by Mark Clodi
Mike and Tiffany said their goodbyes and then turned to each other as Rebecca left the house. Tiffany embraced him and just held him tight, after a couple of minutes in this prolonged hug Mike realized she was crying. He held her tighter and said, "It's okay, Tiffany, it's okay. Everything is going to be okay."
"I know, but I couldn't, I wouldn't just break down in front of her or at the hospital. Everyone telling me to be strong all the time and that everything would 'be alright'. It's not alright. I was so scared!"
"Yeah, but I made it. I'm going to be fine. We'll be fine."
"Yeah, now!" she sobbed. It took a few more minutes and Tiffany pulled herself together and broke from the embrace.
"You know what would make us feel better?" Mike asked with a light tone.
"Ice cream?"
"Well I was thinking of picking out a car, but there is no reason we can't do both right?"
Tiffany laughed and helped her husband into the dining room.
Part V
Mike woke up during the night. It was raining outside and he was alone in his bed. Tiffany had fallen asleep with him after they had made an unsatisfactory attempt at making love. She had barely touched him after an all too brief session of kissing and he had gone off like a roman candle. Tiffany shushed away his embarrassment, cleaned him up, and even, delicately, tried to arouse him again for round two, but Mike just couldn't make it happen. She had to settle for snuggling next to him with his arm around her as he faded into a drug laced sleep.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for a split second, allowing Mike to see that he was alone. He shifted on his pillows and tried to get back to sleep, but the noise made that impossible, so he fumbled around until he found the television remote and brought the TV to life. Mike flipped to the news, Fox News had a show on from earlier in the day with commenters arguing about how to spend the money the country didn't have. Everything was the liberals fault, of course. Mike changed channels to MSNBC and got an earful about how the conservatives were ruining the country. Finally on CNN he picked up a live feed. A tired looking newsman was droning on about the problems in China, how they had shut down all their borders to all traffic and issued warnings to the international community to stay out. The rumors were wild that the African plague had hit China hard. Some footage from a boat near Taiwan showed bodies being dumped into the ocean. At least it looked like bodies. The magnification of the camera was up so high that the film was distorted. Then the story switched to Africa, where a South African correspondent was discussing a new plague in Somalia. People were dying everywhere, or being killed. Mike flipped up the cable guide to find a movie to watch. His leg was starting to ache, a slow dull pain that he put to the back of his mind. He was sure the pain medicine was messing with his mind and he did not want to deal with that on a rainy summer night.
Finally, Mike found a comedy to watch, it was one he had seen before, so he knew it was worth watching again. Halfway through his, leg was giving him a lot of trouble, making it hard for him to concentrate on what was being said. It felt like it was on fire. A basketball-sized globe of pain was settled right around his knee. He turned and reached for the pain pills on his headboard and happened to glance out his window as he did so.
There was a woman there, standing up against the glass dully looking in. Mike yelled in surprise and fright. It was Jessica, Mike's neighbor and she didn't look so good. Her hair was wet and scraggly. She had on a thin Cotton nightgown that her breasts showed through even in the dim light radiating from Mike's television. Jessica's eyes were opaque white. She shifted her head from the television to Mike and then back. Mike shut his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, shaking his head and saying, "It's just a dream. It's just a dream." and then opened them. Nothing. No Jessica. No dead eyes, no wet breasts pressed against his window.
Breathing a sigh of relief he yelled anew when the woman seemingly sprang out of nowhere to hit his window. The frame shook as her body slammed into it, however the glass did not crack. Jessica stepped backwards out of sight again, and then ran forward towards the glass. It was probably the rain that caused her to slip. Just before she reached the window, she fell out of sight and Mike heard a low thud against the stonework from outside below the window as she hit the wall.
"Mike, what is it dear?"
His wife's voice very nearly made him pee his bed. He started and turned slowly around, "Tiff, there is someone out there! Did you hear her hit the window?"
"No, Mike, no. I didn't hear anything but you yelling from upstairs. Tell me what you see."
"Nothing, there is nothing there, but wait, watch a minute, she'll come back. It is Jessica from next door. She was running at the window, trying to get in." Mike explained.
"Okay, hon. Let me take a look and see what I can see."
"Be careful, she looks all weird, like dead, if she breaks the window she..." Mike stopped aware of how he sounded.
Tiffany didn't say anything but walked around his bed and looked outside. "I...I don't see anything, Mike. Let me go flip the front lights on so I can see out better." She left the room and the lights came on outside a moment later. Jessica stood up from under his window, the rain was pouring down on her as she stared in at him. Mike heard the front door opening the same time Jessica did.
"No! Tiffany! Don't go out there!" Jessica ran off to the left, towards Mike's front door. A second later Mike heard Tiffany start to scream. He could not make out the words, only the shrieking and it did not cut off quickly. The screams carried into the house, into Mike's living room and after a great crash of thunder, they ended. Mike slid his cast off the side of the bed, wishing he had a crutch or a cane.
"Tif? Tiffany? Tiffany!" he shouted. There was movement from the living room. Mike's back was now facing the doorway, with his leg on the floor between the bed and the window. To his left was the open bathroom door. Running on adrenaline he pushed himself up and over to the window, the angle was not good enough to show him the front porch. There was noise behind him, the door quietly opening. Turning Mike saw his wife, throat bitten open, eyes glazed and dead, standing in the doorway, she started shuffling towards him. Behind her Jessica, her nightie now drenched in blood, stood and watched. Her eyes were not as opaque as they once were, her movements as she stepped into the room were more fluid.
"Tiffany?" Mike squeaked out, the barest of whispers. He started to step towards the bathroom door and stopped himself. Closing his eyes he said, "This is a dream. This is not happening, this is not real. This is a hallucination brought on by the medicine." Tiffany grabbed his arm. Her fingers were wet and cool from the rain. "This is not happening. This is not real."
Tiffany bit into his arm near his bicep and his eyes popped wide open. Mike screamed at her, "This is not happening, this is a nightmare. This is not real!" Tiffany paid him no mind and burrowed deep into the fleshy part of his arm. Mike unable to bear the pain anymore pushed at her, she resisted and held onto his arm. Mike tried to step back and ended up falling, dragging Tiffany with him. Jessica moved around the bed and got down on her hands and knees moving her mouth towards Mike's free leg.
Mike flailed ineffectively at his wife while kicking at the woman now biting into his leg, all the while screaming about how this was a nightmare and not really happening. A short time later Jessica, now looking much better, although still covered in blood, stood up and helped Tiffany and Mike to their feet. The three of them walked out of the house and into the night. This, definitely, was happening.
Six in Billions
Javier is drunk and finally realizes he is just hallucinating.
Javier Killam knew he was shit-faced. It was Saturday night, or more aptly, Sunday morning in early August. He had the day off and he lived alone. The Hispanic man was forty seven years young, a thin man with a pot belly, short pepper gray hair and slight limp to his walk. His blue jeans were nearly new and his denim colored shirt was at least twenty years old, but still looked new, or so he thought. Tonight had been 'go
to town' night for him, so he was dressed to the nines in his genuine alligator-skin boots. His friends had started the night drinking with him, but they had to work tomorrow, so they left early, leaving him in the 'Capitol Bar' in Socorro to drink himself silly.
The bar was shared, with both locals and students from New Mexico School of Mines as patrons. This night it was mostly a sausage fest, with only a few college girls and their over-protective, over-attentive college friends guarding them. Not that Javier minded, he was not there to get laid, he was there to get a drunk on. He had moved into town from his father's land last year, buying a small house on Liles Street, just down from the university where he worked as a grounds keeper. It was a good job, better than any he had when he was married to that whore, Emilia, the woman who, after giving him twenty years of his life and two children, decided sleeping around was her God-given right.
Javier was almost not bitter anymore. It had been two years and in that time he had a girlfriend or two of his own, including one lonely Mines student, who left that first morning saying Javier reminded her of her father. She came back to visit 'daddy' for half a semester, usually appearing late at night and very drunk. Apparently she was only good at sex, because her grades were so bad she failed out and had to go home to her real father. Javier had met her at the Capitol Bar, since then it had become his bar of choice.
"Another tequila and beer, Juan?" asked the waitress, who knew his name was Javier.
"Sure, Tania." replied Javier, who knew her name was Allyson. It was a game they played. Sometimes Javier played it with the other waitresses, but they didn't get it.
"You going full drunk tonight, eh?"
"Si, querida. You thinking of making a pass at me?"
"Nah, I can't cook, and I know you are the kind of guy who would want breakfast in the morning."
Javier laughed as she headed off to get his shot and Miller High Life beer. His house was walking distance from the bar, not that he had walked, but he should be able to make the drive home when they finally booted him out. Tonight Gary was on as the manager; he might let Javier stay and drink after hours. That happened most nights he worked. Sitting back in his booth he took in the crowd and listened to this 'music' they were playing on the jukebox. It was crap, but it had a beat. Javier would take sad Spanish 'campiseno' music any night of the week.
Fuck.
A goddamn animal had walked into the bar again. Javier squinted his eyes shut and opened one cautiously. Still there. Threading through the tables was the donkey of Juan Valdez, complete with bags of coffee, open and spilling their contents on the floor of the Capitol.
'Damn', thought Javier, 'people say you need mushrooms or LSD to have good visions, but I only need tequila.' He'd bought the beer to nurse after doing the shot, it forced him to a slow steady pace of drinking. Javier had never gotten sick at the Capitol yet, he aimed to keep it that way.
He pulled himself unsteadily to his cowboy-booted feet and stumbled to the bathroom, while Allyson put his liquor down on his table.
When he came back, the donkey was gone. At the bar former President Bush was drinking a wheat beer. Javier headed over to him for a word about the economy. He was not sure when Bush had started frequenting the Capitol, but was glad to discuss politics with him when he showed up. Tonight though, Allyson cut him off at the pass, grabbing his arm and leading him back to the table.
"Sit Javier. Don't cause any problems."
"I was just gonna..."
"I know what you 'was just gonna' do. You got that look in your eyes. That ain't Bush, it's never Bush. You think Bush would show up on a Saturday night in a dive bar like this in the middle of a town called 'Help'? Sit. Drink. Gary is staying after hours. Are you in?"
Javier nodded, and his face blushed, 'Never Bush?' he thought. 'It is always Bush. He is a good guy, one of the people. That is why he comes here and he always has time for me.'
Picking up the shot he looked at it closely, making sure the monkey swinging about from the ceiling fans hadn't thrown anything into it. Monkeys were like that, tossing their shit around, screaming at you, things like, "You never loved me!" or "Why did you hit me, daddy?!" Stuff that didn't make any sense.
No monkey feces. The drink was a clear amber color, but Javier kept an eye on the monkey anyway. If it got too close he would toss the shot glass at it. He focused the rest of his attention on the TV. The subtitles were on and Javier could read English well enough. It was a scene from Denver. All sorts of riots going on up there, plus problems in Albuquerque, Los Lunas and even Belen. People were shooting each other. That is what it looked like on the television anyway. No one in the bar was much watching or caring. Bush's eyes were riveted to the same television Javier was watching. For a moment they made eye contact and it seemed to Javier that Bush had something to say to him. He almost got up to talk to him, when the zombie entered the bar.
It was a slow, shuffling kind of zombie. Like from that old, old movie "Dawn of the Dead" that Javier brought his then future wife to see at the drive in thirty years ago. This zombie was not like those fast zombies, like from that movie "Dawn of the Dead" that he had seen at the theater a few years ago.
Seeing a zombie did something to Javier's mind, something 'clicked' and he had an epiphany. There was no donkey, there was no shit throwing monkey and maybe, there was no Bush. Allyson was right, no Bush. He was fucked up. Laughing he made eye contact with Bush again and raised his Miller to him in a toast, Bush returned it. Fucking tequila, Bush still looked like Bush, the monkey still hung from the fan spinning slowly, one hand filled with a good portion of shit to throw and the zombie still shuffled towards the bar. Javier just sat back and took it all in, sipping his beer slowly.
The zombie was a college student. Like someone out of a movie, he had a white shirt on with a single red letter 'M' on the front. His pants were also the same color of red as were his leather shoes. The guy was a gringo, not mixed with 'la raza' or Indian. White and tan, short brown hair, tinted with the sun. His eyes were zombie eyes, white, kinda gray. His hands were grimy and bloody, one of them looked all broken up, dribbling blood on the floor. No one else seemed to notice him, so Javier knew he was not real. And some people stayed home Saturday nights, he thought grinning.
Allyson chose that moment to stop by and asked, "What is so goddamn funny, Paco?"
"The zombie that came in."
"Zombie? That's a new one. Usually you are more of a president or monkey kind of guy." said Allyson.
"Well Tina, even old guys learn new things once in a while."
"I've known a lot of old guys and I don't know if I agree with you. You want a refill yet?"
"Si, querida." Javier said.
"Right away, I don't dare let you start to sober up on me." Allyson winked before walking away.
Bemused Javier watched her go. What did that wink mean? Probably she wanted to sleep with him. Women these days were easy and bold, acting so much the man that Javier sometimes lost interest.
He turned back to the zombie and watched him approach a regular, a little wiry white guy Javier never did get to know. Probably a professor or a spook working out of the university. Javier thought he might have seen him there a time or two anyway. Of course at this point in his night he couldn't be really sure, Javier always thought of the guy as being named 'Pete', he looked like a 'Pete' to him. A good, solid, white name. A disciples name, honest and true. There were no disciples named Javier.
The zombie got next to Pete and leaned into him and that is when the show got really good. Pete backed off, but the zombie was marginally less drunk and managed to get a hold on him. The teeth went into Pete's neck - Pete screamed, for a moment. Gary looked over at the blood, his lips pursing with the words, 'What the fuck?' and then everything started moving really slow.
Javier's grin spread from ear to ear. He knew paying for top shelf tequila would pay off. The zombie kept gnawing on Pete's neck, chomping on it despite being hit on the head by Gary with the bar's bas
eball bat. Then the other men joined in, pulling the zombie off of Pete and mobbing it once the thing was on the ground. One of the mob slipped and fell to the ground, Javier saw a bloody hand pulling on the guy.
The women had all fled to one end of the bar and were the first to see the other zombies enter the Capitol. Their screams drew Javier's attention; their pointing directed his eyes to the front door. His vision was moving in slow stops and starts now, like someone hitting pause on a movie every second. He noticed he had another shot and beer in front of him. When had those arrived?
Javier tossed the shot back and looked back at the fighting. Sure enough more zombies had arrived; three, four, ten, he couldn't count them all. They pushed into the bar and the men started using chairs, mugs and even tables to try and stem their advance. The women were gathered up by Allyson and herded towards the back of the bar, to the emergency exit. She waved frantically at Javier, yelling something at him. Javier just waved back and started working on his beer.
The fighting was brutal, a no holds barred kind of thing and Javier was wondering where his mind came up with this stuff. It ended as he knew it would; the zombies won. Gary stood up from the pile, slowly he started towards the back to the emergency exit to follow the women, who were long gone.
It was Pete who noticed Javier. The group was halfway past him when Pete, now with only one eye, focused on Javier and started shambling his way. Javier was not done with his beer. He tipped the last quarter mug into his mouth noting it tasted warm and sour. He brought his eyes to the monkey hanging from the slowly moving fan. The monkey's shit was gone.
