just a can of high caffeine, high sugar energy drink and some condiments left on the door.
“The bleeding isn’t stopping,” Amy says.
Madison’s eyes grow heavy behind the mask. They close, and she starts to twitch and convulse. Her fat ripples and jiggles on her neck, just below her mask. The folds and rolls in her body flap around, slapping skin against skin under her oversized pajamas. Her mouth foams up underneath her mask, filling it with liquid. The shaking is so violent Michael can feel it across the room; her tremendous body rattles the floor beneath. Then suddenly she seems to calm down, and a moment later her elephantine heart stops.
“Is she?” Michael can’t believe it. “Just from a bite? She’s dead? It’s like she had a coronary or something.”
“Oh my God. What are we going to do?” Amy asks, frantic.
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. The whole city is shut down, in chaos. The phones are dead, and I have no signal on what little remains on my cell battery.”
Then there’s a long drawn out breath. Amy feels her leg soak with a warm liquid through her jeans. Madison is pissing herself. Amy jumps back with a start.
“What is it?” Michael asks. “Was that her breathing?”
Then there’s a groan. Amy tries to rationalize it. “I don’t know. I heard things about what bodies sometimes do after people die. They can groan, and expel liquids. All sorts of morbid crap happens in morgues.”
Then Madison sits up. Her mask is foggy and foamed up inside. The eyes look like glowing lights. She stumbles to her feet, stomping and rattling the shitty parquet wood floor as she gets up.
“Well maybe she’s not dead,” Michael adds sarcastically. He raises his hands in the air as if presenting Madison to a crowd of game show viewers.
“Madison?” Amy says.
An instant later she blindly charges at Amy like a wild bull. Amy steps aside toward Michael, and Madison crashes through her flimsy bathroom door, splintering it into shards. Madison goes down hard, flopping chest first into the toilet and shattering the porcelain on her way through it. The stagnant, unflushed shit water pours out all over the floor, filling the room with stink. A stalagmite of toilet porcelain remains. Covered in shit and sheared off to a jagged point, it proudly stands tall where there once sat a majestic throne. Madison gets up again. She lunges at Amy and Michael. But her foot slips on a massive log of dump, and her body lurches backward into a fall. The back of her head lands right smack on the tip of the pointed porcelain monolith. The sheer force of her fall plunges it out the front of her gas mask, popping the glass eye piece. She lies motionless in a pool of her own excrement. The glass eye piece spins and wobbles to a slow stop on the tile floor. And all is silent.
#
“I can’t believe someone so fat has nothing to eat in their apartment,” Michael remarks as he rummages through Madison’s cabinets.
“How can you say that? She just died,” Amy says.
“I’m just saying. You think there’d be something . I guess she ate through it all in the last few days.”
“Well, I mean look at her kitchen. It’s nonexistent. A hot plate and a mini fridge? It’s like college. She probably eats out a lot,” Amy reasons.
“Yeah. Fish sandwiches and furburgers at Café Dyke,” Michael mumbles inaudibly. “This is a waste. She doesn’t have anything we can use to recreate our packs.”
“So then let’s just try to relax. We can leave first thing in the morning,” Amy suggests.
“Okay. Hopefully there’ll be less of those animals out there if we get an early start.”
CHAPTER 18
All is vacant, calm, and pitch black in the night. Sheryl drives down the winding road from the hospital back to town. An occasional buzzing sound comes through the police radio, but there are no voices. There’s no life on the other end.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Willy,” he
“The bleeding isn’t stopping,” Amy says.
Madison’s eyes grow heavy behind the mask. They close, and she starts to twitch and convulse. Her fat ripples and jiggles on her neck, just below her mask. The folds and rolls in her body flap around, slapping skin against skin under her oversized pajamas. Her mouth foams up underneath her mask, filling it with liquid. The shaking is so violent Michael can feel it across the room; her tremendous body rattles the floor beneath. Then suddenly she seems to calm down, and a moment later her elephantine heart stops.
“Is she?” Michael can’t believe it. “Just from a bite? She’s dead? It’s like she had a coronary or something.”
“Oh my God. What are we going to do?” Amy asks, frantic.
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. The whole city is shut down, in chaos. The phones are dead, and I have no signal on what little remains on my cell battery.”
Then there’s a long drawn out breath. Amy feels her leg soak with a warm liquid through her jeans. Madison is pissing herself. Amy jumps back with a start.
“What is it?” Michael asks. “Was that her breathing?”
Then there’s a groan. Amy tries to rationalize it. “I don’t know. I heard things about what bodies sometimes do after people die. They can groan, and expel liquids. All sorts of morbid crap happens in morgues.”
Then Madison sits up. Her mask is foggy and foamed up inside. The eyes look like glowing lights. She stumbles to her feet, stomping and rattling the shitty parquet wood floor as she gets up.
“Well maybe she’s not dead,” Michael adds sarcastically. He raises his hands in the air as if presenting Madison to a crowd of game show viewers.
“Madison?” Amy says.
An instant later she blindly charges at Amy like a wild bull. Amy steps aside toward Michael, and Madison crashes through her flimsy bathroom door, splintering it into shards. Madison goes down hard, flopping chest first into the toilet and shattering the porcelain on her way through it. The stagnant, unflushed shit water pours out all over the floor, filling the room with stink. A stalagmite of toilet porcelain remains. Covered in shit and sheared off to a jagged point, it proudly stands tall where there once sat a majestic throne. Madison gets up again. She lunges at Amy and Michael. But her foot slips on a massive log of dump, and her body lurches backward into a fall. The back of her head lands right smack on the tip of the pointed porcelain monolith. The sheer force of her fall plunges it out the front of her gas mask, popping the glass eye piece. She lies motionless in a pool of her own excrement. The glass eye piece spins and wobbles to a slow stop on the tile floor. And all is silent.
#
“I can’t believe someone so fat has nothing to eat in their apartment,” Michael remarks as he rummages through Madison’s cabinets.
“How can you say that? She just died,” Amy says.
“I’m just saying. You think there’d be something . I guess she ate through it all in the last few days.”
“Well, I mean look at her kitchen. It’s nonexistent. A hot plate and a mini fridge? It’s like college. She probably eats out a lot,” Amy reasons.
“Yeah. Fish sandwiches and furburgers at Café Dyke,” Michael mumbles inaudibly. “This is a waste. She doesn’t have anything we can use to recreate our packs.”
“So then let’s just try to relax. We can leave first thing in the morning,” Amy suggests.
“Okay. Hopefully there’ll be less of those animals out there if we get an early start.”
CHAPTER 18
All is vacant, calm, and pitch black in the night. Sheryl drives down the winding road from the hospital back to town. An occasional buzzing sound comes through the police radio, but there are no voices. There’s no life on the other end.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Willy,” he
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