John Haas: Z Journal 4/4

It was a strange sound for the coyotes to make. Their midnight howling could fill a cold night air and aided to the sound of the typewriter typing words away. It was a beautiful Spring night and I was spending it typing away at the farmhouse in country outside of Rolla. Betsy, my loyal hound who normally barked at coyotes was unusually silent. This set off an internal alarm.
I went outside and listened. The sounds of a lone coyote echoed amongst a foreign sound, the sound of moaning that seemed to echo though the valleys surrounding my home. I felt suddenly uncomfortable as the coyote that was howling its beautiful howl turned to yipes and suddenly quieted. Betsy, normally a territorial dog was wimping and her tail was tucked under her legs. We shared the sentiment that something wasn't right.
Walking back to the house, she rushed in front of me whining to get in to the garage. My parents weren't home which was unusual in its self, so I decided to let her in which she graciously accepted. The wind picked up and the smell of smoke and decay reached my nose. I took one glance outside before shutting the door and bid good night to Betsy whom laid down on the couch staring at the door as if anticipating an intruder. I went to bed.
…..
The man on the side of the road I was driving on seemed to be walking strangely. I recognized him as my neighbor, Mr. King, who had previously rescued my dog and returned her. Betsy had attempted to stay in the garage as I left but in wanting to avoid her peeing on the floor, I coaxed her out. She had then run into the woods as I assumed, hunting for rabbits.
Something was different about the way Mr. King walked though. I waved as I passed him but he didn't wave back. I also noticed something red around his mouth and wondered if he was hurt. I didn't stop to ask though as I new he loved to talk and I would probably be late for arriving back in Cape and meeting my friends at the bad.
I felt bad for not saying goodbye to my parents, but after all they were not home and I could not reach them on the cell and needed to be back in Cape by early evening to celebrate my 21st birthday with my friends. The air driving on highway O to the city of Rolla was tainted with heavy smoke and the closer I got to town the more things seemed to not make sense.
I heard the sound of a police siren and as I drew close I saw a police car with its lights on. Only, no one was in the car. I drove over the hill and then everything made sense. Hundreds of people walking, well, swaying towards me at a slow but continuous pace. I knew what had happened, I'd seen it in the films many times before. I called my best friend Trevor Jr. He didn't answer. I was frightened.
I reached Trevor Jr's house and saw that the front door was opened. I walked in. Inside was a smell I had only experienced on animals in the farm that needed buried or burned. It was the smell of death on a warm summer day as the maggots buried themselves into the victim. Only, this victim was my best friend, and he had no such maggots crawling in his skin. I shut the door and ran down to the car.
I knew I needed to be back in Cape. I knew that Rolla was devastated and that there was no hope for my hometown, not that there ever was anyways. I knew my new home was Cape and that I needed to find my way back and warn them of the impending doom had it not already reached them. Thusly, I texted Chris, a close friend. He responded. I knew hope was not lost and that I had a goal.

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