The Day They Came

            by Robin Fischer

 

Oscar Cobb fell into a trance-like state during his shift hours. Monday through Friday he took the first bus (4:30 am) to the Waste Management plant.

Usually he thought about the weather, or of politics or current events. But this morning he thought about the ants in the kitchen of his musty bachelor pad. It wasn’t that they were unsanitary or gross, (he was a garbage man, after all.) They had been marching to some crumb or another when one dropped dead. When the others noticed a mob formed around the ant and it’s companions began to devour it. Seeing the insect cannibalism had killed his appetite, he had left without breakfast and still couldn’t shake the image from his mind. He never had problems with disgusting objects, but he never got used to seeing things die, even if they were just pests.

In fact, Oscar was so immersed in his memory that he didn’t notice a woman running down the street, being chased by a policeman, both covered in blood.

Upon arriving at work, he punched his time card, went to his assigned truck (number 19) and waited for his operating counterpart. That counterpart, Larry was usually tardy and Oscar thought that perhaps he didn’t have access to a shower. Most of the other employees, including himself, smelled like trash, he admitted, but Larry was on a completely different level. Oscar felt a tinge of guilt after thinking unkind thoughts about Larry, after all Oscar was lucky, being the one who drove the truck, but the guilt faded away when he saw Larry punch in his card and wallow over to the vehicle. When Larry took his seat he belched and scratched his stomach.

“Mornin’,” Oscar said.

Larry yawned and then burped again. He was also barely awake.

Oscar rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, yawned and pulled out of the parking lot.

 

For the first hour of the shift neither Oscar nor Larry noticed anything unusual. The sky was gray except for a pinch of orange peeking the hills where rich people lived. The truck wound up and down blocks in the same, repetitive pattern as always. At 6:10 Oscar and Larry had a heated argument about if they should listen to Tom Waits or Bob Marley. When Larry’s obsession with Bob Marley began Oscar tolerated, sometimes even enjoyed it, but after hearing “Legend” three times each morning accompanied with backing vocals by Larry he had grown sick of it.  But arguing took energy, and he preferred to conserve his for after work. Besides, Oscar’s mind was on the ants. While the music pumped up at high volume (Larry needed to hear it while loading the cans onto the truck) Oscar sunk down in his seat and rolled his eyes. He was bored, but that wasn’t unusual.

After a few more blocks, however, Oscar did see something unusual. Truck number 19 typically arrived at the house on the corner of Washington and Oak in time to see the man they called “Norman” emerge to pick up the newspaper. Norman would usually wave to the garbage men on these mornings. Today Norman appeared to have a limp when coming out of his house. As he staggered across his lawn he passed by the morning issue of The New York Times without even looking at it. In fact, Norman appeared to be looking directly at Larry. Norman was drooling heavily and one of his feet was turned inward. He had developed a circus freak slouch and his arms hung by his thighs. His face was pale blue and Oscar worried that the man might have developed a horrible, possibly contagious, disease. Norman groaned deeply, stumbling closer to the curb.

As Norman got uncomfortably close Larry looked up from loading the trash bin, “Hey man, you okay?” Oscar turned down Bob Marley to better observe what was going on.

Norman groaned. His pace picked up and became eager at hearing Larry’s voice. Larry stepped back and noticed brown, crusting blood on Norman’s shirt. “We can call an ambulance if you want, uhh. . .  are you sure you’re okay?”

Groan. Norman’s skin had lost any life and now clung to his skull, magnifying his eye sockets. Norman opened his mouth more and advanced towards Larry, his arms out stretched. Norman slowly opened his mouth into a hole, his teeth were stained red. Not knowing how to react, Larry stood in shock for a moment before he realized what Norman intended to do. He dropped the garbage can and ran to the passenger’s seat.

“Holy shit! Motherfucker tried to bite me! Drive!” Oscar hit the gas and in his rear view mirror saw Norman stumble after the van pathetically. 

There was an awkward silence as the men tried to search answers for what had happened. Oscar spoke first, “Must have been some sort of disease.”

“I don’t think it was a disease.”

“You have a better idea?”

“I don’t fucking know, some insane biting psycho killer?”

“I’m calling 911.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s a good idea, man.” Larry’s hands shook and twitched.  “Where’s a payphone?”

Oscar pulled up on another corner. He hopped out of the truck quickly, and slammed the door of the phone booth. He wished the door and walls were made of something sturdier than glass. He picked up the phone and dialed 911 hurriedly, looking around his surroundings for Norman. The phone rang ten times before disconnecting. Oscar felt a leap in his gut and put down the phone. Before going back to the truck he tried the station again with the same response. He jogged back to the truck, wishing Larry’s side had a door.

Larry saw the look on Oscar’s face but wasn’t willing to accept that the station wouldn’t answer, “What’d the cops say? Are they going to get him? Did they have other reports?”

Oscar shook his head, “They didn’t pick up.”

“What? That isn’t possible. That can’t be possible. 911 isn’t allowed to be busy. That never happens. When has that ever happened? Go try it again, maybe you hung up too soon.”

“Look, Larry, why would I lie about that? You can go try the phone if you want but I want to get out of this neighborhood as fast as possible.”

Larry looked from Oscar to the phone and back to Oscar. “All right. We’re probably just freaking out. The phone is probably just fucked up. Lets go to the station. Its not to far away, and no ones gonna’ care if we’re late coming back.”

Oscar had a feeling it wasn’t the phone that was the problem but couldn’t see any harm in going to the station, it was, after all, just a couple blocks down the road. He started the motor and Bob Marley came on again. “Don’t worry, be happy now”

“Bullcrap,” said Oscar.

Pulling out a pair of cigarettes, Larry had to agree.

 

When the truck, not even half filled with garbage, turned onto the suburban main street both men went into momentary shock. It looked like a three year old’s creation. Cars were piled upon each other like hot wheels. Fire hydrants had become water cannons. One 18-wheeler had spun, hitting a building that had partially crumbled like Jenga blocks. Monsters, all similar to Norman, were attacking action figures and Barbie’s. Playmobile nurses and firemen tried to keep order. Burning rubber and shouts filled the air. Downtown was in constant chaotic motion. Oscar couldn’t see any superheroes.

“Stop the car! Oscar, STOP THE CAR!” Larry screamed. Oscar hit the brakes just in time to avoid becoming part of a hotwheels sandwich. They skidded in a circle hitting a gang of the Norman-like creatures. One landed on the hood and began trying to smash through the glass. Oscar screamed and put the car in reverse. The creature slid off the hood, rolled, paused, and then got up, moving back towards the truck.

“Oh, dear God” Larry gasped. Another one fell off the roof. Oscar backed up through the street they came on and maneuvered onto a cross street, heading for the highway. A mob of the creatures stumbled after the truck but were quickly left behind.

“Oh my god, there’s more of them, man we have to leave the city.”

“Where are we gonna’ go then?” Larry spat.

Oscar looked at the gas meter and frowned. The truck hadn’t been filled up recently. “I don’t know. Lets see if the highway is blocked. If it’s not lets find an exit that looks sane, or drive until the gas runs out, which shouldn’t be too long. If it is blocked then we’ll… I don’t know. We’ll think of something else.”

They rode in silence until Larry turned on the radio. All stations were tuned to emergency broadcast, one recording was on repeat:

“This is an emergency broadcast. Repeat, this is an emergency broadcast. Outbreaks of -Kerry, is this right?- of what authorities are calling zombies. It may seem like fiction, but multiple cities across the continent have reported events of what appear to be corpses chasing and –God, I can’t believe this is happening- hunting the living. The president is on his ranch and currently unreachable. Military leaders have issued no formal comment on how to handle the threat. The best advice available at present appears to be to stay inside a fortified building and exit metropolis areas if possible. It might not be possible for the creatures to survive in water, so if you have a boat we suggest its use. If it becomes necessary to combat the monsters, damage to the head is the most effective. A major city evacuation plan is expected to begin in a number of hours. Some government officials are suspecting this is some kind of new terrorist biological attack, but no one has yet claimed responsibility. Religious groups are calling today “Armageddon” or “Judgment Day.” This is an emergency radio broadcast. Please keep your radios on for updates.”

Oscar couldn’t bring himself to say “zombies,” but he had no doubt the broadcast was serious, and it only confirmed what they had seen before. Could it really be happening? He decided that wasn’t really important, those things weren’t natural and he wanted to get away. He turned onto the highway and it was free of cars. Oscar preferred not to think of why.

“The whole continent,” Larry said, lighting another cigarette. “They’re all over the whole damn continent. Where are we going to go?”

Oscar didn’t register the question, he was thinking about the broadcast, thinking about if he was going to get out alive, if anyone was going to get out alive.

 

BANG.

 Oscar looked back abruptly, scanning his side mirror. “Shit, Larry, I think the truck is falling apart. One of the creatures back there must have pulled something loose.” BANG.

Larry looked back at the empty road. BANG. Nothing had fallen off the truck. “There’s nothing back in the road, man. Maybe some trash is just moving around back there.”

            BANGBANG

            “I don’t think that’s all trash.” The truck usually rode slowly and quietly.

            BANGBANGBANG

Larry’s eyes grew wide, as he realized what was making the noise. “Oscar… there must be one of those things stuck in the back of the truck.”

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

“What?” BANG “That isn’t possible! How would it get in there?” BANG BANG

“Fuck, I don’t know. Oh my God. Oh my God. How are we gonna’ get that thing out? And how the hell are we gonna’ get away?” asked Larry. They were both panicking now. BANG. Oscar’s hands gripped the wheel tightly and his knuckles grew white. BANG. Larry was sliding down in his seat, and looking for large blunt objects.

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

 

  Except for the banging the truck had fallen silent. The zombie was making a dent in the truck, right between the men’s heads and neither could think of something to say. Oscar and Larry searched their minds for possible hiding places. Eventually Larry broke the silence.

“I think we should get guns.” BANG.

BANG. “Where do you want to do that?” BANGBANG.

“There’s a place on High street.” BANG. “Drive towards it and ill direct you.”

Oscar mumbled something about “well what else can we do” and took the High street exit. BANGBANGBANG

“Now its just a few blocks up, near Vista. Right next to the…”

Driving down the off ramp was like seeing a massacre. Bodies, half eaten lay in the streets and sidewalks. The road was obstructed with them. Oscar tried to drive over them, but the truck ran out of gas. BANGBANGBANGBANG. A bloody hand broke through the metal behind their heads.

Both the men screamed and ran for it. They popped out of the truck like popcorn. Oscar’s feet smacked the ground as he ran with all his might. His excess fat giggled in his blue standard-issue jumpsuit. He tried to keep his eyes glued ahead, thinking its just a few blocks. Anyone could make it.

Then he noticed Larry had fallen behind. He looked back just in time to see Larry disappear into a crowd of zombies. Oscar stopped for a second, petrified. And then he kept running.

All the shop windows were broken. All the shops were broken into. Oscar saw a blur of looting and smashing and biting as he ran down the street.

He could see the gun store now. It look untouched. It’s bar windows and firearms had protected it. It was a safe haven. Larry had been right.

Oscar reached the barred windows to see about twenty people holding guns, drinking coffee, and looking scarred. He banged on the door, “Let me in! I’m human! Please, please…” A young woman moved to open the door, but the crowd held her back.

He heard voices say “…it’s too dangerous. We don’t have enough room…”

He felt a tug on his back. And then a scratch. And then a bite. Soon, Oscar fell over and the creatures were jumping, falling and diving on top of him. As he saw the last patch of sky disappear, he felt an awful lot like the ant he saw that morning.