Evolution (9 page)

After the third attempt, she felt the knot in her stomach grow from apple seed to watermelon. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, flinging open every door in the house. Her toes curled in her shoes and her feet clapped loudly, mimicking non rhythmic music.

With the process of elimination, Alex saw only one door. The hallway seemed to stretch for miles and her breath caught in her throat. This was it. If she flung the door open and Boomer wasn’t behind it, she wouldn’t know what to do.  She would be lost without her brother. Alone. Utterly alone in a vicious world where love and hope was scarce. Boomer was her reason to keep on breathing.

Alex closed her eyes and flung the door open. What she saw behind the door astonished her. Granny Mae had everything. Granny Mae had everything, including a large truck, filled with gas, and kept safely in her garage. Alex let out a sigh of relief as she saw Boomer’s large hand dangling out of the window. The brute had stumbled upon the truck and fell asleep inside the cab.

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Chapter 17

Sometimes, what we can’t see and what we can’t hear is more frightening than the horrors that stare you in the face. You stay on edge; your imagination heightens the terror. Before you are mentally aware of your own fear it becomes crippling. Granny Mae feared the silence.

The long barrel swung to and fro as she slowly walked deeper into the sunshine. The rays seemed to absorb themselves deep into her retinas and the smell of untarnished fresh air wafted in her nostrils, making it real. It Proved to Granny Mae that the decision she made and the consequences of that decision was coming to pass right in front of her eyes.

She inhaled slowly, feeling her chest cavity expand and decrease mass. She thought of the innocent child and her kind brother sitting in her home at this very moment, counting on her to save them. She couldn’t help but smile; it has been many years since anyone truly needed her.

Granny Mae closed her eyes for a suspended moment, thinking of mistakes she made as a mother and thought of her own dear Jessica. Little Jessica, her pride and joy taken from her before her time by cruel fate. An illness never before seen by modern medicine claimed her little girl.

She fell into many years of depression, lost hope, and helplessness. Granny Mae was a heartbroken mess. But as they say, time heals all wounds. She didn’t truly believe this, because some wounds never truly heal, but the human brain is a truly amazing thing. With enough time even the most severe heartache tends to become numb and painful memories can be repressed deep into the dark recesses that require a key to unlock. Alex was that key. It was time to end the misery.

The mousey teen walked into Granny Mae's life, a spitting image of her own Jessica, demeanor and all, Fates little push to do it right, to save Jessica. So it was never a moment of Doubt, no internal struggle, or uncertainty. Alex needs saved, Jessica needed saved, and by god, Granny Mae needs saved. A second chance to truly live with herself and die in peace.

Her hands shook and the shotgun felt weighted. She gently lowered the weapon and gripped it comfortably. She scanned the landscape for any sign of life, good or bad. Off in the distance she could hear tiny scratches of the unknown. Barely audible, but a good start. She stopped and placed the butt of the gun on the ground. Taking a deep breath, she held it, listening intently to all the faint sounds nature had to offer.

Exhaling in a heavy whoosh, Granny Mae headed towards the unknown scratching. She still had a lot of skill as a hunter, growing up in the country and helping her Pa hunt deer and wild turkey, she knew the sounds of wildlife means a food source has been located.

“Now don’t you go getting all sentimental on me Irene!” she whispered to herself.

She felt a queasy shutter wash over her at her own thoughts. “Food source” She couldn’t believe she has become so unattached to the rest of humanity that she could bring herself to refer to a teenager in need as nothing more than nutrition to Mother Nature.  What has the years done to me?  When did I become like this? Granny Mae keep her gaze at the ground, seemingly analyzing every blade of grass, wishing her own brain would cease its ruthless attack on her soul.

After ten minutes and the realization that time has not been kind to her, she lowered her body to the cool ground. Laying the gun beside her, she crossed her legs and felt her body throb.

“I’m too old for this shit!”

She inhaled deeply and held it once again, listening intently to any sounds that polluted the air. The tiny scratches now blended with heavier screeches. Still vast in its distance from her, Granny Mae let out her breath and laid her body to the ground, resting her aching back. She knew she was on the right path. She was willing to go the distance, brave enough to face the unknown, but just too weak to do it at the moment.

Too weak. This was painful. Irene Norwood, surviving more things in her life than most will ever even fathom. Surviving atrocities and doing so while being a mother and wife, a writer and an activist. She was able to write a novel, cook supper, protest, and help her daughter with her schoolwork and still have enough energy to do housework. Irene Norwood...too weak?

“I will never be too weak do you hear me? NEVER!”

Her legs wobbled as she struggled to stand. She sank the stock of the shotgun deep into the soft earth, using it as a makeshift cane, supporting her frail body weight. After a brief moment, Granny Mae was on her feet. She took it one step at a time, her whole body rejecting the concept of pushing on further into the day. Her plan was simple...she was gonna be too stubborn to fail. It didn’t matter how badly her body ached and how badly she wanted to quit and rest. She flat refused.

The sounds were closer now. On trembling legs, she moved at the speed of a pissed off snail, but still she moved. Her vision was getting blurry and her stomach was growling. Her resolution was starting to fade. The sun was starting to set on the horizon.

No. Not the sun. What was going on? She felt light. Too light. Her gun was no longer heavy and the sun was no longer bright. The noises were louder and echoing in her ears. She felt her body drop, a harsh reality of her own limitations. Pain shot through her body as she collided with the earth. A loud snap, a scream escaping her lungs, and peaceful sleep. That is how she remembered it.

Panic crept through her. Through blurry vision, she could see the teen. She could see the creatures. She could see the attention her screams brought her and she could see how wrong she was. She wishes she could go back to not seeing what horrors await her. One pull after another, she dragged her broken body through the grass. Her arms sank deep in the mud and her hands grabbed the lush grass like large handfuls of hair. Desperately trying to make it the gun before they made it to her. Granny Mae and her race for survival.

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Chapter 18

It’s funny how your goals in life can be as fluid as life itself. You can dedicate ten years to the idea of becoming a doctor, and in a blink of an eye decide you would rather be a photographer. Thus, every passing moment you deemed worthwhile for the long run becomes winded. Those moments are neutral. They once held meaning, but now seem meaningless. This can create chaos and confusion in life. Sometimes and only sometimes, the sheer exhaustion of having goals creates the goal of having none.  For Jedd this was a very real concept. His moments were stagnant. Neutral.

He slowly walked out of the complex confused. The sunshine did nothing to soothe him and the creatures no longer struck terror in his heart. He neither wanted to live, nor to die. His goal to survive took a new ugly face. His new aspirations, if you want to consider it that; though to Jedd he couldn’t think of it that way; Was to simply die somewhere other than Missouri. He couldn’t consider it an aspiration because he truly doubted he would make it, and he no longer cared if he did.

His legs tensed and released as he stomped in the grass, more dragging his feet than actual walking, the man strode diagonally across the field. He knew he was being watched, he could feel the burn of a hundred gazes upon his back. If he could, he would stare back. Jedd just kept walking.

The bright orange sphere slowly lowered itself slightly, giving the man a break from its intense heat. Sweat was dripping off of him in large droplets, his hair moist and his shirt was slung around his neck. He could hear creature’s large and small hunting for his flesh. His flesh. That word stabbed his brain like sharp pins being driven into a pin cushion. He felt his stomach churn and could taste the salty taste of a soldiers arm upon his lips. The devastating memory of eating another human being in pursuit of survival was almost as bad as watching the baboons rip the skin to a pulp.

Jedd kept walking. North. Out of Missouri if he can. His thoughts were torture, his memories were the instruments.  The words “we are the enemy” echoed in his ears. He played little mind games to pass the time. His favorite was “who was eaten”. Where he would pass the remains of nature’s supper and guess who they were and what they did.

He named this one William Bartholomew Roland. Wild Bill. That was his name at the office. Wild Bill was a numbers cruncher of sorts. An accountant. A thin smile crossed his lips. NO! Wild Bill was a Tax Attorney. He noticed the thick glasses smashed to bits and the nice fabric dress pants clinging to the bones. The entire corpse was nothing but mashed potatoes except for the glasses, the pants, and a very nice pair of black office shoes, so shiny that the need for a mirror was void. Yep. Wild Bill the Tax Accountant. He had two kids, one boy and one girl.

Jedd paused for a moment. In his pursuit to give life to the dead, he decided to make the life much more interesting. What if...he had two boys? Conjoined twins. About twenty years of age. YES! Wild Bill had conjoined twins and was working on solving the problem of getting them separated. You see something very amazing happened to his sons...Um. Ted and Fred. He laughed. I would be attached to Nedd if I had a twin. He thought to himself.

Ted was accepted to Harvard, but Fred, you see Fred was kind of a failure at life and never even applied for higher education. So should Ted give up an Ivy League education just because he is attached to Fred? Also, Fred liked to drink. A lot. He liked Tequila and loud music and late nights. This was very distracting to Ted; it kept him haggard and affected his grades. What is a father to do?  Jedd liked Wild Bill. A lot. He wished he would have had two sons, one named Ted one named Fred.

Jedd’s sons Ted and Fred. That would have been something worth dying over. Jedd kind of envied Wild Bill. The fact he was nothing more than an elaborate figment of his exhausted imagination was irrelevant at this point.

The screeching got much louder and the heat from the sun started to fade. Evening time was nearing and his legs were putty. He didn’t care. Jedd kept walking vigilantly towards the simply North direction. As his momma would say “Go over yonder” and point in a general direction. This was good enough for him as a child and is good enough now.

He could see the pod rats gathering in small nasty little herds, the sight didn’t phase him one bit. Jedd just kept his gaze upon the ground and continued to play his little game. Waiting to die. Better to die. He would rather die than live with himself.

A female this time. The remaining fabric indicated a red dress and the few fingers that remained were painted with all of the precision and intensity of an artist. This one was Mary Lou Cartwell. The Matching high heels that lay upon the grass a mere ten feet from her body showed Mary to be very trendy. Mary was a model; she tried everything to become an actress but failed over and over.  Then after her fourth husband, she got a call at the studio one day. She immediately left the photo shoot and was headed to her big break. An audition for a low budget film, but an audition just the same. Her day was fabulous; she was on cloud nine and was dreaming of a wonderful life where everyone knew her name. She was so excited that she didn’t even notice the creatures stalking her. Poor Mary.

“I know your name” Jedd stated plainly

They finally made their appearance just before sunset. Just as Jedd knew they would. He just hoped whoever was playing this same game would give him a much better name then Jedd. He hoped they would look upon his twisted face and name him something cool like Aiden. He also hoped they would give him a set of conjoined twins respectively.

As predicted, he didn’t fear death. He longed for it. He stared the baboons directly in the eyes peering into their being. A soul? He doubted they had one, but he has been wrong a lot as of late. He could catch the glimpse of something even larger in the background. One with a long nasty green flowing tail. A pod tiger perhaps? Why not? As he stated, we deserve this.

The stare down lasted a solid two minutes. Words were exchanged in two languages but meaning was not lost. His own voice startled him, breaking the trance.

“Well what are you waiting for?” He said impatiently

The creature shrieked and bared his teeth. Hopping backwards and cocking his head slightly to the side. He stared at Jedd both with hunger and confusion. Jedd took a step forward and watched with frustration and wonder as he hopped backwards once more.

How odd is this? I am the one human on the face of the earth that WANTS to be eaten and I find the one picky baboon on this entire forsaken planet. What’s the matter do I not taste good? The thoughts fueled his frustration.

“I know how I taste! I have eaten human flesh. I can still feel my gag reflex.” He spoke to the creature with monotone decibels.