by Anthology
I turned to yell for Joey to help me bust it down, only to find my friend now sitting at a table with his head bowed. I sped over to find tears streaming down his face.
"What's the matter?"
Joey didn't answer. Instead, he continued to soundlessly cry and look down. I followed his gaze to see his arms covered with bleeding, jagged wounds.
It appeared the e-nerd had bitten him.
"It burns," Joey said, turning his sad gaze to me. "It burns real bad."
My heartbeat increased as Joey's face grew white and his breathing slowed. "I'll get you to a doctor," I said, then cursed. My keys were in the office along with the cell phone and landline. "Hang in there, Joey. You're going to be all right. I'll take care of everything."
As Joey put his back head down, I marched over to the office, determined to do whatever I had to in order to get my keys and phone. A sound from inside stopped me before I could do anything. From inside the office, I would have expected screaming or cursing or things being tossed around. I heard none of that. What I did hear was what sounded like someone using the computer. The e-nerd was typing.
Joey was dying and the e-nerd was typing!
My body grew hot with rage and I pushed on the door; it wouldn't open. I pounded away; the lock held. I had found the one thing Haradakis had not skimped on.
Joey started to cough, a thick, wet cough, as the typing went on.
Frantically, I looked around for something to bash down the door with. My hunt stopped when I spied a fire extinguisher. Ripping it off the wall, I used it as a battering ram, furiously pounding away at the door. It splintered then broke completely. I kicked the remaining pieces away then entered the office.
I thought I was ready for anything, but I wasn't ready for what I found: the e-nerd was sitting at the computer, body slumped backwards in the chair with no visible sign of life. Even so, I approached cautiously, but he didn't move at all. I glanced over his shoulder at the computer screen, to see that he seemed to be typing a blog.
I scrolled to the top and read it.
Binder's Blog: I'm not alive. The heart attack killed me, but I was able to inject myself with the first dose of the serum as I died. It brought me back to some semblance of life, but the Next project was wrong; this isn't living, this is hell on Earth. My memory is going, long term first then short. Right now, I can't remember where I grew up and even the memory of my parents is fading.
With the administration of the second and third doses, I doubt I will get any better, but I have to try. The survival instinct is too strong even though I know that, should this fail, I will become a creature devoid of any intelligence other than the will to survive and carrying around a virus with a one hundred percent mortality rate for anyone I infect.
As I found out too late, that's what Next wanted: a living corpse capable of killing everything in its way. Think of the military implications of something like that.
I can't get back at Next for my rebirth; they're too well insulated for that, but someone is going to pay for my death and I know who it is.
Before I died, I analyzed those Appeal Meals and found they contain an enzyme that preys on weak-willed people like me, making it impossible for us to stop eating the crap they serve. You eat one then, try as you might otherwise, you just have to have a second, then a third. I put on well over a hundred pounds in the last year and ate myself to death, but it wasn't my fault.
It was them! They murdered me and in my demise I'm going to massacre them.
And when I kill, you'd better believe they're going to stay dead.
Although the blog ended there, the writing continued. There were letters that formed paragraphs and what looked to be sentences, but they were all jumbled and didn't make any sense. This must have been what I had heard him typing through the door. Why? No time for that now. I had Joey to think of.
But the cell wasn't on the table. My heart sank as I found it laying in pieces on the floor under the e-nerd's foot. Quickly, I picked up the land line and put it to my ear. There was no dial tone. My eyes traced the cord to discover it ripped from the wall in a way I knew I couldn't fix.
Keys.
Where were my car keys?
I looked around and saw them in the e-nerd's hand. Taking a deep breath, I slowly pulled them free. As I did, his body moved and I screamed. I stopped when I realized he was still dead, my taking the keys having caused his body to fall to the ground. Sighing in relief, I hurried out of there to find Joey sitting at the table and staring into nothingness.
"Joey? It's me Stan."
His eyesight slowly cleared. "What did you find out, Stan?" His voice was low and weak.
I shrugged. "Nothing," I lied. One hundred percent mortality rate. "How are you doing?"
"Not good. The burning stopped, but I'm having trouble breathing and I've lost feeling in most of my body. And I'm starting to forget things, too," he said, his eyes looking at me sadly. "I'm dead, Stan, that guy killed me."
"Don't talk like that. I'll get you help."
"It's too late," Joey said, and laid his head on the table. I was afraid he was dead, but then he coughed that deep, vicious cough.
I had no doubt he was dying.
I put my arm around Joey, holding him as he shook. He was cold, colder than a living person should be. I sat down next to him and an uncomfortable feeling in my backside gave me the answer.
From my back pocket, I pulled out the golden case I had put there earlier. This must have been the stuff I read about in Binder's blog. If it worked for the e-nerd, it should work for Joey.
He would live.
But at what cost?
As Joey's coughing continued, I made up my mind. Taking a deep breath, I opened the case, the last two syringes starting to glow as I did. I took one out, gazing at the swirling emerald liquid.
And that's when the e-nerd staggered out of the office.
"Mine!" he roared and pointed at the syringe. His action startled me and I dropped the glass needle, breaking it. Its emerald contents puddled on the floor then began to bubble and steam. Shrieking wildly, the e-nerd dove onto the ground and licked it up, glass and all. When he had finished, he got up from the floor, wiping his own blood away with his sleeve.
Binder's head turned toward me, his gaze no longer glazed over. "Get out before I kill you, too," he said, lisping slightly as blood flowed from his mouth.
"I have to save my friend," I said.
"It's too late. Didn't you read my blog?" he asked then squeezed his eyes shut, hands shooting up to his head.
"But Joey is---"
Binder's hands pulled away from his face and I saw no further sign of intelligence. Snarling, he rushed toward me headfirst. This time I was ready. I leaped aside and he slammed into a wall, the impact accompanied by a nasty, squishing sound. This would have left him unconscious if he wasn't already dead. Instead, he just tottered a bit, then turned to face me with his head half caved in.
"Mine." He pointed at the next case, then, going on what seemed to be instinct, began to shamble forward with his hands held out in front of him. "Mine!"
That's when I lost it.
Grasping the golden case tightly, I turned and raced out to my car. I jumped in, started it up and pealed out, leaving a strip of rubber behind me. In my rearview mirror, I saw the e-nerd shambling after me, or rather after the needle in the case I had put back in my pocket.
As I continued to floor the gas, the e-nerd disappeared from view and my relief grew. But so did my dread . . . and my guilt. I had left my best friend. I had left the person who had sacrificed his life for mine, lying near death and at the mercy of the thing that had killed him.
What kind of friend was I to skip out on Joey like that? What kind of human being was I? Muttering to myself, I brought the car around one hundred and eighty degrees and buried the needle.
The e-nerd was just returning to the restaurant as I arrived. He turned at the sound of the car and came running towards me, waving his han
ds and screeching incoherently.
Without a second thought, I plowed into him. There was a scream before the impact, and then his body just kind of exploded in a big green blast. I hit the brakes hard and the car spun around before finally coming to a halt. Quickly regaining my balance, I jumped out, the case now in my hand.
"Mine," a voice from nearby called. I turned to see what was left of the e-nerd's head and upper torso crawling towards me. "Mine . . ."
"Die!" I yelled, then raced forward and kicked at him with all my might. Again and again, my foot lashed out against what was left of Binder, bits and pieces of what was formerly a man flying away as I did. I kept going until he lay quiet in front of the restaurant. Quickly regaining my breath and senses, I raced inside, holding the precious needle in front of me.
Joey was exactly where I had left him and looking worse than ever. He was staring my way, but I could tell he only half saw me.
"Tell me again about the dream, Stan," he managed to whisper, his enormous frame now barely moving at all. "Tell it to me good."
I sighed, trying hard not to let him see the tears in my eyes. Joey had always liked to hear about our plan for the future when he didn't want to concentrate on other things. That was okay this time.
"It's like this," I began, keeping my voice as steady as I could, "as soon as we save enough money and I graduate college, we're going to open our own restaurant. It won't be a crummy little franchise like this dump. It'll be a real restaurant, a nice place where people can sit down and enjoy a good meal. It's going to be big, biggest restaurant you've ever laid eyes on and the most beautiful, too."
"And we're going to be the bosses, right?" he asked.
"Right," I said, and he smiled.
"Thanks, Stan, that's all I wanted to hear," Joey said. "You're a good friend."
And, still smiling, he was gone.
Tears flowing down my face, I took out the golden case and looked from the needle to my best friend who would never live to see our dream come true.
He had died saving my worthless life, but he didn't have to stay dead, did he?
Once more I looked down at his peaceful face, then took out the needle and brought it to his arm. Soon he and our dream would be alive again. I drew back my thumb and . . .
There was an explosion outside and bits of green goo hit the restaurant window. Although most of it was soup, a portion of it was recognizable. It was the bottom half of Binder's face and I could have sworn it was still mouthing the word "mine."
Yes, Joey could be alive again, but could I call what Binder had been living?
That's when I saw that the liquid in the syringe was starting to lose its glow. I had to make my choice and make it now.
Damned if you don't, and damned if you do.
I sighed and, knowing that whatever I did would be wrong, made my decision.
* * * *
Better Living through Chemistry
by
Becca Morgan
The day started out normal enough. Dakota Eyre was being his normal self, making a joke at anything that moved. His dark brown hair was in his face in that style that every "cool kid" has. His hoodie could hold a freaking elephant. Seriously, what's the point of that?
All the girls were either staring at Coda and giggling, or staring at me.
It's a new thing that girls look at me, Gregor Blackwood. Me, in my trench coat, tight dark blue jeans, and combat boots. Me, who has been compared to Adam Gontier, the lead singer on Three Days Grace, which is one of my favorite bands. Me, who is referred to as the vampire or zombie goth-boy. Me, who is skinny and pale with black hair in, sadly, the "cool kid" style that every guy has, and grey eyes when I don't have blood-red contacts in them. Thing is, if the other guys notice the girls staring at me, I get shoved into a locker until my only friend, Coda, comes and lets me out. Anyway, back to school.
Mrs. Evans was really strict today. She had been for the last couple of days, and no one knew why because she was our nicest teacher. She kept assigning homework over and over. There was even a rumor that she had been in the nurse's office before our class.
"Mr. Knapp!" she said.
Next to me, Mike jumped; he had been chewing gum, which didn't used to be a big no-no.
Mike went up to the front of the class, spit out his gum into the trashcan, and started to walk back to his seat. Mrs. Evans grabbed his arm. Mike yelped and the class went silent.
Mike finally managed to say, "Yes, Mrs. Evans?"
Then all heck broke loose.
I've seen teachers get mad, but not to bite a person. Mrs. Evans ripped a big chunk of meat from Mike's neck. Mike screamed. Everyone, except me, screamed. Blood sprayed everywhere.
"Yummy, yum, yum," I said in my normal "I don't care" voice. "Human flesh is so tasty." I got horrified looks.
Mrs. Evans stopped eating Mike and looked up at the rest of us.
"OMJ!" (Oh my Jonas, I think, but if I was wrong, I wouldn't care) some girl in our class screamed. "What do we do? What do we do?"
I sighed; people like that give us freshmen (in Mike's case, a fleshman) a bad name.
Mrs. Evans lurched toward Coda. He glanced at me, so I tapped my head. Dakota got a "what?" expression, but before I could explain, Mrs. Evans tackled him.
I jumped up. The classroom was crazy. Some people surrounded Mike, whose blood was still gushing out. Everyone was screaming their heads off. Coda was on the floor, trying to hold Mrs. Evans as far away from him as he could. Her teeth snapped at his face.
"Didn't know this was what your detention was for," I said as I dropped down beside Coda.
"Gregor! Get her off me already!" Dakota said.
I grabbed the back of Mrs. Evans's shirt and pulled. When I felt how cold she was, I knew for sure.
"You have to bash her in the head, you retard!" I yelled.
Together we got the teacher off him and shoved her away. I threw Coda the nearest copy of someone's algebra book.
Dakota looked at the book, then at me. "This isn't one of your horror movies! This is real life!"
"The teacher just ripped Mike's throat out and tried to eat you," I said.
The whole class watched as Dakota took the book and went toward Mrs. Evans. They couldn't believe it. They even stopped screaming to stare.
Mrs. Evans's face was very sorrowful, but she was dead, so she had a reason. Coda slammed the book into her forehead. Blood splashed on him. He kept hitting her until she stopped moving.
The class was silent. Dakota dropped the book and stepped back, looking at the blood on him.
"Well," I said, "you just ruined a perfectly good textbook. They'll probably make you pay for it."
The rest of the class ran out of the room, probably to go home and get away. We could hear more screams from all over the school. That was when I realized it might not be just Mrs. Evans. I started looking around for a good weapon. Something better than an algebra book. Dakota stayed standing there, staring at the dead teacher.
Three older kids ran into our room. One was Edgar "Skullcrusher" Thompson, the quarterback on the football team. Ed wore his letterman jacket, his hat and jeans. He had a baseball bat in each hand. The next was Mandy Reines, a rich attention hog with creepy blonde hair and creepier matching outfits. Every guy, except little old me, was in love with her. I didn't see why. But I knew that she hated me for not liking her. Whatever, and people call me the freak. Last came Tux Man, Jake Sittuar, who was known for always wearing a tux jacket over a tucked-in button-up shirt, jeans and dress shoes.
"The teachers are eating everyone!" Mandy squealed.
I sighed. She and Jake were seniors, but she acted like a middle schooler, while Jake acted like he was thirty.
"Really?" I said. I was trying to sound amazed, but failed miserably at it. "Hey, Ed, where did you get the bats?"
"The gym. Duh," Skullcrusher said.
"I thought you had . . . oh, never mind," Dakota said. We all knew that Edgar skipped most of his reg
ular classes to hang out in the gym.
"Well," Jake said, in a voice that was all formal and polite, "we going to, as you kids say, 'Pop this joint'?"
"Yeah, but, dude," Dakota said, taking a bat from Edgar. "Don't try to talk like us. It's wrong."
* * * *
"Yes! It's working! Mwhoo hoo ha ha ha!" Milton Thidwick said. "My days of listening to my parents are over!"
"That's great, Milton," Sarah said. "But it's not just your parents. It's everybody's parents. And grandparents. And everybody. Me and Dash had to fight through a bunch of zombies just to get to your house."
Milton turned from his Machine and pushed up his goggles onto his forehead to look at them. Sarah's hair, normally light brown and angelic, was covered in blood. She held a large fire axe good and tight. Dash, whose blackish-red hair might also have been covered in blood but it was hard to tell, had a flamethrower. They, like Milton, were twelve.
"But it was a great plan," Milton said, tugging at his lab coat. "No more rules. I got rid of all the grownups! Everyone over eighteen!"
Sarah gave him a glare. "And my dog. My dog died."
"He did? Buster?"
"Well, Buster was over eighteen," Dash said.
"Milton Mortimer Thidwick, you killed my dog!"
"Sorry," Milton said.
"And come on, Sarah," Dash said. "This was your idea."
"What! I said it would be nice to have no rules and no parents, not to turn every adult in America into flesh-eating zombies." She pointed at Milton. "You could have made something else. But no, you just used chemicals to do your job. Again!"
"Gotta say, though, the effects are awesome," Dash said. "Good job, Milt!" They high-fived.
Sarah smacked her head. "What happens when we turn eighteen, then?"
"Dude. That's ages away. I need some chips." Dash headed for the kitchen.
Milton sat next to Sarah and took off his goggles. "I really am sorry about Buster."
