Lou clutches the zombie by the ear and bounces the zombie’s head into the brick wall, once, its eye and nose go wonky, he stares into its rolled back eyes, then slams its head harder and harder, until his arm’s are numbed.
The zombie’s floating on the yellow water with no head; there’s thick bloodstains on the two sinks and on the wall that’s steadily becoming submerged under the gushing water.
Coming out of the restroom, on Lou’s left is the exit, but he goes right, towards the front and gunfire. The Bartender runs towards the front door on a gimp leg, the prostitute is curving over the other woman, applying pressure. The white towel has turned crimson. The prostitute says. “Drink this, because you’re coming with us.” The other woman has her eyes half opened. “My coat is ruined.” She closes her eyes.
Outside of the bar, yet still in the square of light, a zombie bites the Bartender in the neck and he instinctively shoots it in the stomach with his shotgun, impelling it into his car’s front bumper. A zombie running by, stops and eats away at the fallen zombie’s mouth. Additional zombies refrain themselves and hover nearby; they look towards the lassitude Bartender sitting in the doorway reloading the gun. “I don’t know where ya’ll came from, but I know where ya’ll going.”
The zombie with the hole in its chest begins to get up; the flesh from his mouth is completely eaten away. Bullets roll on the ground around the Bartender; he reaches for them with a bloody hand. He shakily aims the shotgun at the group of zombies and shouts at the door of light. “Too many are coming. Run.”
Lou hands the prostitute two more 9mm clips. “Cover that door.”
Outside still, the Bartender fires at the zombies, bursting off a few heads into windshields. A pile of bodies covers the sidewalk and a puddle of blood is seeping its way toward the Bartender. His face and neck is red with hot blood, he sticks his neck in the doorway. “Help me out.”
A disoriented kid in a hoodie over his head appears from around the corner with his head down. The Bartender tells him. “Haul ass, kid.” The prostitute is aiming for the door, waiting on him.
The Bartender is on his elbow inching his way back inside. His work shirt with yellow pit stains is drenched in sweat and blood. As he looks back at the kid he only sees hands and teeth coming towards him, he squeezes the trigger only to hear a clicking sound again. The kid is on the man’s stomach in no time; the shotgun is sideways between the man and the boy. The man arches his back and with his remaining strength shoves the kid off and to the right. Once the kid is standing, the Bartender is almost in the doorway. Blood spurts away from the kid’s head and he drops to the red concrete. The Bartender kicks the zombie’s head in conjuring years of built-up rage. The prostitute’s standing behind the Bartender; she lowers the smoking gun in her hands and covers her mouth. The entire ordeal happens in seconds.
Lou guides the prostitute back inside with her arm around his neck and he puts her in a sitting position. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Lou turns to help the Bartender who has one hand on his neck and is looking at the prostitute, but a split second later, he’s being dragged back outside. He grabs the door with only his face visible to Lou and the woman. He cries out, and then vanishes into the light. Zombies come running in. The last living woman rapidly squeezes the trigger, hitting them, but not ending them, then suddenly there’s only clicking coming from the gun.
Lou says. “I’ll save you.”
He stands up straight, extends his arm to the back of her head, and shoots her with the gun from his ankle. Her hands swing at her sides, body folds inward and her head collapses backwards, eyes looking back at Lou. Next, three zombies eat the prostitute’s thighs, stomach, and throat. Lou runs for the exit and does not look back. The other woman is as white and cold as her faux fur coat.
On the outside, a zombie runs towards Lou, he bends low and lets the zombie roll off his back. He grabs the zombie by the wrist and shoots it in the head as he drags it a few feet, learning the hard way what works. He barricades the exit door with its body and nearby garbage cans. He gives the body one last kick with his expensive elephant skinned boots that are covered in black slime and make a sucking noise with each step when he backs away. Finally with the time to think on what just happened, he hopes this is purely another drunk blackout mixed with drug nightmares. He slicks his dark hair back with bloody hands.
Two women covered in blood run up to Lou as he turns around covered in just as much blood as them. “Help us.” Both of their voices quiver. To him, as they continue to talk it sounds like they’re on the opposite end of a long hall.
Lou absconds down the alleyway, not registering what they have said. Abandoning them, the bar, his old life and reality. One of the young women falls in step with him looks down at the police badge on his belt and says in an accusatory tone. “You’re a cop…” He stops rooted in place. “Please Mister…it’s bad out here.” She inhales sharply and pauses on the brink of tears, her friend is shivering behind them in the golden sunlight.
He’s beholding the desecrated bar and taking it all in. He gets his emotions in check and after a long beat, says in a rough throaty voice without looking at the women. “I’ll save you.”
10
David says. “To dress up and to clash against others. Humans love sports because it’s a thrill to belong to a tribe, it raises testosterone levels. Acting tribal is instinctive and a survival mechanism from our ancestors, sports awaken that desire and rechanneled that energy. I was a baseball man myself, what were you?”
Coop says. “A hockey man.”
Youngblood says. “Track.”
Ava says. “Shh.”
Opulent landscapes give way to dry ominous scenery. The group is lying on a hill and spots a wagon through their gun scopes and binoculars. A collared person in front is pulling the wagon with the help of four chained armless zombies behind him walking slowly. The driver is dressed in an old leather outfit, high boots with a black cowboy hat to top it off. David’s and the group’s shadows lengthen on the hill as they watch on in curiosity and relaxation. Much discussion is had on what to do next. David decided even before his group opened their mouths.
The group looks ahead of the wagon’s path and sees Dead Town; it’s surrounded with scarecrow zombies on wooden telephone poles, over a dozen, circling the entire town. The place embodies a western aesthetic, a flair for recreated authenticity, and a tourist attraction vibe for city folk. Probably was once a local Stock Yards establishment where families would stroll down the brick streets, window shop for souvenirs and decide where to eat a good steak.
David stops spying and gives Delilah the binoculars.
She says. “Now you all know why I didn’t go down there, whoever lives down there, is either a psychopath, a genius, or both.
The Chief says. “Where’s the chopper and vehicles?”
Youngblood tells him. “Probably out scouting for more slaves. We’re not home, so maybe they’re not either.”
Lou says. “Depressing as fuck that’s what it is.”
Ava follows David to the vehicles, says. “What have we here?”
David takes off his new vest and goes through his belongings. “I have a plan. I don’t think the Boss is down there, but I have to find out what they know. I’m going to go down there by myself, and if it’s the Boss. When they tell me to put my hands up, because no one is original. I will cross my arms for a second and make an X above my head, to signal that it’s him. Stay back and observe, don’t attack unless I give the signal. If there’s no signal don’t come down there if something does happen to me, just keep going for the Boss’s camp.”
Lou walks up and says to David. “What if you die? Tell us what that mark said on Jacob.” David says. “I’ll tell Ava and she’ll tell you, but you promise me to send her back home.”
Lou shakes his head yes. David doesn’t trust Lou to keep his word, but trusts Ava to handle herself.
Ava says over David’s shoulder. “You�
�re not my dad, you can’t tell me what to do.”
David looks at her. “And you’re not my wife, so I don’t have to listen to you.”
Ava stands steady as David walks into her pathway. “I’ll come back. I don’t think they have many people down there or weapons. From the look of things.”
Ava says. “So let’s all rush down there. We can catch them off-guard.”
David says. “I would like to watch to learn more, but time’s running out. It’s too risky for everyone to get trapped down there, especially if they start shooting from those rooftops.”
David puts his blood soaked poncho on, and equips one revolver and one knife. “I don’t want to go down there and scare them. Besides, if they shoot me on sight, you would only lose my weapons.”
Ava bites on her thumbnail and cocks her head to the side. “Sounds thin.”
David’s smiling and walking backwards. “Trust that I’m not an idiot.”
The Indians gather by the horses, rested enough. Delilah’s flat on the ground, David’s old spot, still looking through the binoculars. “David puts my trouble to shame.”
David hikes down to the town, nobody’s in sight, he flings half his poncho over his right shoulder, and keeps walking looking left to right, with his hand near his gun. “Hello. Anybody home?” Windows are boarded up; the wooden doors look newer than the rest of the structures. Dirt streets have no trash or bodies.
David spins around. The small town has a dozen jerry-rigged looking wooden buildings with all the paint sand blasted off years ago. Facing each other, the layout of shops is one long parallel row, saving the biggest building for last. Which is in the middle and down at the end of the street, facing those who enter the town. It resembles a hand-me-down church, a vertical roof and all. David stops, getting his mind ready.
At the end of the town, a slim man with a back hat on is smoking a thin cigar on the porch of the town’s hotel. He’s lying on his side like the Marlboro Man. He shouts through smoke. “Stand where you are.” David’s in the middle of the street in the middle of the block of the town. The man walks down the steps with his head down and stops in front of David over twenty feet away, David puts his left hand to his forehead for the sun. “I’m looking for a man named Phillip, he’s about this tall with dark hair and youngish. He went missing a few days ago and I was wondering if he passed through here.” David fights the urge to say, these here parts, cowboy.
The man in black says. “I would have noticed a handsome man like that. Did you walk here, stranger?”
David looks at the roofs all around him. “More like running for my life, here.”
The man in black says. “I hear that. The Engineer is the name.”
“David.”
The Engineer smirks and says. “I’m digging the poncho, retro, retro man that should be your name. You’re playing the part, mighty fine.”
David says. “Where’s everyone?”
The Engineer says. “Would you rush outside to meet an armed stranger?”
David says. “Who’s in charge?”
The Engineer says. “Yours truly, but I’m more a builder than a leader. I helped design the underground tunnels under this town; it’s like the Viet Cong down there. But you’re too young to remember that. We have to live underground because of the running herds. The town was larger but we needed the wood for the tunnels. We come up sometimes to feel human and to eat.”
David shouts louder. “I’m also looking for a man named the Boss as well, have you heard of him?”
The Engineer stops walking towards David and glances sideways at him. “Look around, you’re surrounded by them, the scarecrows and every person with a stick up their ass.” The man then takes his black hat off, revealing scars for hair, wipes the sweat off and puts it back on with a nefarious grin. A signal? And the once ghost town comes alive again, men run out of every building to attack David. The dirty dozen of men have melee weapons and David shoots the men closest to him first, shooting in a circle by slapping the revolver’s handle back quickly six times, killing three by shooting them in the face. Blood hisses with each shot. Out the corner of his eye, an image comes into focus, he jams the gun down the man’s throat. Click. Empty. Something hits David in the back; he can see three wounded men on the ground screaming as if he’s cutting their legs off. The dozens of crows feasting on fleshy pillars flap as one into a black cloud.
A sordid man hitches up his breeches with a rusted pickaxe in the other hand. “Sumbitch needs one of theeze in his keister…Shove this up his bunghole.”
Blood is all over the rest of the men standing, shouldering their weapons, and sizing up their catch. They have on blue jean jackets and thick steel toe boots.
David’s gun slides away from the crowd on top of him. One man with soot all over his face turns David over and is about to smash his face in with a shovel. “You’re finished pecker wood.” David dodges the metal square and kicks the man’s kneecap in then kicks the man’s teeth in. He covers his head with his elbows when all the men go crazy, stomping their heels into the dirt as if trying to kill a rat in their midst. Don’t forget about your weapon…not yet. Yoo-hoo voices are blasting in David’s ears as if he has a helmet on.
“He killed Bob.”
“Bullcorn.”
“He’s so purtee.”
“Mmmm.”
David grabs an ankle and pulls down a man into the ground and the kicking stops. All the men have on old hats, bandannas around their throats or around their mouths, and thick coarse beards like stainless steel scouring pads. They all step back in harmony, encircling David and raise their weapons over their heads with grunts. For the final reckoning. A shovel is blotting out the sun; the holder spits dark mucous between his rows of crooked teeth. “S’long sucker.” David flexes his jowls and has his hand on his knife.
The Engineer is drinking from the horse trough; he dunks his head in the water. “WAIT.” The man stops with the shovel over his head, its shadow is on David’ face.
The Engineer coughs in his fist. “Let him up, we’re more civilized than him. We don’t go to a man’s home and start demanding answers with a hand on a gun like some wanna be badass.”
The Engineer pushes his arms down as he paces forward, slightly bends his knees as he walks, gazing up as he gets closer, talking still. He looks like a prancing and howling wolf walking on its hind legs. “No we don’t, right boys?”
All the men including the injured ones say. “No, no, we don’t. No siree.”
The Engineer says. “The world is a cruel place and we’re its cruel sons. Someone has to be hard to protect the softies. Nobody can have it all, that’s why you have only a dick and no pussy.”
David stands up as the crowd relaxes around him in confident victory. The Engineer approaches with David’s pistol; the pistol is loose in his hand like it’s two sizes too small. “Put your hands up. Reach for the sky. You’re fucked and the horse you rode in on. I’ve been dying to finally say that or have I?”
All the men hoot and holler, pushing David to each other, but he doesn’t fall down. David finally raises his arms for his group on the hill to see. David has his hands up until the Engineer gets right in his face, he doesn’t cross them, but drops them down hard as if to commence a street race.
The Engineer puts one hand on David’s shoulder and gets in close like a commanding coach. David’s face recoils from his foul breath. “David, my cowboy buddy, you think, we’re idiots, you think you can come here and take what’s OURS like everyone else around here.”
The Engineer looks around at his pack of men. “We know you’re not alone. The Engineer shakes his head. “We’ll crawl back in our holes and wait for your friends to arrive and it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.” David has a poker face and remains quiet. “Give Daddy a kiss.”
The Engineer puts David’s revolver in his belt and now has both hands on David’s shoulders, staring into his eyes. “If your friend Phillip would of came through here, I
would of remembered how he tasted.” His men cackle with their rotten teeth and then one man from behind David knocks him out.
11
I possess the foresight acumen to comprehend that the human effacement is imminent. The guileless or the meek will never inherit the Earth. A notion perpetuated through the generations to excuse mediocrity and failure in one’s life. Killing everyone or dying for everyone is pointless, so what’s the answer to life? It depends. An individual’s answers to life-altering subjective questions such as, what is the meaning of life, what is morality, is there a Creator, is there an afterlife? Will always be scrutinized to death. Ironically, each question is concerned about the same thing. DEATH. Specifically, the fear of death and supposed punishment following it, for past transgressions. Consequently, proving through the constant consternation of the unknowable, valuing one’s life above all else is merely natural and not selfish. And if someone truly believes that in death that his or her life will improve, why worry about anything, let people rule over you and meekly let death take over. If this concept is absurd, then welcome to the land of the living, where everyone has to fight for their lives no matter the time period. The other side of a Leap of Faith is real life.
The only miracle is that there are no miracles; the rules of the universe never change, ensuring stability, but that does not mean the rules of men are constant, they have always been relative and I don’t want to change that rule of mankind. If humans possessed many qualities outside of the animal kingdom, relating to physical attributes, social interactions, intelligence, and emotions, than I would wholeheartedly believe humans are unique instead of having various degrees, better or worst of traits found in other animals. Long story short, humans are just talking animals that deserve the world we create. I remember this Hindu saying: the world is as you see fit. Outside validation may feel good, but you don’t need it and you don’t need a creator to tell you the meaning of your life. Waiting for scientists or religious institutions to answer every unanswered question beyond a doubt according to your standards, is an impossible endeavor, and is a conscious or subconscious way to ignore the truth that you already know, which is, this is the only life you get and matters, so get busy living or get busy dying.
Genesis Virus Page 17
