Devon clutched his folding knife tighter as the mad man flung himself at the bathroom door. Even with his shoulder bracing it, the door shuttered and he doubted it would hold out much longer.
“What are we going to do?” his young wife asked. Tracy had backed away as far as the bathroom would allow. Her usual gruff punk rocker nature was buried by the terror of the blood covered man pummeling the door.
“I’m not sure,” Devon said through his clenched teeth. “But if this freak doesn’t lay off, I might have to kill him.”
Tracy’s only answer was her horror filled face.
Another hard slam caused two of the screws to tumble out of the upper door hinge. Devon watched them roll in small circles on the floor and then lie still. “Either way, we’re going to have to make a choice soon.”
The next slam put a big crack through the middle of the door.
“Okay,” Devon started, “This is what we’re going to do. Trace, get into the bathtub right behind me. I’m going to wait and then fling the door open. That should surprise the guy. While I deal with his crazy ass, I want you to get out of here. You got it?”
The man drew back for another slam and this time Devon let the door fly open. With a growl the man tumbled into the bathroom, lost his footing, and crashed against the sink.
“Stay down!” Devon yelled. When he saw the man had no intension of doing so, Devon fenced forward and stabbed the guy in the shoulder.
The man couldn’t have cared less and lunged for him.
“Son of a bitch!” Devon yelled and stabbed forward again. Between his anger and the man attacking without pause, Devon’s knife trust up to the hilt into the man’s heart.
Nothing. No effect.
Once Tracy had moved past him, Devon found himself being backed into the space between the bathtub and the toilet. His fingers searched for something he could use as a weapon and came away with the top of the toilet. “Chew on this, dumb-ass,” he said as he brought the heavy lid down on the attacker’s head as hard as he could. The man collapsed with a sick moan.
For a moment Devon stood there panting. Looking down, he saw that man didn’t appear to be breathing and the knife remained embedded into his heart. Leaning over, he felt for a pulse. Tracy called his name, but he ignored her.
A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.
He let out an uncontrolled cry and jerked away. Without pausing, he rushed through the doorway and slammed the door shut.
“Devon, what is it? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but so’s that guy. He isn’t breathing, has no pulse. I stabbed him in the heart and smashed him over the head and he’s still trying to attack me.”
As if in answer, a scratching began at the base of the damaged door.
“See, the guy should be dead three times over, but he’s still trying to get us.”
“What should we do?”
“First things first,” Devon said and rushed over to the closet and grabbed up his old baseball bat. “I’ll keep guard outside of the door, but I want you to call 911.”
Without saying a word, she hurried to comply. Her cell phone glowed brightly in the shadowed room. “The line is busy. Maybe there’s some accident around here and that’s where this guy came from.”
“Maybe,” Devon said, as the scratching near his ankles grew louder. “Still, I don’t think we’ll get much sleep with this freak locked in our bathroom.”
Loud gunfire sounded and the couple shared a look.
Devon kept his voice even. “Tracy, could you please check to see that the doors are locked and then look out the windows and tell me if you see anything unusual.”
It only took thirty seconds for her to say, “Oh no!” and then hurry back to him. “Everything looks crazy outside. I see pillars of smoke and just a block away people are fighting in the streets.”
The scratching had grown to a banging.
“What does this all mean?” she asked.
“If nothing else, I think it means that for now, we’re on our own.”
And that was when the door swung open.
Check in every Saturday for a new chapter in the Eternal Aftermath!