David Bernstein: Machines of the Dead

Turning around, he saw a man in a gray suit covering his nose with both hands, blood gushing from beneath them. A guard had not grabbed him, just a “good citizen” trying to help a woman in distress. Why had Derek attacked her? And why was he chewing the small amount of flesh in his mouth? Confused, he spit it out, his chin covered in glistening crimson.

From his right, behind the steel gate, Derek heard men’s voices. Shit, the guards were coming. He was so tired, running out of energy, but he needed to get as far away as possible. Blend in with the crowds of people walking the city sidewalks. If the men in black got him back down in that place, he would be experimented on, and they would inject him with more of that crap again. Derek took off running toward 44th Street.

He dodged citizens, most of them moving out of his way, reached the end of the block, and ran around the corner. He continued down 44th Street, running as if the Devil were after him. About halfway down the block, he looked over his shoulder to see if the guards were chasing him and didn’t see a rotund man emerge from a store. Derek collided hard with the man, sending them both to the ground. Face to face, like two lovers, Derek stared at the man’s puffy red lips — like gummy worms made of meat. He lowered his face to the plump tissue, bit down, grasping both of the man’s lips, and began to pull with the ferocity of a lion standing over its prey. The jelly-like flesh stretched as the man howled. Chunks of flesh came free with a suction cup sound. Blood gushed from the man’s face, running into his mouth and over his cheeks. It was wrong to do what he was doing, but he needed to eat. He was so damn hungry.

People stood around, screaming and yelling for help. Derek seemed to come out of his frenzied state. Feeling weak and terrified, h e jumped up, and a piece of lip was dangling from his mouth like a fisherman’s lure. Cell phones were pointed at him, recording his mug and the gruesome scene. He would be tonight’s headline on the news, the main story. Looking back the way he had come, Derek saw a large black shape cutting its way through the crowd. It was the men in black fatigues, the guards. Like one giant entity, they were coming for him. Spinning around, holding out his arms to part the surrounding crowd, Derek took off running down the street, listening to the cries of the man whose lips he had removed.

“That’s the guy,” Jess shouted, leaning forward and pointing at the television screen.

She and Jack had been lying on the couch, snuggled up like two high school sweethearts. Anger and fear now coursed through his veins at seeing the man’s face.

His wife, Jessica, had been on her way back from the gym when a man attacked her, biting her on the hand. She had called the police, then Jack. Not wanting to wait for the authorities to arrive, Jack called back, telling the 911 operator that he was taking his wife to the emergency room. There, Jess was given an injection of wide-range spectrum antibiotics to potentially take care of any disease her attacker might’ve passed on to her.

The police showed up and Jess gave her report of the attack. The police told her that the man was still at large, but that they were doing everything in their power to locate the individual and bring him in.

Now, sitting on the couch, Jack listened as the anchorwoman told the tale about the man. His name was Derek Mayfield. He had been missing for over ten years and was wanted for questioning in the murder of his parents. Today, the man had appeared as if from out of nowhere on a city sidewalk on Second Avenue, between 43rd and 44th streets. From there, he went on a vicious rampage, biting and attacking people throughout the city. So far, two people were dead due to the injuries they sustained.

“Oh my God,” Jess said, bringing her right hand to her mouth.

“Come here,” Jack sai d gently, and pull ed her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“I can’t believe he killed people,” Jess said, softly. “I could’ve been one of them.”

“Well, you weren’t. It was just the wrong place at the wrong time. Same for those others. A matter of chance.”

“But still, I could’ve been killed.”

“Don’t think like that. You’re a tough cookie. No woman of mine is going to let some crazy-ass dude take her down.” He squeezed her again and kissed her neck.

“Turn the channel; I don’t want to watch anymore.”

Jack picked up the remote and turned to another station.

“At least they got the guy; he won’t be hurting anyone else.”

“What if he had AIDS? Or TB?”

“The doctor told you the chances of him transmitting anything with such a small wound were basically zero. Plus, he gave you a shot to wipe out anything bad he might’ve had.”

Jess sighed. “You’re right. I’m worrying for nothing.”

“Hey, you had a tough day. Anyone, me included, would be nervous, on edge. But you’re fine and have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m drained. I think seeing that newscast wiped me out.”

“It’s been a long day so let’s go to bed.”

The next morning, Jack awoke just after eight a.m. He turned to Jess. She was still sleeping, but she looked terrible. Her skin was pale and the area around her eyes was dark and sunken. Putting a hand to her forehead, Jack almost jumped. Jess was burning up. He quickly pulled the covers off. His wife’s nightgown was soaked with sweat. The doctor had said she might have a slight reaction to the antibiotics, but nothing like this.

“Jess. Sweetie.” He tried shaking her gently, but she didn’t respond. Fear gripped his heart like a mother holding on to her child during a hurricane. He was finding it hard to breathe as panic overrode him. “Jess, please sweetie, wake up.”

Jack picked up the house phone and dialed 9-1-1. He paced frantically as the phone rang and rang before someone finally answered.

“9–1 — 1, please hold.”

Hold? What the hell was that about? Not wanting to hang up, he pressed the speakerphone button and placed the phone down on the nightstand.

He went back over to the bed and sat next to his wife. “Jess, Jess, please wake up.” He shook her gently and she started to come around.

Her left eye opened; the right one remaining closed as if glued shut. She spoke with a raspy voice, almost a whisper. “Hurts. So much pain.”

“I know, baby. I know. Help’s on the way.” He reached over and picked up the phone. “Come on, come on. Damn it.” He hung up and dialed again.

“9-1-1, can you please hold?” a man’s voice said.

“No, I can’t. Something’s wrong with my wife. She’s really sick. I think she’s dying.”

“Sir, is there any way you can get your wife to a hospital?”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Sir, the city’s experiencing a crisis right now and the wait for an ambulance could be upwards of an hour or more.”

“Wha-what the hell are you talking about?”

“Sir, I need you to remain calm. Can you get your wife to a hospital?”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was he still asleep? Having a nightmare? His beautiful wife right beside him.

“Sir, I have others on the line and I need to get to them too. Do you want me to send an ambulance or can you get your wife treatment?”

“I’ll get her there,” he said, and hung up the phone.

Rubbing a hand over his head, he turned to look at his wife. Her left eye was still open, but it didn’t look right; it wasn’t moving. She wasn’t moving.

Frozen, struck with fear, he waited for the eye to do something. Anything. After a few moments of nothing, he came out of his petrified state and crawled onto the bed.