Legends of the Fog Story | legendsofthefog.com

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Until Halloween!

I’ve lived here my entire life. In fact, my whole family has been here for centuries. My father, his father, and his father’s father all worked for AllanBioChem at the government owned plant just outside of town. They never talked about what they did over there. You’d need military clearance to know all that. From what we gathered, the company was contracted some top secret chemical warfare stuff. But, they worked hard, and always played it safe. In a little town like this, no one takes chances.

That’s why everyone was so shocked when the paper came out that September morning. Apparently, one of the new chemicals they’d been experimenting with at the factory had become airborne. Some sanitarians were conducting air sampling in the woods and got a strange read. “Worse than the South Baltimore cyanide scare of ’62,” one said. “Like anthrax’s nasty older brother,” the other commented. “Saran gas would be like pure ozone compared to this stuff,” another health department official told the Times. “It could reach downtown within a matter of days. I highly suggest you gather your families and evacuate until we get this thing cleaned up.”

Residents began to panic. Within two days, half the town was gone. Those who stayed behind stocked up on toilet paper, bottled water, flashlights, batteries, and cans of beans. If you checked the grocery store shelves, you’d think a blizzard was on its way.

But, my family remained calm. Dad, who was retired now, was always cursing those “whack-job environmentalists,” who “couldn’t just let the military do its job and protect their behinds.” I’ll never forget what he said as he turned on the ballgame that afternoon, “Besides, no matter what place you call home, or what’s in the water you drink, and the air you breathe, you’re going to die anyway, right? We’re just going to keep living like we always do.”

For the first time in his life, he was wrong. There was no ballgame that afternoon. No cartoons, talk shows, or infomercials, either. It was the emergency broadcast system. And it wasn’t a test. Every channel was a blue screen with the following message printed on it in yellow letters: “FOG WARNING: Volatile chemicals from the factory have become airborne and have reached town limits. The effects of the vapors on humans are unknown, but are believed to be fatal. Please remain inside your homes until the authorities clear you for evacuation.”

“What now, Harold?” Mom asked Dad. “I told you we should have gone to my sister’s.”

“Come on, Margaret! This will all blow over,” he said. “I worked at the factory for thirty-nine years, and handled chemical agents that could destroy half of the globe when combined in the right way. Let’s just relax and think of it as a little vacation. Now that I don’t have to cut the grass later, I think I’ll catch up on some Michener.”

“Not so fast, Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright. Why don’t you make yourself useful and take out the trash.”

Dad looked at me and rolled his eyes. He grabbed his book from on top of the TV and settled into his recliner.

“I think I’ll wait until the warning is lifted. You heard the man, Margaret. We’re supposed to stay inside.”

“Oh, so now you’re scared.” She smirked.

“No,” he peered over his glasses, “I just don’t feel like doing it right now. What’s the point, anyway? Who’s going to come pick it up?”

“Harold. You’re being ridiculous, don’t you think? It was your decision to stay here. If we’re stuck in this house, it may as well smell pleasant.”

Dad let out a long sigh, put the book on the end table, and got up from his chair. “The things I do to make you happy, woman,” he muttered as he made his way through the sliding door onto the deck. Mom went back into the kitchen. She was there for less than a minute when we heard Dad scream. It wasn’t a release of tension. It wasn’t as though he were surprised. It sounded like he was in pain.

Mom ran back into the den. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her voice high and soft. I nodded, terrified.

“I think you need to go check it out,” she demanded, waving her dish towel at me. “He’s probably just playing games with me.”

My heart pounding, I slowly opened the sliding door, leaving it open a crack, just in case. I crept along the deck towards the garage, staying close to the house. I could hear my dad moaning.

“Dad?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“Dad?” I asked again, a little louder this time.

“Don’t come back here!” he snapped.

I peered around the corner and saw a dark red trail leading to the garbage cans. I saw Dad’s boot poking out from the other side. He was on the ground. I ran over to him.

“Dad! What happened?”

“I told you not to come over here!”

As I turned the corner, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It looked as though the bones supporting his face had been broken. Blood oozed from his eyes, his ears, his nose, his mouth. As I scanned his figure, I noticed that his abdomen had been ripped open just above his hip. Teeth marks permeated the site. A rib cracked out of his t-shirt, and he was missing several fingers. His jagged femur projected skyward out of his jeans, which were now black with blood.

At first, I thought he got attacked by a mountain lion or something. With half the town gone, the whole ecosystem had changed within a week. I’d heard that other people detected large animals in their yards, but no one had been attacked so far. At least not to my knowledge.

“Where is it, Dad?” I asked, reaching for a rake that was leaning against the garage. “I’ll kill it!”

“It?” he asked, groaning in pain. “IT? What do you mean it?”

“The animal that did this to you.”

“Animal?” he sneered. “Probably back at his house. It was Frank.”

“Frank our next door neighbor?”

“Why would Frank attack you like this?” I asked as I took off my sweatshirt and wrapped it around his stomach to stop the bleeding. I ripped off one of the sleeves and wiped his face with it.

“He wasn’t himself.” A gurgling sound emerged from his throat and he spit a chunk of bloody tissue on the ground.

“What do you mean? Where is Frank?”

“He attacked me and then he took off.”

“But why?”

“Look, there’s something I need to tell you.” He was breathing hard.

“Let me go get mom and call 911 first. You’re in pretty bad shape.”

“No! Don’t go!” He grabbed my arm with his remaining thumb and ring finger. The old man still had it in him. I stayed by his side. “I’m going to be okay,” he softened. “We’ll be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“I’d heard about this years ago at the plant, but never believed it was real. This new chemical…it…it…it can alter the human state.”

“What do you mean?”

I heard the sliding door open.

“Yoo-hoo! What’s going on out there?” Mom yelled out.

Dad put his ring finger up to his lips and shook his head.

“We’re just talking,” I said. “Guy stuff.”

“Well, you two need to come back in here, soon. The dishwasher is leaking again. Harold? Do you hear me?”

“Sure, honey,” he managed to cough out. “Be right in.”

“I hope you’re not smoking cigars out there. You know what the doctor said!”

“We’ll be in in a few minutes, Mom.”

After we heard the door close, Dad continued.

“It’s a biological weapon designed to turn people into cannibals…immortals. They’re meant to destroy each other…and civilization as we know it. I always thought it was a joke, but then Frank…Frank…” his eyes began to roll back in his head.

“Shh…” I told him. “I’ll take care of you. I’m going to get Mom and call 911 now.” “Don’t bother,” he said. “They won’t know what to do. And I don’t want to worry your mother. Tell her to go to your Aunt Janet’s house. Tell her I’ll be waiting there.” “What about you and me? You said we’d be okay.”

“And we will. We’ll go to the plant. There’s a universal antidote that can counteract every chemical we make in in the B-Cell freezer by the cafeteria. We made enough for the whole town. It’s our only chance…”

I was already off. I told Mom that Dad was startled by something he saw in the woods and wanted to investigate it. I said he wanted her to go to Aunt Janet’s right away…just in case.

“Oh, so now something’s wrong. Now he’s afraid,” she said. She continued denouncing him as she threw useless possessions into a bag. As she wrapped a china pig in newspaper and boxed up two crystal candlesticks, I stopped her.

“Mom, you need to leave now. This could be serious. None of this will matter soon, trust me.”

“You know what, you’re right. It’s your future, not mine,” she said gesturing towards the shelves of porcelain plates she’d been collecting since her honeymoon. She slammed the bag on the dining room table and stormed into the entryway, grabbing her coat and throwing me another sweatshirt. “I think you’ll need this. It’s getting chilly. I thought you had one on earlier.”

“I got hot,” I told her.

“Well, wear it anyway,” she said. “We should have left here last week,” she said, slamming the front door behind her. As soon as I heard her peel away in her station wagon, I went back to get Dad. His breathing had grown shallower, but the bleeding had died down. He could still talk. “We’ll take the Jeep,” he said.

I pulled the Wrangler out of the garage and hoisted Dad into the back. I got to the end of our street and turned on my left turn signal to take Carsin’s Run Road towards the plant. Dad snorted.

“Don’t worry about staying on the road. Cut through the farms. We’ll get there faster.”

I raced through fields of grass, corn, and pumpkins to get to the plant. I knew that every bump we hit must have been brutal for Dad, but considering the stakes, I didn’t want to waste time.

When we got to the plant, the gates were all locked. Caution tape covered every surface. The place, like the rest of town, was abandoned.

“You’ll have to hop the fence,” Dad said.

I hopped off the Jeep when Dad called after me.

“Wait! You don’t even know where you’re going!”

I ran back. My dad directed me to the keys he still had, which were under his seat. “I thought I might need these someday,” he said. “Take the B-Cell door by the loading docks,” he pointed with his ring finger. Just follow the signs. The freezer is at the end of the hall on the right. Look in there for the vials. They’re labeled ‘Project TD.’ Bring them all.”

I climbed the fence and dashed to the B-Cell entrance. Luckily, Dad meticulously labeled his keys, so I got in right away. The concrete hallway was dimly lit by flickering yellow fluorescent lights, which hummed as I made my way to the freezer. When I finally got there, I realized the solid metal door was locked. I scanned each of Dad’s keys, but none said “freezer.” I tried each one, but to no avail. I began to kick the door with all my might, only to dent the stainless steel. I looked behind me for a fire extinguisher, a pipe, anything that could get me in. Nothing. Out of sheer frustration, I kicked the door one more time, and it swung open.

It was completely dark, so I fumbled for a light switch on the wall to my left. I took a step forward and heard glass crumbling beneath my feet. I went to step back and the freezer door slammed behind me, shrouding me in complete and frigid darkness. Another burst of glass shattered under my foot. A chain from the ceiling grazed my cheek. I pulled it.

From the back of the freezer, a pale blue light came on through a hazy curtain. I looked around me and saw that shelves were all bare. A scattering of vials littered the floor. I picked one up. It read “Tamiflu.” Another: “Fluarix.” One more: “Alfluria.” I examined vial after vial. Not one said “Project TD” or anything of the sort. I grabbed all the vials I could and filled my pockets. I pushed the freezer door to leave, but it was stuck. I pushed my knee into it, and it still wouldn’t give. I panicked. I began to beat on the door with my fists and scream, knowing full well no one would find me. At least that’s what I thought.

After about five minutes of pounding and yelling, the door opened. A man stood on the other side. By his attire, I guessed that he was an employee of the plant. He was dressed lab coat and long black vinyl gloves. I could barely see his face because he wore a surgical mask and cap. All I could see were his eyes. They looked angry. Almost crazy. The deep wrinkles surrounding them suggested he was either elderly or had a hard life. Maybe both. He towered over me and his shoulders were twice as wide as mine.

I lowered the hood on my sweatshirt to make myself seem more approachable, hoping he would remove some of his own facial accessories. He didn’t.

“Hi. I’m Harold Bressner’s kid. He used to work here. He, uh, got hurt, and told me to come and get some medicine for him.” I hoped my meek attempt at a nepotistic introduction would save me…and especially my father.

But, the man said nothing.

“I, uh…I was just leaving,” I said, trying to get past the guy.

He stepped out of my way so I could leave the freezer, but quickly circled back and stood before me as I walked towards the exit. He pointed at my pocket and held out his hand, palm up.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I…I…I think my father might need this. Harold Bressner, he used to work here.”

Again, he shook his hand at me. I placed the vials, all ten of them in his palms. He read each label to himself, glancing at me and shaking his head after tossing each one in a garbage can. I wanted to run, but he was so much bigger than me. That angry look in his eyes didn’t help, either.

“Look. Mister,” I began. “My father is very sick. He could be dying. He’s right outside. Maybe you can help me.”

The man just stared at me. It was then I realized that he probably couldn’t hear. I repeated myself, a little louder. He shirked away, covered his ears, and put a finger to his mouth, but he still just stared.

“I need to be going now,” I said, pushing my way past him. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back. After loosening his grip, he took off his surgical mask and cap and I gasped. He had no hair. His face was covered in scars, like he’d been burned badly. His ears were just holes in the side of his head. His mouth was sewn shut. As though I couldn’t see these things myself, he pointed them out to me with his gloved fingers. The anger in his eyes became pain. He shook off his gloves. His fingers were missing, but the palms were still there, With his chin he pushed up his left sleeve and revealed thousands of red marks on his arm. If it wasn’t for this attempt to communicate with me, I would have assumed he wasn’t human.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “How did this happen?”

He gestured for me to follow him.

“I would, but my father…” I looked towards the door.

He put a firm hand on my shoulders and looked into my eyes as though to say, “Trust me.” I had a feeling it was his way of saying he could help, so I followed him. He led me back to the freezer. The back wall, as it turned out, was false. Behind it was a small room full of filing cabinets. He dug through the “W” drawer and emerged with a file labeled “Jacob Watts.” He sat me down in a folding chair and flipped through the file over my shoulder until he got to an old black and white photograph of a man. The worker sat beside me and pointed at the picture with his stump. He looked to be in his early twenties. His hair was parted to the side and heavily gelled. He had a big, toothy grin. He looked like a newscaster. There was something familiar about his eyes though. I turned to the side and realized they were the same eyes staring back at me. The worker pointed at the photograph, then pointed back at himself. Despite all the scarring and mutilation, and age in general, it was definitely him.

Next, below a copy of an MIT biochemical engineering degree, he pulled out a document and jammed it into my hands. He pointed at it, as though to say, “Read.”

It was a contract, hand written in 1961. It explained that Mr. Watts would be on a mission to develop a biochemical weapon that could transform human DNA to make people immortal. Humans could survive death by eating each other, ultimately infecting everyone in their vicinity. The contract explained that Mr. Watts would be compensated with a hefty financial sum, a government supplied emergency bunker, and a highly specialized vaccination that would make the human immune system impervious to genetic alteration. The vaccine was proven to penetrate the Weismann barrier and offer mitochondrial protection against disease, though one side effect of the vaccine was the alteration of facial features and hypersensitivity of the skin, both the body’s attempts at evolving into a disease fighting machine. The catch was that Watts would have his mouth sewn shut and his fingers amputated so that he couldn’t share the plant’s secrets with anyone. According to the contract, there were about fifty other engineers offered the position. Their names were listed and checked off as “Accepted” or “Declined.” As I glanced down the list, I found my grandfather’s name. Neither box was checked.

Mr. Watts, who seemed to be ignoring me, went over to the “B” drawer and pulled out two files. The first was labeled “Alfred Bressner.” It was my grandfather’s. As he rifled through it, he found a letter of resignation dated 1985 and handed it to me. The letter said that Grandpop was tired of the voodoo games AllanBioChem was playing and threatened that he would report their misdeeds to the media if the plant did not cease operations on Project TD immediately. Mr. Watts pointed at the date. It was written the day before his death, from an apparent stroke, at the plant of all places. Underneath the letter was a memo that read, “Took care of the A.B. situation. From what we gathered during the investigation, B. the younger has no idea about either thing. Claims family history of stroke. Tried the P.T.D. rumor out on him. He seems skeptical of the whole idea. Wouldn’t worry about him. We’ll keep an eye, anyway.” “You mean?” I asked.

Mr. Watts nodded as he passed me the other folder, which was labeled “Harold Bressner”. I began to open it and he pointed towards the clock. Dad. Time was running out. Mr. Watts turned towards the door and motioned for me to follow. I brought all three folders with me. He led me back through the freezer to the entrance and opened the door for me. As I was leaving, he pressed two capped syringes full of a greenish liquid into my hand. “Project TD” was written on each in fine point marker.

“Thank you,” I told him as I passed through the door. He nodded.

I turned and ran back to the Jeep.

Dad was unconscious when I got there, though I did detect a faint pulse. I injected his upper bicep with the serum and sped back towards town. After hitting a few bumps in one of the fields, Dad came to, coughing and gagging.

“Stop the Jeep,” he said. I shoved the emergency brake and turned around to look at him. It was dark now and all I could see was moonlight reflecting in his eyes. “Thanks for trying to save me,” he breathed. “But, I think it’s too late. I’m changing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Like Frank…I’m…I’m changing. I can’t think straight.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Dad, and you’re probably delirious. I’m going to drive us to the hospital and take care of you there,” I said.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m starting to…to…to get hungry.”

“Me, too. It’s been a long day. I’ll drive through the Dairy Queen and get you a sandwich on our way.”

“I don’t want a burger.”

“Get chicken, then.”

“You don’t understand. I want to eat…flesh.”

“Okay…What do you mean?”

“I mean a person…like you.”

“Dad, I’m taking you to the hospital. I think you’re losing it.”

“I am…I’m losing control. There’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to kill me.”

“Kill you? I can’t do that. You’re my father.”

“Not anymore. Pretty soon I’ll be no one. Psychotic. Like Frank. He did this to me, and if you don’t stop me, I’ll do it to you. I don’t think I have much time. I’m losing my ability to think clearly. And I just don’t feel right.”

His skin had taken a greenish tinge. His complexion was not one of sea sickness or jaundice. He had a radioactive glow. The skin around his eyes was red now and blood began to pour from every hole in his face.

“You’ve got to believe me on this. If you don’t kill me, you will die. It’s over for me, but you still have a chance. Please. End my suffering and save yourself.”

A breeze swept the field, sending a “hush” sound through the corn. The folders, which were on the passenger’s seat, blew to the floor. An old employee photograph of my father fluttered out of his file and landed near my feet. I’d say it was taken when I was in grade school, based on his glasses, beard, and the style of his hair. The man lying in the back of the Jeep wasn’t the ambitious young engineer in the photograph up front. It wasn’t just the years that had changed him. He was morphing before my eyes into something unrecognizable. Something unhuman.

He continued to make the gurgling sound, which was becoming more like a moan. He looked up at me with the eyes of an animal in pain.

“Okay,” I whispered, holding back the tears. “Okay.”

I pushed him out of the Jeep and onto the ground. I wanted to drive away and just leave him there, but I heard him moaning. I thought I heard him saying my name. I looked up to the sky, breathed in deeply, and put the Jeep into reverse. A force outside of myself pressed my foot on the gas pedal and I backed over him. After a brief grunt, which was almost like a sigh, I heard nothing. I didn’t look back as I sped away.

The consequences of my deed finally hit me as I drove past the cemetery. I had killed my father. And left him. I decided that I had to go back and get his body. I at least owed him a proper burial.

When I got back to the spot where I thought I had run him over, Dad’s body was gone…or so I thought, until I realized I was driving in someone else’s tracks. I retraced my path, and found him right where I left him. His body was definitely in worse shape than it had been, but his face looked peaceful. I lifted him back onto the Jeep and covered him in a blanket that we kept for picnics.

I drove back to the cemetery, and lowered his body onto the ground underneath a tree. I found a shovel in a nearby dirt mound and covered him with some earth. “I love you, Dad,” I whispered, as I turned to go back to the Jeep. A flash of white darted past the corner of my eye and into the woods. I looked back and saw nothing. I shivered and climbed back into the Jeep. I saw the white again, this time in my rearview mirror. I heard a whimper.

“Must be a deer or something,” I told myself.

I shivered again, and started up the Jeep. I checked the rearview one more time. I saw the figure of a girl at the edge of the woods. She wore a white dress. The moonlight seemed to shine through her. She was coming towards me. I stared, waiting to see if she needed my help. As she drew closer, I realized that her face was hollowed out. Her eyes seemed soulless. She didn’t even seem to touch the ground. I knew I had to leave. I put the Jeep in drive and pressed on the gas as hard as I could. A dirt cloud puffed up from my rear tires. When I looked back through the dust, the girl was gone. But, in the place she once stood, I could swear I saw several shadowy figures emerging through the woods. And, I can’t be too sure, but I thought I saw chunks of dirt tumbling off of my father’s makeshift grave.

I headed for downtown, hoping that I could find someone I knew. I needed company. I wasn’t sure if I would tell anyone about what happened, but I knew the guilt growing inside of me would eventually release my dark secret.

Just outside of town I parked the Jeep. I took the time to write all of this down. I couldn’t keep it inside of me anymore, and who knows whether or not I will survive this ordeal. I’m putting this, my report of today’s events and confessional, along with the folders and the other syringe containing “Project TD” serum in a plastic bin and placing it between some rocks by the stream before I go into town. If you’ve found it, I’m most likely dead. At least we hope.

The above listed items (except for the syringe) were found in a neighboring town. The one you call home. The fact that run-off from the stream was able to carry these to the next town indicates that the infection could have spread. It could be in the air you breathe and the water you drink. I suggest you evacuate now. Learn from someone else. Before it’s too late.