Pallor

Chapter 2 -Lindy (second Draft)

2

                   While Holland was sleeping before university started in another state Lindy was just getting home at six in the morning after having been at work as a bar maid all night. The apartment was, as usual, dark and quiet. Lindy had lived alone for a long time, almost twenty years. Life had not been so kind to Lindy, her parents had disowned her at a young age and she had been forced to live on the streets for much of her pre and post pubescent life.
         At seventeen she had gotten herself pregnant to a junkie called Louie. Louie had beaten her every night of her pregnancy and she was lucky that she didn’t loose the child. She ended up fleeing Louie and going to a women’s shelter that helped her through her remaining three weeks of pregnancy, then helped her get on her feet, get a job and a shitty apartment in a basement.

It wasn’t long before Louie tracked her down.

         Three weeks later Lindy and Louie were involved in drug activity, were arrested and her baby was taken from her. She got out not long after and was denied access to her daughter.

She had been living alone ever since.

         At thirty eight she was very lonely and thought of her daughter every day. She had seen her once in that time, when she graduated from high school. Her daughter had never tried to find her.
Her name was Shelly.
Louie, Lindy and Shelly. It was meant to be.
         Lindy had been sleeping for a couple of hours when there was thumping at her apartment door. The apartment was small and dingy, the bed room led onto a large room that was used as lounge, kitchen and dining room and also led to the front door, the only other room a small bathroom with enough room for a toilet, shower and sink.
Shared laundry downstairs including an old, rusty dryer.
The floor was covered in a horrible green-blue carpet, the walls cream with orange flowers. Miss-matched furniture from second hand shops and government collection piles decorated the room.
She staggered past the lounge chair and table to the door, unlocking the dead bolt but keeping the chain in place.

“What you want?” she croaks through the crack, it is her neighbour on the right, Mr. Clark,
“Lindy, help me! Oh Jesus, something fucked up is happening. Mrs. Wilks down the hall, she attacked people, Jesus, let me in, LET ME IN!” he is screaming at her, and as if to punctuate the urgency of the situation a ghastly wail fills the hallway from where Mrs. Wilks lives.
“Oh Jesus, he’s coming, hurry!” he yells, voice shaking and whiny.
         Lindy unhooks the chain and lets Mr. Clark in. As soon he crosses over the threshold he slams the door shut behind him, engaging the locks and chain. He starts pushing Lindy's three seater lounge against the door, sweating as he shoves at it. He is a very unfit man, overweight and balding, but still handsome in a strange way.
Lindy snaps out of her post-sleep daze and picks up the other end of the couch. They push it hard against the door then add an old book case and the metal and plastic kitchen table.
“What in the fuck is going on Mr. Clark?” Linda says her breath coming in short, sharp rasps,
         “I…I don’t really know.  Mrs. Jacobs was down stairs when I went down to get my paper. She was being attacked by a cat, it looked like it had rabies or something, sick with something. I kicked the cat and it let go, but it came back at her again, so I kicked it in the head, it’s head just…just… caved in. I….I….I didn’t want to kill it, but it just wouldn’t stop. Then…then…then…then I took her upstairs, to her lounge. I called the doctor, he…he…he called an ambulance. By the time they had got her she was turning grey and…and…and shivering, Then, about twenty minutes ago, she d…d…died. The medics came and had put her on the gurney when she sat up and stared at the wall. They were looking for her pulse when she…when she…when she bit him on the neck, tore a big…big…big chunk out of his neck.
         "He died so quick, I couldn’t do anything, so quick.
She attacked the other medic but he hit her and knocked her back.
Bam!
Like the cat, just like that fucking cat, she came back over and over again. He kept hitting her, then he picked up a candle holder and smacked her over the head.  The blood…the blood…ooooh the blood was already congealed. We didn’t know what to do, so he went down to call for help from the ambulance, and I went in to tell the super.
         “When I cam back, the medic was standing up again in her room, attacking his partner, then he turned and I….I ran and shut the door, I shut the door, I shut the door….I shut the door and I left…I left…I left….I left him. I shut the door, I shut the door, I shut the door….”
         Mr. Clark looks at Lindy, his eyes big, fearful.  His wire rimmed glasses make him look like a little boy. Lindy places her calloused hands on either side of his face, staring into his eyes,
“We’ll be alright now, we are safe now. I’ll call the police and everything will be ok, just calm down,” she says, her long blond hair framing her kind but aged face.
As she turns to leave there is a thump at the apartment door, followed shortly by an animalistic growl and two more thumps.
                   “Oh shit, it’s him. IT’S HIM!” Mr. Clark screams shrilly, becoming irrational as his fight or flight response clicks into over drive.

         Lindy thought he was being a little over dramatic, the guy wasn’t going to get in.

“Fuck off idiot, you’re mot coming in” she screams through the door.
The bashing stops and her words are answered by another growl. It starts again, more violently this time. The lounge jumps forwards with the impact, they can hear the wood splintering with each hit. Then, just as Lindy starts to worry, the man on the other side lets out another growl and begins running down the hall. They hear something drop on the floor and a shriek, followed by more growls and hellish screaming.
“Jessica, Tom’s wife…” Mr. Clark mutters, staring at the  door.
         Lindy called the cops straight away, they were told to stay inside and hide, this was going on every where so it may take a while for the cops to turn up.  After half an hour the man was back again, trying to knock the door down and the cops hadn’t turned up. They didn’t know what to do.

Looking out the window Lindy sees the fire escape. They climb up to the next floor, closing the window behind them. In the above apartment no lights are on and the window is locked.
On the next floor Lindy experienced her oh shit moment.
She was above Mr. Clark on the ladder and as her eyes crested over the windowsill she saw something that just made her mind grind to a halt.
         In the room above are two bodies in pieces, scattered around the lounge and coffee table. In the middle of the table sits a little old man chewing on a piece of pink, fresh, meat. He smile as he eats, enjoying himself. In the corner of the room, crying, is a small child. He is blonde, maybe four years old. He is screaming in fear, his face stained pink from his tears. The old man ignores him and continues to eat happily, sitting cross legged on the coffee table like a yoga master. The television is on and is casting strange shadows around the room as the eerie blue lighting flickers on and off. In the picture on the wall facing her two smiling people, a man and woman, watch the scene before them with happiness on their faces. 
“Dear god, fuck me Christ and send my soul to hell. What is going on in this apartment block?” She asks after a moment and continues to climb upwards.

The next room up was also dark and empty, but the window was open. They both climbed inside. As first order of business Lindy turned on the lights, then they checked all the rooms. The apartment was empty. Lindy looked around, through draws and cupboards, until she found a knife.

“I’m going back down, going to get the kid. Shut the window behind me and keep a look out, open it when I’m coming back up” she says, and without another word she makes her way back down the ladder, prepared to kill the old man to save the young boy.

Lindy also told me her story in the same night.
It is strange, to hear different aspects of the same event. All different yet similar to my own. We played cards and shot shit, spoke our minds, let it out.
Cry or laugh, you have to decide.
We found solace in our own company, knowing that everyone else in the room has been fucked up as much as you is comforting, but sometimes some survivors make a game out of it  -
“Oh, you were hiding in the basement for a week with only water, some coke and frozen meals, Ha! I was hiding in a cupboard with bare minimum water, and a loaf of bread for two weeks”
They give you the shits, they really do.
Lindy always counters with “ I saw an old yoga instructor eating his daughters right breast in front of his grandson, watched four dogs eat a grown man alive. Give me your cupboard any day”.

That is Lindy.

Has so much spirit for someone who has been shat on so often with such force.
Laugh.
Cry.