Partyville USA: Part 4-3
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The first thing Roland noticed was the stench of ammonia in his nostrils. Next was the muffled noises. There was the distant, murky patter of footsteps, indistinguishable exclamations. His eyes creaked open to a stew of colors and shapes, forms fluttering over him. Through the blur he can make out the color of Luanne’s hair, dangling over him.
She says something short. The smell of ammonia recedes and he can feel hands wedge under his shoulders, trying to sit him up. His posture lifts to 45 degrees before the pain in his knee returns. He moans. There are more voices, clearer this time. The hands set him back down. The smell suddenly comes back. In his clearing vision he can see a hand waving something under his nostrils.
Luanne says something but all he can make out is his own name. She keeps talking. Her tone is becoming increasingly frantic. More exclamations from the distance. There isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t feel drained of energy, fiery with pain or both.
Luanne keeps talking. Roland makes out his name, ‘please’, ‘hurry’ and ‘wake.’ In his clearing vision he sees his knee is bandaged, and that the sharp pain has receded, leaving only a persistent, but bearable throb in his knee. He crooks back his shoulders to push himself up. The hands return to help, and he finally raises himself to a sitting position. The pain of his effort sharpens his senses. When Luanne speaks again, he hears every word.
“That’s good baby, come on” she says. Far away, Roland can hear crashing noises.
“Easy does it” says a voice from behind, which is now lifting him to his feet. Roland realizes that it’s Burt.
There are more crashing noises, in between other sounds. There are grunts, heaves, low gurgling groans. From down the hall, somebody shouts “jesus!” Terrified snatches of voices are flying all from all directions. As Roland’s heel begins to connect with the carpet his knee throbs. He gets to his feet and instantly stabilizes himself on a chair. He realizes that he isn’t in Wallace’s office.
“Oh God, oh Jesus!” somebody shouts from the hall. Roland slowly crooks his head towards the hall. It’s far out of reach of the dim sunlight, but from the darkness he sees the beams of flashlights jerking back and forth. The office seems less lit by the sun and more from the fire outside. The walls are coated with an orange glow. The outdoors are hazy with smoke.
More crashing and clattering echoes from the hall. The two beams of flashlight turn and retreat to the main office. Everybody seems to be standing. Roland sees Woo-Jin and Jesse holding the flashlights, their faces ghostly pale. Everyone is staring down into the clamorous darkness of the hall. They stare until the darkness begins to shift. It begins to take form. There are still crashing noises as a single form staggers out.
A chorus screams rises from the noise. Everyone starts running in different directions as the single form becomes flanked by others. Roland stares for a moment at the first. Its body is only hinted at, by errant flickers of orange light. Roland sees a flash of a rotting arm, dangling by strands of muscle. He sees its torn, blood-soaked shirt. For a second he can see its entire, desiccated face.
Before it can come fully into view he pivots and limps back towards the conference room. “Come on” he chokes to Burt. Burt runs ahead of him and throws open the twin doors. Roland turns his head but can’t see Luanne. His knee sends acidic shudders through him with every step but he limps on. As Burt slams the door, he hears a woman shrieking frantically. He hears the sound of ripping flesh.
“Quick” Burt y
ells “We gotta seal this door!”
Roland’s head darts around the office. On the conference table he sees a phone and rips out its cord. He limps back to the door and loops the cord through the twin handles.
“Hurry!” Burt yells.
“I’m trying!” says Roland, his fingers twitching so much he can barely keep the cord between them. He manages to loop the cord a second time when the door bursts open, sending him backwards against the table. His head jerks up to see a decaying woman springing towards him with outstretched hands.
“Burt! Help!” he cries, ducking under the conference table.
“Burt!”
He crawls as quickly as his muscles can bear under the table. Spinning around he sees Burt’s legs standing motionless, trembling.
“Burt!”
He watches the woman’s legs pivot clumsily. More legs appear in the doorway and move in. Burt remains motionless, and Roland can hear his breath sputtering from his throat. His legs slump against the table. Roland doesn’t hear a scream. The legs converge together. There are snarls. He sees blood spray on to the carpet.
Without turning again he crawls under the table towards the door to Wallace’s office. As he reaches the door, he sees a quick flash of white light. He crawls into the office and through the open window he hears the sound of a spinning rotor. Without standing he slams the door shut and latches the deadbolt. His head spins toward the window and he can see, through the smoke and ash outside, a military helicopter hovering over the flaming traffic, searching it with a spotlight. Suddenly, a shot of adrenaline surges through his body. He picks himself up and dashes to the open window. Behind him the door begins to thump.
He begins hysterically waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Hey! Over here!” he screams, but the spotlight doesn’t break from the traffic.
“Here! Right here! For the love of God!” he shouts. Inside the windows of the helicopter he sees the pilot gesture and the light quickly floats up to him. His hands now stab upward, pointing. He hears the crackle of the chopper’s loudspeaker.
“Is there a helipad?” it says.
“Yes! Up there!” Roland shouts with elation.
“We’ll meet you there” the loudspeaker says, and the chopper begins to lift upward. Ecstasy surges through Roland’s body. His eyes become misty with joy and he backs away from the window. As he does, something catches his eye in the reflection of the leftmost window. Roland freezes. A face emerges from the murk of the reflection. Roland’s heart quickens as it takes shape. After an instant it becomes recognizable.
Roland doesn’t turn around fast enough. He almost doesn’t feel the hand grip his arm and squeeze. What he does feel is the clamp of jaws, the jerking of the head. He feels his tendons overextend. The stench of decay floods his nostrils. It seems to happen instantly. When he realizes what’s happening he’s slumped against the wall, watching Sam Gregory grinding his flesh in his teeth.
As Roland watches, he feels his pain become shoved away by pure animal rage. His head snaps to his side, towards Wallace’s trophy case. With his good arm he pulls himself up. He comes eye-level on the words “Sales Leader 1975 – James Wallace” at the center of the crystal diamond-shape. He hears Gregory step towards. He grabs the award and spins around, its hard edge out. Its tip smacks against Gregory’s cheek, and he stumbles backward. Roland dives at and drives tip of the award dead into Gregory’s forehead. The hit sends Gregory down onto the floor. Roland stands over his body for a moment. Gregory’s head slowly rotates, discombobulated from the fresh dent in its forehead.
“Motherfucker” Roland grumbles as Gregory tries to pick himself up.
“Motherfucker!” Roland shouts as pounces on Gregory. He straddles his torso and raises the trophy high over his head. Gregory’s eyes look at him without recognition as Roland drives the trophy again at his forehead. The hit lands a half-inch from the other and slams Gregory’s head against the floor again. He begins to gasp, but his head doesn’t move. Roland watches for a final second before he drives the trophy tip again, and again. He doesn’t stop when he hears Gregory’s skull crack. He doesn’t stop when he feels cerebral fluid spatter on his chin. He stops when he hears the tip of the statue hit the floor.
With a gasp he
slides off Gregory’s torso and drops the bloody statue and the pain in his arm reasserts itself. He starts to feel dizzy. He grabs the arm of the nearest chair and picks himself up and staggers towards the closet at the opposite side of the room. The sound from outside the office is the sound of Hell. He opens the closet and grabs a shirt and wraps it around his arm as best he can with one hand. When he finishes he grabs a blue sports coat from off a hanger and drapes it over his shoulders. The door to the conference room shakes and shudders. As he lifts his head to the main door, he sees it swing open and he stops, until Luanne runs inside.
“Roland!” she exclaims “Thank God!”
“We have to go” Roland sputters as he limps toward her “helicopter on the roof.”
He grabs her by the arm and pushes the door open. In the semi-dark of the office all that can be seen are shapes and shadows going in every direction. Roland sticks close to the wall and drags Luanne down towards the roof access, lit by a red emergency light mounted on the wall. Roland keeps his eyes on it, driving towards it.
“Roland look out!” Luanne yells, but Roland keeps his eyes forward. When he reaches the door he twists the handle and swings the door open.
“Roland!” Luanne screams as he limps in. As he does, Luanne’s arm flies from his grasp, but he doesn’t stop running.
“Roland! Help! Roland!” he hears as the door latches behind him. He turns and looks at the door, illuminated by another red emergency light on the inside.
“Roland!” Luanne shrieks “help me please!”
Roland’s hand lands on the railing of the stairs. He turns his head around and waits a beat, til he hears nothing but the noise. After another second, he places his left foot on the lowest stair, and begins to climb. Each step broadcasts agony through his joints. When he rounds the first case, he looks back at the door. Below, he sees a pool of blood, black in the red light, stretching from under the door.
Above him the door to the roof swings open and two soldiers with assault rifles run in and spot him.
“Is there anybody else?” one yells. Roland looks at him for a moment before shaking his head.
“No” he says “come on, they’re right behind me.”
“Jesus, listen to that noise” the other soldier says. The first loops his arm under Roland and lifts him up the stairs one a time while the other runs down and aims his rifle at the door.
The soldier shoves the door to the roof open and pulls Roland outside. Roland turns around and sees the second soldier back out the door, at no point easing his rifle. Roland almost can’t believe it when he steps inside the helicopter in the rearmost seat. The soldiers jump into the seats in front of him and he feels the chopper’s motor hum upwards as they lift off.
“Wooo-ee! This has been some day!” one says to the other. Roland watches from the window as the Brighton Building begins to shrink from view. As it does, he sees forms begin to move out onto the roof.
“Gawd” says one of the soldiers “You weren’t kidding about them being right behind us!”
He looks at Roland, who nods. They both turn back to the windows. Roland looks at the roof, and then notices, amongst the throng, one person standing with unmistakable blonde hair.
He suddenly feels as if something is crawling up his throat and he coughs, covering his mouth with his hand. As he retracts his palm, he sees a few drops of blood, which trickle down his hand. His head becomes very heavy, his body’s trauma shifts from pain to a feeling of terrible sickness. He looks up and sees the soldiers still looking out the window as the chopper breaks east.
His head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and in his fatigue he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open. So he closes them. Just for a minute. Just to catch his breath and try to get his head straight.
THE END