When The Light Goes Out

by Jack Thompson

  Green. Slimy.

  Kind of frothy,

  Looking at it made my stomach churn all over again.

  All I could think about was how bad I wanted a piece of gum. Preferably not the minty kind.

  Mint and vomit. Ick.

  "Okay."

  There were deep breathes to be had then, as I felt the liquid part of what was on the floor soaking into the knees of my pants. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one I couldn't change until I was sure I was capable of standing on my own two feet. Case and point, I wasn't. I wasn't able to just stand up and walk away, as much as I hoped. As much as I wanted to.

  "Okay. So I can't do this."

  The first step is admitting you have a problem, I suppose. My problem was that I was stranded without really being stranded. I was stuck. I couldn't do anything. At the very least I

  couldn't do anything until I knew that my head would take the trip with me. "Ian.." I didn't even bother yelling. "..Ian, showing up right now would be great."

  Given my luck, unless Ian was suddenly a zombie with long blond hair, he didn't show up. And I suddenly had another problem to take care of. Maybe they were attracted to the smell of gun powder. I don't know. I don't even care to know in all honesty. I just wanted her to hobble off, back to wherever she came from. I didn't want to deal with it.

  I didn't want to deal with the dead. With death.

  Didn't want to do the Reapers job for him. I didn't want to.

  But there's that wonderfully fine line between want and need. Need was what I had hovering over my head.

  The choice to live, or be eaten. I raised the gun.

  "Steady." I whispered the word to myself as I level my arm. Leaning against the gate, I pulled up one knee to rest it on, barely aware of the fact that my own foul smelling liquid was gathering on the nice material there.

  "..Steady.." I tried holding my breath, to see if it would make my arm stop shaking. When it didn't I switched tactics. Choosing to instead lock my arm in place at the elbow, hoping that the new idea would work better.

  "..Steady!" And I pulled the trigger, wincing at the loud noise, and the way my arm jerked. It hurt the joint a bit, but I was relieved when the creature fell over backwards. Deader than the first time she tried her hand at it.

  And another turned the corner. Three more behind the first. One behind them. All were missing various chunks of flesh, and looked decidedly disheveled. One was completely naked. As in "day he was born" naked. Yes, he. Zombie ding-dong – not something I ever hoped to see. Something I never hope to see again. Really. But even with the disturbing sight, there was an even more disturbing thought.

  I was one bullet shy.

  I'd just let off my second shot, and there were five coming. Jesus. Screw the way the world works, and to hell with convention. I just wanted to, at that moment, master some uber

  awesome, old fashion Kungfu movieesque fighting style so I could kick all five zombie asses and get myself out of there. At the very least I wanted to be able to stand.

  As such a thing wasn't likely I raised the gun again, steadying it, and ripping off a shot. Maybe it was some sort of "instantkarma" that made the shot miss, and the entire group start running at me. Some "justaddwater" kind of karma that made the gun jam immediately after. Maybe it was the world's way of messing with me. Like the kid who jumps out of the closet and goes, "Haha! Got you!" with a smirk so smug you just want to deck him in the teeth. I don't know, but it left a terrible knot in the pit of my stomach.

  And I couldn't help but think that it was a nice day to die.

  You see, the world's kind of funny in a way. There were a group of zombies coming at me with the smell of murderous rage on them (I'm sure not many people know that murderous rage has a smell, but trust me it does!) but it was a happy day. The sun was bright, and the day had gotten warm somewhere along the way, not overwhelmingly so mind you. There were birds chirping in the skies. The clouds were the soft looking, fluffy kind – looking like they were painted there. It was almost as if the world was blind to my strife.

  As if it didn't know what was happening. What was about to happen.

  The Earth was indifferent that one of her children was about to die.

  Dammit!

  I was about to die and I was contemplating the fact that the Earth didn't seem to care! What the hell was wrong with my head that made me think of such a thing, when I could have been spending what could well be my last moments alive finding a way to live?! Maybe all those people in my life who spent their time insulting me, calling me a fool, or an idiot were right. Maybe they were right. I was certainly feeling like it as the first hand descended and a fist full of my shirt was grabbed.

  For a dead person, the naked man was strong. For a dead person he was also in desperate need of a shower, and some kind of breath freshener but I wasn't about to tell that to the guy who wanted to eat my face. Oh no. I wasn't that stupid, no matter what foolish mistake I made now and again.

  I couldn't tell you how many other hands seized me. I couldn't possibly describe the smell that surrounded me. I wouldn't even have been able to tell you what my shoe size was at that moment. I found myself encased in fear as a set of faces came closer, and closer to me. They weren't breathing I realized, no air was pushed from them onto me.

  Of course they weren't breathing! They were dead!

  Oh yes, so stupid here.

  I could feel the teeth pushing against my skin, waiting for it to give way, and the blood to flow. Waiting for the infection to spread, and I started to cry. There was no stopping that. The tears welled up in my eyes, and started to slide down my face as the teeth stayed there. Not moving. Not breaking the skin, but the presence alone was enough to keep me still.

  Maybe it was the struggling that broke the skin.

  Maybe the zombies didn't have the power to do so themselves.

  I may have even believed it if I hadn't seen some of them literally tearing chunks of flesh off of bodies before. I couldn't understand why they weren't ripping me apart yet. I

  couldn't understand why they were just standing there. Then they started to pull away.

  The teeth moved. The hands let go.

  I slid to the ground and started crying some more. I didn't understand.

  Oh, I can't begin to describe how grateful I was that the group had chosen not to eat me. I just couldn't fathom the reason. Zombies, as far as I knew, didn't think. They couldn't

  see. Couldn't smell. Nothing. As far as I knew they were missing all of their senses save for touch. Even then I wouldn't place bets. Yet they were pulling away from a waiting meal, beginning to move in the opposite direction.

  Why?

  I was happy yes. I wouldn't die. I wouldn't become one of them – I even raised a hand to my neck, where the teeth had been to make sure there was no blood. To make sure the skin wasn't broken. Sure the virus couldn't spread on contact alone. I didn't even want to consider it.

  No. No.

  Dammit.

  "Ian!" I had the mind to scream then, calling out for the boy as loudly as I possibly could. This act was repeated even as my tongue grew numb, and my throat became raw. It continued long after that, however in a much lower, much less effective tone.

  He wouldn't be able to hear me.

  I was terrified. Straight out terrified. There was no better way to describe the feeling. Scared. Frightened. Afraid, Fearful. Petrified. Every word means about the same thing and couldn't explain my feeling any better than the former. I was so scared even that it took me surprisingly long to realize the world had ceased its spinning, and I'd stopped crying.

  To realize that there was someone approaching me. Stepping lightly.

  Extending a hand. "Excel?"

  I screamed, fell to the side, and attempted to crawl away until I recognized the fact that it was talking. Zombies didn't talk. It was talking, so it wasn't a zombie. And it knew my name. There was blond hair visible as I looked, and I felt my eyes grow wide.

&nbs
p; "CCathy?!"

  Thinking back, she wasn't part of the group that went with Malachi. She hadn't run off with Dustin. I wasn't entirely sure when the girl had gone missing, but it gave me an ally. It offered someone to keep me on my feet – off my ass – essentially alive. It was a bit of a relief.

  "Cathy! What are you When How"

  "It's a bit of a story." Perfect, pearly white teeth flashed at me for a second. It wasn't necessarily a happy gesture, the woman certainly didn't seem happy. It could have easily been a motion of nerves. "You okay? I saw you getting slammed"

  "You saw that?!" She flinched.

  I almost felt bad that I yelled.

  I would have felt bad had it not been for the fact that she saw the damned creature beating me up, and didn't help. Hell, I would have done everything in my power to help anyone,

  given I witnessed such a thing. I wouldn't have just stood there and watched! "You didn't help! What the hell?!"

  She'd obviously seen that one coming. She still flinched though.

  "Let me explain, Excel."

  "How's about we let me get over the fact that you saw my face getting pounded into the pavement and didn't help, eh? How's about we do that?!" Of course I'm not the kind of person who holds grudges, you know?

  "Excel"

  "I'm sorry, it's kind of hard to get over. That shit hurt!" "I know.."

  "You got your face smacked into the street by some insensitive zombie lately?" "Well, no"

  "Tell me how you 'know' then. Please." "Excel"

  "I'd love to understand!"

  She stared at me then, and after a very brief glare, I withered under her gaze. I secured my pride with the thought that she had a gun as well as I did, with her head screwed on much tighter than my own. I merely assured myself that angering the person capable of blowing your brains out before you got a finger on the trigger was a bad thing.

  Which, of course, it is. "All calm now?"

  "As calm as a person with a concussion can get."

  "Excel," my name came out on sigh. "You do not have a concussion." "How do you know I don't?"

  "How do you know you do?" "I"

  "Exactly my point. Now calm the hell down okay?" At the very least, I tried.

  However I found I couldn't look at the blond standing there, angry like I wasn't sure I should be. She had her reasons for not coming forward to help. As a matter of fact she was trying to explain them, mentioning something about antidotes, and death. I wasn't sure what any of it meant, or how the two strung together as I wasn't paying any attention.

  She seemed to realize this.

  "Excel." There was a hint of exasperation in the tone, but I still didn't look at her. I couldn't make myself. I just couldn't. Not even when she lowered a hand in an attempt to tilt my chin. "Excel look at me."

  I found myself pouting instead. "I know you're mad."

  "I'm not mad." "Then what is it?"

  "Why didn't you help?" "I was explaining" "Just tell me why!"

  "I was a bit caught up by something. A knife to my throat can do that, right? Does cutting to that chase please you?" Needless to say I wasn't angry anymore. How could I possibly be with an excuse like that one flung at me?

  "Sorry Cathy."

  "It's alright, I get your frustration."

  "Mmhmm." Not a very strong response no, but what did she expect. I just went from being wronged to being a pigheaded idiot. Really. Who makes jumps like on a day to day basis? I seemed to be pretty damn good at them.

  A hand was extended then. I felt like crap.

  I took the hand. "Thanks."

  "No problem kid, let's get going."

  "Do you even know where we're going?" "Nope."

  "Ian's run off somewhere." "Blaz picking on him?" "Yup."

  "Let's go get him then." "Thanks."

  The hand on my shoulder as I walked a hobbling walk was reassuring. But Cathy was tense. I could nearly see the muscles in her shoulders all bunched up when I looked over, and

  I couldn't help but ponder the discomfort she must have been in. I didn't understand. "Cath"

  "Just keep walking Excel." "But Cathy."

  "Keep walking."

  Her tone left no room for argument, but that was another thing I didn't understand. She almost seemed angry. Furious even. I'd apologized, hadn't I? I'd said I was sorry, she seemed okay with it. She understood. Why was she suddenly angry?

  "I really am sorry, Cathy."

  "I know, now shut up and walk." "Why?"

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." "Try me."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Cathy was right.

  I didn't believe her.

  It's not that I thought she was lying or something, no. I didn't think that little of Cathy. She was a good, honest woman from past experience (given there wasn't much past experience with her.) She told things the way they were, and that was that. It was just that the story was so out there that my concussed (yes, I was sticking with concussed) mind couldn't quite wrap itself about the situation as she described it.

  "I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

  "Then why didn't you make up a more believable story?" "Are you calling me a liar?"

  "No!"

  "Then are you suggesting I should have lied?!" "Yes!"

  "Oh," the woman paused for a breath then, smiling widely at me. "Okay then. I was actually considering doing so, but figured honesty was the best policy." "You were wrong."

  "Just keep walking!" "Yes mother."

  Slowly my steps evened out, not amazingly so, but enough to keep me off my ass. That was a relief if there ever was one. Just as slowly as my feet steadied, my pace sped up just enough so that we no longer resembled a kind hearted, responsible youngster helping some grandparent or another cross the street. It's not every day that one so young gets to describe oneself as a grandparent.

  And it's not necessarily something to be proud of. Damn it if I wasn't half ashamed.

  You know, maybe I deserved it. Back from the time when I "played through" an older couples picnic. Maybe it was from the time I decided to reinvent the recipe for glue. Or directly after the glue incident, the time I decided not to clean up. It took weeks to scrape the glue from the carpet, which ultimately needed to be replaced.

  "Excel?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You zoned out on me for a minute." "Yeah, sorry. What did you"

  "I asked if you had any idea where he could have gone." "Who?"

  "Ian." "No."

  "Then where are you planning on going?" I looked at her.

  I looked at my surroundings. And I pointed to my left. "That'a way."

  "Jesus Christ," she breathed. "You're going to get us killed." "Not until I get Ian back."

  "After you get Ian back?"

  "I'm probably going to get us killed." "Pleasant."

  But she never stopped walking beside me, which I probably should have thanked her for. It would have been the nicest thing to do. But given I didn't, and just kept walking she was a pretty good sport about it. Maybe she thought my head was still mushy on the inside. Or she understood that I just didn't have the presence of mind to thank her. Whatever the reason, she didn't pursue the matter.

  Not even a little bit.

  Thank God for common sense. Thank God for tacos.

  Tacos.

  Why the hell did I smell Goddamned tacos at such an inappropriate friggen moment? Why did I smell tacos period?

  No, not only tacos.

  It smelled like someone was having a barbecue. With extremely ripe meat.

  I decided at that moment that I'd be saving one last shot for myself. Because even if I did manage to get out of the zombie ordeal alive, I'd be too fucking crazy to enjoy it. I was walking down the street, barely watching out for zombies, while trying to track down a missing friend, and I was thinking about barbecues. I was thinking about it so hard that I was able to smell it.

  And it brought me back to childhood.

  Back to days when doing canno
n balls out the second floor window into the pool was okay. Back to when I was able to eat my hot dogs and other only slightly charred food (because that's the only kind of barbecued food worth eating, period end of statement, no room for argument) while my toes wiggled around in the mud. Back to days when zombies weren't peaking around every corner at us, without approaching.

  "Cathy" "I know." "But I"

  "I know."

  "How can you believe any of this?" "You're witnessing it too aren't you?" Boy was I witnessing it.

  I almost wished I had a video camera. In the back of my mind I couldn't help but think that my grandchildren would never believe this story, so I'd need proof of it. Why I was thinking of grandchildren at such a time, I didn't quite know either. But I was. So I figured I needed to be kicked in the temple with a stiletto heel. Twice.

  No. No.

  Three times for good measure.

  And turning the corner revealed not a barbecue, but a group of burning bodies. They were sprawled in the middle of the street, smoking, letting off a horrendous odor. One that I

  presently couldn't figure a connection to tacos for. It made my stomach churn. My eyes water. I almost hurled again. "Watch your step."

  And I wasn't paying nearly enough attention to the real world. The world around me. The one that could quite easily get me killed. I mean, get me killed better than a professional hit. A mob kind of professional hit. If that didn't say something I wasn't entirely sure that the rest of everything else wasn't deaf or something. Because that's the only way it wouldn't speak.