Chapter Ten
Interlude: A Team Sport
The Little Ridge Midget 'AAA' baseball team was in Merton for the first game of the new baseball league that started over the summer. The fledgeling league currently features single division with six teams spread that range in skill and financial backing. The Little Ridge team was from the small town that borders Merton but has the financial backing of the paper mill, whose president grew up and still lives in Little Ridge.
The town of fewer than 2000 citizens does not have the financial standing to be able to construct their baseball facility so when the league added the city to the league, the president of the paper mill, Mr John Hendricks, went to the council of Merton to ask for assistance. The town agreed to let the team practice and play in their new recreation area just off of Commerce Drive.
The team is made up mostly of players who currently work for the Hendricks paper mill on the other side of the river. Many of the players on the team are former high school athletes who chose the working life instead of going to college to try to get into the big leagues.
The only exception to this was Michael Bloomfield who played professionally for ten years before a knee injury derailed his career and forced his retirement. He moved back to Merton and took a job at the mill where he's been the night shift supervisor for the past five years. When the opportunity to play in a semi-amateur league came up, Michael could not pass up the opportunity to bring his experience as a player to other people who love the game as much as he did.
At 8:45 in the morning the Little Ridge team was just pulling into the parking lot of the civic centre to take the field for their last practice before the game that evening. Michael was looking over his notebook talking to his assistant coach about final roster changes to make the most out of the team before the match started.
Michael gave one last instruction to his assistant before taking the field for practice. "Do not forget, if Wayne is 10 seconds late; he's not playing for the first six innings. I do not care if he's the son of the frigging Queen. Late is late."
Michael took his bum knee out to centre field and assumed his position while his team of assistant coaches ran through the practice drills together before everyone else took the field.
The layout of the practice field was a little different than what Michael used in the past. The field was essentially a regulation size little league field with a spray painted back wall to allow for the size that the Little Ridge team needed to play. When the little league team played, they had a group of volunteers along the "wall" to determine if the ball crossed before or after it got caught. There was a line spray painted on the ground that they used as well, just passed the wall was the woods that ran through the middle of town.
Despite not being able to play in the major leagues anymore Michael was still, without a doubt, the fastest runner on the team. The best players they could find from the shallow pool were overweight, chronic smokers. Looking at the team as they took the field, the best Michael was hoping for at this point was winning a game.
Michael shook his head at the thought. "Come on man. You gotta have more faith in the team than this."
Michael looked over to his left and noticed that the junior varsity soccer team was taking the field for an impromptu practice, or maybe it was a game. Parents were sitting in the bleachers now too, bundled up in a blanket with a hot cup of coffee warming up their hands. He was never sure what was a game or practice with the soccer teams, they always had fans in the stands and played their hearts out every time.
He envied their enthusiasm for the game and was jealous of their stamina. "If only I could get 10% of their passion into some of these guys, and we would be OK this year." Michael smiled as he looked back to the baseball diamond.
The local kids usually watched the teams practices from the woods since they thought they would have to pay money to watch just like the regular games.
A loud noise from the woods behind him caught his attention and Michael casually looked over the shoulder. "Damn kids," he muttered under his breath.
"Hey! You can come up on the bleachers you know!" He shouted over his shoulder as the pitcher lobbed the first pitch to the batter.
CRACK! The sound of the bat making contact with the ball caught his attention, and he turned to see the ball fly over his head and slam into a tree.
Michael whistled and tipped his hat to the morning shift foreman, Jim Jones, who stood watching the ball instead of running around the bases.
Michael turned back toward the woods to see a pair of faces staring back at him. The pair of dirty faces looked at him unblinking and started to emerge from the cover of the woods and walk towards him.
Instinctively Michael began to walk backwards. He looked at the figures with pity and stopped moving away.
The man on the left was the stereotypical definition of a homeless man, with long, unkempt hair and a beard that would put the men from Duck Dynasty to shame. His clothes were torn and tattered in the knees and elbows; they appeared covered in mud and grime.
The man on the right was dressed in a tailored suit and covered in as much dirt and mud as the other man. His hair was slightly ruffled, the gel he used was obviously incredibly resilient. The only thing that stood out about this man was the blood stains covering his face and unbuttoned shirt.
From forty feet away Michael could smell both men, it was a stench that he would never get out of his nose.
"When was the last time you had a bath?" He asked the men. He waved his hand in front of his nose. "Phew."
Michael had not noticed the man in the suit drop something in the field as he made his way through the brush. Michael was too busy seeing the other ten men and women emerging from the woods behind them to pay that much attention if he was, he would have noticed the man drop a small hand.
"What's going on, coach?" Joey Loraine, a mechanic from the shipping unit, said as he came running over from left field.
Michael tried to wave him off once he heard the footsteps approaching from his right.
"Hey, coach. I said 'what's going..." Joey looked past his coach and stopped in his tracks. "... W-w-who are all these people?"
Joey could feel the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand as his level of fear began to rise as more people stumbled out of the woods towards his field of players.
Michael turned his head towards Joey and whispered, "I do not know what these guys want, but you might need to get everyone's attention quietly, this could end badly."
"Uh, sure," Joey said, sounding relieved to get away from these strange people.
With that said he turned towards the infield and began trying to get the attention of the other players on the field all huddled around the pitcher's mound.
Michael took a few steps backwards as the group of people, about twenty in total, had all emerged from the woods and began to move towards him. He turned his head towards the other field where a small group of teenagers had gathered to play a game of ball in the smaller field, none of them had noticed the group of strangers.
He turned his attention back towards the group and was startled to discover that every single one of them was focused on him. A cold sweat ran down his back.
The first person to emerge completely was the homeless man that Michael had seen earlier, now that he was through the brush Michael could see more of the man that made him wonder if he should be running.
Scars, bruises, and fresh cuts covered the man's face; the dried and congealed liquid was dripping from his chin. The front of his shirt was wet, not with mud like he formerly thought, but with the same blood-like residue that was on his face. His jacket was torn and slashed; Michael could see skin and bone in the holes in his clothes. From his time playing professional ball, he knew that when you bone was visible there was nothing but agonising pain to go along with it, there was no pain on this man's face. There was no emotion at all on his face. With most addicts, you instinctively know where in their high they are by the emoti
ons on their face.
Michael's heart was beating so hard in his chest that the only thing he could hear at that moment was the thumping in his ears. He tried to take a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, at his age, he knew that a heart rate this high could lead to a heart attack. His new group of friends did not look like the kind that would be willing to dial 911 for him.
After a few breaths, he could hear again.
"What was that?" Michael asked himself.
He put his baseball glove up to his ear to use it as a receiver to hear the noise better. He turned his body slightly trying to locate the source when he finally picked it up he was looking directly at the homeless man. The only comparison that Michael could make was the sound that a dentist drill made as an unskilled dentist tried to get a filling from a tooth.
Michael's eyes opened wider as he heard more and more of the people making that same noise as they all walked toward him.
He began to move away from the group advancing on him, his heart beating in his chest again. Michael began to hyperventilate as he walked. His heart was beating faster and harder, trying to pump adrenaline through his limbs to get him to move faster.
Joey reached the infield and began to quietly shout at the rest of the players on the team.
"Hey! Guys!" He stammered as he tried to find his voice through his fear.
Unable to get their attention Joey pulled the glove off of his hand and threw it toward the group of players huddled around the pitcher giggling.
The glove slammed to the ground by Edward's leg. He and Scott jumped.
"What the hell!?" Scott shouted.
The rest of the team looked up and towards the edge of the infield where Joey was standing with his shaky hand pointing back towards centre field.
In centre field, Michael continued to peddle slowly back, trying to find a way to communicate with these people to find a way to escape any injury. The only thing that he had for a weapon was his glove, and that was laying in the middle of the group of people and getting further away with every step that he took. Michael could feel his level of fear rising, he could begin to taste bile in his mouth, and a sharp searing pain shot through his body originating in his chest, stopping him in his tracks. The pain hit him like a freight train, and he doubled over, falling over landing face first on the grass in the field while the large group of people approached him.
Michael could not understand what was happening to cause these people to behave the way that they were. The look of desire, hunger, and hatred that he could see in their eyes while their faces showed no emotions at all.
"Th-th-the coach n-n-needs us." Joey stammered again as he dropped to his knees on the rock covered infield and began to pant. Up until this point, Joey's fear of confrontation had only ever been an issue when dealing with marital issues with his wife, his supervisor, or even the waitress at the diner who was always screwing up his order at lunch. Joey found himself unable to keep his balance, catch his breath, or see clearly; he was sure he was going to die of fright as he felt the breeze of the rest of the team running to aid their coach.
"Come on dude." Edward said as he shook Joey to get his attention."Let's help coach." He took hold of Joey's elbow and helped him to his feet. Edward turned and left in a hurry to join the rest of the team.
Joey took a couple of deep breaths and found his vision began to clear. As he focused back on the outfield that was when he noticed the coach fall forward clutching his chest.
He gasped in surprise and found himself running into the chaos as the homeless man bent over Michael and knelt beside him.

----------------------------------------------
Scott, who was normally the accountant for the company, was always the rowdy person in any group. His typical Friday night involved going to Sally's Pub downtown and drinking until he felt like getting into a fist fight with someone. Every time there was a martial arts event on the television he knew he missed his calling, "Where was this sport 20 years ago when I was fighting in alley's all the time?" He would ask the same question any time given the opportunity.
Scott ran towards the group with a smile on his face as he clenched his fists and pounded them together.
"You picked the wrong person to fuck with," Scott yelled as he approached the men huddled around the coach.
Close behind Scott was Edward the company's machinist and second baseman. He gripped the aluminium baseball bat in his hand as he wondered what Edward was going to do with it when he got to his coach.
The only thing the team noticed while they advanced on the group of people milling around the field was the few people huddled over their coach, touching him, ripping at his clothes.
"Hey! You! Assholes! You get away from our coach." Scott yelled as he closed the distance.
Seven of the closest members of the group snapped their heads in the direction of the sound and changed their course to Scott as he arrived. Somewhere hidden under the muscles that no longer worked properly, hid a deadly smile.
Edward was close enough to Scott to reach out and touch him, he was almost their fastest base runner, he approached the men with a full head of steam like it was the bottom of the 9th, and he was the winning run coming around 3rd base. He could not let them touch his coach like this. He looked at these men like they were less than nothing, and he planned to show them how he felt about it.
Edward tripped over his own feet with shock as he saw a lovely dressed woman lean up from inspecting Michael as he lay on the ground and pull a large piece of intestine out of his stomach as she looked around the field. The shock of seeing it happen in front of his eyes, and not on some cheesy horror movie he rented from the video place downtown.
Edward skidded to a stop and stared in disbelief as he watched the woman begin chewing as she stood up and started to walk towards him slowly.
Scott lowered his shoulder as he got closer to his fallen coach. "I'll get you out of there coach!" He called as he slammed into three of the people bent over the body of his beloved coach.
The impact that Scott made of the few people hovering around Michael did not go unnoticed by the rest of the group as they quickly moved to surround him.
As Scott lay on top of a few of these people his anger flared to a level he had not achieved since his younger days, he let loose with a torrent of punches, gouges, and elbows that would have rendered any average human being unconscious for days, but these did not seem like regular people.
After delivering a devastating punch that dislocated the jaw of the man closest to him Scott slowly began to pull his arm back thinking that this man had taken enough of a beating. The man turned his head and bit down on his arm pulling a chunk of flesh off with it in the process. Scott screamed at the man and pulled his arm away quickly ready to deliver another blow to the man. He tried to force his hand through this man's skull but found that he could not move his arm.
Scott turned his head to the right to see who was preventing him from hitting this man; he saw several snarling faces of the group who had his arm in their grasp. They fell upon him in a mob and began tearing at his flesh as he writhed in agony.
A scream tried to leave his lips, but it quieted when a hand reached into his mouth and removed his tongue.
The rest of the team came slamming into the herd of people milling around the coach and their pinned down teammate and tried to force their way through the crowd. Each member of the team met a similar fate after being knocked to the ground and then attacked by several people at once.
Still not believing what he was seeing, Edward rolled onto his back and sat on his behind and watched the events unfold before him.
Joey came to a stop beside Edward.
Bodies of his teammates littered the field before him, each being beaten and eaten by this group that walked out of the woods. There was a dozen fully grown men who will never get to see their loved ones again. The only person standing in the field was the lady dressed in the suit draggi
ng a piece of the coaches intestine as she walked towards them.
"What the hell just happened?" he asked.
Edward looked at Joey, "I have no idea man."
Edward looked at the lady advancing towards him, and then back to Joey. He slowly began to stand up and grasped the baseball bat in his hands, tightening his grip.
"I'm sorry man," Edward said to Joey as he knelt beside him.
"What for?" Joey asked as Edward swung the bat towards Joey's knees.
The force of the swing had enough force to shatter his knee caps causing him to collapse suddenly to the ground in a crippled heap.
Joey's scream pierced the air. The people in the parking lot and other fields suddenly became aware of what was happening on the baseball field.
Edward leant down to Joey, "It's you or me, and I have to get home to protect my kids. Who do you have to take care of?"
Edward took one look over his shoulder and ran off the field and towards his parked SUV next to the dugout.
Joey tried to understand what his friend had just done to him. He wiped at the tears streaming down his face and tried to find where Edward had gone.
"Edward!" Joey cried out, "Do not leave me here! You cannot do this to me."
Joey listened for a response, hoping the Edward was coming back with help to get him out of here.
The only sounds that he heard were the sudden sound of a vehicle starting and the constant chomping and slurping sounds coming from 30 feet away.
Joey screamed out in agony again as he tried to stand. He collapsed back to the ground with a thud, landing on his hands and knees, sending another shock wave of pain through his body.
Joey heard a rustling sound close by and remembered about the lady coming towards Edward when he arrived in the field. Joey rubbed his face on his shoulder, trying to wipe away some of the tears. He squinted his eyes and saw that there was a shape coming towards him.
Joey began to crawl away from the approaching figure and move towards the safety of his car or the dugout. "There must be someone out there who can help me." Joey thought as he fought through the amount of pain that he had to accept while he put weight and pressure on his injured joints.
After a few minutes of adrenaline-fueled movement, the sudden urge to vomit washed over Joey as he tried to regain his composure and focus on his task. The world around him became blurry and slowly grew darker as his vision began to fail.
He felt a few fingers brush by his lower back trying to grab hold of his belt and Joey sought to scramble as fast as he could. He started to hear the laboured and ragged breathing of the person in pursuit of him. Joey looked forward again and saw that he was just a few feet shy of a dugout, and inside it was his duffel bag with the new revolver he bought for protection after being assaulted after work last year.
Joey continued his crawl, knowing that he was almost within the confines of the dugout.
He rounded the corner of the dugout and looked over his shoulder to see how close this person had gotten when he forgot that two stairs were going into the dugout. His entire body was thrown to the ground dislocating his shoulder. He groaned in pain as he pulled himself along with his other arm. Determined to make it to his duffel bag just inches away.
Joey stretched and reached into his bag as the body of the other person fell the stairs as well, landing on top of his dislocated arm, popping it back into place. Joey roared in pain as he felt the teeth of the person sink into the soft flesh of his neck.
Cold hands reached around and grabbed his face, pulling on his nose and jaw. He could feel the pressure in his neck building as the person pulled harder trying to get closer to Joey's flesh.
He begins frantically searching through his bag, thinking that all of this was for nothing when his fingers find the cold steel of the barrel and wrap around it. He quickly pulled the gun from the bag and pointed it over his shoulder as the teeth of the person on his back began to sink into his back again.
Joey put his finger on the trigger, closed his eyes, and squeezed it lightly.
The force of taking a bullet at close range was enough to push the body back down Joey's body, the only issue for Joey was that the person did not or could not let go of his face.
As the bullet impacted the person's face, the sudden pressure caused their muscles to spasm and squeeze tighter. Joey's head snapped over his shoulder as he looked at the expression of the middle-aged woman on his back and then his head hit the floor soon after as something had let go.
The sound of the gunshot was so loud in the stillness of the early morning, Joey's ears rang for what seems to be an eternity before he began to hear some of the sounds around him.
He shrugs off the body lying sprawled on his back and tries to roll into a sitting position.
Joey looks to his right and sees the body of the lady in the suit laying face down with a large gaping hole in her head, a thick pool of blood is forming around the wound. She's still clutching the intestine that she pulled out of Michael's body.
A little movement catches Joey's eye, and he looks back out into the field to see the rest of the strangers begin to stand up and walk towards different parts of the compound.
A lone tear rolled down his cheek as he sat staring out at the bodies of his teammates. "Why did it have to happen to these good people?" He tried to say out loud; only sputtering noise came out.
Joey looked over at the woman and noticed that she now had something else in her other hand. He looked at it and put his hand to his face, where his jaw used to be. A scream started to form in the remnants of his throat. The shock of it all still has not let him feel any of the pain.
He looked out at the body of his coach laying motionless in the middle of the field, surrounded by the brave souls who tried to save his life today.
Joey jumps from his thoughts as his coach suddenly begins to sit up and look around the field, the colour drained from his face, sagging chunks of flesh hanging on by nothing at all. He watches his coach stand up, and begin the slow, lumbering walk towards the parking lot.
The colour slowly began to run from Joey's face as he watches in horror as the rest of his team began to stand up one after another, each heading in the direction of the remainder of the group.
A sense of peace and exhaustion wash over Joey as he looks down at his hand and the gun within his grasp. He tries to find the strength and energy to raise the weapon and end the pain that he's feeling.
Joey blinks and sees that his team is 10 feet further from where they were.
He slowly begins to close his eyes as exhaustion, shock, and blood loss has finally caught up with him.
Joey's final thoughts are of his mother, who had passed in the nursing home where she was living less than two weeks ago.
Chapter Eleven