Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale (11 page)

Cara injected a hint of humor into her voice as she wiped away more tears that suddenly came spilling out. “God! Mom, you squeezed those things out of me.”

“It’s okay to cry, honey.” She reached out to hold her daughter’s hand but the awkwardness infected her once again.

“Then how come I’ve never seen you cry?” Cara asked.

The mother paused to think, turning her face away. When she met Cara’s eyes again, she said, “I didn’t want you to think that I was weak.”

Cara tried to still her trembling lip as tears welled up again.

Jean wiped her moistening eyes and changed the subject. “So, when do I get to meet your boyfriend?”

Cara feigned modesty. “Mom, we’ve only been together a few days.” Saying this aloud brought a chill as she realized how irrational love had made her. The shudder passed and Cara resumed basking in the glow of maternal affection.

Jean suggested in a hopeful voice. “Why don’t you invite your friend over for dinner?”

Cara smiled. The last person who came to dinner in the Creed household was a teacher who left upset at the impertinent youth. Cara had taken on a patronizing tone throughout the entire evening that finished with a lively debate on socialized healthcare.

The young girl smiled up at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ll ask him to come tomorrow. I think he has to work tonight. If we drove by McDonalds’, I could ask him.” She hinted towards Mrs. Creed.

***

The next night, Bryant attended the dinner as planned. He arrived at 6:50 P.M., ten minutes early for dinner. He vaguely recalled someone telling him that proper etiquette dictated that one should wait to knock on the door until the appointed time in case the preparations were not complete. Despite this advice, he immediately walked to the door and knocked. Tension at formally meeting his girlfriend’s parents and anxiousness to see her propelled him toward the door.

Bryant paused before knocking to examine his clothing. He still wore blue jeans but felt that he was formally dressed due to the black, buttoned long-sleeved shirt, which was a step up from his normal T-shirts. As a matter of fact, he had listened to ZZ Top’s
Sharp Dressed Man
right before arriving.

The door swung open and Cara stepped outside. “I thought I heard your truck.” She greeted him with a light kiss on the lips. “The food arrived about five minutes before you. Come on.” She took his hand and excitedly pulled him inside.

Bryant was perplexed and repeated, “The food has arrived?”

Cara laughed. “My mom is not a housewife. In order for you to be able to eat, someone else had to cook it.”

The rooms went by in a blur as she pulled him along until a hallway opened into a large kitchen. David and Jean Creed sat at the table with a bucket of KFC chicken in front of them like a centerpiece.

Cara pointed at the two adults. “This is my Mom and my Dad.” She excitedly gestured at Bryant. “This is Bryant.”

The young man blushed and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” He shook Mr. Creed’s hand and then turned to the mother repeating the process. “Ma’am.” His first impression of the pater familias bordered on a faux totalitarianism. He thought he had the reins, but the wife thought the partnership was fifty-fifty. “They probably had some serious shouting matches in their day” he thought. He took a seat and waited for the conversation to begin.

“So,” David began in a serious fashion as paper plates were passed around the table. “Cara seems to like you. Our daughter is unusually picky about the company she keeps. So, we’ve been wondering what kind of superman you might be.”

Bryant tried to read the father’s stone face but could not decipher the intention of that statement. “I’m not anything special, sir.” He cautiously proceeded.

“My daughter is a straight A student and has skipped two grades.” The father casually stated.

“Dad!” Cara protested.

“Well, it is true. Can’t I be proud of my daughter?” He asked with feigned innocence. Then he narrowed his eyes at Bryant. “What kind of grades to you make?”

Bryant shifted uncomfortably. “A’s and B’s.”

Cara interjected. “He supports himself by working full time, so he can’t study like I do.”

“Oh, a working man, huh?” The father asked with a twinge of respect.

“Yes, sir.” Bryant seized the opportunity. “I work full time. Sometimes I have to study on my lunch breaks at work.”

Jean suddenly spoke up, trying to pry for information regarding her concerns. “What are your plans after high school?”

Bryant smiled. “Well, I’ll put in two years at Bevill State Community College to get most of the core curriculum out of the way. Then I’ll transfer to the University of Alabama.”

Jean smiled. “It sounds like you’ve given a lot of thought to your future. What are you planning to major in?”

Bryant momentarily stumbled. He did not know what he wanted to do. His mind raced through a list of respectable professions searching for one that believably fit him. “Criminal Justice.” He blurted.

Cara’s father gave a sly smile. “Really? I knew many MP’s in the service that had hopes of law enforcement when they got out.”

Bryant nodded. “Yes sir, I considered that but decided that a degree and some experience in a local police department after I graduate would serve me best. Then I could apply for U.S. Marshall or maybe ATF.”

Cara again tried to divert attention. “The food is cooling off. Who wants a piece of original recipe?” The barrage of questions made her nervous. Sooner or later, her boyfriend’s luck would expire and he would say the wrong thing.

“Just pick out the pieces that you want and I’ll take what’s left.” Bryant dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Jean interrupted. “No, no. You are our guest. You get the first choice.”

Bryant shook his head. “I’m not picky. Besides, my mama told me when you’re in someone else’s house, behave as if they were a guest in yours.”

Jean leaned in conspiratorially. “Are all Southerners this polite?”

Bryant laughed. “Sadly, no. It’s like anywhere else. Some people are and some aren’t.” His statement killed the conversation, and for the next few minutes, everyone ate in silence.

Finally, David leaned back and sighed. “I’m full.” Jean had long since dropped her plastic spork and left the remainder of mashed potatoes alone. Cara nervously cracked her knuckles, waiting for the conversation to resume.

David looked over at Jean and gave a secretive smile. Then he turned to Bryant. “So meeting the parents has been stressful enough and I know kids don’t really enjoy hanging out with old people. Why don’t you go out and have some fun?”

Cara almost fainted in shock. Before she found words enough to speak, Bryant cut in. “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, we can stay a little longer.”

“No, I insist. Go on.” The father waved them on. “Jean and I will be fine.”

Bryant stood and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” Then he shifted his attention to the mother. “It has been a pleasure ma’am.”

Cara stood and followed her boyfriend as he walked back toward the front door. She felt like the night had been too successful to be authentic. She lingered at the entrance to the kitchen and turned around to face her parents.

“Thank you.” She simply stated as she faced the two adults. David just nodded, a slight and strange smile playing on his lips. Jean gave a quiet laugh and asked, “For what?” Cara’s face flushed and she fled down the hall taking long strides to catch up to Bryant. It was just one of those things she could not bring herself to vocalize.

At the table, both parents waited for the sound of a closing door. Then David stood up and walked over to the counter. “How about a glass of wine? I know it doesn’t compliment fried chicken but I was going to pour myself a glass of Merlot.”

Jean paused. She had not seen her husband in such a buoyant mood in years. “Sure, I’ll indulge.”

David happily poured two crystal flutes with the dark liquid. He gingerly extended a glass to her and spoke almost wistfully. “I’m glad we moved here.” He took a sip, savoring the taste. “The work is easier, the cost of living is less, and best of all, our daughter is acting like a well adjusted individual.”

“Why do you think she said ‘thank you’?” Jean asked, still pondering the statement earlier.

“For not fighting with each other?” He shrugged. “For not telling her we don’t approve of her man?” He guessed again. “Hell, it could be because we didn’t whip out baby pictures.”

He looked into the darkened living room. “You want to see if anything’s on?” Jean nodded and they both curled up on the couch drinking wine and feeling the stirrings of long dormant emotions.

DUSK

Out in the country a few miles from Bryant’s trailer, a pickup truck traveling twenty miles over the speed limit slid off the road and onto a soft shoulder. The sudden grip of the loose soil caused the steering wheel to jerk. The young man driving overcompensated and the vehicle crossed the opposite lane, bouncing as the truck hit a small dip. Both occupants screamed while one tried to regain control of the wheel. The driver could have possibly hit the brakes and saved them both, but in his panic he missed the pedal. The young man had accidentally slammed his foot onto the gas, creating a burst of speed and the automobile collided with a tree on the edge of an open pasture.

In the unfolding chain of events, the passenger was the only one wearing a seat-belt. The girl, caught by the fabric strap across her chest, still threw out her arms to prevent hitting the dashboard. The crumpling front end of the truck met her outstretched arms, snapping one of them. The bone broke through the skin in a compound fracture. The glove compartment exploded open spilling contents around the girl’s legs. Pages from the destroyed owner’s manual flapped around her, slowly drifting to the floorboards as the vehicle came to rest.

Mercifully, the boy died while in mid-air after shattering the windshield with his body. He landed on the short grass like a doll that has been haphazardly tossed onto the ground. Arms and legs twisted around at (what appeared to be, at best) uncomfortable angles. His eyes did not close. The shock of dying suddenly left them wide and staring. The last thing he saw was the oncoming glass.

The girl almost returned to consciousness before expiring but never quite made it. Her eyes fluttered, and then stopped. Like a drowning person almost breaking the surface of water but instead taking a lungful of liquid, she went under for the last time.

The machinery under the hood caught fire and slowly burned for the next hour. The flames never became too greedy and the truck never exploded. Metal became blistering hot and the cheap plastic interior peeled away. When the vehicle was later discovered, most of it was intact.

***

Upon entering his trailer, Bryant walked over to the couch and switched on the lamp sitting on a modest end table. He turned to gauge his girlfriend’s next move. Instead of talking to him or thanking him for impressing her parents, she crossed the room and gave him a quick peck on the lips. He felt her touch his fingertips with her own and then interlace them. The feminine hand steadily pulled him forward as she walked toward the bedroom. To Bryant, the entire proceeding unfolded like a dream: surreal yet all his senses told him that it was happening.

As they entered the darkened chamber, she whispered, “No lights.” Then she placed his hand on the round soft bud of her breast. He felt it through the fabric of her shirt but it was still heaven to him. Being so inexperienced, he was unsure of how vigorously to massage. Cara, also a virgin, had no idea what to expect and was disappointed in the lack of sensation.

“You can do that a little harder.” She urged.

“I’m sorry.” Bryant mumbled.

“Don’t apologize.” She quickly added and kissed him again.

Both hearts beat rapidly as he finally pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. For a brief moment, she felt exposed and self-conscious. She wanted to lift her arms and cover her breasts but she resisted the temptation and forced herself to look at Bryant. Her motivation was a mixture of curiosity about his reaction and her urge to not show weakness or hesitation. She need not have worried. His expression was of joyous, silent appraisement. His eyes roved over her, taking in her every nuance of her body.

The idea of him enjoying her exposed skin affected her in a way that she was not prepared for. She immediately pulled the bottom of his shirt up, showing a sudden aggressiveness neither of them expected.

Warm skin pressed against warm skin as they both stepped forward into a clumsy kiss. Warm, wet lips locked together with too much force. The boy could not even wedge his tongue in for a French kiss. Without warning, she disengaged and fell back onto his unmade bed. Bryant, momentarily off guard, reached out to catch her, but her hand locked around his wrist, pulling him down on top of her. She wriggled her body on top of the twisted and tangled flat sheet. He kissed the soft skin of her neck and then the hard collarbone. His mouth glided over her breasts, stopping to suck on each firm nipple. Blood pounded in his ears, but he thought he had heard a faint gasp of pleasure. His fingers quickly fumbled with the button at the waist of her jeans. He pinched the tab on her zipper with his index finger and thumb, hearing the unmistakable sound of interlocking teeth slipping apart. To Bryant’s lust driven teenage mind, that sound was the sound of the gates to paradise. He stood up and pulled her pants off one leg at a time. Repeating his earlier action with the shirt, he tossed the jeans into a corner.

Despite being new to the world of physical pleasure, Cara found that she knew what to do. She closed her eyes and gave him access to her body. Her lover watched as her thighs yawned awake. He slipped his fingers into her moist folds, getting lost. He knew that there was a hole there somewhere, but damn it, he seemed to only find endless slick skin. Finally, he encountered what he sought and slid one finger in. He encountered some brief resistance, probably her hymen. After a few moments of slowly teasing her, he knelt down on the floor and placed his chin on the mattress in front of her exposed pelvis. He experimentally probed with his tongue, being hit with a strong, salty (but not unpleasant) taste. He could see himself growing to relish that musk, greedily lapping up every drop of her sex. As he experimented with oral delights, her fingers found their way into his hair urging him to continue. Her insistence turned him on to an even higher degree and he fearfully wondered how long he could hold out before viciously plunging himself inside her. His brain became a febrile, lust driven organ incapable of controlling the situation