The Final Day: Complete Edition

by Salzman, Shawn

  I look at each side of the road. The dead are all around. Their numbers are increasing the closer I get to leaving town. The apartment complex to the right could have spawned several hundred of them. I just pray that most of those people made it out and are at, or on their way to someplace safe.

  The last streetlight passes my window and darkness engulfs me, save for the two eyes of light cutting through from the front of the Suburban. Even over the rumble of the exhaust, the eerie moans and grunts pull themselves in to my mind. Their numbers are growing the farther out of town I get. It doesn't make any sense, though. Why would they be on the move out here? The noise of the city and the possibility of a meal ticket for them should be more than enough for them to head to the city.

  From the middle of nowhere, a light flickers at the corner of my eye. I slow the Suburban down to a near stop and gawk out the window. The darkness reveals nothing.

  I take off again, but this time I'm watching for it. The light flickers again. What seems like an electrical impulse shoots across my left eye, then it goes black. I blink my eye like a madman, but it does no good. My left eye is blinded. I shake my head and rub my eye fiercely. Nothing. No pain. No light. Just blackness.

  Am I having a nervous breakdown? This scares the hell out of me. What if the antidote has worn off already?

  I hear the moans and I start to panic. The hair rises up on the back of my neck as a chill rushes through me. I look around, frantic, but my right eye can only see so much.

  I reach for the crowbar on the seat next to me. My fingers close on nothing but air. I try again with the same results. I have no peripheral vision whatsoever.

  My blood begins to boil. I can feel my face get hot and my temper flaring along with it. Every time I try to grab the crowbar, I come back with nothing. This is really pissing me off. I reach out again and - finally! - I wrap my hand around the crowbar and snatch it from the seat.

  THUD.

  I don't need twenty-twenty vision to know that those fuckers are starting to move in on me. Shadows close in from the darkness, their shapes manifesting not even ten feet from the Suburban. I'm in the civilian equivalent of a tank but, with no windows, it doesn't really do me a whole lot of good.

  I hear the first hand brush down the tailgate, then another. One by one, they get closer. At least a dozen of them are casing me.

  I hope their interest is nothing more than a new sound that has invaded their territory. Of course, maybe Kinnelson's injection is working too well and I have suddenly become edible to them again. That would suck if that was true. Go figure, I tell Kinnelson that they think I'm one of them and all of a sudden I become a tantalizing snack to them again. Why the hell not? Everything else that could go wrong already has. Why not this?

  Not everything, Michael.

  True. Kari and the kids are okay still, I hope.

  Be positive, Michael. No need to hope. They are okay.

  Yeah, they have to be. I know Charlie may be a two-face, backstabbing asshole, but I know he is a good man when it comes to Kari and, especially, Steven and Lexi. I still have no time to waste.

  I smell the first rancid exhalation from one of them. My left eye is still dark but there's no question about it - that thing is right outside the door. It takes a handful of my shirt and shakes it, but does little else.

  The next exhalation is close enough that I feel the onrush of air on my neck. Too close for me, I swing the crowbar.

  CRACK.

  I bull’s-eye the fucker. The skull cracks beneath the crowbar and I can feel the bone buckle. Not bad for a blind guy.

  The others around it moan and growl. They know what happened and they begin to shuffle around the Suburban to get a better look at their fallen brethren.

  I yank the crowbar back but it won't budge. I must have stuck the hooked end right in the fucker's head.

  "Dammit!"

  I pivot in my seat to get more leverage and yank again. Now that I can actually see it, sure as shit, I got it stuck right in behind the ear. I press my knees against the door panel and pull. Nothing. It won't budge.

  I tug again. Pain shoots through my leg. All I want to do is cry out, but I can't. If I do, they'll attack me for sure. I still have their curiosity on my side. Of course, I may have avoided contact all together if I would have killed the ignition.

  This is it. I clench my teeth as tight as I can and pull with everything I've got. Pain shoots through my entire body. A sickening sound of ripping flesh, I feel the release of the crowbar and the head it is stuck in. I fall backward, my balance gone. My head hits the dashboard and the rest of me slams to the floor between the front seats.

  The pain is intense as I pull myself back into the driver's seat. My guise is broken. Hands reach in for me to claw and scrape at my flesh. No other option, I jab at them with the crowbar and use their friend's head as a battering ram. It works well enough to drive them back and give me a chance to act. I slam the shifter in drive and hit the gas. Bodies crunch beneath the tire as I steer back on to the road.

  With one eye, I may as well be completely blind. The headlights do no good. The road ahead is too dark and full of curves. There's no way I would be able to see them until I'm right on top of them and, by then it would be too late. On top of it, my right eye is starting to hurt so bad, I can barely keep it open. It's bad enough seeing in the dark with two eyes, let alone one that is so easily overstrained.

  I continue on until I know I am well away from the last group of cadavers then pull over once again. I turn the key and the engine stalls.

  Silence.

  "Thank, Christ."

  I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. Tinges of light flicker faintly through the dark expanse of my closed line of sight. Is my vision returning? As much as I want to, I keep my eyes shut. I don't want to jinx this.

  So many things race through my mind. Conscious and subconscious mind are racing at full throttle. I'm tired as hell, but I know I'll never sleep. I know damn sure that the minute I fall asleep, that's it. For all I know, I'll never wake up again, at least not as Michael Roberts.

  "Fuck," I yell as I slam my fists on the steering wheel.

  I'm thirty-five years old. Whether I see thirty-six depends on whether or not Kinnelson's concoction works.

  Thirty-five and out.

  Everything will be gone for all I know. Kari, the kids, all of our friends and family, they'll all be wiped from my mind and be replaced with some primal mentality that thinks of only one thing - feeding. All of my memories... gone.

  Even when I find Kari, is it even going to matter?

  Of course it will matter, Michael. Don't give up the fight.

  I feel myself start to choke up. Tears are building in my eyes. I don't understand what I did wrong. How did I deserve this? Did I live my life so wrong?

  I slink down in my seat and let it all go. Tears flow uninhibited in the dark of night. For the first time since this all started, I truly feel the strangling grip of hopelessness and an unwavering sense of demise rushing at me.

  For the first time, I am about to do something I haven't done in many years. I'm going to pray. But, this time I mean it.

  I just hope someone answers.

  5 AM

  HOUR SIXTEEN

  The bursts of light do nothing to bring back my vision. As hard as it will be, I have to continue on. My family is out there and I have to find them. I will just have to be extra cautious.

  The engine roars to life. I kick the lights on and see the most welcome thing: nothing. I know it sounds stupid, but I'm dead serious. Not a single cadaver in sight and no sense of the carnage. It's beautiful. It reminds of the classic stories of the heroes who, after all the turmoil and darkness of their journey, emerge victorious in a land restored to its natural beauty as if nothing had ever happened.

  I reach for the steering wheel with my left hand and it falls limply to my lap. Another attempt wields the same result. I concentrate to move it and it’s as if it is no longer my o
wn. No control at all. I try several times and the same thing happens. Every command my brain sends out is never obeyed.

  I guess the beauty of the moment didn't last very long.

  We need to hurry, Michael.

  No argument there. I run my hand up my arm and never feel anything until I reach my bicep. The lower half of my arm is literally dead. I may be wrong but, if Kinnelson's treatment is working, shouldn't I be getting better and not worse?

  The doctor told us this was just the beginning of the process, Michael. One injection will not cure all.

  I pray he's right.

  I reach for the seatbelt and pull it across my chest. After several attempts, the buckle finally clicks and locks. I never knew such a remedial task could prove to be so demanding.

  My only good hand on the wheel, I turn to the highway and slowly step on the gas. The Suburban bumps and chugs as the wheels traverse the ditch and finally settle on pavement. Scenery lazily drifts past as I nurse my way down the highway.

  "There," I spit out as if I have something to prove. "Not so bad."

  Only two more miles to go. I repeat it to myself over and over again. I look down at the speedometer - I'm barely doing twenty-five.

  I'm not that crippled. I step on the gas a bit and the needle climbs to thirty-five. Scenery passes a bit faster as my satisfaction grows. This is a bit more like it. At this rate, I should have my family back in less than five minutes.

  And, if they are safe, you should thank Charlie for keeping them that way.

  Sour note. Thank, Charlie? For what? Shooting me and kidnapping my family? I don't think so.

  Michael.

  "Fine."

  If they are safe, I definitely do owe him to some degree. I know Charlie wouldn't do anything to hurt them, but there is no doubt in my mind that he is very bull-headed. And his inability to consider any other options once he decides what he wants to do has a big - not big, HUGE - tendency to make him reckless. That's the whole reason this is happening to begin with. If Charlie would have understood the fact that just because I was bitten doesn't mean I'm one of those things, this wild goose chase would have been avoided.

  Well, at least this wild goose chase is almost over.

  The road starts to bend up ahead. I pull my foot off the gas and steer into the first curve. A glance at the speedometer and I'm at thirty - good to go. Before I know it the first curve is gone. One down, two to go and I'm there.

  A hint of pain rushes down the side of my face into my neck.

  "What the hell?"

  My neck spasms. Before I can react, my head jerks violently to my left and my arm with it! The wheels screech beneath me as its metal mass lurches left, barely able to stay grounded.

  As quickly as it came, the spasm passes, but the ache remains. I can feel pressure rising in the back of my head, steadily increasing.

  "Oh, God!"

  I slam on the brakes. The seat belt digs into my chest, but the pain is nothing compared to the pain in my head. I'm burning up. I'm burning up!

  The pressure's increasing. I wrap my arms around my head and tuck it into my chest. The pain is excruciating, unbearable.

  "HELP ME!"

  Every muscle in my body contracts at once. My head slams back against the seat and keeps going. The headrest separates and my neck cracks as it lurches back, unnaturally angled against the seat.

  The engine roars and I feel the force of momentum press me farther against the seat. The Suburban takes off, unmanned and uncontrolled.

  "GODAMMIT, HELP ME!"

  My body paralyzed, I watch helplessly as the Suburban charges down the road, weaving back and forth on the roadway with no hand to guide it. The wheels hit gravel and in an instant, I close my eyes and wait to die.

  The horrible moan of air rushing beneath, the squealing of tires surrenders. The Suburban is in the air. I can't breathe. The force of momentum pushes on my body first from the front, now from beneath.

  I open my eyes as the earth is spinning in front of me. The crowbar slams off the ceiling then back to the floor. I shut my eyes again, brace for impact... and scream.

  A sonic boom of wrenching, twisting metal. Crushing, suffocating pain as all the air rushes from my body.

  Blackness...

  .

  ..

  ...

  "Michael?"

  ...

  "Michael!"

  ...

  That... voice...

  "Get away from me!"

  That... scream.

  My eyes snap open and focus on Kari, backed up against the wall, blood smeared across her face and clothes. Something's wrong.

  "Kari?"

  I hear nothing. I know I said something, but nothing comes out.

  "KARI," I yell at the top of my lungs.

  She screams and pulls herself along the wall.

  I move toward her. My hands reach out. She instantly slaps them away.

  "How could you, Michael?" She wails, her voice wavers - breaking and fearful.

  How could I what?

  I look down at my hands, dripping with fresh blood. Scratches line my arms. A piece of cloth dangles from between my fingers. The remainder of it that isn't soaked with blood reveals a soft pink.

  My throat tenses as I swallow hard. I raise the cloth to my face and look at it, then at Kari.

  "Lexi," I cry out as I spin around to face the hall behind me.

  I have no idea where I am. None of this is familiar. A long hallway stands before me, two doors on the right, one on the left... with a blood trail leading right to me.

  I try to run, but my legs give out. The floor rushes towards me as I fall. I grab handfuls of carpet as I drag myself across the floor. Kari's screams behind me turn to uncontrollable wails, pained and horrific, as I near the doorway.

  My body crosses the threshold and my eyes fall upon a body lying in the middle of the room, disfigured and torn apart. A little shoe catches my eye, a pink Nike with what were once white laces. Little jeans cover a leg. From there on, too grisly to bear.

  No.

  "NO!"

  The lifeless eyes of a little girl stare not at me, but through me. My baby girl...

  "Oh, God," I curl up in a ball on the floor. "What have I done?"

  My body is paralyzed, numb. I stare at the remains of my Lexi and sob.

  I was too late...

  6 AM

  HOUR SEVENTEEN

  My eyes snap open to the onrush of cold, damp air and the most unbelievable thing - both can see. Tall grass surrounds me, damp with morning dew. Hints of orange trace the skyline. It's morning.

  "Where am I?"

  I look around and see no evidence. My bones crack and creak as I pull myself to my feet. My pants and shirt are torn, spattered with blood.

  I raise my arms to stretch. Dull pain shoots across my shoulder and down my chest where I discover a reddened, bruised line from my left shoulder to my waist. Then it hits me - the accident.

  "Kari?"

  No answer. I hold both hands up in front of me. Other than a scrape or two and a bit of filth, they're clean. I feel a smile brim on my face.

  It was just a dream, Michael.

  "Oh, thank God."

  The world around me reveals little that I know. A patch of woods far to my left and dense woods to my right, I can't say that I see anything familiar about this place. I must have blacked out during the accident and wandered off. The question is: where did I wander off to? I can't be too far off the beaten path and, even if I am, I should be able to figure out where I am. I grew up in this area. I just have to look harder.

  I check the horizon and trace the morning glow of the sun. Now that I know what is east, I check the rest of the horizon until I spot plumes of black smoke billowing over the treetops to the north.

  I dash to a small knoll to my right and hop up on an old stump to get a better look. Sure enough, the smoke is coming from the highway. It must be the Suburban... and it must have burned up.

  Ho
w the hell did I get out of there alive? That's got to be at least a mile away, if not more. A mile away...

  I turn east again and stare at the dense entrance to the forest, not more than two-hundred yards away. The base of the tree line offers no glimpse of familiarity. The treetops, however, tell an entirely different tale. Low and behold, through the canopies of the trees, an old steel-frame windmill peeks above the forest, its blades spinning lazily in the morning breeze. The windmill of the Johnson family farm: Marty Johnson.

  I hop from the stump and begin my trek through the field. Cadavers appear from the grasses as I push on. They sniff the air, jowls gnashing at nothing. Without a hitch, they continue about their business, paying no mind to me whatsoever.

  What started as two quickly turns into a dozen. Each new meeting is the same as the last. They're searching for food and I evidently don't fit the bill, anymore.

  "Good," I mutter under my breath.

  Still, I can't put caution to the wind just yet. I slow down and watch over my shoulder. Just as I hope, none of them even think of following me. Even if they did, I would be able to lose them as soon as I get to the woods. I'd just hit the tree line and give them the slip. This way just works out a whole heck of a lot better.

  I turn on the juice - as much as I can muster, anyway. Within seconds, I slip into the tree line. I look out at the field and the coast is clear: no followers.

  Just as I continue on, twigs snap to my right. I stop instantly and stare. Not even fifteen feet away, a buck stares right back. I count the horns. It's a ten-pointer and a big ten-pointer at that. He's absolutely beautiful, majestic in his own right. If I would guess, I'd say he tips the scale at about two-thirty. Yeah, he's a big boy.

  He watches me like a hawk. I can tell he's scared, no doubt. In all the commotion, I never even thought what could be running through an animal's head over this? I know that if those things think I'm one of them, this big boy must think I'm one, too. He's just not sure if he wants to run or not.