Extinction by Stacey Doss (room on the broom read aloud TXT) 📕

through the door into the bar. Sure enough, Frank was front and center, a crowd around him. He was gesticulating wildly, words tumbling almost incoherently out of his mouth. “…my brother escaped. Barely made it home. The Evils had used new weapons, powerful weapons. He saw his brother-in-law crushed. He ran fast as he could, and barely escaped. They hit Chelsea Flats and wiped them out! Wiped them out! They have a gas that paralyses you. He just barely got hit with it, and died in my arms!”

The terror in his eyes stoked the panic rising in the crowd, and a number of patrons rose up and left to pack up their families. “We’re not gonna die here. We’re not gonna wait to be gassed like common pests. We’ll move out of the city, find a place the Evils don’t want,” they said, while others protested, “They’re everywhere. There’s nowhere to run.” One of the cocky young guys zipped around the room crazily, crying, “We’re all gonna die! We’re all gonna die!” until someone punched him and knocked him out.

George didn’t wait to hear any more. He wanted to make sure his family was still safe.

Janet cried when she heard the news; she had some cousins in Chelsea Flats. The kids crowded around, eyes big, looking to their parents to make everything right. George patted heads and Janet hugged tightly. Once the kids were reassured and went off to play, George and Janet looked around their little home, to see if they could make it more secure. They knew it was easy to miss the place; even their friends would walk past their door before they’d realize. George was confident that the Evils couldn’t make it this far into the alley. But if they used any gas, he shivered at the thought, they’d be in trouble. So Janet found debris from the streets that she could push into the cracks, trying to make them airtight. They were in the dark, but if they stayed quiet, perhaps they would survive.

The Evils were getting closer. Word had them in Barton Heights, the next neighborhood over. The results were the same as Chelsea Flats; Barton Heights fell to the powerful weapons of the Evils. Neighborhood after neighborhood, township after township, street after street fell before the superior strength and viciousness of the Evils.

“They’re here!” George heard one morning as he prepared to go out to work. He rushed to Kevin’s to get the news. Sure enough, the Evils had begun their killing. Food grew scarce, and the people feared to leave their homes. The young bucks, flexing their muscles, declared one day that they would attack and overwhelm the enemy. Older, wiser men could not discourage them; they believed themselves invincible. They were bigger than those of previous generations, and felt the old dotering fools exaggerated the size of the Evils. So they marched, in twos and threes and tens. They left the safety of their homes and took the war to the streets.

The wailing of mamas and wives and girlfriends testified of their failure. Their broken, crushed, mutilated bodies littered the streets, gassed in the very act of marching.

George had to venture further away from home to find food for his family. His babies cried, empty stomachs twisting. It was hard to keep them quiet and safe when they were hungry. The older ones did better, but he’d catch them hunched over, arms pressing into their abdomens, trying to relieve the stabbing, tearing pain of emptiness. His hatred of the Evils increased exponentially with every day they went without food. He felt impotent, weak, incapable of even the simplest of duties: feed his family.

He was headed home, dejected. He found nothing. Not one morsel, one bite, nothing. Head down, he trudged home, heart wrenching as he thought of his Janet’s wan face, of her tears when she saw his empty hands. He turned a corner, just a block from his house, when he was almost knocked off his feet by an overpowering, mouthwatering aroma. His empty belly twisted, tearing him in two and his eyes smarted as he inhaled the delicious fragrance.

It was like nothing he’d ever known. The aroma wafted on the air currents, curling an enticing finger under his nose, drawing him blindly along. His limbs trembled, shook as if he were older than old. He stumbled, crawling ever forward, every cell in his body screaming for a bite. Suddenly it was in front of him. Food! Lots and lots of food! He saw his neighbors crawling around the pile, grabbing and yanking, shoving bites into their mouths and filling their arms.

George found new strength, a frantic strength, and shoved between two, grabbing and stuffing his face. The taste was heavenly, and his body soaked the food in even before he could finish chewing. He cared not where it came from; he didn’t even think about it. He was completely focused on getting enough for his family, even if he had to fight, to kill even, for it.

George tore home, breathless, excited. He bounced against neighbors who were caught by the mesmerizing odor. Oh, how Janet will cry! Oh, hallelujah! The kids will be saved!

He burst through the door and Carlie, his youngest, screamed. The cry cut short as the scent of the food found her nose. She clawed at the floor, crawling frantically toward her father. The other kids raced into the room, climbing up his legs to grab at the package in his arms. Even Janet, his meek little Janet, became almost ferocious from starvation.

They feasted. They ate and ate, until their bellies groaned, straining at their skin. They couldn’t move. Their bellies bulged and they felt completely relaxed, satiated, starvation averted. They smacked their lips in remembrance, and George planned to wake early to get more. They slept where they lay, too content and full to find their beds.

George was jerked awake in the wee hours of the morning by a heart-wrenching scream. One of the kids must’ve gotten a horrible bellyache from eating too much too fast. George felt guilty because he hadn’t been able to keep them from eating so quickly; he himself scarfed the food down as if it was nothing. He tried to get up off the floor, but was stiff. Janet whimpered next to him. Another scream, and another. He thrashed around, his arms and legs dead weight. Numbness suddenly disappeared as a slashing pain ripped across his abdomen. As he contorted and writhed, the cries of his children and wife slicing at his mind, the food turning into razorblades in his stomach, he realized the food must’ve been left by the Evils, poisoned, another of their horrendous weapons. As he was thrust into the darkness of death, he knew the war was over. The Evils had won.

***

“Well, Mr. Jones, it looks like they’re hungry little buggers. See, they’ve already touched the bait.”

“That’s great. Whatever’s in that stuff and in your spray sure does the trick, because both the Chelsea Flats and Barton Heights apartments are now roach free. My investors will be pleased.”

“We’ll wait three weeks then spray again. You should be able to start remodeling by the end of the month.”

“That will be great. I can’t stand roaches, and this area of town has been infested like I’ve never seen.”

“They get into these old places and think they own ‘em. Glad you and your company are cleaning ‘em up. Well, I’m off to the next building. Take ‘er easy, Mr. Jones.” He climbed into his exterminator truck and drove away.

Imprint

Text: (c) 2011 Stacey Doss
Publication Date: 08-02-2011

All Rights Reserved