Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (3 page)

Mom succumbed to
breast cancer when I was in my teens; there weren’t as many treatment options
twenty years ago and she was in the advanced stages when her condition was
discovered. Whenever I had a little extra money, which wasn’t often, I’d donate
to a research foundation, hoping that someday no one would have to die of
cancer or endure months of grueling, exhausting treatments.

My boutique-owner
friend Sherry had been a huge help after Gregory left me. She’d expanded her
store into toddler and youth clothing over the years. Each time I went into
Baby Bliss, my wonderful friend would talk about some insane sale she was
having and, as fate would have it, the sale was always on the items I needed-
shoes for Marcel, leggings for Sophia. I teased her about it, but was beyond
thankful. I worked at the middle school and a teacher’s salary wasn’t much to
support two children on. It had been a struggle to keep my job; many of the
parents saw me as a pariah. It didn’t help that Gregory’s word was gold in the
town and, according to him, I was an uncompromising, irrational woman. I’d
overcome though, after more than two years of social awkwardness and a few
really great parents backing me up.

I hadn’t been
able to keep the house. Gregory had kept his promise, having his lawyer put it
in my name, but the yearly taxes were insane and the property was too much for
me to manage. As soon as I’d put it on the market, he’d approached me about
buying it for half of its value. I’d refused, but he had power in the town. Not
a single soul came for any of the open houses. I had one viewing the second
month it was listed; the family was from out-of-town, looking to make a fresh
start in a small community. I’d been honest with them, saying that our town
wasn’t made for new beginnings.

Six months was
how long it took me to realize that Gregory would never let anyone else buy the
house; so I’d sold it to him, walking away with barely enough money to buy the
next home- a lot less than his original offer of half the value. He lived there
now, with his new wife Bethany. He’d met her months after our separation and
they’d married the day after our divorce was finalized. They had a blue-eyed,
blonde son named Gregory Junior. He’d turn four soon. Gregory had gotten
everything he’d wanted—a fertile, obedient wife and biological child.

I loved our
house now though, and Sophia and Marcel loved it, which was all that mattered.
It was just outside of town and we had three neighbors, all elderly without
young children. The house was small, roughly twelve hundred square feet, with
three bedrooms and a single bath, which would get complicated as Sophia got
older. She already loved drying her hair and playing with my makeup. The
kitchen was long and thin, but my dad had helped me knock down the wall between
the kitchen and living room. The long island we’d built could seat four people
on barstools- perfect for me, my dad and the kids. Sunday mornings were Sophia
and Marcel’s favorite day, because Grandpa Carl would come over and make
pancakes- ‘S’ shaped for Sophia and ‘M’ shaped for Marcel. He always added
chocolate chips. I never complained about the morning candy.

***

This morning, my
dad had come over special, knowing the kids had a doctor’s visit. He said
chocolate pancakes were the right way to start off a day that involved needles.
I couldn’t argue with him there.

My three
favorite people were sitting happily at the island, mouths full of pancakes,
butter and syrup. Sophia was swinging her legs back and forth. Marcel was
leaning against his grandpa; his little butt half on the barstool and half off.
I was so blessed.

The time to
leave for the doctors came quickly and both kids groaned when my dad told them
to put on their shoes.

“Grandpa, do we
have to go get shots?”

“Yep. How else
are you going to stay strong and healthy, Sophia?”

“Well,” Sophia
paused, her little mind working quickly, “then you need to come with us. You’re
old, Grandpa, you need more shots than me to be strong.”

“Oh, I’ve had my
shots for the year,” my dad smiled, “but if you want me to go with you, I can.”

“Really!” Sophia
looked at me, a wide smile brightening her face. “Can Grandpa come, mom?”

“Of course, but
only if you go put your shoes on. Marcel’s already got his on like a good boy.”
I watched my little angel with the deeply tanned skin and long brown-black
braid swinging against her back, hop off her barstool and run to the hallway,
where nearly a dozen pairs of shoes were lined up against the wall. That’s one
habit I’d never been able to instill in the kids—putting their shoes up in
their closets after taking them off. I didn’t set a good example though, since
I just tossed off my own shoes and left them wherever they fell. I’d wake up in
the morning and line all the shoes up against the wall and by the evening,
they’d be all over the place again.

After
neurotically checking the oven to make sure my dad had turned it off, we headed
out the door. The drive to Dr. Lynn’s office took ten minutes; we passed the
kid’s school, Liberty Elementary, on the way. Once inside the small office,
Sophia and Marcel made a beeline for the books and puzzles with Grandpa
trailing behind them. I signed us in. The wait was never long, only a few
minutes or so, but the receptionist said to expect a longer-than-average wait
time this morning.

I was surprised
at the number of patients in the office. The majority were sitting in the ‘sick
child’ area. There was one infant in the ‘well-child’ area with Sophia and
Marcel; the mother was reading and paying little attention to the cooing child
in the car carrier. I recognized one mom sitting in the sick patient
section—Jennifer Payne from church. She’d always been nicer to me than the
other mothers. Her four-year-old daughter Mary was very pale, her forehead
glistening with sweat.

I walked over to
Jennifer and her daughter, concern wrinkling my face. “Hi, Jennifer.” I looked
at the blonde toddler, now shivering uncontrollably. “Is Mary okay?”

Jennifer’s face
mirrored my own, “I don’t know. She’s been like this ever since our visit last
week when she got her four-year vaccinations. I called here the next day, but
Dr. Lynn said side effects were natural and to give it some time to settle in
her system.”

“Did she get all
the vaccines on the normal tract?”

“Yeah. She got
everything except her flu shot for the season. They were out of the nasal
application and the injected version is totally synthetic this year so my
husband didn’t want Mary to get it.”

“I can
understand that. I’ve always been more than a little leery of vaccinations.” I
looked at Mary again; her condition seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. “I
really hope she starts to feel better soon.”

“She’s just
getting worse, Susan. I don’t know what’s going on.”

I nodded, my
most sympathetic expression splashed across my face as my mind focused on my
own children. The apprehension was building to boiling point in my body. I
walked back to the check-in window. The sliding glass shifted open as I
approached. The receptionist that had checked me in was gone; Nurse Kayla sat
in the rolling burgundy chair now, her hip fat folding over the sides of the
seat. I really didn’t like her; she was always a little too rough with the
children.

“Hi, Nurse
Kayla. I was just talking to one of the other mothers and she seems to think
that her daughter started getting sick after her four-year vaccinations. Has
there been a vaccine recall or anything? There seems to be a lot more sick
patients than normal.”

Nurse Kayla
glanced around the office apathetically. “I guess.” She looked up at me,
clearly bored. “It’s also autumn and the beginning of flu season.”

“Oh, okay. I
guess that makes sense.” But as I walked away from the window and looked around
the room again, my gut told me otherwise. All the children were roughly the
same size, possibly around the same ages. Something was wrong. I began to walk
again, but froze in my tracks almost immediately, movement catching my
attention. One young boy sitting in the sick area stood up. His skin was pale
and the folds around his eyes were nearly grayish, but he wasn’t shivering like
Mary. I blinked rapidly, thinking the boy’s glassed-over expression was a trick
of the overhead fluorescent lights.

The small
figure, he couldn’t be much older than Mary, walked slowly toward the
well-patient area. His movements were a bit uncoordinated at first, as if he
were new to walking, but as he gained confidence, his pace quickened slightly.
His shoulders were slightly slumped, his mouth barely parted to reveal a sliver
of off-white teeth.

The boy walked
nearer and nearer to Sophia and Marcel. I began to move, unsure why
apprehension had suddenly mutated to panic. I was feeling the pain-in-my-chest
type of fear that I’d felt so rarely in my lifetime, but on a good note, the
need to vomit from uneasiness had waned in the face of debilitating fear.

I was only a few
feet away from my beautiful babes, when the slow-moving boy with the vacant
expression changed course, a small cry carrying to his ears and drawing his
attention. The infant in the car carrier…the tiny defenseless creature warm
beneath a soft blanket had woken up.

The mother still
wasn’t paying attention, reading a magazine and rocking the carrier with her
foot. The boy approached, knelt on the ground and buried his face against the
blankets. The baby’s mother heard the scream though, the high-pitched yelp of
pain from her daughter. Her eyes shifted from the glossy pages of
Heavenly
Hearth
to the floor. Instinct took over and the woman kicked out, knocking
the boy away from the car carrier.

When I saw the
blood painting the boy’s face, I knew it was too late. The baby wasn’t crying;
the mother was screaming. I closed the distance between my children and myself
and their position gave me a perfect line of sight. The boy had bitten through
the infant’s neck. And, as I grabbed Sophia and Marcel’s hands, I saw the boy
lunge forward and wrap his mouth around the mother’s forearm, exposed by her
short-sleeved shirt. Her cotton zip-up hoodie lay useless, draped across the
arm of her chair. Not that it would have provided much protection on. It would
have been something though…something between sharp toddler teeth and flesh.

My father looked
as confused as I felt, his eyes wide and staring fixedly at the deranged boy
munching on the woman. “Come on, Dad!” I screamed.

Sophia and
Marcel’s faces were warped with terror, but they allowed me to pull them along,
toward the exit and toward Bessie, the now ancient Volvo. “Grandpa!” Sophia
said loudly and tugged on my sleeve when she realized that my dad wasn’t
following us.

“Dad!” I
screamed again; my second yell pulled him out of his motionless state. He began
to move as quickly as he could with one bad knee and a year-old hip
replacement. I yanked open the glass door and pushed Sophia and Marcel through.
“Hurry, Dad!” Behind him, the other children in the sick-area were turning
rabid, biting ferociously at anything nearby. The parents were confused, not
knowing what to do or how to respond.

Like the
situation was just a simple case of bad behavior, they tried to hold their
children back, telling them to stop in raised, anxious voices.

Then the screams
began, as the mothers and fathers realized that something was terribly,
terribly wrong with their children. One woman was cradling her face, a large
chunk of flesh hanging from her cheek by a single, elastic ribbon of skin. One
father was still trying to save his child, holding her against the hard, tiled
floor with strong hands as the girl thrashed wildly, growling and spitting.
That father’s voice, above all the other disturbing sounds, pierced my
consciousness. “
Tessa, Tessa, stop! It’s okay; daddy’s here. You have to
calm down!”
The other guttural sounds emanating from the doctor’s office
were better suited to a zoo exhibit.

My dad nearly
fell through the door and I closed it quickly, slamming it against a brunette
boy’s face. A trail of blood from the kid’s nose wetted the glass. He pulled
back and body-slammed against the door, his hands clawing at the see-through
surface futilely, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish out of water.

“Sophia and
Marcel, get to Bessie!” I ran closely behind them, their six-year-old legs
pumping quickly back and forth. Marcel’s sneakers lit up with every
ground-fall, sparkling with red lights. They were his favorite sneakers. When
I’d realized how attached he’d become to the shoes, I’d run to the store and
purchased two more pairs in larger sizes so I could replace them as his feet grew
without upsetting him. You plan to do a lot of things in the future, before the
today turns to shit and the tomorrow loses importance.

I fumbled with
the car keys in my hand, the automatic door opener had long-since died. I’d
poured money into Bessie over the years and I’d always meant to replace the
watch-sized battery, but I never had. I could kick my own ass for never
replacing that stupid battery. To think such a small oversight could become so
life-saving important at the turn of a killer kid.

 The
driver’s side door was open now and I hit the automatic door lock on the
armrest to open the other three. The kids were standing behind me, their bodies
plastered to the car. My dad was near the rear of the vehicle, nursing his
knee. “Get in!” I yelled, but their eyes were glued to the building we’d just
run from.