San Diego Downtown Central Library by Ernesto Rivera
Fog built up like a wall along the airport terminal. It was emptier than usual, the sidewalk, even for this time in the morning — empty almost completely, save for two shivering figures.
I flickered my lights and they started in my direction, suitcases rattling impatiently over the pavement cracks.
“Get in, quickly,” I instructed as they shuffled their bags into my car.
“Well ‘hello’ to you, too,” responded the pretty blonde with a snarky smile. “We only waited for you for half an hour.”
“Just get in,” I said. My head jerked instinctually over my shoulder to scope the billowing fog behind us.
Instinct may be a more flattering word than the action deserved. Paranoia, now that would be more accurate. But it’s a fine line.
“What’s the rush?” asked the boy, who had opted to take the back seat.
“Mary’s just embarrassed to be seen with us again,” said the girl with another grin. “Vienna was too much for her.”
“Warsaw was too much,” I said, punching the car into gear and slipping into the fog. Every shape behind the mist, every pair of unexpected headlights made my stomach churn.
“Come on,” said the girl, now in a scolding tone. “We flew all the way out here just to see you and you can’t even give us a ‘happy new year’?”
We came to a halt at a stop light and I turned my head.
“Sorry, Katka” I said with a shake. “Happy new year, guys. Glad you made it. You probably caught the last flight out of New York.”
“Yeah,” said the boy in the back seat, “the airports have been crazy. They were double checking everyone and pulling people out of line randomly.”
“Yeah, no, I mean you guys really probably caught the last flight,” I said. “JFK closed down five hours ago. No flights in or out. And the shootings and riots have popped up in Chicago, LA, Seattle…”
“Riots, wait, what?” Katka was now fully turned in her seat and the boy in the back, Michał, had draped an arm over the seat shoulder in front of him to pull himself closer into the conversation. “What is going on?”
Ah, I’d forgotten, they have been in the air for the last day.
“Um,” I hesitated as the car continued to push through the marine layer. The pale grey cloud was so thick that the stop lights were becoming almost as invisible as the boats floating on the marina.
“There have just been these…These incidents,” I said. “I think it started as an outbreak in the homeless community, some kind of virus or something, I don’t know. But people are becoming violent, like crazy violent. And the police don’t know how to handle it and anytime the police do anything even remotely questionable up in America, protests follow, except those are getting way out of hand too and no one is really sure what is going on.”
The car got quiet.
“Well, we picked a great time to visit America,” said Katka.
“I was late getting here because our freeway is backed up,” I said. “I don’t want to go through downtown. It could be nothing, but I’m not going to risk it, so we’re going the long way. I hope that’s alright. If we’re lucky, my car won’t die till we get to the house.”
Something in the engine thumped, almost as if to say, ‘yeah, we’ll see about that.’
No one said anything for a while and my eyes flickered from the road to the slopes lining the highway and the lights going on and off in the neighborhoods waking up around us. Then Michał spoke up.
“So, what time does In-N-Out open?”
***
Look, I know what this is. But saying out loud is not an option yet. Mostly because I’m pretty much the boy who cried ‘wolf’ at this point, so no one would believe me. How everyone else has managed to get through the last twenty-four hours without realizing what’s really going on is beyond me, but maybe this is one of those rare cases where Crazy gets a head start.
But more importantly, I can’t say it because once it’s spoken, that’s it. There’s no going back.
***
We got onto the I-805 South without any trouble but traffic reports on the radio were telling me that Downtown was indeed a mess. Now would have been a great time to know how to get actual news radio stations and not just FM music. I put Katka in charge of figuring it out while I drove.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Hello?” I answered, checking my rearview mirrors for cops.
“Hey,” came the crackly voice over the phone. “Just wanted to know if you were joining us for pizza and pool tonight. You never answered my text.”
“Oh, hey Alberto, yeah,” I mumbled. “Um, are you sure you guys are going out? Things are kind of falling apart out there.”
“Yeah,” he said. “The world is really going to sh-”
“Listen,” I interrupted, “I’ve got some people in the car and I’m going to take them back to my place. I don’t think I’m going out tonight, though. Sorry.”
“Oh, come on,” said Alberto in his most incredulous voice. “You’re not really tripping over a couple of riots in cities on the other side of the county.”
“LA and Seattle are both on our coast,” I said. “Besides, I think this is bigger than a few riots.”
“That’s right,” he said, his tone turning cheerfully sarcastic. “I’d forgotten who I was talking to for a minute. This is the zombie apocalypse you’ve been waiting for.”
“I haven’t been waiting for it, Alberto,” I snapped back. “But yeah, I think that’s what this is and I’m not going to wait till it breaks out here in San Diego to get confirmation. So, pizza and pool is a hard no from me.”
I hung up.
Katka was still flipping through static on the radio and she glanced at me from the corner of her eye.
“So, you’re leaving?”
I nodded as the car jolted uneasily.
“And what are we supposed to do, feed your fish?” she asked.
“I’m taking you guys with me,” I said flatly. “Congratulations, you’re officially the first members of my zombie apocalypse team.”
Katka and Michał exchanged playful grimaces.
“Well,” she said decisively, “We’re all going to die.”
***
My car sputtered around to the back of the house, the thumping noise in the engine had only gotten worse. My folks were out of town for the week so the parking spot by the garage and the back patio would be empty.
We unloaded suitcases and quietly made our way into the kitchen. I shut the patio gate and locked the kitchen door behind us, but noticed my neighbor, per usual, had left both of his open, and his garage door as well. He’s a cop, and a big guy at that. I guess safety isn’t something he worries about.
His car was in the garage and one of his umpire jerseys was hanging up on the wall — he referees high school games in his spare time. He works a precinct in Chula Vista — downtown, I think — but clearly he was home. He probably just got off a night shift. Maybe I’d see if he had escape plans yet.
“This is the kitchen, help yourself to anything not in a can,” I said.
Michał immediately went for the fridge.
“You can bring your suitcases upstairs, but we’re repacking whatever you have into more practical bags,” I said, double-checking the lock on the front door.
The living room floor was strewn with sleeping bags, rucksacks, my dad’s rope collection and army ponchos, and several of his guns and my brother’s sabers, which I had left tucked partially beneath the couch.
“You’re insane,” said Katka, staring at the clutter. “You’re actually crazy and I’m actually worried. You’re not serious, are you?”
“Of course I’m serious,” I said, wondering what I had to do to convince people that, despite a lifetime of over-dramatizing day-to-day experiences for the sake of a good story, I was actually right about this.
Michał walked over with a bowl of apple crisp, the last of the holiday leftovers.
“Americans keep well-stocked refrigerators,” he said. “We could honestly wait out the apocalypse right here and I’d be just fine.”
I stepped over a stack of books on wild mushrooms and walked past the two of them into the kitchen to start pulling out the canned food from the pantry. Katka and Michał roamed around the living room, looking at my family’s portraits and pictures, the bookshelf, the fishtank.
“I’ll make you guys breakfast,” I said, “but then you have to help me get things packed.”
Their silence I interpreted as consent and grabbed a carton of eggs from the fridge.
The rest of the morning passed quickly and, for the most part, quietly. There didn’t seem to be much to talk about, aside from coordinating instructions and comparing this trip to our shenanigans in Hungary.
“There were no zombies in Hungary,” I reminded Katka.
“There totally was though!” she insisted. “That guy from the hostel…”
I grimaced, okay, so maybe there were a few.
A crash from next door made us all stop.
“That’s my neighbor,” I said reassuringly once the noise died down. “He’s probably trying to pack like we are. He’s one of those prepared-for-everything types.”
My phone buzzed again.
“Hey, Ella,” I answered.
“You’re not responding to any of my texts so I just thought I’d call and make sure you’re okay,” she said.
“I’m okay,” I promised.
“Did you see about New York?”
“Yeah, airport shutdown? The wifi is down at my house right now, but I was reading this morning…”
“No, the city is shutdown, Mary.” Her voice lowered and her words came out slowly, the way they do when something has really gotten its hooks into her. “The whole city is on lockdown. They’ve closed off all the bridges and they’re only allowing authorized helicopter evacuations.”
My stomach churned and a tingling sensation ran up my spine till it reached my burning ears.
“What about Los Angeles?” I asked.
“LA and Vegas have both declared a state of emergency,” she said.
“Nothing reported here yet?”
“Just a scuffle in downtown, but the news isn’t saying what it’s about,” she said.
Silence held the line for a moment and then I asked, “Are you okay?”
“I mean…” she paused. “Yeah, yeah I am. Isn’t this what we live for as journalists? The big story?”
Michał was pulling out all the drawers in the kitchen to look for extra batteries and the noise level was making me anxious.
“Ella, I’ve got to go. Be careful.”
Click.
“Michał,” I said over the clatter. He looked up and I mouthed, “Quietly.”
Was I crazy? What if there was really nothing to report? What if Alberto was right? I laughed out loud at the thought. Alberto wouldn’t be right.
“I’m going to check the car,” I said, navigating the mess Michał had made on the kitchen floor.
“Okay, Boss,” he said.
It felt weird tip-toeing around my own house in the middle of the day, as if a single sound might stir something horrific.
Leaving the car door cracked, I stuck the key in the ignition and turned. The engine screeched but never caught. I tried again. This time the screeching was followed by a disheartening thump, thump, thhhump.
Literal sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt my heart begin to race. This was not a good time to not have a functioning car. Who cares that it’s missing two door handles and doesn’t have AC, all I needed was an engine!
Time for another phone call.
After two rings, I heard Nick’s smooth, TV-anchor quality voice.
“Mary?”
“Please tell me you know what’s going on in downtown,” I said, leaning my head against the back of the seat and staring into my patio through the car windshield. Nick didn’t answer right away, but I could hear commotion in the background. Then, over the line, I heard a door slam and the noise was replaced with a faint echo.
“I don’t know how much I can say,” he said. “We’re on strict orders not to share anything.”
“What?” I snapped. “How is that possible? You work at NBC! That’s literally your job! What is going on out there?”
Nick sighed. The nice thing about old friends is that, at some point, the loyalties forged through the mutual torment of the awkward high school years become greater than the surface-level friendships made in the real world.
“Okay, okay,” he lowered his voice. “Two policemen have been killed in downtown and eight people have been shot. Early this morning, in a couple locations, actually — mostly it’s been homeless people but there was a woman, a mother, too. They called in the national guard an hour ago, and I think the Navy has guys down there as well. That’s the last we’ve gotten an update on. Our…our reporters are missing.”
“Missing?” I said.
“We had two teams down there with trucks and…” he broke off. Although his voice had been calm, I could hear the same fear that I heard in Ella’s. “We just can’t air much more than that right now. The general public would panic. And we just don’t have enough information to justify the havoc we would create if we said what we’re seeing.”
“…What are you seeing?” I asked.
His breath was heavy on the line.
“Hey Nick,” I said softly. “What happened to the policemen?”
“They were killed,” he said.
“Yeah, but how? You said eight people were shot and two policemen were killed. How were they killed?”
A door slammed somewhere on his end of the line and everything went quiet. Then, clear as day, his voice broke the vacuum.
“They had their throats ripped out.”
***
“New plan,” I said, bursting into the kitchen. “We’re carpooling.”
“Alright,” said Michał with an appreciative nod. “We’re getting the full American experience.”
“That’s the attitude I like to see,” I said, pointing a coach’s finger in his direction. “I’m calling my friend, Ella, back. My car has joined the legions of the dead, but with less likelihood of rising again, so we’re going to need hers.”
“We could just hike out,” said Katka. “We have backpacks.”
“We’re in the middle of literally miles of populated suburbs,” I said, dialing Ella’s number. “It would take us at least a day to hike out of the city, assuming we ran into zero complications, and we just don’t have that much daylight. And we’d never be able to carry the water we’ll need.”
“Are we taking the apple crisp?” asked Michał. I shook my head.
“Mary’s a tyrant,” Katka hushed him reassuringly.
Ella agreed to pick us up.
“If this turns out to not be the zombie apocalypse,” she said, “we’re telling everyone that we just wanted to go camping.”
“Deal.”
“Also,” she said, “I’m bringing April. She came over this morning.”
“Aw,” I cooed into the phone, “I haven’t seen her in forever!”
Katka shot me an ugly look from living room (“That’s more of a reception than we got, and we flew here.”) and I turned to look out the kitchen door at my poor car.
“Hey, Ella,” I said. “Pull around the back and be quiet getting out.”
We packed three rucksacks, distributing supplies between them. By the kitchen door, we stacked two boxes of canned food, and placed every medicinal item to be found in the house inside a bag which we slung over the back of the kitchen chair.
By 4:30, the sky was dimming. Katka had sacked out on the couch and Michał fixing a flashlight on the floor beside her. I paced the kitchen.
All the lights upstairs were off. Every window shut. Every door locked.
My neighbor had been fairly quiet all afternoon. I wanted to go over and ask him if he had extra gasoline tanks but I was too afraid to step outside. Fear was gripping my stomach with gnarled fingers and squeezing. This was worse than any final exam, any job interview, any awkward text left unresponded to — there was nothing we could do but wait for the storm to break.
Headlights peaked through the cracks of our rickety back porch fence and I unlocked the door and, mustering all my courage, walked across the patio to unlatch the gate.
Ella swooped in with an army of confidence and control, and April brought a reinforcement of good spirits.
“I love the patio,” said April, as we shuffled inside, her large eyes practically glowing with sincerity.
“Plants,” was all I could muster in response.
“So,” said Ella, taking charge immediately, “Downtown Chula Vista is all taped off and on the radio as we were driving over, they said Downtown El Cajon is having issues too.”
“High homeless populations,” I muttered. “Hospitals and clinics close by.”
“We can worry about solving the mystery source of all this after we’ve saved ourselves,” Ella said, inspecting our supplies. “I brought some food, too, and water. And wine. Who’s this?”
Michał had wandered into the kitchen.
“Friend from Europe,” I said. “He and another friend of mine are here for the next few weeks.”
“Or until the end of the End Times,” said Michał, extending a hand, his sandy blonde hair flopping over his wire-framed glasses.
“Ella and April are friends for school,” I said. “We were all editors for the student paper.”
Katka woke up and sauntered in behind Michał. Introductions were made all the way around.
We had barely all said our ‘hello’s when there was a banging on the front door. We all jumped and stared. The banging got louder.
“Hey, open up,” someone was yelling.
I ran across the living room and fumbled with the lock on the door.
“I know you’re in there!”
More banging.
“Will you shut up,” I hissed, finally getting the door open. “You’re going to wake the dead!”
Alberto flashed a huge smile.
“I see what you did there. Wake the dead. Very funny.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked him, standing in between him and the entrance to the house.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked.
“No, I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Oh, come on!” he bellowed, using his most exasperated tone. “Enough of this. We’ve come to take you to pizza and pool at La Bella’s.”
“We?”
“Marty’s in the car.”
“What?” I was furious. “Why would you bring Marty? What were you thinking? Does he even play pool?”
“I don’t know, but he’s here now,” said Alberto. His self-satisfied grin was sickening. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Chula Vista is blocked off,” I said. “I’m going back inside and I’m shutting this door.”
“Can I come in?”
“No, but Marty can.”
Alberto went down to the car to fetch Marty. I stood sentry at the door, watching the plaid pattern on his short-sleeved collared shirt fade into the dusk. He returned with Marty in tow and I reluctantly let them both inside.
“Your goatee is growing in nicely,” I told Marty as he passed me into the living room.
I shut the door and bolted it, reaching for the window blinds next. If they’re anything like what I’ve read about in my Zombie Survival Guide, they’re attracted to the light.
“I cannot believe you’re here,” said Ella to Alberto. “You just showed up?”
“I did,” he replied, puffing out his already large chest, clearly very proud of himself. “And look what I would have been missing!” He gestured to the survival books and weaponry that we still had not found packs for. “You’ve gone to some impressive lengths to avoid me, Mary. How many people are in on your zombie schtick? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love it-”
“I’m not avoiding you!” I said, throwing my hands up.
“It’s the script, isn’t it?” he said with a smile that cut like knives. “You could have just said you didn’t like it. I probably wouldn’t have even asked you anyway.”
“It’s not the script,” I said. “I didn’t even read it, okay?”
“Ouch,” his smile wavered.
“Dude, this is really happening,” Ella interjected, taking charge with one swish of her delicate, perfectly manicured hand. “I know it’s not in men’s nature to believe women about serious issues, but something’s wrong and we’re heading for the hills. Join us or don’t.”
“Guys,” he laughed, searching the room for sympathetic eyes.
“It all makes sense to me,” said Marty, stepping towards the center of the room, away from the front door. “It was only a matter of time before society caved in on itself and it would be the undercurrent that would recognize it first. No one listens to journalists.”
“We’re not journalists,” Katka spoke up.
“And we’re not Americans,” added Michał, probably as a point of pride.
“Aw, are these some of your little Czech friends?” asked Alberto.
“Michał is Polish,” I answered.
There was another rattle at the front door and Alberto cussed loudly. No one moved. Then there was a knock, followed by a, “Hello?”
“Oh my gosh,” I rolled my eyes, unjammed the door for a second time and Teichman stumbled in, still wearing his practice jersey and cleats.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“My friend down on 2nd said some woman ate the face of a homeless dude and the police shot her ten times and she just kept walking at them,” said Teich with all the casualness of someone with a clearly misguided sense of security. “I thought, well, that sounds like zombies, and you’re the queen of zombies, so I came here. And I brought a baseball bat.”
“Oh, Teich, I could hug you!” I exclaimed. Finally, someone acknowledged my superiority in the world of zombie survival — and he brought a bat!
“All of you are insane,” said Alberto, taking a step back.
“Don’t lump me in this,” said Katka defensively.
“Look,” I said, “this is happening and I am leaving with Ella and whoever else wants to get out of Dodge before the zombies show up. But we’re leaving right now.”
I grabbed the stack of books and pointed Michał towards the couch. “Grab the guns and swords, please.”
“What is this?” Alberto exclaimed, grabbing his head with his hands in disbelief, his voice rising in pitch. “When does Mary York have Samurai swords?”
I was already on my way to the kitchen, Ella and the girls close behind.
Marty gave Alberto a blank stare, then shrugged his shoulders and followed us out to the parking lot where Ella’s car was waiting for us, trunk open. As noiselessly as possible, we loaded the car in the dark. Alberto, I assumed, was still gaping in the living room — Teich had followed us out back and was helping us stuff a tent under the seats of the car.
“Who said you could play god, Mary?” came Alberto’s accusatory voice from the patio gate.
“Shhhh!” said three of us in unison, without real reason. The paranoia was strong.
“You get to just pick and choose survivors,” he blundered, tottering past my car, still parked next to the garage. “Your zombie apocalypse team is a piece of work, you know? It’s sick.” He pointed a thick finger in my direction. “You’re sick.”
“Please, Alberto,” I begged in a hoarse whisper from beneath a box of canned goods, “Please keep it down!”
“I will not!” he shouted, this time smiling and opening his arms as if inviting the neighborhood to hear. “You don’t even have enough seats for all of us.”
He pointed gleefully at Ella’s car, which could have fit five us with effort.
“Who are you going to leave behind?” he asked, cackling delightedly. “The baseball player? No, you wouldn’t leave behind one of your precious baseball players.”
“Alberto-” Ella tried to cut him off while balancing a stack of survival books in her arms, but he had strutted into the parking lot and had gone full-volume.
“You gonna leave behind Ella?” he hollered. “Grab her keys, take her car and go? Steal her wheels, right out from under her! Mary York plays Grand Theft Auto, zombie edition.”
From behind Alberto, I could see movement in my neighbor’s garage. I half hoped the cop would come out and help us settle things, but I was also embarrassed to have my survival expert, he-man neighbor witness my poor attempt to evacuate. We didn’t even have bottled water. Some zombie apocalypse team I’d created.
“…All because you didn’t want to tell me to my face that you thought I’d gone too far, is that it?” Alberto was yelling now. “You’re a coward, Mary York, and I never should have sent you that script!”
My neighbor tottled out into the parking lot from his open garage door and Ella gasped. As soon as I saw him, my back turned to ice and a lump lodged in my throat. Something was definitely wrong.
His head dropped sideways off his neck, his hands hung limp at his sides. From the back of his throat, a raspy wheezing sound seemed to slither through his teeth. He stumbled toward us and the seven of us facing him took a step back. Alberto, who had just finished his rant and could now hear the approach of my neighbor behind him, turned his head.
In the dim yellow back-lighting of my neighbor’s garage, all the thick hairs on his big head looked aflame and his frame, even shrunken and stooped, was still much larger than Alberto’s.
My neighbor is a big man.
Was. He was a big man.
“What the-” Alberto started, taking a step back.
Every instinct told me to move, to run, to get away, but my feet were frozen below me. I could hear Teich cussing behind me and Ella and Katka were both vocalizing their concern at the state and proximity of my neighbor who, clearly, had not gotten far in his survival planning. Michał and April remained silent.
“Get in the house, guys,” I said to whoever was listening — and it felt like nobody was. “Slip behind Alberto and get in the house.”
The only one moving was the growling figure quickly approaching.
Well, I may be bad at math and talking to boys and cutting my own bangs, but I’ll be darned if I haven’t fully prepared myself for the zombie apocalypse. I could feel the fear gluing me to the ground turning into something much stronger: purpose.
“Give me a sword,” I said to Teich, who was standing behind me, arms full of my brother’s old swords and sabers collection. He tossed me one and I unsheathed it.
“Mary…” April said weakly as I walked toward my snarling neighbor. Alberto had finally taken a step backwards and I took his place, staring into the hazy eyes of someone who didn’t seem to be looking back.
“I’m sorry that you got taken so quickly,” I said in a whisper. Then I lifted the sword with both hands and brought it down in the middle of his head with a thwapp! A large cracking sound echoed around the parking lot and several of the team emitted ‘eewwwww’s.
My neighbor stumbled backwards, blinked — I kid you not, he blinked, like some kind of stunned pigeon that flew into a window pane — and teetered forward again.
“What the…” I was astounded.
“His skull’s still intact,” said Alberto, waving a demonstrative hand at my neighbor’s cranium which, though visibly cloven, was still protecting the grey matter beneath. “You have to get his brains.”
“Oh, so now that you’ve seen one yourself, you believe us,” said Ella with a dignified sniff, refusing to let the end times get in the way of social reform.
My neighbor leaned forward and swooshed his arms as if to grab me. I jumped out of the way with a yelp, then lunged again. I smashed the sword into my neighbor’s head again, but struck too close to the side and and the blade slid right off.
“I thought you threw javelin,” said Teich, dropping the swords on the ground and shuffling through them in the dark to find one for himself. “Where’s the arm strength, Mary?”
“It’s just that these swords aren’t sharpened,” I said, giving another wack at the stumbling dead man and missing entirely.
“Americans,” Michał muttered under his breath.
Katka and Teich emerged from behind the car with swords, both as blunt as mine. We circled my neighbor who was tottering between the three of us and Alberto as if he couldn’t make up his mind who to chase.
“This feels like kindergarten,” I said, cold sweat beading on my brow. “Monkey in the middle.”
“Really?” said Alberto, whose leering smile had vanished and been replaced with a strained look of concern that hadn’t fully registered what was going on. “I was getting more of a dodgeball vibe.”
Katka was a much better aim than I was, but her blow equally ineffective — she’s so short, her sword barely reached his head anyway, though it did batter up a large chunk of his face. Teich watched her blade land impactless and dropped his sword on the ground with a clatter.
“Where are you going?” Katka snapped at him anxiously as the zombie chose to step toward her, forcing her to retreat.
Teich didn’t answer but hustled away from us, around the corner of the last house in our row and out of sight.
“Well, I guess he doesn’t make the team,” said Ella.
My neighbor lumbered toward Katka again and she took another swing, our circle of defense moving with the target.
“Are you sure we should be trying to kill this guy?” asked Michał from the safety of the far side of the car. “What if he’s not really, you know, dead?”
“Yeah, what if this is just how he always is?” Alberto pressed as my neighbor started drooling from a flopping jaw, stumbling toward Katka who had given up using the dull sword.
“His head is cracked open and he’s still walking,” said Ella. “I think it’s safe to say he’s a zombie.”
As she spoke, her hand slipped and the pile of books in her arms toppled onto the ground. My neighbor’s head turned toward the noise and he changed course from Katka to Ella.
“No, no, no!” Ella said, backing away in small, ineffective steps towards the end of the row of houses, away from the car and the relative safety of our circle. “I can make hard decisions for you guys, and look fashionable while driving the getaway car, but I don’t want to be a part of the zombie chase scenarios, guys. I just can’t. Someone…someone help!”
My neighbor was grasping for her with his large, lifeless arms as she continued backing away from us, and the rest of us stood there with useless swords, guns I didn’t know how to shoot, and a book on mushrooms in the wild.
Yup. We were all going to die.
Then, smash.
Ella screamed with a pitch that could have curdled milk and bloodied grey matter flew everywhere. For a moment, from our vantage point by the car, all we could see was the large backside of my neighbor, now headless.
Then, he crumbled to the ground, revealing Ella, covered in blood, and Teich, gripping his baseball bat in one hand.
To be continued…
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