Tim Curran - Biohazard

That feeling at my spine went electric.

“Get ready,” I called out.

The others were anxious to run, to fight, to bust caps or retreat, as long as it was something. The waiting was hard. Very hard.

“Anything?” Carl whispered from the kitchen.

“Nothing. Be quiet. We wait.”

“How long?”

“Always in a hurry, our friend Carl,” Texas said. “Notice how he’s always in a hurry?”

“Yeah…and who dropped a quarter in you, dipshit?”

“Knock it off!” Janie warned them.

I just shook my head. Those two were like a couple kids sometimes.

It was times like these, in the dark and the quiet, that I remembered the way things were before the war. How I’d been married. Had a life. Ancient History 101, I guess. Now I was just a scavenger trying to stay alive, killing and taking and running, always running, just hanging on by my fingertips, suspended uneasily over some yawning black pit filled with human bones. Thirty-seven years old, a chromed-up Beretta 9mm jammed in the waistband of my jeans and a knife with a seven-inch blade in my boot. That’s who I was now.

I lit a cigarette, sweat trickling down my spine.

I blew out smoke and walked over towards the window, staying in the shadows along the wall, keeping clear of the cool moonlight that flooded in. The windowpane was grimy, speckled with dust and soot. I wiped a clean spot and studied the streets out there. In the semi-darkness of a moonlit night, it could have been ten years ago. Cars at the curbs. Trees lining the boulevards. Houses lined up in neat little rows. It was only when the moonlight washed it all down that you could see the cars were all rusted and wrecked, the trees gnarled-looking, leaves and dead limbs scattered about, the houses weathered gray from the blowing sand, yards overgrown, windows broken.

Nothing else.

“Carl?” I whispered. “What’s the Geiger saying?”

“Pretty cool, Nash. Getting twenty to twenty-five.”

I thought it over, wondering if maybe the wind had made a lonesome howling sound and my imagination had channeled it into something else. But if it had, then we had all imagined it. And I didn’t believe in mass hallucination.

Outside, it was silent.

Nothing moved.

I leaned against the wall, finishing my cigarette. If nothing happened in another twenty minutes, I figured, then we’d relax, wait out the night, go scavenging in the morning. Had to be a decent ride in this town somewhere.

And it was as I was thinking this that I heard the Geiger Counter in the other room start to click.

“Carl?” I said, my breath barely coming.

“Yeah…going up. We got…forty, fifty, sixty…she’s climbing, man.”

The Geiger was clicking madly now, ticking like a bomb. My heart was pounding, trying to keep up with it.

“We spiked a hundred…it’s getting hot.”

The Geiger was clicking so fast now it sounded like one steady clicking roll.

“One-fifty and climbing, man…shit.”

Sweat running down my face, I looked out the window and there they were. The kids. The fucking Children. Just standing out there on the sidewalk like they were waiting for Susie or Jimmy to come out and play with them.

“They’re here. Get ready to bust.”

Out on the walk, the Children waited, just standing there. There were six of them. If you squinted your eyes real tight, you might mistake them for real kids, but they weren’t. Just wraithlike things that looked like they’d been blown from a tomb, clothes hanging in rags, faces gray and corrugated, eyes burning a hot noxious yellow like seething reactor cores.

We had to move now, take them out. There could be no hesitation. They were walking atomic waste, kicking out deadly roentgens in a hot rain of fallout.

Using the butt of the Savage, I broke the window, shattering it from its frame.

I took aim.

And as I did so, the six of them out there raised their fists, extending their first fingers, and pointed at me. Their oval puckered mouths opened and they emitted that high droning whine that rose in volume until it was nearly hypersonic, making my ears ring and then hurt, my brain filled with waves of agony.

I jerked the trigger, took out a girl in the middle.

The round caught her dead in the chest and the effect was instantaneous: she was tossed back, the entry wound spilling some black steaming fluid and right away she began to writhe and twitch like she’d just taken hold of a high power line. Black smoke boiled from her, something like blue fire erupting and consuming. She blazed up like one of those snakes you burn on the Fourth of July, just smoking and popping and going to black ash.

That’s how she died.

And before I could sight in on another, they all let loose with that discordant droning noise that was howling and lonesome. Like insects. Enraged insects droning in a desolate summer field. They converged on the house, not running or even walking, but gliding forward with some insane locomotion I couldn’t even guess at.

The rest of my posse were in the room by then, all with guns in their hands. Even Janie who hated guns. The Geiger was clicking away, registering the massive radioactivity coming from the Children.

They were at the door.

A flickering cold light licked around its edges. The door cracked and buckled, great jagged rents running down its face. It blackened, smoke rising from it. Then it blew in and the Children were filling the doorway, eyes lit with a terrible xanthic glow that reflected off their scabrid faces. Lamprey mouths were open to reveal rows and rows of tiny hooked teeth, radioactive steam blowing out in hissing clouds that crackled like static electricity.

A girl stepped in the room first.

Her bare feet sizzled on the dirty carpet, burning footprints right into the fibers she was cooking so hot with radionuclides.

Everyone fired before they cooked with her.

Carl had a Mossberg 500 12-gauge, Texas Slim had a. 50 cal Desert Eagle, and Janie had a. 30 Smith. We laid down a considerable volume of fire, cutting down the Children as they tried to ghost through the door with a glowing shroud of radioactive mist.

We kept shooting until there was nothing left to shoot.

The Children had fallen in a whining/screeching heap just inside the room, pissing that toxic black blood and going kinetic with their own nuclear saturation, burning and twisting, clouds of black oily smoke filling the room. Their flesh went to hot running tallow, then ash. Their superheated skeletons were phosphorescent and arcing with juice, rising up one last time like they were trying to escape the smoldering wreckage of their flesh…then they crashed back down into it, crumbling into fragments.

I saw a blackened skull roll free, smoke rising from it, jaws sprung open as if to scream. It made me think about how close those little fuckers had gotten and how hot they were with radioactivity. One of these days we’re gonna absorb too much and we’ll all be popping with tumors. Gotta happen.

Then Carl grabbed my arm. “Man, we better get the fuck out.” He was holding the Geiger up and it was clicking fiercely. “It’s pretty damn hot in here.”

I followed him out the back way, out into the shadows and consuming darkness of the night.

And whatever waited there.

The Children.

Who were they and, more importantly, what were they.

Nobody I had ever talked to had any real good answers. But the same radiation saturation that killed adults by the hundreds of thousands and millions did something else to the kids. And not just certain ones, but all kids, anyone under ten years of age for whatever reason…but none older than that. Maybe the onset of puberty made them biochemically infertile for the change. But under ten, well, it mutated something in them.