Gerald Dean Rice's Blog, page 97

Fleshbags, XXXIV

"There's nowhere to go," the other woman whispered. "They're all over the place."

"I don't care. I have to get out. I have to." She rose and the little boy and girl clinging onto her whimpered. Ms. Jamie made room for them amongst the sea of children around her ample body.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make a little noise on my way out."

Ms. Jamie shook her blonde head and made a face. The other teachers were doing the same thing as her, each having several children gathered around them and making sure they were keeping quiet. Ms. Marta was all alone across the hall in the baby room with her door barricaded.

If they got in there she wouldn't stand a chance. That bothered her. She may not have liked toddlers, but babies were the exception. They were innocent. Unable to do anything for themselves. It was when they started to walk and talk when the problem began for her. Ms. Mila had to find a way to shore up that room or get these things out of here.

They'd drawn the shade over the window in the door and Ms. Mila peeked underneath it. Maybe a little less than twenty of them, mostly in the kitchen area. A few of them were milling about the door, but they were all pretty slow. If she wanted, she could have slammed the door into one and ran around the others to the front door and outside. It would probably be a battle to get any farther than the parking lot, though. Her best bet would be to get them outside and get the service door closed.

She closed her eyes. One miracle at the time.

"Give me your jackets," she said to Ms. Marta and Ms. Jamie. The other thing that had popped into her mind was that whatever had happened to make these people into these things, there was every likelihood it was catchy. Ms. Mila had no intention of becoming a fleshbag. Ms. Jamie outweighed her by a good seventy pounds so she was swimming in her jacket after putting it on. Ms. Mila wrapped Ms. Marta's jacket around her arm as a buffer and tied it in place.

She went back to the door, zipping up the jacket and putting the hood on, peeking under the blind one last time. Ms. Mila closed her eyes and began counting to ten. She was a coward and couldn't do it on her own. It was funny that they'd been able to pull the outside door open, but couldn't get these open. Ms. Mila reached ten, her sweaty palm wrapped around the handle and sprang it open.

Loman was dead. That was the only way he could think of it. They were all around him even though he'd walked this far with no problem. He peered over the bushes lining the bank's parking lot and could see Kiddie Kamp from here. The area around the school was thick with them. Either his little girl was dead or was about to be.

But he'd be damned if he wouldn't find out with absolute, one-hundred percent certainty.

There was no way he was going to get in there alive. Or even if he could that he would make it back out again. But she was in there and that was all that mattered. So he had to start with an answer and figure out the question. Hey, it had worked for him with grade-school math and he couldn't really see another way to think on it.

Most of them were naked, but even the ones with clothes on had that gut spilling out from underneath their shirts or worse yet, loops of intestine spilled onto the ground, dragging behind them. From what he could tell, one of them was a police officer. Whatever he was going to do had to involve as little contact with them as possible. These weren't things that had just popped out of the ground; they were people. And something had happened to make them this way. Loman didn't want to gain firsthand knowledge what that was.

He looked around for something he might be able to use. There was a grocery store and a pharmacy in the plaza across the street. Maybe he could swipe a shopping cart, fill it with something heavy and ram them out of the way. No, he'd be too exposed and they were at least thirty deep. He wouldn't make it past a few of them before they stopped his forward motion and then he'd be surrounded. They didn't move very fast and he had to keep that to his advantage. Loman had a feeling he was going to be doing a lot of running.

But then he noticed the cars. It was like he'd just opened his eyes. Dozens of them in the plaza's parking lot, in all the rush of the city going to hell someone must have forgotten their keys.

Fleshbags, ep XXXIII

"What are you doing?"

"I might not be able to take you with me, but I bet there's a ton of guns in that house. You can hold them off as long as you have strength to hold a gun.

Swick made a sound like a laugh and then started coughing again. "Y'know, I don't know anything about guns. That rifle could've held two dozen rounds for all I knew."

Loman gave a small laugh too. "And the Desert Eagle?"

"Could have been anything. I have no clue, but I knew you wouldn't either."

They were both quiet as he helped her up the stairs and through the front door.

"You make sure… you get to that little girl… no matter what. Make this count."

If Loman could have seen her face he was sure she would have been pale. He'd felt the ragged hole at her back. He sat her on the la-z-boy and ran to the side door. No fixing that. He stacked some boxes around it. That would have to do.

When he got back to Swick she was very still. He would have had to unzip her jacket to take her pulse. Either she was dead or was about to be. He'd have to make up something cool for her last words because he was reasonably certain the ones she'd said had already been used in Saving Private Ryan. He turned around and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him before jogging down the stairs.

Capel felt wrong. He kept slipping in and out of consciousness and things kept disappearing and reappearing. One moment his arms were hanging off the sides of his body, the next they were gone, replaced by two fleshy, pink-white boneless appendages, flagellating uncontrollably around. The keys he remembered dropping were in his hand (when he had one) and he felt the extra weight on his hip of what had to have been Mumford's piece.

He wondered where he was going. Capel had no clue but felt as if he were being propelled ahead by some will that wasn't his own. He felt like a bee, trying to whirligig back to its hive.

"The children," he tried to say, but soupy clear fluid spilled out of his mouth. That's right. He was going to see the children. But why?

He felt some ancient voice speak in the back of his mind, but didn't understand. It was telling him something he needed to do, he was sure.

Capel's thoughts drifted back to his own child. A girl. Stolen away from him. One day they were just gone and every day after he'd grown more hateful, more spiteful, until the only person who felt he could trust was Mumford. Save for being on the job everyday his life had been anything but consistent. The drugs, the hookers, the fast food. He'd packed on over twenty pounds in the last three months alone and—

Where was he?

Capel looked up. He knew he was looking at letters, but he couldn't read them. They were nice to look at, though. Pink and blue. Must have been something going on in there. A lot of people were going inside.

Ms. Mila was a coward. Her resolution came from the distasteful notion of dying here in this room with all these children. She was certain they all were going to die. It was just a matter of where.

Those fleshbags had gotten in through the service door by the kitchen. If only corporate hadn't dragged their feet on the purchase order, it could have been fixed weeks ago and maybe they would be safe.

The thought of the police finding her in here with dead children clutching onto her gave her the chills. No way. They'd call her a hero or something stupid like that and she wasn't interested. Ms. Mila would rather die in the street.

"I can't stay here," she said. Ms. Jamie looked at her.

Fleshbags, ep XXXII

"Who is that in there?"

"That's my… little girl."

"Call her in here. Now."
He shook the much smaller man to accentuate the statement. The man nodded.

"Kelly baby!" he called. "Get in here!" There was stomping coming from the other room
and a moment later a girl who couldn't have been more than eleven came in the
room.

Loman didn't know what he was going
to do, but he certainly wasn't about to shoot a kid. He shivered, but it wasn't just from the
chill of his soaked-through clothes.

"Baby, it's time," the little old
man said. Loman didn't like the sound of
that so he ducked behind him, crouching down low and peeking over his shoulder.

"You let my daddy go," the girl
said. She raised a cannon of a handgun
in their direction.

"There's too many of them, baby,
no," the old man said.

"You listen to… to your father,"
Loman said.

"You kill these two and two more
will come." He shook his head. "It's time, baby. Protect your virtue."

"No, Daddy, I can—" something must
have passed between them Loman couldn't see, because she stopped talking.

She lowered the gun and her
head. The thinking part of Loman's brain
told him he could relax some, but he didn't trust it. Then she raised the gun and sqeezed the
trigger.

The roar of the handgun drowned out
the popping of the old man's skull and his body went limp and slid out of
Loman's grasp, leaving nothing but space between him and the girl. Before he could move she raised the gun, put
it in her mouth and squeezed the trigger again.
Loman screamed, but he couldn't hear himself above the gunshot.

When he opened his eyes he saw her
too small body lying too still on the floor.
He looked down at the old man's body, boiling over with sudden rage.

"What did you do?" Loman
shouted. "I wasn't going to kill
her!" He gave the body about a half
dozen kicks to the ribs, before saner thoughts returned to him. He couldn't protect this girl, but he had his
own to think about.

Loman took the ratty blanket off
the bed and draped it over her as best he could without really looking. He turned back to the old man and wanted to
kick him all over again, but left.

Back outside, he rushed over to
Swick by the Crown Vic.

"What the hell happened?" she
said. "I heard shots from a Desert
Eagle."

"You really can tell?" Loman
said. He shook his head. "They're dead."

Swick had a fit of coughing. She was still clutching her chest, but a good
amount of blood had oozed out of the bullet hole. "That makes three of us."

"What? Is it that bad?"

"Popped a lung. I probably got a ways to go yet, but I'm only
gonna slow you up."

"I can carry you."

Swick shook her head. "I'm not as light as I look. You'd be wasted by the time you got to the
end of the block. Besides, they're
comin'. How good you gonna be to your
little girl if they tear you to shreds?"

"I can drag you." Swick shook her head. "How do you know they're coming?"

"I wish I had somethin' really cool
to say right now—I'm fresh out, though. If you make it through this you can
just make it up for me?"

Swick was right. He hated it, but she was right.

"Go on before I lose my nerve. If I start beggin' that'll only get us both
killed." He nodded and knelt to kiss her
on the side of the… helmet.

"Ugh, don't ruin it!" Swick said,
shoving his face away. He thought he
understood, but was sure he didn't.
Without another word, Loman dragged her up to her feet.

Fleshbags, ep XXXI

They'd ducked when they'd heard
more of them coming, but that had only been twice. Loman was starting to feel like he might
actually make it. There were a few
blocks that had been packed with them, but they only looked like they were
standing around. He and Swick had been
tentative at first, but were able to walk past undisturbed.

"Hey, ready to see your kid?" Swick punched him in the arm. Loman winced, but didn't only nodded. The longer they were together the more
certain he was Swick was a woman trying to behave like a man.

"I'm never gonna let her go," he
said, getting a little tear-eyed.

"I know what you mean. Never had any of the little rugrats myself,
but I got a couple nephews and a niece.
I watch 'em for my sister sometimes."
Loman wondered if she preferred to toss the ball with the boys or play
dress-up with the girl.

"It's just around the corner down
the street." He pointed and Swick nodded
inside that helmet. A misty rain had
begun and combined with the dipping temperature Loman had begun to shiver. He was quietly jealous of Swick in that
warm-looking leather get-up.

When he heard the crack through the
sky he assumed it was just lightning. He
looked up, almost missing her falling to the ground. He'd assumed she'd tripped and walked a few
more steps before turning around.

"Quit playing around—"

Swick was clutching her chest,
rolling toward a car. "Sniper!" she
shouted. "Get down!"

Loman ducked and he would have
sworn he felt the bullet graze through the air just above his head as another
thunder-cracking shout sounded. There
were houses to either side of the street and it could have come from
anywhere. He took a step in Swick's
direction, but saw she was already underneath a big Crown Vic.

"Just take cover! It's coming from over there!" She pointed somewhere over to his left and he
fell against an old Ford Escort.

Loman closed his eyes as another
round penetrated the Escort and shattered the window above his head.

"That's a sniper rifle," Swick
shouted. "It only holds four rounds." Loman stared at her with a dumb look on his
face. "They only have one round
left. After they shoot again, rush the
house."

Rush the house? Loman thought. What for?
It dawned on him. He was going to
have to kill whoever was shooting at them.
He looked at the gun in his hand and it shook. Loman had to keep it together for at least the
next few minutes.

"How do you know it only holds four
rounds?" he shouted.

"C'mon!" Swick screamed. "It's a sniper rifle—I can tell by the
sound." Another round scored the ground
inches away from her. "Get in there!"

Loman spun around the front of the
Escort, spotting the glare from scope of the sniper rifle from the upstairs of
a two-story green house. He charged the
porch, threw the screen door open and kicked at the door. It didn't budge so he ran around to the side
and saw another door that looked ready to fall off the hinges. He rammed his shoulder into it, the frame
cracking with each hit until the top half folded over.

Loman stepped over and inside,
looking around for the stairs. There
were boxes and clothes and food wrappers strewn about everywhere his eyes set
upon. To the left looked like a kitchen,
to the right a living room. It stunk in
here.

He had to keep moving. Whoever had been taking shots at them only
had one target now and could probably hit Swick in the next four shots. There was a crackle from upstairs.

Loman hopped over a couple boxes
and made it into the living room. The
stairs were just ahead, directly across from the front door. It was clearer there. He took the stairs up three at a time and saw
the two doors that had rooms that must have faced the street. Loman grabbed the doorknob, unsure of what he
was about to do and pushed in.

There was a man in a rocking chair
with his back to him. It was just as
cluttered in here, although the wrappers were from another fast food
chain. Loman crossed the room in two
long strides and hammered the top of the man's head with the butt of the
revolver. The man cried out and pitched
forward out of the chair. Loman kicked and stomped on him, wanting to make sure
he kept him down when he heard another crack.

Of course this wasn't the
shooter! He didn't have a rifle on
him. Loman dragged the man off the
floor.

Fleshbags, ep XXX

She burst through the door, the horrible taunts from Bill of Mr. Anders being a 'fairy' as he'd put, it floating into her mind. The two of them together… she shook the thought out of her head and saw the naked back of a man of Bill's height and build. He was hunched over and looked like he was cradling his face in his hands. She looked at the bed and saw the covers were tousled.

"Bill, what have you been doing?" Her voice was shakier than she would have expected. "Where's Mr. Anders?"

She'd never had doubts about her husband's sexuality, but all of a sudden everything was in doubt. Sarah had heard most homophobes were themselves closeted.

"What did you do?" He didn't answer, but he started dipping his upper body like he was halfway bowing. "You answer me, Bill!" She shouted, stalking over to him. "It's not funny and I want to know what's going on!"

Sarah shoved him on the shoulder and he spun around, but the face was wrong for several reasons.

The first one being it wasn't Bill's face. The second was it was leaking from every orifice with some kind of thick, clear fluid. And the eyes—whoever this man was, he was terribly afraid.

Sarah wondered if it had anything to do with the fingers he was slurping into his mouth.

She stepped back from the stranger. He took a step toward her, stopped, then held out the remains of the gnawed hand to her. At the end of his other arm was a ragged pink and white stump.

Was it his own hand? But why would he—

She stumbled over her own feet as her eyes settled on his middle and the huge bag hanging off his torso, filled with enlarged blackened intestines, liver, pink and white spotted stomach, and a host of other organs swollen and dislodged. The bag hung to his knees and when he took another step in her direction it jiggled, looking full and ready to burst.

Sarah tried to scramble to her feet, but her legs and arms wouldn't work together. She managed to crawl out of the bedroom, to the waiting stairs and bump-slid her way down.

Sarah turned to look up once she'd reached the bottom and saw him standing there. He still had that wide-eyed look of terror just before he pitched over head first, smashing onto the stairs. Something wet-sounding followed him down and sprinkles of something hit her in the face. His entrails dragged out behind him as he finished dragging his way down. She rolled out of the way just as he put a palm on the hardwood floor. Sarah stood on shaky legs and dashed for the door.

Before she could unlock it she could see their silhouettes on the porch.

Her mind returned to Bill. He should be saving her, but she didn't know where he was.

"Bill?" she called. "Where are you?"

The man on the floor slowly rose. He tried to walk to her, but tripped on a loop of intestine tangled at his feet. She ran around him while he was on the floor, hoping to get to the patio door and outside again. Bill was fine. He had to be.

The basement door creaked open as she passed.

"Bill," Sarah said and without thinking she skidded to a halt and headed down. The lights were on, but other than some containers stacked around a card table there was nothing down here.

Where had he gone?

Fleshbags, ep IXXX

It had been almost two hours. Weird people had started showing up outside. It had to have been make-up or something. No way was that real. But for the life of her she couldn't figure out what they'd done to make their stomachs look that way.

Today was just supposed to be a romantic day together. Their yearly 'hookie' day when they both called in sick and spent the day watching TV and finding excuses to crawl back into bed. But ever since the TV went out it had been strange. Mr. Anders looking like he'd been attacked and now Bill disappeared somewhere inside his house.

Those people were out in the street. She looked out the back window and it was all clear. Maybe she could sneak around the back and inside.

They'd been trying to get pregnant, well, Sarah had been trying to get pregnant. It was probably all fun for him, but her clock was ticking. She wanted kids in the worst way. Bill always teased her, chanting 'baby fever' whenever she'd brought up wanting to try, but he'd never resisted. He was smart when he wanted to be, somewhere beneath that jock exterior and though he was candy to look at, she truly adored him for what he was inside.

Like going over to check on Mr. Anders. Sure, he'd always called him names and stuff like that, but when she'd asked him, Bill hadn't resisted going over. Maybe Mr. Anders had fallen down the stairs or something and Bill was trying to help him up. She was certain it was something like that.

Or maybe Mr. Anders had shown Bill his collection of new and classic video game systems. Once when Bill was away on a business trip, Mr. Anders had invited her over and they'd watched a few movies together. Mr. Anders had told her about his three nephews and how he babysat them occasionally. He'd confessed the classic game systems were more for him than them.

If Bill was over there playing video games he really was going to get it. And not in the good way.

Sarah slid open the patio door and slipped outside. The air was cooler than it had been a couple hours ago. It was starting to get dark. She needed to hurry because she didn't want to run into one of those people after sundown if one of them happened to roam into the backyard. She walked to the side yard and peeked around her house. Whatever those people were doing, they weren't in any kind of hurry. She went to Mr. Anders back door and pulled on it. Locked. Sarah took a deep breath. She was going to have to go to the front.

She jogged between the two houses, keeping an eye on the street. Nobody seemed to notice her, but she did see them closer than inside her house. She'd never seen anything like that before, but it looked… real. Sarah put it out of her mind and went inside.

She closed the door and locked it.

"Bill?" she said. Nobody said anything. She walked into the great room. The television was off. A good sign, she hoped. "Billy? Everything okay?"

Still nothing. She went back to the front door and peeked outside. Were there more of them? Yes, there were. Coming from between the houses across the street.

She really wanted to get back home and under the covers with Bill. She'd let him do whatever he wanted so long as she could feel his warm body.

Right as she was turning around there was a bump. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs—there it was again!

"Bill!" Sarah dashed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until she got up. The layout of Mr. Anders' house was a mirrored reflection of theirs. Instead of the master bedroom being on the right, it was on the left. The bump was coming from in there.

Fleshbags, ep XXVIII

"What's that?" she said, pressed
against him. His eyes bobbled around in
his head as if he weren't sure what they should have been looking at.

"Uhhh," he said, looking down at
her. Their mouths were exceptionally
close. It had been such a long—

She cleared her throat, the moment
passed. Whatever the noise was, it had
probably woken Mrs. Carter. "I need to
check on the missus. Why don't you peek
out the window and see what's going on out there?"

He nodded and she stepped out of
the way to let him out first. She looked
in the mirror in the fading daylight coming through the slatted window. What was she up to? She'd never even considered somebody like
him. Was she now? Was him coming here some sort of sign?

"No way," she said to her
reflection. She rounded into the hall,
headed to Mrs. Carter's room ignoring that secret part of her that spoke
volumes out in the open, loud and clear.
The kept away part that knew no discretion and would confess the desire
dwelling in the darkest parts of her.
The clandestine part that only wanted to strip off all her clothes and
do the rudest things she'd always said were disgusting to her friends, but in
truth she craved with the voraciousness of a pack of lions set upon a buffalo.

She felt the fire crept back into
her cheeks and stopped at the doorway before entering. Kara stuck her head in the room and saw Mrs.
Carter still sleeping. She crossed the
room and looked out the window. Who knew
how many of them there were? But they
were just standing around, clogging up the street.

Kara turned and gasped when she saw
Dwight staring at her in the doorway.
She waved him away and followed.

"What did you see?" she said. "I looked out the window too and didn't see
anything but those people."

"It looks like somebody's car ran
into a house across the street," Dwight said.
"Couldn't really see if anybody was in there."

She was concerned, but her mind was
already wandering elsewhere. Dwight's
hand was on her breast. Kara looked down
at it, but didn't push him off.

"Is there a place…" he trailed off.

She took his other hand and led him
away.

Fleshbags, ep XXVII

Capel's gun clicked on empty. He ejected the empty clip onto the ground and
reached for another, but there weren't any more. Mumford was dead and he wasn't sure why. He knew he had shot him, but his head was
cloudy at the time (still was) and a lot of things didn't make sense. He hadn't wanted to shoot him at the time,
but somehow it had happened.

He reached for the straps to his
vest and pulled his hand away. No. He needed to keep it on just in case. It was part of his job, whatever that was and
was meant to keep him safe. Capel wanted
to stay safe.

His stomach growled and he got that
tinny taste in his nose and mouth again.
He wanted to eat, but all the stuff he remembered having before made him
sick to his stomach so he threw up.

There were keys in his hand and he
knew he was supposed to use them to make the car go, but he had no clue
how. So instead he vomited on Mumford's
body. He was doing a lot of that now—the
vomiting and not just on Mumford. He
realized it was blood, his blood. It
used to be red, but now it was pure.
Yes, pure. That was why he'd wanted
to share with Mumford. To make him pure
too. He'd been wrong before. There were others like him. Many others.
He just didn't know how to recognize them before. There were still ones who weren't, but they
were going to be. Capel and his brethren
would change them, make them pure too.
Every man, woman, and chi—

Children. Yes, children were the future. He believed that. Capel had a distant memory of a child, with her, whoever she was. He couldn't remember her name or picture her
face, but he knew he hated her. But if
he couldn't get to his child, Capel knew where there were a shitload of
them. He dropped the keys and started
walking.

"Kara? Hey Kara?
Can I come up?"

Kara rushed to the basement
door. Dwight was on the verge of waking
Mrs. Carter and she'd just got her to go back to sleep. There were a lot more of those people out
there now and she didn't want to risk the noise.

"Dwight, what are you doing?" she
whisper-shouted at him. "Get back down
in the basement. If she finds out you're
here I could lose my job."

"Look, sorry, okay?" I just gotta pee real bad and I'm kinda
thirsty too."

Kara looked at him a moment,
thinking how best to handle the situation.
She nodded and waved him up.

"Thank you!" he said and she
shushed him. Dwight made his way down
the hall and she gasped when she saw the dirty footprints he was leaving
behind. Kara peeked in on Mrs. Carter,
still asleep. She checked her watch. Mrs. Carter's nephew was more three hours
late now. Not that it would matter. Even if he came through the door this very
second she wasn't going anywhere. Not
with those people out there. Her best
bet was to tuck in and wait for the cavalry.

She snorted. Was there even a cavalry anymore?

The toilet flushed.

Dwight!

She rushed down the hall and threw
open the door, intending to shush him again and caught sight of… Dwight's dwight.

He hurried up and zipped, his face
as red as hers felt. But he certainly
had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Sorry." Her voice was small as she backed out of the
bathroom, pulling the door with her.

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I flushed out of habit. Did I wake her?"

She listened. "No."
The sink turned on. "Mind if I
come in?"

"Yeah, no. Sure."
The sink turned off and she came in to see him drying his hands on Mrs.
Carter's for-special towels. He wasn't
supposed to use those, but she didn't say anything. She looked him in the face.

"What?" he said, eventually.

"I don't know." She wasn't exactly sure of what was going
through her at that moment. It was like
she was seeing this person for the first time.
He'd been impressive downstairs, but that wasn't exactly it. Seeing him… made him more of a man before. More of a threat. It didn't make sense in a way she could have
explained, but she was suddenly very aware that for all intents and purposes
they were the only ones in the house.

There was a 'boom' outside. Kara squeaked and jumped into Dwight. He caught her, his hand clamped on her ample
hind quarters.

Fleshbags, XXVI

It had just popped in her head, but Ms. Mila thought the name for them fit perfectly. Most of them still had that bag of transparent flesh with whatever that was inside them attached. All of them were showing flesh. Flesh plus bag.

"Get a hold of yourself, Mila," she said aloud. The one whose feet she'd run over stumbled into the Audi and she opened the door on him, sending him tumbling over. There was a cantaloupe-sized stone a few feet away from Ms. Margie and the crippled one and Ms. Mila scooped it up and dropped it on his back.

The air left his lungs in a deep whoosh and clear fluid shot out of his mouth onto Ms. Margie's mouth. Ms. Mila bent and rolled him off of her and grabbed whatever she could of the younger woman (it was completely coincidental that one hand latched onto a fistful of hair) and yanked her upright.

She was surging with adrenaline now and she looked to the street to see they were shuffling, but getting closer. The stumbler was up again, staggering his way over and Ms. Mila kicked him in the chest Leonidas style, howling at him as he flew backwards, smacking his head off a decorative stone. They were about equally distant from the front door as the fleshbags in the approach and Ms. Mila found herself suddenly weighed down by the younger woman.

She'd fainted.

"Oh no you don't!" Ms. Mila shouted and squeezed her, half lifting her as she climbed to the door. Their faces were wet like they'd been crying and drooling at the same time and by the time the two women reached the door she'd gotten a good look at what was in those bags.

If she'd had anything other than vikes on her stomach she would have hurled.

Ms. Mila got through the outer door just as one of them was reaching for them. She patted her pocket for her keys and at the same time realized she'd left them in her car. Hopefully, whatever was wrong with these people kept them from managing doors too easily. She banged furiously on the inner door, but there was no one in the main room or behind the reception desk. The only way in was the fingerprint access.

Ms. Mila shifted Ms. Margie to her other arm, feeling her body quiver as the rush started to wear off. She thumbed in her code and it beeped, alerting her to place her primary finger on the scanner. She put her index on and waited the infinitely long few seconds it took to read. It gave a double beep and flashed red, requesting her to place her primary finger on again.

Ms. Mila made a fist, commanding her hand to be still and placed her index on one more time. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing but fleshbags at the door. One of them was looking at the door handle.

"Please, please, please!" she begged, clenching her eyes shut. The access gave a single beep and the door buzzed open. She swung her hand over to the handle and Ms. Margie slipped out of her arm and hit the floor just as they were starting to pull open the outer door. Ms. Mila lifted her legs out of the way, swung the door open and stepped inside. She grabbed Ms. Margie by the legs as someone came up behind her.

"What's going on?" a woman said.

"Get the hell out of the way!" Ms. Mila shouted dragging the young woman inside. The inner door swung shut and she dropped her legs, falling to her knees and weeping.

Fleshbags, ep XXV

He had his back to her and Ms. Mila's first thought was to throw open the door and run back to Kiddie Kamp. But whatever he wanted—let's be honest, he wanted her body, why else would he be naked?—she had to play this smart.

Wait a minute. She was in a car.

Ms. Mila gave a short laugh. She could just drive away. Not that she was leaving. No, he would see there was nothing here for him and simply move on. If he tried to attack her car she would just break his legs with a tap of her bumper.

She started her car and threw it in reverse. Ms. Margie was pointing at something, probably the naked man. "I know," Ms. Mila said, knowing the stupid girl couldn't hear her before tapping the gas hard enough to make the car lurch. She bumped the man next to the car and he stumbled, falling over into the car two spots over.

And then she saw his stomach.

Or where one should have been.

There were holes in his chest right where his heart should have been. Ms. Mila had never seen bullet wounds before, but it clicked that those were gunshots. The man climbed to his feet, but he should have been dead.

She didn't notice her foot was barely touching the brake pad until she'd back into the car behind her. Ms. Mila yelped and immediately put the car in drive. She eased her foot onto the gas and the engine revved, but nothing else happened. She gave the pedal two good pumps and the front tires chirped before the car leapt just as the naked dead man was reaching for her. Logically, she knew he couldn't grab her through the glass, but his hands out like that—

Something slammed onto the hood. Ms. Mila automatically hit the brakes and saw she'd hit someone. The man slowly rose, and his eyes swirled onto her. He was naked too and his stomach had what looked like a clear garbage bag attached to it. It was torn open and something horrible and black was spilling out. The other naked man started scratching at the window and she squealed.

The way the Audi was angled she'd have to go in reverse and forward several times to right the car to drive out the lot. To hell with the children—she'd drive to Florida right now. She threw the car in reverse and turned the wheel hard. The man on the hood slumped onto the ground and she clipped the man's feet next to the car. He stumbled over again, rising and falling again. The second man's legs must have been broken because he started crawling on his elbows.

She reversed and forwarded several times and was about to drive out when Ms. Margie came outside. It had just started to rain and she was getting soaked.

"Sir, are you all right?" she said, approaching the man whose feet Ms. Mila had run over. He whirled on her, clutching her arms for support and clamped his mouth down on her shoulder. She screamed and shoved him off, her arms pinwheeling as she stumbled backwards, tripping over the man on the ground.

He rolled her off of him and was in the process of climbing on top of her when Ms. Mila knew what she had to do.

She had to save her. She had to wrestle her away from that man, get them both inside and protect the children. Ms. Mila couldn't just leave.

But that had more to do with the forty or so fleshbags in the street, that seemed to be headed her way.