Killer Z (2 page)
Seth dry swallows a Z as Lin continues,
“Another twenty thousand dollars is coming tonight. We’ve got people moving it
from New York to Miami. Even a few connects in the Midwest. A few people are
getting violent and one nutcase tried eating a jogger’s face.”
“The docs are going to notice you’re
gone,” Seth says as his pupils dilate.
“Maybe we should lay off the Zs,” Lin
says, knowing neither of them will.
Seth sprawls on the unmade hospital bed.
His eyes grow heavy as the drug sweeps him away and doesn’t hear Lin leave.
J
uliet’s fingers dance on the laptop keys. Her elf
character casts healing and protective spells on her party. A snippet from the
Lord of the Rings soundtrack shatters her concentration and her elf paladin
perishes. The paladin’s disembodied spirit reappears in the graveyard near the
dungeon’s starting point. She curses and re-applies boosting spells to her
character.
The phone rings a second time and
she begrudgingly disconnects from the game server. She assumes it’s her father.
It’s been over a week since she’s talked to him. They often work opposite
shifts and she’s been spending all her free time gaming. The caller ID tells
her it’s Burger Baron. She’s late for work again.
Juliet steps over empty energy
drink bottles and empty pizza boxes. Gaming friends lay sprawled and snoring over
whatever piece of furniture or floor they passed out on. She puts her shiny
dark hair into a pony tail and slips into a work shirt. She rubs at the dark
circles under her soft, almond-shaped eyes in front of a mirror, a gift from
her Chinese mother.
A knock comes from the front door.
Juliet peeks through the peep hole and sees Matt’s obese frame.
“Matt, you’re late,” she says and
opens the door. “Jim’s pissed. Something about you having party favors?”
“Shit, yeah. Want to try one?”
Matt says and pulls out a bag full of white pills.
“Nah, got to work.”
“They’ll make your day fly.”
“Not my thing. Walk with me to the
Metro?”
Matt nods, cheeks flushed. It’s
obvious he likes her, but he doesn’t act on it, and she’s grateful. It wasn’t
that Matt isn’t nice; she’s just not interested in dating.
Outside, Juliet punches
Matt’s meaty arm and says, “We could have used your hunter yesterday.”
“Mom needed me at the church.”
“Oh. Yeah, I understand.”
When her mother was alive she was
involved in Matt’s church. They lost many childhood weekends to bake sales,
used clothing drives, and the yearly Christmas and Easter performances. After
cancer took her mother’s life she stopped going. She stopped dating too. She
stopped doing anything but work and gaming.
“Mom says you’re welcome anytime.”
“Tell her I’m busy with work.”
Matt rants about online bullies as
they turn the corner to the metro station. Her mother would be disappointed she
wasn’t attending church. The unfairness of the loss had left a hole in her
heart. She couldn’t deal with church or God.
Matt’s rant trails off as a
disheveled man bursts through the double glass doors of the metro. The man
snarls and eyes are pale and wild. Juliet freezes as he runs straight towards
her.
Matt hauls her out of the crazed man’s
path as two cops run out of the station with a young K-9. The man flees into
the parking lot.
“Damn junkies,” Matt mutters as
they enter the station. “You ok?”
“Yeah, let’s hurry,” she says,
trying to ignore the knot of dread sitting in her stomach. “I’m going to be
late for work.”
M
ichael Ellis waits for his wife Rebecca at the
newsstand. The sun pushes through the smog and glints on her sable hair, sleek
in its chignon. She flips through a fashion magazine, then sets it down and
pays for a newspaper. Michael glances at his phone as she counts out exact
change.
“Rebecca, we can grab breakfast if
we catch the next train.”
They’ve been married over twelve
years. He’s learned to work around her endless flakiness but her new migraine
medication has been making it difficult to get anywhere on time. He doesn’t
understand why she’s wasting time looking at fashion magazines. She wears a
curve hugging navy pantsuit for his special presentation.
The train doors shut and they
settle into hard plastic beige seats. He goes through the mental check list for
the ceremony. His position as an assistant to the Director of the Library of
Congress’s Scholarly programs mainly consists of dealing with people and
correspondence. Recently he was given the special assignment of organizing the
annual awards ceremony honoring endeavors in peace and education.
“Rebecca, did you remember my
blood pressure medicine?”
Rebecca sets aside the paper and
digs in her purse. She hands him the medication and dry swallows her own small,
white pill.
“Are the new pills helping? What
are they called?”
“Yes, they are. Z something.”
Rebecca has been getting headaches
ever since their son, Sam, told them he wasn’t joining them in D.C. as planned.
When Michael was hired at the Library of Congress, they allowed Sam to stay
with the grandparents to finish his senior year in Marquette, Michigan.
The metro is fairly empty. Two old
ladies chatter like chipmunks. Behind them a man reeking of urine and booze
snores. Across the aisle a pretty girl in a red Burger Baron uniform focuses on
her phone while an obese boy rambles about gaming. Above them a public service
poster encourages hand washing for the upcoming flu season.
Rebecca finishes the International
section and asks, “Do you want the comics?”
“No thanks.”
“I’ll take ‘em,” the fast food
worker interrupts.
Juliet holds out her hand and
flashes a friendly smile.
“Hey Michael, listen to this,”
Rebecca says as she gives the comics to Juliet. “Did you know FEMA camps are
being built around America? It says FEMA is preparing three million caskets for
an epidemic. Why does FEMA need three million caskets? Isn’t that creepy?”
“Yeah, that’s creepy.”
“You know the Mayans believe we’re
at the end of a cycle?”
“Who cares about the Mayans? We’re
more likely to have a nuclear war, biological war, chemical war, genocide, or a
super bug. Feel free to pick a way the world could end, it’s all subjective
after the wheel in sky stops spinning. I wouldn’t worry about FEMA or
conspiracy theorists, honey.”
“You’re probably right. Wow,
that’s interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“Scientists working with the Coast
Guard found an ancient civilization on the bottom of Lake Michigan. It says a
recent earthquake shifted the lake’s floor and divers found artifacts predating
Vikings. Maybe it’s the lost city of Atlantis.”
“I read the lost city of Atlantis is beneath the Bermuda triangle.”
“Wouldn’t it be cooler to have it
under Lake Michigan?”
The train comes to a stop at Union
Station and they disembark.
Near the Freedom Bell a huge black
police horse rears as a gap-toothed homeless man thrusts a cardboard sign with
crooked writing in Michael’s face.
The world ends today!
Another filthy man shakes a
cracked plastic cup in Rebecca’s face.
”Back off, you’re scaring my
wife.”
The man slinks away into the crowd.
A block away Rebecca asks, “Why would a
person bother begging if they thought the world was going to end?”
“T
here’s only one thing lazier than a city slicker
and that’s a politician,” Fred mutters, echoing the sentiments of his father
and grandfather.
His dark blue Chevy truck rumbles
down I-270 through the D.C suburbs. It’s Fred Smith’s second day of driving
from Minnesota. He’s tired, hungry, and plagued with a permanent
headache. The east coast is getting on his nerves but he tells himself not
to be judgmental. He passes countless exits blocked by military personnel but
nothing is on the radio.
“Not that the suburbs are
bad. At least there are trees,” he gripes.
Fred tries changing lanes at the
green interstate sign for Emory Grove but overshoots the exit and curses. Two
days ago he received an emergency phone call from Kyle, his son, and walked
away from his shift at the Northfield, Minnesota Coca-Cola factory. In
thirty-two years of working he’s never missed a day.
Kyle was supposed to have chosen
an honest profession like his brothers, but the boy believed he was too good to
work in a small town. In high school the kid wore ties, joined the student
council over football, and disagreed with everything Fred ever tried teaching.
Too much ambition complicates life and Fred, like his father before him,
prefers keeping things simple.
After college Kyle landed a job
with the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. Months and then years with no phone
calls had broken his mother’s heart and hardened Fred’s. Then, out of the blue,
Kyle called.
“Dad, I don’t know what do to. She
died.”
“Calm down, son. Who died?”
“Sylvie, my wife,” Kyle replied,
sobbing. “The doctors don’t know what happened. She was taking this trial drug and
went into a coma. I can’t take care of a baby by myself!”
The word baby stunned Fred. The
story came out in halting starts and vague details. A little over a year ago
Kyle met Sylvie at a bar. After a month of dating she turned up pregnant and
they flew out to Vegas and got married. Baby Anthony was born two months ago.
With the responsibility of a baby boy and no wife, Kyle finally remembered how
to pick up the phone. Fred tries to push the resentment aside.
“My son and grandson need me, so I
have to forgive and forget.”
Fred grips the steering wheel
tightly and wonders how to drive common sense into his son. He doesn’t notice
his foot on the pedal or the speedometer creeping past 85.