The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel (12 page)

“Yea, hell of a thing too,” Mike said. “At first
, they wanted us to get as far away as we could in case the whole gas station blew, but they got a reserve fire truck on scene pretty fast and those boys went to work on it.”

John shook his head
as he found it difficult to pay attention. “What about the cops?” he asked.

“What about them?”

“Didn’t you hear what that cop said before he blew the car up?” John’s eyes focused on Mike. “Didn’t you hear what he said that thing in the back of the car was?”

“No
, man, I didn’t go over there with you. You’re the one that wanted to be a hero, damn lucky too.”

“What about Allen?” John asked, remembering the name of one of the guys who ran across the street.

Mike stared at the ground and shook his head. “That’s why you don’t run off and try and be a hero,” he said. “He didn’t make it. None of them did, just you.”

John put his face in his hands and
rubbed his temples. He wasn’t sure of his legs, but he pushed himself off the ground and came to his feet. Mike reached out and grabbed his arm.

“What the hell are you doing?
You need to sit back down.”

“I got to get out of here,” John said. “I’ll be fine once I get home.”
He could see Mike was trying to think of something to say to stop him, but he beat him to the punch. “I’ll be fine.” He was headed for the rear shop door before Mike could respond.

#

John made the drive home in record time. He knew the police had more to worry about than speeders, and he took full advantage of it. He pulled into the driveway and the clock in the dash said it was only three o’clock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home so early on a work day. The house looked quiet from the outside, but he noticed the carport door was slightly ajar. He popped open the door and stepped out, but something caused him to hesitate. He reached in the bed of the truck without thinking and pulled out a long wrench from the toolbox. He approached the carport slowly as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment.

“Angela?”
He got close to the door and stopped, waiting for an answer. “Angela?”

John waited as
long as he could, then he crept toward the door. He peered in through the thin crack and saw part of the living room and into the dining room. There was no sign of movement, so he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped in. The first thing he noticed was a smear of blood on the floor at the entrance to the hall. He held a firm grip on the wrench as he moved toward the dining room, his eyes focused on the hallway. The light was out in the hall, hiding the view of anything past the entryway. John neared the couch and heard footsteps. Slow at first, the steps stopped within the hall and he made out someone in the darkness.

“John?”
Angela’s voice was clear as she stepped out into the light. “What are you doing home?”

John relaxed his grip on the wrench. “
Jesus, Angela, you scared the hell out of me.” She didn’t say anything and he noticed she was carrying a pair of men’s dress shoes. He looked again at the blood on the floor then back at the shoes. “What did you do?”

Angela
hesitated. She glanced down at the shoes then sheepishly smiled as her gaze returned to John. “You know how we’re a few months behind on the mortgage?”

“Yea.
”

“Well
, that bank thought it would be a good idea to send someone-”

“Mr. Howard?
” John stormed across the room and snatched the shoes out of her hand.

“Don’t be a baby
, John,” she said as she stomped her foot. “Have you been watching the news?”

“Me?”
John asked. “Have you been watching the news? I freaking nearly died today in a fire.” Angela’s face relaxed as she grew concerned. “I was right there when that cop blew up his car and do you know what I saw in the back seat?”

“Awe
, baby, come here,” she said and threw her arms around him. “Are you alright? Sit down.” She went into the kitchen, poured a drink, and brought it back to the table. “That fire’s all over the news.”

John drank the entire cup in one gulp.

“They’re quarantining the hospital,” she said.

“Damn right they should,” he
said. “This is our fault, Angela.”

She
squeezed on his shoulders and messaged his neck. “We can’t worry about that now,” she said. “We have to think about our family.”

“I know.
” 

He lacked the energy to argue with her and gave in quickly.
Angela returned to the kitchen and poured him another drink, handed it to him, and headed for the hall. Once she disappeared in the darkness, he heard her call for him.

“I need you to give me a hand, Mr. Howard was a hardy eater.”

13

Mr. Howard was a mess. John helped Angela get
Alex cornered behind the bed before focusing on the body. He was a large man with most of the weight in his stomach and hips. He lay on his back with his torn shirt exposing his gut. Alex had eaten directly into the stomach and pulled most of the entrails out onto the floor. There was blood everywhere and John doubted it would ever come up.

Alex
’s face was clean compared to the carnage on the floor. It appeared the boy got most of the man’s guts down without spilling any on him. John couldn’t bear to look at his son any longer than a glance. The boy’s dark gray skin was an abomination and there were tears along his neck and chest. It looked like a cat had clawed into him and the wounds refused to heal.

Above all else
, it was Alex’s eyes that his father could not stand to look at. Stained in a vile yellow tint, they stared back at the world with ravenous frenzy. Alex reached out from behind his bed, trying in vain to reach his mother. Although her tender smile looked back at him, his desire for her flesh was undeniable. John grabbed Mr. Howard by the ankles and dragged him toward the door. He realized quickly that he would have to put all his strength into getting the man into the storm cellar.

“Don’t stain my carpet.”

John heard his wife, but didn’t look up to confirm what she’d said. He swallowed his response and dropped Mr. Howard’s feet. He ripped the lone remaining bedspread off the mattress and laid it out on the ground, and then rolled the body over with one good push. He pulled the body out into the hall before Angela could offer any more advice.

The
bedspread helped with the man’s girth as it slid painlessly over the wood floor. John made quick work of getting the body over the edge of the living room carpet and back onto the wood in the dining room before reaching the back door. The difficulty began in the backyard. John was feeling the impacts of the explosion and his muscles gave in faster than he hoped. The sun was still up and there was no way he could stop with Mr. Howard’s bloody corpse lying in the grass. It took every ounce of strength he had left to get the body to the side of the house, but that was when the noises started. John knew he’d heard a knock, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from until he stopped moving. His mind figured it out a split second before he was willing to accept it. He stared dumbfounded at the storm cellar doors

“What the hell?”

His face tensed as several thoughts rolled around in his head. A moment later, he gazed at the doors like he’d seen a ghost. John took a few steps closer and leaned over the doors. There were distinct intermediate knocks followed by something dragging across the ground.

He was sure whatever was making the noise
, wasn’t against the doors and as he reached out for the lock, he remembered the cat he’d found before. A few seconds later, he pulled back one of the doors and let the remaining light flood in. The sound stopped for only a second then continued, this time at a faster pace. John forgot about Mr. Howard’s body as he took a step down into the cellar. He knew the cord for the light was in the center of the room, but his thumping heart refused to let him go any further. He looked back at Mr. Howard and considered going back to the house for the flashlight.

He
glanced down into the cellar in time to see a pair of filthy hands reaching out for his leg. From out of the darkness, Stacy’s mutilated body lunged up the stairs, her mouth open wide as her hands wrapped around John’s boot. By instinct, he kicked her in the face with his free foot as she tried to bite into his leg. He jumped back up on the grass as her disfigured body climbed up the stairs after him. In the same guttural tone as Alex, she growled, her sunken eyes locked on him. The exposed muscle on her face and neck appeared to move as maggots feasted on the rotting soft tissue.

“Angela!
”

He turned to run
, but stumbled over Mr. Howard’s outstretched legs and fell flat on his face. By the time he rolled over on his back, Stacy was climbing out of the open storm cellar on her hands and knees. She hissed at him like an animal, and he got a look at her body in the light. Alex had eaten into her thigh and the opening was a dark shade of blue. The bone in her leg was exposed as the remainder of her tattered pants swung from side to side. She got to her feet and lumbered toward him. John backed away like a spider on his hands and feet, yelling in horror.

“Angela,
” he said as he managed to flip around and get up. Stacy’s arms were locked out straight in front of her as she walked toward him. He ran for his life around the back of the house, pulled open the back door, and smashed into Angela as she tried to get out. “She’s walking,” he said.

She swiped at her mouth
, sure John had busted open her lip. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He
didn’t explain, pushing past her into the house. He stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing he saw. He ran back to the door with a butcher knife in his hands and saw Angela through the open doorway. She was standing motionless in the backyard looking in the direction of the storm cellar. He burst through the back door and turned to find Stacy coming toward him, now only a few feet away.

“Get back,”
he said, pushing Angela away.

He
slashed his knife back and forth like a sword. The second strike caught Stacy’s hand severing two fingers. The digits fell to the ground with little effect. She closed in on him with another step and grabbed a hold of him by the shoulder and arm.

They fought one another
and Stacy’s strength overwhelmed him. She lunged forward, mouth open wide. John pulled back, escaping her bite, inches from his exposed neck. The open wounds on her face revealed the decaying muscle’s within her jaw. A bulbous, black tongue filled her mouth, the tip bitten off.

John
raised his leg, wedging his knee into her sternum. He felt a burn on his arm as her nails dug into his skin as he tried to pull free. From the corner of his eye, he saw Angela standing motionless a few feet away. She watched like a statue, seemingly unaffected by the brutality of the attack. John worked his arm free with one last push, losing a long stretch of skin for his effort. Blood ran down his forearm as he brought the knife down as hard as he could manage. The blade cut into Stacy’s throat with ease, slicing effortlessly through skin, muscle, and tissue. He tried to push the knife through her neck, but felt the blade dig into bone.

Her
head flung from side to side uncontrollably as she tried to bite John’s arm. He was quick to pull his hand back and attack again. He pushed his leg against her chest and forced her away. She brought her arms up toward him and he plunged the knife directly into her face, the tip catching her in the eye. The eyeball burst on impact, spewing its innards down the front of Stacy’s face. John jabbed the palm of his hand against the end of the handle and forced the blade deeper into the eye socket and into her brain. Stacy made one last rasping moan then went silent, her body collapsing to the ground. John wasted little time. Using both feet, he smashed the heels of his boots on her head until the skull burst open like a melon. The substance of her brain splattering across the grass was blackened and bloody. He continued to stomp until there was little left to recognize, then stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. Angela hadn’t moved, watching him without much concern.

“Thanks for the help,”
he said between breaths.

“What did you want me to do?”

“Anything would have been nice. What if that thing would of bit me?”

Angela looked down at the trampled mess
of Stacy’s face then back at John. “Then I guess I would have had to get food for two instead of one.”

S
he calmly strolled back into the house and John didn’t know what to say. He looked around and caught sight of Mr. Howard lying on the ground on the side of the house. It didn’t take him long to decide what needed to be done. He pulled the knife free from what was left of Stacy’s face and headed for Mr. Howard.

#

John couldn’t sleep. He’d removed Mr. Howard’s head, pulled both bodies back down under the house, and then came in to find Angela in bed. He hid Mr. Howard’s car in the woods behind the house, took a shower, and ate. Now he was finding it impossible to sleep next to his wife. There was something about the way she ignored his safety that truly terrified him.

The pain in his arm was unbearable. He rubbed his fingers along the bandage and felt it soaked through. Part o
f him wondered if Stacy could have infected him with her nails. He slipped out from under the covers and his mind went over all of the zombie movies he’d ever seen. If his memory served him well, someone could only be infected by a bite.

He c
losed the bathroom door, flicked on the light, and held his eyes shut for a few seconds to allow them to adjust. A look in the mirror revealed the bloody bandage, its top a deep wine color. He pulled back the material and felt the sticky substance tug at his skin and hair. He wasn’t sure why a bite would be the only way to catch whatever the hell infected Stacy, since he was sure no one had bit Alex. Paranoid that he’d come in such close contact with her, John stared into the mirror, convinced that he might change at any moment. He examined his eyes for a while then held his hand over his heart. The simple feeling of his heartbeat calmed him down.

It was
pitch black in the house a few hours later when he made his way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He tried not to think about Mr. Howard or Stacy, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her open mouth lunging toward him. He checked his bandage again then poured himself a cup o' Joe before the machine was finished. He sat in the living room and sipped on his coffee, staring blankly at the television screen, feeling content to finish off the pot if need be.

John kept up the drinking until the numbers on the clock above the television read 4:22. Satisfied that he had enough caffeine in him to get through the morning,
he didn’t bother waking Angela before stepping out the front door. He hopped in his truck, threw on the dirty shirt lying on the seat of the cab and pulled out of the driveway. He left the driver’s side window down and felt a cool rush of the wind against his face. He turned the music up loud on the truck’s old radio and sped along the small road as fast as he could. He reached the highway and going off the clock on his dashboard, he figured he would reach work in record time. Once he crossed into Evansville, a long line of orange and violet glowed along the horizon.

He turned down the radio as the first
row of buildings came into view. He couldn’t remember being in town so early and had to check the ring of keys in his pocket to make sure he could get into the shop if no one else was in. Silence over took the interior of the cab as he was drawn to a sudden feeling of being alone. The sidewalks were empty and showed no sign of early morning traffic. He made the first few turns into the center of town and the scene didn’t change. His paranoia was heightened as he tried to convince himself that the lack of people was normal.

“You’ve never been in this early,” he
said to himself and the sound of his voice startled him. “Get a grip, man.”

J
ohn pulled on to Main Street and found the blackened shell of the police car still setting in front of the gas station across from the shop. He pulled closer and took in the remains of the event. Yellow and black police tape wrapped around the entire building, but there were few signs that anything else had been done to the area. He turned into the front of the shop’s lot and pulled around to the rear parking area. He parked in his usual spot, grabbed his keys, and stepped out with his mind still searching through the hazy memory of yesterday’s events.

He made it to the employee entrance door with his mind still wandering. A quick check of the keys produced the shop key and a few pushes and turns
later, the door opened. He closed the door behind him and fumbled along the wall until he found the lights. The shop floor was eerily quiet, as he made his way over to the old Ford truck whose brakes he was supposed to replace. An hour went by before he realized he was still alone. There was usually a radio playing somewhere on the floor and the morning’s silence was hard to ignore. John pushed himself out from under the truck and wiped his hands on his jeans. He got to his feet and peered over at the manager’s office.

The
office door was closed and the lights were off. He felt a disturbing concern creep into the back of his mind. He looked at the clock and was sure there should be a few of the early guys in by now. Shadows across the shop floor played havoc on his mind. The main lights were off and he had only managed to turn on a few of the lights above his and the adjacent vehicle.

He
walked toward the office, keeping one eye on the back door. He was hopeful someone would pop in at any moment, but the closer he got to the office, the more concerned he grew. Only a few feet away, he saw out into the main storefront and found the lights off. There was little doubt in his mind that Carrie Ann should have had the store open by now.

He
pulled on the office door and found it gave way easily. Uncomfortably, he stepped inside the office and flicked on the lights. Everything was in its proper place which calmed him, but there were few clues as to why he was still alone. He switched on the radio and adjusted the volume out on the shop floor. He stepped back onto the floor, closed the door behind him, and decided to get back to work.