by David Reuben
A piercing scream escaped my lips the moment I felt a pair of long arms wrap themselves around my midsection.
With arms and legs flailing, I screamed as loud as I could. “Get away from me!”
“Ash, calm down, it’s me,” Marcus said turning me to face him. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I … I’m fine,” I said, bending over to catch breath. “I just… I need to get out of here.”
“Okay, then, let’s get the hell out of here.”
It didn’t take long to reach the exit with Marcus leading the way. The end was much closer than I had realized. After pushing me way outside, I stopped to take a few more deep breaths. Even the summer heat was more refreshing than the stale air inside the funhouse.
Marcus rubbed his hand across my back to calm me. “Ready to hit that roller coaster now?” he asked, laughing.
Without having to think, I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m up for any more fun at the most spectacular place in town,” I said, throwing his words back at him, “but you go right ahead.”
The adrenaline junky inside of Marcus began to show on his face. I didn’t want to deprive him of the thrills and chills he’d planned for the night, although if he knew what I had in store for him, he might have change his plans.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you sitting here by yourself.”
He was trying so hard to do the noble thing, to resist the temptation, but the pleading little boy inside broke through the surface of his strong features.
“I’ll follow you over there and get a cold drink while you go on the ride. It’s not a big deal,” I promised.
His amber eyes grew big and sparkled with excitement. “Okay, if you insist!”
I gave him a reassuring smile, like any good girlfriend would. “I do.”
We took off toward the back of the park. Once Marcus was in line, I grabbed myself a cherry slushy from the closest vendor and sat on a nearby bench. I watched as he snaked his way through the line, talking to other patrons who appeared just as happy to be there as him. The thrill of it all consumed him; he was nearly dancing in place. Every now and then he’d look over and give me a wink.
Fifteen minutes later, he was finally on the platform racing to find the best seat on the train. I slurped my frozen drink and giggled at his boyish disposition. He was such a sweet boyfriend, always doing what he could to make me smile. It delighted me to see him having such a good time.
With everyone seated, the bars came down across the riders’ laps, and I heard a loud whoosh as the train began to leave the station. The loud click, click, click of the cars along the track as they made their way up the first hill made my stomach turn. I couldn’t have been any happier knowing I wouldn’t be on that ride tonight.
I glanced around the park once Marcus was out of sight. There were kids running at top speeds, streams of cotton candy waving in the breeze as parents tried to keep up. Couples, young and old, wandered through the park hand in hand, smiling at each other and exchanging sweet kisses. There was a group of middle-school-aged boys doing tricks on their skateboards in the vacant area behind the carousel. Marcus was right; it was a beautiful summer night.
A huge smile stretched across my face as I thought about Marcus and what we would be doing later that night. Butterflies once again took flight in my belly at the thought of being with him. I’d never been intimate with any boy in that way, but I was ready. Marcus was worthy. I knew it in my heart.
Screams erupted like gunfire all around me, pulling me from my reverie. I turned in the direction of the horrific sounds and was greeted by dozens of terrified faces. I titled my head to follow their gaze and what I saw nearly stopped my heart. The front half of the roller coaster car was hanging off the track directly above us. More blood-curdling screams filled my ears, and I recognized my own voice. My hand flew up to cover my gaping mouth. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to move, to run as fast as I could, because the teetering car above looked as if it could land on top of me, but I was rooted to the spot.
“Nooooo!” I howled when the car was released by whatever unseen force had been holding it to the track. The coaster plummeted to the ground at an unbelievable speed. I tried to outrun it, moving faster than I ever had before. It seemed like I’d been running for minutes, but it took only seconds for the coaster to crash into the blacktop below. Huge shards of metal and cement broke apart on impact. The pieces flew through the air, knocking people to the ground in a bloody mess. I couldn’t hear anything beyond the grinding metal and high-pitched, terrified screams. A white-hot pain moved across my back and stole my breath away. My face hit the ground with such force I thought my skin had peeled back leaving only a naked skull. Everything went dark, then.
Some time later I opened my eyes, surprised that I still could, and saw Marcus standing above me with his hand outstretched. I smiled, so happy to see him alive, and grateful for my own life. I lifted my arm, which appeared unscathed, and placed my hand in his. Comforting warmth enveloped my entire body at his touch. He smiled, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, which caused panic to wash over me. I looked down at my body to assess the damage, and the next thing I knew I was standing next to him. Did he pull me up? The dark-haired boy was flanking his other side.
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
Who the hell does this guy think he is? Why is he stalking me?
“Ash,” Marcus began. “I …” His shoulders began to convulse violently and he threw his hands up to cover his face.
I wrapped my arms around him. “What’s wrong, Marcus? Are you hurt?”
“No, baby. I’m not hurt.”
I looked over Marcus’ shoulder to see the dark-haired kid standing with his hands folded near his waist.
I growled in frustration. “What the hell do you want?”
“To help you,” he replied.
“Can’t you see we’re a little busy here?”
He stared into my eyes for what seemed like a full minute, and then his eyes traveled purposefully to a particular spot on the ground. I followed his gaze, screaming when I saw Marcus’ body crushed under the weight of the train car that had fallen. His head had been reduced to a pile of crimson sludge on impact. His limbs lay mangled in a heap around it. I wanted nothing more than to deny it, but the bright orange sneaker still attached to his severed foot confirmed that it was Marcus.
“How …”
I couldn’t make the words form correctly.
I looked back at Marcus, his face ghostly pale and his eyes rimmed with red.
“That’s not all,” he said pointing to where my body lay impaled by a jagged shard of metal. My face was frozen in horror. Tears poured down my cheeks like rain.
I looked to the dark-haired boy, my blurred eyes pleading with him for answers.
“You didn’t let me finish earlier,” he said. “My name is Nathaniel, and—”
“You said that already, get to the goddamn point!”
“I am a reaper.”
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the line of bullshit he’d just slung at me.
“A what?” My arms stiffened at my sides and I balled my right hand into a fist. “You’re fucking crazy, that’s what you are! Just leave us alone!”
“I told you I was here to help you and that’s what I’m doing. You’ve been marked, Ash.”
“How do you know my name? And what do you mean, marked?”
“Because you, Ashley, are my new charge. I was sent here to show you how it’s done.”
“To show me how what is done?”
He looked at Marcus and nodded sharply. Marcus looked back at me over his shoulder, his amber eyes still warm with love.
“I’ll see you soon, Ash,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”
Then he walked through the dark-haired boy and vanished.
THE BITTER END
By Kya Aliana
We’re all going to die. There’s no way around it; no use in fighting it.
Death is directly correlated with the inevitable, and that’s the way it will stay. We all lose someone … I’ve dealt with death before, let me tell you. Death knocked on my door at a very young age, and decided to stick around. This isn’t death … this is something else entirely. She is something else entirely.
Like a camera lens, my eyes focus on her, trying to drown out the world around me. She is my center of attention and she always has been. Her hula-hoop circles around her slender form as her hands wave in the air. Her dyed blood-red hair lays limp on her head as she spins to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. Her skirt bellows out, brushing the trees in the distance. I look closely at her arms and see small scars, the kind a razor blade would make. Her eyes hide the tears beyond her fleeting joy.
“Stormy just hasn’t been the same since …” Brooke’s words are cut short by her own thoughts. I’m relieved she didn’t finish her sentence. I don’t even want to think about the following words. The evening falls silent and that’s perfectly fine with me. It can’t be easy watching your sister like that. God knows it’s not easy watching your fiancée like that.
“Come in and eat something.” My tone is exhausted and comes out more harshly than I intend. Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in my head: I don’t realize I feel angry until I hear my voice. What’s irritating me? She’s different now. I’ve accepted that. The light I once saw around her disappears into a torrent of grey clouds.
She replies with a placid smile, her eyes glinting in the setting sun. Its golden beams peek over the mountains and a cool breeze fills the backyard. The hula-hoop gracefully falls to the ground and her worn brown combat boots step over it.
Inside, she just sits there. A smug smile crawls over her lips and her eyes suggest she knows everything: the world’s secrets, my emotions, my innermost thoughts. I’m being violated. No. I’m being paranoid.
“You have to eat,” I say, eyeing her untouched plate.
She responds through silence, a slight chuckle hidden beyond her eyes. She knows something: something I don’t.
Her sister and I exchange glances. We can’t do this. We’re not qualified for this. Fuck, who is? Unable to take the suffocating guilt, I rise from my chair.
“Fine. If you don’t want to eat, you don’t have to.” My voice is angry yet my insides are numb. I have no right to be mad with her. She didn’t become this on her own; we made her this way.
I think back to that night when everything changed. I remember how hard it was to have hope through all those years of the apocalypse. Not very many did. With all of the unpromising pop-culture TV shows and literature, it was easy for people to disconnect. They would mercilessly kill the zombies whether they were strangers or family. I just couldn’t put her down, despite my many attempts at telling myself it would be putting her out of her misery.
Twenty-five and twenty-seven. That was how old we were when it all started. Young and in love, fooling ourselves that we would last longer than either of us truly thought we would … turns out we were wrong and in it for the long haul. She’d tried to break up with me a few times, but to no avail.
The night before she changed was the worst …
“I don’t always want to be the ray of sunshine you’re fighting for,” her words echo in my drunken mind. “You have to learn to pull yourself up. I’m sick of you being so depressed and me being the only thing you’re living for. Matty, do you know how much pressure that puts on me? How many expectations of yours I have to live up to?”
I remember not knowing what to say. She is right. She’s absolutely right and she has every reason to be upset, every reason to break up with me.
“It’s MY turn, Matt. Mine. I love that I make you happy sometimes, but you can’t honestly expect me to never be down! You never pull me up, never pull me back. You just want to have a pity party together. My brother died yesterday. Yours died years ago and you need to get over it!”
I feel something inside me snap. How dare she tell me to get over him. My fist pulls into a bunch. The voice in my head tells me to hit her, but my better instincts stop me.
“Say something!” she demands. To this day, I regret it. At the time, there was nothing to say. Now, a million words come to mind: “You’re my light, and without you there’s nothing but darkness”… but that was her problem, wasn’t it? If I’d known what would come, I would’ve tried harder. I would’ve told her how much she meant to me. I would’ve promised to be there for her more. Perhaps the simple words, “I appreciate you” would have sufficed. I’ll never know.
“Fine,” her voice huffs. I can tell even then that she is getting more annoyed. “But just know, this isn’t about me. It’s about you. It’s about the person that no matter how many times I lift up and tell myself it will get better, will never change. It’s about you, who refuses to do anything for yourself or try and help yourself be happier. No matter how much I want to believe I can, I know I can never change you. I can’t make you see what more is out there, or that you have everything to live for. Eternity is ours if we just live in the moment. There’s so much out there, there’s more than you can imagine, fathom, or even conceive. If you would just open your eyes to the universe, you would quit drinking and realize that you are literally wasting away when there is so much to explore. You would stop caring about the mundane things you care about right now, and realize that half your worries are things that are ridiculous to be concerned about. But if you keep this up, you’ll never realize that, you’ll never truly be awake and that’s just something I have to accept, and the result is …” I’ll never know what she was planning on saying next, but I feel I can safely assume.
The death rattle fills her throat as she clutches her side. It’s been bothering her for days. Her stupid ass brother bit her before he croaked. Fucking idiot weirdo. He got so violent that Brooke had to put him down. I don’t think Stormy would ever forgive her sister, but if she’d been around for the next few days she would’ve understood. Unfortunately, we were part of the select few to first experience the zombie outbreak before it hit the world news.
I shake off the memory. It brings nothing back but years of heartache and the urge to drink again. It shouldn’t be too long now until society has rebuilt itself enough to bring back alcohol. I refuse to think about the Christian groups who will try and deny it access. They say history repeats itself … prohibition didn’t sound very fun to relive.
“You’re thinking of that night again, aren’t you?” Brooke asks.
I reply through silence.
“You think it’ll get better?”
I don’t have the heart to tell her what I really think. Thankfully, I’m off the hook.
“They’re here.” Her solemn tone pulls at my heart. She doesn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.
“I’ll handle it,” I say. My tone is gruff and I don’t think it will ever sound gentle again. I wait until she and Stormy are safely upstairs before I open the door.
“Can I help you?” I ask, my voice finally sounding the way I intend it: intimidating.
“If you search your heart, you know what you should do,” the lady says, clutching her Bible in perfectly slender and pale hands. Her eyes are wide. The last thing she intends is Godly. Ever since the vaccinations there have been groups like the one she runs going around and telling people they’re wrong. I suppose the apocalypse scared them too much; as a result, they’re a bit more fundamentalist now than they were before.
There aren’t very many of us … of Stormy … the ones it didn’t work on. The groups outnumber us, which is why most people side with them. They shun the “blank” ones as they call them. They shun those who live with the blank ones too.
“Tell me,” she continues in her sugarcoated Southern accent, “do you believe in the power of Christ?”
A loaded question. If I answer “no” then she’ll continue to tell me that’s because I’m living with a blank. She’ll tell me that my Stormy is blank because the devil is inside her. She’ll explain
that the vaccination didn’t work because God decided it was Stormy’s time, but the devil protested and entered her body in order to instill doubt in Christ’s teachings. If I answer “yes” she’ll ask me why I haven’t released Stormy’s spirit to the Pearly Gates and proceed to give the same speech she’ll give me if I answer “no”.
Times have changed. They don’t care that I used to go to church. They don’t care if I actually believe in God and Christ anymore. All they care about is Stormy. Why? Beats the hell outta me. It doesn’t affect them. I keep her out of town, locked away, hidden from all young and innocent eyes. Hell, I hardly go into town anymore because I got tired of the judging gawks.
“I think it’s best if you just move along. There’s no need to go through this again,” I say with a tired sigh. I close the door before she can protest.
I trudge up the stairs slowly, misery filling every ounce of my being. What kind of world is this? What have we become? Maybe it would be best if … no. NO! I refuse to let my mind go there.
I enter the den and sit on the couch. Brooke lights the candles as Stormy’s eyes slowly scan the room as if she can see things that we don’t.
“I have a theory,” Brooke started. I’m silent but she continues anyway. “She’s not dead. She just sees things. She’s in two dimensions, maybe even more.”
I don’t know what to say. Maybe she’s right, I mean who knows? But what difference does it make? What’s the point?
Brooke understands. We realized long ago that caring about Stormy is where our similarities end. That’s not to say we don’t enjoy each other’s company from day to day. It’s healthy to not be alone with Stormy; that kind of isolation will drive the sanest person crazy. Sometimes just sharing the day with someone who doesn’t scan you with their judgmental eyes is comforting.
We both agree that small talk is overrated. So we sit in silence enjoying the fact that Stormy isn’t six feet under or being devoured by vultures. We listen to her labored breathing as we follow her gaze to see nothing special.
