Crazytimes Read online

  I have to step over numerous body parts along the way—several arms, including one without a hand, a leg still wrapped in the fabric of its pants leg, a couple ears, a head missing one ear, and something I initially think is a child’s arm but quickly realize is an uncircumcised penis.

  The farther I walk, the more trees there are separating the train tracks from the street, so I duck into the wooded area to keep cover. There’s smoke above, which makes me think some meteors must have crashed nearby, although it could easily be a car engulfed in flames. I grabbed a pack of surgical masks on my way out of the superstore too. I tear into the package and put one on, wondering if it’s even going to help. Can’t hurt, I suppose.

  The road curves and diverges from the train line, and in the space between, the trees eventually diminish and the land opens up into a field with benches around the perimeter. A park. I’m not too far from my house at this point, and yet I’ve never been to this place. It looks kind of nice, actually, and I wonder why I never took advantage. Would’ve been a nice place to sit and read.

  I see some kids—three boys, it looks like, no older than eight or nine—running around up ahead, kicking a soccer ball and laughing and yelling. They aren’t the sounds of anger, though. They seem to just be having fun. I feel the hint of a smile crawl across my lips, and for a moment I hope and think maybe things are going to be okay. I imagine how nice it would have been if I’d had the chance to play soccer with my brothers like these boys.

  My thought gets interrupted by a large man emerging from another wooded area at the far end of the field. He’s much closer to the boys, and he begins running toward them. The boys abandon their ball and run off screaming. The fear is real, but at least they’re smart enough to go in three different directions. At least, I hope that’s the right move and they’re able to reconvene elsewhere. Getting stuck on your own during the apocalypse is not something I would recommend.

  The man is clearly insane, shouting a series of non-words and animalistic yelps. Even from this distance I can see the purple marks and the misshapen quality of his neck. Confused by the scattering, he pauses for a moment before chasing after one of the children. He appears to choose correctly, as the boy he follows isn’t a particularly good runner. The man catches up to him quickly and tackles him to the ground. Then he stands back up, grabs the boy by his ankles, and beats him against the ground like a doll, laughing all the while. He whips the child over and over against the grass, and for a moment I liken the motion to someone trying to work the kinks out of a hose, but this is far messier.

  I start running toward the altercation, but I’m too far away to make a difference. The boy has the wind knocked out of him right away, and his body quickly falls limp and lifeless into the now-flattened grass.

  The man notices me coming, though, and as soon as the boy has been dispatched, he turns his gaze toward me. I stop dead in my tracks, just as he starts walking in my direction with purpose. A few steps in, he breaks into a run.

  Even from a distance, even as he bounds toward me, I can see his neck pulsating. Yellow and purple goop spatters from his mouth as he shouts malformed sounds in an accusatory way. I see his eyes spinning too, like I’ve seen far too many times today.

  I’m ready for him, though. I angle my stance sideways and slide the machete from the sheath on my back, then I wait while he expends the bulk of the effort. He’s coming fast in the last fifty feet or so. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. Five.

  At the last moment, I slide one step over and swing the machete right to left. It’s not like Jenny. It doesn’t get stuck. Aided by his momentum, it’s one clean movement and his head hits the ground and rolls a lumpy path about twenty feet or so, spitting multicolored goo the whole way, before stopping in a patch of dead grass.

  His arms swipe wildly out in front of him, and one of his fingers catches the corner of my surgical mask, snapping it free from my face. So much for that.

  The rest of his body falls to its knees, then slams chest-first into the ground. Red and yellow liquid pours from his neck stump, like milk heaving out of a dropped plastic jug.

  I pause for a moment, feeling like a samurai warrior, then I wipe both sides of my blade on the guy’s pant leg and replace it in its sheath.

  For a second I think about running up and booting his head like a soccer ball, but I reconsider before acting on the urge, and move along.

  I walk over to the lifeless child’s body and pay my respects. What the point of that is, I’m not sure, but I’ve got my brothers on my mind, and this kid is another reminder of a promise cut short. I didn’t know him, but his tragic circumstances have some weight, and I’m feeling it. My eyes well up, and a few tears fall from my cheeks.

  I approach the soccer ball the kids were playing with a minute later. I wonder if the other two will ever come back for it, come back and find their friend lying dead in the grass. If they survive themselves. Hopefully they haven’t been attacked already. Hopefully they don’t go crazy like so many others. Hopefully they make it through the day and find somewhere safe to lay their heads tonight.

  When I get close enough to the ball, my jaw drops. It’s not a soccer ball. It’s a meteor.

  11

  I’M HESITANT TO get too close, but the meteor appears to be inert. It’s just lying there, doing nothing. It’s not glowing. It doesn’t seem to be radiating any heat. It’s charred, but there is no smoke rising up from between its ridges. The kids were kicking it around like it was nothing. Maybe it’s already spat out its toxins and it’s nothing but a spent shell now.

  Fuck. What do I do?

  I decide to do the thing people always do in sci-fi movies. I find a long stick and use it to poke the meteor. The thing has some weight to it, but it’s light enough that when I touch it with the end of the branch, it moves. It’s relatively round, but has an uneven, rocky surface, scorched black from its journey through the atmosphere.

  The last one of these I saw up close was downtown, a few hours ago, and it glowed from within, bright red and yellow, like it had a miniature furnace inside.

  And it’s as if the thought conjures something into reality. Suddenly a red dot appears from within the meteor. I stagger back, startled by what I’m seeing, and I think for a second that it’s really all over now and maybe that’s okay because I lasted longer than most. I wait for the yellow puff of smoke to appear and take me, absolving me of that irritating sense of survivor’s guilt I’ve always carried with me, but it doesn’t come.

  Then for some reason I take a step toward the meteor and realize the little spot of red is a light. Not a fiery glow, but an actual electronic light, like a tiny LED. It’s blinking, pulsing like a slow heartbeat. It does this for a full minute while I watch, riveted, unsure of what to expect next, but hanging on the moment. Then the light disappears for several seconds, only to reappear, this time bright blue and solid.

  The meteor beeps. One loud, solid tone.

  I tense up further, not expecting this at all. I brace myself. I think perhaps it’s a bomb, about to explode, but instead, two sections of the rocklike sphere slide out from opposite sides and right the shape into a specific, steady position. It beeps again, this time softer, and from beneath the two extended sections, a pair of tiny blue fires ignite. They appear to be twin rocket boosters, and the thing, clearly not a meteor, but instead some sort of device, launches itself up into the air, propelling itself higher and higher, only to disappear into the hazy sky, which I only now realize is darkening quickly.

  Fuck.

  I stand there in total disbelief. As if any of the things that have happened today could be believed on any other day.

  I need to move, but my legs don’t want to. It’s a sensation I’m getting sick of feeling.

  I look up, then across the horizon, and back toward Center City. It looks like war, like bombs being dropped from drones flying high above, while missiles are sent up to counter the threat. Only I don’t think we’re fighting whatever is happening. I thin
k the things going up in the sky are just the things that came down, and they’re going back up through the clouds for reinforcements.

  Where the hell is our military anyway? Shouldn’t the sky be filled with fighter jets? Shouldn’t tanks be firing at the meteors, disintegrating them before they ever have a chance to crash and spread their madness? Maybe the generals have gone crazy, and the soldiers have run away. Maybe they’ve got their own bunkers to hide in, realizing we have no chance against whatever this is.

  So maybe this whatever is even bigger than I thought. If I wasn’t convinced already, I have to assume this is happening all over, not just here. The question is, where’s it coming from? And what’s the reason? Or does any of that even matter?

  Oh, it’s a playground. It’s not a park. The thought blindsides me. There are bigger issues afoot, but this is the thing that jolts me back into action. I must have gotten turned around at some point, gotten confused about where I was walking. Of course. On the other side of those trees is the Alexandria School. K through 5. How could I have forgotten? Isa and I had once talked about how, if we ever had kids together, they would probably go to school here one day.

  Only I didn’t want kids. Which was probably another reason she bailed. Not that I was ever really given reasons, so I just have to speculate, like I’ve been doing with the crazy people and the meteors and everything else.

  The sky gets noticeably darker in a matter of moments, and I realize I better find somewhere safe to hide out, at least for the night. If I’m still around tomorrow when the sun returns, maybe I can do some more scavenging for supplies, but for now I better get inside.

  I start jogging across the field and through the trees, to the parking lot for the school, thinking there has to be a classroom or an office I can barricade myself inside. Surely the doors have locks, and if not, I could always stack up a bunch of desks and chairs.

  As I walk along the edge of the parking lot and reach the corner of the building, I hear the laughter of children. Lots of children. And I hear a man screaming.

  12

  “COME ON, WE need to get you inside!” the man says. He’s upset, but maybe not the kind of angry I’m thinking he might be at first. Mostly, he sounds urgent. “Please, let’s get inside the school.”

  I hear the sounds of children clamoring too, but they’re a little more distant, and I don’t think he’s talking to them. When I peek around the corner of the building, I see them at the opposite end of the U-shaped school, inside, laughing and slapping their hands on the windows. They’re not coming out, though, which makes me think they’re stuck in whatever room that is.

  “Why can’t I just stay right here?” It’s a woman responding. “I can sleep on this bench,” she pleads. She sounds utterly exhausted. She sounds familiar.

  “It’s like twenty feet to the door,” the guy says. I step away from the corner of the building and hide behind a lone tree where I have a better view of things. I see him standing in front of her, holding her hand. She’s seated with one leg up on the bench and the other on the ground. The bench sits on an angle along the edge of the walkway that leads to the main doors to the school, located in the concave center of the U. I can’t see her face or her body, but it’s clear from the sound of her voice that she’s spent.

  “Let’s just get inside,” the guy continues. “I’ll find some pillows or something. They’ve gotta have a bed in the nurse’s office, right? It’ll be so much more comfortable than this bench. You can sleep, and I’ll scrounge up some food, and everything will be alright.”

  “Okay,” she relents, sitting up straighter with a deep sigh. She seems to be gathering her energy. “Fine. Let’s go. Help me up?”

  The guy bends at the knees, grabs her other hand, and pulls, helping her to her feet. When he moves to the side, I see why she sounds so familiar. She used to live with me.

  Of all the people to run into at the end of the world.

  Isa winces as she turns toward the door, stifling a scream. She’s in obvious pain. She grabs her belly.

  Fuck.

  She’s pregnant? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I had no idea. That must have been yet another reason she left. Not that we were getting along anyway, but she knew how badly I didn’t want children. She obviously knew before she moved out, but wasn’t showing yet. Or if she was, I sure didn’t notice. It’s not like we had been exploring each other’s bodies much those last few months. How far along is she now? I wonder. She looks big.

  Wait, am I even the father? Maybe. Maybe not. It could just as easily be this guy with her. By the looks of things, she’s got to be at least seven or eight months along. I try to remember how long ago the last time we had sex was. Could she have been cheating while we were together?

  Does it really matter right now anyway?

  I almost call her name, but decide against it, and stay where I am behind the tree. It’s the only cover I have for the moment. There’s the tree and the bench, and a shrub behind it. Everything else right here is flat and paved.

  The children in the far windows get more animated when Isa stands up and she and her companion turn toward the door to the school. Their voices get much louder, although I can’t tell what they’re screaming. But the sound of them pounding against the windows and walls is intense. Sounds like thunder. Like an approaching storm.

  For a second, I think Oh no, they’re trapped, but I quickly realize that’s not the case. It only takes one kid to convince me, with his face pressed against the glass, smiling wide while he licks a circle of grime clean from the windowpane.

  Isa and the guy only make it a few steps away from the bench before she’s hit with a shock of pain. She grabs the underside of her round belly, groans loudly, and falls to one knee.

  “I can’t,” she says between labored breaths. “I . . . I can’t.”

  “Come on, we’re almost there.” He has her arm just above the elbow and tries to help her stand again.

  She winces, then screams. She can’t take the pain. I want to help, but don’t know how I can, or if she’d even want me to.

  She screams again. Agony. She lurches forward as if something hit her from behind. But it didn’t.

  “Isa!” I yell, finally stepping out from behind the tree, and she turns around, eyes wide, and falls on her butt, startled. The guy turns to look in my direction too, and takes a defensive stance, as if I’m about to attack them, but I’m so focused on Isa I don’t even see his face. I raise my hands in a gesture of peace, but before I’m able to take a step toward them, Isa screams again, and something in her belly pops outward suddenly, puffing her unfamiliar pastel flower-print dress out and instantly staining it red.

  Blood spatters the guy’s pants leg, and they both scream, terrified and confused. Isa’s stomach erupts in a series of violent up and down motions beneath the fabric of her dress until finally it splits and the thing inside her breaks free from within, in a geyser of blood and pus. I can see her eyes roll back as she collapses backward immediately, the back of her head thumping on the paved walkway, and when the baby emerges through her split belly, it’s a monstrous thing, slicked red. Even through the coating of blood and slime, I can make out the purple pattern on its neck and the bulging contours of its tiny mutated form.

  It moves with more strength and more purpose than a newborn, though. Is that the right way to refer to this thing? This crazed mutant child with its pulsating bubbles of flesh?

  I watch in horror as it pulls its feet from the vile hole in Isa’s midsection, then crawls across her and somehow has the strength to snap the umbilical cord and leap from Isa onto the man’s legs, latching onto the loose material of his pants, and crawl quickly up the front of him, before sinking its jagged gums into his neck. This thing has far more strength than it should. Isa’s friend screams and flails, trying to shake the mutant baby off, but it seems to have intensely strong jaws, and he’s unsuccessful. In mere seconds, the child tears a chunk of flesh free from the man’s neck and hi
s wild motions stop and he falls dead in a heap on top of Isa’s lifeless body.

  The baby-thing jumps down off him, then turns and gallops at me like an angry red dog. A glop of gore falls out of its mouth as it dives at me, leaping from all fours. I’m able to dodge it, then I spin around and nearly trip over Isa’s leg. I catch myself from falling, though. Then the thing leaps at me again, and without even thinking, I grab my machete and hold it straight out in front of me like a spear. I impale the mutant child right through its evil little heart, and its momentum carries it up and over. I launch it backwards over my head like a shovelful of dirt and the little body hits the paved walkway with a wet thud. I run over to it quickly and drive the blade straight down into its mutated chest, and it stops moving for good.

  That was easier than I expected.

  But of course this is the moment I hear the shattering of glass, and sounds of all the purple-necked, laughing schoolchildren finally breaking free from the far end of the school.

  13

  I WANT TO take a moment to mourn Isa in her presence, but the kids are coming fast, and I have no choice but to run. I could try to fight them off with my blades, but there are so many, I’m sure to be overwhelmed.

  This disaster movie keeps getting worse.

  I run. I don’t even know where I find the energy, but I run and run and run. The kids follow, but thankfully their legs are only so long, which gives me an advantage. I look back and see some of them with rulers and pencils in their hands, brandishing them like knives. One particularly menacing-looking child has a giant T-square that he’s holding with both hands like a pick-axe. It looks wet. Every one of them is either screaming or laughing. Before we get out of the parking lot, the lampposts illuminate them enough for me to see the blisters on their necks and the purple goo drooling out of their mouths. Some of them look truly deformed, with massive clusters of bubbles rising up out of the skin of their necks and shoulders and backs. It’s a terrifying sight, multiplied by at least a hundred.