Pitch

CHAPTER NINE

Nothing tried to kill me on the way to the apartment complex, which I took to be a good sign. My temporary sense of hope quickly faded, however, when I found Mr. Jacobson, the door man. He was slumped against the door he had guarded for the past twenty five years (something I knew because we had just thrown him a party). The glass leading down to his head was streaked with red. He might have been sleeping, if he slept with his eyes wide open. Looking away, I gave him a wide berth and hurried inside.

The lobby was dark. I tried hitting the light switches, but nothing came on. The power must have been cut, which meant the elevator wasn’t working, but then again it never was. I took the stairs two at a time, making an effort to keep my footsteps quiet as possible. The air stank of sweat and cigarettes and something too sweet. Mrs. Dobbs in 32C must have been smoking again. I wondered if she was still alive. If any of them were. The fat cat lady whose name I didn’t know who lived across the hall from us. Old Mr. Graham two units down who pulled a lawn chair into the middle of the hall every Sunday to read his newspaper. Sue and Livvy, married last spring, who always waved when they saw me.

I thought of them, all of them, as I passed by their doors to get to my own, using the light from my cell phone to guide me. Some of the doors were ajar, but I didn’t look inside. I couldn’t. The blood that had leaked from their rooms to stain the beige carpet a dull brown told me everything I needed to know.

With my heart lingering somewhere in the vicinity of my throat I reached my own door. It was closed, but not locked. The knob turned easily under my hand and I held my breath as I walked inside.

Air came out of my mouth in a whoosh of pain when my shins collided with something hard. I stumbled, arms wind milling for balance. The phone slipped out of my hand and went clattering across the floor. Reaching out blindly I managed to grab hold of something solid and steadied myself.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, I realized why I had stumbled. Nothing was where it should have been. Furniture had been overturned. The television was smashed. Desk drawers had been ripped open and the contents scattered about. The apartment was always a little untidy but this… this was a disaster.

“Dad?” I whispered as loud as I dared. “Dad, are you in here?”

Nothing… and then…

A quiet, familiar pop. A little hiss of air. The sound of slurping.

I charged through the living room like a crazed rhinoceros, kicking things out of my way as I went. “Dad, where are you? Dad? DAD!”

I found him in his bedroom closet. He was slumped next to a box of shoes and was using a case of beer to hold him upright. When I threw back the closet door he lowered the beer he had just opened and squinted up at me, his watery eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

“Aiko? Honey, is that you?”

“No Dad,” I gritted out. “It’s Lola. Your daughter.”

Relief went hand in hand with anger as I leaned over him and ripped the beer can out of his hand. Everyone was dead and my dad was getting drunk. At least only one of those things was abnormal. “Dad, something has happened. You have to get up. It isn’t safe here.”

“Aiko?” he said again.

I drew my hair back and pushed my bangs up so he could see my eyes were gray instead of brown and not slanted at the corners like my mother’s. “No, not Aiko. Lola. It’s Lola, Dad.”

“Lola?”

“Yes! Now come on.” I grabbed his arm and tugged. He collapsed forward and rose unsteadily, swaying back and forth.

My dad had started drinking before my mom left him. I don’t know if the drinking triggered the divorce or the divorce triggered the drinking. It didn’t matter, really. Either way, the results were the same.

He wasn’t a mean drunk. Just a careless and forgetful one. He had never once raised his hand to me in anger, or even his voice, for that matter. I should have considered myself lucky – I knew other kids didn’t have it so easy – but how is cooking dinner for yourself every night of the week because you dad is passed out on the sofa by seven o’clock lucky?

Then again, he has paid a heavier price than I have. He lost his job. His wife. His family. All he has left is a belligerent sixteen year old teenager who doesn’t obey her curfew and thinks hot wiring cars is an acceptable extra curricular activity.

“Dad.” I touched his arm and he startled. “Dad, I don’t think we should stay here. It’s not safe. We should try to get to the police station.”

He turned his head to look at me. His face was pale. There was a cut above his left eyebrow that had dried blood crusted in it. He blinked once, twice, and his gaze focused on me. “Lola, I thought they got you too,” he said.

The hug was unexpected and awkward. I returned his embrace hesitantly, patting his shoulder before drawing back. “I’m fine. I was on the East side when it started. With Travis. I ran back here and found a boy. Maximus. He seems to know a lot about what is going on. He gave me this.” I pulled out the gun and held it flat. My dad’s eyes widened.

“A gun? Why would a boy give you a gun? Is it loaded?”

“I hope so.”

He took a few steps forward and tripped. Taking his arm I guided him to the edge of the bed. He sat with a little sigh and stared down at his hands. “I thought they got you too,” he repeated quietly.

I crouched down in front of him. “They didn’t get me, Dad. I’m right here. I’m okay. Have you heard from Mom or Gia? Do you have your cell phone?”

His head jerked to the side. “No. No. I forgot to charge it. The… the power is out. The TV isn’t working. The radio. The computer. I can’t… I can’t reach them.” He closed his eyes. “Everyone was screaming so loud. Doors were slamming. Someone came in here. They knocked everything over. They broke everything. I hid in the closet but… I don’t know what’s happening. Lola, what’s happening?”

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.” I soothed him like I would a small, frightened child as I reconsidered what to do. If the Drinkers had already passed through here maybe the best idea would be to simply lay low until sunrise. Stock up on supplies. Try to sleep. Wait and see if the electricity came back on. It wasn’t an ideal plan, but it sure sounded better than going back outside.

I was confidant that in the light of day things would make sense. Part of me still wasn’t ready to accept Maximus’s explanation for what was happening. I was certain at some point the military would have to show up. I was positive this couldn’t be happening across the entire world.

I was so wrong.