Pasta Heroes (13) - A short novel about noodles, rats and courage

Mutated rats with a taste for gourmet food escape from a laboratory in New York. While fast food chains remain untouched by the rats, restaurants like Pasta Heaven are getting overrun. Time for it's owner, Vincent, and his employees to grab a gun and go to war.

As it soon turned out, even twelve clock hadn't been early enough. At half past ten, the first guests were knocking on the door. Vincent invited them in, but couldn't offer anything more than that. Lenny was busy closing the windows in the storage room with concrete, and his other staff members weren't there yet. When they arrived and the restaurant officially opened, the kitchen turned into mayhem. A crowd had gathered outside the restaurant, and strangers joined tables, creating a frequency of orders Vincent and his staff had never experienced before. At four o'clock the orders decreased sharply, but some people simply refused to go home. A man who was dressed in a tuxedo wouldn't get up from his chair and repeatedly asked for the menu. They literally had to carry him out of the restaurant, but at least he had been the last guest.

Vincent and Michael sat on the roof, ate Tiramisu and waited for the imminent rat invasion. The had hidden the shotgun, the TEC-9 and the box of ammunition in the stair house, the air was almost crowded with helicopters circling around, scanning the ground with searchlights and warning people, chefs in particular, via speakers against the use of firearms.
"I'm a bit worried about Lenny," Michael began the conversation, "what if the rats get through and encircle him or overrun him down there?"
"I have repeatedly told him that he should come up on the roof with us, but he is convinced that they won't attack him while Jack is with him."
"I know, but somehow I got a bad feeling about this. If there will be even more rats tonight, we won't stand a chance, and we ..." Michael broke off as a helicopter directed the searchlight on the roof. Vincent saw nothing but bright light, even though he closed his eyes.
"Damn, what does he want?" shouted Michael. The helicopter flew away without any explanation. Vincent shrugged and went back to his Tiramisu, trying to enjoy every bite and think of nothing but the taste, but he failed. On the radio that they had put between them, a special program was running again, and yet again nothing was happening, giving all sorts of people the chance to say their opinion. This time it was the shots that were fired just a few blocks away that informed Vincent and Michael about the beginning attack. The sound of gunshots made it clear that they weren't the only ones who had upgraded to a semi-automatic weapon.
"Shit," Michael said, pointing to the street where a perfectly united front of rats appeared. It wouldn't have surprised Vincent if one of the rats had been appointed the general, coordinating this perfect formation. Vincent pulled the trigger and felt his whole body vibrate, Michael started firing the shotgun and with each shot sent numerous rats to the afterlife. The rats seemed prepared, not a single one stopped or deviated from the course which aimed exactly at the door. But when they reached it, the majority kept running around the building, heading for the front door. Vincent followed them and since no one was on the sidewalk and the Mercedes was in the no parking zone, he emptied a whole clip. Suddenly a rat fell right in front of his feet and ran for the stairs.
"What the hell was that?" Vincent asked, more to himself than to Michael. Another rat plopped onto the roof, followed by two more. Vincent looked up, somehow the rats had managed to get on the roof of the adjacent building. A rat landed on Michael's head, and partly because of the shock, partly because of his trauma from last night, he jumped up and screamed like mad man.
"Don't shoot!" yelled Vincent, trying to kick a rat that was running towards him, but it was too fast. He ran to the door and slammed it shut. More rats fell from the sky and attempted to climb up his leg, but he managed to shake them off. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything up here that he could use as a bat, he had no choice but to ignore the rats falling from the sky and keep shooting the ones down in the alley. Vincent ran to the box with the ammunition and was about to change the clip when he was blinded by white light. Another rat crawled up his leg, and when he tried to shake it off he tripped and fell to the ground.
"Throw the gun away and lie down on your stomach!" a voice came out of the speakers of the helicopter. Vincent was confused, he thought he already was lying on his stomach. Unfortunately, he couldn't see anything, nor could he hear anything but the deafening roaring of the rotor blades, which had to be right above him. A loud bang sounded right next to his ear, and Vincent obeyed the repeated order of the helicopter. Finally, the searchlight moved away, and Vincent slowly regained his vision. The helicopter rose vertically into the sky and turned abruptly to the side. Though Vincent could only see blurry outlines, he recognized Michael who was getting back on his feet.
"I'm sorry," Michael said, "but I did what they said. Look over there." Michael pointed to the alley and Vincent took a few steps forward. A dozen soldiers were running in two rows, heading straight for the door. Just like it were an accident, Vincent couldn't turn his head away even though he knew he was going to see something terrible. One of the soldiers kicked the door in and stormed into the building, followed by the other soldiers and hundreds of rats.
"Lenny," shouted Vincent. He and Michael rushed down the stairs, almost throwing each other down. A soldier appeared at the foot of the stairs, and Vincent, who hadn't been in a fist fight since elementary school, leaped forward and punched the soldier in the face. He didn't know if he had done that to get him out of the way so he could find Lenny, or because he wanted to take revenge for them having served his restaurant to the rats on a silver platter. Anyway, he didn't have much time to think about it, the soldiers took their revenge in full force, holding him down while beating and kicking him. Vincent felt boot tips crack in his ribs, and he could hardly breathe, unsure whether it was simply the pain or because they had crushed his lungs. Someone finally gave the order that it was enough.
"Why did you have to kick the door in?" Vincent shouted and tried to get up, which proved to be impossible. It took a few tries before he realized that his hands were tied behind his back.
"Don't worry," said a loud voice, "we got some gas to smoke those bastards out."
Vincent couldn't tell what was worse, mutant rats plundering the pantry and the cheese fridge, or poison gas which would make every food, plate, pot and fork unusable. It didn't matter though which was worse, he had both.
"To the wagon" ordered one of the soldiers who had quite a few medals attached to his chest. In the next moment, Vincent started moving, or rather, was being moved. Two men grabbed him under the arms, one took his legs, and off he went.
"All rooms cleared!" shouted one of the soldiers, who hadn't earned any awards yet, to his superior.
"Then we can start with the poison gas."
"No!" yelled Vincent and tried to wiggle himself free, "there's still someone inside, Lenny and his dog!"
"There is no dog, and we have the guy that came running down with you, all rooms have been checked," the soldier said.
"We mustn't waste any time, the rats are going to move on soon," Vincent heard another soldier say when he was carried out through the door. A police wagon was waiting at the end of the alley, Michael was already inside. His hands were in cuffs as well, but at least not behind his back.
"There's someone in there, Lenny, you can't use poison gas!" Vincent screamed in desperation.
"Lenny is inside?" Michael shouted, and joined Vincent in his panic. Vincent freed himself by kicking his leg, but they immediately grabbed him and delivered several blows to his knee. The door of the wagon was slammed shut, and Vincent tried to sit up. Michael pulled him up and watched with him through the bars of the door.
"There are still people in there!" He called again and Michael yelled repeatedly "Stop! Stop! ", but no one was interested in their protest.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11

About the author: From riches to ragz: The story of a gambling nomad

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