by Sergio Gomez
Four days versus eight days.
His mind wandered to the machete in his bag. Toby had a pistol in his. But if he did it while he was sleeping, Toby would have no chance. Especially not with how sick he was.
As if the universe was goading him on to do it, Toby started coughing.
“I gotta get over this shit dude.” He said between fits.
One slice across the throat. He wouldn’t even feel a thing.
Jesus, what the hell, why am I thinking this bullshit?
But he knew why. He just wasn’t ready to accept it, not yet.
*
The storm continued to slam the pavement and rooftops with unnatural torrents of water hours after the seed had been planted in Terrance Williams’ head to kill his best friend. The seed by now had sprouted out and the roots were fat and poking their pointy heads out of the dirt.
Two hours ago (at 5PM, but neither one of them had any way to tell the time) they had cooked up two of the burgers. It was Terrance’s night to make dinner, and as he was opening the package with a knife the thoughts surfaced back up in his mind.
One swipe. Two burgers. All for me.
The thought of eating after killing someone made him shudder and he put them away.
He opened the plastic package and took the two patties out. The electric grill was plugged in and starting to smoke which meant the burgers were ready to be fried up. He took a container of salt next to the grill and sprinkled some on his burger.
“Hey, Tobes, you want some salt on yours?”
An index finger poked out from the front of the human burrito Toby had wrapped himself into and waved in the air. “Might make my stomach worse, man.”
Terrance turned back to the grill. If the stomach problems killed him he wouldn’t have to think about doing it himself anymore. He took his patty and threw it on the hot surface. The pink squishy meat plopped on the grill and began to sizzle.
He took Toby’s burger and sprinkled salt on it, more than he put on his own. If it didn’t kill him, then he just made his friend’s meal taste better. If it did kill him—he looked at the package of meat, 6 patties left—he’d have the rest all to himself. Win, win.
12
The salt didn’t kill Toby, not that Terrance had high hopes that it would.
With the storm still raging outside it meant he was forced to sit here in the same room with the person he kept thinking about murdering.
Just two hours ago he had considered Toby his friend, but after eating, Toby had a coughing fit in which he began to spit up blood, and then ran to the bathroom and hurled the burger. A burger that Terrance could have easily eaten and kept down, had been flushed down the toilet in a sea of bile and saliva, because Toby was too fucking weak to fight off the bug he had.
If he truly was his best friend, he would have told Terrance to not bother wasting food and just let him keep all of it. But Terrance was having doubts that they were still best friends. Toby was being selfish by continuing to eat (and throw up) their limited supply of food, instead of waiting until this virus passed him by when he knew he wouldn’t be vomiting it out minutes later.
This guy is going to end up getting me killed. Shit, I might catch whatever the hell he has and end up like him. I should just go ahead and end it.
The seed was no longer a seed anymore, now it was a whole garden with vegetables growing on the plants. Dark, vile vegetables with mouths that sunk their teeth into his mind and refused to let go. They chewed on any doubts he had to kill Toby and spat them out.
Fuck it, not like his family or friends will miss him. It’s only us two left in this damn world!
He sprung up out of his bed and took the knife out of his bag, the same one he had used to cut open the package of burgers. For a moment his sanity fought off the crazy thoughts and he saw the knife in his hands clear as day as an innocuous cooking tool he was about to turn into a murder weapon. There were still droplets of water from when he cleaned it off after making dinner.
His mind reeled back so far it was like he was watching himself in one of those shitty horror movies that no one watches in theaters, but then gets hyped up during Halloween the same year it flopped at the box office. The ones where someone is forced to kill their best friend by a curse or demon or some other unspeakable horror, only he was about to kill his friend for none of those reasons, his was driven by the instinct to survive.
He grabbed the knife off the floor (not quite sure when he dropped it, but somewhere between the time he blanked out and he got a hold of himself), and walked over to Toby who was coughing like he was about to spit out more than just blood, like he was about to spit out an entire lung. He held the knife up above where he guessed Toby’s neck was under the blanket.
His sanity snaked itself through the garden of evil. Sorry man, sorry. But not deep enough into the garden, not sorry enough.
Terrance brought the knife down and felt it sink in to the side of Toby’s neck. It went easier than he thought it would, like he was stabbing a piece of butter that had been in the fridge too long. A little resistance to puncture through and then it slid in easy.
There was more blood than he thought there’d be too. In the movies the blood only ever gets everywhere when it’s a gore movie, but other than that it’s just enough blood to convince the audience that a human is being stabbed.
In real life, the blood spurted out through the sheets like a geyser, the stream shot through the fabric and splashed all over the front of his shirt, his hands, his arms, and his face.
He wasn’t sure if it was the springs in the mattress groaning from Toby’s convulsing body or if it was Toby’s muffled screams—there was just too much going on at the same time—but he heard something protesting.
(Sorry man, sorry.)
There was no turning back now. He had already taken the first step and he’d have to see this through until Toby was no more. He took the knife from his neck and drove it to the side of the body. The knife went somewhere between two of his rib bones. More blood spread through the sheets and now the transformation was almost complete; what had been a sick person rolled into a cocoon of comfort seconds ago, before the stabbings, now looked like a corpse in a body bag (Toby wasn’t a corpse yet, but he was very close to it).
Terrance pulled the knife out and then punctured to the side of the body again, making a new hole in the sheet and opening a new wound that shot out more hot blood. The knife went through and punctured his kidney and ripped it open like a grape. That finished him off.
And now Toby Gambino’s transformation was done, he was a corpse in a body bag.
Terrance stabbed him another four times for good measure and then fell back on the carpeted floor covered in blood like a mad surgeon. The walls had been sprayed with the blood, the mattress underneath the corpse was soaked and the blue fabric had turned into a light pink. Terrance was amazed to see how much blood a human body had in it. He felt like a psychopathic killer from yet another crappy horror movie, like one of the B-rate ones him and Toby had stayed up watching on many Halloween nights when they were stoned. Now they were in one of those movies, and if only Toby were alive to see, they both would have had a good laugh.
His conscious mind came back, reeling forward like a pixie finding its way through the woods, until what he had done hit him and reality sunk in.
The blood was warm and sticky. It smelled like iron, yet sweet somehow. But there was also the smell of death hanging in the air. It wasn’t something he exactly could smell with his nose, it was more like an ethereal smell invading his mind.
The garden in his head was dead; the vegetables had all fallen to the ground with their mouths closed. The plants were all browned and withered, hunched over like old men with hip problems. Everything was shriveled up and gone, all the evil that had been keeping it alive had been used and now it was only Terrance and the red mess on the mattress that used to be his best friend.
He felt the burger begin to crawl up his throat, and t
hen projectile out of his mouth. It splashed on the mattress, right next to his dead friend’s body.
Terrance wiped his mouth of the saliva after dry heaving for a few second. He looked at the pool of bile and digested bits of burger, then at the stained blankets where his friend’s lifeless body lied still.
Just like our college days of partying too much! Except you’re lying there a lifeless corpse after I stabbed you to death. What a great parting gift, huh old friend? What a fucking friend I turned out to be, huh buddy?
Toby Gambino died at 7:04PM after bleeding to death.
At 7:08 Terrance Williams put the knife back into his bag, picked it up, and sprinted out of the apartment, knowing that when it was his turn he’d be going nowhere else but to hell. No pit stops to tell his mom he loved her, to pay his older brother back for the cell phone bill he owed him ($88.76), and to apologize to Toby for killing him when he needed him most.
Nope, his ticket was a one-way, non-stop flight straight to the burning abyss.
13
It didn’t matter to him that it was pouring rain and darkness surrounded him except for when lightning cracked through the night, no it didn’t matter to him one bit because he needed to get away from the scene in the apartment as fast as he could.
He ran through the empty streets, water splashed everywhere as his shoes stomped down on the puddles collected in the cracks. He got to Main Street and ran a couple of blocks down it before stopping to catch his breath underneath an awning that used to belong to a cookie shop.
The awning didn’t completely shield him from the rain, but it was better than nothing. He was soaking wet from the ten minute run from the apartment to the cookie shop and it would only get worse, anyway.
He sat down on the steps that were caked with mud. He could hear his labored breathing even over the torrential downpour, but worst of all he could hear his own thoughts haunting him in his head.
I’m a murderer. I could’ve waited out until the shit in his stomach killed him and be where I am now…except with no blood on my hands.
He meant it metaphorically, but looking down at his hands it was true in another sense. The water had washed most of it off, but there were still little beads of pink where the rain and his friend’s blood mixed to remind him of what he’d done.
Trying to fight these thoughts off he stood up. His breathing was returning to normal and he felt he had enough run left in him to get out of the town. Leaving all of this behind him he’d feel better about what he’d done.
In fact, when he looked down at the end of the street he could see the sign of the gas station that marked the entrance/exit of the town, and he was feeling better already. Yeah, once he left behind this ruined college town he’d be fine, the guilt would clear itself and he’d see he did what any other human would do for their survival.
And if he met any other people out of town, he’d befriend them and wouldn’t kill again. Everything would be back to normal.
Well, Toby would still be in the apartment, rotting and probably eaten by rats, but other than that, Terrance would have his sanity back.
With these new thoughts invigorating him he took off down Main Street feeling like one of the bolts of lightning from the storm. He was almost smiling as he tore through the streets, being mindful to hop over the bigger puddles of water.
The joyous feelings of running through the empty streets like a free spirit were interrupted when he remembered it was almost dark…and what that meant.
He got as far as the town pub when he saw them. His heart turned to ice and his legs became lead. It was supposed to be too early for them to come out, but here they were in all of their wretchedness.
Three of them were in the gas station parking lot, underneath the alcove where the pumps were. They were sitting cross-legged in a rough triangle around a piece of raw meat. They were taking turns reaching out with their claws and ripping a chunk off.
Terrance was more than familiar with the capabilities of these creatures (or “beasts” as him and Toby used to call them). Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep he would watch the ones that came around their apartment with some fascination. They moved like humans for the most part, walking on hind legs, until their bones got tired from the weight, then they would haunch over on all fours. Not quite like gorillas, but more like a four-legged animal. It was like they could change the entire anatomy of their skeleton to suit their needs.
On all fours they moved faster and was the “form” they used to stalk and catch the fat rats that also came out at nights. On more than one occasion Terrance had watched several of them hunting these rats and eat them alive. The rats struggled in their clutches, clawing and scratching and squeaking. Some of the beasts would show mercy and puncture them before eating them, others weren’t as nice. They’d shove the live rat in their mouth and tear it in half like a man eating a chocolate chip cookie.
He didn’t know if they ate humans, but the piece of raw meat between them could have been human for all he knew, but he wasn’t too interested in finding out.
He turned on his heels as quietly as he could, and contrary to what his instincts were yelling at him to do, he walked across the street, as slowly as he could. The other side of the street never seemed farther than in those long seconds that he crouched through the night, away from the beasts.
As soon as his foot touched the pavement he looked over his shoulder—the beasts still sat around with no indication that they’ve noticed him, which was his go ahead—then it was off to the races again.
He sprinted towards the back of the French fry restaurant (still pungent with the smell of grease from when it was functioning, with a little added hint of rat piss). He sprinted through the side streets, navigating through the map in his head. It was a really roundabout way of getting out of town, but it was better than risking going past the beasts.
He had to go through a patch of woods and came out of it covered in mud from the knees down. As much as he wanted to take a breather and catch his breath, he wouldn’t dare. The dark beasts could have been anywhere. They could be chasing him this moment for all he knew. They always saw you before you saw them.
So he just ran, and ran, ignoring the hot pain in his feet and legs. The wind was blowing the raindrops right into his face, and he could barely see where he was going, but he didn’t care. He was just going to run down the Express Way until the next town was in his sights.
He wasn’t sure how far he had ran or for how long, but when he saw an Arby’s sign up over the incline he slowed down until his pace was between a walk and a jog. As much as he wanted to stop and rest he knew that he needed to find shelter.
The beasts were out already, and soon they’d take over the night. He’d have no chance of survival if he was still out here.
He walked into town, right past a sign that said “Welcome to Trexlerville, Population: 1,988.”
The sign had never been more wrong.
14
Alejandro, Charlie, and John sat around their lanterns in the basement of the church. The rhythm of the rain smacking against the window had slowed, suggesting that the storm was subsiding. They’d be stuck in the church even still because the night had swallowed the day quicker than typical of a summer day.
“Guess we’ll be staying here until morning unless we want to risk running into Los Noches.” Alejandro said.
“Into who?” John asked.
Alejandro chuckled. “Los Noches, it’s what me and Charlie call those night creature. It’s bad Spanish, but it roughly means ‘those of the night’.”
John nodded. “Ah, gotcha. Los Noches…has a nice ring to it, I guess.”
Alejandro ignored that he pronounced los like lowz and noches like no-chayz.
“Well, we got my truck.” John added. “If we ran into any of them Los Noches we could barrel through them.”
“They climbed on your truck last time, Mr. John.” Alejandro glanced over at Charlie, who was doodling in one of those pocket notebo
oks with a stubby crayon. John nodded in understanding.
“It wasn’t exactly a clean get-a-way last time.” He added.
“That you’re right about. It’d probably be a lot smarter if we wait out the night.”
“It’ll probably be good to rest up, too.” Alejandro said.
John wasn’t sure how much rest he was going to get after reliving the events from last night, but the man wasn’t wrong. Rest would be good for all of them. He got up out of his seat with a grunt. “I’m going to go have a smoke. You smoke Alejandro?”
He had quit smoking two years after he had quit drinking, but the urge to suck on a cigarette jumped out of nowhere when the question was asked. “I used to, quit about ten years ago.”
“About how long I’ve been trying to quit,” John said, smiling. “Well, I’m goin’ to go and have a smoke. I’ll be back.”
Alejandro watched John pick up his axe and then head for the stairs.
“Hey, you’re not going out, are you?”
“No way am I going to smoke in the Lord’s home, Mr. Ramos. There might not be anyone left to judge me, but the big guy upstairs still sees.” He winked and climbed up the stairs; they creaked underneath his heavy boots.
Alejandro thought about dissuading him from going outside, but the fire that motivated him extinguished itself as quickly as it had come. He was a big guy, had an axe, and would be fine, it would just be a quick smoke break.
*
Even though the basement was cooler than the rest of the church, it was dusty and stuffy and he wanted to get some fresh air. He came through the door leading to the basement from ground level and walked through the corridor into the main auditorium. Walking past the broken pews behind the shadows, he had this eerie feeling similar to walking through a graveyard at midnight, like he could see the ghosts of the congregation that once had gathered here if he looked hard enough.
