and out the door. Sleep was out of the question. I needed to find out what was going on.
I RAN. ALTHOUGH THE SUN WAS UP IT WAS BITTER COLD, THE way a clear January day can be in Boston, and I hadn’t gone back for my jacket. The streets were nearly deserted, and in a few minutes I was through the checkpoint and standing in front of Creature Comforts. The icy door handle hurt my fingers. It would be warm inside. And maybe I could talk T.J. into brewing some coffee. Thawing my frozen hands around a steaming mug sounded like the best idea I’d had in a week.
I pulled open the door. “Hey, T.J., how about some coffee?”
No answer. I didn’t see him anywhere. Probably cleaning the restrooms. If I worked here, I’d put off that job until the last possible moment.
Okay, I’d grab my watch and put on a pot for both of us. I stepped inside and headed for the bar.
My foot hit something slippery and skidded out from under me. I went flying, arms windmilling as I tried to stay balanced. Didn’t work. As I fell, the smell hit me. Foul, like rotten meat, overlaid with a sharper, acid stink.
I landed on my side and kept sliding. The floor was covered with the slippery stuff. And so was I—my hand, my arm, all down my right side and leg. I came to a stop and rolled over to sit up. The smell was so bad my stomach heaved, and I swallowed hard a couple of times to get control. I lifted my hand; a gob of blackish slime dripped from my palm. What the hell was it? The stench of it made me retch again. Good thing I hadn’t had breakfast. My first stop, after I’d retrieved my watch, would be the ladies’ room to wash this gunk off me.
Disgusting. No matter how good T.J. was with customers, Axel would fire the kid when he saw this mess.
Gingerly, I put my left hand on the floor next to me so I could use both hands to push myself up. A lump pressed into my palm. I picked it up: a gold ring, shaped into the initials T.J.
A ragged stub of finger still wore it.
I hurled the ring away. It skittered across the floor and came to rest against the back wall. I tried to scramble to my feet but slipped and fell again, landing hard on my ass. My hand came down on a scrap of fabric. It was turquoise, with part of an orange hibiscus petal. The rest of the room came into focus now: other bits of fabric, scraps of flesh, bone shards, clumps of sandy hair. Something had torn T.J. to pieces. Or worse. There wasn’t enough flesh here to make a whole zombie. I looked again at the slimy black gunk dripping in strings from my hand. Dear God. What could turn a zombie into this ?
Slowly, with effort, I climbed to my feet. As fast as I could without sprawling again, I made my way across the room. Past a bucket and mop, which stood there as if waiting for T.J. to get to work. Past tables, some of them, I now noticed, toppled over. Past the end of the long bar. At the back, the floor was cleaner. I pounded on the locked door that Norden hadn’t got through, the door to Axel’s lair.
“Axel!” I screamed. “Axel, get up here!” I pressed my ear against the door, but I couldn’t hear a thing. Was it sound-proofed? Damn it all, Axel had to know about this. I kept on pounding and screaming. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
My hand felt like I’d fractured at least a couple of bones and I was starting to go hoarse when I heard a lock click, and then two more. The door swung open toward me, and I had to jump back to avoid being hit. That made me fall again, thanks to the slime on the soles of my boots. Axel’s angry face loomed way, way up there, somewhere near the ceiling. But his expression changed to alarm when he saw me.
“What happened?”
“I don’t—All this—” The words weren’t coming. I gestured around the bar. “T.J.”
Axel’s brow lowered as he surveyed the room. “T.J. made this mess?”
I shook my head and saw a glint of metal on the floor a couple of feet away. I reached over and picked up T.J.’s ring,
I RAN. ALTHOUGH THE SUN WAS UP IT WAS BITTER COLD, THE way a clear January day can be in Boston, and I hadn’t gone back for my jacket. The streets were nearly deserted, and in a few minutes I was through the checkpoint and standing in front of Creature Comforts. The icy door handle hurt my fingers. It would be warm inside. And maybe I could talk T.J. into brewing some coffee. Thawing my frozen hands around a steaming mug sounded like the best idea I’d had in a week.
I pulled open the door. “Hey, T.J., how about some coffee?”
No answer. I didn’t see him anywhere. Probably cleaning the restrooms. If I worked here, I’d put off that job until the last possible moment.
Okay, I’d grab my watch and put on a pot for both of us. I stepped inside and headed for the bar.
My foot hit something slippery and skidded out from under me. I went flying, arms windmilling as I tried to stay balanced. Didn’t work. As I fell, the smell hit me. Foul, like rotten meat, overlaid with a sharper, acid stink.
I landed on my side and kept sliding. The floor was covered with the slippery stuff. And so was I—my hand, my arm, all down my right side and leg. I came to a stop and rolled over to sit up. The smell was so bad my stomach heaved, and I swallowed hard a couple of times to get control. I lifted my hand; a gob of blackish slime dripped from my palm. What the hell was it? The stench of it made me retch again. Good thing I hadn’t had breakfast. My first stop, after I’d retrieved my watch, would be the ladies’ room to wash this gunk off me.
Disgusting. No matter how good T.J. was with customers, Axel would fire the kid when he saw this mess.
Gingerly, I put my left hand on the floor next to me so I could use both hands to push myself up. A lump pressed into my palm. I picked it up: a gold ring, shaped into the initials T.J.
A ragged stub of finger still wore it.
I hurled the ring away. It skittered across the floor and came to rest against the back wall. I tried to scramble to my feet but slipped and fell again, landing hard on my ass. My hand came down on a scrap of fabric. It was turquoise, with part of an orange hibiscus petal. The rest of the room came into focus now: other bits of fabric, scraps of flesh, bone shards, clumps of sandy hair. Something had torn T.J. to pieces. Or worse. There wasn’t enough flesh here to make a whole zombie. I looked again at the slimy black gunk dripping in strings from my hand. Dear God. What could turn a zombie into this ?
Slowly, with effort, I climbed to my feet. As fast as I could without sprawling again, I made my way across the room. Past a bucket and mop, which stood there as if waiting for T.J. to get to work. Past tables, some of them, I now noticed, toppled over. Past the end of the long bar. At the back, the floor was cleaner. I pounded on the locked door that Norden hadn’t got through, the door to Axel’s lair.
“Axel!” I screamed. “Axel, get up here!” I pressed my ear against the door, but I couldn’t hear a thing. Was it sound-proofed? Damn it all, Axel had to know about this. I kept on pounding and screaming. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
My hand felt like I’d fractured at least a couple of bones and I was starting to go hoarse when I heard a lock click, and then two more. The door swung open toward me, and I had to jump back to avoid being hit. That made me fall again, thanks to the slime on the soles of my boots. Axel’s angry face loomed way, way up there, somewhere near the ceiling. But his expression changed to alarm when he saw me.
“What happened?”
“I don’t—All this—” The words weren’t coming. I gestured around the bar. “T.J.”
Axel’s brow lowered as he surveyed the room. “T.J. made this mess?”
I shook my head and saw a glint of metal on the floor a couple of feet away. I reached over and picked up T.J.’s ring,
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