by Platt, Sean
A click and a whine came as a door opened and a gust of stale heat rolled inside. And on that heat, a familiar scent of perfume.
Well, ain’t that just a tall stack of pancakes worth of perfect. Big-nippled bitch was coming into the room. And someone with her. A guy. Smells like sweat and too much testosterone.
The mystery guest opened his mouth. “Well, lookie who’s awake!” Boricio could smell the testosterone suddenly centimeters away. “You ready to tell us what you know?”
Boricio knew nothing, which is exactly what he said.
Testosterone cackled, “Fine by me, boy. You’ll get to talking once you’re outside and in the box.” He finished his sentence with a slap at the back of Boricio’s head.
Keep going, because when I’m through with you, I’ll be staining this floor with slippers made from your face, you fuck.
Boricio must not have been able to keep his curled lip to himself, because before he knew it, bad breath was curling through his nose and Testosterone himself was snarling in his face.
“You got something you wanna say, boy?” The way he said “boy” was almost like the word had two syllables. Redneck fuck. “I know your mama told you if you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say than don’t say nothin’, but it isn’t like that here.” He laughed again. “We’re friends here. You can say anything you want.”
Something thrust into the back of Boricio’s head. He let out a yelp, pissed to have given the man any pleasure in delivering the pain.
“So, anything?”
Part of Boricio believed he could free himself from his restraints, if he wanted to. He probably couldn't clear the room, though he’d be sure to end the fucker in front of him before anyone could stop him. But no, too many things he didn’t know, and it was the end of the world. Besides, it’d be nice to make the fucker see the steel in his eyes before he killed him. It was that personal touch which was the trademark of Boricio’s attention to detail.
“Nothing?”
Boricio stayed silent.
Boricio didn’t see, or even sense, the giant fist until it smashed into his face. He felt the hollow thud rock through his head, then a ringing in his ears followed by stars in his eyes. Blood gushed from his nose and swallowed his face.
“Chew on that until you find your tongue, fucktard.”
Boricio heard 15 steps, then a whine and a thud. Testosterone and the big-nippled bitch had left the building.
After a moment of silence, the heavy breather to Boricio’s left tried to speak, but wasn’t managing much outside a few labored rasps. The heavy breather went on breathing while Boricio continued to wrestle with his restraints.
Finally, as though pushing words from his throat with his entire body, the breather managed to make a few. “Drema buttle noggers son...”
Well fuck if that didn’t sound like baby talk.
The three men to Boricio’s right were trading guesses, but it was still just pisses and babble. Boricio continued to twist at the plastic.
“Anything we can help you with?” It was the guy all the way to the right. His voice was full of compassion and Boricio wondered for a second what that must be like. More sounds came from the guy on the left, but the fucking idiot still wasn’t saying anything, until he was.
Boricio froze.
“Boooorrrriiiicccciiio,” the heavy breather moaned.
Like his name on the radio surfacing through a sea of static, once there, it was unmistakable. Boricio was getting this broadcast loud and clear. It took a lot to scare him, and he never ran. But Boricio found himself in such a sudden twisted grip of terror, he would’ve charged from the room right then if he’d not manage to calm himself down.
Beer-battered fucking bullshit. What the fuck is going on here?
He’d need to run, even if he had to kill everyone in the room first. Not for pleasure, wouldn’t be time for that, or anything else.
The restraints fell from his wrist and Boricio smiled.
* * * *
CHARLIE WILKENS
The clicking inched closer. It sounded just a step from Charlie’s window. His body was shaking uncontrollably and his eyes were starting to water.
He stared at the window, not remembering if he’d locked it and pretty sure that whoever, or whatever, was outside must have seen the glow of his light before the girl turned it off.
They’d been found.
Something was coming for them.
He opened his mouth, but the girl put her hand over it and shook her head and mouthed the words, “Do not let them hear us.”
Her eyes scanned his room as the clicking sound outside intensified, then multiplied, as if drawing more clickers to his window. Charlie was frozen, listening helplessly, and waiting, his mind racing for some idea, any idea, of what to do.
A thump on the window.
Charlie jumped with a yelp.
The girl’s eyes widened. Charlie immediately regretted the noise as clicking turned to shrieks outside his window. Another thump, and another, then a third, each one louder against the glass. Another came and Charlie swore the pane was about to shatter.
“Run!" the girl screamed, out the door before he could get off his ass.
“Bob! Bob!” Charlie screamed, following the girl from his room.
Bob was sleeping on the sofa, in boxers, bare chested. He looked up, startled by the girl running from the room with Charlie close behind. He had the shotgun in his hand and aimed at the girl in less than a second.
“No!” Charlie yelled, “There’s something outside!”
“What?” Bob asked in a slur.
“They’re monsters,” the girl said, “They’ve come for us. We need to get outta here!”
Bob looked at the girl like she had a mouth full of Latin. Then he heard the shrieking and the sound of glass shattering in Charlie’s room.
“What the fuck?” he said, more annoyed than scared, as he pushed past Charlie and into his room, shotgun cocked.
Charlie saw the bat by the front door, Bob’s “Jehovah’s Witnesses Be Gone Stick.” He grabbed it and started toward his room as the sound of thunder ripped through the house.
“What the fuck?!” Bob shouted. He’d seen them.
Charlie raced into the room, bat raised, hands shaking.
Hanging from his window, a headless nude corpse from one of the things. A wide smear of blood painted his wall in a fresh coat of horror. Another of the things was tearing at the curtain and pushing itself inside. Charlie saw it — something that looked like a man, but … undone. Its skin was dark, like a cross between burn and infection, but with a shiny, translucent coating. Its eyes were wide, and white, with no visible pupils. Its mouth was a mockery of actual form.
Click, click, click, click, click, the horrible rhythm clacked from the monster’s maw of twisted teeth.
Bob cocked the gun again and cleared the creature’s head from its shoulders.
From the living room, the girl screamed.
Charlie turned and saw one of the things burst through the living room window. It was fast, its head turning back and forth, ink-black eyes, scanning the room like a predator. It turned to Charlie and clicked, then back at the girl and moved to grab her.
The girl jumped back as the thing ran past her and tumbled into the living room. From the bedroom, Bob screamed something, shooting at another of the creatures trying to claw through Charlie’s window.
The creature in the kitchen was back on its feet, glaring at the girl.
Charlie ran toward the monster, bat raised, and swung. The creature ducked as Charlie swung. The bat flew from his hands and into the living room.
Click, click, click, click.
The creature was on Charlie, open mouth spewing hot, putrid breath in his face, as the unholy click of its teeth shifted in its mouth.
Charlie screamed, hands digging into and slipping on the thing’s wet neck, trying to keep its head back so it wouldn’t bite him.
Click, click, click, click.
It let out an unholy scream, louder than seemed possible, and rolled off of Charlie and rose back up, dazed, but not out.
“Fuck!” the girl shouted as she swung the bat again, clocking it right in the face.
The creature fell to the ground and the girl screamed. She brought the bat down again. And again. And again.
Charlie watched in a daze as the girl bashed its skull into chum.
“Holy shit!” Bob said, coming from the hallway.
The girl looked up, as if snapped from a daze, breathing rapidly, eyes wide and alive.
“You fucked that thing up good.”
Bob went to the living room, then turned to them. “That seems to be the last of them.”
“What the fuck were they?” Charlie asked, only realizing at the last second that he’d broken Bob’s non-cursing rule. Bob didn’t seem to notice.
“I dunno,” the girl said, “but two of them killed my neighbor. And I’ve seen a few more walking the streets. Which is why I was trying to get the hell out of town when you guys found me.”
Bob stared at her, as if just now remembering the incident at the store.
“Is that why you tried to steal my truck?”
“I didn’t know who you were. I broke into the store about 20 minutes before you guys came. I snuck in through the warehouse door in back. I was getting stuff when I heard the glass break. Sorry, but I got scared. Two guys, the end of the world, and a young girl. You do the math. So I was trying to get outta the store before you realized I was in there. But when you all saw me, I was afraid you’d catch me, so I tried to take the truck.”
She stared at them, either trying to read Bob’s expression or waiting for one to read.
Bob glanced at the shotgun in his hand, then at the body on the floor, then broke into a grin. “It’s alright. I woulda done the same shit if I was you.”
Charlie sighed in relief, and hoped Bob wouldn’t notice. He didn’t; his attention was on the girl.
“I’m Callie,” she said, offering her hand to Bob.
“Bob,” he said, placing his shotgun against the wall, “And this is my stepson, Charlie.”
Charlie shook her hand awkwardly.
“So,” Callie said, “what now?”
“I think we need to get out of here. Sooner the better. Our place is compromised. And if there’s any more of those fuckers out there, we’re gonna need more protection.”
“Amen,” the girl said.
“Let’s pack some shit and get outta here ASAP,” Bob said.
**
They packed a few bags and searched the neighborhood for a better vehicle, something faster. They found a sports car one block over, though Charlie wasn’t sure what kind it was. He never cared much for cars. This one was red, sleek, and cramped in the back seat, where Bob made Charlie sit. It was loud and seemed to impress Bob and Callie.
They drove further into town and found a gun shop, surprised to see it wasn’t already broken into. “Must not be too many more of us out here,” Bob said before stopping.
The store wasn’t easy to break into, with bars on the windows and glass doors. But of course, Bob was prepared. He had something called a bumper which could unlock any door.
They filled four duffel bags with as many pistols, shotguns, and ammo as they could stuff in the bags. Bob also grabbed a couple of semi-automatic assault rifles, the kind of shit Charlie had only seen in video games and movies.
“You ever use any of these?” Bob asked Callie as he handed her a pistol.
“No, but I’m a quick study.”
“I’ll take you out tomorrow and show you both how to use them. They’re not hard, but there’s some shit you need to know so you’re not a danger to yourself or anyone else before you go off firing them. And depending on how many more monsters is out there, well, you’re probably gonna need to learn how to aim. If we get caught up in a swarm of those fuckers, every shot’s gonna count.”
As Bob talked guns, Charlie found himself not hating the guy quite so much. Yes, he was a dick to Charlie for the past several years. Yes, he made Charlie’s life a living hell and picked on him, beat on him, and made him feel like shit. But since earlier in the day, he’d been a bit cooler. Not all the way, he still had that weird freakout about the cursing, but he was treating Charlie more like an adult and less like a ‘bratty kid,’ which was what Bob always called him when speaking to Charlie’s mom. “That bratty kid of yours.”
And Bob’s usefulness with guns and fixing stuff, would no doubt come in handy if the whole world had gone to hell. Charlie wasn’t sure how much longer things like plumbing and water would work, so they’d need creative solutions to things Charlie didn’t know shit about.
Now that Charlie thought about it, maybe Bob wasn’t off base in the way he treated him. Maybe he was a spoiled kid, even though he’d never considered himself one. What else would you call a 17-year-old who never had to do chores, didn’t know the first thing about manual labor, and had never been forced to work an honest day’s work in his life? Maybe, Charlie thought for the first time, Bob was trying to toughen him up. To get him ready to face the real world.
To face this new world.
**
As they drove the streets, searching for a place to sleep for rest of the night, Charlie couldn’t help noticing the volume of the car’s engine. The thing sounded like a fucking jet. Especially as it raced through the empty streets. The roar probably traveled for miles.
“Do you think we would’ve been better off with a car that wasn’t so loud?”
Bob shot him a look in the rearview, “What?”
“I mean, this car is nice and all, but it kinda advertises to the zombies, or whatever the hell they are, ‘Hey, we’re over here, come get us!’”
Bob laughed. “Let ‘em come; I’ll run the fuckers over. VROOOOM VROOM, you fuckin’ zombies!”
Callie laughed. Bob turned to her and smiled.
“Zombies or not, they go fucking down when you hit ‘em with a bat, right, Callie?” he said, patting her on the knee.
“Hell yeah,” she said, smiling, her eyes a bit glowing. And not at all reacting to Bob touching her knee.
Is he fucking flirting with her? He’s old enough to be her dad!
“Only thing I don’t get,” Bob said, brow furrowed in the rear-view mirror, “didn’t you have the bat, Charlie? How the hell did the channel change to Callie here poundin’ the fuck outta that thing, while you were in the corner pissing yourself like a little bitch?”
Bob looked into the rearview, smiling his asshole bully smile. No, he hadn’t changed. He was still a major fucking bag of dicks.
“I dropped the bat when I went to take a swing,” Charlie admitted sheepishly.
“DROPPED the bat? Jesus, kid, now I can see why you were always last picked in gym.”
Fucker.
Callie turned back to Charlie, a kind look in her eyes.
“No, he saved me. If he hadn’t come after that thing, it would’ve killed me.”
Bob didn’t say anything, just looked in the rearview, eyes locking onto Charlie’s before returning to the road. Bob glanced up once more to meet Charlie’s eyes, then accelerated, pushing the car faster, and louder.
As they drove into the unknown, Charlie felt the old familiar feeling. The world had changed; its rules had not. The bullies still ruled while the weak cowered.
He glanced at Callie, who was closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat, and wished he wasn’t so goddamned weak.
****
EDWARD KEENAN
They didn’t get back to sleep after the nightmare, so they hit the road instead. The clock on the SUV’s radio read 1:10 p.m., but the sky outside was darker than it should have been. The clouds were thick and low; thunderheads rolled in the distance illuminated occasionally by pockets of lightning.
The highway stayed empty, save for the occ
asional abandoned car. Ed was surprised more cars weren’t clogging the roads. At some point, he figured, they’d run into an area that was more heavily trafficked at 2:15 a.m. when the drivers all went poof, and they’d be forced to find an alternate route. But for now, at least, the highway was working.
