Blender babies, p.1
Blender Babies, page 1
Copyright © 2023 Jon Athan
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner in the name of satire. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For more information, please visit http://www.jon-athan.com/.
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Cover illustration by Anton Rosovsky
Book cover typography and logo by MiblArt: https://miblart.com/
Proofreading provided by Karen Bennett: kbennett4653@gmail.com
Thank you for the support!
First Edition
ALSO BY JON ATHAN
Do Not Disturb 3: Goldbrush (2023)
Shared by Two (2023)
The President’s Son (2022)
When She Weeps (2022)
Do Not Disturb 2: The Platinum Palace (2022)
The Girl in the Attic (2021)
Am I Beautiful? (2021)
Do Not Disturb (2020)
The Groomer (2020)
Into the Wolves’ Den (2019)
Lovesick (2019)
The Good, the Bad, and the Sadistic (2018)
Grandfather’s House (2018)
The Law of Retaliation (2017)
The Abuse of Ashley Collins (2017)
A Family of Violence (2016)
To my readers, thank you for giving me the opportunity to create such a unique, unconventional post-apocalyptic world. You probably hear this a lot, but it’s true: I couldn’t do this without you.
I also want to thank the members of my street team—current and former—who have uplifted my work, encouraged me to pursue my passion projects, and helped me reach so many new readers. And here’s a special thank you to those members who took time to read and review my previous book, Do Not Disturb 3: Goldbrush: Josee Blunt, Justin Boote, Marie Cervantes, Tiffany Colclasure, Rachal Davis, Lyndie Dison, Riley Edie, Jennifer Fischer, Samantha Hawkins, Amanda Kadell, Alix Kampen, Amanda Kelley, Kelsey Kleinheider, Tara Losacano, Carri Lynn, Ashley Manten, Chandra Marie Greco, Amy Martin, Michelle McArthur, Oma Meade, Rachel Miller, Jessica Richardson, Carrie Shields, Milt Theodossiou, Callie Towne, Sonia Walton, Chance Weaver, Rita Stewart White. I hope I didn’t forget anyone. Thanks again, everyone, and enjoy the book!
WARNING
This book contains scenes of intense violence and some disturbing themes. Some parts of this book may be considered violent, cruel, disturbing, or unusual. This book is not intended for those easily offended or appalled. Please enjoy at your own discretion.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
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Dear Reader
1
WHEN IT BEGAN
“Can I see your phone?” Leslie Turner asked.
She sat in the passenger seat of the station wagon, holding her hand out over the center console with her palm up. Her other hand rested on her baby bump. Her husband, Brian, sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel at ten and two. And their five-year-old son, Cameron, was sitting in the back seat. He played with his toys—a small red car and a Lego minifigure dressed as a Minecraft character—while making engine sound effects with his mouth.
“Why?” Brian responded, keeping his eyes on the road.
Leslie said, “Why not?”
“Because I’m driving and my phone’s in my back pocket.”
“Oh, please. I’ve seen you drive with a burger in one hand and a drink in the other.”
“But I’ve never done that with ‘precious cargo’ onboard, have I?”
“Okay, whatever. Lean over and I’ll grab it myself.”
The station wagon crawled to a stop behind a pickup truck at a red light. Brian turned to face his wife, a devilish smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
He said, “You just wanna change the music, don’t you?”
Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison was playing over the stereo, which was connected to Brian’s phone via Bluetooth. Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Andy Williams was up next in his queue.
“Please, Brian,” Leslie said. “I’m just not really in the mood for this old stuff and you play the same playlist every time.”
“Well, it is my turn to control the radio.”
“Your turn? C’mon, you’re sounding more childish than Cam right now.”
From the back seat, Cameron said, “I’m a big kid now, Mommy.”
“I know, honey. You’re more mature than Daddy,” Leslie said, glancing back and smiling at him.
The little boy rammed the toy car into the minifigure, then moved the toys away from each other and made a loud explosion sound with his mouth. Lips fluttering, spittle flew out in every direction.
Leslie curled her index finger at her husband and said, “Now hand it over, bub.”
Brian said, “All right, all right. I’ll be a gentleman and share my turn with you.” As he reached for his back pocket, the traffic light turned green and the truck in front of them sprang forward. Smirking, Brian said, “Oh, would you look at that. No time now. Maybe at the next stop, hon.”
Shaking her head, Leslie snickered and said, “You’re such a brat.”
They kept driving. Their destination was a Mexican restaurant called La Cocina de Nacho, which translated to Nacho’s Kitchen, in a downtown strip mall. Brian met Leslie in the middle and switched to his playlist of 90s music. The family rocked out to NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, Weezer, and TLC. After a few songs, however, Cameron’s attention wandered to the sun. He wondered if it was following them. He imagined the station wagon was a spaceship and they were racing to the restaurant against the sun.
“What’s happening over there?” Leslie asked, peering through the passenger window.
Keeping one eye on the road, Brian lowered the volume on the stereo and said, “That’s a lot of cops.”
“You think it was a...” Leslie peeked over at Cameron before lowering her voice to finish her sentence. “A mass shooting?”
“I mean, it could be, but I feel like they wouldn’t let us drive through here if there was an active shooter. Maybe it’s already over. Or maybe it’s more like a hostage situation.”
“In a hospital? Christ, who would do something like that?”
To their right, SWAT trucks and patrol cars cluttered every aisle of the parking lots surrounding a local hospital. Police officers and SWAT teams maneuvered between the civilian vehicles in the parking spaces. They were all armed with semiautomatic rifles and led by cops wielding ballistic shields. Police blocked all of the entrances and exits to the parking lots. Some pedestrians gathered on the sidewalks and watched the situation unfold from afar, chattering and recording with their cell phones as if they were watching a street performance.
Brian said, “Maybe it’s a ‘John Q’-style situation?”
“John Q? You mean the… the Denzel Washington movie?”
“The Denzel Washington classic.”
Leslie gave him a look of disapproval and said, “Now’s not the time for joking.”
“I’m serious. Not just about the movie being a classic but about everything. I mean, if it is a hostage situation, why else would it be going down in a hospital? It has to be a disgruntled person. Maybe it’s an employee going postal. Or maybe it’s a parent trying to get their child some medical assistance that their insurance won’t cover. I know I’d be willing to do anything to protect you guys.”
“Yeah, well, I just hope no one’s hurt…”
Five minutes later, they found themselves seated at a table in La Cocina de Nacho. Leslie sat next to Cameron while Brian sat directly across from his wife. Spanish music played through the restaurant’s sound system. Although he didn’t understand the Spanish lyrics, Cameron enjoyed the sound of the guitars and trumpets. He danced in his seat and tried to hum along to the music.
While visiting their table to take their order, a young waitress patted Cameron’s shoulder and said, “¡Qué lindo!”
It translated to: ‘How cute!’
The boy couldn’t help but giggle and blush. Eating for two, Leslie was on a protein-rich diet, so she had been craving burritos with beans and beef as well as salty tortilla chips with avocado and pico de gallo sauce. Brian opted for a plate of enchiladas and Cameron ate a quesadilla with carne asada.
The restaurant was busy and loud, but it had a relaxing atmosphere. All of the patrons—families, couples, singles—were enjoying their food. It was a regular day.
During their meal, Brian smiled as he noticed Leslie instinctively rubbing her baby bump. He remembered seeing her stroke her belly during her sleep when she was pregnant with Cameron. He wondered if babies could feel their mother’s touch before birth. Although they already had a child, taking a variety of classes and reading a ton of books to prepare in the process, he still had hundreds of questions—and new ones popped into his mind every day.
After lunch, while cruising through the parking lot, Leslie said, “Let’s take the long way home.”
“The long way?” Brian repeated. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before. What’s the long way?”
“I mean, I just want to avoid the hospital. I checked Twitter when we were in the restaurant,” she said as she took her phone out and opened the social media app. “You were right. They’re calling it a ‘hostage crisis’ in the maternity ward. Something bad is happening over there and I don’t want to get caught in a shootout.”
“The maternity ward? Oh shit, that’s not what I was–”
“Dad said a bad word!” Cameron announced from the back seat.
“Yeah, you caught me, buddy. I’ll put a quarter in the swear jar when we get home,” Brian said, peeking at his son through the rearview mirror. He stopped the car at a stop sign, then took a turn out of the parking lot. He said, “A ‘hostage crisis.’ I didn’t expect it to be something like that, Les. Now that’s just… cruel. It’s a crazy world.”
“It’s a scary world,” Leslie said, scrolling through tragedy after tragedy in her Twitter timeline.
She stopped the music and switched to the radio, searching for a local news report on the situation. Brian could see her anxiety was spiking. She struggled with chronic worrying. What-ifs were flooding her mind: What if the violence spills out into the streets? What if this becomes more common in the future? What if this happens to us?
The station wagon stopped at a red light.
Looking out his window, Cameron asked, “Why is that guy running with a baby?”
Without looking back, Brian answered, “Babies need exercise, too, kiddo.” He touched Leslie’s wrist and said, “Hon. Hon, hey, you gotta relax. You remember what the doctor said about stress, don’t you?”
“I can relax after I know what’s happening,” Leslie said.
“You already know what’s happening. Now you’re just doom-surfing.”
“Looking for information isn’t ‘doom-surfing,’ Brian.”
“Green light,” Cameron said.
Brian said, “I know you, Les. That thing at the hospital, it really has nothing to do with you but you’re already over-thinking it.”
“Nothing to do with me? I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” Leslie responded.
“But we’ve never been to that hospital.”
“Dad, green light!” Cameron exclaimed.
Driving forward, Brian continued, “Whatever happened over there, you can’t let it–”
The station wagon collided with a man. The guy rolled over the hood of the vehicle and hit the windshield. Leslie gasped in horror, one hand on her baby bump and the other on the dashboard. Cameron yelped as the seat belt locked up against his rib cage.
“Shit!” Brian shouted as he stomped on the brakes.
The man was thrown off the station wagon. One of his shoes flew off as he hit the asphalt with a loud thud. He rolled a few meters forward, bones crunching and skin shredding. The sleeves of his black, tattered hoodie were pushed up. His grimy tattooed arms were bloody, cut and scraped. There were more abrasions on his rugged face. A chunk of his chin was torn off, turning his goatee into a horseshoe mustache. Blood came out from somewhere under his beanie, too, trickling down to his forehead and cheeks. He groaned and squirmed on the ground, body aching all over.
Fearing the airbags were going to activate, Brian cautiously took Leslie’s hand off the dashboard and asked, “Are you okay?”
Leslie lowered her head and inspected her abdomen. She had felt some pressure from the seat belt during the collision, but she didn’t feel any pain at the moment.
“Ye–Yeah,” she said, voice trembling. She took off her seat belt and turned in her seat to face Cameron. She reached for his leg and asked, “Are you okay, baby?”
Teary-eyed, Cameron nodded and said, “Dad… Daddy said a–a… a bad word again.”
“And the baby?” Brian asked, and when his wife didn’t respond, he raised his voice. “Leslie. Hey, how’s the baby?”
“We’re fine, Brian,” she said with her concerned eyes glued on their son. “Sweetie, does your neck hurt?”
Brian stepped out of the car. From over the driver’s door, he watched as the victim struggled to his feet. He could see the traffic light was still green and they hadn’t driven past the crosswalk yet. He had struck a jaywalker. He felt some relief knowing the crash wasn’t entirely his fault. The guy’s right leg wobbled uncontrollably—fibula and tibia cracked, kneecap busted, ankle sprained. He tried to limp towards Brian, but he lost his footing. He came reeling towards the vehicle, catching himself on the hood of the car before he could fall to the ground.
Brian said, “Hey, man, you… I’m sorry, you came out of nowhere. Are you–”
He flinched as a driver behind them honked his horn. The truck swerved around the station wagon, then sped down the neighboring lane. Other vehicles cruised past them. Some of the drivers and passengers rubbernecked at the accident, but no one stopped to offer a helping hand.
“Sir, I know this might sound stupid, but… are you okay?” Brian asked.
Swaying from side to side, the man grumbled unintelligibly.
“Of course he’s not okay,” Brian whispered to himself. He cleared his throat, then said, “We should get you off the street. I can help you over to the sidewalk. You can sit at that bus stop over there. There’s a bench, see? I’ll pull over, um… around the corner, I guess, and then I’ll call an ambulance. You’re not dying, are you? How’s your head?”
The man leaned away from the hood, drops of blood and strings of drool falling from his face. He glanced into the station wagon through the windshield, then did a wide-eyed double take. His eyes lit up in a frenzy of rabid hunger as he homed in on Leslie. He licked the blood off his flaky, cracked lips, flicking his tongue like a snake.
Focused on Leslie, he hobbled over to the driver’s side of the station wagon. Although he dragged his injured leg behind him, he moved as if he didn’t feel any pain.
“Oh shit, man, you’re bleeding pretty badly,” Brian said as he took his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call 911 right now, but… Shit, man, what were you thinking running out in front of us like–”
Mid-sentence, the man screamed and rammed Brian’s chest with his bony shoulder, simultaneously slamming his back against the side of the car.
“Dad!” Cameron cried as he slapped his window.
With the wind knocked out of him, Brian curled up and dropped his phone. The man pushed him to the ground, then forced his way into the station wagon through the driver’s door.
“Don’t make this hard for me, cunt,” he growled as he lunged at Leslie. Fumbling with her seat belt and clawing at her loose dress, he said, “The baby… Gimme the baby, bitch… Gimme, gimme, gimme.”
Leslie pivoted in her seat, leaned back against the passenger door, and shouted, “Get out! Get off me! Get off me!”
“Don’t touch my mom!” Cameron yelled as he threw his toy car at the intruder’s head.
“Brian, help! Brian, oh my God, help!”
“Stop! Don’t hurt her! No! Stop it!”
The intruder took a utility knife out of his pocket and thumbed its slider. Half of the blade shot out with a rapid succession of clicks. Leslie couldn’t see the weapon, but she recognized the noise. In a panic, she swung her elbows and fists at the man’s face. Cameron flung his minifigure at his head, then hit his arm with the bottom of his fists. He injured his own hands more than he hurt the intruder, but he fought through the pain to defend his mother.
“Gimme the fuckin’ baby!” the man screamed.
