As he walked down the path back toward his house, he heard a group of kids signing in their backyard. It was to the tune of a Christmas song, but the words were oddly changed: Joy to the world, my teacher is dead I bar-be-cued her head
Where is the body?
I flushed it down the potty
Round and round it goes
Oh round and round it goes
Oh round, and round, and round it goes
The children’s song disturbed him, just like his own thoughts disturbed him. He wasn’t merely angry with those people.
He wanted to eat them. It was a genuine desire, not just a fleeting thought. He wanted to butcher them like cattle and chop them into steaks, especially Dale and Janice.
Jesus Christ, he thought. Where is this coming from? He stepped over a ball of black and orange ants and passed his back gate without stopping. Abruptly he changed direction and headed across the fairway, walking over to Randy’s shack. He needed to talk, and Randy was the closest thing he had to a friend out here.
In the back of his mind, a niggling little thought persisted: Randy had a gun collection. Randy had let him borrow guns in the past. Try as he might, Brad couldnt get this thought to leave him alone.
Halfway to Randy’s shack, Brad stumbled upon the oddest thing he’d ever seen. There were two snakes right in the middle of the fairway, both mottled brown and looking to be of the same species, and they were eating each other. They had swallowed a good portion of each other’s tail. As he stood staring at it, there was the sound of an automobile horn, and Brad looked up to see a van driving right down the fairway at him. Brad took several steps out of the way and the van drove past, running over the snakes. It was a white van with a government seal on the door panel: The Environmental Protection Agency. Brad continued on his way, wondering what that was all about, wondering why the hell they were driving all over the golf course. Randy would be pissed.
Randy, the greenskeeper, had a shack on the back nine, right beside a pond and a large sand trap. As Brad approached the pond he felt an overwhelming wall of humidity. They community was pumping a lot of water into all the lawns, ponds, and swimming pools, and the Arizona sun did it’s best to dry them out. Phoenix and the surrounding suburbs could no longer brag about the benefits of their “dry heat.” Brad walked around the shack to the door and found it closed and locked. Feeling let down and disappointed, he walked around the shack, looking up and down the greens for a sign of Randy, and he spotted the man walking out from the trees, heading toward him.
“There was a van running around on your grass!” Brad called out.
Randy nodded and waved. He was in his fifties, with long black hair that he kept in a ponytail, and a ruddy, weatherworn face. He was dressed in his usual faded jeans and a tee shirt. “I know!” he called back. As came closer, Brad noticed the man had an unhappy expression and a haunted look in his eyes. He also looked a bit pale.
“What’s going on?” Brad asked him.
“They confiscated the Nupoint stuff. You know, that experimental stuff for the ants?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they took it all.” Randy wasn’t looking at him. He was looking off to the side, his eyes unfocused.
“Why did they take it?” Brad asked.
“Didn’t say,” Randy said. His voice had a soft, faraway quality to it. “I suspect they discovered the stuff wasn’t as harmless as Nupoint said it was.”
“Was it killing the birds or something?”
“It’s not a poison. It’s an enzyme. It made the ants turn on each other.” He finally looked up at Brad, his eyes suddenly focused. “How are you feeling?”
“Depressed. Pissed off.”
“Janice hasn’t come home yet?”
“I don’t think she ever will. I got into a fight with Dale a few minutes ago.” He related what happened at the clubhouse coffee shop, omitting his bizarre cannibalistic urges.
“How does that make you feel?” Randy asked.
“It makes me feel like
like borrowing one of your guns and blowing the bastard’s head off!”
“And then what?”
“Well, blow her head off, too.”
“And then what?”
Brad gave Randy a strange look. “And then have myself committed, I guess.”
Randy nodded slowly, his eyes going unfocused again. “I know what you mean.”
“The really crappy part is I still haven’t had any breakfast, and I’m starving. You wouldn’t happen to have any of your rabbit jerky around, would you?”
Randy gave him a sharp look. “No!” He saw that Brad was taken aback, and he softened his voice. “No. I’m not going to make any more. I think the rabbit is
tainted.”
“Oh, come on! Everyone in town eats your jerked jackrabbit.
It’s great!”
Randy shook his head, looking down. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any.” He took a few steps away, then paused and turned around.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he said. “I have things I gotta do.”
“Do you need some help?” Brad asked.
“No.” Randy’s tone was flat. Final. He turned around and walked away.
Brad watched him go, then wandered off in the opposite direction. He had no destination in mind. Not wanting to go home, and unable to go to the clubhouse, Brad roamed the golf course at random and tried to ignore his empty stomach. Maybe, he thought, I should have brought my clubs. He watched other golfers as they drove and putted. One particular couple caught his attention a slightly overweight blond woman and her husband, people he’d met but forgotten their names. They looked to be in their late thirties, and healthy. The woman looked good. She was wearing shorts and a half-shirt, and he could see her belly button. She had some meat on her, and a little padding not much, really
and nice, full breasts. Watching her, his mouth began to water.
His stomach growled.
They drove their balls down the fairway and then took their clubs and walked. Brad followed, keeping to the side by the trees.
They noticed him following, and kept glancing back at him nervously. Brad thought about approaching them, maybe asking to see an interesting club. He could use it on their heads, and once down, pull her half shirt up and
Brad realized what he was thinking, and he turned away in horror. But he was so hungry. She looked so good! He could imagine biting down hard, then pull away, ripping the flesh. It would be so hot and succulent in his mouth, so alive, so
Brad looked down at his hands, which were shaking. He made fists of them and put them to his face, pressing hard. His hunger was a knot in his midsection that was twisting tighter.
He turned back toward the couple, who was openly staring at him now. He started toward them and he saw the woman back away.
The man looked startled, and he fumbled in his golf bag, reaching deep, and yanked out a large black pistol. Brad paused, hesitating. The man pointed the gun at him and fired. Brad turned around and ran, and the man kept firing.
Brad heard the bullets they made whistling sounds as they passed him. When they hit the trees they made a sound that was a cross between a whack and a sharp crunch and bark would fly off.
He ran blindly, leaping over fallen limbs and punching his way through underbrush. He broke out into another fairway and kept running, continuing on far after the gunshots had stopped.
At the end of the fairway was the south boundary of the golf course. Brad stopped his running, and chanced a look back. People were scattered all over the place, standing still with clubs in their hands, and they were all staring at him. Just standing and staring. Then the man with the gun broke through the underbrush and out onto the grass. He began firing the gun again, but not at Brad he was firing at people at random. They scattered, running in every direction, and the man with the gun picked the people he was closest to and chased them. More gunshots sounded.
Brad took the main road and walked quickly away from the golf course. A few blocks down was Dickson’s only shopping center, with a post office, a grocery store, a salon and a gas station.
There had been a bookstore but it had closed down, as no one seemed to read anymore. Brad made his way to the phone booth at the gas station and called 911. He was still panting from his run.
Gunshots were still booming through the air from the golf course.