I’m sorry, I’m sorry…
She passed the same half-dozen cars from ten minutes ago, the same patches of blood along windows and floors and splashed against open doors. The drivers were gone. Long gone. They were gone when she drove past the vehicles the first time, and they hadn’t come back since.
They were probably like Jack now…
Kate turned another corner and drove past the spot where she had last seen Jack and Donald. They were gone, and only a wide, bloody mess marked their passing. Then she was turning again, up to the last floor of the parking structure, with dark, cloudless skies opened above.
Kate slammed on the brakes and sat behind the steering wheel, feeling small and insignificant surrounded by empty concrete parking spaces.
Order out of chaos. Find the order out of the chaos…
She left the key in the ignition and climbed out of the Mazda and, out of breath for some reason, ran to the closest rooftop edge.
The clay-colored CenterPoint Energy Tower in front of her and the egg-shaped Trinh Real Estate building to her left. The Amegy Bank building, where she rented space for her ad agency, loomed nearby to her right. She saw flurries of movement through office windows of the buildings around her, but she was too far away to make out details.
She could see clearly now that the chaos wasn’t just inside the parking structure. It was spread out across the city. Everywhere. Nothing happened in Houston without touching Downtown, and nothing touched Downtown that didn’t eventually spread out to the rest of the city. She had learned that a long time ago.
Kate heard gunshots, screams, signs of life being chipped away, but they were sporadic and distant, little clusters of proof that she wasn’t alone. But the sound she expected to hear — desperately hoped to hear — was missing.
Where are the police sirens? Where are the cops?
Roaring engines filled the night before a Camaro blasted up Louisiana Street below her. She slipped her heels off her feet and hurried after it, racing along the edge, following the Camaro’s progress as it attempted to turn right at Bell Street. But it was going much too fast and sideswiped a Ford in the middle of the road. The Camaro somehow righted itself at the last moment and continued along Bell Street, heading toward Travis now. It was still traveling much too fast, and Kate eventually lost sight of it. Seconds later, there was a loud crashing noise, the unmistakable sound of metal grinding viciously against metal.
And then silence.
There were more cars along the streets below her, some parked defiantly in the middle, others along the curbs where vehicles usually littered Downtown like fleas during the day. She could see small two- and three-car pileups at nearby intersections, but there were no signs of their drivers, and she didn’t see bodies. The unnoticed streetlights blinked green, yellow, and red, then started over again.
Kate saw them — black figures darting in and out of the darkness, appearing for a split second underneath tall street lamps before disappearing again. She could make out more dark shapes running along the sidewalks, in the streets.
How many of them were there? Dozens? Hundreds?
“Kate.”
She spun around at the sound of his voice. She recognized it immediately. It was different than before — more hollow somehow — but she recognized it all the same.
Donald.
Or what used to be Donald. He looked old and wrinkled, his beautiful eyes now a lifeless black tint, as if there was something hidden behind them. Only she knew the truth. His tie hung indifferently around his neck, the broad chest gone, replaced by an empty pit that seemed to suck in his dress shirt. His slacks and socks looked ill-fitted — he had lost his shoes — and his hair had fallen away, leaving a pinkish bald spot that was being overwhelmed by dark black skin seemingly grafted over pale flesh.
“Kate,” the thing that used to be Donald said again.
They can talk, too.
She realized, with growing horror, that Donald was standing between her and the Mazda. He had moved so quietly that she hadn’t heard him at all until he had said her name. She didn’t have a weapon. Her purse was inside the Mazda, her keys in the ignition. All she had were her blouse, her skirt, and the expensive pair of Lanvin heels in her hands.
Donald walked toward her. He was impossibly quiet, bony fingers pulling at the tie around his neck as if he didn’t know what it was or why it was there. He pulled it free and let the satin fabric drop behind him. Then he started tearing at his shirt.
“Kate,” he said again.
She wondered if that was all he was capable of saying. Some primitive part of him that was still Donald, that still understood language, how to form words.
“Donald?” Maybe if she could get through to him…
“Kate,” he said again, and this time her name came out of his twisted, malformed mouth with obvious difficulty. “Kate…”
He pulled the shirt free, and the wind picked it up, carried it a few yards into the air before depositing it over the edge. His slacks hung from protruding hips and, as he moved closer still, Kate could see the jagged chunk in the side of his neck where Jack had bitten him. The wound had turned into a deep purple bruise, and thick, oozing black blood trickled out of it.
“Kate.” A croak, barely audible.
Behind her, Kate thought she heard gunshots and screaming. And somewhere farther away, what might have been an explosion, or possibly a car crash. Her mind was feverish, and getting more so as Donald got closer.
She willed herself to stand perfectly still. The instinct to run was strong, nagging at her, telling her to do it, run now before it’s too late. But she didn’t. She held her ground and watched, with growing horror, as the thing that used to be Donald moved silently, getting closer and closer with every second.
Donald seemed to be losing hair with every step. He was almost entirely bald, the pink skin all but turned black.
“Kate.” He reached out toward her with one bloody hand.
That’s when Kate struck.
She swung with her right hand and actually felt one of her stiletto heels go into Donald’s left temple. The blow staggered him, and Kate, holding onto her other heel, sprinted around him toward the Mazda.
The car looked so much farther away than she remembered. Had someone moved it?
Don’t look back, don’t look back, whatever you do!
But she did look back and saw Donald watching her, her heel sticking absurdly out of the side of his head like some bad attempt at comedy. Calmly, he reached up and took hold of the shoe and pulled it free.
Did he just smile at her? She couldn’t be sure because of the distance and the night sky and the fact that her mind was screaming at her. Run, stop looking back, just keep running!
Kate made it to the Mazda and threw herself inside. Slamming the door shut, locking it, jerking the gear into drive, and shoving her bare foot down on the gas pedal. For a second or two she fought for control of the car, the steering wheel fighting against her as if it had a mind of its own. She felt the car finally relenting and raced it back down the garage ramp, to the lower levels, to the wide-open space of the fifth floor, and saw the black skies disappearing behind her in the rearview mirror.
She watched, expecting Donald to appear, but he never did.
She drove, not knowing where she was going. The fourth floor passed by in a blur, and before she knew it she was back on the third.
She slowed down as she approached the same bloody puddle where Jack had feasted on Donald. She was driving much slower now, because she knew as soon as she made the turn she would be on the second floor, then it wouldn’t be long before she reached the first floor, and after that, the front gate…