by A. P. Fuchs
The zombies drew nearer. There were six of them.
“Come on,” I said, and scooped my arms up under her. I adjusted my grip around her small frame and got to my feet. She was light, maybe around a hundred and twenty pounds. I took a few steps further from the dead, then quickly rounded back.
My bat.
The undead were maybe forty feet away. They’d be here any moment.
Selena still in my arms, I crouched down and with my right hand felt around between the back of her knees and the ground, searching for the bat’s handle. I found it and got my fingers around it–backwards, so my thumb and forefinger were at the bottom of the handle–then pushed my heels against the ground and stood. The bat dangled beneath Selena’s legs. I checked her face. Her head and neck were limp. She was completely unconscious.
As fast as I could, I started jogging down the road, already thinking three or four blocks ahead, the goal being to get back to my place as soon as possible if I couldn’t find another hideaway spot on the way there.
More zombies came out from the alleys and from around corners. The nearest group of them, all decayed, their stink reaching my nostrils, were a mere twenty feet behind me.
Heart racing, blinking the tears from my eyes, I moved as quickly as I could. I went down the road, hopped over a curb, and rounded a black skyvan that had marooned itself there in days long gone.
“Wake up, Selena!” I screamed. I didn’t mean to, but the words just busted out without restraint. I needed her awake.
I needed her alive.
The next corner was a messy intersection of an upside down waste truck, a few zipcars, and bunch of debris and litter. The ground was cracked in a wild spider web all around the vehicles. These no doubt fell from the sky when the world changed and everything started dying.
The street was blocked, so I jogged as fast as I could to the next corner.
Undead moaned behind me.
I checked over my shoulder. More must have joined their kin because as rotted hand with one finger missing went to grab me. I pushed my jog into overdrive and the creature missed.
I rounded another fallen vehicle, then my foot caught something hard and slick and my right heel went out from under me as if I was on ice. I fell on top of her Selena, her limp form rolling with the impact. My knee scraped the ground under her. My elbows were scraped as well.
The moans of the dead loud and raspy, I worked quickly to get my arms back under Selena, but before I could, I was grabbed from behind and a rotted face came down on my shoulder. Immediately, I thrashed about, elbowed the creature in the face, and got to my feet.
There were four of them at first, two old ladies with open stomachs and their guts hanging out, and two young men, one with an eye missing, the other just a mess of torn-up flesh and flaky gray skin.
The two young men knelt down beside Selena and pawed at her body.
“Get off her!” I yelled, and ran over to them. I kicked one in the head, knocking him back. I spun around to do the same to the other, but one of the old ladies grabbed my wrist and jerked me in her direction. I kicked her in the shins, her rotting bones snapping from the blow. She fell down and I jumped a couple steps back.
My bat. It was under Selena. I went to grab it, but more undead crowded about the two young guy’s clawing at my girl.
“No!” I screamed. My eyes immediately clouded over with tears. I wiped them away and started to push through the undead. Many shoved me back, as if Selena was more important to them then me, another live human being trying to rescue a loved one.
When I was able to poke my head between them, my heart cried out within me. Their fingers dug into Selena’s flesh, blood gushing from the holes they tore. They ripped at the meat beneath her skin and brought it to their foul lips.
I wanted to scream, to curse them, to cry out to God for help–but my voice caught and all I managed was a weak rasp.
A big undead black guy shoved his hand against my stomach, his fingers opening and closing as if trying to dig into my flesh. For a moment, I considered letting him, but then–at that time, as if a new idea and something never thought of before–I realized I could run.
I could get away from there and survive.
But Selena . . .
The undead’s lips smacked; their moans escalated. More zombies joined the horde.
I ran. I didn’t want to, but I ran.
Adrenaline surged through me and I gave it everything I had.
I left Selena.
I left my love.
I left my life.
·27: Tremors
It was a few blocks away when the tremors started. At first I thought it was the monstrous horde of undead causing it, their decayed and rotted feet smacking against the pavement so hard that it caused the ground to shake.
But it wasn’t them.
It was me.
Every bone in my body shook as if I had my finger in an electrical socket. The next thing I knew my legs gave out under me and I fell to the sidewalk alongside the old theatre, the kind that played holographs once they left the “real” theatres with the bigger auditoriums. I remained there on my knees, rocking back and forth, my muscles locking, my heart slamming against the inside of my chest a trillion miles an hour. It would only be just a few more seconds, I thought, until the heart attack kicked in and I’d keel over only to find myself reanimated a few minutes later.
Selena.
She was dead.
And I . . . I left her there. I left her!
For all my bravado and pining over her, for all the endless fantasies where I told her I’d do anything for her, even give up my life–I left her there.
I could barely glance over my shoulder, my muscles were so stiff. The undead were a good ways off, but I could see them shambling down the road towards me.
Let them come. I deserved what they’d do to me. I deserved having my guts ripped out and used as spaghetti.
I deserved to die.
It was only a scant few minutes ago I was with Selena. Just a few minutes.
A few minutes ago she was alive, still here on this earth with me.
A few minutes ago there was hope for a future together. A small hope, but a hope nonetheless. Now all that was taken away both by my cowardice and those blasted zombies.
Death knew no bounds.
But if I stayed, I’d be dead, too. To tell you the truth, I really don’t know what’s worse right now. The pain inside is so large, so alive, that even the memory of any other emotion cannot be recalled.
On that sidewalk, my heart pounding, my body shaking, I tried to get on my feet only to find myself crawling like a baby instead. I could barely move, only able to manage an inch at a time. The undead behind me were moving faster than I was.
I heard their moans on the air. I checked back over my shoulder again. I estimated it’d take them maybe two minutes to reach me if I didn’t somehow get away.
For a moment I thought about what it would be like to have them dig into my flesh, to pull my skin and muscles apart like tissue paper. I imagined the pain, and to be honest, it seemed better than the sharp, deep hollow agony that pierced my heart and made me sick to my stomach.
Three thoughts were very clear, as if each were being projected back at me as if from a mirror: one was losing the girl I loved again. To see her so helpless, to see her murdered. To never see her again.
The second was the loss of myself all over again because I knew what was it like to go crazy and see your life in the bizarre before-and-after mirror of losing someone you love.
The final was the zombies. And though their presence almost seemed peripheral at that moment, it was hard to believe that that moment was actually real and there were real dead people walking toward me that wanted nothing more than to eat me.
I crawled, forcing my limbs to move, my palms scraping against the sidewalk, my feet dragging behind me, my knees grating against the ground.
The zombies moaned.
I cri
ed out, full and loud. Pure sound, raw emotion.
Selena and survival were my only thoughts.
Selena’s survival . . . my only thought.
Her death.
My own inevitable to come.
Let me run. Oh, God, please hear me and let me run. Could there be redemption? Would there be a miracle?
I crawled faster, grunting and growling as I propelled my body across the pavement.
The stench of the undead grew fuller. I checked again to see how far away they were but the tears in my eyes made everything a blurry mess; it was too difficult to tell.
“Push yourself,” I said. “Come on. Go.” I moved as quick as I could, now moving at a slow walker’s pace along the ground.
My muscles still shook, but the painful vibrations surging through my bones had subsided to a dull hum.
“Stand,” I said. If not for yourself, then for her. “Get up.”
I pulled my feet under me and held my hands out for balance as I slowly got myself upright. Head woozy, everything within tingling, I stepped forward. It was like walking on a tight rope and I thought I would go down again. Instead, my steps increased in speed and I was able to move at a brisk walk down the sidewalk. I turned at the corner, hoping I’d lose the dead.
I needed to get home.
The undead calls of the deceased droned on the air.
My heart ached.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and headed across the street, traveled down another sidewalk length before turning into a back alley. There were no zombies here and I hoped my little zigzag pattern was enough to elude the undead behind me.
On last thought became clear: Selena was back there . . . what was left of her.
It was all my fault.
·28: Release
The more I walked, the easier it became. Like most things, all you needed was a little distance. The alley I stood in was bare, just me, litter, a couple quick-disposers, and the smell of an unattended sewer thickening the air.
It’s one thing to say you knew what to do in a survival situation, quite another to actually do it. However, there is one secret: priority. So I channeled the notion inward, setting aside images of Selena being torn apart, our time together, the words exchanged, and simply focused on the task at hand.
I needed to get home. I could let loose there, cry, drink, just go crazy, if I really needed to. But until then, yeah, I just simply needed to get there.
My plan to elude the undead coming after me succeeded and that horde was somewhere else. It didn’t matter where, as long as they were away from me. I wandered down the alley, ears cocked and fists ready.
At the mouth of the alley, the street running adjacent to it was cluttered like most of the others. All those crashed vehicles, windshields splotched with blood, scraps of dried leftover flesh dotting the pavement. I used to be one for peace and quiet. I used to enjoy sitting in the silence of my place, the silence itself almost audible, but in that oh-so-good soothing way. (You know the kind.) Nowadays, what I wouldn’t give for a little noise, the human kind: chatter, skyvans and zipcars tearing through the sky, people laughing, folks yelling, horns honking, sirens blaring. All I had now were my thoughts and whatever songs I could remember play through my brain in an effort not to go mad from all the quiet.
As much as I wanted to run that oldie but goodie, “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” through my mind, I fought it back and decided I’d sit in my living room later and replay then. For now, I needed to focus on my exact location, my exact task.
Weaving my way in between the smashed cars, stepping on glass-littered pavement, I headed across the street, hoping the next alley about a block to the right was just as empty as the one I came out of. When I reached it, my heart sank at the sight of a lone undead, shuffling his way toward me. His arms hung loose at his sides, one of his hands missing. His feet were turned inward, making his steps all the more awkward. I was surprised he was even able to maintain balance at all. The guy wore a dark gray suit, a bow tie loose against his scrawny neck. The man’s skin was so sickly gray that had he been naked, he could almost camouflage directly with the surrounding pavement. Dark red and black scabs dotted his skull, their presence growing all the more thicker around his deeply-sunken eyes. Part of his nose had dried up and rotted off a long time ago.
I made my way towards him, not directly at him, mind you, but in his general direction. At first I walked the left side of the alley. When the creature finally took notice of me, he started to stumble in my direction. I went to the right. The man stopped, seemed to debate some kind of decision, then began shambling to my side of the alley.
He was only ten feet away when I realized I could feign going to one side, then sprint past him along the other.
Instead, I choose to adjust my path to the middle of the alleyway. I checked once over my shoulder to make sure the path was clear behind me. It was. The zombie by now had adjusted himself as well and he and I walked toward each other.
Four feet now.
Already the creature’s hand and arms were raised, ready to grab me.
For a microsecond I almost wanted him to . . . just so I could be with Selena again. Another microsecond, that thought was gone and I brought my forearms down along his, snapping his arms back down to his sides. Fist cocked, I threw a hook across his jaw, my knuckles connecting with his chin so perfectly his jaw bone snapped and tore through his rotted flesh on the follow through. The crusty-skin-coated jaw bone hit the pavement, and almost before I even noticed, I came up with my left fist and hook punched his head from the other side. The force of the blow threw the zombie’s head to its left. It raised its arms and, using the same maneuver, I slammed them back down again. This time I brought my foot up and kicked it in the stomach. Its body rocked back a step.
Then I let loose, hammering my fists against its face so hard and quick the thing didn’t even have a chance to lock eyes with me again. Once more it tried to raise its arms. I grabbed its right arm and pulled it with all my might. The creature’s body jerked forward, then a dry rip like a piece of toast being torn cut through the air as I dislodged its arm from its socket and pulled it through the creature’s suit sleeve. I swung the arm across the zombie’s head like a bat before letting the arm go and going back to work on beating the hell out of the thing.
I punched its face, kicked it in the neck, slapped at its chest, then sent it to the ground by kicking its knees out from under it, breaking them in the process. The thing landed on its back and I pounced on it like a bloodthirsty jaguar. Its one remaining arm–the one without the hand–swatted at me from the side while I brought blow after blow down into its skull. Its cheekbones cracked beneath my fists, then busted inward. Its dried skin and powdery blood blew up around my fingers.
Not wanting to breath any of that crud in, I got to my feet and brought my heel down on its face over and over until their was nothing left but a nasty mess of crusty skin and brittle bone. I even brought my heel down on its neck–as if it needed to breathe–and stomped on its neck so much the bone, cartilage and flesh tore clean from its body.
I spat on him, cursed him, and kicked his head down the alley like a soccer ball.
I got back on its torso and hammered away on its ribs, digging and clawing at its chest, tearing away the suit and shirt and delivered punches and slaps to its rotted frame.
Fatigue hitting me like a bear hug from Hell, I only stopped when the thing’s rotten innards started flying up around me. I fell over to the side of the body and lay there gazing up at the sky. So blue. Very few clouds.
Normal . . . just . . . normal.
I nearly forgot where I was, and what I’d just done.
The calls of the undead broke me from my trance. I sat up, still alone in that alley, the decapitated monster beside me, and took a deep breath. Finally, I stood and made my way home.
·29: Recap
In case you’re only tuning in now, or something has happened to the webfeed and this broadcast of my jour
nal is only now reaching you thanks to undead interference, I just simply want to start by saying my name is Marty. I’m the sole survivor of the planet Earth. I don’t have great power, nor do my abilities exceed that of mortal men. I didn’t get here in a rocket ship, nor am I fighting for truth, justice and decency.
These days, I’m just fighting to stay alive and this journal is helping me do that.
I’ve recorded everything I could for you as things happened. Sometimes I had to wait before I could sit down in front of my screen and type out my thoughts. To be honest, my thoughts are all a jumble and I’m hankering for the soothing arms of alcohol to keep insanity at bay. At the same time, I’m too scared to booze up because there’s the chance I could lose myself once inhibitions are shed and, possibly, might never recover. You might even noticed my abstaining for alcohol by how–what’s the way to say this? “Better-worded”?–these entries have become.
I need to keep my head together, need to stay grounded, especially after what happened.
In case you’re just joining me, Comtropolis–and the world over–has been invaded by the undead. We’re talking zombies, reanimated and deceased human beings. They kill, and they eat us, and if they don’t devour you completely, their bites infect you and transform you into one of them. You still die, but you do come back, moving, hungry, having a thirst for human blood and flesh.
This whole journal started as a way to not only try and document my survival–maybe even a call for help across what’s left of the Net–but also as a way to cope with a relationship gone bad, and the loss of true love.
You see, I live in a world of death: physical and emotional. Aside from my pulse, some days it feels like I’m no different than the zombies that stalk the city streets.
Selena, my ex-girlfriend and love of my life, surfaced at my apartment recently. She came to me because everyone else she knew was gone and she knew that, if I was still alive, my door would always be open to her. We even spent some time together, but on a food run we came under attack by a horde of zombies. She got sick while we were out and eventually collapsed. I tried to carry her here–home–so I could care for her. Instead, the undead overtook us and I had no choice but to leave her body to be devoured.
