Andrée Gendron |
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The February Editor's Pick Writer is Andrée Gendron Please feel free to email Andrée at: adgendron50@gmail.com |
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A FREAK STORM Ding Dong. “Jesus.” Jill Simms shook nearly jumping out of her skin when the doorbell first rang. She was fully occupied with washing clothes by hand in the kitchen sink at the time. The loud, abrupt clanging shot across the high tin ceilings of her Victorian fixer-upper like a bolt of lightning that arced through her skeleton then escaped down the copper drainpipe. Plop. A mismatched pair of socks she had been feverishly flogging fell back into the cold gray water to rejoin their soaking sisters. That entire room resembled a dark, cramped slum full of dripping wet laundry. Jill’s bloodshot eyes darted side to side in search of a dry towel. Sadly, there were none, so she reached up and wiped her shriveled fingers on a dusty ruffled curtain as a bit of canned ravioli from breakfast crept up into her esophagus. She winced, fought down the bile, wishing her stove worked. Jill was saving up for a gas range since some idiot had replaced the old one with a useless electric range. Thankfully the old gas line and shut off valve was still intact. Jill’s powerless house was darker still inside the closet. She felt around for one of the potential weapons she had stashed in there: a broom, two wet mops, one crutch, hiking poles, a busted snow shovel… She came away with a wooden baseball bat. Ding-dong. A second ring got her to relax but only slightly. She needed to hear three more rings. She prayed for them to follow soon. The thought of having to use a weapon on her neighbors was terrifying, sickening, but something dreadful had happened two nights before in their peaceful, bedroom community. Jill didn’t have a violent bone in her body but knew she may have to defend herself. That critical moment of needing self-defense had quite possibly arrived. ***** It was windy that first day and rained off and on. Nothing unusual there. But as Jill was getting ready to call it a night, everything changed. The typical autumn rain shower suddenly turned into a sour smelling squall around 9:30 p.m. She recalled hearing the 9:15 train whistle blow just north of town at the Mill Street crossing. Shortly after that, the steady breeze became gusty. Jill started to run one last trash bag out to the bin by the road when something foul in the air stung her eyes and her nostrils, and left a bad taste in her mouth. She instinctively dropped the trash and retreated indoors via the side entrance mudroom. Jill gargled and spat out whatever that was burning in her throat first then hurriedly peeled off and bagging up her wet smelly grub duds shoes and all. After that, she ran upstairs stark naked and took a long, painful shower. Since all the windows were already closed tight, it was not unreasonable for her to presume the air inside her home was safe, but she owned a respirator and would keep it handy as a safety precaution. Once she changed into clean clothes, she noticed her long thick hair still felt oily. She pulled it forward, sniffed it twice and shrugged. It smelled like her mango peach shampoo. Nothing more. Closer examination only showed that a half inch band of gray roots needed touching up beneath her bottle-blonde locks. One eye looked irritated. Pink. She stayed inside, watching the gale rage on but found it difficult to sit still. The strange event had left Jill feeling jittery. Next, the power cut out just after 10:00 p.m. The world outside seemed to take on a surreal glow. She noticed how the odd, oily rain beaded up and rolled off everything then formed iridescent puddles. Jill spent a fitful night on her couch marked by disturbing dreams. She prayed for the dawn but only awoke to discover that the worst of it was yet to come. That morning, she was roused by a loud crash, and someone was screaming. Getting up from the sofa wasn’t easy. Her skin felt tight as if it had been scorched although it appeared only slightly red. She had taken a few painful steps to the picture window then peered through the drapes. Her head hurt as irritated eyes were hit by the unfiltered rays of sunlight. After taking a moment to adjust her sight to the outside, she saw people she knew wildly waving their arms and shouting while running down the road away from something—apparently, each other. They were all carrying random makeshift weapons. Jill felt astonishment when she saw a brief skirmish between the banker, Carl Knapp, and a storekeeper, Thomas Templeton, both close to retirement age. They each drew blood with a boxcutter, then scurried off to stab and slice others. More people ran by, skirmishes broke out, blood was shed. Jill noticed their skin was stained with bright red blotches. She also saw that the oily puddles had soaked into the not-yet-frozen earth but left behind a rust-colored residue all over the ground, the driveway, and on her white SUV. The ‘red madness’ was everywhere, on everything and everybody. “That must be what’s behind all this,” Jill whispered to no one. How else could she explain why everyone in town except her was acting crazy—certifiably crazy? Ordinary people had gone berserk. yelling nonsense and attacking one another. Jill desperately wanted to help but didn’t dare set foot outside. These people needed to be cleaned. Rinsing them off made sense but she would’ve needed a firehose. The best she had was a fifty-foot garden hose and an electric pressure washer. Useless. Frightened and confused, she continued to discretely watch her wild-eyed neighbors through the narrow space between the drapes. At one point a local squad car came along much to Jill's relief, but she soon realized the officer was taking potshots at people through his open windows. The old couple who lived across the way from her place never got along. By 8:00 a.m. the Stewarts were gone. Jill saw Pam Stewart repeatedly wound her husband, Bill, with a pair of shears, but he got her back with one chop of his ax before they both dropped dead. Jill fought hard to reel in her own emotions. Realizing she was still sane and not entirely helpless, she began securing her home from the ever-growing mob outside. That meant having to make some radical renovations then worry afterward about the extent of the damage. Her main priority had to be her own survival at whatever cost from whatever was going on. Gunshots were heard in the distance. Jill spotted pickup trucks full of heavily armed crazies running carloads of crazies off the road. The mayhem continued at all hours of the day and night. That second night was long and horrifying for everyone involved. Jill stayed awake and crept around her house stockpiling potential weapons by the front and back doors. She tried to eat something. At first, she couldn’t touch a bite but then she couldn’t stop. The next day began with more screams and more gunshots. Jill didn’t risk trying to get away. No one could get away. She decided to stay busy and quiet. By that evening, she noticed it had gotten quiet everywhere. Too quiet. Jill found the silence more unnerving than the anarchy. She stopped looking outside, knowing that bodies were left where they fell. Even the birds hid or flew away for safety—all but the carrion birds. Jill wished she could fly away too. Instead, she passed another sleepless night on her couch with a bad stomachache, shivering in the dark. ***** Ding dong. The doorbell rang a third time. Jill bit down hard on her tongue. Her eyes teared up and overflowed, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Not one peep. As hard as she had tried to stay focused, she felt overtired and overwhelmed by it all and drifted off momentarily. Still, she was confident that her house was well barricaded. She had boarded up all the windows and doors using the expensive hardwood planks from the flooring project she planned on tackling once school let out for summer break. Ding dong. It was the fourth ring, and she felt hope. Her shoulders relaxed. Matt must’ve gotten through, Jill thought. She crept closer toward the front door waiting several anxious moments more in the gloom before the fifth ring eventually came. Ding dong. There! The fifth ring. It was the signal from Matt! Jill raised the bat high over her head and swung. Carefully measured and cut boards broke free from the doorframe they were screwed to as she beat them into fragments. She stopped beating the door only once to look through the peephole just to make sure it was really Matt before dropping her defenses entirely. It was him, all right, in his wide-rimmed black cowboy hat. It seemed she would not have to bludgeon her neighbors after all. Jill thanked God for that, but before she could release the locks, she felt another pang of paranoia, half expecting to see Matt’s dead head stuck on a pole and held up by one of the crazies just to fool her. She looked through the peephole again. “Back up,” she demanded. So relieved to see him standing there finally, Jill risked stepping outside for the first time in two days to hug her friend then she quickly yanked him inside. Her taut skin stung from his firm embrace. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she whispered. Her old beau had promised he would come for her and he did. Matt was always a good reliable guy, she thought. “It’s been a while, kiddo,” he said in that deep friendly tone everyone in town knew well as if they were old chums merely catching up on old times—as if there were no carnage at all just beyond her property. With the oak door slammed shut, Jill hurriedly reset the lock. She hoped Matt brought her news that might explain what the hell had happened. Living alone had never been harder for her as it was during and after that freak storm blew through town. Just then she felt a chill run down her spine as she remembered Matt lived south of her on the same path the red madness had taken. “You okay, buddy? Did the storm reach your place?” she asked him. “Sure I did,” Jill said, followed by an awkward pause. “Those were good times.” Wrong time to get sentimental but we once had some laughs together, didn’t we? She wondered why Matt had never asked her to marry him. It was tough for her to go to other girls’ weddings and to watch them raise families. In time Jill would drive their kids to school. I would have made a good wife and mother— Matt gently patted her arm. His voice took a serious tone. “I won’t lie to you, honey. The death toll is high. But no one here can be blamed for any of it. Luckily the chemical only affects people within the first forty-eight hours of exposure. The rain helped dilute it and keep it from spreading any farther. It was making folks so irrational that they wanted to kill everyone on sight.” Matt backed away from Jill, seemingly unsure if the toxic spill had gotten to her too. “Look I tried to get here sooner, hon, but this whole area was off limits. No one allowed in or out including the powerline repair crews.” Jill wiped away tears and said, “I’m just glad you made it, is all.” She was exhausted. They walked through her home together. Jill had nearly destroyed every room trying to stay safe from the red madness outside then went on to rig up several sturdy clotheslines in her kitchen. Miss Self-reliance Simms kept herself busy for two days and nights with a handsaw and screwdriver then apparently soap and water not knowing what else to do. Her calm, methodical head and resourcefulness most likely saved her life though at times it was touch and go. No! She shook her head even though it hurt to do so. For once she was genuinely grateful that she lived alone, mostly for the kids she never had…or pets for that matter. “You’re all right now. Smart lady, staying indoors, but let’s get you out of here,” Matt said. ***** Luis wept. There was nothing left for him to do or say. He had already heard and seen the Canadian geese heading south for the winter in their striking flying ‘V’ formation one last time. Once he had gotten Shadow, his pickup truck, into position over the train tracks, he killed the engine and tossed his keys out the window. The truck was parked in the wrong lane to avoid the crossing gate. Luis felt his last November rain on his bare skin. Shadow’s engine crackled as it cooled down. Inhaling the crisp night air, Luis smelt the pungent earth and thought he had finally found peace. But soon the gentle rain shower turned into a pounding deluge, so he rolled up his window and waited. The noise was deafening on Shadow’s roof. Luis waited and wept. Minutes later the rain let up just in time for Luis to hear the inevitable train whistle blow. He had timed it well, not wanting to get there too soon in case someone came by asking questions and not so early that he risked losing his nerve. The whistle blasts got louder as the train came closer, warning anyone who might be in the Mill Street crossing at 9:15 p.m. to clear the tracks. Luis had already removed the manual door lock knobs keeping him from pulling them up and jumping out at the last second. And he felt certain his bad back would prevent him from crawling out a window. Luis had deliberately trapped himself inside his only staunch companion. He hoped the freight train’s lone headlight wouldn’t help the operator to spot the dark object in time to stop. Luis didn’t want it to stop or slow down. ***** The train was reliable, keeping a regular schedule. Luis would lay awake in bed each night waiting to hear the whistle blow at 9:15 p.m. before crying himself to sleep. His wife, Trish, lay beside him snoring and already out cold thanks to all the cheap wine she drank. Having to get up early most weekdays, they usually turned in by 8:30. He thought she almost looked pretty in the dark, that she might have been pleasant company when she was quiet and not screaming at him. Luis expected to start a family later in life once he was established. He and Trish became friends in junior high. They developed a physical relationship by tenth grade; something that Luis felt all young men should have, but girls like her were not meant to be keepers. Then again once a new baby shows up, old plans change. He knew the risks. He thought to leave, move in with family out west but stayed to see what he got—it was a boy. Paul was a cute kid, so Luis remained a while longer. A year after graduation, Martha, a daughter came. Luis kept threatening to leave, but once the twins were born, he was tied down for good. All her friends except Jill Simms. She stayed single. He had loved Jill but married Trish. Trish accused him of being a selfish dreamer, saying the real-life demands of supporting a family would do him good. Nobody cared. Working for other men making things other men invented just to put food on the table and clothes on the backs of children other people wanted was not how Luis foresaw his life turning out, not at all what he was supposed to have become. Luis Lewinski’s initial invention patents were going to secure his place amongst the sort of men people took seriously. He would have the support of his equally enthusiastic colleagues and propel his career forward with evermore innovative ideas. Luis expected other men to work for him. That never happened. ***** Suddenly the gate came down, missing Shadow by only inches. At the same time, the two red signal lights started to flash back and forth beside Luis. A clang-clang-clang racket declared the imminent railroad crossing hazard. It sounded like someone repeatedly beating on a saucepan with a ladle. The wind and rain increased. Visibility became nil. The train’s flickering headlamp strained to pierce the moonless night. Luis waited on the wet, windswept tracks for the freight train to slam into him and his Shadow. He chose the freight train rather than the commuter train figuring that would have caused far too many injuries, too many deaths. Luis didn’t have a violent bone in his body but knew that suffocating Trish was the only way he’d go through with his suicide. He smothered her with a pillow, not wanting to leave a bloody scene behind for their children to discover. He knew they would miss their mom and that would be hard enough for them to deal with. Luis wasn’t entirely irresponsible, although learning that their own father had killed their mother would overshadow that fact. His brief note simply stated he never intended to hurt anyone else but himself. His last thoughts went back to Jill, and he wished her well. |
Andrée Gendron lives in Massachusetts. Her writing recently appeared online at Folded Word, The Five-Two Poetry, Aphelion Webzine, and Down in the Dirt. Check out her publishing credits, poetry, fiction, and artwork at:
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