Moonium: Ch. 1

Brook Hollows

Present Day

The days drew closer to the solar eclipse scheduled for Monday, April 8th, 2024. Americans in the eclipse’s continental path, looked up to the heavens and not down at the bottom of the hill. Typical human behavior and rightfully so, throughout our history. A significant facet of technological evolution in human existence is fighting the very gravity keeping our feet on the ground and ascending into the sky. Humans inched their way into the cosmos—curiosity at its most ambitious. Star gazing parties. Constellations navigating sailors on the high seas. The moon launches, landings and even sports teams named after their space neighbors.

But the real history came alive a few days before the eclipse in a way that can only be described as mytho-prophetic. How could history come alive without being another useless cliché or metaphor? The poisonous barbs so freely displayed in this world by landscapers and gardeners alike, left the world paralyzed, lending credence to the phrase, “wrong place, wrong time.” The horrendous part of this story.

One might wonder, looking at the towns in the path of the eclipse, why did the events happen in such a small city? So where did these world-changing events, for those four days in April, take place? Brook Hollows, Arkansas, of all places! This small Arkansas town isn’t a college town or headquarters for some big corporate conglomerate. Brook Hollows is a place for twelve-hour shifts at the paper mill and fishing on Jasper Wood Lake—kind of town. It’s Friday night football, Saturday morning yard sales and Farmer’s Markets. Brook Hollows became world-famous, not for a celestial peek-a-boo, but for a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence that defied the laws of nature, physics, religion and medical science, leaving the world shocked in terror, as if there wasn’t enough misplaced panic three days before the eclipse.

Friday, April 5th, 2024

Log trucks and four-wheel drive trucks roared up and down Parkline Road just before sunrise. The loud roar and rumble of gas-guzzling engines whizzing by could easily wake the dead on any day. Vehicle headlights lit up the neighborhood on one side of the road as drivers flew past the Northwood Cemetery, followed the iron gate around dead man’s curve, coming and going from town and continued towards Highway 23 East and Millers’ Isle.

However, the calm morning wouldn’t last. The sunshine inched up over the houses, through the oak, pine and magnolia trees and across the cemetery, beyond the iron gates. The grass on both sides of the road sparkled like shattered glass, reflecting the first glow of sunlight on the morning dew. The promise of a new day was forever changed, just as the world was on that frightening Friday. No matter how hard the world tried to forget or pretended it never happened, it absolutely did. But no horror or science-fiction movie could have prepared the world exactly how to react, other than out of fear. This time, a new breed of fear and terror revealed itself—stretched out like a rubber band around a pack of envelopes.

Around 7:15 a.m., young school children lined up at their bus stop on Parkline Road. Kids of all sizes and grades waited patiently, talking among themselves, kicking pine cones and petting the neighbors’ dog. Sunlight peaked through the trees down the road from the bus stop. At 7:20, Bus 23 pulled up to the neighborhood stop to load up the kids up for another school day. The bus didn’t get too far, slowing down near the cemetery entrance with the American flag. The commotion of the kids screaming and yelling with excitement and shock caught the bus driver’s attention. The kids jumped up in their seats, pointing and shouting out their windows. Whispers and gasps filled the kids’ seats like audiences talking during a movie showing.

“Look, Coach! Out there in the—do you see it?” A male student shouted from the back of the bus. His eyes jetted back to the glass window.

The other kids lowered their whispers and gasps up and down the bus, as other students sat up and gawked in shock at the carnage unfolding, not fully aware of what they were seeing.

“LOOK!!!” One young boy sitting at the front of the bus yelled to whoever was listening. “WHOA!!” His pointer finger tapped the window a few times in urgency.

Coach Mark Caine peeked up at the mirror above him when he heard some shouting and noticed the kids were facing the right side of the bus, out over the cemetery, not moving a muscle. What in the—“What’s going on back there?” Coach Caine blurted out. Caine slowed the bus down and eventually stopped right before Dead Man’s Curve. A road leading into the cemetery opened up at the curve to catch vehicles that couldn’t round the curve. Caine was in his late thirties—about 38 or so years old. A few specs of gray hair sprouted up above and on the sides of his forehead. Caine also took up study hall and taught P.E classes at the high school.

“Coach Caine, come see this! This is really scary!” One young, brown-haired girl uttered.

“See what?” Caine asked the kids inside the bus. Caine turned to his right and saw the cemetery through the glass windows of the door. The iron gate obscured some of his view but being higher up in the bus gave him a better view, further out into the cemetery. Headstones lined up in near perfect formation and full view of the grass.

“LOOK, COACH!!” the kid exclaimed, tapping his finger on the glass window. His glasses magnified the panic in his eyes.

A blond-haired girl, sitting near the front of the bus, slowly pointed out at the cemetery, her jaw dropped as she saw the grass rising out of the ground, right before her eyes. Dirt pushed up from the ground, finger bones and arms waved about—struggling to grasp on to anything to help pull them up, and heads bobbing up and down as skeleton corpses climbed, rolled, and slinked their way out of the ground. Fingers. Hands. Arms. Backbones. Skulls. Femurs. Corpses crawled their way back to the surface, like little gophers sprouting up on a golf course. Grass rose up between the rows of headstones, across the whole cemetery.

Caine whispered, out of earshot of the kids on his bus—”I’ll be damned. I see it!” Caine’s seatbelt flew up as he bolted out of his seat. Caine slowly got a quick look at the kids and tried to keep them calm, despite the looming horror yards away. “Everyone sit tight for a minute. Hush up, now! I’ll call dispatch and report all this.” Caine pointed out door window. I doubt anyone else has. “And then, we’re getting out of here.” Caine grabbed the black radio—its cord drooping down. “Hey, dispatch, come in, over!” He looked in the mirror at the kids behind him, looking at him and dead corpses pulling themselves out of the ground.

“Go ahead, Coach Caine!” a female voice from dispatch said.

“You won’t believe what I’m looking at in the cemetery on my route,” Caine said, startled and sighing heavily. Don’t forget to breathe! Relax, man. They can’t get in the bus! Caine grabbed the lever and pulled it shut to make sure the door stayed shut.

“What is it, Caine?” dispatch asked.

“I don’t know if it’s a prank or the apocalypse, but I saw bones and body parts coming out of the ground and moving on their own over here at the cemetery on my route.”

“No, you didn’t! This better not be a prank on me, Coach Caine.”

Coach Caine leaned forward and peered out the big windshield. Some of the corpses near Dead Man’s Curve had gotten their full bodies out of the grave and a few had stumbled their way onto the feet. “I wish it were, dispatch. The kids started screaming when they saw it first. I stopped in front of the cemetery, and they pointed out the window. I looked, and sure enough, hands and arms rose up from the dirt.”

“The kids saw it first—oh hell! Best thing to do is get those kids to school while I call 911 and report it.”

“Thanks, dispatch. I’m headin’ on to the schools.”

“What’s going on?” another kid asked. “Are we still going to school?

“Yes, you are!” Zombies aren’t keeping you kids out of school today. Caine stood up and looked out his window again and saw more and more corpses emerging from their tombs. “Sit down and let’s ride—we’re out of here. ”

“They’re getting closer,” another kid yelled in fear as he cowered in his seat, below the window.

A few screams erupted from the students in the back.

“Go, Coach! Go, now!!” said one older girl sitting over the left wheel base.

Caine looked back at his passengers. “We’re leaving now.” The flashing red ‘STOP’ sign folded back in, as he gunned the engine forward. Caine drove on through Brook Hollows and waited at the Main Street four-way stop until the light turned green. The elementary school was on one side of Brook Hollows and the upper schools were on the other side of the train tracks.

Dispatch radioed back to Caine a few minutes later. “Chief Wigner said he’ll go check on the cemetery.”

“10-4, over!” Caine added. “Tell him he’ll need to bring the whole squad and lots of ‘em!”

“They said they’re on their way to the cemetery. They didn’t sound very serious either. The 911 dispatcher thought I was joking.”

“10-4. Thanks, dispatch! You thought I was joking too—I hear the sirens now,” Caine replied. He saw the lights flashing pass some three blocks behind him, as he waited for the light to change green. Going down that hill, they can’t miss them. They’re blind if they do! God help them! Caine thought to himself as he plowed the bus across Highway 34, to the other side of the tracks in Brook Hollows.

By 7:25 a.m., dozens of corpses had emerged from the underworld and more popped up by the minute. The corpses, attempting to stand up, after being stationary for both at least a century or more and decades, looked like a large crowd of drunks walking the sobriety line when the bars on Beale or Bourbon Street close. Some corpses fell down flat when they put weight on one leg femur or boney foot or the other but eventually stood up on their own.

Officer Daniel Hardy rounded Dead Man’s Curve with the lights flashing but the sirens weren’t blaring. The whaling sirens would have been a good test to see what kind of zombies the cops were dealing with. Not that anyone actually knew how to “deal” with a real zombie, outside of Hollywood. Hardy swerved his Brook Hollows cruiser into the main entrance, stopping in front of the two brick column pillars, just before the hanging American flag.

“There they are, Crews! Up out of the ground—just like the bus driver said,” Hardy declared. Hardy was a younger officer, about 25 years old or so. His overall demeanor felt like he was hired last week, fresh out of the academy. Hardy had a black-haired buzz cut and a well-fit, ironed uniform. His lean frame made it look like his vest and gun belt were too big for his uniform. Hardy stared straight out of the front windshield at the dead corpses standing still and silent. Dirty suites or dresses.

“What in God’s name is happening?” asked Officer Jack Crews, from the passenger side of the cruiser. Crews was about 45 years old and short gray hair flanked by darker hair, with a little bit of a belly. Crews looked off to the right over the cemetery. I gotta see this closer. He slowly hopped out of the cruiser, leaving the door open as he stumbled up to the brick pillar on the right side and stopped. His sunglasses dangled from his right hand as he scanned the cemetery. Crews caught the horrendous odor of a corpse standing ten feet away from the brick pillar, with a sudden gust of wind. He flinched, raised his shirt over his nose—coughing as he slowly retreated back to the cruiser. He stood by the open door and grabbed his portable radio. “Dispatch, This is Unit Three! There’s dead corpses all over the place out here. They’re just standing upright, looking up at the sky. Must be waiting for something.”

Hardy leaped up out of the cruiser and rested his arm on the door frame and right leg on the floorboard. “What are they—they’re not catching a flight to California.” Hardy stated anxiously—his voice nearly cracking under his partner’s sudden return to the cruiser. Hardy flipped his ammo pouch open and checked his clips on his belt. All full and ready!

“Unit Three, you fellas stand down and guard the cemetery until I get there,” Chief Dale Wigner radioed from across town. Wigner had just picked up his breakfast biscuit when he heard the call come in from dispatch.

“Ten-four! Roger that, Chief! We have no problem staying away from these damn things,” Crews replied.

“No fucking way I’m going in there, Crews,” Hardy crooned.

Hardy and Crews stood in silence near the cruiser as a white Subaru whizzed by the cemetery with a weird glance from the older female passenger as she pointed at the iron gate.

“Nothing you want to see here. Keep going,” Crews said sarcastically, with a rushing wave shooing them along.

Hardy noticed a few residents down Mulberry Street, across from the cemetery, watching him and Crews. “We got lookers,” Hardy said, pointing down Mulberry.

“Not much we can do about them,” Crews said.

Hardy waved them back into their house. “Go back inside! We’re waiting on a funeral,” Hardy ordered, with the first thing that came to his mind. All but one homeowner retreated back into their houses. Hardy quickly turned his attention back to the macabre in front of him. “What the hell is going on?” Officer Hardy asked with despair in his voice. Hardy rubbed his forehead and glanced over at Crews.

“Hell if I know. The world wasn’t the same as it was an hour ago,” Crews replied. “The world will never be the same after this.”

Holy sh—we’re not trained for this, Hardy thought to himself, sliding into flight or fight mode. “How’s your ammo clips in case—” Hardy asked, nodding his head towards the corpses.

Crews heard Hardy’s question but kept his eyes on the corpses.

Hardy shook his head. “Why aren’t they wandering around out into the streets of this neighborhood and attacking people?”

Before Crews could say anything, the roar of a loud engine caught their attention as Chief Wigner rounded the curve and rolled up in a white Ford truck that was probably a few years old but damn, if it didn’t look brand new. Wigner took a little more effort in keeping the windshields washed and clean. Floorboard vacuumed and smelling like cinna-rose vanilla, despite the odor of his cigars fighting the scent war.

“About time,” Hardy said, looking back and forth between the cemetery and Wigner’s truck.

Crews glanced at his partner with a bit of pause. Easy kid. We’re outnumbered!

Wigner stopped in the middle of the road—flashing his politicians’ grin. “Howdy, boys!”

“Chief!” Crews said. Crews took a few deep breaths as he approached Wigner’s truck.

“I hear we got ourselves a case of the dead rising like sourdough bread.” Wigner laughed and leaned out the window. Sunglasses covering his eyes and black, Monroe cowboy hat covering what hair loss he had.

“See for yourself, Chief,” Officer Hardy said, waving his left arm across the cemetery.

“Um hum—” Crews moaned in solidarity.

Wigner laughed. “I will, right now, boys.” He punched the gas and swerved onto the first loop road a few yards ahead.

Crews paced back to the cruiser. “There he goes,” Crews said, as he kept strolling over to the brick pillar. “Hardy, move the cruiser over to the yard on the other side of the road.”

Hardy obliged his partner, backed out and cut to the right, coming to a stop in the yard, under the big oak tree.

Wigner drove slowly through the cemetery, barely making a sound, no squealing tires—no more than ten miles an hour. His radio was turned down, almost off. Wigner held his cigar in his left hand, out the window. He inched his way past the corpses one by one, as if he were in a zombie horror film. He drove the curve and quietly stopped in front of a grave in the newer section of the cemetery—a grave belonging to someone he was once close with.

Wigner stopped and put his truck in park, near his friends’ grave. Wigner sighed, as smoke blew out of his nose. Dudley! Why this one—he thought as his eyes thinned and shot to his immediate left. He paused before looking around his truck in all the mirrors and turning his head to the rear bed of the truck. He slowly put his boots on the pavement and walked over to the grave he had his eyes on.

The truck door stayed open as Wigner ventured out into the grass. His footsteps sounded like crunchy taco shells being stomped on. He stopped right in front of his long-time friend, Mr. Dudley Wood, who was unrecognizable, not to Wigner’s surprise. Wigner held his cigar close to his nose to neutralize the decaying odor from Mr. Wood. Mr. Wood’s face still had partial skin over his eyes and right cheek. Half his skull—the left side was exposed to the sunlight. “I would say it’s good to see you again, old friend, but I’d be lying. I can’t do that. I owe you that much at least.” What the fuck do I say to a dead man? Wigner eventually returned to his truck and drove the rest of the loop, right out of the cemetery.

Hardy and Crews kept their eyes on Wigner in case he suddenly needed their assistance. The two officers tip-toed past the brick pillars and crept up to the nearest corpse standing five feet away from the road.

Crews hunkered his back down a few inches like he was sneaking up on a cat wanted back by its’ owner. “Easy, Dan. Watch your trigger—” Crews asserted. “Don’t take my hearing—”

Hardy had his service weapon drawn and pointed at the corpse as a precaution. “I got your left side, Jack.” Hardy stepped his left foot into the grass.

Hardy and Crews took a few more steps towards the corpse in front of them.

Chief Wigner rounded the loop curve and drove back to the brick pillars. “What are these two doing?” Wigner asked with a quick smile. They must scare easily.

The corpse didn’t move a muscle—posing almost catatonic-like, instead. Not caring who approached them. The corpse had a red dress, gray hair and a dark gray skeleton. A few peels of skin fell to the ground as a gust of wind blew through the cemetery.

Wigner slowed to a rolling stop behind his two officers. “Careful boys—it’s a long way to the back of my truck if they come after you. Better jump like a bullfrog,” Wigner laughed.

Hardy and Crews glared at each other in disbelief.

“Jump??” Hardy said. “What—”

Crews glanced back and forth between the red-dressed corpse and Chief Wigner. “This ain’t from any horror movie I ever seen. I’ll tell you that,” Crews stated. Not knowing what the hell these things are going to do from second to the next—Crews thought to himself.

Wigner approached the entrance and parked his truck on Mulberry Street. He called his secretary and told her to hold his calls and cancel his scheduled meetings. A few seconds later, Wigner joined his two officers at their cruiser.

Hardy put his weapon away as he walked next to Crews back to the cruiser. “We got our work cut out for us today, that’s for damn sure,” Hardy replied. “This was not what I expected today.”

“Hell yeah, we do! Babysittin’ the dead most likely.” Crews nodded at Hardy.

“Barricades and bullets! Just like at the academy!” Hardy smiled with a nervous laugh.

Hardy and Crews crossed Parkland Avenue.

“What did you see, Chief?” Hardy asked.

“Something out of a nightmare.” Wigner shook and tilted his head down at the ground. “My old friend, Dudley Wood. He looked scary as shit, being dead and all, but not dangerous.” Wigner raised a serious look on his face, as his eyes pierced the space between him and the cemetery. “Otherwise, we’d all be dead by now. This whole neighborhood would be runnin’ wild with these fuckin’ things.”

“Chief, we can’t take any chances. We have to lock this place down and keep everyone out. Tell the people around here what’s going on,” Crews suggested. He placed his left arm on the car door and the other arm on the roof.

Wigner stepped towards the truck tail gate. His eyes widen, surveying the cemetery, from left to right. “We’ll get to that shortly. We’ll set up roadblocks on all four roads in and out of this place.” Wigner pointed to the two loop roads and the one at the curve. “Don’t forget the one down yonder at the bottom of the hill.”

“Not a chance, Chief,” Hardy said.

“The folks living in that blue house tucked back in that corner need to evacuate immediately.”

“If anyone lives there,” Hardy said.

“We’ll get them out.” Crews responded.

“Go take care of that immediately, Hardy. We’re not waiting for a zombie outbreak to move our asses.”

“Yes, Chief!” Hardy fired up the cruiser and drove around the curve and up the dirt road to evacuate the people living in the big, blue house, off the older part of the cemetery.

“We might need some help, Chief,” Crews suggested.

“Don’t I know it. How do you prepare for this? Who do you call and say the zombies are here?” Wigner asked.

“Make the call, Chief! We’ll do a much better job knowing we have help,” Crews said.

Wigner rubbed his forehead as he took another puff of his cigar. “Shit, Crews. I know! I know we need some help out here.” Wigner grabbed his cell phone from his left pocket and called Pine County Sheriff, Charlotte Kindler. “Stay here, Crews,” Wigner said, pointing at the houses on Mulberry Street.

“Sure, Chief.” Crews nodded.

Wigner strolled a few feet past the pillars, into the cemetery to continue his call and watch the dead. His thumbs tapped his phone screen twice, before his right ear smudged across the screen.

“Sheriff Kindler speak—” Wigner heard as he came to a stop in the middle of the road.

“Charlotte, this is Dale. We have a holy-shit problem on our hands. You need to get to the Northwood Cemetery immediately.”

“Is it a crime scene?”

“It’s more than a crime scene, Charlotte. Get down here and see for yourself.”

“Bodies?” Kindler asked. Her truck rattled as a log truck passed her, probably going ten miles over the speed limit.

“Oh yeah!”

“How many, Dale?”

“All of them, Charlotte,” Wigner said, with a heavy sigh. “Get here now! We’re on the verge of a national panic. Maybe worldwide! I don’t panic easily but we’re severely outnumbered.”

Sheriff Kindler looked down the highway she was parked on the side of as the enormity of Wigner’s request hit her. “Ten-four. I’m on my way. Do I need to send a few of my deputies out there?” Sheriff Kindler responded to an earlier call about a possible break-in about twenty miles out of town.

“Yeah, Charlotte! You do. This town is about to—well, things are about to get real crazy in the world. And I’m not talking about the eclipse on Monday.” This is the warm-up act—I can feel it in my bones.

“How crazy are we talking?”

“Apocalyptic crazy, Charlotte! Neither of us are prepared for it, which is why I need you here to get a game plan together.”

“Alright—sit tight until I get there.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Wigner said as he hung up. “Neither are the dead,” he muttered, looking at his officers. “Help is on the way, boys. Kindler’s coming!”

Chief Wigner and Crews kept watch on the cemetery and their unexpected guests.

It would be one hell of a story, years from that moment. Hell, next week, at the rate things were going. The dead surprised the entire world above ground. They stood still like frozen statues in front of their gravestones. Eyes on the sky with curiosity. Gentle and quiet, not horrific or aggressive—at least, not acting that way.

Word had gotten around the small group of neighborhood people who gathered in front of the cemetery on Mulberry Street. Local law enforcement officers ignored them and met near the flag. Wigner and the officers didn’t do anything inside the cemetery, except barricade the roads leading into the cemetery. What more could we do? Wigner thought to himself.

Nothing changed with the dead. And no one knew what was even happening. Would they turn aggressive or remain demure and calm? How could they be coerced back into their coffins? Are they here to stay? It would only be a matter of time before the wicked word got out through the videos posted and shared in social media. Nor would it be long until the news vans showed up with cute blondes and suited penguins doing their live reporting in front of the black iron gate with dead corpses standing in the background. The air was calm and still. Clouds of different sizes rolled across the morning sky, blocking out the sunlight over the corpses, like a bad omen in horror movies. Only the bad omen was already here. The horrendous, wretched odor of decaying flesh one might expect in the wind was parading out into the neighborhood. Birds chirped in the trees and on nearby power lines. Bright sunlight over the cemetery kept the corpses’ gaze. All seemed normal, but nothing about this Friday morning was normal.

8:17 a.m. CST

Wigner parked his truck by the first entrance to block off Parkline Road, to divert traffic barreling up the road through the surrounding neighborhood to an alternative detour route into Brook Hollows. Crews guarded the four-way stop at the top of the hill around Dead Man’s Curve.

Luckily, a Pine County Sheriff’s vehicle pulled around the sharp curve and blocked off Mulberry Street. Kindler stayed in her truck, talking on the phone and nodding her head as the conversation went on. Kindler was in her mid-thirties, close to six feet tall, with brown hair in a bun, exuding confidence.

“Who’s she talking to?” Chief Wigner asked, curiously, as he strolled over to her truck.

Kindler glanced out passed the iron gate and her gaze froze on the corpses standing at attention. She didn’t even see Chief Wigner. Kindler finally put her phone down and paused for a few seconds. She raised her head and again, glared through her sunglasses at the corpses standing above ground. “What in the devil’s—” Kindler ordered three of her deputies to divert traffic away from the cemetery, before she exited her truck and joined Wigner and Hardy.

Kindler hopped out of the truck and shook her belt, as her door closed. “Dale, you weren’t kidding about all this,” she stated as she shook Wigner’s hand. “I just got off the phone with the White House and I confirmed what President Sill was asking me—about these damn things,” Kindler pointed.

Wigner’s eyes widen as he puffed his cigar in surprise. “Moving up in the world, Charlotte,” Wigner said, with a short laugh.

“No more than they are,” Kindler retorted. And here we are.

“What did you tell them?” Wigner blew cigar smoke away from Kindler.

Kindler cocked her head to the right, raising an eyebrow. Her hands rested on both sides of her belt, near her hips. “Well, the shit has hit the fan and it’d be nice if we can get some help down here. That’s what I told her.”

Ashes fell to the road pavement as Wigner flicked his cigar and laughed heartedly. “I bet she pissed her panties when she heard what’s goin’ on down here.”

“We’ll know soon enough, won’t we,” Kindler said, walking over to the cemetery.

Officer Hardy laughed from a few feet away.

“Ain’t nothing funny here, Hardy. You know your momma would slap that smile off your face if she knew you’re slacking off,” Kindler said, with a brief grin.

Wigner smiled at Kindler sassing Hardy.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Just trying to calm my nerves.” Hardy smiled, before pressing his thumb fingernail into his mouth and darting his eyes around him.

“Just giving you shit, Hardy,” Kindler replied.

Kindler and Wigner strolled into the cemetery, past the brick pillars. A few flaps in the wind of the American flag, welcomed Kindler and Wigner into the cemetery.

Wigner gestured his arms out sarcastically towards the cemetery. “I never kid when something like this happens. Hell, you know that, Charlotte. Nothing to kid about!”

“Nothing like this has ever happened. I don’t even know what this is or why it happened,” Kindler responded. She placed her hands on her hips as she shook her head at the sight of several corpses standing about—hair swaying in the wind.

“Above our pay grade, Charlotte!” Wigner replied.

“This happens in Hollywood—movie sets, not Brook Hollows. This ain’t no perfume shop either. That’s for damn sure, JESUS!!” Kindler said as she covered her nose.

“Well, this ain’t Hollywood, Charlotte.” Wigner puffed another drag of his cigar.

“No shit! We’ll have to block all the roads—until further notice.” This couldn’t have come at a worse time for me. I’m already stretched thin as it is.

Chief Wigner nodded. “Keep the crazies out. They’ll be looking for some Friday night entertainment, taking potshots at these corpses. We don’t know how they’ll react to being shot.”

“Let’s not find out. We keep all roads closed and everyone, except law enforcement, out! No exceptions! Anyone trespassing goes straight to jail.”

“Hard secret to keep, Charlotte. Might need to make a call to Little Rock yourself.” Wigner looked back at the growing crowd on the other side of the street. Scores of people had gathered, and of course, their phones were attached to their hands, recording everything. “Not much we can do about it now. We’re police officers, not the phone police.”

Kindler looked over her shoulder. “Nope. Not our responsibility right now.”

Wigner quickly ordered Hardy to stand guard on Mulberry Street.

“Sure thing, Chief!” Hardy said. The farther away, the better.

“I’ll call the mayor and tell him what’s happening. I hope he doesn’t mess things up and make a spectacle out of all this.” Not that far-fetched in their imperfect and now illogical world.

“Forget politics, Dale! Pull rank if you have—this is your—” Kindler pointed back and forth between them. “Our show now. More than the goddamn politicians. They’re supposed to be scared where they sit. We’re not.”

Wigner laughed. “Alright then. Mind if I light a cigar while we wait?” Wigner laughed again.

“Sure. The world’s gone to shit, so smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

Wigner pulled a silver lighter, with a skull on one side and the American flag on the other, out of his pocket and waved it at Kindler. Wigner smiled and lit his cigar. Smoke floated away from Wigner’s face.

“We’ll keep things covered through the weekend. We have enough going on with this damn eclipse,” Kindler said. “And here these things show up, and all hell breaks loose. I can’t say I mind too much but hell, give us a fucking reason or clue as to why they’re here or what the hell is going on. Luckily, they’re looking at the sky instead of destroying this town.”

“Not too much to ask,” Wigner said. “Only way we’ll ever know is if these damn things start talking to us.”

The longer Kindler and Wigner stood there, the more time they had to figure it out—a blessing and a curse.

“I’ll have my guys posted here through Monday. We’re going to need more help if this gets bigger, and I suspect it will,” Wigner responded. “Crowd control at least.”

Kindler told Wigner that President Sill was sending help from Little Rock. “They should be here in two hours or so, but I’m not sure we can wait that long.”

“State Police or the National Guard?” Wigner suggested.

“Yeah, both—probably!” Kindler said.

“Charlotte, we can’t contain this.” Wigner points down Mulberry Street and the crowd of people gathered out on their lawns, pointing at the cemetery. “People are going to show up, hit record on their videos and this thing will go viral quicker than a bird shitting on Sill herself,” Wigner said.

“Yes it will. But we have to think of Brook Hollows first, Dale. We can handle this together. If something were to happen, it would have already happened,” Kindler said. She stepped away from Wigner and called the Arkansas State Police to confirm help was on the way.

Wigner saw the crowd forming across the street, as well as homeowners on Mulberry Street standing at the end of their driveways—each with a thousand questions and just as many guns and ammo, between the lot of them, in case things go south in a heartbeat. The zombie on the lawn Wigner didn’t want to acknowledge, despite its irony and more weight on his shoulders than elephants. It was just a waiting game at that point.

Kindler came back moments later and informed Wigner that state troopers were on their way from Little Rock.