“Fuck!” Confused, he looked to see where the rock had been thrown from.
The woman balled up the fist of the hand he had just let go and let loose another punch. This one landed on the side of his jaw.
Mitchell jerked back, trying to understand.
That’s when he saw the expression in her eyes and her teeth bared at him.
She screamed and came at him with her hands outstretched. Her fingernails swung at him like claws. He jumped back as they grazed his chest. He opened his own arms wide in an instinctive gesture. She came at him again, her thick legs pushing against the ground as she tried to catapult at his neck.
Mitchell jumped back again, and she fell flat on the ground, making a thud. Mitchell thought he heard something crack. She shouted incomprehensible swear words at him in a voice that sounded more animal than human.
He stepped forward to see if she was all right. Bloodshot eyes looked up at him. Red was pouring from her nose, and her cheek had road rash. The woman screamed at him again and then came to her feet much more spryly than he thought possible.
Mitchell backed up again. He was trying to understand what he had done. What had he said?
She ran toward him again. He backed away and turned into a jog.
He could hear her feet clopping on the ground as she chased after him. She was getting closer. Mitchell wanted to shout back and ask her what was going on, but he was too panicked to say anything. He didn’t even know what to say.
Behind him her pace slowed down as her body began to give out. She screamed out in a hoarse voice.
Mitchell turned around. She was halfway between him and his car. He could keep running or make a break for his car and count on his greater speed to get him there fast enough to lock the door.
She got a second wind and burst toward him. Blood and snot dripped from her face as she pumped her arms and screeched out.
On impulse, Mitchell ran toward her. She raised her arms out to claw him. He jumped to the side and felt the wind as she overstepped and went past. He ran to his car without looking back.
Footsteps grew louder as he jumped through the open door. He pulled it shut as her fists came pounding against the window. Furious, she smashed her head against the window, trying to break the glass. Blood and snot splattered the window as her face made a sickening thud each time it struck.
His heart beating out of his chest, Mitchell fumbled through his pockets to find his keys. He threw his tangled iPhone earbuds on the ground before he felt his key ring. He turned the ignition, put it into drive and stepped on the gas as the woman started beating the glass with bloody knuckles.
The car’s bald tires spun out for a moment on the wet grass.
Mitchell screamed out, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
The car finally got traction and lurched forward.
Off-balanced, the woman fell into the muddy grass.
In the rearview mirror, Mitchell watched as she pulled herself up and ran after him. Her uniform was a mess of dirt and blood. She let out another scream and then came to a stop and stood there, blankly watching as he drove off.
Mitchell sped through a light as it turned yellow to gain as much distance as he could. His mind raced for an explanation for what just happened. He reached down to touch his fly in a moment of self-conscious panic, afraid that he’d approached her with his penis hanging out. His fly was in place. Mitchell felt stupid.
When it was obvious she wasn’t going to chase him down in her car with a flat tire, he began to relax. He pulled out his iPhone and contemplated calling 911.
And tell them what? All she had to say was that his fly was open or that he’d attacked her and it would be his word against hers. Her bloody face looked a lot worse than his. He put his phone back.
After he ran out of reasons to blame himself, he finally realized that she was probably just bipolar or something. For all he knew, she was racing home to get her medication before she flipped out. He just caught her at the wrong time. Crazy. That’s all.
He began to pity her like someone with Tourette’s. It’s not a condition anybody wants. After she got medicated, she’d probably feel horrible about it. Of course, he’d never got an apology from a girlfriend who started silly arguments during a period, so maybe she wouldn’t feel bad about it either. He knew it was an asshole thing to think.
With the threat diminished and the decision that she was just psycho, Mitchell began to calm down. He realized his seat belt alarm had been going off since he drove off. He clicked it into place and drove toward the radio station.
By the time he reached the parking lot, he was already debating whether to tell the story on the air.
He grabbed his backpack, got out of his car and looked at the bloody mess on his window and the kicked-in driver’s side door. Seeing that, he felt a little less sorry for the woman. He then felt guilty about that.
Mitchell swiped his card at the entrance and walked into the building. He decided to keep the story to himself for now.
2
At that hour of the night, the lobby and the rest of the building were empty except for Rookman in broadcast booth two. He ran the 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift. His show was a call-in conspiracy program with special guests who used nicknames like Truthseeker, Indian Joe, The Ghost Stalker and Dr. Annihilation.
Mitchell walked by the window and waved. Inside, a man in his late forties wearing a trucker’s hat pointed at his watch and gave Mitchell the finger.
Mitchell gave an apologetic shrug. Rookman grinned and waved him off.
All the station’s broadcast booths were about as big as a bathroom with the exception of the conference room where the morning crew did its show. It was usually filled with silly props and those magazines they give out at strip clubs. One of the hosts was in the middle of trying to avoid time for cocaine possession. The reason that it hadn’t made it into the papers was based in part because he used a fake radio name and the fact that their station was so under-listened to, nobody cared.
Mitch once heard that the advertising manager was talking about leaking the story to help their Arbitron numbers. It was that kind of station and that kind of business.
Mitch reached his booth and opened the door. The smell of bad coffee permeated it.
Oddly, he thought, he kind of missed it. He’d been gone for a week, and as much as he hated his job, it’d been the only connection he’d had with the outside world since Rachel broke up with him.
Granted, getting cursed at by drunks and having teenagers call in to scream obscenities wasn’t an ideal connection, but it was something.
He flipped on the monitor to listen to Rookman’s show while he did his own show prep, which basically consisted of pulling up some of his iTunes Genius lists and thinking of inane questions to ask people to generate some interesting calls.
Rookman was better at that. At that moment, he was talking to a man who claimed that a recent meteor spotted over the skies of Los Angeles that crashed into the ocean was actually a manned Chinese spacecraft on a secret mission.
The caller had a disarmingly calm voice that didn’t sound like a crackpot. He sounded like Kiefer Sutherland to Mitchell.
“You’ve said it over and over again, Rookman. People have to wake up. There’s a new Cold War going on. This fireball that came down wasn’t a meteor. It was a spacecraft. Talk to any scientist and they’ll tell you the re-entry doesn’t make sense for anything else.”
“So what was it?” asked Rookman.
“It goes back three years ago. Remember when the space shuttle made that secret mission to fix a military satellite? They found something. Something that scared the hell out of them. Now we all know that World War III isn’t going to be fought with nukes. It’s going to be with computers and biological warfare and in space.