When The Light Goes Out

by Jack Thompson

Until I got taken down.

  At first, I wasn't sure what was going on. Something smacked into me at the waist, and my head cracked against the floor sending my semi conscious mind into a white pit yet again. But all I noticed was the pain. There was this screeching pain that just wouldn't fade. It seemed to steal any strength I would have had to keep the chomping creature away from me.

  That was the other thing I was aware. The noise.

  Now, for the record, zombie teeth mashing together sound nothing – nothing – like regular, human teeth chattering in (oh, let's say) the cold. They actually make this rather wet noise. Knife ripping through flesh wet. Maybe even teeth chewing on tongue wet. I couldn't be sure as I couldn't see anything that was going on.

  There was screaming.

  High pitched, frightened screaming.

  Though, logically, it should have been me screaming.

  I should have been bellowing, completely throwing my lungs out. I should have been fighting, frantically. I should have been kicking, and punching, using every ounce of strength I

  had to throw the damned thing off of me. But I wasn't. I was just lying there, pondering the reason behind the terrified shouts.

  Part of me was seriously expecting pain. The bone deep kind that doesn't fade away. Really, with the mashing sounds of the decaying teeth I was surprised a chunk or two of my collar bone wasn't completely torn away yet. I was shocked I wasn't bleeding out of countless wounds. Somehow I was perfectly fine, even after a short eternity of just laying on the ground.

  Maybe the damned thing was confused about whether I was dead or alive. Maybe it thought that I smelled normal, but didn't quite look right.

  Did they prefer fresh meat?

  Did they only want to eat their own kill? I couldn't be sure.

  "Excel!" "Fight back!" "Get off of her!"

  "Get him off of you!"

  "Why aren't you fighting?!" "Excel!"

  "Excel!" "Excel!"

  Excel (verb): to surpass; be superior to; outdo.

  Somehow, at one point or another, my parents had gotten it into their heads to name me a verb. An action word, as it was described to me so often throughout elementary school. I could live with that. I could live with the fact that it sounded kind of stupid, and I got teased for guest starring in many an essay. I didn't mind that I didn't have a normal name, because that could be contributed to my parents doing drugs. It was the fact that the word just didn't fit me that bothered me so damned much.

  I mean, come on. I'd just been beaten, repeatedly, by an old man. I was about to have my throat torn out by a zombie. There were dozens of people screaming at me to stop being half passed out, and get the hell up. I was superior to no one. I couldn't even outdo someone who'd died at one point in their life.

  Now if that isn't just an outright fail.

  Bang.

  This time it sounded even closer, and I felt the blow in my chest.

  Perhaps it was just the undead body landing on top of me, but I really did feel it. I felt it all the way to my spine, and managed to groan, but not to raise my arms. It was as if I

  was completely paralyzed. The world was still completely white around me, but I knew I wasn't dead. Dead people don't feel pain.

  I was feeling obscene amounts of it. "Excel, get up!"

  "Come on, Excel!"

  "Excel, you can't just lay there all day!"

  I wanted so badly to tell them to make me. Say I didn't want to. Tell them to just watch me lay there all day. Crazed cannibalistic dead people aside, I was more than willing to just lay there. Unmoving. I was completely willing to quietly wait out the pain. Not that it would help really. I wasn't sure anything less than a grotesque amount of morphine would make the pain go away.

  It was just too much.

  Then the weight on my chest lifted, and for a good moment I could breath. A moment, mind. After I'd had my moment, something stabbed me right in the center of my ribs, and I

  heard a voice proclaiming that I was dead, and they could all start moving again. Fucking Irish bastard.

  "I'm not dead yet." I couldn't immediately believe I was using the phrase. "I'm not dead yet, and if you don't move that god-damned cane I'm doing to snap it into a million little pieces and make you digest each and every one of them. Mind you, that does not mean I will allow you to eat them. If I'm in the mood, I might just insert them manually."

  "Big words coming from the kiddo on the ground. I don't think yer in any position to talk, young'un."

  "Why isn't he dead yet?" I contributed irritability from the pain to the gall with which I spoke. I couldn't even believe the words exiting my swollen lips. But it didn't shut me up. "Seriously. Why isn't he dead yet? Zombies don't like old people? Wouldn't blame 'em. This one's old, and sour. Really sour. Bad milk sour. I mean, come on, this one's past his expiration date."

  I could almost see the intake of breath, the way the kids were staring at me. I swore I could hear them backing away.

  "Don't you miss your parents telling you to take the dinosaur for a walk?" The world was beginning to fade back into color.

  "I can see it now. 'Don't ferget yer stone and chisel, Blazypoo. Take good notes in Making Fire 101. We could use the tips!' Like me accent?" Normally my tone wouldn't have been quite so mocking, however, more than half way from my head, it was. I was outright insulting the man, and some little voice in my brain warned me that I was indeed doing so. But I didn't care. At first, at least. It was unfortunate that the world chose that moment to fade completely back into view.

  Blaz was not happy. Hell, he was steaming.

  He looked about ready to kill me, and, knowing what I'd done, I couldn't entirely blame him. No. I couldn't blame him at all. This time I did deserve whatever he decided to do, and

  I almost braced myself for it. But instead of some brain cell depleting blow, the man hobbled off in the direction we'd originally been moving, without another word. "He's planning something."

  "Shut up Ian." Malachi lowered his hand after speaking. "Come on, let's get going."

  I nodded, mutely, as I was pulled to a standing position. I was just a little pleased that the world was in focus again. I didn't like not knowing what was going on. I didn't like being so completely vulnerable, while not even realizing that I was vulnerable in the front of my mind. That was scary. Not being able to see that you were in mortal danger.

  Learning to recognize the sound of death.

  That was scary.

  "Come on, everyone." Malachi barely looked back at our sorry lot, he didn't appear to make, or hold eye contact with anyone. He just held my hand – well, my wrist really – and started leading us all in the direction he bid we go.

  Everyone, down to Blaz, was quiet for a while. We just walked, with one or two look outs. They were just the kids walking around the edges of our little pack, watching the wandering dead closely. Twice they called out, warning us of attacks, but both times were false alarms. Every false alarm made me a little jumpier.

  Every once in a while the world began spinning.

  But we kept moving anyway. I watched as the street signs changed direction. As the buildings became sparse, and the houses many. The distance between the houses became a bit much as well, which was both a gift and a curse. It was a gift because it was easier to see the zombies as they exited the darkness to see what smelled so good. However, it was a curse because it left us nowhere to hide in turn.

  Dammit.

  "Kiddo, where the 'ell are ye taking us all, now?" Figures it would be Blaz to break the silence. Blaz who demanded answers that weren't necessarily his to demand. The least he could have done was asked nicely.

  Of course he didn't.

  Of course Malachi didn't answer. "Boy, answer me."

  Malachi didn't even flinch. "Answer me!"

  Not even when the cane hit the ground. "Ye stupid brat!"

  I'm pretty sure that it was at this point Blaz made his first mistake. He touched Malachi. It wasn't anything intimate,
no more than placing his hand on the boys shoulder, but that alone stopped the progress of the entire group. Malachi froze in place, let go of my wrist, and the entire group of college students and various other citizens bumped into each other trying to stop as well.

  "Remove your hand."

  "Not until ye answer me question, ye snot nose brat. Ye think ye can waltz right in 'ere, win ev'rybody over, and taken 'em to wherever the 'ell it is ye wanna take 'em?! Well yer wrong boy'o. Very wrong. Yer an idiot to believe it even fer a second."

  The more Blaz talked, the thicker his accent seemed to get. Words slurred into each other, and I felt my eyebrows knitting together the closer I stared. Maybe it's an American thing. The belief that, the smaller you squint your eyes the better you'll understand something. I couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just a family trait.

  "Blaz"

  "No! Shut the 'ell up, boy. No one gives a hoot what ye have to say. No one gives three hoots what's on me mind, but yer all goin'ta listen anyway. Ye gots that, now?!" "Blaz"

  "No! I'm tired of all ye youngsters runnin' about like ye own the world! Guess what?! Ye've fucked the world over! Royally! Crap wasn't like t'is when I was a young'un." "Dinosaurs roamed the earth when 'ye was a young'"

  "Excel!" One girl or another snapped at me before I could even finish my comment.

  "And ye jus' keep jabberin' on, and on, like anybody gives two craps what ye've got to say. Well I'll tell ye somethin' brat" "Is he talking to me?"

  "Yes I'm talkin' to ye, Excel. It's always ye. Yer always the one. Causing problems. Gettin' in trouble. Maybe one of these days we won't pull yer sorry keester out of the fire. Maybe it'll be fun to watch it burn."

  "Blaz!"

  I won't deny that I jumped when Ian yelled; because it wasn't something he did as often as most. But he did. He yelled at the top of his lungs and everyone jumped. Of all things, of all moments in time, of all situations, this was when Blaz chose to drop his cane. It clattered loudly to the floor, and he jumped a step back, staring at Ian in shock.

  "Behave Blaz!" It was more of a demand then a request. "Ever since we first found you you've been nothing but trouble. Yelling at everyone. Hitting people. I don't care how old you are. I don't care that you have more life experience then we do. I don't care if you don't like the turn the world is taking. Because we're the new generation. This is our world now, as much as it's yours. You're just going to have to deal with it!"

  I wasn't paying as much attention to Ian as the rest of the kids were. Some of them actually started applauding his outburst. Me, I was watching the way that Blaz was picking up his cane. I observed the way he fingered the damn thing before raising it to smack Ian.

  I was bleeding from my head. I was dizzy.

  I wasn't so sure I could move straight.

  But I stepped in front of the boy. "Blaz, stop."

  He swung regardless of the fact that I was in front on his target.

  Silly me. I was expecting the man to stop when he realized it was me, but I got hit in the shoulder, and moved with the blow instead. Swaying slightly to the left, I almost fell. But

  Ian caught me, holding me upright until I got my feet again, before he moved forward.

  "Why the hell did you do that?!" Ian demanded, all the while I touched my shoulder. It burned. "Who the hell do you think you are?!" "I can ask ye the same question kiddo!"

  "Shut the hell up, Blaz! I'm tired of your attitude!"

  "I don't give a crap that yer tired of me attitude! I'm tired of ye life! How d'ya like that one boy?!" "Jesus, Blaz! Grow the hell up!"

  I felt my hands beginning to shake, but couldn't quite figure it out. All I could think was that my brain was short circuiting due to the beating it had taken before, and I was about to die. This got me to shake even harder, although out of fear instead of anything else. Scared out of my wits that I would die in such a pitiful way.

  Not that I would die.

  Just that I wouldn't go out in a blaze of glory. "Why don't ye grow up?!"

  "I'm more grown up then you!"

  "Shut the hell up!" Malachi's voice drowned out both of theirs. Both did shut up, I'd give the boy that much. "I've had it with the two of you. Now is not the time for this argument, so if you can't reign it in, you're both invited to leave!"

  There were a number of gasps when Ian turned on his heel and walked away. He was angry. One hundred percent, fists clenched at his sides, angry. Of all people, he wasn't the one I expected to storm off. Blaz maybe. He'd be stubborn enough to just walk away, as if he didn't give a damn. But not Ian.

  Not Ian.

  He did though. He just walked away, without canting his head even a little to look at the group of us. Nearly all of us were staring, agape, like a bunch of fools. As if open mouthed expressions would draw anymore then criticism and flies.

  "Ian.."

  Someone spoke his name. Maybe it was me.

  "Ian..?"

  I was the one who stepped forward. Was I speaking?

  "Ian..?!"

  Yes, yes it was me calling out his name. I could hear my own voice growing just a bit more frantic. I felt my legs moving a bit quicker, as if I'd be able to catch up. Jello legged, and wobbly, I was trying to catch up.

  "Ian!"

  Someone grabbed me. One of the girls. She was smaller than I was, but able to hold me back just fine. Maybe that proved that I wasn't in any condition to chase after the boy, no matter how badly I wanted to. Maybe it showed that I was scared, which I was. Ian was a buddy – I guess you could call him that. He was a buddy and I didn't want him to get hurt. I didn't want to get hurt trying to prevent him from getting hurt.

  Never mind the fact that I'd done just that only moments before.

  "Ian!"

  "Blaz, you ass!" Malachi's voice seemed to overcome my quickly becoming shouts. He too was angry. "What the hell is your problem?! Now is not the time to be antagonistic. Or are you aiming to be that boys indirect murderer? Is that what you want, Blaz?!"

  "Of course that's not me intention!"

  "Then what the hell are you trying to do?!"

  "Teach ye damned children to respect yer elders!"

  "Only once they respect us!" Came one shout or another from the crowd.

  That single shout brought about maybe a handful more, and then the kids were closing in. They were forming a bit of a circle around the old man, and Malachi. They looked ready to draw blood, too. Probably as tired of Blaz's attitude as I was of his cane.

  I couldn't blame them.

  "Get the hell away!" It was Malachi who yelled. "Don't you even consider touching him!" The kids hesitated.

  "Now's not the time for hypocrisy." They all backed off.

  Damn if he didn't just have a way with words.

  "Maybe we won't be respectin' the likes of ye until ye respects us!" His speech was getting even worse, and worse, I noticed. More and more slurred. He was speeding up as well. I

  was beginning to lose parts of what he was saying. Obviously the case was not the same for Malachi. "Then there won't be any respect at all, will there?" Blaz, dumbly shook his head.

  I looked back in the direction Ian had gone. "Ian..?"

  "Listen, Blaz. Respect is a compromise. I respect you, you respect me. Common courtesy. No winning it, or earning it. Just give it freely. I assure you the other kids will as well. Right kids?"

  There was a resounding yes from everyone in our group. Much like the way a group of bored students will greet a teacher; in unison without having to practice at all. It was almost frightening they way they said it. Almost reluctantly, but not quite.

  I was the only one who didn't speak.

  And this, I may say, didn't go unnoticed. "Excel?"

  "What?" I was surprised I snapped at the bandaged boy, and raised a hand to my lips, tipping my head in apology. "What?" I asked just a little nicer. "Do you agree?"

  "Whatever." "Yes or no."

  "I don't care!"

  Everyone turned to me, however the gir
l holding me in place didn't move. Not until Malachi shooed her away with a wave of his hand. He stepped toward me, not angry looking, but not particularly happy either. He just stared, waiting to see what I'd say. What I'd do.

  I really didn't care.

  I just wanted Ian to come back. "Do you agree, Excel?"

  "Malachi," I said, staring into light brown eyes. "He made Ian leave. Ian left because Blaz was being a complete and total asshole. He doesn't have a gun. He's not a fighter. He's part of the chess club for God sakes."

  "I know, Excel."

  "No, you don't know. You've been missing for a long while. This is the first time you've had to deal with that bastard over there. Since the moment he showed up he's been causing problems. Since the moment he showed up he's been beating on us. It was okay at first. Whatever. He was just an old guy, who was just as scared as the rest of us."

  "Hey!" Blaz seemed to take offense of that.

  "But he's just a sadist. He doesn't give two shits about any of us. He really doesn't. And now Ian's run off somewhere because of him, and if that boy gets hurt I'm afraid I'll be forced to take a life."