Jodi Lee - Ante Mortem

He’d gotten lucky, catching the creature as it hurled itself, but it was close—too close—and its claws were ripping his hands and its teeth were biting, tearing out chunks of flesh around his knuckles.

Travis screamed and squeezed its body, digging in with his own fingers. Travis lifted it, twisted his body, and bashed the creature against his dashboard. He raised it again, and slammed it against the steering wheel, cracking its spine. The creature screeched, spasmed and died. He threw the body to the floorboards on the passenger side.

Dripping with both his blood and that of the creature, he panted as he looked at its corpse. At least now he’d have some proof.

Travis put the car back into gear and drove on. His ankle and hands hurt where he’d been bitten, and he needed immediate help. It started to rain, and he turned on the wipers, the pulsing pain in his ankle and the throbbing in his hands matching their rhythm. At one point, he feared he’d faint so he rolled down the window and stuck his head out for some fresh air. For a second, he feared that more of the creatures had hung on somehow and were waiting to pounce, but nothing happened.

His eyes began to fog over and he felt sick to his stomach. His head grew heavy and lolled on his neck a couple of times as he almost passed out. He rolled down all his windows as the agony of his wounds grew hotter and more painful.

Travis looked down at his hands, seeing they were swollen so bad that he wondered how he was even using them. They were huge, fire ant red and the way his ankle felt, he figured it must look the same.

He grew more and more delirious. He wondered if those creatures had some kind of poison in their bite and he reckoned that they must have, for his body to be reacting like it did.

It took Travis, feverish and confused as he was, more than half an hour to drive to the city, less than twelve miles from where he’d stopped. His truck crawled along as he fought to stay conscious and on the road. Dozens of cars passed him, blaring their horns and cursing him; he didn’t care. I have to keep going, get to the hospital, get some help.

On the outskirts of town, at the beginning of the suburbs that ringed the city, he passed out, steering his truck into a row of cars parked along the side of the road. He didn’t remember sitting up and stumbling from his truck, he just knew that all of the sudden, he was outside and laying on the cold hard ground. It had stopped raining and the day had warmed slightly.

A hundred yards away, Travis heard a sound, like the chattering of squirrels. Travis looked up and saw that he was in the yard of a Day Care Center, and that twenty or so little kids were out in the playground, laughing and swinging and carrying on. None of them noticed him. Travis smiled. He liked kids.

He needed help. He would crawl to the Day Care and get one of the attendants to call an ambulance.

Travis couldn’t feel his legs or his arms anymore. They were numb and swollen and he looked at his hands and couldn’t believe that they used to be hands because now they were useless stumps of red fat. He rolled over and looked down at his bitten ankle. It was nearly the size of a basketball and as he stared at it, the flesh pulsed like a heart was beating underneath it.

Travis laughed, knowing he was going to die. He was out of his mind, giggling hysterically.

He heard a wet rip and looked down at his ankle. The swollen flesh had burst open and gobs of pus and green mucus was pouring from the wound. There was something else in there, too, something small and black moving in the gunk gushing from his leg.

Travis screamed when he realized what it was, what they were, and what the bites had really done to him. He screamed again when his hands burst open and a dozen of those creatures poured out of the slime and spilled onto the ground.

The bites of the creatures hadn’t poisoned him, they’d impregnated him.

Travis watched as the dozen creatures from his ankle squirmed and grew and hissed and joined their brothers, born from his hands. They looked at Travis, those little eyes big and staring and full of malice, and Travis knew what remained of him was their lunch.

The kids in the playground squealed as they played their games and the eyes of the creatures moved from Travis to the kids, a hundred yards away, riveting in with hunger and lust.

Travis screamed one last time as the creatures scrambled across the field towards the Day Care, ready to kill, eat, and impregnate. He coughed blood pouring from his mouth, and then Travis screamed no more.

Charlie dug through the closet by the front door yet again. None of his previous—and very thorough—searches had borne any fruit, but tonight was bowling night and he knew this was where he’d put his ball after last week’s match. Might have to use one of the lane’s balls tonight. He shuddered at the thought.

“Vera!” he shouted. Charlie scratched his head, careful not to disturb the few tendrils of gray hair he’d coaxed across his bald scalp. He could hear pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, but she didn’t answer. “Hey, Vera!”

Still no answer, although a sudden clatter said the clumsy cow had dropped something. As much as I’ve spent on her stuff in the kitchen, you’d think she’d take better care of it. He scowled and slapped his round gut in agitation. “VERA!”

She finally appeared around the corner, wiping greasy hands on the apron cinched tight around her waist. A few strands of black hair had escaped her bun and patches of flour dotted her forehead and nose.

“What?” his wife said with an exasperated sigh. Dark circles discolored the skin under her eyes; she hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Serves her right. She should have gotten started sooner.

“Don’t take that tone with me, woman.” He hitched his pants up. “Where’s my bowling ball?”

“Did you look in the closet?”

“Of course I looked in the closet. You think I’m some kind of moron?”

“I’m sorry, dear. I really don’t know where it is.” She flapped her hands toward the kitchen. “Don’t you think you should stay home, anyway? They’re going to be here tomorrow, and we’ve still got a lot to do to get ready.”

“ You’ve got a lot to do, you mean. I’ve got a bowling team counting on me tonight.”

“Come on, Charlie. This is your family we’re talking about. This house is going to be packed. I could use a little help in the kitchen if we’re going to get this turkey done on time.”

Charlie shook his head. “We’ve been over this before, Vera. The kitchen’s your responsibility. I don’t know the first thing about the stuff you do in there. I’ve dropped a lot of bread for appliances and whatnot over the years, how about you show some appreciation and use it?”

Some brief emotion flared across her face. On anyone else, he might have called it rage or even hatred. She’s probably just tired. Then it was gone, swallowed in weariness so quickly he wondered if he’d seen it all. “Alright,” she said and sighed.

Turning back to the closet, Charlie scratched his head again. Where is that thing?

“I think I found your ball,” Vera said behind him.

“Well, let me have it!” He turned just in time to catch a rolling pin between the eyes.

Groaning, Charlie woke to a massive headache and the sound of metal rasping against metal. Every scrape sent another bolt of pain through his head. Even the light filtering through his eyelids hurt. “Vera,” he whispered. “Whatever you’re doing, quit it.” He tried to rub his head, but couldn’t move his arm. He tried wiggling; he couldn’t move anything but his head. Something held him immobilized against a hard surface. He opened his eyes. “What’s going on here?”