Clickers vs Zombies (3 page)

Danny stuck out his bottom lip and made no sign of moving. “But I want to stay here and watch TV.”

“You can watch TV tonight. Right now, you need to get dressed and brush your teeth.”

“Awwww.”

“Now, Danny. You’re going to be late for pre-school.”

Jim picked up the remote control and switched the channel to CNN, hoping to encourage the boy to move along. Instead, Danny pouted more.

“Danny,” he said, hating the stern tone of his voice but knowing it was needed. “Listen to your mother.”

Danny stood up. “Will you help me, Daddy?”

Jim’s heart broke. He wanted to help the boy, but Danny needed to learn to do these things for himself. “You can do it. You’re a big boy now.”

“Okay.” Sulking, Danny trundled off to his bedroom.

Jim stifled another smile, and then saw Tammy doing the same thing.

“What?” he asked.

“I wish he’d listen to me the way he listens to you,” she said.

“It’s the age,” Jim replied. “He’s testing his boundaries. Remember, he did this at three, as well.”

“I remember. I just thought it was over.”

“Oh, it will be. When he’s eighteen and moves out of your house.”

Jim watched Tammy laugh. He loved the sound, second only to the sound of his son’s laughter. He watched her eyes sparkle and noticed how the sunlight streaming through the picture window highlighted her chestnut hair. But he also knew that if he pursued that line of thinking, he’d be depressed for the rest of the day. To distract himself, he turned to the news and changed the subject.

“Look there. Something about an attack in Huntington Beach last night.”

“It’s the end of the world again,” Tammy said. “Every week, it’s something different. A hurricane or an earthquake or economic collapse or a terrorist attack or a new virus outbreak. Doomsday cults. That crazy preacher who convinced everybody the Rapture was about to occur. What’s next? Last week it was the tsunami.”

“Well, maybe one of these time they’ll be right.”

“Maybe. If they were, then I wouldn’t have to pay next month’s mortgage payment.”

“Do you need more?” Jim asked. “I can start giving you more every month if you—”

“No, no, not at all. What you give me in child support every month is plenty, Jim. I appreciate it. And it’s not like I really need pocket money. Anthony usually pays for things when we go out.”

“Oh…”

As if sensing she’d said the wrong thing, Tammy switched gears, pointing at the television. “Look there. What in the world is Kiran Chetry wearing this morning?”

“Too many clothes, if you ask me. They ought to just have her read the news in a bikini. I’d tune in every day.”

“Pig.” Tammy smiled again.

“Hey,” Jim said. “I’m single. I’m allowed to drool over newscasters. Hell, maybe I’ll follow her on Twitter and ask her out. Why not?”

“You’d better hurry. Remember, the world may be ending soon.”

“What would you do?” Jim asked.

“What? You mean if the world was really ending?”

“Yeah. Lets say they came on TV and told us a comet was going to hit the planet in twenty-four hours and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. What would you do? How would you spend that last day?”

Tammy’s eyebrows knitted together as she thought. It was a feature that Jim had always found endearing. She paused for several moments before answering him.

“Well, I’d want to see my parents, I guess. But mostly, I’d just want to spend time with Danny and you.”

“What about your friends, and…Anthony?”

“Well, if it’s the end of the world, I’m sure they’d have their own people they’d want to say goodbye to. I’d rather spend it with you and Danny.”

“Me, too.” Jim smiled. “You know, Tammy, I’ve been thinking. I—”

“I’m ready, Daddy!”

Danny dashed down the hallway and into the living room and jumped into Jim’s lap. He’d done a good job brushing his teeth and putting on his pants, but his shoes were on the wrong feet and his shirt was on backwards. Laughing, Jim helped him out. Tammy walked over, sat down on the couch next to them, and assisted. Jim caught a whiff of her shampoo, and Danny’s unique little boy smell, and sighed. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of them both so close to him. Samhain trotted over, eager for attention as well. Snuffling, he slipped his head under Jim’s hand. Jim scratched his ears obligingly.

If this was how the world ended,
he thought,
that would be just fine. How about it, Lord? Any chance you could end the world today?

“I know that look,” Tammy said.

“What look?”

“The one on your face right now. The one that says you’re thinking about something.”

Jim smiled. “I was just thinking about prayers.”

“Since when did you become religious?”

“It’s never too late to change.”

“Unless it’s the end of the world,” Tammy teased.

“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished,” Jim said. “That will be the beginning.”

“Who wrote that?”

“Louis L’Amour.” He turned to Danny. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get going. Don’t want to miss anything.”

Mission Viejo, California

The first thing Rick Sycheck did every morning before he got dressed for work was turn on the morning news.

With the coffee pot burbling in the kitchen and Robin Meade’s voice relating the latest disaster in the world, Rick showered and shaved. He noted the gray in his beard stubble and his thinning hair. Noted the paunch of his belly, the flab of his legs. He looked like shit. He felt fine physically most of the time. But when he had to do anything strenuous like climbing a flight of steps or doing any physical activity like yard work or taking out the garbage or walking their German Shepard, Princess, he got short-winded. Chalk that up to being eighty pounds overweight. That’s what happens when you spend twenty-five years sitting behind a computer terminal.

Rick was forty-seven years old. He was married to Jeanette and they had two children, Richard Jr. and Melody. Being that it was summer vacation, both kids were out of the house a lot. Richard was going to be a senior in Mission Viejo High School this fall. Melody would be entering the eighth grade. Jeanette worked as a consultant for Deloitte and Touche and was on the road a lot. This week she was headquartered somewhere in central Pennsylvania. Rick didn’t remember the name of the city, but he thought it had something to do with the Amish. York? Lancaster? He wasn’t sure. His father had family back in Philadelphia and he remembered a family visit out there years ago, when he was a kid. He hadn’t been back there in years. Pennsylvania had become Jeanette’s second home as of late. Rick hated it when she was gone.

When Rick was finished with shaving, he fed the dog and then got dressed for work, selecting one of two dozen similar pairs of trousers and button-down shirts from the large walk-in closet he shared with Jeanette. He selected a tie. As he stood at the vanity mirror putting the final touch on his corporate attire, he thought about what he was going to do this evening. Jeanette wasn’t due back home until Friday. Today was Wednesday. The kids were staying with their friends, Paul and Mary Bryant. The Bryant family used to live a few blocks away but had moved to Palos Verdes, which was about an hour’s commute north, during the last week of school. Richard and Melody had spent every weekend with Paul and Mary ever since the move, which Rick could understand. But with his kids gone so much, and his wife on the road so much, the house was lonely, even with Princess’s company. He would call the kids at Paul and Mary Bryant’s home today and tell them he wanted them home by five p.m. Friday afternoon. They would head out to pick Jeanette up from John Wayne Airport in Irvine and take her out to dinner—Houston’s Steak House maybe. Then they would spend the weekend together. Rick loved his family, and spending so much time apart with them was tearing at him. Jeanette wasn’t happy about being on the road so much, but what else could they do? This damn economy was in the shitter. Technically it was getting better, but Rick and Jeanette were still trying to dig themselves out of debt from Jeanette’s layoff from two years ago. That had really hurt them.

As Rick entered the bedroom something on the news caught his ear. “…three people were killed last night in Huntington Beach, California when large crab creatures attacked several beach goers.”

What?
Rick stopped, turned toward the TV.

One of the local newscasters was reporting from a video-feed through CNN’s Atlanta headquarters. Rick recognized him. He sat down on the edge of the unmade bed, stunned.

“Robin, last night this beach community was terrorized by something out of a horror movie,” the male newscaster said. He was standing on the strand, the ocean behind him. The sky was blue; perfect Southern California weather. The beach looked deserted. “Shortly before eight-thirty last night, three people lost their lives when a giant crab species currently unknown to modern science washed ashore—and wreaked havoc.”

There was a cut to previously taped footage along with a voice over narration from the local newscaster. Rick watched in stunned silence. According to the report, the three people died from blood loss and massive trauma. The Huntington Beach Police Department had evacuated the beach, the pier, and the three block downtown area. As footage from last night came into view, Rick felt a sense of nostalgia. He recalled moments from his youth in Huntington Beach. He’d moved to the area with his family shortly after high school from Los Angeles. Dad’s company had been moved to a larger facility in Costa Mesa and they’d moved to cut down on commuting costs. Rick was working at the company by then too, as a clerk. It wasn’t a job he particularly enjoyed, but it paid him money and it made his parents happy. When he wasn’t at work, he spent time at the beach. Huntington Beach was his spot.

The news wasn’t very forthcoming with information. The names and identities of the victims were being withheld until notification of next of kin. As for the creatures themselves, officials were being very tight-lipped about it. “All I can say is that we’re examining the remains now,” a middle-aged male marine biologist was saying; he was being recorded live from Long Beach. “The only thing I can confirm is that, yes, they are a completely unknown species.”

The local newscaster came back on. “It was also reported that there was an incident earlier that day on the pier when a fisherman caught a similar creature. That man is listed in critical condition at Huntington Memorial hospital. Witnesses to that incident reported that the creature—said to be a cross between a lobster and a scorpion—either stung or severed the man’s left arm. Back to you in Atlanta, Robin.”

Robin Meade looked grave. “Thank you for that story, Bill.” The camera angle changed to a frontal view and when Robin began reporting on President Anthony Genova’s new budget, Rick turned the TV off.

He sat on the bed, his mind racing. Princess hopped up on the bed with him, seeking attention. He petted her absentmindedly, his mind still on the news report. Previously unknown species? A cross between a lobster and a scorpion? Something about this story fascinated him and he didn’t have the slightest idea why.

Rick got to his feet. He crossed the bedroom, found a pair of slip-on dress shoes and put them on. He exited the bedroom and was just about to head downstairs when he paused at the spare bedroom that had been converted to his study.

He couldn’t explain why the news story captivated him so much. It almost sounded like something he’d read—but he was confident he’d never read a novel or a short story with a plot that involved lobster-scorpion hybrids that killed people. He’d read a lot of horror novels; had a good memory for what he’d read. And he was confident such a novel didn’t exist.

Rick stepped into the study. The only wall not taken up by bookshelves was the one directly opposite the doorway—a small but comfortable reading chair and end table was positioned by the window.

The other three walls were lined with bookshelves.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves containing a collection of horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction he’d been building since he was sixteen years old. One wall held nothing but rare hardcovers—volumes by Bradbury, Bloch, Lovecraft, Wellman, Long, and Derleth from Arkham House; Etchison, Campbell, Barker, Wagner, Nolan, Matheson (father and son), Shirley, and Blumlein from Scream/Press. Martin, McCammon, Garton, Lansdale, Koontz, and Schow from Dark Harvest Press. And that was just material from classic small press imprints from the so-called horror boom of the 1980’s. He also had key volumes from some of the latest small presses, as well as expensive limited signed editions by Barker, King, Grant, Lee, Ketchum, and Laymon in a special case with glass doors. Another wall of bookshelves held nothing but mass-market paperbacks from the 1940’s through the latest pulpy mid-list titles. The walk-in closet held even more treasures—white cardboard boxes stacked row upon row consisting of files of hundreds of comic books, pulps, and science fiction magazines.

Rick stood in the room, taking in his collection. In another life he could have been a writer of this kind of material. He’d certainly had dreams of it at one point, at a younger age. He’d doodled on a few stories back then, poor imitations of the great stuff he was reading in the leading anthologies of the day. Rather than follow his heart and his muse, he’d done what was expected of him by his parents and society in general—he’d buckled down and concentrated on his job at the company his father had worked at for over twenty-five years himself—insurance giant Free State Insurance.