Parasitus hour 24

0100 HOURS

     We only have five senses, according to modern science. Well, science got this one wrong. Fear is a sense all its own. It has the power to wrestle all others into submission, placing oneself into a cocoon of pure dread.
     This is what Grady is feeling. His ears are robbed of sound; aside from the muffled screeches of tires, accompanied by the distinct wails of people and sirens alike. Smoke and gunpowder raid his nostrils, then trample over his taste buds, to conquer them both in one fell swoop.
     Touch is altogether absent. Grady's body has gone numb, choked into slumber by terror of the inevitable. The super-sized pole in his path is huge and isn't going to budge. Adrenaline slows his relationship with time, enough for him to notice splinters protruding from the wooden column. Death is at life's doorstep. Nobody could survive a head-on collision with what is essentially a tree trunk; not at those speeds.
     The front wheels of Grady's eighty-eight' Cutlass Supreme crunch against a sewage drain. The force catapults the car into the air, and the six-foot-nine giant from his seat. Its undercarriage clips the side of the pole, toppling the tan two-door on its side. It spins around like a massive dreidel, before coming to rest in a crumpled heap of fuming metal carnage, then darkness, at last, overtakes Grady's vision. Unobstructed moonlight covers everything in a cool tinge. Sporadically, passing clouds set its soft glow into a rhythmic pattern, as they roll across its spherical silhouette. An autumn breeze grazes Grady's cheek. It's one of the many sensations, from his returning senses, starting to reunite him with consciousness.
     "Uggh... What in God's name?" Grady grumbles. He is strung out on top of his cracked windshield, legs among the woodgrain and leather interior, head in the sliver of grass between the curb and sidewalk.
     Pain starts to set in. Grady groans in agony. Everything hurts. Reality starts to set in as well. He is alive, but far from safe. This wasn't a typical car accident.
     It happened due to a war of the worst kind; a war unexpected and without Intel.
     Neither Grady, nor anyone else around, know exactly what is going on. Urgency impels him up into a seated position, patting himself in search of injury. There are plenty of scrapes and abrasions, but, thankfully, nothing seems to be broken. A final inspection reveals the worst of Grady's injuries. The tip of his right ear has been torn clean off. It's bloody, but the least of his worries. The worst of those surround him, something he quickly remembers. He watches the people of the community dash around madly, unable to decipher predator from prey.
     "My pistol!" Grady scrambles back through the windshield in search of his handgun. It was on his lap before the crash, so it could have  wound up anywhere. It may not still be in the car at all for all he knows.
     Grady is not only tall, but also takes girth to a whole new level. By the look of his broad upper body, defined arms, and the dexterous manner in which he holds the rest of his three-hundred-pound load, one would imagine he was supremely fit in his younger days. His protruding belly and chubby face are the only things hinting at how out of shape he actually is.
     Grady rummages around the front seat. The weapon isn't there, but his trademark Kango cap is. "Come to daddy," he says. Grady isn't in position to don the furry hat, so he holds it in his hand and manages to squirm around into the rear of the contorted vehicle.

Heavy gloom envelops the interior, an impenetrable mass for sight, and the gun still hasn't surfaced. If it is there, Grady has just about run out of time to find it. With all the savagery going on around him, he doesn't want to get caught off guard. An aluminum bat he keeps in the rear floor will have to suffice. Grady grabs hold and works his way back out the way he crawled in. It isn't easy and his groans tell that story. Yet, he eventually makes it to his feet and scrapes the debris from his Khaki's, the glass crumbles falling at his feet.
     Grady is ready to continue on with his mission. His sister's apartment complex is maybe six hundred yards out. It's so close, he can see it up the block.
     But, something else is closer.
     A shadowy figure dashes at Grady, covering ground at a freakish rate. Shrieks belch from its mouth in an inhuman frequency, until Grady's bat clanks across its skull. The blow is hard enough to be good for a homerun in any baseball stadium in the world.
     And to shatter the thing's skull into shards of brittle bone. "Lord, I don't know if this is you or these folks down here, but I'm too old for this." Grady wipes the blood from bat into the grass and takes off in his sister's direction. He has hardly taken a full step, when another apparition lunges from his left. The sellout dive plays into Grady's favor. He shifts the attackers weight in midair, executing a body slam to the hard pavement. A shoe flies from the foot of what, at first, seems to be an ordinary woman. Her unnatural screams, distended eyes, and bloated larynx erase any doubt that she is far from it.
     A single, firm strike silences her.
     Grady leers down at the body. The lighter tone of the woman's skin permits a recognizable abnormality to catch his attention.
     "I knew it. It's them sick people."
     Feeling he has already wasted too much time, Grady doesn't bother to dawdle further with his thoughts. Instead, he picks up his hat - lost in the fray - places it on his neatly cropped head, then begins a steady trot towards Steeplechase Apartments.
     A streetlamp flickers faintly, damaged by the debris of Grady's accident. Several others are spread along the perimeter of the service station parking lot behind where he stands. They are the only refuge from the hidden danger of what prowls in the dark, howls of agony and terror emanating from within it. Grady follows the deep gouges in the paved lot, as far as his eyes can see. He realizes how lucky he is to have struck the utility pole, after all. Had he not, the fuel pumps were the next obstacle waiting in his path. He would have perished where he had frequently stopped to fuel his beloved car.
     A glint of light at the edge of the sidewalk gains Grady's attention. "That's what I'm talking bout." He jogs over to retrieve his revolver. It looks like it didn't take much damage, aside from a few abrasions on it's shiny, steel surface.
     Grady flicks open the wheel to ensure that the internal mechanisms are still in working condition. He can see one of the rounds is spent. It was already cocked during the crash, so the impact likely caused the discharge.
     The empty casing falls silently to the grass, as Grady feels around the inside of his pants pocket to replace it with a live round. The cylinder is barely shut, when rapid footsteps and panicked shouts come from behind.
     A sprinting young woman drops to the ground screaming, "No!" as Grady levels the barrel at her torso.
     Realizing she isn't the threat, Grady moves his aim to the man chasing her. His violet tinge and bulging veins identify him as the enemy. Grady shoots without hesitation. The man crumples to his knees, blood spurting from the gaping hole in the side of his neck. He emits grumbling sounds, vacillating between human cries of pain and monstrous vibrations. The scared girl scrambles behind Grady and keeps close enough for him to feel the fright radiate from her body. "What the hell is going on?" she cries out.
     "Don't know, but I ain't standing here to find out the hard way."
     The gunshot should have been mortal, but the man stands right up. His body twitches almost mechanically. Blood still squirts from his neck to the rhythm of his accelerated heartbeat, though slowing rapidly. A thick, sludge like substance extends from the wound and semisolid tentacles seem to be sealing it.
     "Oh shit!" Grady says in a long, drawn out manner. He sounds more impressed than fearful.
     "Oh my God! What the fuck is that!?" his companion shouts. Her voice is slightly muffled by the plain black, cotton mask hooked behind her ears. Acting on an obvious theory, Grady aims again, and the flush man's face explodes into a mist of flesh. His body drops limp, lying motionless.
     "It's the end of the world, that's what it is."
     Suddenly, there's more movement. A gelatinous mass squeezes from the body's facial cavity. Though formless, the dark blob moves with a gait similar to a dying animal. It lugs itself to the ground, where it collapses for good.
     Almost simultaneously, the first two individuals Grady has already dispatched of show themselves to still be very much alive. They attempt to stand, again and again, only to crash helplessly to the ground. This activity continues unceasingly.
     "Uh uh, I'm out," says Grady, continuing on the path to rescue his sister.
     "Wait!" the young lady shouts, following behind. "I'm going with you!"
     Grady pauses to hand her his bat. Only then does he realize how small and youthful she is, barely an adult. She's wearing high-rise jeans that accentuate her girlish figure and stop just above her ankles. This leaves room to feature her glowing, milk chocolate skin, above checkered, cotton flats. "What's your name?" he asks her.
     "Bambi." The girl is visibly shaking. Her dark eyes are as wide as physics permit, and her breathing is deep and rapid.
     "I know you're scared Bambi, but you're going to have to fight to live."