“Look, mister. Maybe you need to see a doctor. I think you’re in shock. You’re not even making any sense,” said Tommy. The fat man was up again, muttering about tigers and fumbling with his rings. He was picking up speed, pacing the room in an endless figure eight. His hands were red and chapped and blood was starting to show around the edges of some of the rings where he was frantically working the fingers raw.
“What the hell were you running from, old man?” the fat man demanded, his voice quaking as it grew louder and his hands became more manic, “You came barreling in here like a bat out of hell. You weren’t running from a light or from some fucking magical Indian. Bullshit!” he hollered, jabbing a fat, bloodied finger in the old man's direction.
The cowboy ignored the outburst and continued. “When that theater door burst back open, it was like I was looking straight into the depths of Hell's slaughterhouse. Every person that was still inside that place was climbing up on the others, and they were tearing and ripping each other apart with their teeth and their bare fingers. There were hunks of bone and flesh--the whole place was muddy with red - like a goddamn demon-buffet. Never seen nothing so horrible, they were like animals tearing at each other. Hungry, evil, horrible goddamn animals! It was a reckoning is what it was,” he finished. The color had completely drained from his face and his voice was flat and dead.
“What the fuck did you just say?” hollered the fat man. His voice was sharp and full of fear, but he posed the question like a threat. He was still rubbing his bloody fingers, still frantically eyeballing the front door.
“I said they was eating each other!” The strain of yelling his reply seemed to suck the last bit of life from the old man. He continued in a hoarse whisper, fighting the weakness that was fast overtaking him. It seemed to Tommy that the cowboy was about to pass out or die from a heart attack or shock.
“You’re talking about zombies,” said Tommy. “Zombies….”
The cowboy leaned into the counter. “They was chompin’ and tearin’ and feastin’ on each other like there was no tomorrow, which I guess there ain’t. Some people seemed to still be sensible, or human, or whatever you want to call it. They got the worst of it, gettin’ torn to shreds while still alive by those things that the rest become. Then the dead ones started gettin’ the hell back up! End of the goddamn’ world I tell ya. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that.
The fat man’s jowls shook with utter terror , and his eyes took on a teary mania. He turned to the old cowboy. “If all this was true, why didn’t you come in here yelling to call the cops or... or the fucking army? Isn’t that what they always do in the movies? I mean, you’re saying there’s zombies out there! Right? Zombies? and fucking wild tigers? This is bullshit! You are bullshit!”
“Then one of em’ snuck up and grabbed me, tried to bite me. I put three bullets in its chest,point blank, blew that thing straight back ten feet. But it just got right back up and kept comin’. No life left in those eyes. Just hunger. I turned to run and there was... ” The old man’s voice began to waver. “I almost tripped over her. A little girl, maybe only six or seven. She was settin’ there on the floor by my feet, chewin’ on her mama’s throat. Just settin’ there in her pretty blue dress, covered with her mama’s blood. She was smilin’ up at me like she was eatin’ some taffy. She had the dead eyes, too. Them cloudy goddamn dead eyes. Her mama was layin’ there, soaked black with blood, twitchin’ like a spastic. That little girl just kept on chew--”
The cowboy clutched at his chest, then slumped sideways off his stool and hit the floor hard. Tommy leapt to the floor and caught the old man’s head as it bounced off the linoleum.
“Somebody call a doctor” he yelled. “Where in the hell is Earl? Somebody call a doctor!”
Tommy threw a desperate glance toward the fat man, who was backing away nervously, tripping over chairs and bumping into tables until his back hit the plaster of the wall. He was still pulling at the rings, which were now wet with blood, dripping from his fingers and leaving a trail of red droplets in front of him on the linoleum. He cowered against the wall, wringing his hands against his chest and staining the purple silk dark and slick. The young couple at the front table had finally stopped arguing and sat, wide-eyed and still, staring at the funny little man cradling the old cowboy and calling out for help.
“Goddamn it! Somebody call a damn doctor! What the hell is wrong with you people?” He shouted at them.
Tommy lowered the old man’s head to the floor, stuffing his apron beneath it as a make-shift pillow, and scuttled on his knees around the counter, stumbling to his feet to dig through the cupboards and shelving, shoving dishes, utensils and junk to the floor. “Fuck!” Tommy hollered. “Where the fuck is the phone?”
He shouted at the young couple. “I’m going to go get help! You watch him!” Tommy ran for the front door and the wailing of sirens outside, yelling for help as more emergency vehicles tore through the street. The harsh blaring had barely faded when the sounds of screaming and the clamor of at least a dozen people came from the opposite direction. Tommy stood wide eyed at the panicked crowd, then glanced back at the cafe before running against the wave of people as he chased the last ambulance down the street.
A few staggered heartbeats passed in silence before the front of the diner erupted in a barrage of sound. A hundred hands were slapping at the big windows, smearing them with dark grime. Strange, furious faces appeared out of the night, climbing over each other to get a look through the windows. The fat man began to wail. He was screaming uncontrollably and pointing one bloody finger toward the front window. The young man at the front table looked at his companion as if looking for instruction and then turned toward the far wall as the big man began to wail. The young couple was still staring at the big man screaming and flapping his bloody fingers towards them. They had barely registered the thought to look behind them before the windows blew, dirty glass and sticky spray disintegrating overhead and around their faces as another scream filled the air, this time from a familiar voice. The young man lunged toward his girlfriend as her legs disappeared through the window in a sea of arms and faces, bloody and furious with movement. He watched, frozen and numb, as the frenzied mob of filth-covered monsters held his lover down and clawed open the skin of her bare midriff, emptying her guts onto the dark, wet pavement as her screams faded into choking whispers. He fell to his knees, unleashing a shriek as a wet gush of crimson mist soaked his face. He managed one last word.
“Baby?”
The arms and hands and hungry teeth came crashing through the window, pulling him under a tide of ruined humanity that ripped and shredded his flesh. The moans of his agony disappeared just as quickly, as the noise of flesh torn from bone and the spatter of blood and raw meat splashing to the floor became secondary to the satisfied grinding of teeth and smacking of undead lips.
The fat man’s screaming finally failed him, and he stood in silent terror as the scrambling arms and yowling mouths of the cursed mob made their way into the café, absently leaving hunks of their own flesh hanging on the shards of glass that framed the broken window like crystal knives. Their eyes were filled with hunger in spite of the blood and gory remnants of the young couple still smeared on their faces. A low rumble overtook the groaning chorus of the ghouls and expanded into a deafening roar. The fat man flinched as a blur of red and white flashed through the shattered window and over the crowd, landing almost soundlessly on top of several of the creatures, crushing them beneath its weight. The tiger stood majestic and hunched its massive shoulders forward, breathing a mist of red fog from its wide nostrils and growling from the depths of its chest. It stalked forward, stepping slowly, its dead eyes milked over a filthy grey. The fat man's eyes rolled back into his head as he collapsed in a bloody, silk heap on the floor and was immediately set upon by the big cat. The tiger opened it's jaws and clamped down, rearing its head and tearing an arm free of the unconscious man; tendon, skin and purple silk tearing in unison. The tiger
threw its head back and roared at the ceiling, pictures clattering from the wall as the terrible rumble filled the ears and shook the bones of the old cowboy, still laying on the floor, praying for strength and salvation with each whispered breath. The tiger went back to its meal, rending flesh from the big mans chest and sending a fresh cascade of blood showering into its face. The rest of the putrid mob shambled past the broken windows, pausing as if considering something, but none of them seemed to dare to intrude on the beast as it fed.
Fresh screams erupted from the back of the kitchen. The cowboy carefully lifted himself up, one eye fixed on the giant white killer still tearing through it's meal by the windows. He crawled back to the counter and dragged himself up to the stool and collapsed onto the counter, his left hand scrabbling for the gun as he turned his head to see Tommy scrambling on all fours across the floor toward the counter. He was desperately trying to escape a crawling mass of voracious fiends clamoring for a grip on his legs. Tommy pushed himself forward and onto the wreckage that was once his left leg, now terminating in a bloody stick of bone, scratching at the floor six inches below his knee. He staggered, off-kilter, leaving a river of red behind him as he lurched forward with a scream for each step.
The old man struggled for the breath and strength to warn the boy about the tiger, but he could only watch, helpless, as Tommy collapsed mere inches away and was set upon by the crazed tumbling heap of limbs and mouths tearing at his legs. Tommy cried out and flailed wildly; beating at the creatures with his fists, but it had no effect. They began to drag him back into the kitchen as he dug his fingernails into the linoleum, his fingers raw and bloody and betraying him with every scrambling reach for a better hold. The old man watched as Tommy managed to wrap one arm around the bottom of a prep table, kicking and twisting to get free of their weight, clinging desperately as he coughed out his pleas.
“Help!. I Tried to find help... Please! Oh God! Please!”
The cowboy sucked in a deep, wheezing breath and pushed himself back onto his stool. He stared down at Tommy holding to the bottom of the sink for dear life. A dozen grimy, bleeding hands clawed at Tommy’s legs and dug into the flesh of what was left of his calves, but the ghoulish figures would only clamber as far up as Tommy’s thighs, then stop to sniff the air, sensing the nearby tiger and shying away, back into the shadows.
Tommy was slowly losing his grip, his fingertips slipping further away from each other each time the creatures clawed their way farther up his legs. The old man took a short, tight breath and reached out for the pistol. He knocked the hat aside and heaved the gun’s weight up as he fell forward, catching his wrist with his other hand as he steadied himself. He sighted down at Tommy on the floor and squeezed the trigger. Tommy screamed as the shot pounded against the walls of the diner. The cowboy slumped against the edge of the counter and lost his hold on the butt of the gun, throwing his hand out in vain as the pistol clattered to the floor. He heard Tommy’s sobbing pleas fade off as the monsters dragged him back into the darkness of the kitchen.
“Sorry, kid,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight and praying for the screaming to stop.
In a single rush of willpower, the cowboy twisted out and dropped down from the stool to crouch against the counter. He heard the whimpering screams fade as In a single rush of willpower, he twisted out and droppeddown from the stool to crouch against the counter. He heard the last of the boy’s whimpering screams as the monsters dragged their prey back outside, through the heavy back door. The cowboy heard the door slam, and then the kitchen was silent. The cowboy hunkered back against the counter as the lights began to flicker and the soft, tinny echo of the overhead speakers began to sputter. The cafe was dead quiet except for the one last phrase from the speakers, something about gold doors and the ‘Lord’s burning rain. Then the lights flickered out with a hum and a click, the music was gone, and all was darkness and silence.
The cowboy’s fingers fumbled blindly to regain their grip on the pistol, as the hot stench and low rush of heavy animal breathing crept toward him. The old man shuddered and curled into his chest, desperately trying to inch away from the tiger, like a child hiding under the covers from a boogeyman. The tiger edged closer until the cowboy could feel the gore-ridden moisture of its breath, and see the strips of purple silk and bloody flesh still dangling from its jaws. The cowboy closed his eyes tight and shriveled further into the tiny space between the stool and the counter, still struggling to get his fingers in the right places to handle the weapon.
The shot thundered through the silence and the tiger shuddered and fell back on it’s haunches in perfect synchronicity, as the air around the cowboy hung thick with the smell of cordite and the heat of burnt gunpowder. At the familiar scent and deafening sound of gunfire, the cowboy opened his eyes, flush with adrenaline and bolted out from his niche and spun to dive over the counter, holding the gun aloft as he leapt. He threw himself forward, his momentum carrying him over the tabletop and bringing him crashing down, face first, to the blood-pooled linoleum. He scrambled to his knees, wiping Tommy’s blood from his eyes as he felt around him for the gun, which was half-hidden beneath the edge of the counter. He reached carefully to retrieve it, and fumbled with the handle that was now slick with blood and the oily scum that lived in the corners of the kitchen.
The cowboy rolled back into a crouch and crabwalked a few steps back through the ocean of red around him. He continued to creep backward, slowly cocking the pistol as he made his way back towards the end of the counter. The cowboy heard the rumbling roar of the tiger, scrambled and fell back into the shadows of the dark kitchen as the gargantuan beast flew over the counter and landed on all fours, circling slowly before raising its snout to test the air for its prey. The cowboy stifled his own scream and began fumbling through the dark recesses of the kitchen for somewhere to hide.
Tommy’s attackers had dragged him clear through the kitchen and back out the rear exit. The heavy metal door had locked behind them, leaving no sign of the struggle but the copious amounts of blood and a single disembodied hand near the back exit. That left the old cowboy and the tiger. The cowboys feet went out from under him as he slid across another slick puddle of Tommy’s blood. He hit the linoleum with a sickening thud, moist and heavy. He could hear the pads of the huge paws slapping the wet floor, the tiger slowly stalking him in the darkness, seeking out his smell and his warmth with each rushing breath.
The cowboy felt his way back into a corner of the kitchen, beneath a stainless steel table and waited, breathless. The beast came within a foot of where he was hiding, sniffing the air and licking its red chops, trying to search through the darkness with its dead grey eyes. The cowboy sat hunched under the table, holding his breath and fighting the mounting pain in his chest. He held the pistol out with quaking arms, waiting for the animal to get close enough for what he hoped would be a kill-shot. Coming into the Diner, he’d known the world was ending, he was ready to die. Now, with the tiger practically tasting him in the air, he was possessed with an instinctual need to survive. As the razor-sharp pain in his chest began to explode into his temples and eyeballs, the old man could feel his tongue swelling and a cold sweat poured down his face. The darkness of the kitchen began to deepen and what he could see of the room began to spin. He let out a burst of air, followed by a long wheezing suck of air back in to his burning lungs as necessity finally outweighed his will. The tiger pushed its head in under the table and roared, bathing the old man in a hot stinking shower of gruesome air. He threw the pistol up purely out of instinct and fired, glancing a bullet off of the animals skull with a moist ‘thwack’ and causing the tiger to stagger back on its back legs, shaking its head in confusion. The old man pulled himself out of the space under the counter and turned to run, then felt his legs give out beneath him as he fell in a heap mere feet from the tigers deadly maw.
A wave of pure, unrelenting, maniacal panic gripped him as he tried to claw his way across the floor and will his old legs to work. He fel
t lightning race up his spine and into the base of his skull, and heard a small snap as the tigers paw came down on the small of his back, pinning him to the floor. He pulled and clawed and swing his arms in every direction, desperate for some purchase that might give him a last chance at escape. The paw lifted and, before the old man could find his grip on the floor, he was batted across the wet linoleum to the other side of the kitchen. The tiger growled from deep in its throat and stepped towards him through the shadows.
He tried to roll, and found the bottom half of his body completely lifeless. He twisted his torso until he could face the animal and then unloaded three more thundering shots from the pistol, lighting up the room just long enough for the cowboy to see the true horror of his own certain death, black blood oozing from the corner of one eye, flesh and gore matted into the fur of its face, blood still dripping from its jaws. The tigers eyes had sunk back into its head and gone near black. Its lips had been torn away from the gleaming jagged teeth, giving the implication of a twisted demons grin. The Cowboy dragged himself to sit, propped against the wall, as he sighted down the cylinder of the old six-gun, and rolled the last bullet into the firing chamber.
“Lord, help me,” the old man said “but I guess it’s better goin’ out as meat for a beast - even a devil-beast the likes of you - than turnin’ into one of them damn cannibal freaks out there.”
The old man sobbed as he brought the gun, shaking, into his open mouth, the heat of the barrel singeing his tongue and bringing a gag from his throat, as tears began to stream from his weary eyes. As the final shot thundered in his ears, he felt the searing heat of hungry teeth tear into his chest, and the world vanished into darkness.
Living Dead at Zigfreidt & Roy Page 2
