Undying (6 page)

  The familiar choking cough that sounds like a cat with a punctured lung coughing up a hairball. I whip around and see a young girl entering the kitchen. She couldn't have been older than thirteen. She must have been in one of the bedrooms. The life has left her a long time ago. her eyes are gray and sunken into her head. She sees me and makes a startled growl. Her gums are so rotten they are dripping off of her teeth like watery jelly. Her tongue is primarily a deep purple and pokes out unnaturally as she hisses at me. I put up the knife as if that will convince her not to attack me. She doesn't notice it. Her only concern is me.

  She comes at me. There's no time to premeditate. There's no time to think of a way out. There is only enough time to do one thing. I lift the blade and bring it down on her with both hands wrapped around the handle. The blade bows as it collides with the top of her skull. I push down and it slides across her face. The blow knocks her back into the counter. There's no time to think. There is only time to make the first move. I find myself shouting like a madman on the battlefield as I descend on this thing that was once a young girl. With one hand, I repeatedly bring down the knife like a small ax. I hack away. I block it all out. It's just chopping and screaming. This goes on for a while. I don't really know how long. Eventually I collapse back, too tired to continue. I lay there, expecting her to attack me. A moment passes and, to my surprise, nothing is gnawing away at my ankles. I probably would just let it happen anyway.

  I catch my breath and sit up. I can't believe it. I beat its head and torso into such a point of uselessness that it isn't trying to grab at the air anymore. The knife is stuck triumphantly in a pile of meat that might have been her ribcage. I don't know. I can't think about that.

  "Oh, God." I throw up as the realization of what I just did hits me.

  I crawl my way to the towel hanging from the refrigerator handle. I clean what I can of the girl's rotten remains from my right hand. I stand and return to the knife block. I grab two of the steak knives. Then I remember the gun. I run to the front of the house. I didn't come all this way to get stuck in another house. I need to move on. I need to get the hell out of this place. I see the gun where I dropped it, by the door. They are smashing their way in, though. One of them has broken in a section of the door and has managed to crawl a third of the way into the house. It's a tight squeeze but he will make it through. I look at him and then the gun. Do I have time? Fuck it. I need that gun. I run over and grab the gun. I look up to see if he's made it in yet. Yeah, he has. A snarling man with half of his face charred black. I put one of my steak knives into his good eye, then I book it. I feel him tug at my pants but I slip away. I run across the house to the kitchen, one last time. I tell myself not to look at the little girl. I get into the kitchen and the first thing I look at is the horror I left on the floor. I shake it off, in a manner of speaking. I pull the backdoor open and leap into the backyard, knife in one hand and gun in the other. It's really a shame that nobody is around to see me like this. I feel like a real man for the first time in my life. Earning each second.

  There is only one of them in the small back yard. He's a skinny guy with a big bushy beard. I kick him square in the stomach. He falls back into a bed of flowers. I need to keep going. There's no time to waste. With every second that passes, more of them get closer. Every second wasted is deadly. I make my way to the front of the house from around the side walkway. I have a plan. I need a vehicle. I slow my pace and creep around to the front. There isn't too many of them. It looks like they are all going into the house. I stand behind a bush on the corner of the house. I look around the neighborhood. Now that the smoke and crowds have cleared, I can actually see farther than fifteen feet ahead of me. I scan the area. There it is. The truck of the nice old man I had to shoot earlier, parked in front of his house. The driver door is wide open. With a little luck, that could be my ticket out of here. Finally, a real shot at making it.

  I look around the bush and notice there is only one left in the yard. The others must all be looking for me in the house. There are a few of them in the streets, scattered throughout the area, but I know I can make it to the truck. I make a break for it. I don't hold back, I just run full steam. I try my best not to fall and stab myself. That would be a real crap way to end all of this. I make it to the truck. One of them comes up from the side of me. A plump woman, shirt and jeans soaked in blood, opens up her rotting mouth. Her lower jaw splits apart from her drooping jowls, making her look like some kind of undead ventriloquist dummy of a bulldog. I stick my steak knife directly into the middle of her forehead. It takes some force, but it goes in. She goes crossed eyed and steps back. I kick her in the baby maker and she topples over. Doing so hurts my ankle a bit but I'm beyond caring. I jump into the truck and slam the door shut. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. I wonder if I've ever felt this much adrenaline before. I don't think so. I look around the interior for the keys. They have got to be in here. At least, a spare set of keys. I look in the glove box, on the floor, and in the overhead visor. Where the hell are they? There's three of those bastards closing in on the truck, now. No, there's six.. seven.. Christ, help me. There I go again. Asking a god that I never claimed to believe in for help. Way to sell out in the end.

  I open the revolver to see how many shots I have left. One. One bullet left. It's okay I'll check again for the keys. I look in every compartment again. Maybe it is in the crack of the seats. I jam my hand into the tight nook. It's almost impossible to get my hand in there but determination seems to be going a long way. They are banging on the window. Harder and harder, each hit I'm convinced is going to shatter the window. I feel something down there. It feels like metal. It could quite possibly be the key. This could be it! I need to just reach a little more. It is hard to be calm while staring down a group of hungry ghouls. They hit the driver's side window again and a spider web of cracks stream along the glass. I grab the tip of what I hope is the key with two fingers. They punch the window again. Enough of it breaks off to let one of them slide their hand inside. The glass peels back the skin as it reaches in, revealing layers of juicy necrotic flesh. The tendons move as the fingers claw at my face. I pull out the screwdriver. A screwdriver? God damn it! I'm done for. I can feel it. Well, I do have one bullet left. I stare at the gun in my lap and look over at the faces of the dead. No, I can do better than that. I put my last bullet into the head of the one reaching inside. It shatters the remainder of the window but he falls down. All I need to do is break off the ignition lock and start it with the screwdriver. I look down at the ignition and almost slap myself. The keys are just sitting there. I feel stupid knowing that I considered shooting myself because I didn't check to see if the keys were in the ignition.

  I turn the key and hear the most beautiful roar of an engine I have ever heard in my life. I don't know anything about cars. I don't know if this is even a good engine, but hearing it actually work, when it could have just as easily not started, almost brings a tear of joy to my eye. Freedom is in my grasp. I floor it and watch the dead get pulled under the old truck. I imagine that it is devouring them, never to be seen again.

  I told myself as a kid that I wasn't going to let myself die in this town. I'm going to get out of here one day and see the world. It's weird to think that it took all of this to get me to finally leave. I had to lose everything to uproot myself. It'll be okay. Just outside the city limits is a whole new world away from this place and its haunting memories. The streets are familiar but so very different. The neighborhoods are just little ghost towns, now. I maneuver the truck around the wreckage in the streets. I do my best to avoid the dead but they are everywhere. Each street I pass part of me is expecting to see less of them. The closer I get to the freeway, the more of them pop up. They are never ending. All people I've probably come across one time or another. In this small city, most people know each other. Not anymore. Nobody is left to know anybody, now. I smash my way through two cars in the way of the on ramp. They are light and easily thrown aside by the heavy, metal-framed monster. The freeway is more vehicles than wanderers. It takes some crafty turning to get through the maze of abandoned vehicles. A mile or so later, a clear point comes up. I drive through and see why. There is a tank in the middle of the road. Nobody seems to be inside. Pieces of people and debris peppered across the surrounding area tell a tale of a losing firefight against the army of the dead. I drive through the aftermath, back into the maze. The vehicles slowly thin out as I approach the pass that leads out of town. Relief slowly comes over me. The feeling is indescribable. I look up at the sky. I see something. Is that a jet?

  The truck shakes. The back windows pop and spray glass everywhere. The concussion is so loud that I temporarily go deaf. The truck slides side to side. I wrestle the steering wheel to regain control of the truck. It almost tips over. Somehow, I manage to straighten it out. The silence has been replaced by painful ringing. I try to look in my mirrors but all I see is smoke. I step on the gas as hard as it will go. I need to get out of here before that happens again. If it's the military, why are they blowing up the way out of town? I need to-

  The truck lifts off the ground. The back end flies forward and the truck flips. I smack my face on the steering wheel as the truck lands on its top. A massive force is pushing the truck across the road. The rush is too much to bear. I'm powerless like a ragdoll. I peer into the light of the flaming freeway. I feel all the blood go to my head just before everything goes black. Calm settles in.

  Why is it so cold in here? I turn up the thermostat and the heater kicks on. I wander through my house aimlessly with my cell phone in hand. It finally charged. That's relieving. I'm going to call her. We can talk this out. We have many times before. She'll come back home. She's my girl and nobody can take that away. Everything is fixed, now. I have money. I can make her happy, right? She'll come home to me tonight. I put the phone to my ear.

  "Hey.." Reluctance taints her sweet voice.

  "Please, come home. I love you. We can fix this."

  "You know I can't."

  Tears fill my eyes. She's right. Deep down I know that she can't. Then I think about why. She's dead. There's no way things would ever be the same. It isn't possible. Still, I want to fight. I want to beg. Somehow, it would bring her back. I know we could be again. There has to be something I can say or do. There is always a way. I try to muster up the words from deep within. All I can choke out is half worded apologies.

  "Goodbye." She says coldly, not in the sweet voice of the girl I loved but the voice of the heartless thing she really was.

  "Penelope!" I shout dryly with my raspy voice.

  All I hear is static. I peel my eyes open and notice something. I'm not in my house. There is no heater to fight back the cold wind blowing in my face. There is no Penelope. Hell, there isn't even a phone in my hand. I am hanging upside down in the demolished cab of the truck. I can't feel my arms. I can feel my head, though. It's pounding like I just got my ass kicked and dripping with blood. The only thing keeping me suspended is my seatbelt, which is digging into my stomach and ribcage. I try to take off the seatbelt but I can barely move my fingers. How long was I out? I can hardly see much less think. Why is the radio on? The blaring static is so loud I literally cannot hear my own thoughts. What happened? Oh, crap. I look up and see them, grabbing and biting their way through the windshield. Then I can feel my right arm again but not in a way I want. I feel the hot, raw pain of teeth tearing deep into my flesh mercilessly. One of them crawled in through the passenger side. He has no skin on his face. The grayed flesh that was muscle tissue is coated in dirt and rocks, likely from taking some kind of fatal fall. My gushing blood sprays onto his face. His eyes fill with a twisted form of primal pleasure as he chews a chunk of my arm like a cow with a mouthful of grass.

  So, what do I do? Do I just dangle here and die? Something deep down, some kind of primal instinct, is telling me "Getting eaten is not a fucking option!" I undo my seatbelt. My head smacks the roof of the cab and I contort clumsily under my own weight. I kick the bastard that bit me. I kick him six or seven times to back him out of the window he crawled in through. I reach back and fumble the door handle. With some awkward arm twisting, the door swings open. I shimmy out of the truck. I feel the asphalt under me. I hope to god it's clear. I scoot myself into the street without looking at what's behind me. I keep kicking back the same one. He stays with me persistently. I bring myself to stand and look around. luckily there isn't too many of them. I'm bleeding a ton and do not feel like sprinting for an hour. Wait a minute.

  "What the hell is that?" I say out loud without thinking.

  Lights. They are like headlights but there is multiple sets of them and a spot light on top. It's a huge military vehicle. The spotlight aims on me and I'm blinded. The gargantuan vehicle stops about fifteen feet away. Terrified, I fall to my knees. The dead no longer notice me. They walk right past me, into the light. I put my arms up to shield my face from the overwhelming light. I try to look through it. I try to see what is going on. It's no use. It is too bright. My eyes burn and tear up. Then I freeze up. I hear machine gun fire. Not just one. There is, at least, five of them going off. I can hear the bullets crashing into the truck and all around me. This is it. I'm going to get killed. I keep my eyes closed as tightly as possible and clench up. The gun fire quiets. The spotlight turns off. I look at myself and notice that I'm not dead. I look up and see a soldier towering over me. There are other soldiers standing in a tactical formation around the cab of the vehicle. He asks me to say something to prove that I'm not dead. I mumble like a child too scared to make whole words. He grabs my arm and helps me to my feet.

  "We need to get you out of here. The whole city is about to get leveled. We are taking survivors to a safe place. It's going to be okay." He has the voice of a leadership position.

  His confidence eases me, in a way. I follow him to the back of the giant cargo truck. The dead lay sprawled in the street. They are down but not motionless. Most of them are still twitching and flailing. One, once pot-bellied, old man lays in a gelatinous puddle of his own guts, biting at the air. We get to the back and he opens the doors. Inside are dozens of terrified people. Most of them look like they haven't eaten in days. It's like something straight out of a WWII documentary. I climb up the metal steps and take a seat next to some guy. It feels good to relax. The cold uncomfortable seat is heaven compared to running for your life. I lean back and nod out. My dreamless nap is quickly ended when the truck hits a rather large bump in the road. I open my eyes. Across from me is a lady leaning on the man next to her, passed out. She must be exhausted, the unforgiving bumps don't phase her in the slightest.

  I turn to the guy sitting next to me. He looks oddly familiar. I can tell he's thinking the same thing. I put it together and smile. My childhood friend, Jesse. He's not a teenager anymore. His baby face is now covered in a scruffy beard and he has a large mustache. The mustache almost looks fake on his face. It gives me a good laugh. He starts telling me about how he finally made it out of the wilderness of the mountains. He tells me how he found the roads and after days of hiking he was picked up by the military. He's certain that once we get to the safe place the soldiers talked about everything will be okay. I believe him. I do.

I'm glad he made it. I want to tell him that. I try to tell him but the words are leaving me. I can't really focus. I look at my old friend through my blurring vision. A familiar stranger. A boy I once knew in the body of a full grown man. He doesn't look happy anymore. He looks afraid. Why is he so afraid? I want to ask him why. I reach for him. Everything turns red. His blood is everywhere. It's on my hands. It's running down my face with a comforting warmth I cannot describe. I watch myself helplessly as I tear him open. I pull his flesh from the bones and plunge my teeth into him. What is happening? What am I doing? It's all a blur of screams and blood. I can't tell seconds from minutes anymore. Everything is just anger and hunger. I go from one person to the next until there is no more people. There is just us. The truck stops and the doors open. The soldier sees us and aims his rifle. He's shooting. I think he's shooting at me. I cannot feel it, though. I don't feel anything. I leap at him and reach for his throat. Before I know it, he's motionless and a group of people running into a barn catch my attention. The place is a farm. It looks like the military threw up some cheap chain link and fortified the place. I make my way into the heard of people. They force themselves through the corridors of my dreams. The barn wall, the faded green paint, the fence, and the horde of frightened innocents. Now, I understand. They weren't trying to escape with me. They are trying to get away from us. There are many of us now and they don't stand a chance. Even Jesse is tearing through the crowd. Time goes on and I don't stop to think about what I'm doing, not once. I just act. Mindlessly like a wild animal. Feeling and emotion are in the past along with my concept of time. I find myself outside again. There's no more people out here. I wonder where they went. I stand in a grassy field, looking through the chain link at the horizon. You can see some of the city from here. My last coherent thought that I'll ever have comes to me. That is the city I lived in. That is the city I grew up in. That's where my life happened. I feel what's left of myself slipping away into the ethers. Cold thoughtlessness sets in. Worry is long gone. A group of jets whiz by towards the city. I watch in astonishment, like a young boy watching the fireworks for the first time. The ground trembles. Light consumes the horizon. Emptiness consumes my mind. Everything fades into the embrace of blackness.

Some are here, most are there, but no matter where,

I am forever grateful of the time we've shared.