Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (7 page)

I wielded the
ungainly length of metal, waving it around in front of me to keep Izzy at a
safe distance. I nearly passed out as something tugged at the back of my shirt.
I jumped to my left, ready to fight more than one person. It was Marty, his
eyes wide, his face still pale from throwing up. My eyes darted down to the
wetness on his shorts, the pool of urine at his feet. He was terrified, but he
was still himself… not wild and animalistic. With a new resolve to protect
myself and this scared little boy, I turned back to Izzy… and she wasn’t the
only child to fear now.

Sam stood next
to Izzy, his face no longer that of a child. His expression read ‘hungry’ and
Marty and I were buffet on a budget. Screaming, I swung the too-large length of
metal and caught Izzy in the side of her body, knocking her into Sam. They both
tumbled to the floor, grunting and snapping their teeth. “Run, Marty!” I
dropped the accessory tree and grabbed his hand, running as fast as I could
toward the back of the shop and my office.

I could hear
Izzy and Sam on our heels. “Just keep running, Marty. We’re almost there!” The
little boy was breathing heavily and I suddenly remembered Deb mentioning his
asthma last summer when he’d joined the soccer team. Shit. Shit. Of course I
had to get the kid with asthma; it couldn’t be the twin with perfect health.
Thinking that made me feel like a terrible person, but I couldn’t help it. I
wanted to live, even if living meant being utterly selfish.

I chanced a look
behind us. That was a mistake. My movement interrupted Marty’s running rhythm
and he tripped, careening forward and nearly taking me with him- which seemed
improbable considering my extra, diet-resistant plush. Still holding Marty’s
hand, I yanked him back to his feet hard, but the delay gave Izzy and Sam the
mere moments necessary to catch up with us.

Sam was on top
of Marty before I could blink, the force knocking my hand away from the small
boy’s. Marty’s scream was gut-wrenching. Instinctively, he began to scratch at
his brother’s face and flail erratically, hoping to free himself from Sam’s
grasp. My problem was slightly smaller, with brunette curls and a cherub smile
turned demonic.

She’s not a
child. She’s not a child.

 
I repeated this
mantra mentally as I slugged the little girl in the face, using every ounce of
power in my body.

As Izzy fell to
the floor, her own nose gushing an acrid and black liquid to mirror her
mother’s wound, I turned my attention to Sam and Marty. Marty was getting
tired, his arms and legs flailing more sluggishly. I positioned myself and
kicked Sam in the abdomen as hard as I could. He grunted and sailed away from
his brother to land atop a busted shoe rack.
Shit.

Izzy was
squatting on all fours, having quickly recovered from my punch. Her eyes stared
greedily at Marty- who was sitting up, but unmoving. He was an easy target for
his crazed sister. 

We moved at the
same time, Izzy leaping forward from the squatting position and me stumbling
forward in my size 7 kitten heels. I knew I was going to have only one chance
to stop her as my hand wrapped around the shaft of a little league-sized bat
held by my one and only display mannequin. Like a professional baseball player
I brought the wooden head of the bat around, just missing Marty’s little head
and contacting his sister square in the jaw. The crunch of contact made a
sickening sound and her mouth caved inwards like so much semi-decayed flesh.

Scooping Marty
up quickly- Sam was already on his feet and looking pissed- I raced the last
few feet into my office, slamming the thick wooden door behind me. The door
lock was pitiful protection, but we just needed enough time for me to grab my
purse and get the hell out of dodge. I set Marty down now, grabbing my purse
and taking a millisecond to catch my breath. Closing my eyes, I took a deep
centering breath- the kind that Juan had taught me in class. Juan. Now was not
the moment to regret never asking him out on a date. I’d always been so worried
that dating him would hurt business. Shaking my head, I erased Juan’s image
from my mind and I looked down at the quiet kid next to me. “You okay, Marty?”
What a ridiculous question. The boy had just watched his mom die… at the hands
of his sister and then that same sister had tried to kill him with the help of
his twin brother. Most assuredly the kid was not okay.

But the brave
boy nodded.

“Are you hurt at
all?”

He shook his
head. I could see dampness building in his eyes and I wanted to hug him, lie to
him, tell him everything would be back to normal tomorrow, but then a loud bang
startled us into action. My office door would not keep us safe for long. Taking
Marty’s hand again, I fast-walked toward the storage room. There wasn’t an
exit, but there was a window- and fat hips or not, I’d find a way to squeeze
through and get to my car.

A jar of
Vaseline would have been useful and once both Marty and I were safe on the
grass outside my shop, I vowed to replace the storage window with a much larger
one- if owning a shop was even a practical endeavor now that I’d witnessed the
start of the freaking apocalypse.

Sneaking around
the building slowly, we headed toward my car. Knowing that our survival might
depend on a reliable set of wheels, I kicked myself for passing up the
no-money-down sale at the local Ford dealership. As it stood, Marty and I would
be lucky to make it fifty miles before my POS bit the dust.

As we approached
the front of my shop, I put a hand on Marty’s chest to keep him behind me.
Peering around the corner, I tried to get a look through the front glass. My
mouth went dry at the sight of Deb walking around, her face marred by the wound
where her nose once was. Izzy and Sam circled around her like stalking
predators. Every now and then, one of them would dart forward and push or bite
Deb… their mother. It was sickening, but also to our advantage. Once we darted
for the car, we’d be in full view, exposed, vulnerable.

Taking another
deep breath, I looked at Marty. “Stay right behind me. I’ll unlock the driver’s
door and you get in first, okay? I don’t have automatic locks. Buckle up as
soon as you’re in the seat.”

He just nodded.

I hesitated, not
knowing how to prepare him for the sight inside my shop. “And… Marty…” I sighed
heavily, “don’t look into the shop. Just keep your eyes on my back and
concentrate on getting into the car.”

Marty didn’t nod
this time, but his swallow of unease was thickly audible. His idle hands tugged
at the dampness of his shorts; the urine was beginning to dry and the material
couldn’t be very comfortable as it began to stiffen. The smell didn’t make me
very comfortable; that was for sure. I stared for a moment at the boy and knew
my plan wasn’t going to succeed. Marty was too small, too slow. The car was
right at the front door, ten feet away max, but it may as well have been a
mile, a mile between us and a safe getaway. By the time we made it to the car
those freaks inside would have us for lunch. Not freaks, I reminded myself.
They were… they used to be… human beings; they used to be Marty’s family. It
was callous of me to call them freaks, even mentally.

Where we stood, we
were hidden from view so I took a moment to look around. Eventually, my eyes
came to rest on Kyle Erving’s idling collector’s item currently doubled-parked
in front of the liquor store- as it was every morning while he purchased his
daily bottle of Kentucky bourbon and cancer-causing pack of Camels. Kyle did
his best to keep his addictions a secret from his wife, but Noel wasn’t an
idiot. She knew where he went every morning and she counted the savings jar
every Friday, knowing she’d never get that Paris vacation.

Well, this was
one time that Kyle’s feeble attempt at hiding the truth from his wife was going
to cost him. His vehicle beat the heck out of my crappy Neon. I smiled despite
my predicament. I could keep my car’s nickname Daisy, though Kyle’s 1969 Ford
Thunderbird was a nicer shade of yellow than my POS.

I reached down
and yanked Marty off his feet, throwing his body against my side, I began to
run. The boy automatically wrapped his legs around my hip and his arms around
my neck felt like an unbreakable vise grip- little boy fingers masquerading as
locking pliers, threatening to bruise my skin. A small gasp escaped my mouth at
Marty’s unexpected grip and my abruptness did nothing to calm his nerves. As I
forced myself to run even faster, his hands only dug deeper into the soft
tissue of my neck.

“It’s okay,
Buddy; just a change of plan!” I yelled as I bolted across the two lane road.
Buddy,
why did I call him Buddy? I call Marcel Buddy… Marcel. Jesus, Sophia and Marcel
had a doctor’s appointment today. I hope Susan’s okay; I need to call her,
check on her.
And then I realized I’d left my mobile phone on my desk. I
wanted to kick myself in the ass, beat my fist against the brick of my shop. Of
all the things to forget, I’d forgotten my phone.
Susan, God, I hope you’re
okay. I hope this shit isn’t everywhere.

How I mustered
the strength to hump an eighty pound bag of screaming jello across the road, I
will never know… adrenaline induced by fear maybe. I wasn’t going to look a
gift horse in the mouth though. I mentally sent a quick thank you to the big
man upstairs as I made it to Kyle’s car faster than an Olympic runner. I hadn’t
even slowed when I’d heard glass shatter from behind me, knowing full well it
was my shop’s front door and the monsters were hot on my heels.

I sat Marty down
as I fumbled with the driver’s side door. He was unsteady on his feet and
looked green around the gills, like he was going to throw up again. We didn’t
have time for that though. The boy just needed to swallow down the gastric
juices and buck up. Swinging the Thunderbird’s door open, I roughly tossed the
urine-drenched boy onto the front seat. “Move over!” I yelled, motivated by the
sound of snarling and multiple sets of feet pounding on the pavement behind us.
With the skill of a yoga master, I tumbled into the vehicle myself, barely
giving Marty enough time to settle himself in the passenger’s seat. I yanked
the heavy door closed and twisted my body quickly to hit the auto door locks.
My body was still contorted in such a fashion that I was kneeling on the
floorboard of the Ford, with my stomach pressed against the steering wheel. I
twisted around to sit myself properly in the seat just in time to come
face-to-face with Deb as she began mindlessly pounding her face into the car.
Only a thin sheet of tempered glass between me and death… not enough protection
for my tastes.

Izzy and Sam
were standing behind her. Their behavior was different. They seemed to be
studying the situation, determining how to attack, how to get to me and Marty.
Sam moved toward the front of the vehicle; Izzy moved towards the trunk. My
gaze flicked between the rearview mirror and the windshield. Time to roll.

For an
irrational second I was lost in the car; it was a beautiful beast. Fully
restored, it had plush, creamy white leather to contrast its flashy, canary
yellow exterior. Already running with the key in the ignition, the Ford’s huge
engine purred and the old AM/FM radio sent a soothing opera coursing through
the interior, strangely settling my senses into a false calm. In the back of my
mind, I recognized how odd it was that Kyle, of all people, would opt for
Opera.

Only idiots get
distracted.

And idiots die.

Marty let loose
an ear-piercing scream. I involuntarily yelped as the car was jarred from his
side. When I turned to look, I expected to see Sam or Izzy…
the monsters
that once were Sam and Izzy
, I corrected myself.

 It was
Kyle, standing outside, screaming to be let into his precious vehicle. I
swallowed, feeling guilty as I shook my head no. The bite marks on his arms and
the small child ripping at his hair as she scrambled to bite his face made the
decision easy. Yelling for Marty to buckle up I yanked the transmission into
drive and stomped on the gas. The massive 429 Thunderjet engine roared into
life without missing a beat as the C6 transmission channeled all its power to
the rear wheels.

The classic car
shot away from the curb and Kyle screamed at me to stop as he fell backwards;
Izzy still straddled his body, making a meal of his left shoulder. Deb, who had
grabbed hold of the door handle, fell to the ground… minus an arm. Even over
the roar of the engine, I could hear the ripping squelch of Deb’s arm tearing
from its shoulder socket. Now it was my turn to fight nausea. I swallowed back
the building bile. If we didn’t have time for Marty to blow chunks on the
sidewalk, then I didn’t have time to soak the car carpet with vomit. Forcing
myself to concentrate, I refocused on the road.

It was only then
that I realized that the monster that was Sam had still been standing in front
of the car when I’d accelerated. The force of our movement had flung his body
against the hood. He hung there now, clawing at the vehicle, trying to gain
purchase, but the force of our continued movement was too powerful and his body
quickly slid out of sight and beneath the vehicle. The rear of the Ford hopped
up jerkily as a wheel crunched over the small body. I forced myself to look
back, to recognize the blackening blood and the mangled body. Dead. I’d killed
Sam. Dampness grew in the corners of my eyes and a singular, hot tear slid down
my cheek.