"The world is a dangerous place, my boy," George's dad had said nearly every day until he disappeared. "You gotta watch your back, Son. The Evils want to control the world; they're trying to wipe out our entire race." George could still hear Dad's voice whenever he ventured out. "Stay under the radar, Son. Hug the walls. Don't let them see you and you'll be safe."

George still missed his dad. He had barely reached adulthood when his dad just didn't come home one day. Childish friends teased and mocked, saying his dad ran away because there were too many kids at home, or that he was tired of George's mom and found a young thing to hook up with. The comments hurt, but George knew better. His dad had been too passionate, too zealous over their safety to just leave. No, George knew somehow, some way, the Evils had got Dad.

He grew old before his time as he tried to take his dad's place, to raise his much younger brothers and sisters, teaching them to fear the Evils, to stay in the shadows. He repeated his father's words as a mantra, but since they'd been too young when Dad died, they didn't remember how frightening that time was. It was quieter in the neighborhood now; it seemed as if the Evils had moved on to find some other race to destroy.

George didn't trust in the current state of peace; the Evils were too wily, too selfish to give up their goals. No one shared his view, though, especially not his brothers or sisters. He watched with trepidation as they left home to start families of their own, leaving George to care for his elderly mother. He was justified in his mistrust when Evils appeared once again in his neighborhood.

"George, dear, go out and find a good woman, settle down," his mother encouraged.

"Mama, I can't. You need me."

"George, I took care of myself before I met your father, and I can take care of myself now."

"Mama, it's too dangerous. I can't even think of bringing children into this world."

"George, the Evils came before your grandpa was born. They kill some of us off then leave the rest alone. It's just a part of life now."

"But what a life? To cower in darkness, never to know the freedom to play in the street..."

"Enough, George," she snapped. Then, in a softer voice, she continued, "Son, I'm proud of what you have tried to do since your father died. You have a good head on your shoulders and are wise and careful. But you are too worried about what you cannot control. Just let it be and live your life. As your dad always said, if you keep out of sight, you will be safe."

George stopped arguing. Nothing would change his mind. He remained single, caring for his mother, watching for danger. She passed away in her sleep, leaving him alone.

He wandered down to his favorite watering hole, just two blocks from his house. It was hidden on an alley, behind the old grocery, dimly lit and rickety. He pushed through the door and blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. He wove his way through the crowd and pulled up a seat at the bar. Kevin, the barkeep, greeted him.

"Hey, George, what's happenin'?"

"Not much."

"How you been since your mama passed?"

"The same. Just trying to make a living."

"Aren't we all."

"Seems you're doing well; it's busier here than it's been since I remember." He looked around at the crowded room.

"Yep. Folks just aren’t as scared, or they are and just want to keep up with the news, I don’t know which. Either way, it’s been great for business."

"So what is the news?"

Kevin leaned in and whispered, “Well, they say the ‘you know whos’ are tired of this neighborhood and have moved across the city. They haven’t been seen here for weeks.”

“Really?” skepticism laced his words.

“Yep. Old Johnny ventured out in broad daylight and no sign of ‘em.”

George smirked. “Old Johnny, huh? Sorry, but I don’t trust anything Old Johnny says; he’s had one too many knocks on the head.”

“Yep, you’re probably right.” A hand flicked to George’s right, and Kevin moved down the bar to care for the customer.

George’s eyes wandered the room. He saw Chris in the corner, head down, half-finished glass gripped in his hand. A woman flitted over to him, flirting, lifting his chin and coaxing him with her eyes. George saw her lean in and whisper in his ear. Chris looked at her then his drink, and rose and followed her, leaving his drink forgotten on the table. George shivered. He despised Lola and her “sisters.” They corrupted many a young man, primarily preying on those who are depressed and despondent, but when “business” was slow, they’d go after any male. The prostitutes were the one thing he wished his friend Kevin would purge from the bar.

As he watched Chris and Lola climb up the back stairs, his eye caught a new face, sitting at the other end of the bar. She was beautiful. No, that wasn’t the right word; she was stunning. She was leaning on the bar, sideways, legs crossed, swinging a foot. His heart lurched around in his chest like a drunken sailor on a walk, stopping dead for a couple beats when her eyes locked on his. He was mesmerized, not even realizing that he had moved until he was sitting down next to her.

His mind raced over all the one-liners he’d heard his friends use, but they all sounded hokey, so he settled with, “Hi, I’m George.”

“Hello. My name’s Janet,” she giggled, eyes cast down.

So she’s a big flirt, he thought. He almost changed his mind, but she looked up at him and he got lost in the deep pools of her eyes. His heart thumped in his chest, echoing in his ears. No other woman had ever made him feel this way. All he could think about was making her his and starting a family.

They chatted for hours. He found a kindred spirit in her, once he dug past the flirtatious surface. She didn’t care for the immaturity of most of her age group; she felt they were too flippant, too unconcerned for their own and their friends’ safety. She respected the power the Evils held over them, understood the danger that their race lived and breathed. Janet was George’s perfect match.

It seemed as if Old Johnny had been right; the Evils weren’t seen in their neighborhood for quite awhile. The old-timers bragged that it was because their buildings were so dilapidated that the Evils had no interest in them. It was well-known that the Evils preferred the richer, more well-to-do neighborhoods across the city. On the other hand, the younger generation claimed they were stronger and the Evils were afraid. George didn’t believe either, and didn’t trust that the war was over. However, he did take advantage of the lull and wed his love. Neither was confident enough to spend their honeymoon anywhere than in their own home, though, so they started their life together with their friends around them.

The evening of their wedding, he brought Janet to his parent’s home. It was small, but protected, crammed between two larger homes, hidden in shadows. There were cracks in the walls, of course; no building in their part of the city was in great shape, but the cracks let in plenty of light. The floors were rough, but both George and Janet preferred wood to tile, anyway. They were cold-blooded, and neither liked the feel of the cold ceramic on their feet.

At first, Janet accepted the way the house was situated, not bothering to move much furniture around. Her tastes were similar to George’s mother’s, and she accepted the home as is. But before too long, she started pushing and tugging furniture, moving and rearranging the pictures and pretties, keeping the house in chaos, stopping only to sleep and eat. She was so obsessive with the rearranging that it drove George out of the house. He found himself at Kevin’s, pouring out his woes.

He sat down between Allen and Pete, both old cronies of his grandfather. He complained over a nice tall, cold one.

“Well, my boy, what’ya expect?” chuckled Kevin. This wasn’t his first crazed new husband.

“I don’t know.” George slurped his drink. “It started out okay. She didn’t mind the way things were, but now, my goodness, she’s got the whole house turned upside down. It’s like all of a sudden she realized she hates the way it looks, and decided to do a complete overhaul.”

“That’s what womenfolk’s good fer: keeping the house in a ruckus,” chimed in Allen.

“Yeah, but for days and days? You’d think she’d find the right spot for something and leave it there. But just when I think she’s done, she tears it all apart and starts again.”

Pete laid his hand on George’s shoulder and squeezed. “Son, she’s nesting. She’s getting the house ready for little ones.”

George whipped his head towards Pete. The deer-in-the-headlights look on his face made the three men roar with laughter. “Huh? Are you saying my Janet’s expecting?”

Pete wiped some spittle from his chin with a trembling hand. “Yes, George. It’s common for the women to turn their homes upside down, getting it just right for babies. Give her a few more days, and I’ll bet she’ll start to settle down.” Pete downed his drink and shakily rose. “I gotta get back to my sweet thing. See ya later, boys.” He limped out the door, dragging one leg slightly.

George sat, dumbfounded, hundreds of thoughts chasing each other in his brain. One thought stood out, though: he was going to be a father. He leaped up and whooped, drawing the eyes of everyone. “I’m gonna be a dad!” Some chuckled, some shouted their congratulations, and some shrugged and turned back to their conversations; they’d been down this road before.

Just before he laid his eyes on his firstborn, the Evils swept through the neighborhood, catching some of the less cautious off guard. George was thankful his house was hidden, protected, and that he and Janet stayed home to await their child. His heart was full, the ache of sorrow for the lost friends warring with the joy of seeing his new son.

***
George was walking home one day, hugging the walls, watching for any unusual movement. Even though there’d been no recent attacks, he couldn’t break the habits he’d grown to trust. He thought of his kids, how they were growing so big, keeping Janet hopping while he was out working. His mind went back to the argument he’d had with his mother; he was glad, heart-glad, he’d found Janet, even though the burden of protecting and teaching his kids was making him old before his time. He was thankful he did not stick to his guns and remain single. Janet truly completed him.

A wild-eyed Frank tore past him, knocking him into the street. “Chelsea Flats has fallen!” he screamed as he bounced off the wall and tore around the corner. George brushed himself off and followed. Chelsea Flats was a neighborhood not far from theirs, on this side of the city. If it fell… He pushed through the door into the bar. Sure enough, Frank was front and center, a crowd around him. He was gesticulating wildly, words tumbling almost incoherently out of his mouth. “…my brother escaped. Barely made it home. The Evils had used new weapons, powerful weapons. He saw his brother-in-law crushed. He ran fast as he could, and barely escaped. They hit Chelsea Flats and wiped them out! Wiped them out! They have a gas that paralyses you. He just barely got hit with it, and died in my arms!”

The terror in his eyes stoked the panic rising in the crowd, and a number of patrons rose up and left to pack up their families. “We’re not gonna die here. We’re not gonna wait to be gassed like common pests. We’ll move out of the city, find a place the Evils don’t want,” they said, while others protested, “They’re everywhere. There’s nowhere to run.” One of the cocky young guys zipped around the room crazily, crying, “We’re all gonna die! We’re all gonna die!” until someone punched him and knocked him out.

George didn’t wait to hear any more. He wanted to make sure his family was still safe.

Janet cried when she heard the news; she had some cousins in Chelsea Flats. The kids crowded around, eyes big, looking to their parents to make everything right. George patted heads and Janet hugged tightly. Once the kids were reassured and went off to play, George and Janet looked around their little home, to see if they could make it more secure. They knew it was easy to miss the place; even their friends would walk past their door before they’d realize. George was confident that the Evils couldn’t make it this far into the alley. But if they used any gas, he shivered at the thought, they’d be in trouble. So Janet found debris from the streets that she could push into the cracks, trying to make them airtight. They were in the dark, but if they stayed quiet, perhaps they would survive.

The Evils were getting closer. Word had them in Barton Heights, the next neighborhood over. The results were the same as Chelsea Flats; Barton Heights fell to the powerful weapons of the Evils. Neighborhood after neighborhood, township after township, street after street fell before the superior strength and viciousness of the Evils.

“They’re here!” George heard one morning as he prepared to go out to work. He rushed to Kevin’s to get the news. Sure enough, the Evils had begun their killing. Food grew scarce, and the people feared to leave their homes. The young bucks, flexing their muscles, declared one day that they would attack and overwhelm the enemy. Older, wiser men could not discourage them; they believed themselves invincible. They were bigger than those of previous generations, and felt the old dotering fools exaggerated the size of the Evils. So they marched, in twos and threes and tens. They left the safety of their homes and took the war to the streets.

The wailing of mamas and wives and girlfriends testified of their failure. Their broken, crushed, mutilated bodies littered the streets, gassed in the very act of marching.

George had to venture further away from home to find food for his family. His babies cried, empty stomachs twisting. It was hard to keep them quiet and safe when they were hungry. The older ones did better, but he’d catch them hunched over, arms pressing into their abdomens, trying to relieve the stabbing, tearing pain of emptiness. His hatred of the Evils increased exponentially with every day they went without food. He felt impotent, weak, incapable of even the simplest of duties: feed his family.

He was headed home, dejected. He found nothing. Not one morsel, one bite, nothing. Head down, he trudged home, heart wrenching as he thought of his Janet’s wan face, of her tears when she saw his empty hands. He turned a corner, just a block from his house, when he was almost knocked off his feet by an overpowering, mouthwatering aroma. His empty belly twisted, tearing him in two and his eyes smarted as he inhaled the delicious fragrance.

It was like nothing he’d ever known. The aroma wafted on the air currents, curling an enticing finger under his nose, drawing him blindly along. His limbs trembled, shook as if he were older than old. He stumbled, crawling ever forward, every cell in his body screaming for a bite. Suddenly it was in front of him. Food! Lots and lots of food! He saw his neighbors crawling around the pile, grabbing and yanking, shoving bites into their mouths and filling their arms.

George found new strength, a frantic strength, and shoved between two, grabbing and stuffing his face. The taste was heavenly, and his body soaked the food in even before he could finish chewing. He cared not where it came from; he didn’t even think about it. He was completely focused on getting enough for his family, even if he had to fight, to kill even, for it.

George tore home, breathless, excited. He bounced against neighbors who were caught by the mesmerizing odor. Oh, how Janet will cry! Oh, hallelujah! The kids will be saved!

He burst through the door and Carlie, his youngest, screamed. The cry cut short as the scent of the food found her nose. She clawed at the floor, crawling frantically toward her father. The other kids raced into the room, climbing up his legs to grab at the package in his arms. Even Janet, his meek little Janet, became almost ferocious from starvation.

They feasted. They ate and ate, until their bellies groaned, straining at their skin. They couldn’t move. Their bellies bulged and they felt completely relaxed, satiated, starvation averted. They smacked their lips in remembrance, and George planned to wake early to get more. They slept where they lay, too content and full to find their beds.

George was jerked awake in the wee hours of the morning by a heart-wrenching scream. One of the kids must’ve gotten a horrible bellyache from eating too much too fast. George felt guilty because he hadn’t been able to keep them from eating so quickly; he himself scarfed the food down as if it was nothing. He tried to get up off the floor, but was stiff. Janet whimpered next to him. Another scream, and another. He thrashed around, his arms and legs dead weight. Numbness suddenly disappeared as a slashing pain ripped across his abdomen. As he contorted and writhed, the cries of his children and wife slicing at his mind, the food turning into razorblades in his stomach, he realized the food must’ve been left by the Evils, poisoned, another of their horrendous weapons. As he was thrust into the darkness of death, he knew the war was over. The Evils had won.

***

“Well, Mr. Jones, it looks like they’re hungry little buggers. See, they’ve already touched the bait.”

“That’s great. Whatever’s in that stuff and in your spray sure does the trick, because both the Chelsea Flats and Barton Heights apartments are now roach free. My investors will be pleased.”

“We’ll wait three weeks then spray again. You should be able to start remodeling by the end of the month.”

“That will be great. I can’t stand roaches, and this area of town has been infested like I’ve never seen.”

“They get into these old places and think they own ‘em. Glad you and your company are cleaning ‘em up. Well, I’m off to the next building. Take ‘er easy, Mr. Jones.” He climbed into his exterminator truck and drove away.

Impressum

Texte: (c) 2011 Stacey Doss
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 02.08.2011

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