Surviving Each Other (Still Beating #2)

Prologue

Location: Rural residence, outskirts of Harlan County

Transcript Status: UN-REDACTED — Internal Use Only

* * *

Caller:(whispering, breath unsteady) Hi—hi, um—someone’s trying to get into my house.

Dispatcher: Okay. I need you to stay calm. Can you tell me your address?

Caller: It’s… it’s 142 County Road. Out past the old grain silos, if you— (voice hitches) —you know the stretch past Miller’s field? It’s the white house at the—(A loud crash in the background, something substantial hitting the side of the house.)—Oh my God. Did you hear that?

Dispatcher: I heard something, yes. Are you currently inside the home?

Caller: Yes—yes, I locked everything. I swear I did. I went around twice. Doors, windows, the back latch…everything. But they’re still—they keep— (voice drops) they keep coming back to the same window.

Dispatcher: How many individuals are we talking about?

Caller: I—I don’t know. At first, I thought just one. Maybe a drunk, or somebody who got turned around on the road. But then I looked again and there were (long pause, very quiet) there were more.

(Another crash—closer this time. Wood groaning under pressure. Something scraping, wet and slow, along the exterior wall.)

Dispatcher: Sir, I need you to move somewhere safe right now. Is there a room in the home you can lock yourself into? An interior room, no windows, if possible.

Caller: I’m… I already moved. I’m in the pantry off the kitchen. There are no windows in here, I just—I’ve got my phone and I pushed the shelving unit in front of (he stops himself, voice dropping to almost nothing) I pushed it in front of the door.

Dispatcher: Good. That’s good. You did the right thing. I need you to stay very quiet for me and stay on the line. Officers are being dispatched to your location right now.

Caller: Okay. Okay, yeah. (unsteady exhale) It’s just… they’re not. They’re not right.

Dispatcher: What do you mean by that, sir?

Caller: When I… when I saw them through the kitchen window, one looking out toward the tree line; I thought it was just someone stumbling around in the dark.

The way they were moving, I figured drunk, hurt maybe.

But then I watched longer and it wasn’t (voice thickens) it wasn’t that. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever—

(Heavy, rhythmic thudding starts up again; closer now. Not knocking. Not pounding. Something else. Methodical. Like weight just being thrown forward again and again.)

Caller:—he wasn’t walking right. His legs were…

one of them was dragging behind him. And the way his head was sitting on his neck, it was…

it was tilted too far. Way too far. And then I saw another one come out of the dark at the edge of the property, and it was moving the same way, that same strange walk, like a puppet with half the strings cut, and then there was a third one, and… and I think a fourth—

Dispatcher: Sir. Are they actively attempting to force entry into the home?

Caller: Yes… yes, but that’s the thing, they’re not (something slams hard into the back door, not a knock, not a kick, just the full dead weight of something hurling itself forward) they’re not even trying the handle.

They just… they just throw themselves at it.

Over and over. Like they don’t feel it. Like they don’t (voice cracks) like they don’t care.

(Splintering sound, not a full breach, but something giving. A hinge, maybe. A frame beginning to separate from the wall.)

Dispatcher: I want you to breathe for me. Units are en route. You’re doing everything right. Keep that door blocked and stay as quiet as you can.

Caller:(barely a whisper now) How far out are they?

Dispatcher: I don’t have an exact ETA yet, but they are moving toward you. I need you to stay on the—

Caller:(sharp intake of breath) Something just…something just hit the floor. In the kitchen. That was… that was inside. That was inside the house.

(Long silence. The caller’s breathing becomes very shallow, very controlled; the deliberate stillness of someone trying desperately not to make a sound. In the background, a slow and wet dragging sound crosses what sounds like linoleum flooring. Then stops.)

(Then starts again. Closer.)

Dispatcher:(lowering her own voice instinctively) Sir. The pantry door is still closed?

Caller:(lips barely moving) Yes.

Dispatcher: The shelving unit is still in place?

Caller: Yes.

Dispatcher: Don’t move. Don’t speak if you can help it. I am right here with you. I am not going anywhere.

(Silence stretches. Ten seconds. Twenty. Somewhere in the house, something knocks against a cabinet not with urgency, just contact, like a body bumping into furniture without noticing, without caring. Drifting.)

(Then the dragging stops directly outside the pantry door.)

Caller:(so quiet it barely registers on the recording) They’re… they’re right outside.

(A pause so long the dispatcher opens her mouth to speak.)

(Then something begins to scratch along the door. Not frantically, or like something trying to claw through. Slow. Back and forth. Exploratory. As if whatever is on the other side is simply feeling the surface; learning it.)

(Underneath the scratching, a sound begins. Low. Broken. Somewhere between a voice and something that has only ever heard voices and is trying to remember how they work. Wet. Toneless. The shape of language with nothing left inside it.)

Dispatcher: Sir, I need you to stay on the line. Do not hang up, do not—

Caller:(barely audible, voice fractured) That’s not a person. Whatever…whatever that sound is, that is not a person. That is not—

(The scratching stops.)

(One beat of total silence.)