Monster in the Closet

Chris was frozen in fear in the darkness. He was too terrified of making a noise that would attract the dead Chico. The argument continued outside the trailer; keeping Chico aroused for food and he kept clawing at the doors.

Outside, Jenkins and Mole were arguing. Mole shook his finger in Jenkins’ face while Jenkins stared at the ground like he was a pouting kid in time out.

“To hell with you and your comic book crew, Jenkins! The only reason I’m even here is because I feel sorry for you fools. This isn’t Resident Evil or Dawn of the Dead. This is real, man! I’m an IT Security Specialist and you want to dictate to me on how I should run the cameras and radios?! No, don’t think so. You’ll need me before I ever need you and without me, you wouldn’t have the surveillance and radio systems because instead of getting an education, you and your ilk stayed in your bedrooms eating junk food, playing your video games and ja…”

*scrrraaaaaatch…*

Jenkins and Mole looked at the trailer together. “Jenkins, what the hell was that?”

“Mole, you don’t think that’s a zeke in there, do you, because Chris is the only one in there. I told him we were sleeping in the command trailer tonight. Did you notify everyone in the field?”

“You didn’t tell me to. Chico’s the only one out. He was waiting for that horde to back to sleep.”

“I didn’t tell you? Its protocol to get status updates on everyone in the field, Mole!”

“Jenkins, I made it clear that were not my boss, or commander, when I came in with you dolts and you could’ve just as easily have called him yourself. Never mind, just kill that zeke so I can go to sleep. I’m tired of fighting with you.”

The commander retrieved the crossbow from his back and opened the door. Chico fell out of the trailer and onto Jenkins knocking them both to the ground. Chico immediately crunched into Jenkins’ upper right arm. Blood spewed a pulsating spray by Chico’s gray pockmarked face. Chris darted to his feet and ran to the opening. Mole stood there in confusion of not knowing what to do. Chris grabbed his gun off of the bed and aimed it at Chico.

Mole saw Chris aiming his sights, “NO, STOP! What are you doing, you’ll alert another horde, you fool!”

Mole ran to the other trailer, threw the door open and yelled, “Get up somebody, Chico’s a zeke and he bit Jenkins! The rest of the crew jumped up. Watchtower grabbed his machete and bolted outside. He sliced twice into Chico’s skull and once in the back of his neck. Brain matter and chunky brown coagulated blood oozed on to the coughing commander. Watchtower got on his knees and rolled Chico’s twitching body off of Jenkins.

Watchtower knew what was going to become of his commander, “Sir, this ain’t good.”

Jenkins was in shock and could barely speak, “Waa-atch, you kn-know I’m gonna tur-turn. Y-you gotta ki-kill me.”

Jenkins started crying and rolled over onto his stomach so Watchtower could kill him without looking into his eyes. Watchtower looked at the bloody sobbing commander, “Man, I can’t do it.” Watchtower looked over, “Mole, I know you hate him and would love to kill him.”

“Well, I didn’t hate him that much, but okay.”

Mole took the machete from Watchtower and hit Jenkins’ but the force wasn’t enough to pierce the commander’s head. Jenkins’ screamed in agony and grabbed his head.

“What are you doin’, man?! Kill him, but don’t torture him, Mole!” Chris yelled.

“I can’t help it if he’s thick-headed, Crip, I mean, Chris.”

Chris glared at Mole and snatched the machete from his hand, “I’ll do it, Hole, I mean, Mole.”  Chris swung the machete and cracked Jenkins’ head open and cut off three fingers from Jenkins’ left hand.

Everyone stood there shocked and sad of losing their team member and their leader. Their sadness quickly turned to disgust at Mole as he was smirking at Jenkins’ body. Mole clutched his hips and looked at the crew, “Okay then. I’ll be assuming command of this little outfit. You boys can start by tossing these meat sacks over the retainer wall.”

Watchtower gnashed his teeth and grabbed Mole by the throat, “Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s throw a meat sack over the retainer wall.”

Mole gripped his hands around Watchtower’s tried to pull the clutching hand from his neck but he was too weak, his raspy voice uttered, “Wh-at…the fuck…are you do-ing?!”

“Just following orders, Commander!” Watchtower pushed Mole over the wall. Mole’s cranium sounded like a lemon hitting the kitchen floor when it slammed into Almeda Road.

Watchtower turned around, “Now that the trash has been taken out, let’s give Chico and Commander proper burials.”

Rest is Best

Against his better judgment, Chris agreed to stay while the HAZMAT team procured a vehicle and supplies for him. He sat down on one of the bunk beds and surveyed the trailer. Each bunk had its own personality. One bunk had pictures of Voltron and Transformers stapled to the wall, another had World of Warcraft and Guild Wars game box covers on the wall. But they all had something in common. 40-Year Old Virgin and Revenge of the Nerds came to Chris’ mind. There was a small desk with a dirty microwave, paper plates and a box of disposable eating utensils.

*knock*knock* “Chris, it’s Jenkins, I’m coming in.”

Jenkins entered the trailer and asked with a coy grin, “How are you enjoying your hotel accommodations? Chris chuckled, “Thank you very much. I’d like to hit the jacuzzi after my back and stump massage.” Chris pointed to his left shoulder.  They both laughed. “Listen, I have a couple of guys getting you a car; ammo and food for your trip back home, but I have a serious question.” The commander nervously rubbed his hands together and Chris waited attentively. “Are you certain your girl is at home? Is there a possibility that she left or was rescued or…”

Chris snapped, “Or, what? Became of one those things?! No, Commander, Sarah is fine and she’s at home waiting for me!”

“Hang on, now. I’m not trying to piss you off; I just wanted to make sure your trip wasn’t in vain. You don’t want to waste all that effort on an empty house if she’s in a shelter or with the military.”

“What military? Your little nerd herd is the only military I’ve seen.”

Jenkins snapped back, “Yes, you’re right. We are. And we’ve survived longer than any military out here because, as you call us, NERDS, we nerds happen to be well-versed in zombie survival. So, sir, please do not insult our integrity and the team because you grew up watching 90210 and Bruce Willis movies. As I stated, we will help you, but don’t piss me off.” Jenkins took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yeah, I’m sorry, just stressed. Where is the military? Do they have a shelter?”

“FEMA and the National Guard were sheltering people at Ellington Field, Reliant Stadium and the Astrodome, but news came over the ham that with all the commotion and noise the zekes never went to sleep and eventually consumed the Reliant Stadium and Astrodome shelters. If Sarah escaped she might be at Ellington. Where do you live, Chris?”

Chris had a sullen look on his face, “Spring.”

Jenkins’ eyes widened, “Chris, if she’s at Ellington you’d have to cross Houston again and that’s too dangerous.”

“Can you contact them?” Chris asked.

“No. There's no contact number even though we can still use cell phones, and the military’s radio transmissions are encrypted. The only information we could gather was from ham radio operators and we haven’t heard from those guys in days. Mole was able to hack into the cell towers but all he can get is people screaming and desperate calls from family members and those have thinned out as well.”

Jenkins pulled out a map from behind the microwave; unrolled it on the bunk mattress and started pointing. The map was of the greater Houston area. There were arrows pointing to different areas in the city with scribbles of footnotes. “Not safe” pointed at downtown and “safer” made a big circle around the outside of Beltway 8 and the surrounding counties.  

Jenkins continued, “Okay. Mole hacked into Houston TranStar camera system so we know most of the freeways are congested with abandoned vehicles. The ham operators that live, or lived in the outer counties last reported that it was safer travel in those areas. If I were you, I’d be vigilant of drunk rednecks since most of the available law enforcement was dispatched into Harris County to assist Houston Police and the Guard so, you’ll need to stick to the outskirts of town and rural roads to avoid any possible contact with zekes that are awake. We have a clear route that we can escort you on from here to I-10.”

“Which way should I go?”

“Personally, I would recommend going through Jacinto City on Highway 90 to Crosby, then on Farm-to-Market road 2100 to Huffman and then on 1960 to Spring.”

“Do you have an extra map I can take with me?”

“Yes, I’ll give you this one with the route drawn on it once you leave us. Right now, get some sleep; you’ll need it. When you leave here you’ll be on your own and you’re gonna have to find safe houses to rest in. From what we’ve seen in the field and heard on the radio, it won’t be a happy jaunt on the scenic tour. Me and the boys will sleep in the command trailer. See you in the morning.”

Jenkins patted Chris on the shoulder and then exited the trailer. Chris lay down on the bunk and covered up with the blanket. His mind was swimming with thoughts of fear. “What if Sarah isn’t there? What If she’s at Ellington? What if they brought her to the stadium or the Dome?” Chris shook his head. “Okay ya boob, don’t start jumping to conclusions.”

He turned his lamp off and drifted off to sleep. A couple of hours later, one of the team members came in. Chris could hear him taking his boots off at the bunk on the other side of the trailer. His breathing was shallow and shivering. Chris thought that it was cold in there but not really cold enough to breath like that.

“Are you okay?”

“Wh-who’s that?” the team member asked.

“It’s Chris the Crip; the new visitor. What’s wrong? Catchin’ a cold or something?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s b-been cool out at n-night and I ain’t been takin’ my v-vitamins. I h-hope it ain’t the flu. Yeah, s-so I’m real-ly tired and spaced out.”

“What’s your name?” Chris asked.

“Ch-Che-eco.”

Chris turned the lamp on and turned over. Chico was sitting slouched on the bunk. He was shivering and clutching his abdomen.

“Chico? Well, it’s great to meet you, man. You and that Diverter thing was cool!”

Chico waved his hand back and forth. “I’ll tell y-you all about i-it in the morn-ing. I gotta g-get some sle-ep.”

“Okay man, good night.” Chico didn’t respond. Chris turned the lamp off and faded back into dreamland. Chris later awoke to arguing outside followed by a wheezed grunt sound inside the trailer. He heard the squeaking of the bed springs and then an off-rhythm clomping of footsteps toward the doors. The indiscernible arguing kept going and the grunting got more persistent; then he heard a clawing sound.

Chris started freaking out. He knew what he was hearing. Chico wasn’t sick with the flu. He’d been bitten and now he’s dead!      

 “Oh damn! How am I gonna get out of here!”