Frankie & Formaldehyde

Chapter One: The Call

"Hello? Hello?"

He paused, just long enough for his heart to beat twice. He had just woken from a beautiful dream of summer, his cheek pressed against cool, soft green grass while a hot breeze blew over him. With bleary memory his heart slugged out a slow, lobbing movement that told of long afternoons and greasy hotdogs.

He coughed over his indigestion.

"Hello? Ma'am? You in some kind of trouble?"

He tensed at the silence that greeted him, wondering if it was a live human being on the other end of the line or simply another rogue. It wasn't unheard of for them to play around with the telephone while the remainder of their victims lay partially consumed and bloodily twitching on the floor. Chuck narrowed his already small eyes as he detected the faintest catch of breath, a sign that whoever was on the other end was still breathing and thus wasn't one of the random undead.

"If you're reporting an incident, you have to follow the proper procedures." He didn't feel helpful, and instead hoped he conveyed a certain level of accusation in his voice that wasn't unfounded. Rogues didn't just randomly show up on their own, there was always some kind of family intervention that brought them into creation. Black market Osmosis 37 enzymes were becoming a real problem, and he was tired of cleaning up the mess they created. He could just imagine what was in store for him at the other end of this line, and he impatiently checked his watch. Seven o'clock in the evening. Just past his dinner hour, which he'd been foolish enough to sleep through. He'd have to spend the rest of the midnight onward shift hungry.

"Board up your windows, put the heavy furniture near the entrances. Get into your basement along with any remaining family members--that's right, remaining--and break the glass on your section #41 issued flame thrower. I'm sure if you're like the rest of us you've got a couple of automatic rifles underneath your bed. Do you have drywall in your basement? If you do, that's good, but don't go firing bullets if it's all concrete or stone and especially not if it's those steel drum panic room types. The bullets will ping around all over the place and it's unlikely they'll find their target."

There was a pensive silence at this and before Chuck could offer up any more of his invaluable service and advice, the phone clicked softly. A dial tone droned in his ear.

"Shit," he muttered, and put down the receiver.

The silence always bothered him most. Ever since he'd been appointed Sheriff Inspector of Rogues (that's S.I.R. to civilians) and hauled out of his cozy, very enjoyable retirement, his days had been one long fest after another. Gone were those dreams of lazy, late mornings and weekdays spent fishing, a big bass tugging on his line. The odd poker game with his cronies swapping stories from when they were on the beat solving murders and putting away bad guys over felt part of a past he never got to properly experience. No sir, now life for S.I.R. Chuck Dickerson was one long shift that never ended, never got properly paid and never gave him a vacation.

The phone rang. Sighing, Chuck answered it, the receiver held away from his ear to protect himself from the ear splitting screams. Awful though it was, it was a hell of a lot better than silence. At least he knew whoever was freaking out on the other end was still alive and maybe had a beating heart, even if that fact wasn't for long. "If he's at your front door, Ma'am, all you got to do is barricade it with the couch and turn on the porch light. They aren't rocket scientists, the light will confuse them plenty. I don't care if he is your grandfather, just do what I'm telling you. Gather up what's left of your family and get into your basement. Get your section #41 issued flame thrower and...Well, it's regulation, Ma'am. If you don't have one it's a seven hundred and sixty-seven dollar fine. It doesn't matter if you have a ten year old boy who is unnaturally fascinated with it, those firearms are required to be at the ready for a reason."