The Rising Dead, Page 2

  “Happy Birthday, Mister President,” she sang slowly in a perfectly breathy, high-pitched rendition of Marilyn Monroe. With one hand she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, removing it with a quick motion and flinging it at Donovan. It landed over his head like something out of a bad 80's sitcom. Donovan was too distracted by her sudden nudity to reply. Poppy used her right arm to cover herself quickly, a slight blush obscuring her facial features, as she twisted back and forth in her bikini bottom panties. A warm breeze wafted under her white bra and made it flap around Donovan's head like a headbanger at a metal concert. Poppy laughed unabashedly as Donovan shook his head back and forth, trying to get it off.

  “You are a bad girl,” he said matter-of-factly. “Are you aware of that, miss?”

  She lifted the index finger from her free hand to her lips and bit down gently on her fingernail, a coy maneuver that made something deep down inside of Donovan stir to life as he stared into her deep sea foam green eyes.

  “Uh huh.”

  He pulled the loose bra off his head and flung it at her feet.

  “I thought so. Well, I guess there’s just no way around it. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I'm going to have to spank you.”

  He sprang at her with a ferocious but playful roar and Poppy, not expecting him to play along, was nearly caught off guard. She shrieked in delighted surprise and leaped out of the way at the last second, pivoting like a gazelle and racing toward the water. Donovan stopped once he’d chased her in, pulling his shirt off, balling it up and chucking it toward the drier part of the sand. Poppy dashed out into the shallow waves, loudly splashing.

  “Come on!” she said with a wave of her hand.

  “Be right there,” he replied. “Hold your horses.”

  “Why don't you come hold them for me?”

  Poppy bounced a little, exposing her pert breasts and perky nipples just above the water to tease him.

  Donovan almost fell over trying to get out of his pants. He stripped down to his boxers, then charged in like he was making up for lost time. The water was cold, but felt good on his skin which already felt broiled from the hot sun reflected off the white sand. When he was up past his waist, Poppy came over and latched herself onto him. As usual, Donovan was just totally amazed by her--the way she moved, the way the light sparkled in her eyes. She was always so full of life, no matter what the circumstances were. He loved that about her, her ability to pull him back from the brink of seriousness. He needed that in his life, especially with all the pressure his family put on him to get good grades.

  What would I ever do without her? Donovan wondered.

  That was something he couldn't even imagine. He hoped he'd never have to either. He pushed it out of his mind as he began plotting his revenge on her. It was time for him to pay her back for toying with him, and he knew just the thing.

  Donovan unhooked her from him and swam out to deeper water.

  “Where are you going?” she whined.

  Donovan waited until the water was over his head. He turned back toward her, smiling. His feet brushed against something slimy, like seaweed. He hated that feeling. It was the whole reason he preferred swimming in the ocean as opposed to a lake, so that he wouldn't have to feel the muck on the bottom. Something large swam past his leg, brushing him with its rough skin. He remembered learning that changes in water due to global warming meant a whole new host of predators were now able to access these waters.

  Don’t spook yourself out over nothing, he told himself.

  Poppy waved for him to come back over to her. She looked nervous.

  “Donovan, come on,” she pleaded. Just then, Donovan was abruptly pulled under water, leaving only a flailing right hand waving frantically. Icy cold fear shot through Poppy. What had she done? She lured him out here and now something was attacking him. She screamed as he thrashed back and forth, fighting his way to the surface. She was paralyzed with fear, her high-pitched scream the only thing her body allowed to escape. Donovan went all the way under, and then everything went quiet. Poppy froze in fear. Bubbles rose to the surface where Donovan had gone under, and then there was nothing. She called out to him, unsure of what to do.

  “Donovan! Donovan!”

  All at once, a burst of bubbles rose up like an explosion to the surface and then Donovan was flying out of the water past his waist. He was laughing! The stitch in Poppy's chest loosened and she let out a nervous laugh that melted quickly into anger as she realized she’d been tricked. She angrily splashed at Donovan as he waded toward her to wrap his arms around her tiny waist. He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head, still upset with him.

  “Don't be cross,” he said. “I was just playing.”

  “That's not funny,” she chided, but she was already softening. He put his hand under her chin and gently turned her face toward his, pulling her into a kiss. She kissed back at first, soft and warm and reassuring, then pulled away and began to swim back to shore. Donovan didn't follow her immediately. Instead he dove back into the water, splashing around wildly like a kid turning an unwanted bath into a new adventure. By the time he dove through a small set of waves, she was already fully dressed, back on the shore pouting.

  “Come on back in, baby,” he shouted to her. “It's really nice.”

  “Not until you apologize,” she icily replied. “You scared the daylights out of me!”

  Donovan was amazed at how quickly her mood had changed. It was one of the few things that bothered him about her, how mercurial she could be. Most girls were like this about once a month, but Poppy was like this all the time. Not that he was a picnic to be around all the time either, with his pensive nature and occasional brooding. He knew he was no saint, so he tried to be as kind to her as he could when she got this way. So far, he hadn't figured out a quick way to change her mood, especially when they were out in public. He'd already tried almost everything he could think of. He just wished there was a phrase he could use or a secret move he could learn that would make everything better again. He suspected that there was, that every woman knew it, they probably printed it in their chick magazines, but they sure as hell didn't plan on sharing it with him. He'd have to do this the hard way so he resigned himself to win her back slowly. Hopefully, the nice day would help sway her mood. Otherwise, it was gonna be a long drive home.

  “I'm sorry baby,” he began, trying to sound as contrite as possible. “You know I didn't mean to frighten you so bad. I was just trying to have a little fun and . . .” Donovan's words trailed off. What he saw walking up behind Poppy made his face twist into a mask of fear.

  “And what?” Poppy demanded, arms folded in front of her, a stern look of anger knitting her brow together. “Go on and finish.”

  He didn't respond at first. A look of absolute terror had washed over his face. This wasn't like Donovan to be so playful, Poppy thought. Despite taking a semester of drama he really wasn't that good of an actor. It was unnerving. Poppy decided she wasn't going to let him trick her twice. He'd never let her live it down.

  “Poppy!” Donovan cried out. “Look out behind you!” He didn't wait for her response this time. Instead, he plunged head first toward her and began swimming as hard as he could in to shore. A huge wave crashed over him, tumbling him like a heavy sweater in a washing machine. He spit water out as he came up coughing and sputtering. The tide pulled back and he got to his feet.

  “Poppy, run!”

  She smirked at him, the anger fading. He was just being ridiculous now. She was sure of it. He had to be. She had never seen him so out of control. If that wasn't an act then what else could it be? He was trying to humiliate her but it wasn't going to work. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being able to tease her for the rest of the year.

  “I'll have you know I grew up with three older brothers,” she began, cocking her head to the side. “I've seen every trick in the book, mister.”

  Just then a cold, wet hand that felt like marble clamped down on her
bare shoulder. Poppy felt an unexpected wave of fear and shock wash over her as she was spun around. Unbridled terror replaced the sinking feeling of surprise as she came to a stop, face-to-face with the diseased features of what looked like a walking nightmare. The sick man was wearing tan slacks and a matching button up shirt streaked down the front with dirty brown stains and dark red stripes that appeared painted on by bloody fingers. Sunglasses rode the top of his head, twisted into the knotted clumps of ratty black hair that remained in between exposed sores and puss-filled boils on his balding scalp. His face was tinged a putrescent shade of gangrene and the skin had lost its elasticity, giving it the appearance of hanging just slightly loose, like on a corpse. His lips were darkened the color of dried blood, with the kind of deep grooves only fire or frostbite could inflict, and his broken and chipped teeth were a terrible mix of rotting gray and bile yellow. His breath smelled sickly sweet, like sugar and sewage, with a cold coming out from him that was as bone chilling as an icy winter wind that penetrated to the core. A low moan that sounded like a rattle starting in his chest erupted out of him, blowing flecks of wriggling white foam from his decaying mouth onto her, as he held her in place with both hands.

  Poppy looked up from the man's mouth to his eyes, and time seemed to stop. Fresh streaks of thick blood poured out of his eyes like a weeping saint. His pupils were large, black, and empty.

  Soulless, Poppy thought, like a dead thing.

  The rest of the eye had turned a dull shade of yellow. Poppy stared, lost and helpless, as his cold grip pulled her closer in toward his open mouth. There was a sharp pain in her shoulder as the sick man bit down into her and tore a chunk of skin away. She cried out in pain, a piercing and unexpected shriek drowned out by the offshore winds and crashing tides.

  Poppy turned her head to see bright blood gushing out of the wound in her shoulder. The living foam, like tiny maggots, was crawling over the bite-shaped opening. She turned her face toward the man holding her, eyeing the hot blood smeared on his face--knowing it was her blood. The taste of her seemed to awaken a deeper hunger in him and he opened his mouth again, his strength redoubled, and he began pulling her in for another bite. Poppy screamed at the top of her lungs, so loud and long that it felt like she was damaging something in her throat. Fear overwhelmed her as she realized she couldn’t stop him from hurting her again. Then, as the terrible mouth came down closer to her shoulder again, Donovan's fist collided with it, knocking the man back and freeing Poppy. Her legs gave out and Poppy fell limply to the soft, warm sand. Her vision was blurry but she could see Donovan raising his fist over and over again, slamming it down into the man's head and chest. At first the man twitched and convulsed. Then, after what felt like a long few minutes, he simply went limp. Donovan raised his foot and stomped down on the man's head for good measure before rushing to Poppy's side. He knelt down by her side and put his arms around her. His skin felt like it was on fire. She didn't realize till now how cold she was. Despite being a warm sunny day only minutes ago, it now felt like it was the dead of winter.

  “Poppy! Are you okay? Talk to me.”

  She wasn't okay. She was shivering all over. She began to cry and her body seemed to tremble even more. It took all the energy she had just to force the words out.

  “It hurts. Who was that guy? Why did he bite me?”

  Donovan let out a loud sigh. He glanced back at the unmoving body behind them.

  “Just some creepy pervert,” he said unconvincingly.

  “Is he dead?” Poppy hoped he was. She was surprised by the intensity of her desire. She had never wished for anything more in her life than she did for his death in that moment.

  “No,” Donovan said a little too quickly. He glanced back again but the man didn't move. “I don't know. I don't think so. I think he's just knocked out.”

  “I hope you killed him,” Poppy said, filled with fresh hate.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I’m . . . not sure,” she stuttered. Donovan frowned. He pulled her to her feet and began examining her wound.

  “Honestly, it's not that bad,” he said, looking a little relieved. “We can get it looked at by a doctor at Urgent Care when we get back home or I can drive you to the emergency room if you don't want to wait that long.”

  Donovan nervously fidgeted.

  “What is it?” Her teeth were chattering as she spoke.

  “It's just that I don't want to have to file a police report,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We weren't supposed to be in the water and I'm not sure how badly injured that asshole is. I know I was within my legal rights to protect you but you never know when someone is going to sue you. California has some crazy laws. They could even go after my family in a civil case.”

  “It's fine,” she managed. “Just get me to the car.”

  “Are you sure?” Donovan felt like a prick but the last thing he needed was her overreacting. It was just a bite. It would heal. What he didn't need was some hopped up ACLU lawyer out to make a name for themselves taking on this illegal immigrants case pro bono and dragging his family into court. He could almost hear his father's angry voice telling him to be a man and just take care of it.

  “I'm so cold,” Poppy whimpered. The urge to sit down and cry overwhelmed her. If it wasn't for him holding her up, she was sure she’d break down.

  “It's just shock,” Donovan offered. “You've had a horrible, traumatic episode. Let's get you wrapped up and in the car, okay baby?”

  Donovan leaned over and picked up their clothes. He slowly began walking Poppy back to the motel. She looked over her shoulder at the man who had attacked her. His body lay still as the grave. A dark oily looking fluid leaked out around his head. The sinking feeling inside of her returned but she told herself it was just the shock. Donovan would take care of her. He always did. The pain in her shoulder was settling into a dull, burning throb. Her joints ached like they were on fire as she walked. It felt almost as if they were stiffening, locking up on her, as if that white foam was filling her up.

  Donovan pulled his own shirt over her head, the blood from her wound soon soaking through the shoulder and making the fabric stick to her. He walked her through the parking lot to her car. It was her car but for a minute she didn't recognize it. Donovan unlocked the passenger side door and helped her sit down. He gently buckled her into the seat and reclined it so she could lie down. The world and everything in it felt like a bad dream and all she wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep--forever.

  Back down on the shore where they'd been playing just moments before two more men in tan outfits came up out of the water and began walking towards the shore.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Satoshi Takahashi's hands shook as he took out samples from the freezer. He set them on the smooth counter with a rattling clatter.

  “Get it together,” he fiercely whispered to himself. “This is no time to fall apart.”

  Satoshi had dreamed of coming to America since he was a little boy. He blamed his older brother, Akihiro, who used to talk about it incessantly in between playing ball in the field near their house as kids.

  “One day I'm going to go to America and be a star pitcher for the New York Yankees,” Akihiro would say. “You will still be here helping mother fold laundry, especially the way you throw!”

  Satoshi thought about the hours he spent helping his mother fold the neighbors laundry. She'd taken on the side work to make up for his father's falling wages, but the arthritis in her hands made the work slow going. Soon word got around of her ability to remove almost any stain and the piles of laundry outstripped her ability to keep up on her own. He was happy to help. His mother often rewarded him with a new book at the end of each week. By the time he was a teenager he had an extraordinary library in his room. He was also doing most of the laundry himself. His mother would sit nearby and read out loud to him, often having no clue what many of the words meant.

  Those were some of the best days of my life, he tho
ught. The memory of the wrinkles in his mother's face made him smile and tear up at the same time.

  His father Hito worked long hours at the plant. Satoshi didn't see very much of him growing up. He only came home long enough to eat before going out to drink away most of his wife's profits. Hito was a man of few words, but from those words Satoshi could tell his father favored his muscular, athletic older brother over him. Satoshi had suffered from Crohn's disease as a young child. It had stunted his growth. It had only lasted for a couple years but he could still remember them vividly, the fever dreams and rashes on his legs. His mother, Meiko, had fretted over him long after the illness had gone into remission. While Akihiro was out exploring the banks of the river bed near their home, getting into scrapes with the local boys, and practicing his pitching, Satoshi was stuck indoors with nothing but his books and his imagination to keep him company. His father, who loved rice wine and American baseball, took to calling him the daughter he'd never wanted.

  “Sick all the time,” he slurred one night, throwing his hot soup spoon at Satoshi's head, “like a weak, good for nothing girl.”

  Satoshi had been accepted to the University on scholarship. He never planned on studying anything but medicine even though he excelled at math as well as science. He breezed through his studies, maintaining a high grade point average and graduating with full honors. Next came med school, along with his successful residency as a pediatrician in Japan. Then another three years in general pediatrics and neonatology in Kyoto.

  Akihiro was drafted by the Angels in Anaheim. He'd become a national star pitching left handed successfully for the Chiba Motte Marines in Nippon. His signature throw - a spiraling, downward breaking split finger fast ball - regularly clocked over 99 mph and left even A-Rod scratching his head on more than one occasion. It was enough to lift the Angels to the playoff's but they fell just short of making the World Series due to an abundance of last minute errors by exhausted outfielders and losing their best player to a fifty game steroid ban. Akihiro had earned the Cy Young for the American League but missed the entire next season due to needing Tommy Johns surgery to repair his arm. He was scheduled to make his comeback against the Yankees but was killed by a drunk driver in Fullerton the night before the game. Satoshi rushed home to be with his family upon hearing the news. Hito fell into a depression that would not lift, drinking to black out and refusing to get dressed or leave the house. His mother took the brunt of his abuse, eventually packing a bag and leaving to her sisters after he blacked her eye. They found Hito drowned in the river the next day, floating face down. It was not clear if he meant to do it or fell in drunk.