When Death Walks Amongst Us

Raymond Daguerre dreamed of sandy beaches and crystal clear waters of the Bahamas through closed eyes.  This much-anticipated vacation, which he badly needed from the rigors and mental stress of computer programming, seemed a long time in coming.  So, now he would enjoy it. Gladly, he sank back in the comfortably cushion seat of the airplane, listening to the distant sounds of the turbine engines as they flew over the sea in route to the islands.                  

A vague disturbing thought crossed his mind.  Did he forget anything?  Maybe he ought to recheck his carry on bags in the storage bin above to make sure he had everything he needed for this trip.   

Daguerre opened his eyes. 

“Holy Shit!” he exclaimed, almost leaping to his feet.   

Around him were people in various stages of disgusting, rotten decomposition.  The stewardess coming down the aisle had half her face in ruin, with white bone showing through, while the other side revealed moldy decaying, skin, with a dangling, partially, detached eyeball.                 

He was on a plane loaded with corpses, the destination, probably, Hell.   

“Having fun yet?” said someone seated behind Daguerre.

Daguerre turned in his seat, and recoiled in horror.

It was a dark colored man with two smiles who had spoken; the other smile below his chin was his slitted throat, which steadily dripped red gore onto his holiday shirt.  The entire hideous assembly of undead passengers resembled the cast left over from Michael Jackson’s Thriller.   

“Can’t wait, Huh?” said the skeleton sitting across from him when Daguerre fell back into his seat, horrified and speechless.  

Daguerre stared, with mouth agape. 

The skeleton nodded, cheerfully.  “We’ll have lots of fun when we get there,” he promised.  He emphasized it by raising his bony arm, through a brightly colored shirtsleeve, and pointed a skeletal finger at circular port window, with the view of approaching land below.   

Suddenly, the aircraft’s engines stopped.  The airplane tilted forward, sharply, and then dived headlong toward the earth. 

And the dead loved it, their gruesome skulls, collectively, bobbled in eager anticipation.    

Daguerre gripped his armrest with taut fingers, ineffectually fighting the abrupt incline.  At which point, he found his voice.  And he screamed, as the plane plunged, rapidly, downward towards disaster--

The Gathering of Forces       

I ran as fast I could, glancing over my shoulders, every step of the way, perspiration running down my face and neck, heart triple beating.  As I rounded the corner, the shopping cart tilted sideways, skipping on two wheels.

I entered the deserted street before me, filled with vacant, dilapidated houses on either side. The next deliveries would be toward the end of the street where only a few people lived.

They would be coming soon!

My four-legged furry friends surrounded my cart and me. They numbered around thirty. But, sadly I knew, they wouldn’t be enough against those who were coming for me.  Barking, they pleaded, desperately, for me to hurry.

Disheartened, I noticed as I turned that street corner, that there was no pay phone around or down the street. And in 1966, cell phones for widespread use had yet to be invented like in 2003 A.D. So calling for help was out of the question. I was left to fend for myself. I did not want to die. There had to be a way out of this.  I just had to think of one.

They would be coming, quickly and relentlessly, in a gigantic wave.

As I fled pell-mell down the empty streets, my pals paced alongside of me, yelping, anxiously. Desperately, I searched, for some kind of weapon.  Every niche or alley, I looked into revealed nothing of use to me.  Where was a broken bottle or fallen tree branch when you needed one? I thought.