Friday, September 17, 2010

A continuation of Alan's story

I screamed and slammed on the breaks, paying no attention to Steve Miller singing, “abra abra kadabra I wanna’ reach out and grab you,” through my speakers. The person just stood there, staring at me, a dull look in its eyes. It was a teenage girl, probably 17 or 18, wearing jeans and a band shirt, all adorned with blood. As I went for the door she took one last glace and lumbered off into the darkness. I sat there, trying to piece together what I saw, looking into the night for something to explain her condition. And then suddenly something hit the side of my car, “thud thud thud,” something banging against my drivers side door. I hesitated, inching my hand to the cab light switch, afraid and mentally paralyzed and yet my hand continued to move. And then, right as the light switched on she slammed her head against my window and it cracked and blood flowed into the spider web cracks. “Bam, bam, bam,” harder and harder she slammed her body against my door, growling and clawing at me, craving me, hungering for my flesh. I sat there and watched in macabre interest and a paralyzed fear as she continued to ram my car, no sign of pain, no sign of…life. I began to scream, to yell louder than I had ever yelled before, and as I yelled I slammed on the gas pedal, and sped away. In my red taillights I saw her chasing me; showered in red she ran and ran until she simply couldn’t keep up. I continued to drive and scream for about five minutes. I began to feel cold and found it hard to breathe; I pulled over, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I sat there hyperventilating, the cab light on, shaking, as Steve continued to serenade me, “abra abra kadabra….” I began to calm down, not relax, but calm down. I couldn’t figure out, or decide what exactly had just happened. All I knew was that I needed a gun, and I needed food, and I needed to get home. As I entered town it was apparent that something was happening, the film had been replaced by mass hysteria. Cars overturned, people screaming and running through the streets. One woman was running down the street her scalp bleeding because something had managed to pull out half of her hair. Sirens could be heard throughout the city along with gunshots, a never ending volley of gunfire. I forsook my boycott of Wal-Mart and managed to park close to the entrance and ran into the store. Blood painted the floor, and all that was left of the nightly greeter was a cheap sneaker and part of her calf. I took one look and vomited all over the floor, a mixture of the earlier night’s dinner and stomach bile combined with the blood on the floor. Everything was on the floor, food, candy, everything, toys strewn about the entire store, painted in red. I began to run towards the outdoor section, almost slipping in the red muck but managing to keep my balance. I ran past an aisle with a bunch of towels where a middle-aged woman sat there, crying. She was hurt; it looked as if she had been attacked by an animal, as if she had been mauled by a dog, the image of the bloody girl flashed into my head. As I continued to run her sobs turned into screams and wails and I heard the same low pitched moans and screams that came from that girl, I quickened my already sprinting pace. As I rounded the corner where the electronics and toy sections intersected I froze.