Chapter 10; talking to Glen O'Toole at the police department.

...“So, what happened in the forest?”

Chris told her every detail he could remember down to how squished the truck was with all the men. She didn’t seem surprised, but interested. The only question she asked at the end was if he had fun.

“Yes. I think I did. It was exhilarating I suppose. Gets your adrenaline going, you know?”

Katrina’s smile dropped of her face and she nodded towards the door; “Incoming.”

Chris looked in that direction and saw Mary-Jo in a sleeveless, yellow, flower-print dressing weaving through tables to get to them.

“Good. I caught you. I heard you were here.”

“Ho—“

“Can you come over tonight for dinner, something came up and the dinner has been bumped to tonight,” She paused for a moment, looking between Chris as Katrina. “Oh, please tell me you’ll come.” She leaned on the table, pushing her chest forward as if to use her overly large breasts as a bargaining chip. The look on her face was sincerely concerned.

“Um, yeah, sure.”

“Oh goody.” She bounced and clapped her hands. For a moment, Chris thought he felt the café shake. “Shall we say between five and six?”

“That sounds…good.”

“Great. Don’t forget your note-pad.”

“Oh, I won’t.” Chris said condescendingly.

Mary-Jo gave a wave and made her way out. Everyone in the Café was looking in their direction; intrigued at what just took place.

“What was that about?”

“I don’t know. But should we get out of here?”

“Yes, I suppose.” They got up and moved through the tables of gawking people.

Chris lead the way out of the café, eyes following them like a Victorian portrait. He was feeling much more calm now, Katrina seemed to have brought him down to her level.

“Let’s go to the church’s park and talk; we won’t be disturbed there.”

“I would love to but I have to meet Glen. Can we meet in an hour?”

“Can I come?”

Chris smiled, “Even better.”

They walked around the block--the long way to the police station.

When they got inside it smelled of stale coffee and peppermint gum.

Glen was the only person to be seen; sitting behind a generic desk with a mound of neglected papers and a small bushel of mail in the corner. When he saw them, he looked as if he had just won the Publisher’s Clearing House grand prize.

“Hey guys, I was hoping you’d come in soon. There’s not much going on in the town right now.” He patted the stack of papers.

“So now would be a good time to talk to you?” Chris asked.

“Better than any.” He pointed towards the empty seats across the desk.

Katrina sat next to the wall and Chris next to her. “Great. Do you mind if I borrow a piece of paper and a pen?”

Glen looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“I kinda forgot my notepad. I’m new at this whole journalism thing.”

“No problem,” Glen dug around in his desk while Chris and Katrina stole a glance from each other.

Glen pushed a pad of paper and a pen towards him. “You can keep the pen.” He winked at Chris.

Chris twisted the pen between his fingers. Forest Hills Police Dept. “Couldn’t afford the whole word ‘Department’?” Chris asked.

“No, it just didn’t fit.”

“I was just kidding. Nevermind.” Chris swallowed uncomfortably and marked Glen O’Toole interview at the top of the page. “How long have you lived in Forest hills?”

“Born and raised.”

“And, how old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

“How long have you worked for the police department?”

“I started training about three and half to four years ago.”

“So you were an officer when the infection started to spread? Tell me about that.”

“I came after they banned the department from fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Too many officers died or something, so it was left up to those two bearded cavemen.”

“Glen,” Katrina shook her head.

“Sorry,” Glen glared at Katrina. “Forgot they were your best friends.” He searched the roof for something to look at.

“Jerrid and Gregory you mean?” Chris asked.

“Yeah.”

“What do you have against them?”

“I just don’t see why they should be allowed to continue to fight and guard the town while the police department are taking care of old Mrs. Mortgensen’s cat. I’d prefer the tree top too, if I was the cat.” Glen rolled his eyes.

“Okay, So, tell me about the first encounter you had.”

“Most of it was when I was a rookie; before they force was restricted to town duty. We were called to a spot over in the neighborhood—by Katrina’s house—where a group of dogs and cats were taunting an old shiatsu. By the time we got there, both of its ears were missing, bits of flesh were either hanging off or gone and the animals continued attacking.”

“Why do you think it was the only one being attacked?”

“Because it was the oldest, of course. It was most vulnerable.”

“Of course,” Chris said under his breath. “Has any of your family been affected by this?”

“Not my direct family, but when Katrina’s parents were…you know. They were like my family too.” Glen looked at Katrina like a puppy needing a home. She rolled her eyes. He turned his gaze back towards Chris, with quick flickers towards the door. “You do know what happened, don’t you?”

Katrina was appalled that he would use her dead family to try and one-up Chris.

“Yes, I do.” Chris gave him a warning glance; telling him not to continue on that subject.”

“So, what have you had to deal with in ways of human victims of the infection?”

“None really. I’ve been lucky that way.”

“You’ve never seen a human infected?” Chris had the feeling that this was a wasteful interview.

“I had to kill an infected baby once.”

Chris regretfully perked up in his seat.

“Just ‘bout bit the mother’s nipple right off.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Serious as a heart attack. I thought it was weird that a baby that was that old was still breast-feeding too. The only reason we knew the baby had the infection. The mother tried to cover it up, but Doctor Stevensen made us privy to that info when she came in claiming to have a serious infection. By the time we got to her, the baby was irate and his veins looked purple. When we tried to hold him. He would try and scratch and bite. We had to put him down.”

cont...End of Chapter 4

.....Jerrid didn’t remove his gaze from Chris’ face. Even when he walked towards the apartment door, Jerrid standing in the same spot watching Chris; his hand was supporting his own weight on the trunk of Chris’ rental car. Chris only stopped long enough to see that the rear end of the car was dipping considerably under Jerrid’s weight.

When Chris got inside he felt a sense of relief when he locked the door. He leant against it and rubbed his head feeling the band-aid still gripping his skin. “Ugh” he sighed in embarrassment.
Remembering Mama trying to turn the lights on earlier, he reached for the light switch and flicked it up and down a few times. They all finally flickered on with the buzz of the energy flowing through the circuit. When he looked down, there was a red patch on the third step. 'My blood, I’ll wipe that up later' he thought. When he reached for the railing, he immediately retracted his hand when he saw four long, thin scratches dug into the wood. Chris’ thoughts turned into what he learned watching 'ghostly encounters'-type television shows. His heart dropped when he looked at the opposite railing; there were four more scratches exactly the same. 'Those have to be human!' He thought. He traced the scratches with his own finger-nails until the reality of the situation set in and he raced up the stairs.
“What took you so long?” Mama was sitting on one of the chairs in the living room. He sat down in the chair next to hers, leaving his bag at the front door.
“I ran into a lovely fellow named Jerrid.” Chris said sarcastically. He decided not to ask about the scratches on the wooden railings just yet.
“Oh.” Mama chuckled a high-pitched vibration. “Oh Darling, his intentions are good. You’re just new, so you’re going to raise red flags when they’re on the patrol.”
“They’re on patrol?” Chris said. “And there’s more of him?”
“Yes honey, we still have patrols even though the situation has been relieved. There’s three of those boys who still go out at night-time these days.”

Katrina came and sat indian-style on the couch.
“What’s with the hunting get-up?” Chris asked.
“Was he wearing his rifle?” Katrina interjected.
Chris shook his head, "um, I don't know. Maybe." He faintly remembered seeing a strap across Jerrid’s chest.
“Sometimes they’ll go deep into the forest and make sure there isn’t any stragglers.”
Chris nodded. “Stragglers?”
“Yes Baby.” Mama replied. “Somehow the infected found out they were more comfortable in the shade of the forest and they could come in to town when they were really hungry.”
“But the infected haven’t figured out how to coincide with each other yet so there’s only usually one or two together in the forest. When they’re in the village though, they seem to find each other and hunt in large groups.” Katrina watched Chris’ reaction. “It’s a bit more fun for Jerrid and Gregory when there’s only a couple in the forest; it's like, a game.”

Chris felt like he should be writing this all down but didn’t want to offend Mama. Instead he just nodded and tried to commit it to his already exhausted memory.
“Don’t look so scared baby. You don’t need to worry about it.” Mama comforted. “So, tell us again why your hear.” She popped a chocolate almond in her mouth and covered her lips with the crook of her finger.
“Well…” Chris started, “I just started a job at this paper in New York and the news editor wanted to do a piece on the Forest Hills plague and the people that were still infected, who were returning from Colorado. But since accepting the piece I now realized—with the help of Katrina—that this was not a plague at all.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Mama smiled. She squeezed her eyes together and grinned at Katrina. “But I guess in some sorts it was and with a few word games the government was able to cover it up as that.”
“I’m hoping to get some interviews tomorrow. Can you help me?”
“I would love to darling but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea for me to help; don't want to give people another reason to gossip you know. But I can tell you that there’s a few willing-to-talk people that hang out down at the coffee shop on the opposite corner of this building. It’s called Mary-Jo’s”
“That’s a start. Thank you.” Chris smiled at Mama and Katrina.

Mama and Katrina didn’t say anything else until Mama excused herself and announced that she was going to go to bed.
“Old ladies like me don’t stay up very late anymore. You kids don’t stay up too late either. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.” She started walking down the hall and turned around. “Oh Chris, I never asked you: How long are you staying here for? In Forest Hills I mean.”
“Only for a long weekend. If that’s Okay with you?”
“Of course Ducky, I was just wondering. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She turned into her room and shut the door.

Chris turned back to Katrina. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Katrina asked.
“For being a part of letting me stay here. It can’t be fun having someone come in and take over your time alone with your grandmother.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s probably good having you here; being a buffer for the beginning. Plus she likes you.”
“It seems like she likes everyone.” Chris was taking a dig at Jerrid, but didn't know if Katrina picked up on it.
“She tries to find the best in all people, but she definitely likes you.” Katrina got out of the chair. “I think I’m going to go to bed now too. We can get up early tomorrow and introduce you to the locals if you like.”
“Yes, I would like that. Say seven-thirty?”
“Sounds good. Good-night.”
“See you in the morning.” Chris got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to his new bedroom. Even though it was early, he was knackered and welcomed the bed with open arms. He knew that he should do some writing, but decided to start tomorrow when he had a clear mind. He fumbled with the futon until he got it laid flat and put the sheets on. He stripped down to his boxers and the t-shirt he had on, climbed under the covers and thought about the day's stories; afraid he would have nightmares. He fell asleep almost immediately.

***
Katrina fell asleep with her clothes on. She had intentions of staying awake just long enough to re-familiarize her self with her old room; she didn’t want to wake up and not know where she was-- like so many times before. Her exhausted body had another plan.
She tossed and turned all night, the familiar and re-occuring dream of her parents snuggled up in their favorite chairs in the front room. It was their favorite room because of the massive granite fireplace. Katrina noticed the fire was almost out; the last pieces of wood were nothing but glowing lumps of ash. Her family lived in the oldest house in Forest Hills. It had been passed down from generations-- since her relatives had built it and founded most of Forest hills. Most of the house was still intact with the original features. The only thing that had been changed were the wooden window sills and some floor panels that had disintegrating from being food for pesky termites. The walls in this particular room matched the dark burgundy of the rugs. Katrina walked towards the old leather chairs turned towards the fire, their backs to her as she came into the room.
She had just come home from visiting Mama and she was early as requested by her parents.
Katrina announced her arrival “Hey.”
There was no movement from the chairs. Her mom who was usually knitting or crocheting was not moving and the yarn and needles were on the floor haphazardly. Her dad’s book was draped across his knee as if he had fallen asleep. Katrina thought this was odd since she had never seen her dad fall asleep anywhere other than his bed, and her mom was a very organized person, especially when it came to her crafts. She brushed it off as a first and moved a little closer. That’s when she saw both her parents jerk and stiffen.
“Mom, dad?” She became worried and unwillingly prepared her muscled for a possible escape.
Without warning, her parents pounced up from the chairs, searching until their fourth sense honed in on her. When they locked on, both simultaneously turned and soared across the room at Katrina in one leap. On the second pounce—the one that she knew would be fatal if she didn't move-- Katrina whipped around and threw herself through the big wood doors she had just come, closing them behind her until she felt them click shut.
She was aware of the fall breeze and was lucky she had her coat and shoes still on.
“GREGORY!” She yelled. Nothing. “GREGORY!” She screamed again, this time with a blood-curdling tone. She was running towards the bell tower hoping to find someone on watch. After she hopped the fence into the cemetery, hoping to slow them down, she turned around and saw the two figures gaining on her, running endlessly without tiring. “GREGORY!” She kept sreaming until she saw him running towards her. Thank god! She thought. She experienced an extreme burst of energy and all of a sudden felt like she had been lifted from the ground and was flying.

Katrina would never forget Gregory’s reaction: he had stopped, in shock of what he was seeing: Katrina’s own parents, flesh and blood chasing after her for their next meal. “No, it can’t be!” He said out-loud.
“GREGORY YOU HAVE TO SHOOT THEM!” Katrina had already accepted the reality that she was parentless and If they didn't die, she would be viciously ripped apart--eyes first--and turned into food.
Without any more hesitation, Gregory pulled the rifle off his back, aimed and fired twice. He didn’t miss. He replaced the rifle on his back just in time for Katrina to fall lifelessly at his feet. She started weeping into her hands.
Gregory bent down and wrapped his arms around her. Katrina could feel warm drops falling onto her neck: Gregory’s tears. “I’m sorry Katrina. I’m sorry.” He whispered into her hair.
This was the reality of what happened, but Katrina’s dream always continued on with a different, surreal ending each time:
Gregory tried to protect her with his own body but instead was ripped from her back. When Katrina looked at the spot where Gregory’s body landed, both her parents were hovering over him. The woman looked at the man and he nodded at her. She bowed down to Gregory’s eyes and one at a time, covered each with her mouth sucking them out and viciously chewing on them; shoving the nerves and membranes into her mouth with both of her bloody hands. Gregory was shrieking in pain trying to grab at his face, but the man—Katrina’s transformed father—was holding him down for the woman.
Katrina wanted to run but her legs felt like lead. She didn’t want to scream, but she couldn’t help herself and she yelled “NO!”
Immediately they turned and the man jumped on top of her in one leap. The woman was on top of her just as quickly. Her last sight was Gregory was still screaming, grabbing at his empty eye sockets. An open mouth, smelling of death covered her vision and everything went dark. She jolted awake and realized she was safe in her bed at Mama’s. She wiped the tears off her face and looked at her watch. 3:25 am. She decided to get up and get a glass of water, only to find Mama in the kitchen as well.
“You finally woke-up child.” Mama wrapped her arms around Katrina and they both started to weep.