Outbreak: The Hunger (3 page)

This whole time, from the moment I saw that dog jump through the bushes, I am frozen with fear.  I can’t move.  It’s not just the fact that I am afraid the dog will choose me (although that thought did pass through my mind); I am paralyzed with fear.  There is even a tree branch right at my feet. I can see it clearly, as it was practically resting on my foot.  I want to bend down, grab it, and beat the shit out of that dog, but I just can’t get my body to follow what my brain is screaming.  I am petrified.  I know that if I don’t do something, the dog will kill my best friend.

The dog is in a blood lust, violently shaking its head.  Blood is dripping out of the dog’s mouth, down its throat, and onto my dying friend.  All the fight is almost gone from Dave.  He lays there as the dog continues its assault. 

I just stand there in absolute fear. 

I am so scared I am beyond action.  With one last violent tear, the dog tears out Dave’s throat.  Dave’s eyes bolt all the way open.  Death is coming soon for my ten-year-old friend.  The dog stops for a second and releases Dave’s bloodied trachea.  That son of a bitch dog looks like it is actually trying to make eye contact with Dave in some bizarre dominance ritual.  All I hear are gurgling noises coming from Dave’s mangled throat.

As quickly as the dog stops, it seems to get that blood lust in its eyes again.  It pounces on top of Dave and goes for his exposed abdomen where his shirt rode up during the attack.  It sinks its teeth into Dave’s soft belly and opens him up as if it is gutting a fish.  Dave’s eyes are glazing over now and soon, he will pass on.  I am crying now, watching this fucking dog butcher my best friend.  Each bite gets deeper as it tears into his stomach.  When it reaches Dave’s intestines, it begins pulling them out of him and unraveling them like some gory spool of wire.

The tears are burning my eyes.  I can hardly see anything through them.  Just then, a man comes bursting through the bushes.  He sees the bloodied, now-dead body of Dave and kicks the dog hard in the ribs.  I hear a couple of ribs snap.  I want nothing more than that man to keep kicking that fucking dog until it is as bloody and dead as my friend is lying in the dirt.

“What the hell happened here?” the man screams. 

I must have blacked out, because I wake up in the hospital with my parents and brother around me.  I passed out from shock and for a split second couldn’t remember what led me to the hospital.  Then, in one shocking instant, I remember.  Remember my friend’s bloody corpse, remember my friend’s chewed up trachea lying next to his neck, and remember my friend’s intestines splayed out in the dirt.

I remember how I was paralyzed with fear as I watched my best friend get murdered before my eyes.

I cry.

2003 – Austin, Texas

“Wake up, John,” my wife says quietly.  “You’re having a bad dream.”

It was no dream.  Twenty-eight years ago, I watched my friend being torn apart by a dog while I stood there paralyzed by fear.  There were no heroic actions that day. 

Chapter Two

1

Present Day – Austin, TX

“Come on sweetie,” I say, trying to urge my five-year-old daughter, Fiona, to eat faster.  “We still have a 30-minute drive to the zoo.”

We are having breakfast at Waterloo Ice House, our regular spot.  We’ve been eating breakfast there two to three times a week for the last two years.  I tell myself it’s because Fi (we always shorten her name) likes staying on some kind of schedule. However, the truth is, I love going there with Fi.  It’s “our place.”  We’ve had some great times there and the morning wait staff love seeing her each week.  Hell, they’ve pretty much watched her grow up for the last    two years. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go someplace else today?” I ask.  Every week I try and get Fi to branch out and go someplace different for our weekly Daddy-Daughter day.  We’ve been going to the Austin Zoo once a week for three years, but she loves that zoo.  Maybe Fi does like a schedule.

“No, Daddy.  I wanna see the animals again,” she says. 

How can I resist?  With that cute little voice and her pouty lower lip, she already knows how to get exactly what she wants from Daddy.  Truth is, I love going to the zoo for the same reason I love our breakfasts at Waterloo:  it’s our spot, and we’ve done a lot of bonding there.  I already think about when she gets older and doesn’t want to go to the zoo anymore.  That’ll be a sad day.

“Well, okay then, sweetie.  We need to finish up so we can hit the road.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she says as she finishes her pancake.  “All done.
” 
We say our goodbyes to the waitresses and head out the door.

It’s a beautiful April day, and a little warmer than usual for this time of year, but the sky is clear.  Considering the zoo is pretty much unpaved dirt, I welcome the warm weather with no rain.

As we get to the car, I open the door for Fi and she climbs in.  At five, she is tall for her age.  She comes up past my hips, and I’m six-feet four.  Fi also has these electric blue eyes and beautiful blonde hair that flows down past her shoulders.  She’s a beautiful girl and is the spitting image of her mother.  I know I’m in for a lot of trouble when she starts dating.  She’s always been so mature for her age, walking at ten months, beginning to mimic our words at a year, and putting basic sentences together shortly thereafter. I’m sure all parents think their kids are “advanced.”  Maybe Fi is, but all I know is that, along with her mom, she is the love of my life.  I’d do anything to protect her and make her happy.

“I wanna buckle my own seatbelt, Daddy,” she says as she climbs into the car.  “And then I wanna close the car door myself.”  We go through this every time we get into the car. 

“Alright, sweetie. Just make sure you pull the door hard enough.”  As she pulls the car door, I give it a little push, unseen to her eyes, to make sure it closes properly.  I can’t help it. I’m an overprotective father.

As I climb behind the steering wheel, I check my pockets to make sure I have my eye drops.   Since my eye surgery six years ago, I’m pretty dependent on the drops.  I had a corneal graft--so, essentially, have a piece of plastic serving as my cornea.  The human body doesn’t take too kindly to having foreign, inorganic things in it, so for the last two years my body has been trying to reject the graft.  I take six different drops a day to hold back the rejection.  If I miss one or two drops, my eye becomes very cloudy, like trying to see through a very thick fog.  You can see the shapes of objects, just not any details.

“Goddamnit,” I say a little too loud.  I realize I forgot my eye drops.

“You shouldn’t say that, Daddy,” says the little voice from the backseat.

“You’re absolutely right, sweetie,” I say apologetically,  “but I forgot something important at home.”

I am trying to decide if I need to go back and grab the drops.  Fi usually only has a two hour trip in her.  That would get us home by noon.  I think I’m good.

“Do we need to go home, Daddy?”  Fi sounds concerned.

“And miss the zoo?  No way.  Daddy’ll be okay until we get home,” I explain.

The car ride to the zoo is pretty uneventful.  I play all her favorite music on the iPod and she sings the entire way there.  As we drive down Rawhide Trail, approaching the zoo, the air seems to become very still. 

“We’re getting closer, sweetie. Can you see the sign?” I ask.

“Ooohh, I see it.  There’s a monkey, a bird, and a giraffe,” she says as she sees all the different animals on the zoo sign.

“I think we might be the first ones here today,” I say.  I always try to time it so we get to the zoo by ten o’clock AM and get a nice long morning there. 

As we pull into the parking lot, I see that we aren’t the first one’s here.  There are already six cars in the parking lot.  We pull up alongside a black Hummer.  Fi always carries along her
Dora the Explorer
backpack with a change of clothes (just in case of accidents) and her pretend make-up case. I walk around to her side of the car and open her door. I hear the ‘click’ as she unbuckled her seatbelt.  As she slides out of the car, I open the trunk to get her backpack.

Fuck
, I think as I open the trunk.  Beside her pack are two knives I forgot to take out of the car.  One of the perks of being a chef is that you can get your house knives and the knives in your collection sharpened free of charge.  I have a guy come around to the restaurant every two weeks to sharpen the kitchen knives and every so often, I throw in some of my personal knives. This past week, I got my seven-inch Ka-bar and my eight-inch Gerber knife sharpened.  I hate driving around with those things in my trunk.  If I ever got into a fender bender and the cops look in, well, I’d hate to try and explain that.

I quickly took the Ka-Bar, shoved it into Fi’s backpack, and stash the Gerber under some dirty work coats. 

“I’ll carry your backpack today, sweetie,” I say, feeling like an idiot.

“That’s okay, Daddy. I like carrying my backpack.”

Great.  My five-year-old daughter is carrying around a sharpened combat knife.  Father of the year material here.

2

As we walk around to the entrance of the zoo, I notice that everything is very quiet.  Usually there’s a lot of noise from the animals, but today, everything is very still.  There’s usually a few cats running around the gift shop looking to be petted.  Today, they’re absent.

We approach the counter.  “Hello,” I say.  There is usually a zoo volunteer at the register taking admission.  “Is anyone there?”  I look into the small office behind the counter.  No one.  Fi is looking at all the stuffed animals, already deciding which one she wants to take home.

I take an envelope from the counter, put the money in it, and write down our names.  My gut is telling me that something’s wrong here.  There’s definitely something strange going on, but that doesn’t mean it is dangerous.  Let’s face it: I don’t think anyone would be dumb enough to rob the Austin Zoo (which is, in fact, a non-profit animal rescue). 

“Come on, sweetie,” I shout to Fi as she is looking at the stuffed monkeys.  “We can go in now.”

“Yay!” she yells as she tosses the monkey aside.  “I wanna see the monkeys first.”

“Don’t we always see the monkeys first?” I ask.  “They’re your favorite.”

We exit the back of the gift shop, which leads into the zoo.  To the right are the bathrooms and up to the left about fifty feet is where the monkeys are.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom before we get started?” I ask, knowing what the answer would be.  She is way too excited to pee.

“No, Daddy. I’m good.”

At the monkey cages, I finally see some people walking around.  There are a few families already checking out the monkeys.  That makes me feel better.  I guess there are no terrorists attempting to take over the zoo today.  I look down at Fiona, smile, and give her a big hug.

“Why did you hug me, Daddy?” she asks.

“Oh, your daddy’s being a big dork,” I reply, smiling.

As a family of four walks by, I hear the parents rambling on about some kind of excitement going on by the barn.  The barn is a structure built to house the petting zoo.  There are goats, llamas, and other harmless animals within.  I can’t hear exactly what they are saying, but it sounds like something big is happening over there.

I look down and see Fiona smiling at me with her wrinkled little nose.  I think to ask the family what is going on, but figure it couldn’t be too exciting or dangerous, else they would have closed down the zoo.  The first cage we come to is the Ring-Tailed Lemurs.

“Here they are, Daddy,” she says enthusiastically.  “Hhmmm, there’s only two of them today.  Where did the other two Lemurs go?” she asks.

“I don’t know, sweetie.”  I didn’t even realize that the cage was minus two lemurs.  I really need to be more observant. 

“Maybe they’re on vacation,” I say jokingly.

“Where would a Lemur go on vacation, Daddy?” she asks.

Before I can answer, I notice something odd about the Lemurs.  They aren’t their usual playful selves today.  They’re usually running around, climbing and jumping.  Today, they’re just sitting on their swings.  Looking closer, I see that the Lemur nearest to us has some kind of marking on its fur.  It looks as though the fur is matted down.  I approach the cage to get a closer look.  It almost looks like dried blood on its fur. 

As I look up, I notice the Lemur is looking right at me.  Then, in a flash, it jumps out of the swing and latches onto the cage right in front of us, and begins shaking it violently.  I swear it  wants to attack us.  Realizing it isn’t going to break out of the cage, the lemur jumps away and runs into the enclosed part of the cage.  I turn to look at the other Lemur and see that it, too, is scampering off.

“They’re mean today, Daddy,” Fi says.  “Do you think they are tired of being in their cages and want to get out?”

“Maybe, sweetie,” I respond, keeping my eye on the far end of the cage. 
It’s more like they wanna get out and take a bite out of our asses
, I think.  I am still trying to process what I saw on the Lemur’s fur.  It couldn’t have been dried blood.  The volunteers here would never let one of the animals walk around injured.  I wonder if the two lemurs were fighting.  After seeing how violent the one was, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Let’s go, Daddy,” Fi insists as she pulls my hand.  “I wanna see more monkeys.”

I shake out of my thoughts.  We continue to walk down to the next exhibit.  As we approach the cage, we both noticed that there was nothing in it.

“Where is he, Daddy?” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” I responded as I looked at the sign for the name. 

The Colobus monkey is a pretty big animal, about five feet tall.  If it was in there, we’d definitely see it.

“Maybe they’re gonna clean out its cage later today and they have it in a back-up display.”  Even I don’t believe my own bullshit.

“I think you’re right, Daddy,” Fiona says, pointing to the floor of the cage.  “The cage is really messy.”

I see what Fi was pointing at.  It looks a little like blood.  I step closer to get a better look.  “What the fuck is going on here?” I whisper.

“What did you say, Daddy?” Fi asks.  Fi is a very sensitive child.  Not in the way that her feelings get hurt easily, but in the way she can sense what other people are feeling. Looking into her eyes, she could tell I am worried about something.  Before she can ask the inevitable question, I smile.  It doesn’t work.  She is about to say something, but before she can, we heard the monkeys in the next cage running around and screaming.

The noise breaks the moment.  “Let’s go, Daddy,” Fi says excitedly.  “They sound like they’re being playful today.

Walking around to the front of the Patas monkey cage, we hear a lot of clamor.  The Patas monkeys have the largest cage of all the monkeys in the Austin Zoo.  There are usually six of them in the cage playing, swinging on the tire, and hamming it up for the people walking around.  Once again, as we walk up to the cage, we both notice that there were only two monkeys in there today.

The Patas monkeys don’t look like your average monkey. Their bodies resemble the build of a greyhound dog:  long legs, narrow body, a defined rib cage. The sign on the cage says these are the fastest of all the primates, being able to reach speeds of thirty to thirty-five miles per hour.

Just as we are walking around the corner, a monkey sees us and lunges like a bullet.  The only thing that stops it from jumping on us is the cage.  It grabs onto the mesh about six feet off the ground and shakes the metal hard.  Fi jumps behind me.  I stand my ground, trying not to look upset or concerned.  I even manage to force a smile onto my face.

“These monkeys seem just as angry as the Lemurs, Daddy,” Fi observes.  “Why are all the monkeys in bad moods today?”

I look down at my little girl.  I could have lied and made something up, but I think she would have seen right through me.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” is all I could say.  “Maybe they are just having a bad day.” 
Bullshit
, I think. 
Unless by a ‘bad day’ they want to kill us
.