Part 2

I take a Life

Jen, her spider sense fully tingling; even only half hearing my Mom's tone, crossed the threshold into the living area and hit the remote. She punched through a few channels of static, one girl-on-girl movie, the latest Schwarzenegger film, and finally found a news report.

"What's going on?" I ask, I guess you never really grow up. I still trusted my Mom, over the news. I wanted to hear whatever it was from her.

I turned to face the TV, maybe I wanted to cross-reference what my Mom was going to tell me with what the news was reporting, or maybe it's just 20th Century Man's nature to watch anything on a screen that's put in front of them.

I catch a glimpse of what looked like a police barricade, before the power cuts out. The TV dies a slow death as the picture condenses into a tiny dot in the center of the screen before fading to black entirely. The lights, the one I'd switched on coming into the living area, and the lamp Jen had left on in the bedroom shut off too.

"Maybe the breakers?" Jen sounded more wishful than anything. She'd been standing closer to the TV, she'd read what must've been on the newsfeed along the bottom. She never did tell me, but knowing what we know now she must've read it. Must have.

"Mom are you still there?" I asked into the phone. I was scared now, like a little kid. I wanted to hear my Mom's voice.

"Yes Mickey. It's awful. It's all over the news, those people…" she trailed off, was there a part of her that still wanted to shield her little boy from the horrors of it?

"Those people. They've gone insane, they're biting each other. The police… the police are sealing off the City."

"WHAT? Mom you're talking crazy what are you saying?"

There's more gunshots from outside. Jen nervously tiptoed toward the blinds, cracks one and stares out into the gloom (No streetlights). I'm trapped in place, both by the phone cord; and fear, yeah the fear came early to me.

"Streetlights out, everywhere," Jen reported back. She opened the window a crack to better hear. I hadn't realized until then how good the glazing was on the apartment. That cracking of the window let all of the audible horrors in; like the cold of a Winnipeg winter snapping at you as you opened your front door. We could hear more distant gunshots, shouting; the words unintelligible but the tone was panicked, sirens of all different tones and pitches.

"Listen Mickey, my power has gone off. I'm going to go down to the basement. I want you to get out of the City before it's too late."

"What? No Mom, if something's going on it's going to be okay. We'll leave fine, but I'm coming to get you."

"No Mickey," she said sternly, trying to mask… what? Panic? Terror? I'd never heard real terror in my Mom's voice. She'd always been so strong. She'd been that rock I needed when Dad died, even when she must've been grieving herself. She just got up and got on with things. She was my hero.

"No you aren't going to come here. Getting across the City is not the right thing to do. You've a better chance if you head straight south."

To give you a bit of Geography of the City, Yorktown was on the Northside, a few blocks uptown; the hospital, the parks, the police station, and I lived downtown, on the south side of the river.

I'd watched a lot of movies, read a lot of comics, and played a lot of video games. I wasn't sure what was going on. Maybe riots, maybe looting. It was nothing America hadn't seen before. We'd weather this, and in the meantime I had to make sure my Mom was safe.

"Nah, Mom. I'm coming to get you." I say it as forcefully as I can make my voice sound. It's a struggle, not only because I've got my Mom sounding terrified on the phone; but the only other woman I loved unable to bring herself away from the window. The noises, what sights there were in the darkness, they had hypnotised her. Jen's expression had changed to one of shock. Not panic, not terror; shock.

"Mickey. You haven't seen the news, the police. Maybe not the police, maybe the Army, they're setting up road blocks. You won't be able to get out if you come and get me. You have to leave the City. Before it's too late."

"I…" I struggle, sorry struggled, to disagree with my Mom. Like I said she was my rock, I love and respect her. But like any other Momma's boys; down deep; I have a respectful fear of her.

"I…" there's tears in my eyes coming now. "Momma," I haven't called her that in years. It had been just 'Mom' since I became a teenager and realised that everything I did as a kid was now tremendously embarrassing. It's funny how you grow up of that.

"Momma, please. I need to come and get you. If you're not safe I can't be either…"

"Michael," she rarely 'Michael'd' me. It had only been broken out, maybe three times, since I finished High School. Once when I'd borrowed her car and got into a fender bender with Mr. Talbot from down the street, once when I'd told her I'd broken up with that nice Clara girl; you know Mrs. Benjamin's eldest, and lastly when I'd told her I still hadn't proposed to Jennifer.

When she spoke again, the anger she'd summoned; it must have used the last of her energies, I could tell she was fighting back the tears.

"I'm going to be just fine. I'm going to the basement. The house is locked tight, I've got your father's old Glock and I've got a whole load of tinned pineapples down there. I'll be just fine."

There were tears in my eyes then. My Mom had always been there for me, and I'd never felt as helpless, as powerless to help in my entire life. I know now what it must've felt like to be by the bedside of a loved-one in the late stages of the Big-C, nothing you can do; but you're both upset and angry at yourself for being so useless.

"Now, go – " she was cut off.

"Mom?" I say two or three times into the receiver. I feebly hit the receiver on the wall phone, I had dial tone still so the phones hadn't been cut yet but my Mom's sure had. I tried to dial her back but got that irritating automated message that tells you someone's service had been cut off. I'd heard it before, but normally when calling a friend of a friend that might be holding, and they'd normally moved on as those types often did, by the time I'd gotten their number.

"Mike?" Jennifer had pulled herself away from the window now. The room was illuminated only by the red glow of the emergency light, every apartment in the city had one; it was the building code after some fire about 10 years ago. I guess she could about make out my silhouette.

"What about my Dad, my Mom…" she trailed off.

"They're back on the East Coast honey," I reassure her, finding strength for her; to comfort her, it makes me forget a moment my own pain. "Whatever is going on, it can't nation wide."

"How do you know that?" she demanded, she'd turned back and was looking out the window again, turning her head so her ear was nearer the small crack she'd opened; listening to the noises outside.

I crossed over to her, reached out and held her. She resisted being taken away from the window, so I moved in closer to compensate. "The news didn't say anything about it being nationwide. If it were, do you think the news would cover this little old burg? Sure wouldn't. It'd be talking about folks in New York, or LA, or Dallas, or whatever big city was dealing with it. Not some little Midwest town that wouldn't even be on a map if it weren't for Umbrella."

"Yeah," she said letting herself come away. "Yeah, you're right."

I don't know whether she was 100% re-assured. I'd never been the strong masculine "Everything'll be alright" kinda-guy. Although never really in my life had that been necessary. I'd only ever lived through one trauma, and that was losing my Dad, and my Mom had been there to be the strong one. I was trying my best imitation now. For a trial run I don't think it had gone badly. Afterall, whilst I don't know much more now, I'm pretty sure I was right.

There were more gunshots, they sounded closer now. There was yelling; the words I couldn't make out; but the screams didn't need any deciphering.

"What the hell is going on?" Jennifer asked, wriggling free of my embrace. I'd expected her to return to her vigil but instead she crossed to the Kitchen and ran a glass of water.

I just stood and watched her. Part of me wanted to see if the water was still running and part of me was working up the courage to make the next move.

"We need to go and get my Mom." Once I'd reached my decision I felt bad that I'd even considered there was an alternative to that. Of course I'd go and get my Mom. We'd get across town, my Taurus was right downstairs, and we'd pick my Mom up and we'd head out of town. I know the City well enough to stay off the main drag.

"She… she…" I'd wanted to say 'She's all I got' but, a 'present company excluded' clause would look weak here. Instead I trailed off, once again to be saved by a woman in my life.

"We don't know what the fuck is out there."

Jennifer never swore. Ok, that's a lie; I'd had her saying all sorts of things mere moments before my Mom called. But I mean in everyday conversation, everyday life, she never swore.

"It's just rioters, I have – " I stop myself, realising I'd never told her something. Something she wouldn't approve of.

"You have what?" she asked, taking another glass of water down in one.

I'd never told her, never told my Mom. Both of would disapprove. I crossed the living area to the dresser on the wall opposite the TV and reached into the bottom drawer. I pulled out a green metal lockbox. Trust me it was green, it looked just another shade of red under that light. Nursing it in my hands I rose up and, after closing the distance between my beloved and I, I set the box down on the kitchen top.

There was a combination on the front. I entered my four digits, open the lid and turn it to face Jennifer.

Some folk might think, lefties mostly I guess, that just because I lived in the Midwest I'd be all over the Second Amendment, but whilst; yeah Dad had owned a gun; they'd never really been my scene. Jennifer, was especially against them. One of those nights when you first get together when you sit up and talk all night she'd said she'd never wanted to live in a house where there was a gun. She'd never said why she was so anti-gun, but she had mentioned a few times, in a different context, that she'd lost a friend at a young age. So my head-canon said that maybe this kid had got hold of their dad's gun and… well… you know how that normally turns out.

Because of her aversion, and my intrenched desire to keep the peace, I'd never mentioned that I owned one.

"Mike, why do you have that?" she asked, her eyes burning into the Colt M1911 that lay there.

I paused a second. I had mixed emotions at this point and at that question. I felt urgency; the need to go and get my Mom… like right then and there. I felt self-loathing; that I'd never told Jen I owned the gun. And, I'm ashamed to admit it now, anger; anger that she'd ask that question. I wanted to blurt out: "For this very fucking reason!" Where were the anti-gun rallies when the shit hits the fan? Never saw any anti-gun rallies in Night of the Living Dead. Not the original, nor the underrated 1991 Tom Savini remake.

I love – loved Jennifer. And just because I wanted to rush and get my Mom didn't mean I needed alienate her. "I'm sorry," I begin with, I've always found it a good starting point with women. "But I'll feel a hell of a lot safer if we go out there with it, than without."

Jen continued to stare for a few more beats, as if her brain was trying to process. Maybe this was the straw that broke the camels back? Maybe she could process going from sexual euphoria to apocalyptic overtones quicker than a Shelby Mustang's 0-60, but this was one crazy thing too many for one night.

She didn't say anything else. For what seemed like the longest time we shared a silence, it wasn't comfortable, nor uncomfortable; it was just… a silence. What she was thinking I'd never know, what calculations or permutations were running through that smart little head of hers I'd never know. Maybe it was the same as was going through mine? Is this gun really a reason to break up? Was it now, seeing what we were seeing a necessary evil?

She opened and close her mouth; a few different time trying to start the next part of the conversation, or argument, was whatever that was. The silence wasn't broken until there was a loud gunshot, it sounded like it was right outside.

We were both on edge. It startled both of us. And by startled I mean it scared the shit out of me.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," I said, didn't someone always say that in the movies? I'd said it plenty of times; as a kid when I'd rocked the vending machine in the arcade too hard when it'd stolen my dollar and the alarm on it starting going off; that time James Steiner and I had been noticed by one of our teachers playing truant. I'd never meant it more than right now.

"Let's go get your Mom," Jen said, she was onboard.

We both dressed for the nighttime chill, I'd tucked the gun into my jeans and hidden under the button-down I threw over my t-shirt. I put my Nike sneakers on; the retro ones like Forrest Gump had, (Cortez's I think) and grabbed my car keys. Jen had done similar, but had also grabbed a backpack and had filled it with the few food stuffs I had in the house. Old half eaten cookie packets mainly.

The corridor outside my apartment was empty. There were several of the red emergency lights (Why are they always red?) illuminated our escape route. There was a fire exit to our left, it took you to a metal set of steps that descended to the street below, but we took the main stairs as these led to the parking lot where my Taurus sat.

We moved carefully, quietly. Unsure how much cautious was prudent so assumed lots. I could sense myself holding my breath and broke into a pant as we reached the stairs. The background din of hoots, hollers, some gunfire, and some screams all sounded distant now; like a tornado that had passed through and was headed out of town. Still those gunshots before had been pretty damn close.

We reached the bottom of the staircase and I held the door for Jen. As I went through the door after her, keys in my left hand, I reached around and held the handle of my firearm; trying to be ready. I thought I was ready. Ready maybe to shoot some targets 10 feet away; ready maybe to brandish it and threaten someone, hoping my voice didn't portray my fear, but maybe not as ready as I'd need to be.

The parking lot was busier than before, a few other mundane late 80s early 90s Sedans sat around. A small truck, smaller than an F150; I don't know what it was, single cab… real small loading bay, the street lights were out so I couldn't see the model name or even the logo on the front; maybe a Nissan or some import or other, had been abandoned in the corner of the parking lot away from my car. The engine was off but the driver's door was wide open.

There was no sign of the driver. I drew my gun and passed Jen the car keys. We didn't speak, we just moved silently and slowly toward the Taurus.

I don't know if it was the smell, or the sound, that caught our attention first; but we both noticed it at the same time.

"Ugh," I let out, it was the first thing I'd said in a while. "What the fuck is that…" it was a rhetorical question of course but I really did want to know what was now burning into my nostrils.

We tried to ignore it and continue toward the Taurus. We were one car length away, I could almost see the Bryan Adams cassette sticking out of the tape deck, when the noises grew louder and our ears could pinpoint where it was coming from.

It had initially sounded like; I don't know; somewhere between a fat kid chowing into a bucket of Colonel's as if he was on the clock and maybe some stepping in a muddy puddle. I mean what the hell sounds like that? What could you say it the activity creating that noise? Well I can tell you now. As we passed the Honda Accord that sat one space distant from my Ford, we saw a dark figure down on it's knees hunched over the figure of a young boy. You could tell the figure on the bottom was a young boy by the size of his feet and the sneakers he wore.

The figure was adult, it was twice as big; at least. It was dark, you couldn't tell what this figure was doing, but the smell was dreadful and the noise was coming from a single source, even my untrained ears could tell that.

It was Jen that spoke; my eyes were still trying to make sense of what I was seeing. "What the actual fuck…"

The hunched over figure froze, and slowly staggered to it's feet. There was a groaning; and not like your granddad trying to get up off the floor groaning at his old joints; but a most primal groan that I can't really describe to you.

The figure turned. It was Latoya; my neighbour. The figure she'd been hunched off was her eldest boy. "Latoya?" I say taking a step forward, her familiarity overriding all else in that moment; this person was a friendly face. "Is Jackson okay?" I asked.

She didn't reply, but groan again and took a step toward us. When I say step it was more half step, half shuffle; as if her legs were weighted down somehow. "Are you okay?" I changed my question; the smell was bad. She took another shuffle-step forward. I could see her face now in the glow from the outdoor emergency light. Her lower jaw looked dislocated, blood was caked to her face, her left eye look totally red, the other seemed rolled back in it's socket. Her clothes were ripped, a breast was exposed.

"What the…" I was gonna drop an f bomb there. Hell if seeing something like THAT wasn't the time to drop an F bomb when was?

"Mike…" Jen said, backing up; she still had the car keys in her hand.

I mimicked this backward step, and when Latoya kept pace I remembered that weight in my hand was my gun. I raised it, pointing at her leg. I'd never aimed my gun at another person before. "Latoya, you need to stay back." I still didn't really understand what she had been doing over the boy, but the smell; piss, shit and rotting meat kind of smell, said it can't have been good.

"Please stay back," I said again, but she kept coming.

"Please," I said one last time; there's desperation in my voice. Thinking now I should've been worried about discharging a round because; a). I didn't own any extra bullets; so the 15 it held was all I had, and b). the noise would bring unwanted attention. And an c). I didn't wanna shoot anybody! But in reality in that moment I didn't wanna shoot because I was scared. Scared to pull the trigger, scared I'd get my Mom but be arrested before I could get her to safety.

"Stay back," I made it sound as forceful as I could. It had no effect.

Latoya had been advancing quicker than I had been retreating so she was close now. I could see what look like skin… like flesh, stuck between her teeth. She groan eagerly as she raised her arms and lunged for me.

I just reacted. Thank god. They say you never know how you'll react in these kind of situations. It's why so many police officers have to have counselling if they've been in a situation where they've had to fire their weapon. It doesn't matter how much training you have, nothing really prepares you for the actual act. I discharged the weapon into Latoya's leg. I was hoping this would put her down, sure I'd shot her; but in self defense and I hadn't killed nobody. I was disappointed. She let out a guttural cry at being shot but made another lunge for me. I dodged this second lunge and almost crashed into Jen, who'd frozen in place watching the proceedings.

"I've warned you," I said; again using the macho voice. I'd just used my gun for the first time, and well… I guess we've established I can.

Latoya still did not heed my warnings. I made a split second decision and discharged my weapon into her other leg. This time Latoya stumbled. Hoping that'd be the end of it I turned to Jen, "Keys," I said; hey even if this was the end of days I wasn't letting someone else drive my car!

Jen handed me the keys, her eyes not coming off Latoya. My neighbour writhed on the floor. We both turned and headed to the car. I took once last look to the dark corner behind the Accord where we'd found Jackson and her, wanting to pay my silent respects to the boy; I hadn't confirmed, but assumed the worst.

But to my horror the boy was gone. I'd unlocked the car and I heard the passenger door open. I opened my door too and swept the parking lot with my eyes; they were finally adjusting to the low light conditions but it was still my ears that located the missing boy. There was a groan, then Jen screamed.

"My leg!" she cried. I ran around the front of the car (I always reversed into a space) to see Jackson crawling across the asphalt toward Jen, his arms outstretched and one small hand around her ankle.

"Jackson!" I called out.

"Get him off me!" Jen cried out trying to shake her leg like you would to shake off the mud on the bottom of your boot.

"Get him off!" she cried again. I raised my gun again. "Jackson please," I pleaded. Jen couldn't move away, the boy was almost on her leg now. He was groaning excitedly, you could see the white of his teeth emerge.

I fired. The bullet hit the boy in the torso. The pitch of his groans changed, but he kept on mission. There was no more time for me to make threats. I fired a second time, this time into the boy's head. The boy immediately stopped moving. The parking lot went a whole lot quieter.

"Mike…" Jen trailed off, I finished for her.

"What have I done?"