No Title for Now

It’s cold on the way home. I shiver. The old church and its yellow yard rest in slumber, a grave yard behind it. It is a cold, calm day in December. School will not be lasting too much longer. It is almost time for Christmas. Still, there’s something sinister, and I quicken my pace. I look up to the dark, overcast sky. A flock of black birds flies overhead. I shiver again. I close my coat. I look at the ring on my finger. My left hand sports a beautiful gold band. David proposed to me just last night. I am in heaven. But there is something eerie in the air.
I look across the street. There is a man standing there. He looks to be about 40. Rugged. Strong. I’m afraid, and an icy pang goes to my abdomen. I jog. By now, I am rounding the yard to turn the corner on to Mourner Drive. I look and see the old, mangled, brown vines flowing down the wrought iron fence like a river of blood. I see the large, centered, black grave marker with an angel – of death – riding on the top, as if he loves his job. I take a breath and begin my walk down the road.
Up ahead, there is a little boy kicking around a large, red, rubber ball. Children’s’ screams of joy ring out from behind the house where the boy is playing. Who lets her children run around alone by a cemetery?
The Sun is gone. I cannot see it. A tornado siren goes off. It is a test. Once… twice… ten times… It is not a test. When I was distracted, the little boy vanished. Something is wrong.
I run to the house where the boy was playing. The house is old and decrepit. Nobody has lived there in years. The lawn is unkempt. In a small ditch lays a tiny skeleton, perfectly preserved. Beside it rests a deflated, red ball. Chills run down my spine. I walk to the backyard. I pray as I go around the corner of the house into the small field. I heard children’s’ screams. I know I did. And I let out my scream. In the yard lay six small skeletons and one large. I run. I run back to the road. I keep running, past the cemetery, onto a dirt road that winds through the country side. I run under the thick trees, their branches reaching, trying to snatch me. I run over hills, past houses and rivers and fences. The sirens are still going in the distance. The Sun is fading more.
I stop. I am close to home, now. I feel stupid for running. I look down the dirt road. I see somebody. Was he there before? There are others. They are strutting out from a yellow fog bank. This is ridiculous.
I walk up the drive way to my house. I walk inside and lock all the doors and shut all the windows. I close the Venetian blinds and our heavy curtains. I turn off all the lights and television. I turn off the radio. I gather all my animals into the living room. And I wait. I make a gap in the blinds and I look outside. Something grabs me from behind. David yells, “Got you!” and I scream. I nearly have a heart attack. “G’d afternoon, gov’nor,” he says, with a cheap grin on his face. He gives me a kiss. He sits beside me, and I rest my head on his lap. “Something wrong?” he asks. I shake my head. “How was work?” I ask. “Oh, you know. How was school?” I nod in agreement. I’m happy he is home. Still, something is not right.
“Did you notice anything on the way home?” I ask. “Oh, you mean like the sirens?” “Yeah, they chilled me when I was walking.” “I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses me again. He can always make me feel better. David gets up to go to the bathroom. I sneak a peek out the window. I look at the shocking scene before me. I run to the door and throw it open, looking out in amazement. David walks up behind me, “Hey, I thought you were supposed to calm down…” His words are cut off as his jaw drops. Outside, every animal we own is lying in the field, their bodies skeletons, rotting, decomposing. There is a foul odor – one I cannot quite identify. There is a thick, yellow fog everywhere. Hundreds of people are running around, screaming in agony. Some have fallen; some have come to their feet again. They are twisted, sick, vile – purely pestilence and decay. The shock hits me, and I fall to the floor, crying. David slams and bolts the door. “Holy shit.” He runs and grabs me, and carries me down into the basement, locking the door as the last of our pets rush into safety. He lays me on the small twin bed – my hero. Before I can smile, he’s already pricked my finger and rushed to grab the insulin out of the refrigerator. He injects me and my blood stabilizes. He holds me, and I relax into my lover’s arms. “What the hell is happening?”
Sulfur. That’s what it smelled like. Thick fire and brimstone, hanging in the air like a boulder. Hell on Earth. That’s what’s happening. That’s what killed the animals. The little boy. The old man. I gaze through the small window at the feet of dead, walking past, groaning in agony, writhing on the ground. I try to make sense of what is happening. I remain in my lover’s arms long into the night, knowing not what is to come.
I wake at around three a.m. There is the familiar stench of sulfur and rotten meat in the air. David isn’t moving. A tear flows down my cheek. I roll out of bed and to my feet. I walk, sobbing, up the stairs, carefully. I don’t turn on the light. I know what I will find. I collect a chrysanthemum from a bouquet. I walk back down, and rest it on his chest. I kiss his forehead, and I start to cry. When I look up to his body, his face is looking back at me. His eyes are dull and lifeless. He is bleeding all over. He moans and reaches for me. I push myself back. I grab the poker from the fireplace set we keep in the corner. “Please, God, don’t make me do this.” David stands. He cocks his head. Blood pours onto the floor. “God, please,” I beg. He moves toward me. I am against the wall. He takes another step. I draw the iron bat backwards. He charges, and I swing. The force of his two-hundred pounds throws my wimpy 5’2” body into the wall. I wretch as the air is knocked out of me. He’s fallen, though. I gather my wind as best I can and bludgeon his corpse, writhing with every movement. Tears stream out of my eyes. He stops moving and collapses entirely. His blood is all over me. I throw the chrysanthemum on him again. I pick up the pistol and rifle we keep in our bedroom. I walk out the door into the cold mourning air to a surprise bulletin: “Attention, we have received word that a deadly fog bank has the potential to kill, and revive. Please, stay inside.” I put the pistol to my head. I pull the trigger.

Click. Fuck. I fall to my knees and bawl. I scream. I cry. “Why? Why did you make me kill him, you fucking son of a bitch? What the fuck is wrong with you? I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I pound the ground.
Two minutes later, I’m back to my feet. I grab extra bullets from the house and return to the cold morning. I start the short walk into town. People are running everywhere. The sulfur is back. But I don’t care. I want to die. A couple of them tried to grab me. They failed.
I arrive at the department store and walk inside. I pick out a few things – a radio, a pair of jeans, stronger boots, and a better shirt. I tune the radio to 86.6 FM and listen to the reports. Outside, I find a van with the keys inside. I pull the skeleton out onto the ground and climb in. “For fuck’s sake, it’s a soccer mom.” I wince at the two children’s skeletons in the back seat, and pull them out as well. Fuck. I’m going to hell for this. I get in, and I drive. I don’t know where to go. I have nowhere to go. I have nobody to help me. Nobody at all. I tune the van’s radio to another station. Hello… Is anybody out there? Please, help me. I’m all alone. I think these people… they’re dead or something. Just… Help, somebody?” The broadcast was on 92.4 FM. I know where that tower is. I turn off onto an exit and turn around. It’ll be an hour’s drive to the tower. Maybe twenty minutes if I can beat the traffic.