Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (21 page)

Something fell to the floor at the rear of the restaurant, and Mason nearly launched his attack then and there. Sadly, the noise startled the kid enough that his finger tightened on the trigger, and just like that, the opportunity vanished.

It was Mackenzie. She reappeared sheepishly from around a big counter near the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish rag and calling out, "Sorry, I knocked something over. I think it was a bottle."

The kid huffed angrily, "
Damn it!
  The scotch! I was saving that! Can't you watch where you're going?"

Mackenzie merely shrugged and offered an unapologetic, "Nope."

The kid swore under his breath, then he watched the girl approach. and his little snake tongue reemerged to skitter over his upper lip. As she returned, groping her way through the jumble of tables and chairs, the kid called out to her.

"Come sit with me,
Princess
. I think we should get to know each other better."

Mason made a move to protest, but the kid raised the pistol to a point between his eyes and thumbed back the hammer.

"Uh, uh,
Billy-boy
," he smirked, "The poor thing's already lost her parents, her aunt, and her eyes. You want she should lose you, too?"

Mason settled back on his knee and winced in pain, but every muscle in his body tensed like a snake preparing to strike.

"This way, Princess," the kid called to the girl, "Come sit with me. Over here. That's it."

The girl pursed her lips and her step faltered, but she dutifully complied and stepped grudgingly into the kid's arms. Without ceremony, he pulled her rudely onto his lap, and with that one motion, most of Mason's hastily-crafted plan went out the window. With Mackenzie in the line of fire, he was back to square one. As he began to run a new sequence of scenarios through his mind, the kid roughly stroked the girl's hair as if he'd heard of such things being done but had no conception that gentleness played even a part.

"What's your name, Princess?" he asked as sweetly as a monster could.

The girl hesitated for only a moment, then she replied coolly, "Mackenzie."

"Ah….., Princess Mackenzie," the kid cooed, his voice all but dripping oil, "You're a big girl, Mackenzie. How old are you?"

Mason knew the sickly-sweet questions were all part of the interrogation, and if Mack's answer was anything but 'ten', Mason would have to act, with or without a plan. He cocked his feet under his center of mass and made himself ready. One good leap. Half a second. Barrel into the kid and send all of them backwards, ass over tea kettle. Then grab for the gun and hope for the best. His muscled tensed, and his pulse quickened as Mackenzie spoke.

"Ten," she said, her tiny hands fiddling nervously with the dish rag.

Mason's exhaled his relief, but his body stayed as taut as a bow string.

"Have you heard of Romeo and Juliet," the kid cooed softly, "Juliet was ten, too, you know?"

You sick son of a bitch….
Mason said in his head, but outwardly he betrayed no emotion whatsoever. The kid was toying with him. Goading him. Seeing how far he could push 'Uncle Billy' before he did something rash. Then he'd put a bullet in the poor crippled desk-jockey, and he'd have all the time in the world to indulge his loathsome prurience.

"I think Juliet was twelve," Mackenzie said, fidgeting the dish rag around and around in her hands.

"Oh?" The kid glared at Mason and gave him a conspiratorial little wink, "Well, it seems close enough. So tell me, Mackenzie, why were you and your…uhh…
uncle
outside?"

Again, the briefest of hesitations, then the girl answered sweetly.

"We were looking for my aunt Sarah."

The kid sniffed the girl's hair. "I see. Aunt Sarah is Uncle Billy's wife, I suppose?"

Mackenzie shook her head and giggled, "No!"

The kid fake-laughed along with her, and one of his hands crept down her body, coming to rest on her thigh. Mason seethed beneath an expressionless face and fake-massaged his knee.

Half a second, asshole. That's all I need. Keep pointing that gun at me. It won't matter. Just give me that extra half a second…..

"And where were you looking for Aunt Sarah, little Princess Mackenzie?"

Mackenzie answered honestly, "At the Trident Urgent Care Center. Sarah's a nurse. We went to see if we could find her."

"Oh, dear," the kid's voice feigned concern, "That sounds dangerous."

"Mace took us through the sewers," the girl said, then she giggled, "It echoed!"

The kid kept one wary eye on Mason as he teased, "I'll bet it did! I guess that's why you both stink enough to knock a buzzard off a shit wagon, huh?"

The girl sniffed her own clothing and cast her eyes sullenly downward. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Oh, that's alright," the kid brushed a lock of hair back from her face and ran a finger down her cheek, "All you need is a bath, and you'll be right as rain."

Mason's blood boiled, but if he telegraphed his move, the game was over.

Half a second, you sick freak. …..Just give me half a
goddam
second!

Mackenzie twisted the dish rag over and over in her tiny hands. The kid was clearly becoming annoyed that the girl's attention was not solely on him and almost ripped the cloth from her hands, but then he noticed that there appeared to be something concealed with it.

"Whatcha hiding there, Princess?" he asked, slinging an arm around her waist so that one hand happened to come to rest on her inner thigh, "Did you find something back there? A toy, maybe?"

He gave her thigh a squeeze and Mason made ready.

Mackenzie giggled sweetly and whispered, "It's a secret."

"Oh, Princess, you and I have no secrets from one another," he threw a leer and a wink at Mason, "Or at least, we won't for long."

The girl hid her face demurely, then she giggled again and turned her blind eyes up in the direction of the kid's face.

"Promise not to tell?" she asked, blushing adorably.

"I promise," the kid replied with a lurid grin and a licking of his lips, "We're best friends now, right?"

Almost reluctantly, Mackenzie brought the dish rag up close to her face, and the kid leaned in curiously as she began to unfurl the coils.

"You promise not to tell, right?" She giggled and put a gentle hand on the kid's chest.

The kid's eyes flickered once, and a lecherous sneer spread across his face.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Princess."

She unraveled most of the rag until she held only a loose ball of cloth in her closed fist. She began to unfurl her fingers, but then she stopped and leaned up to whisper in the kid's ear.

"I found it on the way to the bathroom. You don't mind?"

"I don't mind," the kid assured her as his hand crept up her thigh, "I promise. And after you show me what you found, I'll warm up some water for a bath, okay?"

He sniffed her hair, then he pressed his cheek against hers. Mackenzie took gentle hold of the kid's shirt front and pulled him forward.

"You have to look close, or it'll get away," she giggled, "Are you ready?"

"Ready," The kid leaned into her, and his eyes widened in a licentious, vulgar leer.

"Okay, but look closely," the girl cautioned, then she drew back the cloth, opened her fist, and threw a handful of white dust in the kid's face.

The kid threw his head back and howled in pain, and Mason immediately launched himself forward.

"My eyes!" the kid shrieked like a feral cat, "My
eyes!"

Mackenzie rolled deftly to the side and slid to the floor just in time. The force of Mason's impact sent the chair toppling backward, then one strong hand found the gun and another found the kid's throat. The former wrenched the gun free and sent it skittering across the floor, and the latter began to squeeze.

"No, no, no!" The kid howled, then his breath was choked off, and it was all he could do to thrash wildly under Mason's weight.

The end result was a foregone inevitability. Only an act of God would keep Mason from choking  the life out of the monster. The kid clawed at the hand at his throat, but Mason swatted the hands away as if they were flies. Soon enough, he felt the kid go limp as his life ebbed away, and still he squeezed.

Just then, a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Mackenzie pressed up beside him.

"What are you doing, Mace?" She asked excitedly. Her hands ran down Mason's arm to his hand on the kid's throat.

"I'm killing him," Mason said, dispassionately.

"You can't," Mackenzie told him, and pulled at his fingers.

"Watch
me," he barked.

His words were like a cold slap across his own face. He would never have imagined it, but apparently, an act of God could come in the form of a tiny angel with a big mop of fiery red hair. He slowly and reluctantly released his grip on the kid's throat, and placed a gentle hand on Mackenzie's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Mack," he said wistfully.

"Don't be," she scolded him through pursed lips, then she laid her hand atop his and her expression sweetened, "Sarah says you never have to be sorry if you don't do anything to be sorry about."

Mason felt his heart melt, and he reeled Mackenzie in close enough to place a tender kiss on her forehead. "She sounds like a smart lady. I can't wait to meet her."

Even after Mason stopped throttling the kid, all of the fight was gone from him. He simply lay on the ground, rubbing his eyes and mewling like a baby.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!" He bawled, "I didn't mean it! I didn't mea—….."

One good wrap of Mason's knuckles against the kid's chin was enough. The kid blacked out and lay lifeless on the floor, and Mason noted a widening circle of wetness on the kid's crotch with some satisfaction.

At last, Mason picked himself up off the floor and scooped Mackenzie into his arms.

"It's okay, babygirl," he cooed to her, "We're okay.
I'm
okay."

She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. He could feel her body trembling and knew that she was fighting back tears. He kissed her on the top of the head and cooed gently, "We're okay, babygirl…..we're okay."

She raised her face enough to return the kiss to his cheek.

"All good, Mace?" She asked, sniffling once and only once.

"All good, Mack," Mason said tenderly, "But only because of you. What was that you threw in his face?"

She drew a hand across her eye to wipe away a single tear.

"Salt. I saw it in a movie. Alec threw salt in Arne Saknussemm's face."

The reference meant nothing to Mason, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He and Mackenzie were alive, so the rest of the world be damned. He held the girl close and felt her face in the crook of his neck, and suddenly nothing else mattered in the whole
goddamned
world.

CHAPTER XXIV

Mason collected a clean linen cloth from one of the tables and carried it to the corpse of the naked woman at the far side of the room. She looked to be in her thirties, with manicured nails, a hundred-dollar coif, and a pretty face. Now, the nails were splintered, the hair was pasted to the floor in a pool of dried blood, and the pearl-white skin had begun to marble, but a neat hole between her eyes showed that at least she was well and truly dead.

It was perhaps superfluous, but as one of the few actual victims of this day's events upon whom Mason could heap his condolences, he spread the tablecloth neatly over her lifeless body, making certain that it lie straight and that it covered every inch of bare skin. He wasn't enough of a hypocrite to offer the woman any kind of prayer, but he did bow his head for a handful of seconds and closed his eyes for almost as long.

He took another tablecloth to the man in the leather jacket, saw the same neat hole ringed by powder burns in his forehead, and fitted the cloth so that it draped over his head and shoulders. Then he went to the man lying face-down on the table, saw a gaping wound in the back of the poor fellow's head, and covered him as best he could with yet another tablecloth.

At last, he returned to a point near the middle of the glass facade where a chair had been strategically placed, facing outward. The kid was slowly regaining consciousness, but he hung as limp as a rag doll when Mason lifted him roughly into the chair and produced a roll of duct tape he'd found in the supply cupboard. Only after his hands and elbows were secured and Mason knelt to tape his ankles to the chair did he become aware of his situation. He lashed out a boot that caught Mason on the shoulder, then he saw the murderous glare in the other man's eyes and ceased struggling. He turned to begging and pleading as his ankles and knees were secured, then he cried and soiled himself when Mason produced his own pistol and cocked the hammer.

"You can't be like him, Mace," Mackenzie reminded him gently from where she sat cross-legged on the floor nibbling on a muffin.

Oh, I
could
be, babygirl
…..Mason thought to himself,
But I
won't
be.…..

"I just want him to know how it feels," he grumbled.

Once the gun was back in Mason's waistband, the kid realized his execution had been stayed, and he turned his attention to hurling vile threats at his captor. A strip of tape across his mouth put an end to the drivel, then Mason drew another over the kid's eyes to hide those damnable arched eyebrows. The kid struggled against the bonds for a few seconds, but an infuriated punch to the sternum knocked the wind out of him. Once the convulsions abated, he slumped forward, and remained perfectly still and quiet.

In truth, Mason had much more to worry about than the kid. Out front, no fewer than a dozen creatures now stood against the glass facade as if pinned to a board in some alien entomologist's collection. A few flailed and howled and clawed at the invisible barrier, but most merely pressed their broken, ravaged bodies hard against the glass and peered in with sightless eyes and gnashing jaws.

All the while, Mackenzie sat on the floor, nibbling at a muffin and sipping on a bottle of warm Coke. She looked up as Mason approached, and he ran a gentle hand through her mop of hair as he passed.

"All good, Mack?" he asked.

"All good, Mace," came the reply.

He proceeded to the broken and barricaded door and studied it closely. Four distinctly different arms thrashed about through the gaps, and one face pressed close enough for Mason to recognize the effeminate features of Doctor Walker, but the barricade was sturdy enough to hold the creatures at bay. Just to be sure, Mason slid two more chairs into the breach, weaving their legs in and around certain strategic points to strengthen the whole, then he nodded his approval and retired to the kitchen.

There would be no leaving the restaurant by the way they entered, so he was thankful to find a door at the rear of the place. He had no desire to return to the alley, but at least they had a way out when the time came. He checked that the door was securely bolted, then he turned his attention to a large refrigerator nearby. It turned out to be nearly as big on the inside as his whole apartment, and within it he found a wealth of foodstuffs. There were fruits and vegetables by the bushel, bricks and wheels of cheese, and trays filled with all manner of meats. There was a big gas grill in the kitchen that made him briefly consider treating them both to a hot meal, but the notion was imprudent at best. The place would fill with smoke, and the smell was sure to draw creatures from far and wide.

With a sigh, he confined himself to the collecting of more practical foodstuffs. This being a fashionable eatery, there was little in the way of canned goods, but he managed to collect a tub of reasonably fresh fruit cocktail, a loaf of bread not yet gone stale, a brick of aged cheddar cheese, a block of baking chocolate, and more carrots and apples and oranges than they would ever be able to carry. As he passed back around the counter, he piled a dozen or more bottles of imported beer onto a tray, grabbed a number of soft drinks and juices for Mackenzie, and considered the bounty well-earned.

Next, he turned his attention to finding a suitable weapon. He now had two guns and four full clips thanks to the kid, but they had to be considered a last resort.  What he needed was a weapon of stealth. He found an array of knives stuck to a magnetic strip over a cutting board and selected the largest of the lot to stick through his belt loop, but that was just a case of the
might-as-wells.
A simple knife would never do. He needed something bigger. Something to strike from a distance, like his trusty old rebar. Something strong and heavy and able to cave in a skull or snap a knee joint. 

To that end, he began to properly scour the place and let his imagination run wild. A knife secured to a broom handle, maybe? It had its merits, but then he recalled the image of the guy in the muffin shop still coming at him with holes punched straight through his chest and discounted the idea. A floor lamp, perhaps? There were several around, but they were made of relatively lightweight aluminum. A table leg, then? They were sturdy metal, for sure, but the ornate bend in the middle would make one an unwieldy weapon. No, what he needed was something long, straight and heavy. He returned to the gas grill and lifted off one of the cooking grates. It was solid cast iron and the side supports were a good three feet long, but with no way to take the thing apart, it was pointless. But then he looked more closely at the grill itself and spotted a separation between the rear support bar and the back of the grill. He pulled off the second grate, laid it aside, and grabbed hold of that rear support. To his delight, it came free with a twist of his wrist and a single squeal of metal on metal.

The thing was L-shaped to support the grates, so it sat awkwardly in his hand. It also weighed as much as a sack of potatoes, so it would be unwieldy in close quarters, but it was made of a single piece of cast iron, so it was as strong as a broadsword. He wished he could sharpen the leading edge of the thing, but ultimately he concluded that it would suffice just as it was. He stuffed a rolled-up dish towel into the bend at one end, wrapped another around the bar, then used most of the roll of duct tape in completing what would be the weapon's hilt. Once done, he gave the thing a few practice swings, declared it as damn-near perfect, and took his entire haul back to the front room.

By the time he returned, the kid was beginning to stir under his restraints. Muscles flexed and his jaw moved, but after a few muffled sobs, the monster collapsed back in his chair. Mason completely disregarded the creature and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Mackenzie. He laid everything out before him, helped himself to one of the muffins from his knapsack, and held up an orange. Mackenzie sniffed, then she grabbed the orange excitedly and tore into the thick skin.

"Ooooo…." She purred, making a hole in the side and sucking a mouthful of juice straight out of the orange, "I love you, Mace, thank you.….."

It was said so casually and obliquely that it caught Mason completely off-guard. Nevertheless, he patted the girl's knee gently, said, "I love you, too, Mack," and dug into his muffin.

The more he ate, the hungrier he realized he was. Nibbles turned to a voracious flurry of bites, and the muffin quickly disappeared. He rummaged through the knapsack for one of their granola bars, devoured it in a few bites, then he peeled an orange and swallowed wedge after wedge with a satisfied sigh. At last, he popped open a bottle of Corona beer and took a long swallow. He didn't expect much from a tepid beer, but surprisingly, it went down like ambrosia. He swapped swallows of beer with bites from a carrot, then he broke out the brick of baker's chocolate, and he and Mackenzie traded bites and moans of delight. At last, he opened a second Corona, handed control of the chocolate entirely to Mackenzie, and leaned back on one hand, sipping his beer with a satisfied smile on his face.

Mackenzie took a bite of chocolate with every wedge of orange, and once done, licked her fingers clean and wiped them on her pants. Mason offered her more from their stores, but she shook her head, cooed a sweet, "No thank you, Mace," and began rummaging through the different drinks Mason had found. As she haphazardly grabbed cans and bottles and juice boxes, she would hold them up, and Mason would identify each one's contents, and it didn't long before it turned into a game. Mackenzie hid the tray behind her back, then she'd take hold of one container or another,  and they would both take a guess, then she would produce whatever it was, and no matter who was right and who was wrong, they would both laugh. Eventually, the guesses became sillier and sillier, and Mason would declare confidently, "Rhinoceros snot!" Mackenzie would reply, "Worm poo!", then she'd produce the can or bottle or box and Mason would grumble, "Darn…. it's only apple juice," and they would both laugh as if it was the funnest game ever invented. Once the tray was empty, she selected a can of Diet Coke that she vehemently maintained was the alligator sweat she'd already declared it to be, and with every sip, she tilted her head back, smacked her lips and sighed, "Now, that is some
good
alligator sweat!"

"I'm not sure alligators sweat, Mack," Mason cautioned her.

"Swamps are hot," Mackenzie quipped through a sheepish grin.

"Well, I've heard of crocodile tears," he fake-grumbled, "but never alligator sweat."

Mackenzie scoffed and swallowed hard, "What do crocodiles have to cry about? They get to swim around and lay in the sun all day. They even get their pictures on all those t-shirts."

"I think we're back to alligators now, Mack."

"Well," the girl shrugged, "that's probably why people sweat when they wear them."

At that, Mason laughed, and Mackenzie giggled along adorably. Then Mason caught movement in his peripheral vision, and his laughter dissolved away as he regarded the swarm gathering out front.

Two wild things were out there, snarling and snorting through blood-soaked masks of horror and clawing furiously at the glass, and thrice that number of dead creatures were pressed against the glass as still and silent as ghosts, staring in with their cold, unblinking eyes. Such images were the stuff of nightmares, but they were the new norm in this world and barely rated a second look. What wasn't so easily dismissed, though, was the image of Doctor Walker stumbling awkwardly into view from around the corner of the building.

Apparently, Mason had done his job well. The man's face looked as if it'd been through a meat grinder, but it had been the blow to the back of his head that had done the real damage. Now, the good doctor stutter-stepped his way along the front until he was directly opposite Mason, then he pressed his body flat against the glass and gaped in with dead, empty eyes.

The sight was no more or less ghastly than the countless others Mason had seen this day, but it still took him aback, and it wasn't difficult to understand why. For the first time, he was looking upon someone he'd actually known in life. He certainly had no love for Walker, but he had known him and he had talked to him. A few short hours ago, he'd even held him in his arms. It was easy enough to see the other denizens of this new world as little more than outlandish caricatures of humanity, but in this late lamented Doctor Walker was suddenly the very embodiment of this catastrophe's true cost.

For one fleeting, unforgivable moment, he was silently glad that Mackenzie couldn't see, but then the girl spoke up, and Mason could only marvel at her preternatural sentience.

"That's him, isn't it?," She said coolly between sips of her drink.

"Huh?" Mason finally tore his eyes away from the bloodied and battered remains of Walker. "That's
who
, Mack?"

"Him," she flicked her head toward the window, "Doctor Walker."

Mason could scarcely believe what he was hearing. At last, he managed to form the words, "You can actually
hear
them? Through a solid
wall?"

"Sure," she shrugged languidly, "The angry ones are easy. They sound like wolves. The creepy ones are way quieter, but they shuffle their feet, and they bump into things. And some of them have things that made noise, like keys in their pocket or a bracelet that jingles."

"But Mack," Mason's eyes narrowed, "Surely, you can't tell one from another….."