Necro-Geist

“I’m about…ten minutes away? It looks like there was some kind of accident, so they’re redirecting traffic.” There was a pause after the woman spoke, and the gravelly voice on the other end came quick and stern through the car’s speakers.

“Daisy Mae Abbott, don’t you get out of that car.”

“Don’t you Abbott me, Cam, I’m not your wife just yet.” She scoffed, but the grin was evident in the noise she made at being referred to as such.

“And you won’t be if you keep findin’ trouble! I’ll…I’ll be marryin’ a gravestone! And it’ll say ‘Here lies Daisy Mae, finder of trouble, died because she couldn’t help but do x, y, and z, and is survived by a very frustrated post-mortem husband.’”

“Alright! I won’t get out of the car. But I hope you know that if they needed a nurse, and I just kept driving because you’re a worry-wort, I’m going to harp on you for weeks about it.”

“I can live with the harpin’ ’cause you won’t be smeared on a highway by some numbskull who didn’t wanna wait.”

It was a common conversation. One that happened more and more often, ever since Daisy had insisted on getting out of her fiances’ truck to rescue an injured dog. Said injured dog was in fact a coyote, and the nip to Daisy’s hand had given the man near fits about her too-good nature.

The sight on the road, however, was a much more grim scene than a few minor wounds. Two cars totaled in what looked to be a head-on collision, the vehicles already near the side of the road against now mangled guide rail. Already there were two figures on the ground, covered to prevent onlookers, and a man strapped to a gurney, who looked to be trying to tear his way out of it. The films never did justice to the amount of devastation that could paint the ground in situations like this.

Bits of metal, black tire streaks, and splashes of red.

An officer stood, dutifully redirecting the cars with a lit road flare that cast an orange glow in the dim light of the evening. With each swoosh of the flare, another car drove past, avoiding the chunks of debris, and the poor bastards on the ground.

“Can you message Jasper? We’re the closest hospital so all this is gonna be heading there, and we were already slammed when I left.”

“Don’t the paramedics let them know en route?”

“Usually, but they’ve just pulled another guy out of the wreck and he’s going ballistic with a hunk of metal sticking out of his chest. And the first guys flipped the gurney on its side twice. If you let him know now, it gives them at least a few extra minutes to get space ready.”

“Shit, alright.” The sound of muffled taps came over the speakers, and Daisy relayed what she could see in terms of injuries, all while being less than gently reminded to keep her butt on that seat.

It wasn’t much of an argument after that, though. She was a nurse, but she was no trauma surgeon. The help that she could offer was minimal at best in comparison to what was needed. So rather than be an extra body to worry about on the field, she continued driving. It hadn’t been the first display of carnage that presented itself that day. The ER had been full of the usual mishaps, though much more in force than usual. Slips off of ladders, broken bones, knives in places they shouldn’t have been.

She’d have bet money on there being a full moon soon enough. She hated the saying, blaming the tides and the moon for the most ridiculous or violent human behaviors; but now and then things seemed to line up just enough that she would relent that people were just a shade or two crazier when the moon was full.

“I’m home!” Daisy called out, tossing her keys onto the decorative little plate, and hanging her bag up. “Looks like the college kids up the street were having a party or somethi—” She kicked off her shoes and moved to the kitchen, where she was promptly met with her husband-to-be wielding a large mug of hot cocoa.

Time-worn flannel rolled to his elbows, and exceptionally clean hands meant that he had been busying himself with something messy and hid the evidence. Were it not for a ruddy smear on his cheek, and an oil rag hastily stuffed in his pocket, she might not have known at all. Both of which Daisy pretended didn’t exist, as she often did. “Oh, you’re a saint. I should marry you.”

“You should. I’m quite the catch. You were sayin’ about college kids giving us more reason to move somewhere else, though?” He grinned and passed the mug over to her.

“Oh, it was a full frat party when I drove by. Someone with a lampshade on their head standing on the roof, and at least three of them throwing themselves into the pool. I think we’re officially the sensible old people on the block.”

“Remind me again why we’re still livin’ here?”

“Mmm, because it’s close to work, and secretly you like when they all come wandering over with ‘You need some help, Mr Abbott?’ when you’re tinkering?” She sipped with a smirk, and sidled into one of the stools at the counter.

“I do not tinker.” Cam scoffed indignantly, his hands at his hips. “I fix things. And they might as well learn some useful skills besides..” He waved a hand about as if it might catch some considerable counterpoint from thin air. “Well, besides throwin’ parties and puttin’ lampshades on their heads.”

Outside came the shattering of glass, and some bellows of laughter, prompting Cam to point with exaggeration.

In the defense of the college kids, it was not often that they threw parties. It was rare enough, in fact, that the one currently in swing could have been considered something out of the ordinary. They were good kids. And though Cam wouldn’t admit it, he was just as fond of them as Daisy was. They weren’t old enough to be parental figures to them but perhaps slightly wisened older siblings. Cam and Daisy were their go-to when it came to injuries of non-emergent natures, broken-down cars, and polite requests to join for dinner.

“I should go check on ’em..” Cam muttered, peeking through the curtains as concern knit his brows together.

“Check on the terrible kids you want to move away from as soon as possible? Well, go on then, you big softie.”

“Quiet, woman. I’m just gonna make sure that no one’s drunk and drownin’. Don’t make me soft, it makes me a good neighbor.”

Cam had been gone for only half an hour or so. It had given Daisy enough time to throw some dinner in the oven, get showered, and throw some pajamas on.

Fuzzy slippers donned, she shuffled to the kitchen shaking her hair out with a towel that she would no doubt forget draped across the back of a stool. As if to enforce that future, the oven dinged, and the towel was draped, immediately forgotten in favor of making sure that the macaroni and cheese didn’t burn.

The door slid open with a creak and she kicked the oven closed. “Just in time, there’s enough here that we can send some over, get something in their bellies besides beer and chicken wings.” She set the dish down and turned as she tugged off the oven mitts, jumping with a start. “Oh!”

Cam kicked the door closed, with one of the college kids in tow. “They said he locked ’imself in the bathroom ‘bout an hour ago, been sick all night. None of 'em wanted to drive him after drinkin’, an’ he didn’t want an ambulance called.” The kid in question, Drake, one of their frequent drop-bys, was sickly pale with a sheen of sweat. By the time Cam had made it into the kitchen, he had sagged to the ground with his eyes rolling.

“ ’m real sorry.” Drake muttered. “It’s jus-just the flu, it's no big deal.” His brows furrowed, and he stumbled to keep himself upright. “I think…mm.” His eyes widened and he shook his head. “I’m gonna be sick..”

Daisy scrambled to grab a pot from the dish rack and knelt down beside him, holding the pot with one hand as the other moved to his back to keep him upright. “Cam, in the bathroom there should be that bottle of activated charc—” Her words were abruptly overtaken by the sudden, gurgling noise of vomit as Drake lurched forward; both the pot and Daisy splattered in a torrent of blood and clots. “Call for an ambulance, right now.” She set the pot in Drake's lap as Cam busied with the phone, and lifted the boy's eyelids to try and see his eyes. “Drake, honey, you need to tell me anything you took tonight, and what you were drinking. You aren’t going to get in trouble, I need to know so we can get you help.”

“I don’t drink.” He shook his head, his voice coming out in a pained whine that was laced with terror. “I-I just had some burgers…an-and a soda today. That’s so much blood..oh god, am I gonna die??”

“Hey, no no no. You look at me, okay? You breathe and walk me through it. How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Uh..I don’t..I..” His body shook and shivered as he tried to breathe, his hands clinging to the pot as though it were a lifeline, though he dared not look at its contents. His words came out in frantic blurts. “S..since this morning? Some crazy guy on the subway, he-he tried to take a chunk out of my hand w-when I was holding on and ran off.” He held up a shaky hand wrapped thickly in gauze. “I cleaned it out with peroxide, an-and I put some ointment on it? Some…some anti-bacterial stuff. But it..”

The bandages were discolored and oozing, and the smell alone was enough to have the back of Daisy’s throat closing up in involuntary gags. The skin just beneath the gauze was discolored and the blood vessels and veins were a sickly looking purple. Before she could take his hand to see the condition of the wound itself, both of his arms shot around his torso as he began to sob in pain, his body heaving. Daisy wrapped her arms around him and tried to keep him steady.

“All the damn lines are busy! I can’t get through to anyone. Just…stay put, I’m gonna bring the truck up.” Cam ran out the door, snatching the keys from the plate.

With the door hanging open, Daisy could hear the sound of distant sirens and helicopters. Her thoughts flicked to the crash she had driven past earlier and wondered if there had been some sort of pileup that was preventing emergency services from being able to respond, and too many callers tying up the lines. The guilt she had been feeling for not staying late when the ER was so busy had faded, and she felt as though fate had needed her right where she was. In her arms, Drake went suddenly slack; with harsh, ragged breaths wheezing from his chest.

Daisy leaned his head onto her shoulder, trying to keep him upright so he didn’t aspirate if he vomited again. Better that it go all over her than go sputtering back into his lungs. “Stay with me, Drake. Just keep breathing.”

But he didn’t.

As the headlights of Cam’s truck weaved through the curtains and the sound of the truck's doors opening filtered through the open door, Drake let out a slow, raspy groan. His body convulsed for a few short seconds, and then? He fell still. Still, and utterly silent. Daisy’s chest tightened, and she shook her head as she rubbed her knuckles against his chest roughly. “Come on, Drake! Stay with me! Okay? You—”

Drake lifted his head, and Daisy let out a breath of relief. She met his gaze with every bit of reassurance she could muster…and then it faltered.

Her eyes were locked with his milky, bloodshot gaze; his eyes listing back and forth with dilated pupils. His skin had taken on the same sickly pallor as the injury site had, the veins and vessels purpling beneath the surface. The corners of his eyes oozed with a putrid, green mucous. His mouth hung agape, with thick strands of drool beginning to slither out like the viscous slime of some horror movie monster.

There was no heat of breath meeting her face from him. No noise save for the thundering of her own heartbeat hammering in her chest. She was frozen; her hands wouldn’t move, no words could make it to her lips, and even her body had decided to pause its breath out of sheer terror.

When Cam appeared in the doorway, Daisy’s eyes flitted desperately from Drake’s gaze to his; and in that same instant, Drake tore into her throat.

Time moved with a strangeness to it the moment that Cam came through the doorway. As though it was moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

The way that Drake had begun to mangle his fiance felt like it was instantaneous, and yet as he bolted toward them, it felt like time had turned to thick, syrupy molasses. Like he was moving in slow motion, trying to catch up to something being fast-forwarded.

Cam grabbed Drake around the shoulders and heaved him off of Daisy with every bit of force that he could muster. He had never before heard the sound of rending flesh, nor seen the sheer distance of an arterial spray except for in movies. No horror film in existence could have prepared him to see it in real life. But Cam was functioning on autopilot and pure adrenaline.

His hand darted to the oil rag in his pocket. He had managed to press it to her throat, her hands reaching up to keep pressure on it seconds before Drake lunged for him.

He grabbed the nearest thing that he could from the island in the kitchen; swinging with every ounce of force that he could until there was the sickening crack of a rolling pin meeting skull. But it hadn’t stopped Drake at all. It hadn’t deterred him. Hurt him. It didn’t even look like it registered to him on any level aside from a momentary setback in forward motion.

Cam swung again.

And again.

And again.

The walls and curtains were coated in blood and grey matter. Drake had finally stopped moving, and lay in a heap on the floor; his fingers or legs periodically twitching, as the mangled remains of his skull wept out onto the tile.

Cam slipped and slid to his knees, his hands flying to the rag at Daisy’s throat, shaking as he put pressure on the wound. Tears streaked from the corners of her eyes as she looked up at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a wet gurgling noise escaped as blood pooled in her throat, spouting in little bursts as she tried to breathe and speak.

“Shhhhh. Shhh.” Cam’s voice shook and cracked. “Don’t talk. You’re gonna be just fine.” He tried to force a smile, one hand keeping pressure to the wound, as the other sought out her hand and held it tightly. “You ain’t dyin’ here, baby. We’re gonna have our weddin’, an’ you’re gonna look so beautiful..” He leaned down, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, as he spoke.

“Then we’re gonna go build a place, out in the country,” Another kiss, another barely stifled sob. “A hundred acres, just you and me, an’ you can adopt all the...the highway coyotes you wanna, I won’t even be mad.”

Daisy’s breaths began to hitch and catch. All of the energy she had left was put into a smile, a nod at his words, and reaching her hand to his cheek. She tried to wipe the tears away but her fingers had barely grazed his skin before that final gasp came so quickly, and her arm fell limp against him. The smile she had put on for him slowly faded as her muscles came to a neutral rest. Her eyes lay open, pupils fixed and dilated, and Daisy lay unmoving.

Cam pulled her into his arms. There was no rational thought in his mind. The world around him ceased to exist as he held her limp body against his. He continued to speak to her, rocking from side to side as he painted the picture of their lives together.

“We’ll have a bunch of kids, you and me. Whole baseball team of kids. Most of ‘em girls, knowin’ my luck.” Screams echoed up and down the street.

“But they won’t want for nothin’ cause we…we’re gonna be great parents. You’ll see.” The rapid pop of gunshots was punctuated by the screech of tires against asphalt, and the sound of crunching metal and fracturing glass.

“An’ we’re gonna…we’re gonna have that white picket fence kinda life.” There came the rapid sounds of footsteps. The thud of bodies thumping against the truck.

Against the walls.

Against the door.

But Cam kept swaying from side to side with Daisy in his arms, talking louder as if to deny the morbid sounds of reality encroaching around him.

“’Cause there ain’t no me without you, and I’m still here so you…you can’t be dead. You just can’t be dead..”

A delicate hand reached up against his cheek, clumsily grasping as a choking, wet sound muffled against his chest. Cam’s gaze was locked in some terrible mix of shock and terror at a patch of the wall ahead of him as the glass from the windows shattered and fell at his boots.

At the sound of the wooden doors splintering, he breathed out and held his writhing love closer.

And when the silhouettes of shambling, twitchy figures entered his peripherals, when the sound of tearing flesh now came with agony and a molten bath of blood spilling down his chest, he closed his eyes….

And screamed.