Hostile Takeover

William Santiago escorted an overconfident exterminator through the bank, down the stairs, past an empty employee lunchroom.  While they walked along a narrow well lit corridor, he couldn't help but think about his troubles. 

Damn landlady always pressuring me to pay the rent on time.  She won't have the cracks in the kitchen wall fixed.

"So how long have you people had problems with rats?" The exterminator didn't have a typical New Yorker's accent.  They stopped by a steel door, which had a sign that read, SUPPLY ROOM. 

"I don't know.  I started working here less than a month ago."

The varmint hunter carried a big plastic container with large holes in it.  They grimaced as a foul stench permeated through the door.  He dropped the container, lifted a finger to his nose and said, "Sir, you have serious rodent problem," his German accent became more distinguished.

The blond-haired exterminator wore blue overalls which featured a tight white t-shirt with a logo of two lightning bolts and a puff of smoke centered around gold lettering that boasted, Vince's Varmints Exterminating Services.  Long fingers traced his goatee while he contemplated the proper course of action.

I wish this loser would hurry up already. What am I thinking?  I'm in no hurry to get back to my boring job.

The exterminator's biceps flexed as he snapped a lid on the container.  "You should stay here.  I'll take Killer out of his cage and turn him loose."

"Killer?"

The young hunter lifted a side panel and pulled out a large orange-striped cat.  He said, "The best way to get rid of the varmints is by feeding them to a cat." He raised the feline to William's face and added, "This is Killer."

The cat hissed causing William to jump back. Shit! a psycho cat!  "Look, I'm not allowed to let you go in there by yourself."

The pest control expert rolled his eyes, smiled and muttered, "Suit yourself."  He nodded for William to open the door.  William inserted the key in the lock and turned it.

"We have to rush inside," the exterminator's eyes filled with anticipation, "close the door behind us." 

They went inside the supply room led by the eager foreigner.  Fumes of rot and decay assaulted their nostrils.  The exterminator turned on his flashlight and cringed.  Shredded cardboard boxes littered the room.  Rat droppings spread throughout the shelves.  The beam of light revealed rats.  They covered all shapes and sizes.  Some were gray, others brown, and others black.  More than twenty rats scattered on the shelves.  Tails flickered about in overturned boxes.  The more the exterminator moved the flashlight, the more cretins it revealed. 

The cat jumped out of the exterminator's arm and bolted towards a huge gray rat.  Intoxicated by the horrid fumes, both men ran out of the abandoned supply room closing the door behind them. 

William gagged and fought off the desire to puke. 

"Sorry, sir.  I should have given you a mask."

Now he tells me.  Damn idiot.

A huge commotion roared through the walls.  A loud thud, followed by a crash, alarmed the men who were still trying to catch their breaths.

"What the hell was that?" William asked.

"Listen." The exterminator gazed at William with raised eyebrows.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly."  This time the exterminator handed him a mask, put one on himself, and led him inside the room.  The young hunter provided ample cover since he towered at six feet while William stood under five-foot-eight inches. 

The bulky, blond, mountain of a man guided his flashlight throughout the room.  The rats that had previously occupied the shelves were no longer there.  An unusual tearing sound echoed throughout the humid quarters. 

"What's that scraping noise?"  William asked.

Moving closer to the far wall, following the eerie sound, they stopped.  A slew of rats fed on the cat.  Its intestines were exposed as each rodent tugged for possession. 

Both men ran out of the room.  The once confident exterminator shook as he pleaded with his supervisor on the phone.  William struggled to regain his composure.  His bronzed skin paled in comparison to the aged, young German who shouted obscenities. 

"I'm not going back there again.  Damn it! Listen to me!  The bastards are feeding on Killer.  Oh yea, well I quit!"  He slammed the phone and said, "Don't ever go back there.  If one should bite you, you'll never be the same again."

A man's home should be his sanctuary and William lived in a railroad apartment in Brooklyn where he found solace against the daily rigors of Manhattan.  He cringed when he thought about the day's encounter.  His modest abode featured a medium-sized kitchen with an antique style pantry.  A two-liter plastic bottle of Pepsi stood at the center of a round, wooden table.  A few unpaid bills rested against the bottle.  The center wall featured a mantle that sported an empty glass vase.  Just below the edge, a brown wastebasket stood next to a small, white stove.

William craved something sweet.  He opened a bag of chocolate kisses, took three pieces, and placed the candy back in his coat pocket before dropping it on a brown sofa. 

A scraping noise, followed by a small thud, drew his attention.

Damn it, don't tell me I have rats here too.  He glanced at the supposedly empty trashcan and spotted two gray baby rats jumping high, trying to escape.  "Well, well, what do we have here?"  William figured they fell off the stove and into the empty trashcan.  Hmm. How should I kill you?  He pondered the question, one hand on his waist, the other on his chin.  He scanned the kitchen looking for a weapon.  In a corner, a wooden broom lay ready.  William unscrewed the stick from the base of his makeshift weapon and looked inside the waste basket.

The little cretins jumped, desperate to escape.

"You're not taking over this place, you bastards."

William jabbed the tip of the stick in quick merciless fashion.  The rats squealed but died when he crushed their puny skulls.  He dumped them in a bag and threw them away outside the building.  I ain't letting those fuckers take over this house.

"What were you doing, Honey?"  William's wife, Anita, awoke when she heard him shut the door.

"We have a rat problem."

"Is the baby all right?

He gazed lovingly into the baby's crib.  His heart warmed as he leaned in and kissed her pink cheek.  God I love how babies smell.

"She's fine."

William had trouble falling asleep because he knew rats could take control of an environment if no one kept them in check.  His thoughts turned to what they'd done to Killer, the cat.  He prayed, and shuddered when he thought about his four-month-old daughter.  Stinking Rats!

When William awoke, his wife had taken the baby to her mother's house.  He couldn't believe it when he heard a familiar sound coming from the kitchen.  It can't be.

He scowled when he saw two more rats in the can.  One hopped high but couldn't escape.  The other seemed too tired to jump.  "Fine, you little shits.  How do you want to die?"

He recalled the fun he had with the broomstick but thought about a different type of solution.  He lit the stove and put water to boil in a large black pot.  While it simmered, he stuffed chocolate kisses in his mouth and watched ESPN.  After awhile, he went to the kitchen and noticed both rats resting in the empty can.  Careful not to burn himself, he lifted the pot of boiling water and poured it into the trashcan.  The high-pitched squeals carried throughout the apartment.  The rodents never had a chance.  They were scorched and eventually drowned.  Damn, that was cruel.  Fuck it.  This is war.

Later that day, William drove to Long Island and purchased a gas-powered pellet gun that looked like a revolver.  He shot himself two more rats, each larger than all the others he had killed.  His boasting of the kills encouraged his wife to return with the baby.

By evening, he sat in the bathroom, on what he called the throne, reading an old sports magazine.  Upon completing his biological needs, he went to his room and found his wife covered up to her neck, moaning with pleasure.

"Wow!  You started without me?"

Her eyes opened wide.  She screamed holding her hands by her face, fingers twirling until she balled them, making fists.

William slid the covers off her.  A long, thick tail flapped about by her thighs.  Blood began spreading on the white sheets. 

"God!" William's voice cracked.  He thought about grabbing the massive brown rat but sharp beads of sweat scurried down his spine.  Instead he reached for his pellet gun.  "Damn it!"

Ana screamed in agony, prompting the baby to wake, her cries added a horrid note to the chaotic symphony. 

"You bastard!" William's hands trembled making it difficult to aim his weapon.  Ana lost consciousness.  Seeing his chance, he fired, striking the rotten creature.  Its beady eyes glared at him.  He fired again, making the animal flinch in anger.  It scurried off  under his legs, forcing him to jump high in disgust.  The beast moved past the baby's room, beyond the living room, and to the kitchen.

Exhausted and chilled, William returned from the hospital where his wife remained stable.  His mother-in-law kept the baby at her house.  Hoping to get his family back, he vowed to be rid of the varmints once and for all. 

In his hurry to help his wife and get the baby out of harms way, he had forgotten his coat.  The adrenaline rush made him numb.  The cool autumn breeze served as a cold slap in the face instead of a hindrance to him physically.

As soon as he entered the apartment through the kitchen, a scraping noise coming from his living room caught his attention.  The monstrous brown rat, with a piece of skin torn off, lay on his coat in defiance.  Its two large teeth snarling, daring him to come closer.

His pellet gun, which proved useless against this creature, lay on the dresser in his bedroom.  He weighed the option of sprinting to his room and fetching the futile weapon, or finding another more potent method to dispose of his enemy.  His heart raced when the rat snarled.  I get it.  You're the bitch that gave birth to those critters I killed.

The fat rat stood on its hind legs as if reading William's thoughts, daring him to move.

"This is my apartment," he screamed hoping it would become frightened and scurry off, "not yours."

She inched away from him towards the edge of the sofa.

He grinned, "You want me to grab my coat, don't you?"

She sat on the wide armrest and looked away, baiting him to pick up the coat.

He eased the coat off the sofa.  Slips of silver cascaded to the floor.  He recalled leaving chocolate kisses in his pocket.  The mutilated garment triggered images of ripped boxes and a horrid stench.  Then he remembered, Killer, the shredded cat.

The beast sprung at William prompting him to catch the fur ball.  The momentum knocked him to the floor.  The fat furry blob gnawed at his face.  Its claws scratching his neck.  Its dark eyes glazed a devilish red.  He tried to squeeze it tight but the rat maintained its vigorous determination to rip his throat.  He struggled with the vermin as he slammed his elbows against a wooden coffee table.  Its high-pitched wails made him cringe.  He dug his fingernails deep into the creature causing more squeals.  "Die bitch!"  He heaved the rat against his stereo shattering the glass door.  It scurried into the kitchen under the stove.

The hospital room's dim lights and cozy burgundy leather chair provided William enough comfort to doze while his wife slept on the bed.  He awoke to what sounded like paper being crumbled. 

His bruised elbows ached, the scratches on his neck burned, and his wrists required bandages.  The realization that his wife battled infection complicated their chances at living a normal life.  There was no way she would go back to that apartment. 

Ana awoke screaming.  "I'm here, Baby," He stroked her black, curly hair and kissed her forehead.  Great, now she'll have nightmares for the rest of her life.
 
As soon as Anita quieted and fell under her drug-induced spell, William went to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water.  Dark circles surrounded his sunken brown eyes.  Exhaustion took over so he sat back in the chair.  Unlike his wife, he refused to sleep.  Every time he shut his eyes the rustling of papers broke his trance.  He listened.  His muscles tensed while he gripped the armrests and sat at attention.  That bitch won't leave me alone.

Then a nurse entered the room, riffling through papers she had clipped on a board, much to his relief.  She administered antibiotics to Ana and left the room.  Within seconds, the noise started again.

He rose and followed the scraping sound to the other side of the bed.  He glanced up at the foamed tile ceiling just above the window.  Pieces of foam fell to the floor.  He raised both fists over his head and yelled,  "I hate rats!"

The colossal rodent busted through the fragile tiles landing on him.  The sudden force sent him crashing through the glass window, with enemy in hand, down eight stories.  A loud bone crunching thud, followed by intense pain awoke William.  The cold hospital floor tiles alerted him to a better reality.  He winced as his fingers traced a growing lump.  His head had bounced off a small wooden cabinet.  Thank God it was just a dream.

While he sat back in the chair, rubbing his head, he thought about what the German exterminator had told him. If one should bite you, you'll never be the same again.

William got up and stood over his wife, his eyes watering.  He mumbled, "I can't let you infect the baby." 

Through his blurry vision, he saw Ana open her eyes, confused. 

"You can't infect the baby." He snatched the pillow from under her and held it down over her face.  Her body writhed.  He trapped her arms with his body, yet she still tried to push him off.  Tears flowed down his cheeks, wetting the pillow.  He cried when she ceased to struggle.  With a soft tenderness, he removed the pillow and propped it neatly under her head.  He closed her mouth and shut her eyelids.

"I can't let anyone infect my baby.  Please forgive me." He knelt down beside her lifeless body, and prayed.

A loud thud sprung William off his bed.  With lightning quick reflexes he reached for his new weapon of choice.  He pointed a Smith and Wesson nine millimeter 6906.  The small but potent firearm carried a twelve round clip and alloted for an extra round in the chamber.  Pounding.  His head pounded while his eyes focused.  It took him a few minutes to realize that he was in his apartment and someone knocked on his door.  He stumbled with gun in hand, clothes wrinkled, and hair disheveled.  "Who is it?"

A female's voice answered, "N.Y.P.D.  We'd like to ask you some questions."

He tucked his gun behind his back and covered it with his shirt.  He opened the door.  A petite, dark-haired, Hispanic woman flashed her ID and said, "Detectives Ramirez and Harper.  Have you seen Mrs. Torres today?"

The six-foot-tall African American male that stood next to her glanced past William trying to see beyond the kitchen.

The landlady? Now what?  "No, I got back a couple of hours ago from the hospital."

Detective Harper asked, "Are you sick?"

William nodded, "My wife is hospitalized.  A rat attacked her."

Detective Ramirez wrinkled her nose, "How is she?"

"She's infected."

"That's too bad," Detective Harper said, "Say do you have a key to the basement?"

"Sure." William led them down the narrow wooden stairwell.  The familiar stench of mold and rat droppings hit him hard.  "How long has she been missing?"

Detective Ramirez answered, "A couple of days."

The dreaded scraping sound began as soon as William pulled a string, turning on the light bulb. 

Detective Harper checked the boiler room and said, "All clear here."

The scraping became louder the more William moved towards a supply closet door. 

"Damn, it stinks down here," Detective Ramirez said, pinching her nose.

The smell of death.  "Rats.  This place is infested.  I've complained to Mrs. Torres but all she cares about is her rent."

Detective Harper said, "You can sue her you know."

William opened the supply closet door.  He gasped at Mrs. Torres' lifeless body, propped in a sitting position against the wall, on the cement floor.  Her empty eye sockets chilled him.  Her half eaten tongue dangled over chapped lips.  The stench of decomposing body mixed with the familiar rot of rat infestation. 

William lay on a gurney.  An attendant strapped him tight while a nurse prepared for the drugs to be administered intravenously.  A doctor wearing a white lab coat waited, eager to flip the three switches that would send William to his destiny.

A man, dressed in a black pinstripe suit, spoke through a glassed partition from an intercom just outside the room and asked, "William, why did you do it?  Why did you shoot Detectives Ramirez and Harper?"

These fools are so blind.  They don't understand.  I had to do it.  I had no choice.   "They were infected."

The man pressed on, "Tell us again, what happened?"

The doctor flipped the first switch.

William's gaze took him beyond the air conditioning vent, above his head, passed to what led to his current predicament.  "When I opened the supply room and saw Mrs. Torres just sitting there, lifeless, I knew they had killed her.  Sudden movement scared Detective Ramirez and she yelled.  Mrs. Torres had empty eye sockets but something lived inside her.  Then, I saw them in her eyes.  Two black rats stared at us through the corpse's eye sockets.  Before I could react, the rats sprung out and bit her thighs.  Then, smaller but equally hungry rodents jumped on her.  While she lay screaming and struggling on the ground, blood squirted out of her left eye when a large gray rat gnawed and scratched it.  By this point I wondered why Detective Harper hadn't responded to defend his partner.  Well, her screams were so loud that I didn't notice that he too was on the floor battling those demons of decay.  Three large rats tore his throat apart and dug in like a lion chomps at its prey.  I couldn't let them infect me.  So, I took out my gun.  I shot the rat that fed on Detective Ramirez.  It exploded but at that range the bullet served a dual purpose.  She screamed no more.  Then I showed Detective Harper the same mercy."

The man sounded indifferent when he asked, "So, you did them a favor.  You shot the detectives to spare them an agonizing death?"

William did not respond, his eyes still focused on the past. 

"And your wife?  Did she deserve for you to smother her to death?"

His gaze returned to the man in the suit.  He noticed the receding hairline, and his pointed nose reminded him of them, the evil rats.  I couldn't let her infect the baby.  They see a criminal.  I'm a hero damn it!   "She was infected.  Can't you see?  They're coming.  Listen."  He heard the familiar scraping noise.

The doctor flipped the second switch sending another dose of medication into William.

"God make it stop!" William yelled.  He writhed and rocked until the medication raced through his system and took hold.  The sound of heavy rain surrounded them, prompting the nurse and doctor to look up at the air conditioning duct.

"Do you still stick to your story?"  The man asked, "That you killed them because they were infected?"

William's eyes sparkled.

The doctor flipped the final switch.  Any of the switches could claim William's life.

The scraping got louder.  The man outside of the room placed his palms on the glass in wonder.  Dirt landed on William's face.  The air conditioning duct drummed and shook.  Whiskers showed through the vent.

It's coming! William shouted in his mind.  In actuality he had lost the power of speech.  He couldn't move a muscle.  He heard the people inside the booth fighting off the creatures as they latched onto their white coats.  The nurse screamed.  Then, the big brown rat veered its ugly head through the vent above William.  It grinned and attacked.