Channeling Blame

Despite frantic button mashing on the remote the gate to the driveway refused to open. Joe had to get out of the car, unlock the gate by hand in the dark, then swing it open on his own. When he got back in the driver’s seat Kate was staring through the open passenger window with her chin resting on her palm.

“You gonna say anything or just keep being like this?” Joe asked.

Kate turned her head further away from him. Joe kicked the Porsche into gear. The gate was waiting ajar as if it deserved a thank you. Joe gritted his teeth, he couldn’t believe the damn thing was broken. It had taken that company over a week to install it across the driveway. Joe knew he hardly needed a gate this far out of town. The closest neighbor was an abandoned military base, and with a mile long driveway it wasn’t exactly like there were going to be trespassers. But life in Manhattan had left its toll. Now his gate had given work to another incompetent company run by idiots who shouldn’t make a living for what they do.

“You just don’t get me at all!” Kate said. Her jaw muffled her voice, forced up by the weight of her palm.

“What’s that?” Joe said. He’d turned the volume on his hearing aids down during her fit leaving the restaurant.

“I said. You just — don’t — get me!” Kate let out a small sob.

Joe turned his head away to cringe. No amount of crustaceans, white wine, or chocolate mousse could soften her up. He looked out the window. Passing trees flashed into view beneath the headlights from complete darkness. Gnarled trunks cast twisting shadows across desert shrubs. His mind circled through a now familiar pattern: starting with an urge for liberation, going through a frustrated sense of resignation, and ending with the desire to make up before Kate fell asleep that night.

“I told you it wasn’t intentional.” He said. “She came on to me, and mainly cause she didn’t even know you and I were together…”

“Yeah!? And why do you think that is?!” Kate said turning on him.

Discouraged by Joe’s lack of response, Kate smacked her hands against her white satin dress, pinning it to her thighs. At the end of the driveway was the groundskeeper’s silver Tacoma. It bothered Joe that Jerome hadn’t bought an American truck; should have been a requirement for him to be allowed in the country. Jerome’s TV usually shone bright green through the window of the groundskeeper’s cabin, but tonight their headlights reflected off a dark window. Always soccer with that Mexican, the only “contact sport” Joe couldn’t enjoy. Jerome did get things done, even if that meant trudging dirt through the house. Joe had reprimanded Jerome for walking through the house with his boots on a few months ago. At least it hadn’t happened again. Jerome’s desire to improve had been a surprise. It was more than Joe had seen from all the other immigrants living off Uncle Sam in Arizona.

Kate was out of the car before Joe had time to reach for the ignition. She got to the front door in a hurry, only to realize it was locked. Usually there were automatic lights that turned on in the house, but tonight the windows were glossed over black in front of their swiveling cell phone flashlights. Joe realized the power was probably out.

“I want a partner, Joe… Not a competitor.”

On his way up the front steps, Joe fumbled into his pocket for the keys.

Kate continued: “We came here to put that lifestyle behind us. Get back to the things that matter.”

It had been six months since they’d moved in, and every day that passed made the estate feel more and more like a prison.

Joe swung the keys out from his pocket too quickly, sending them falling into the garden next to the front steps.

“The things that matter!?” Joe grunted as he swung himself over the granite steps to retrieve the keys. He landed on a thick layer of fresh mulch.

“The only thing-” Joe leaned down, “-that actually matters is that I worked my ass off to have what we have now.” He wrapped himself around a bush to grasp around at the roots for the keys.

“Imagine where I could have gotten if I’d stayed…” His neck strained to give his arm more groping potential beneath the bush. “If you hadn’t tricked me to come out here and live in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Tricked you!?” Kate wrapped her hands behind her head in frustration at the top of the steps. She spoke down at Joe. “Is that what you call saving you from that sick-in-the-head boys club you call a job?!”

A light flashed from behind them. Joe squirmed underneath the bush.

“Jesus!” Kate jumped at the top of the stairs.

“Power’s out.” Came a familiar voice.

The light lowered after Joe turned around. Jerome stood in the driveway facing them with a concerned look on his face. The flashlight brought out splotched sweat stains on his white t-shirt.

“Need any help?” Jerome asked, shining the light to the base of the bush.

“No, no Jerome we’re fine thanks.” Joe turned back to the bush. “Just looking for the ke-”

The flashlight bounced off metal next to a root by Joe’s hand. He grabbed the keys, then stood up and wiped his palms on his designer jeans. This pair was getting old anyways.

“Got ‘em.” Said Joe. Jerome nodded, then turned to walk back towards his cabin. Joe thought it strange Jerome was out this late. The power going out must have interrupted whatever soccer game he had to have been watching. Jerome wasn’t the type to work after hours, yet another example of why Joe was in favor of stricter immigration policies.

“You’ve hardly even given the sanctuary a chance, Joe.” Kate said, waiting by the door.

“How many namaste’s and spiritual stretching song bowl sessions do I need to take before I totally lose my mind?” Joe said, marching up the steps.

He went on: “You know what I needed? Sports! All I needed was to take a few months off, maybe only a couple weeks. Just watch the Masters all day. Instead I get dragged down to your hippie group in the middle of the desert, where we lose power on any god damn given night.”

As he spoke Joe felt a contradiction in his throat. Like an elementary school student sitting in time out for scratching something inappropriate on the chalkboard. Kate had been there for him when his old habits had taken the reigns. Been there for him? Or taken advantage of an opportunity to finally tie him down? Joe slammed the key into the lock and twisted hard with his hand on the doorknob.

The atrium captured their silence, the only sound coming through Joe’s hearing aids was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, echoing off the polished marble floor. On the surface the house looked like it should have a certain history to it, but Joe didn’t want to put up with leaking pipes and busted ventilation. No, he’d bought a newly constructed, unused estate that had been on the market for two years. Kate stomped up the stairs without looking back. Joe watched the bedroom door snuff out the light from her phone, then lock with an emphasized click behind her.

So much for making up before bed. He pulled down on a lamp cord above the table. The lamp’s only response was a dull click that echoed through hollow porcelain. The glass on the liquor cabinet flashed back at his iPhone flashlight. No ice tonight — certainly not. He pinned a glass that had a checkered protrusive pattern with his forefinger against a bottle of Knob Creek.

Joe’s office was opposite the entrance to the house. It was an extension; a fishbowl style room encased with paned windows, only visible from the backyard. Joe pushed the door open with his free hand. His desk loomed in the darkness, dominating the center of the room. He collapsed into his desk chair, then leaned back until he could put his feet on the empty desktop. The ceiling stared down at him, a sentinel that had recorded all of his sins in this chair. Joe stared straight back at it with his glass steadily draining past half full in his hand.

I’m in control here, he thought. All of this is mine. She can tout all the spiritual bullshit she wants but she doesn’t understand what it actually takes to make it. The whiskey kindled a fire in his throat. Kate didn’t have the guts, grind, or discipline to be successful. Not outside her regressive group of communist hippies, anyways. Joe watched the bottle of Knob Creek fill his glass again, this time almost to the brim. His thoughts rumbled over his years on Wall Street. It had all gone by so fast; a flash of deals, booze, drugs, and strippers. Now he carried a stagnant numbness with him. His life seemed like a recently broken bone. More whiskey filled his glass again.

Time was interrupted by an ache up his spine. This was quite an awkward pose. He adjusted himself in his chair, relieved when physical motion took his thoughts back into the present. The dark ceiling was slowly rotating above his head. He looked down at his cell phone. He had two bars out here, just enough with the wifi being out. It would take at least an hour for a cab to get her down here from Tucson. Joe sighed, putting his phone down on the desk with the screen facing up. He slumped onto his side with his arm outstretched underneath him holding his glass beneath the desktop.

His phone cast a blue light across the room. Eyes glazed over, Joe’s gaze suddenly caught a dark shadow in the window. A bush? No, there weren’t any plants surrounding his office. He blinked, then his gut twisted at the recognition of the outline — it was a person. Yes, certainly, somebody standing completely still — hunched over, looking in at him! The phone locked automatically, putting the room back into complete darkness.

Joe sprang up. His outstretched hand caught the underside of the desk, sending a dull pain up his arm and his whiskey glass shattering across the floor.

“Shit!”

Joe fumbled across the desk for his phone, but knocked it to the floor. He pounced down for it, then swiped for the flashlight and shone it at the window across from him. The shadow was gone.

He was sitting on the floor, parallel with his desk. He turned, backing into the drawers behind him to shine in all directions around the dark windows encasing him. An eerie vulnerability came over him. Joe jogged out of his office.

I’m seeing shit, he thought. God damn it I just need to crash.

He stumbled downstairs in darkness to the basement by memory. His sports den had no windows, Joe had made sure of that. He hated having glare on his TV screen. He curled into a fetal position on his favorite couch, heart pumping fast.

Joe woke to a pain in his right palm. An ache hung suspended in his skull. He brought his hand to his face. A dark scab ran from the center of his palm down his wrist. Joe rubbed at it, peeling dried blood off his skin. Continuing to rub, he reopened the wound where it began halfway up his palm. It wasn’t a wide cut, but the trickling blood flow got him off the couch. He didn’t want to stain the leather. He’d knocked half the pillows off the couch while he’d been sleeping. Excess couch pillows: a frivolous commodity that reduces functionality. But they had his favorite sports teams embroidered on them, so he propped them back up on the couch.

On his way up the stairs Joe recounted events from the previous night. Driving back with Kate, their fight, dinner in town at that expensive French restaurant she’d been asking him to take her to. Knob Creek, his glass breaking and cutting his hand. The shadow looking in at him.

Bright morning light slapped him in the face when he opened the basement door. The kitchen was empty. Joe watched a dragonfly hover outside the window above the sink, then skirt out of view behind the kitchen cupboards. On instinct he looked towards the coffee machine, remembering the power outage would’ve knocked out the timer. He glanced at the clock expecting to see a blinking “12:00,” but the screen was blank.

Blood tickled Joe’s wrist. He went to the kitchen sink to clean his wound, flicked the faucet up, and held his hand under the spout. Nothing happened. Joe snorted, then pulled a sheet of paper towels from next to the sink, using his elbow as leverage to tear it off the roll. He wrapped his hand firmly. From the sink Joe had a clear view of the yard. It stretched back to dry hills after fifty yards of freshly cut green grass. From his vantage point Joe could see the windows of one side of the office. He furrowed his brow remembering the shadowy figure.

With his unwrapped hand Joe gave the teapot on the stove a twirl to see if there was enough water for a french press. Relieved by the steady swirling rhythm, he found a match in one of the cabinets to ignite the gas stove. Expecting to be frustrated by the delay getting his coffee, Joe actually felt a calm sense of relief. Now he could wait for the water to boil. A task for the present, with nobody else to help him. He was on his own. Getting coffee was all he had to focus on right now. He imagined Kate never walking down the stairs for breakfast. This natural moment: flames licking the teapot under the steady drone of leaking gas; it was all that existed. Well, that and his hangover.

Joe pulled open the fridge to fix himself something to eat. The internal light was out, and the typical cold rush of air had been reduced to a stale, slightly below room temperature gust. All that was in the fridge was condiments and five bud heavy’s still latched onto each other with plastic rings. Joe pulled out an almost empty bottle of jam. He found peanut butter and a loaf of bread in the cupboard. All that was left of the loaf was the end pieces, coated in crumbs. With what he had salvaged, Joe began fixing himself his favorite classic. He doubled his usual amount of peanut butter, then finished what was left of the jam.

The first bite sent a glob of sweet raspberry preserve down his chin. It rolled off the towel wrapped around his hand. When he reached to wipe it off the floor, Joe heard the first footsteps from the atrium fall lightly at the top of the stairs. Kate swung into the kitchen wearing her full yoga attire. Neither of them said anything, but the teapot started to whine. Joe tried to look busy by not only turning off the gas, but also moving the teapot off the hot grate to prevent unwarranted whistling. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Kate reach up for a travel mug on the top shelf. It was a long stretch.

Before he remembered he should be assembling the french press, Kate had already poured the contents of the teapot into her mug, flung in a green tea bag, and twisted the top on tight. “Going to yoga.” She said, swiping her keys off the hanger by the entrance of the kitchen with her back to him. “Gonna come or no?”

“I’m good.” Said Joe, through a mouthful of sticky bread. He kept chewing until he heard the front door swoosh shut.

Joe gave the teapot another swirl. Hardly any hot water left, but at least it wasn’t empty. He filled the french press with what remained, then leaned back against the counter to let it brew. The sun had heated up the granite beneath his palm to a soothing glow.

Coffee broke the apathy of his hangover. Joe rested his head against the doorframe looking into the office. That damn empty desk. He had a queer thought that Kate had cursed it. Put one of her ceremonial spells over its ability to perform its function. Trapped him here to siphon off what he had already earned.

The lawnmower gurgled around the corner. Joe watched Jerome ride the perimeter of the office until his eyes landed on the window where he’d seen the figure. He took another sip of coffee, then approached the window slowly. Blades of torn up grass clung to the bottom of the glass. Joe thought back to the restless nights in Manhattan when he was in the process of quitting his job. He’d wake up sweating, restless at the idea of leaving New York. Maybe some of that anxiety was coming back to him after the fallout from his recent affair. He needed a way to make things right with Kate. Life had been empty, a meaningless collection of capital before her. Entertaining the idea of other girls in his life would lead to the same end as before.

He turned back to the desk. Beneath it lay fragments of broken glass in splattered pools of whiskey. The bottle of Knob Creek sat half empty next to the mess. His housekeeper would get to this when she came later in the week, there were more important things for Joe to do.

Joe’s phone still had only two bars without wifi, but it was enough for his call with his financial advisor. Joe took the call on the front porch from a rocking chair made of synthetic white wood. The DOW was up twenty points, some new IPO for a baby food company wasn’t living up to its market expectations, and Vanguard had a new ETF that Joe should get in on early. Joe hung up the phone wondering who’d handled the baby food IPO. Someone might be getting fired for that valuation. Despite Kate not allowing him to invest in the market directly any more, hearing from his advisor was the reminder Joe needed that he still had skin in the game. Plus, delegation had its perks. Now he had the rest of the day to himself. He replaced his paper towel mitt with a proper bandaid so he could go golfing.

The golf course was one of the few destinations in the opposite direction of town. There were some construction vehicles blocking one of the lanes on the drive down Route 83. A dark skinned hispanic with an off-center reflective vest hanging off his left shoulder stood with a stop sign in the middle of the road. A thick tree had fallen over the power lines, dragging them down onto the twenty foot high barb wired fence that weaved along the perimeter of the old military base. After a Walmart truck thundered past Joe, the road worker twisted his “Stop” sign around to reveal a dirty yellow “Slow” sign. Joe weaved into the oncoming lane to obey the orange traffic cones. The worker looked away as Joe passed. Probably an illegal, Joe thought. With this kind of government work, the foreman must be making payments under the table.

On the way back from golf the road was clear. The workers had even repaired the fence with shiny new coils of barb wire. Thorough guys, Joe thought to himself. Maybe they’d been let into the country legally after all. Although it struck him as strange they’d fix the fence for an abandoned military base. The checkpoint entrance by Route 83 was shuttered up. The thought of Area 51 crossed Joe’s mind and he laughed out loud to himself. He’d done some research when he’d first moved here and found out the base hadn’t been in use since the McCarthy era. Whoever was in charge probably just didn’t want anybody going in there with whatever nuclear test residue might be lying around.

The sprinklers were sputtering across the lawn when Joe pulled up to the house. He left his clubs in the car, it was too hot to lug them to the garage. Drinks at the club were overpriced. He had been banking on the power getting back on soon enough to cool down one of the beers in the fridge.

When Kate walked in an hour later there were dishes sticking out of the sink and three empty beer cans on the counter. Joe hadn’t left the kitchen, he’d made a frozen pizza and lost track of time scrolling through his phone at the counter. It was nearing dusk. Kate pulled two Whole Foods bags from her hip up to the counter. She began unloading groceries with force.

“What’s that?” Said Joe, pointing at a smaller bag with shiny silver lettering on the side.

“Bought something for myself in town, seeing as I’m the one who needs to buy the groceries and do pretty much everything around here.” She tossed a bag of gluten free pasta on a shelf above her head then slammed the cabinet door closed. It bounced back after she’d turned around, remaining slightly ajar.

Kate left some kale, almond milk, and a frozen red berry medley on the counter while emptying the groceries. Once everything else was put away, she tore open the bag of berries and sent fruit tumbling into her blender. She never properly cleaned that blender. Kate seemed to get a certain satisfaction from it grinding against the countertop. Joe took another beer to his den downstairs. The game would be on in a few minutes, just what he needed.

It was dark when Joe came back upstairs. An open window by the table sent a cool breeze through the house. Kate had left the bag of frozen berries on the counter, and the watery melt had cascaded over the counter to the wooden floor.

“Jesus.” Joe said to himself, quickly getting a paper towel to mop it up. Granite counters and newly sealed floors had prevented any stains at least. He went upstairs but found the door to the bedroom locked. He leaned with his head against the door, looking down the hallway towards the guest bedroom. “Might as well watch highlights.” He found himself saying out loud. The lights in the bedroom were off, but perhaps Kate had heard him from inside.

Joe found some frozen wings in the freezer, and set a timer before throwing them in the oven on a high broil. While they cooked he cracked open the last beer from the fridge, and tabbed through his instagram feed to see what debauchery his old coworkers were up to tonight. The timer went off right as his old broker was getting a selfie with a porn star.

Joe shoved the wings over to make room for his open beer on the plate. The basement waited in quiet darkness until Joe turned on the TV. The realization that he wouldn’t be able to finish all of the wings gave Joe the same feeling as if he was about to eat a home-cooked meal. He’d cooked the entire bag — at least thirty chunks of meat. He put the plate on the table next to the arm of the couch. He’d had his full twenty minutes later. When his eyelids started to droop, Joe remembered to get rid of the extra couch pillows before getting too tired. He left one pillow beneath the arm to sleep on, and balanced the rest on the back frame of the couch. Joe took out his hearing aids and put them on the table next to the remaining wings. Then he dozed off to sleep.

A deep rumble brought Joe closer to being awake. Then another, louder this time. His eyes slit open. The TV was still on, showing monster trucks flipping off giant piles of dirt. His hand went for the remote. He had to reach back behind the arm of the couch to find it near the plate of wings. His face fell back into the pillow just as the TV shuttered off. He watched the last light of the TV reflect shadows of couch pillows stacked into what looked like puffy creatures behind him. Sleep welcomed him back eagerly.

Joe spun to reach his phone as soon as he woke. 10:30 AM, no messages. When he leaned up to put his phone back on the table he noticed the empty plate of wings. All that was left was bones. He didn’t remember finishing them, but he’d been grabbing back at them from the couch without looking. Light streamed down from upstairs through the open door to the basement. Joe pulled the extra sports team pillows back down, then took the plate and rounded the back of the couch to go upstairs. His trail connected with smudges of dirt in the white carpet that led up the staircase. Joe’s feet were bare, he never wore shoes down here. He turned towards the door that led to the yard from the basement behind him. Jerome must have trudged through for something. He’d done it before in the main house after all… A darker thought crossed his mind as he climbed the staircase: the figure watching him in his office. He and Jerome had to have a talk.

Joe found Jerome weed whacking at the corner of the garden. Pounding sunlight made Joe feel like a baked potato. Jerome didn’t look up until Joe’s legs entered his field of view. After the weed whacker had calmed down, Jerome pulled his yellow earmuffs down around his neck.

“Hi Joe, anything I can do for ya?” He said.

“Hey Jerome,” an antsy chill quivered up Joe’s legs. “Yeah just checking in, been seeing some things around the house recently… Was wondering if you’d noticed anything strange.”

Jerome blinked. “No sir, everything normal to me.”

“I see. How bout you, been doing any work around the basement or in the backyard by my office recently?”

“Well I mowed the lawn yesterday. But nothing in the basement, no.” Jerome said, lowering the weed whacker to his side.

“You telling me the truth Jerome? Theres a trail of dirty footprints going through the basement, and I know for sure that wasn’t me.”

Jerome shot a glance towards his cabin. “Oh yeah, yup that was me. I’m sorry Joe, forgot to tell you I had to move some gear out from the back basement.”

There it was. “Jerome I thought we got the point across about boots in the house last time this happened. If you can’t remember these simple things I’m going to have to start considering another solution.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, Joe.” Said Jerome.

Jerome stood tall, without the shame Joe had seen on countless of faces of associates who’d just made a trade on a stock ten points below closing price.

“Fine,” said Joe.

As he re-entered the house, Joe’s mind jumped to the road worker with the stop sign. That might be where Jerome would end up. Maybe he was friends with those guys, after all. Kate texted to say she was at a ceremony and wouldn’t be home until late that night, so Joe called and ordered Chinese food. He had to pay an extra twenty dollars to get them to deliver half an hour out of town.

After taking the food from an asian delivery guy who hardly spoke English, Joe looked over at Jerome’s cabin. He could see Jerome cooking through the kitchen window with a concentrated look on his face. Then he saw Jerome turn and say something through a doorway leading deeper in the house. Joe looked up and down the driveway. No unfamiliar cars, who was he cooking for?

Back in the kitchen, Joe brooded over his beef and broccoli. They’d smothered the dish with salt and soy sauce. Joe’s laptop stood on the table next to him with a search tab open to “harboring illegal immigrants.” Over a period of two minutes he’d concluded that’s what was going on. Jerome had taken the hit for one of his friends stalking around the house, breaking into the basement. Maybe their goal was to steal whatever valuables they could find. Joe took a look around the kitchen, nothing was missing.. Not yet anyway… Were they his family? Or perhaps Jerome was some kind of smuggler using all these acres to make money on the side. Joe could catch them all off guard if he went and knocked now. But would they run? Perhaps they were dangerous. Joe didn’t actually understand the process of dealing with illegal immigrants. Did he call the police? Were they already searching for these people? Perhaps he was being paranoid. Jerome might have been on the phone talking back at it on speaker…

He finished his food deciding he would approach Jerome again in the morning. He would ask to check the inside of the groundskeeper’s cabin for any damages that needed fixing. Despite finally being back in his own bed, Joe couldn’t sleep. His mind raced over whoever else might be on the property. When the clock read 2 AM Joe decided he needed something to calm himself down. He went downstairs without bothering to put his hearing aids in, and turned on the teapot. Kate had taught him about herbal tea; it was almost as good as a heavy indica at easing his nerves. While waiting for tea, Joe decided he needed the indica as well tonight. By the time he’d finished rolling and lighting a joint the water was still coming to a boil on the stove. Must have put too much in again, he thought. It was impossible to tell with those-

A loud thump from the living room broke Joe’s concentration. It was muffled without his hearing aids in. He stood frozen, answered only by the sound of the stove and what his eardrums could make out from the ticking of the grandfather clock in the atrium. He threw his joint in the sink and took a kitchen knife off the block. The world weighed on him with a haze of gray noise and dim light from the kitchen. Joe’s ears wanted to pop; naked without his hearing aids. He rounded the corner of the living room quickly to flick on the light switch to his left. A flutter of movement caused his heart to leap. Curtains; it was only curtains blowing in the breeze past the light switch. A picture frame had fallen off a small table next to the window. Joe knelt to pick it back up, then turned back towards the kitchen.

A figure crouched on the right side of the doorframe, staring at him.

“Ahhh!”

Joe fell backwards, knocking the picture frame and the entire table over behind him. He had walked right past!

He held his knife up from a sitting position, gasping at the creature in front of him.

Thin strands of matted hair hung over drooping cheeks from the sides of an otherwise bald scalp. Its lower jaw jutted unnaturally out to one side, revealing corroded teeth from a hideous underbite of almost an inch. Skin peeled off its arms, leaking yellow puss. It was a girl; a young girl, Joe realized. Hideous and sickly in tattered fragments of a white dress. Her body jerked sideways. Joe kicked with his legs to bring him further away. Then she let out a pitiful groan through her tilted jaw and hid her head with her arms. She was crying.

Joe straightened himself, then came to his feet still holding the knife out at her.

“I’m calling the cops.” He said, not knowing what else to say. “Hear me, I’m calling the cops!” he rounded the girl cautiously to get to the door. She continued to moan from beneath arms covered with scabs and oozing blisters. When he was close enough Joe jumped out of the living room. His phone! Where was his phone?! He’d left it in the kitchen for sure, but where? He tore open drawers in the kitchen, his hands were shaking. Maybe it fell out of his pocket when he’d fallen in the living room. Joe turned back to the hallway.

She stood facing him at the entrance to the kitchen, disjointed jaw pulling her face horribly sideways. He could see her eyes now, they glowed a bloodshot orange.

Joe held his knife out in front of him.

“Get the fuck away from me!” He yelled, at the top of his lungs. He wanted to vomit.

“Dergh cominng!” Said the girl. “Jergome dold me gome eah.” She gurgled her words.

Joe whimpered. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

The front door slammed open, and heavy breathing came from the atrium.

“Who’s there?!” Joe yelled, realizing he was more scared than he’d ever been in his entire life. The teapot on the stove began to whistle.

Jerome rounded the corner holding onto a deep gash in his left shoulder. In his left hand he held an axe dripping with blood.

Joe broke into words “Jerome! Jerome this girl just fucking broke in! What happened to you?”

“We need to leave! They’re coming for her.” He said, pointing at the girl.

“Who?! Who’s coming for her?” Joe asked, knuckles white on the pommel of the kitchen knife.

“I found her on the property and was figuring out what to do but — but there’s others — dangerous, sick! We need to leave now!”

Glass shattered in Joe’s office. He looked out the window above the sink. Multiple shadows were sprinting, some stumbling in staggered limps across the lawn. A cough came from the office capable of carrying up with it a fistful of flem. It was followed by a deep, blood-curdling moan.

“Who are they!?” Joe cried. He was unable to breathe, he felt a warm wetness cover his thighs. The teapot was coughing up steam in a hideous scream, violently bubbling up through the spout.

Jerome grabbed the girl by the wrist, and motioned for Joe to follow him. They scrambled back to the living room away from the office. A crash came from the hallway to the kitchen.

“The window!” Said Jerome.

Jerome helped the girl through the open window first. Joe saw his phone beneath the table where he’d fallen. He started to reach for it when a hunched figure rounded the corner into the living room with them. Jerome turned with his axe to face whatever it was. The creature coughed up a trail of liquid onto the carpet, then breathed excitedly from the depths of its throat. More glass broke down the hallway.

“GO!” Said Jerome.

Joe leapt head first through the window. His knees clipped the windowsill, sending a jerk up through his neck. He felt sharp needles scrape his face and arms. Squirming, Joe trampled the bush on his way to his feet. Grunts and sounds of a struggle came from behind him. The girl stood on the driveway crying. Behind her, Joe saw headlights turn the corner coming towards the house. He recognized the shape of the car.

“Kate!” Joe yelled, stumbling towards the lights. The girl followed, shuffling next to him.

“Kate! Kate!” Joe’s arms landed hard on the hood of the car. He saw Kate’s eyes widen looking past him through the windshield. She let out a scream.

Joe turned. In front of him stood a man who looked like he shouldn’t be alive. His left arm was void of skin; leaving only peeled muscle. His upper lip was torn up past his nose, revealing a bloody row of crumbling teeth. His bald scalp bore a coat of scabbing yellow blisters. He panted at them with his mouth open, too congested to breathe properly. Kate let out another scream. The creature hunched down and smiled, cocking his head to the side with a snap to look directly at Joe. Then an axe came down on the man’s head.

Jerome stumbled past the slumping creature, leaving the axe lodged in its skull. “Get in the car!” He said to them.

But Kate was already in reverse. She tore away from them screaming, then jerked the car into drive.

“KATE!!” Joe jogged after her car. The red tail lights outlined the mutated jaw of the girl next to him. More glass broke behind them. Joe turned to see multiple shadows tumbling out of the house.

“Come on!” Jerome yelled, directing them towards his truck. Footsteps splattered on the cement behind them. Joe got to the car first, and turned to see Jerome limping towards them, several creatures gaining ground behind him.

“Give me the keys!” Joe yelled. “Give me the fucking keys!”

Jerome unlocked the car, then threw Joe the keys as he approached the back door. Joe slipped through the drivers door, locked it, then twisted the keys in the ignition. The truck’s headlights lit up the driveway. There were three more of them running straight at the car. Their arms twisted in sharp jerks as they moved; contorting in contradictory ways. Arms in the headlights were layered with patches of torn skin, bone, and muscle. Jerome, huffing and choking on what must have been blood, pushed the girl into the back seat. Joe put the car in drive. Something rammed into the side of the truck, slamming into the passenger door and rocking the car sideways. Jerome’s scream from outside the truck shook Joe’s ears. The girl wailed from the back seat. Joe floored the pedal. A body cracked the windshield, then rolled over the top of the car. A glance in the side mirror shone on a mass of bodies in red tail light. Joe saw an arm reach up out of the crowd of mutated creatures, who were tearing at whatever was left beneath them.

Joe drove straight through the gate, breaking it down with the front of Jerome’s Tacoma. He swerved onto Route 83, crying. The girl cowered on the floor behind the passenger seat, her mangled arms attempting to hide her face from the world.

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