by Walls, Annie
“Ha ha. Give me that.” I swiped the bottled water away from her and made a show of opening it. I took a long gulp, which was refreshing, but I kept my eye on Julie. Her eyes widened, probably seeing payback was in order, but before she could run, I dumped the rest on top of her head.
She squealed. After a second of standing with scrunched shoulders and soggy curls dribbling down her shirt, she said, “That feels pretty good, actually.” She held up her hands. “Truce.”
I grinned. “For now.”
Her eyes scanned me and half her lips turned in a smirk. “For now,” she agreed. I watched her walk around the corner of the house.
When I turned to get back to work, I stopped cold. Rita stared at me with wide eyes. “They said you were back, but I had to see.”
I tried not to notice that she looked good. Better than the last time. Healthy. Her face was tanned with summer sun and flushed with summer heat. Her strappy dress seemed clean and fresh. But the horrible cycle had always started with her looking healthy. Healthy she was not.
I didn’t say anything. I had nothing to say. A thousand times I’d thought of this moment and it came down to nothing.
She wrung her hands and shuffled her feet. “Uh, how are you?”
“You don’t get to know that. You didn’t care before, you don’t get to care now.”
Her eyes squeezed tight, and she nodded. “I deserve that.” They flew open as if she was afraid she’d miss something. “You’re happy.” Her eyes darted to Julie. “That’s all I really want for you. Keep her close.” She turned and walked back out of my life. Forever.
I never told Julie I saw her again.
Eventually, I made it to that in-between state of drunkenness. The last leg as the sickness set in. My head started to hurt and my stomach was sour from both the mixture of liquor I put into my body and drunken thoughts of my mother.
I dozed off and on until I had the urge to piss. Standing upright proved difficult and painful. I gagged at nothing and hated life.
“If I ever get out of here, I’m never drinking again.”
The wall was my crutch above the toilet as I anticipated my body to do its business, but I was so dehydrated nothing came. I scowled down into the empty wall-mounted toilet and wiggled my dick around a bit as if it would help.
“Come on,” I griped, biting back frustration and hoping for anything. Sighing and looking skyward, I waited for what seemed like another eternity.
A noise from outside the small cellblock interrupted my pleading to the gods for a trickle, a dribble. Hell, a drop of dew would be welcomed at this point. More noise traveled from somewhere in the building, but it was muffled by the white brick walls and concrete flooring. It was effective in isolating me in the eight-by-eight cell. I tucked myself back in my jeans and stood at the bars to listen. I couldn’t make anything out.
Through the night, I laid on the cot listening to sirens and helicopters. The next day, I was dying of thirst when my persistent screaming for water got a strange reaction. The door at the end of the hall started to thump and bang, but it wasn’t in my line of sight from the cell. What was going on? Where the hell was everyone?
Standing at the bars, I yelled anything I thought would gain attention. “Just open the fucking door!” My voice cracked from hoarseness. The door clattered more frantically. What. The. Fuck? I didn’t know what it was, but being dehydrated, the light in my cell seemed brighter. Chills ran down my spine, ominous and intimidating.
As time passed, my curiosity of the door waned as my stomach became a deeper, emptier pit, but I paced in panic. Then I got angry, my hands gripping the bars. I went from panic to anger to dizziness and the cycle started all over. The door continued its constant banging. “Hello?” Bang, bang, thump. “Bring me some fucking water!” I screamed in outrage. Fucking cops. Bang, bang, thump. “And a goddamned steak,” I mumbled, knowing it was useless to yell anymore. My voice was dry and I was weak. Bang, bang, thump. I pulled on the bars as if they would give. Lifting the cot, I threw it against the wall in my small space. It landed with a loud clang, causing the door at the end of the hall to jerk in a different pattern. I fixed the cot and sat down with my head in my hands. After rubbing my eyes with the pads of my thumbs, I stared straight at the steel toilet. It taunted me with its gleam.
The banging door faded into the background as I dropped to me knees next to it. Inside the bowl was completely dry and seemed clean. Maybe. I sniffed and thought it was probably clean enough. Hopefully.
My head whooshed and my vision doubled. My mouth so dry, my lips stuck together, my tongue heavy. I was so parched I couldn’t even swallow my fucking pride.
I tried licking my lips, but my tongue felt like sandpaper. I took a few deeps breaths, trying to blank my mind. “It’s a waterfall. Fresh, cool, and clean.” Fuck it. I cupped my hand under the rim and grabbed the lever.
It gave with no resistance. “Fuck,” my voice cracked out as I jiggled it. No water. Not a drop. “Fuck!” No wonder it was clean. It was never used. Why the fuck would they put me in here without a working toilet? I swore if I ever got out of here, I’d never come back to this shithole of a town.
I checked to see how it was installed. Just a toilet bolted to the brick blocks. The plumbing was completely inaccessible. I stood and kicked downward, hauling all my hopelessness into loosening the thing from the wall. Immobile. The contact jarred up my leg and kept me from doing it again. My body felt weaker by the minute. I slumped to the floor and placed my forehead on the cold concrete to douse some of the heat.
Sleep was elusive and the door never ceased its persistent racket. A throb boomed through my skull in tune with my heartbeat and sometimes with the constant rhythm of the door. I moaned and rolled to a chillier spot every once in a while. Yes, I was going to die in here and I didn’t even remember if the brunette had been worth it.
I began to feel empty and full at the same time like I could eat a whole cow only to throw it back up again. But mostly, I dreamed of clear creeks. Water rushing over rock to pool and swaying around its natural obstacles.
I was lying on my stomach with my cheek and palms pressed to the floor. Letting out a short grunt, I knew I’d cry if I could.
Now
I’m in the small restroom of the Clap Trap and put the past behind me for the time being. Using the rag Glinda gave me, I clean myself a bit. My lip doesn’t look as bad as it feels. It’s mostly split on the inside with no prominent bleeding. No black eye this time, but there’s redness on my temple and cheekbone and a knot forming on the back of my head-the source of the dull throb. I hold the cold washcloth there and lean against the sink, staring at the toilet seat. A laugh escapes me when I realize someone has drawn little crabs crawling all over it in black magic marker. The things people do here at the community never cease to either amuse or disgust me.
Hesitating, I open the door and try not to think about what I’m going to do. These actions only add to my big pile of self-loathing. The justification comes to me quickly; I can be considerate about my plans on leaving.
When I make it to the next building, I walk down the smelly hallway. The bright lights blink above me, getting ready to blow bulbs. Muffled cries and children’s complaints emanate through the walls. The families who live in this building keep to themselves, but it’s nice. Hearing kids, even if they are crying.
I stop at the door I’ve frequented these past months. A reprieve of sorts. I tap on it with my knuckle and listen for movement. Something hits the other side. “Go away,” an irritated voice shouts at me.
I’m now realizing she wasn’t at the fight. It’s not unusual for her, but I should have noticed by now. “Samantha.” I reach for the doorknob but drop my hand. We’re not familiar enough with each other for this.
“I said go away. I know what you want, and I’m not going to give it to you.”
I sigh before saying, “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Silence. I start to walk away when the door opens. She crosses her
dainty arms as a cloud of Cheech and Chong smoke hits me.
Waving it away, I say, “Trying to kill yourself?”
She scoffs and scratches her arm. “A little pot won’t kill me.”
“Yeah, but you need oxygen, too.” I smile at her as she lets me in.
Her body tenses and her constant scowl deepens. “Listen, I’m not feeling real sexy right now, and I’ve been taken out of rotation,” she says, effectively rejecting me and turning me off in the same sentence.
Leaning back against the wall, I take a good look at her. The short dark bob cut is a little messy and shows signs of lankiness when it would normally have bounce. “Why?” I ask her as she notices me looking and tries to smooth her hair down.
A chair squeaks as she sits on it and shakes her head. “Guido. I turned down his advances and now I’m stuck without a shower for another few days. So no, you’re not getting any.”
I shrug. “Take one anyway. I doubt he’ll notice.”
Glaring at me, she changes the subject. “So you’re finally leaving, huh? I guess this will be the last time I see you.” She sits back in the chair, pulling her knees to her chest.
Why does everyone assume I’ll die? I’ve fought my way out of the place once before, I can fight my way back in. Not to mention, I’ve been through a lot worse. It says something by how they accept it so easily.
She puts her arms around her knees, keeping a steady eye on me.
A long silence turns a bit awkward. This is it for her and me. Even if I do make it back, there’s nothing there and never will be. So, I don’t even try, which is why she is being cold to me.
She’ll probably think I’m leaving because she’s not putting out, but I don’t care. Yeah, there’s not much to care about these days but I’ve taken shit like Samantha’s attitude enough to last me a lifetime. I’m not obligated to put up with hers. I grab the doorknob and speak over my shoulder. “I have a shower tonight. You can have it.”
Shutting the door behind me, I swear I hear, “Try not to die.”
3
Then
I don’t know how long it was until the door crashed open. Moving too quickly had me wobbling slightly from a head rush. “About time!” I growled, reaching the bars. A groan snapped my attention to the person in the hall as the sound echoed. Goosebumps prickled up my neck and down my spine, making me take a few steps back.
The person, a man in a police uniform, came staggering into view. Catching sight of me, he threw himself against the bars and reached with stiff, drawn fingers. The name on his tag read Deputy Michael Carson. I jumped like a little bitch when he shrieked in frustration. Blood covered his face and uniform. Foreign bits, I didn’t want to look at too closely, hung from his chin. His eyes were hazy and bloodshot and his mouth gnawed on air. His face was becoming a raw mess from trying to stuff it through the bars. If I had anything in my stomach it would have come up from the raw meat smell wafting from his mouth.
I blinked at the sight and was surely hallucinating from dehydration. I rubbed my eyes only to see Deputy Carson frantically trying to get to me through the bars. A few moans drew my gaze back to the hall only to see more people in the same manner screech—immediately putting their arms through the bars. Two more police officers and a mousy woman, who was probably a secretary and emergency call center operator for the small town, clawed at the air in front of me.
I recognized a bald man as the one who arrested me. His name didn’t come to mind, but a jingle caught my attention. Keys. A large set of keys on his belt flashed in the bright lights. I laced my hands behind my head looking at the crazed people. I didn’t know if I wanted to watch them and slowly die. A gaping wound was prominent on one of them. If I stuck my arm out to allow one to take a bite, would I become like this? It most certainly would be painful, but would it be quicker than dying of thirst? I hadn’t been here forty-eight hours yet. The door had been banging for most of it. Yes, not the best choice but maybe quicker. Squeezing my eyes closed, I didn’t want to think about them or my potential death. I wanted to wake in my own bed preferably not next to Julie.
“Shit!” Julie. No giving up for me, not that I’d ever do that anyway. Glancing around, my eyes zeroed in on the cot. It wasn’t attached to the wall. It was one of those stackable cots. My mind was not working properly. I picked it up, tearing the cloth from it. It took some work twisting it to loosen screws, but I managed to take it apart, leaving me with a pole. I took the rubber stopper from it. It was about as wide in circumference as an eye socket. The sharpness left a lot to be desired, but it would do.
My vision swam, dehydration taking its toll. I stood still until my vision was clear. I needed to get out of here.
I turned to the zombies. Yes, that’s what they were. Zombies. I don’t know why my brain accepted this. Maybe I already went nuts from dehydration, but more likely because zombies were mainstream in movies, TV, and books. Hell, people dressed like zombies and made a damn parade of the shit. Desensitization. My body shuddered from the harsh reality. One step at a time. That’s how I’d do this. I couldn’t think of the implications these things posed.
Taking a deep breath, I did the unthinkable. Keeping away from the flurry of arms, I used the pole like a spear and jammed it in the cop’s eye socket, the first zombie I had seen. I felt, rather than heard, the sickening crunch. He kept trying to move forward, impaling himself on the metal as I gave it an extra shove. The pole went beyond his eye socket. His corpse slumped as I pulled the pole out, bringing with it brain matter and a grotesque stench that was only going to get worse. My stomach heaved but I kept going, killing them easily. After they were all on the ground, I studied their massive injuries; wounds bigger than mouths were crusted over and oozing a thick liquid. Dropping the cot pole with an echoed clang, I gagged up a small trail of sickly yellow bile.
I bent down, reaching for the keys through the bars, holding my breath and not looking at the corpses. After I grabbed the keys, it took a while to find the right one. The door finally popped open. I had to push it forward as it strained against the bodies. My body only wanted to rest and sleep. My body swayed from the elation of finally being free. There was hope of seeing another day.
First order of business was to find a gun and then something to drink. The gun turned out to be an easy find, being in a police station, I just borrowed one from a corpse. Quickly checking the chamber and magazine, I kept an eye out for more of them. The noise from the gun seemed extra loud. Walking through the station, I followed the bitter smell of burnt coffee to a small breakroom. The harsh lighting made me squint. I turned off the coffee pot, the coffee long since evaporated. The bottom of the pot was thick with black smoking residue. The damn place could have burnt down with me in it.
The sink called to me. I ran to it, sticking the 9mm in my denim jeans and stuffing my mouth underneath the faucet. I drank greedily as water ran down my chin and soaked into my shirt. My vision blurred and I felt disoriented, the water only making my head pound harder. Bloat hit me right before the water purged from my stomach on to the dark brown carpeting.
It took a few hours to keep water down. I sat at a table willing my eyes to stay open. I found some Advil in my scavenging. Sipping water, I felt it coat the inside of my stomach. It was staying down, so I took some more Advil to replace what I had lost. I knew I was delaying the inevitable of braving the streets to see what was out there.
When I could stand without blood rushing to my head, I made my way to the snack machine, busting it open. I grabbed snack cakes and crackers, ripping into them, staring at the wall, and tried to form a plan. I knew Julie had to be alive. Surely, I would be able to feel if she were dead or… I swallowed. My throat already felt dry. I turned to the drink machine. It took more work busting it open, but I was relieved as I grabbed some Gatorade, holding as many as I could under my arms.
After downing some of the lemon-lime flavored drink, I searched with no luck for my belongings. Did I need my wallet? I wasn’t sure,
but it seemed unlikely when looking out the front window. The sun was going down, lighting the street of the small town that was anything but deserted. More of the dead ones were walking about or feasting in the streets. A catbird perched on a lamppost. A few of the zombies scuffled towards it. The bird proceeded to dive and tease them. I saw its beak open in a squawk I couldn’t hear. Animals brought on a whole new set of questions I didn’t want to think about. It’s not like I had anyone to ask.
How the hell was I going to get out of here? If it looked like this here, what the hell did it look like in Baton Rouge? I didn’t see a single living person out there. How long have I been in here? Time seemed gone. Irrelevant.
This was a thing of nightmares, soft dreams no longer possible. They hadn’t been for me, ever. I walked in my own nightmare. My life seemed a waste of time. I was a waste of flesh. My days of disappointment, from my earliest childhood memories until now, were oppressive things. The only thing keeping me going was that someday it would change. Something significant would happen. My perfect grades finally paying off, getting a dream job putting me on my way to starting my own company and maybe meeting someone that would complete me. That was what I wanted. My own family. One I would never leave, abuse, or ignore. I felt a deep sense of bleakness that I would never get that. My chance at happiness had never seemed close, but now there was no chance. Julie was my family. Her family was my family, being there when no one else was.
Here I was, longing for something I could never have instead of appreciating what I did have. I couldn’t say I didn’t try. I’d always tried, but I didn’t have much to give. The only thing I could give her, she didn’t really want. So I gave it to other countless-faceless women or at least I thought I was.
I sighed, hoping Julie’s fuck buddy left me a beer in the refrigerator. He had a habit of drinking it.
My teeth ground together, making my jaw sore. Rubbing the ache, I ignored the zombies and searched for a suitable vehicle. I would need keys and more weapons. My practice bow was in my truck, a truck that was probably still sitting in the bar parking lot, or repossessed to give this little town an economic boost when they charged me a grand to get it back. Rifling through the station, I shoved boxes of ammo, a few guns, more cakes, crackers, any sets of keys I could find, and the Gatorade, in a vinyl duffle. I put the strap over my head and arm, securing it across my chest. I didn’t want to lose it.
