to get the fingerprint-code thing to work. If he hadn't smashed the engine of the truck and ended his short ride he might have been tempted to back up and have a second go at the building to punch through this door. Instead he picked up one of the fist-sized stones of the pillars the truck had punched through and smashed the window with it. Loman reached inside the truck and grabbed the ice scraper. He hoped he didn't have to use it because that probably meant he was done for. No way was this going to stop anything, but it was better than nothing.

Loman grabbed another stone as he stepped under the handle on the door, careful to avoid shards of glass. He was surprised there were so few of them in here with as many as there were outside. If they'd gotten in, why not more?

He overhand-lobbed the stone at one of them, hitting it in the back of the neck. It fell, but began getting up. No good. He had to get them out of the way to get to his daughter's class. The other one went inside the room and the one he'd hit stood and followed. His heart dropped, but he didn't see what choice he had. He followed.

But the class was empty. Of normal-looking people, anyway. There was no blood smeared on the walls or the floor, no torn-off limbs strewn about, no pile of guts dumped on the floor. The closes thing to a sign of violence was a wooden child's chair that had been tipped over. There were a half dozen of them in here and looked to be a lot more on the playground outside. Loman stepped out and quietly shut the door.

Where could they be? He paced back and forth a moment before going to the reception desk by the front door. No messages or anything that said they had gone once these guys started coming. But then he caught movement to his left and looked over to see Ms. Marta peeking out from beneath the blind on the door of his daughter's old classroom. In his panic, the only door he'd seen was to her present room.

The woman swung the door open and shouted, "They're here! They're here!"

Fleshbags, ep XXXVII

They moved through another classroom and it became apparent as the clanging got louder that it was coming through the open door leading outside. Capel tried to flick his lighter again, but it was slick with his drool and slipped right out of his hand. He considered trying to kneel down for it, but there was probably no way he could get back up again so he just followed them out, feeling less and less of himself with each passing second.

It was actually going to work. Ms. Mila was starting to believe it as she smacked the skillet and pot together. One by one they filed out onto the playground. It was fenced in, but that was good—it kept the ones that hadn't come in the building out and there was still enough room for her to run around. She began backing up to the far fence, making sure she kept plenty of space between her and the fleshbags. With any luck she'd never get within reaching distance with them again.

Loman picked out a group of three. They were really close together and that was perfect for what he wanted to see. He aimed the Dodge Ram and gunned it. The diesel engine had a lot more kick than he expected and one of them whirled in time to see eye to eye with the massive grill before the vehicle plowed over the three of them. He'd gotten up to fifteen miles an hour and hadn't even felt the impact.

Loman stopped and put the truck back in park. He'd stopped seeing these things as people. Maybe they used to be, but now they were keeping him from his daughter. He looked across the street. There were at least fifty of them—he couldn't even begin to estimate—all surrounding Kiddie Kamp. Why were they gathering there? In this plaza he'd seen no more than a dozen, all spread out, but the school was like a magnet for them. Like flies on poop or monsters to—

--Children.

They wanted the children.

Loman put the Ram back in drive and weaved around the few cars between him and the street. He didn't bother taking the driveway, choosing to bounce over the easement and curb to the street and nosing into the U-turn splitting the east and west lanes.

The driveway to Kiddie Kamp was dead ahead. There was no more time to wait. As Loman stomped on the gas he slammed on the horn. The bleeting roar was half goat, half god.

Ms. Mila didn't know what that crash was just now, but she almost had them all outside. She could see a couple inside making their way to the door. There were a lot more out here than she remembered inside and she had to keep her head on a swivel to keep away from them.

One fleshbag grabbed her shoulder and she twisted around with the pot in her hand and smacked it the face. It stumbled backward before tripping over the slide.

"Yes!" Ms. Mila said, clanging the pot and skillet together one last time—

And came face to face with another. Its eyes were rolled down in its head and settled on her. Ms. Mila felt like her feet were stuck in mud. Before she could take a swing at it, the clear fluid exploded from its mouth and drenched her.

She staggered to one side, blind, and began swinging both pot and pan as she screamed. Ms. Mila never saw the one she'd knocked down in the kitchen or when it drew the gun out of its holster.

Capel remembered seeing this woman. She'd hit him in the head with one of those things in her hands. He was dangling on a precipice, the last of him about to tumble over into oblivion.

That ancient voice in the back of his mind was whispering furiously now. He didn't have a clue what it was saying, but clutching on to the last grains of everything that was him he knew that once he was gone his body would obey it. Maybe if Capel could stop this woman…

He raised his gun, feeling uncertainty for probably one of the few times of his life, but definitely the last. Capel pulled the trigger, following her around as she stumbled around the yard, screaming, spitting and wiping at her face. There was something wrong with that. This had to be the right thing.

He ran out of bullets. For a moment he thought he'd missed her, but then she clutched at her leg, a growing spot of red beneath her hand that quickly spread down her leg.

He turned around and went back inside. There'd been a loud noise a moment ago. Maybe he had enough time left to see what it was.

Fleshbags, ep XXXVI

After the ninth car Loman was trying to think of what else he could do. Everyone had taken their keys with them. Of course they would've, why had he thought different?

He promised to make these next two cars his last, a Ford Taurus and a Chrysler Sebring. The Taurus was unlocked and he gave a small fist pump as he slid into the driver's seat. If he only knew how to hotwire a car this would've gone far easier. He checked both visors, the glove compartment, the ash tray, and the little area between the seats where people kept change and other items. No luck. He looked up at the grocery store. If he had more time he could've tried to convince them to let him inside and begged everyone to have their car keys.

No, still wouldn't have worked. Even if they'd believed his daughter was in there, nobody would've just handed a car over to a man who was clearly desperate.

Loman got out the car and began circling it to the Sebring parked next over. He jumped as one of those things rose from between the cars. He had no idea what it had been doing, but now it was looking at him. It was long and skinny. Loman lost his footing and slipped in the rain and it reached out and caught him by the shoulder before he could fall. He ducked as it pulled him in and chomped at air. Loman came face-to-face with the open hole where its stomach should have been. A sewer smelled sweeter. He twisted left and right, trying to get out of its grasp and grabbed him with its other hand.

"Hell no!" he shouted, not wanting to die at the hands of one of these creatures. Loman planted his heels and used a hand to push off the Taurus. The thing's high center of gravity pulled it off balance and he turned out of the way as it fell, losing its grip on him.

It grasped and kicked at the air like an overturned crab and without thinking twice Loman took two steps over and gave it a firm kick in the head. There was an audible pop and its limbs dropped to the ground.

Loman was about to check the Sebring when he looked up and saw a monster of a black and red Dodge Ram setting in a space not twenty feet away from him. There was smoke coming out of the tailpipe and when he listened he could hear the gentle growl of its diesel engine. He jogged over.

Capel's head hurt and he couldn't remember why. He reached up and touched his temple. He couldn't have been cut, all there was on his finger tips was this clear, sticky stuff. Capel could feel himself… waning and reached in his pocket for his lighter. He flicked it and put the flame on his palm. It burned, but it brought him more into focus. There were other people in here too, the ones he and Mumford had been killing for the last few hours. For some they didn't pay him any mind. He drew Mumford's gun and looked at it.

Mumford. What had he done? Capel could remember murdering his partner, but only in snapshots. He saw himself lunging for the other man's throat, Mumford punching him with a wild-eyed look on his face, the flare of the gunshot as he shot him. But it didn't make sense what could have happened for him to have done it. Capel felt himself slipping away again and ran the flame of the lighter under his forearm.

The pain was bittersweet, though. It refocused him, but he could feel there was even less to be focused. There was a sound somewhere like two pots being clanged together. The others were filing into a room in the direction of where ever it was coming from. Capel shifted his vest, wishing he could just take the thing off and followed.

To his right was a room with a blind drawn. Something in the back of his mind whispered and he almost understood it as he saw a woman holding a baby peek out at him. She quickly retreated and he tried to laugh, but wound up drooling on himself. He was the police—why should she be afraid?

Fleshbags, XXXV

Capel was nearly gone. The only conscious part of him left was focused only on getting to the children. He didn't know what he wanted with them and couldn't remember where he was exactly.

He pushed past the others. He could smell them. Fresh. New. Powdered. It brought more of him back to himself. He had held one of them once. It had been important once. Had dominated the majority of his thoughts. But then the child had disappeared, taken away for some reason he didn't understand, but it agitated him. Lost in his thought, he almost missed the woman run past him to the door he'd just come in.

She batted away three others that were standing by the door and kicked another that was trying to come in before grabbing the handle and jerking it closed. It took three times and twice she fought the others away as they closed around her. Capel was drawn to the noise she was making and came closer. He felt the prickle just beneath his ears and behind his jaw and knew if he opened his mouth just then he would spew on her. The thought excited him and he moved just a little faster. But by the time he was within a few feet she was holding something in her hands. He had seen things like these before, but didn't know what they were.

She looked around and saw him looking at her. He held out his arms, ready to pull her in and open his mouth. She strafed around him, keeping out of reach. He turned with her and lunged and she ducked before taking a swing and connecting with Capel's temple. He blanked out and fell to the ground.

Ms. Mila was running on borrowed luck and she knew it. There was no way she should have been able to get by all these fleshbags and she knew it. Especially in the kitchen. It was so tight in there and that was where they'd been at their thickest. But drawing them out by clapping her hands in the main room had worked. She'd made sure to drag a table in front of the baby's room first and they hadn't bothered trying to move it. It had gotten really close with the service door and even closer with the one dressed like a cop jumping out at her. He'd been a little more focused than the others, but she'd taken him out with the skillet. Hopefully he wouldn't be getting back up.

She spotted one of them just behind her and turned in time with her arm up for him to sink his teeth into the layer of jacket she had wrapped around her arm. It hurt like hell, but with the thing locked onto her arm like a pit bull she easily smashed it upside the head with the frying pan and it slumped to the floor.

She was certain she couldn't do that too many times. Whatever that fluid was Ms. Mila didn't want to get it on her. She had to suppose these fleshbags were people once and maybe that stuff was what changed them.

Now it was time for step two.

If she could just get the ones in here outside they could probably resecure the building and wait this thing out until the police came. But wait—if that one officer was one of them, how had the rest of them faired? Were there any police left?

Ms. Mila couldn't think about that now. She could only focus on the task at hand. Too much on her plate and she was bound to slip up.

She did a dive-roll past two of them that were shoulder-to-shoulder, her slightly arthritic knee complaining as she came back up to her feet in a crouch. All the classrooms led out to one of two play areas outside and the room just ahead had the biggest one. If she could lure them outside and shut the door after them they'd be all set.