by Tim Marquitz
The white tiles, which had once shone so bright under the overhead lights as to force your eyes from the floor to avoid being blinded, were now stained in crusted streaks of brown and black. The hall was lighted only by the windows set at the far ends, filtering the last of the daylight through their half-opened blinds. I had never before seen the hallway so dark, so bleak. It was a labyrinth corridor. Shadows danced in the sunken doorways. I wanted nothing more than to run back to the safe room and bar the door until someone came to rescue us. Reason laughed at me.
With the bitter sound still echoing in my ears, I eased the apartment door shut and stepped out into the hallway, making my way toward the stairwell. My footsteps seemed to follow me in the stillness. I’d only gone about ten yards when I heard a muffled scrape, the sound of a footfall perhaps, out of sync with my own. I stopped and listened and heard it again, behind me. My breath clung to my lungs as I spun about, praying I’d imagined it, but God held no salvation for me.
There in the hallway, not but a short distance from my home, lurked one of the living dead. It shuffled slowly across the tiles, as if on unstable feet. Its yellowed gaze cut through the dimness and settled over me. Behind it, two more spilled from the apartment across the way, shoving at the first for space. I was glad for the murk that blurred the details of their forms, for their stink washed over me as though it were a beast all its own. To see such decay without the filter of darkness would have frozen me in place. On its own, however, the putrescence spurred me to flight.
Able to think of only one safe place, however irrational it might seem, I ran for home. I made it to the apartment door and had flung it aside before it dawned on me how foolish I’d been. My eyes went straight to the obscuring shelf to find it still open, the safe room exposed. Just outside, Toby clutched an armful of stuffed animals. He stared at me with wide eyes, too surprised to be afraid. I stopped short to keep the dead from seeing him. Jane screeched, startling him into motion. He scrambled to his mother’s side, leaving a trail of scattered animals behind.
I sighed as he slipped inside the safe room, but another of Jane’s shrieks brought me back to the moment. A low-rumbling growl rang out at my ear, followed by a blow the shoulder. Foul air whipped past and I was knocked forward, crashing to the floor. My face bounced off the carpeted ground, and I felt the skin scraped from my cheek. The burning sensation lasted only an instant as my shoulder erupted in an inferno of its own. An encompassing whiteness crowded my eyes, a snowstorm of agony. Something grabbed my leg and I heard the sharp tear of material. The searing sense of flesh being ripped away cleared my sight. A weight pressed down upon me.
“Close the door,” I yelled, the words coming out in a high-pitched crackle.
Jane only stared, clutching to Toby as they stood just inside the room. The color drained from their faces as the dead at my back tore yet another piece of me away, a rough tugging at my calf sending icepick shards of pain up my leg.
I could see the terror in her eyes through the darkness that encroached upon my vision, the rigid stiffness of her as she clung to our boy. She wouldn’t move in time; she wasn’t able.
Though I couldn’t rationalize what was happening on a conscious level, the dead somehow returned to stalk the living, I understood, without any doubt, my time had come. I couldn’t save myself, but I could give my family one last chance at survival.
As the world blurred before me, I lashed out, swinging my arm at the creatures to my rear. My fist struck bone and I heard a snap, like a twig breaking. My hand went numb in an instant. The corpse on top of me stumbled, tearing away another piece of my leg, but the confining pressure at my back was gone.
I pulled myself to my knees, ignoring the pain that shredded my nerves as though I crawled across a sheet of shattered glass, and got to my feet. Hungered growls sounded behind me as the dead advanced. That was all I could hear.
I could barely stand, gravity threatening to pull me down against the unstable support of my nearly severed leg. Knowing I would falter should I look at my wounds, I kept my eyes on Jane and Toby, Karen’s pale face peering out at me from around them.
The growls drew closer as I stumbled toward my family, too slow even to outpace the dead. I smelled their rank foulness as they closed, and could feel their putrid shadows falling over me. Nothing left to do, failure looming like a guillotine, I gathered the last of my strength and leapt forward.
My crippled leg exploded in a tempest of pain as I pressed it to action, but it held just long enough. I dove through the air, free of the corpses that trailed me, my arms outstretched.
“I love you,” I screamed, hoping my family would hear and understand.
I struck the ground in front of the concealing shelf, my arm and shoulder sliding into it with just enough force to set it in motion. It swung on silent hinges, books tumbling down on top of me. The shadowy world beyond the door rapidly disappeared. Jane’s face seemed to crack, deep lines furrowed across her brow as she must have realized that moment was the last we’d ever see of each other.
I’d done all I could. She was on her own.
The bookshelf latched tight with a click, and the growls descended upon me. That was how my world ended…
#
Or so I believed.
I awoke with a scream, scrambling into consciousness. The stained wood of the bookshelf filled my eyes. I sat up quick when I saw the scattered books, torn pages and broken spines surrounding me. The back of the shelf had been clawed at. Deep gouges covered its face, the varnish torn away in places where splinters of sharpened wood stuck out askew, but I could see nothing of what lay beyond. My eyes lingered on the damage as my hand crept forward to grasp the edge, fingers creaking as they closed on it. I tugged. The concealing shelf didn’t budge.
Relief flooded over me, then fear followed on its heels. I spun my head about to see that the dead had gone. The front door hung open as I’d left it, but I could not hear their shambling voices. Perhaps God had not abandoned me after all.
I went to rise, getting to my knees with ease, and then to my feet. My leg collapsed the moment I stood, and I tumbled to the blood-stained carpet. I had forgotten about my wounds. I felt the impact of the floor, but was surprised to feel no pain.
Bent beneath me, I straightened my leg to examine it. From the calf down, there was nothing. Blackened tendrils of flesh hung from its jagged end, a shard of bone protruding. I stared at the ruin of my leg as though it belonged to someone else, feeling nothing. There was no hint of the pain one would expect from such a grievous injury or the sickness at its revelation. I truly felt nothing.
With a cautious finger I reached down and poked my wound. I sensed rather than felt its pressure, but still there was no flash of pain, no sense of hurt. I pushed harder, but it felt no different the second time. Following along its length with my eyes, the leg ran to my hip, confirming it was mine.
I’m paralyzed, was my first thought before I remembered I had climbed to my feet just moments before. It made no sense, but before I could ponder it further, I heard a low grumble. My gaze snapped to the front door. One of the dead stood there staring at me. I recognized it. It was the same creature that had surprised me in the hallway.
I scrambled back against the bookshelf in expectation of its charge, but the corpse simply growled once more and wandered back into the hall. Muscles knotted from tension, I shook my arms loose once I’d heard its voice fade away. I went to sigh but my breath was dormant in my lungs. I glanced down at my chest to see that it sat without motion. The uncomfortable thought that I was not breathing flickered to life inside my mind. However, there was no panic at the realization. That was worse than the revelation itself.
I couldn’t understand how I could still live yet not breath, be so hurt and yet not feel pain. A gentle throbbing seemed to fill my head as I chased the tail of my thoughts, no sense to be found in its depths. I pushed sluggish reason aside and rose once more to my knees. I’d been given a second chance, for whatever
reason, and all I wanted was to be with my family.
The shelf supporting me, I got to my remaining foot and leaned against the wall, knocking hard on the wooden backing.
“It’s me,” I shouted, though the words tumbled out like crumbling stones. To clear my throat, I coughed. It sounded no better when I tried again, my tongue seeming too raw, too swollen, to produce words. I knocked again, but I knew they wouldn’t answer if they couldn’t tell it was me; if they could even hear me.
Black dots danced at the edges of my vision. I blinked to chase them away, but they only grew worse, as though something stained my eyes. My head thundered like a storm brewed inside. I could feel the clouds rolling in, coating my thoughts in a misty haze.
The bookshelf loomed before me. I knocked to no response and knocked harder still. They had to hear me. Had to know I was there. Why wouldn’t they answer?
“Jane.” The dead rumbled nearby. “Toby! Karen!”
They must hear them. That’s why. I looked behind to see an empty room. Wondering at the sounds, I turned back to knock once more.
Something inside me settled without warning, giving way with a wet hiss. Blackened ooze ran down my pant legs and splattered to the floor, forming a steaming puddle about my foot. Bits of reddish meat floated in the muck, strange shapes squirming in it. I flinched at the sight, readying myself for the stench I knew must follow, but there was none. My feces stained the carpet, bubbling up from beneath my shoe as I shifted to stay standing. I paid it no mind. There was only my family.
“Jane!” The roar of the dead drowned my voice.
A chill settled over the room as I pounded on the shelf. She had to hear me. She had to. I needed in before the dead returned. I needed in.
Something moved across my field of vision. I blinked, rubbing at my eyes to chase the squirming tendrils away, but they seemed to multiply; shadowy worms breeding in the pits of my eyes.
Blackness flickered…
#
Eyes open, I saw the shelf; scarred. Streaks of blood smeared its battered face. The dead had come back. They wanted my family. Jane. Toby. Jane and…Karen. Karen. My daughter. The door kept us apart. The dead, but I knew…I knew…if I just…just…if I…
The door opened; a crack. Gasps whistled behind its darkness.
I knew…if I…knew…if I just waited.
I pulled the door aside. Screams filled my head. My family, I’d scared them. I hadn’t…
“Shhh,” I called out, hearing the dead roar.
There was terror in Jane’s eyes. Toby clung to her, Karen beside. They could hear them…hear the dead coming. I wouldn’t let them be hurt. Not my family.
“I love you,” I told them. The dead were close. They growled at my back.
I stumbled inside, the door yanked shut behind me. I heard it latch.
My family would be safe now.
Safe from the dead.
Sperare Victor
Originally published in triumph Over Tragedy 2013
The stars loomed like angry eyes, accusation in every flicker. They were a brilliant jury set to weigh my guilt, and I felt naked beneath their gaze. Still, I was glad to see them. It had been far too long since I last set foot upon the earth.
A sigh slipped loose at the thought. No matter what happened, it would be the last time.
“Beautiful, are they not?”
The only voice I’d known since my death, I recognized Arafal without hesitation. I held my tongue as I spun about, but it didn’t matter. The angel tasked with my judgment knew my mind as well as anyone could. There’d be no hiding my apprehension behind pacifying words.
Arafal hovered above the ground, a willowy mist of light and roiling vagueness. He’d no identifiable features save for the pinpricks of his emerald eyes, which stared at me with unblinking fervor. Bound once more to flesh, there was nothing I could do to stop the shivers that set my limbs to trembling. I clasped my fingers together and drew a labored breath. I’d forgotten what it was like to be human.
“The hour is at hand.”
I swallowed hard against the emotions welling in my throat. Arafal had plucked me from the languid shores of Purgatory, telling me only that I was to be given one last chance at redemption before my sentence was pronounced, and nothing more. Tears warmed my cheeks as memories assailed me. It’d taken just one bullet to ruin all the good I’d done in my life; just one bullet to make me a murderer. But even now, on the eve of condemnation, I found it hard to be penitent.
Jonathan Williams deserved to die.
His name was a serpent in my ear. He took everything from me: Alice, Devin, and Jake. My wife…my boys. “He deserved what he got, and more.” The words tumbled free in a sob, but as much as I believed them, I couldn’t bring myself to look the angel in the eyes.
Arafal’s light dimmed, the shadows deepening where my gaze lingered on the grass. “It was not your place to decide such, Michael,” I heard the disappointment in his voice, “but our Father knows the failings of His creations and understands your grief. This is why He offers you this one, final opportunity to redeem yourself in some small way.”
The lure of salvation dangled before me, blurred by the sorrow that clung to my eyes. Somewhere on the other side, far from the mind-numbing emptiness of the way station in between, was my family. I missed them so much. “What would you have of me?” There was no forgiveness in me for the man who butchered my wife and children, my heart hollowed by their loss, but I would risk Hell to see them once more.
“You need only to do what is right.”
Cloying warmth washed over me, the grass disappearing beneath my feet to be replaced by old tiles. Cracked, lines of dirt spider-webbed the floor, the grout blackened with mold and grime. The fresh air I’d taken for granted was now thick with the stale and musty scent of lifetimes of discontentment. I raised my chin to see where I’d been taken. A tiny apartment took shape.
The walls were a dingy shade of yellow, as though they’d never been white, brown streaks marring the surface between the paintings that hung wearily upon bent and jutting nails. The simple sceneries pressed behind dirty glass barely stood out against the blandness of the walls. They were only deeper shades of gloom amidst the whole. Dust cluttered in the frames and had fallen to collect on the frayed carpet below. Empty of furniture, the room seemed to echo with my every breath. My gaze was drawn to the flowered sheet that had been pinned across the only window. I started across the room.
“God will see you through the first of the trials, Michael, but no more.” His presence flickered. “Your fate is in your hands.”
There was no need to turn. Arafal was gone. The bleakness of the room fell over me in his absence. I was on my own with no sense of what was to come. Hands trembling, the air thick in my lungs, I continued to the window, pulling the makeshift curtain aside before I could convince myself not to.
Dim shafts of daylight met my eyes, worming their way through the sprawling tenements that rose like gravestones from the street. The world outside stretched into the horizon, a perfect match for the room I stood in. It was drained of color, gray blending in to be swallowed by the blackness of shadows.
Movement below the window caught my eye, two men sauntering past one another in conspicuous casualness. Their clumsy interaction was obvious even to me, grasping hands doing nothing to hide the exchange of folded bills for a tiny baggie of white rock. Each went their separate way, satisfied smiles at a deal well done. No sirens wailed in the distance and no shouts followed them as they faded into the gray of the afternoon.
Were these the souls God wanted saved?
I shook the thought from my head. He couldn’t have brought me here for them, but why had He? My stomach in knots with uncertainty, I followed the line of the buildings up into the sky, missing the array of stars that had greeted my return. Only pale blue stared back. I reached to unlock the window when a low rumble shook the frame. The blue was washed away in a streak of silver, darkness settling over only
to be yanked away a moment later. I saw the orange-red flicker of engines before I heard them, the building rattling in their wake.
The plane screamed over the rooftops, far too low for everything to be all right. Was this why I was here? I watched the trail of the passenger liner as it streaked overhead. Realization struck me as I followed its course, and I knew where I was. Perspective fell over me in a cold sheen. I was home in Rockford, just south of the airport. That wasn’t where the plane was headed, the tarmac miles to my back. There was nothing out beyond the city but open fields and…
My breath went still in my lungs. The aircraft dipped as I stared on, cutting a line in the sky, billowing clouds puffing to life at its tail. It was accelerating.
Then it was gone.
A flash of light dotted the horizon, and I heard the thunder of its impact. I knew then why I was there. Terror sunk sharpened talons into my heart as my worst fears bore fruit. A second and third explosion sounded, followed closely by a fourth. I was Rockford’s Lot but given no warning to leave the coming Sodom.
The plane hadn’t crashed. It had been directed with malevolence, straight into the Byron nuclear reactors just a few short miles from town.
Brilliance erupted, so intense I was forced to look away. Tracers scarred my eyelids as I dove to the floor, a whistling gale announcing destruction’s presence. The room fell away, and I screamed until the darkness took me.
#
Consciousness found me amidst the wreckage.
I choked down a ragged breath, which tasted of ash, as sense returned. A hacking cough led the charge as I scrambled to my knees to take account. My body ached, but I possessed all my limbs. Fingers wiggled on command beneath the cloying coating of dirt and blood, and I could feel my toes. Red lines littered the canvass of my skin, but I could find no wound greater than a scratch. Arafal’s words came back to me then, a splinter in my mind. If this was but the first trial, I wanted nothing to do with what came next.
