Dead Meat | Day 5

by Clausen, Nick

  It’s okay. He didn’t wake up. Not really. It’s okay. He’s gone back to sleep.

  He tries desperately to reassure himself, and it slowly works, his heart rate falling gradually to a steadier level. The sweat is prickling all over his back, and his hands are shaking now. He waits another couple of minutes for his body to relax a little.

  Once he feels relatively okay again, he dares to look up. Silas’s hair is right in front of him, still hanging over the armrest, even though Silas is now facing the other way.

  Dennis lifts up his hand and carefully touches the hair, trying to single out a strand. It’s hard because his hand is shaking, and he bites down hard in an effort to make it stop.

  Surprisingly, it actually works. Dennis manages to grab a single hair and hold it tightly.

  Here goes …

  He holds his breath and yanks at the strand of hair.

  He hears the tiny pluck as the hair comes off.

  And then it’s in his hand.

  There are no other sounds.

  Silas doesn’t even move or pause snoring.

  Dennis can hardly believe it.

  I … I did it … I did it!

  The initial elation is quickly subdued as he remembers the fact that he’s still only ten inches away from Silas and that he could wake up any moment.

  Dennis turns his head and looks back over at the staircase. It seems awfully far away. Also, it’s no good going back upstairs, Dennis realizes with a sinking feeling, as he finally sees the glaring hole in his plan: he needs to bring the hair to Mom right away. She told him it needed to be fresh. He can’t hold on to it until tomorrow and then find a way to get it to her; that would be too late, and all the trouble he has just gone through will be for nothing.

  The trouble is, Mom is locked in the bunker, and Silas has the key.

  The thought of the key makes Dennis instinctively look to the coffee table. And there, between the beer cans, is the large keychain he saw Silas use to lock the door to Mom’s room.

  Suddenly, plucking a hair off Silas’s head seems like an easy task compared to picking up a rattling keychain lying on a table right in front of Silas’s face.

  But Dennis knows there’s no other way. He’s in it now, and he needs to push on.

  He shifts the strand of hair carefully to his left hand, freeing up his right. Then he makes a crab-like step sideways, moving closer to the table without getting up from his kneeling position.

  It’s enough to get him within reaching distance of the keys.

  It also places him in plain view of Silas’s face. He glances sideways and sees Silas sleeping with an open mouth, one hand resting under his chin like a toddler. Dennis is close enough to smell the beer on his breath.

  It’s okay, he’s deep asleep. Just do it.

  Dennis focuses on the keys and reaches out his hand, moving over the beer cans and stopping for a moment to hover over the keychain.

  Then, like a crane, he lowers it ever so slowly. His fingertips touch the metal, and he curls them around the ring. He then pulls it back up just as slowly. As the keys lift off the table, they come together and give off a low clinging rattle.

  Dennis pauses for half a heartbeat, not daring to turn his head around and look at Silas. But once he hears him continue snoring, Dennis is able to move again, pulling back his arm. He doesn’t dare put the keys in his pocket, so he simply holds them out like a grenade with the pin removed as he clumsily gets to his feet. He moves carefully backwards a few steps, then turns around and begins walking away, when—

  Suddenly, a noise cuts through the silence. It’s a weird sound, bumpy and scratchy at the same time, and it comes from behind Dennis, so at first, he takes it to be Silas falling to the floor for some reason. But as he spins around, he sees Silas still lying on the couch.

  The noise comes again, and this time, Dennis can tell it’s coming from the other end of the living room—from outside the window. Now there’s the sound of nails whining against glass and a guttural groan, too, and the pieces fall into place in Dennis’s mind.

  It’s a dead person outside. They’re trying to—

  His thoughts are cut off as Silas jumps to his feet with surprising speed, grabbing the rifle and aiming it wildly in the direction of the noise.

  “Oh, fuck me,” he mutters, as he realizes there’s no immediate danger, and he lowers the rifle again while turning around. “What a way to wake up …”

  He doesn’t see Dennis right away, but when he does, he freezes. For a couple of seconds, they just stare at each other, Silas’s eyes scanning up and down Dennis, stopping at the keychain hanging from his hand. His expression turns dark with comprehension.

  “Where the fuck are you going?”

  FORTY-FIVE

  Dennis tries to speak, but only manages a croaking groan.

  “Huh?” Silas asks, moving closer. “I didn’t catch that?”

  The rifle in his hand is pointed down at an angle, aimed at Dennis’s knees. He instinctively moves backwards, bumps into a chair and knocks over a pile of books which goes crashing to the floor.

  Silas doesn’t even flinch; he just stares at Dennis and keeps moving closer.

  “I asked you a question, Dennis. Where are you going with my keys?”

  Dennis can’t speak. He gapes and shakes his head, trying to force out the words, but nothing comes. He wants to turn and run, but he can’t. Instead, he stumbles over the books and bumps into the wall.

  Silas stops a few paces away, places the rifle at his shoulder and aims at Dennis’s chest. “Start talking, Dennis.”

  “No, no, no, don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot! I’m sorry!” Dennis blurts out, dropping the keys and holding his hands up in front of him, as though they could stop the bullet. “I’m sorry, Silas! I didn’t mean to steal the keys!”

  “Then why did you?” Silas asks calmly, not lowering the rifle.

  “Please don’t shoot,” Dennis pleads, as his lower lip begins trembling and his eyes fill up with tears. Silas is going to kill him now, he knows that, and he can’t help the tears from coming. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  “Aw, stop crying,” Silas sneers. “That’s fucking pathetic, you big pussy.”

  Dennis tries to stop, but that only makes it worse. He loses control over his bladder, and warm urine starts spilling down his shorts and runs down his leg.

  “What the fuck?” Silas exclaims as he sees the pee. “Are you fucking pissing yourself? Jesus Christ, how old are you, man? Three?”

  “I’m sorry,” Dennis sobs. “Please don’t kill me.”

  “Then tell me why you stole my fucking keys!” Silas shouts, stepping forward and jabbing the barrel into Dennis’s collarbone, forcing him up against the wall. “What were you planning, you fucking little thief? Huh? You were gonna make a run for it while we slept? Run away like a big cry baby, huh?”

  “N-no!” Dennis sobs. “I just … I just … g-got scared, and … I … I wa-wanted to see my m-mom …”

  “You wa-wanted to see your m-mom?” Silas mocks him, disgust in his voice. “And you took it upon yourself to make it happen, did you?”

  Light comes into the room as the bedroom door is opened. Dennis turns his head to see Jonas standing there, only wearing boxers.

  “The fuck is going on?” he asks, looking from Silas and Dennis to the window where the dead person is still scraping the glass.

  “Please don’t let him k-kill me, Jonas!” Dennis blurts out.

  “We had a couple of nightcrawlers,” Silas tells his brother, ignoring Dennis. “The one outside and this one here. He snuck down here and took my keys. Says he wanted to go see his mama.”

  “I … I got scared when I heard that thing outside,” Dennis pleads, looking from Jonas to Silas. “Please don’t shoot me!”

  Jonas moans and rubs his eye. “Put the fucking rifle away, will you? He’s scared shitless.”

  “I know he is, because he just pissed himself, that disgusting little fuc
ktard!”

  Jonas comes closer. “Let him go, Silas. He’s not right in the head, don’t you get that? He’s, like, a retard or something. You can’t treat him like that.”

  “Oh, but he can fuck around with me? Steal my keys and whatnot?” Silas finally moves the rifle to turn on his brother.

  “You’re drunk,” Jonas says, sounding very tired. “It’s been a long fucking couple of days. Can’t we just get some goddamn sleep?”

  “Don’t you think that’s what I was doing before this prick came snooping around? You think we should just go to sleep and let him do whatever the hell he wants just because he’s a retard?”

  Jonas looks briefly at Dennis. “Let him go sleep with his mom. Just lock them in there together. I don’t get why you didn’t do that in the first place.”

  Silas grinds his teeth and glances at Dennis. “I don’t like them being together. I think they’ll get up to something if they get the chance.”

  “What are they going to do? Build a lasso out of the bedsheets and strangle us the next time we come down there? Get a grip, man.”

  Silas doesn’t answer; he just keeps eyeing Dennis. Dennis is trembling all over, following the conversation closely. He’s starting to feel a faint hope that Jonas might actually talk Silas out of killing him. But the way Silas is staring at him right now makes him second-guess that possibility; there’s rage in Silas’s eyes.

  “Besides, we’ve got a bigger problem,” Jonas goes on, gesturing towards the window. “Those things out there might draw others’ attention. We should get rid of them.”

  Silas doesn’t answer, he just keeps staring at Dennis, his lips moving almost imperceptibly.

  “Silas?”

  “What?”

  “Are you going to kill that thing outside, or you want me to do it?”

  Silas suddenly turns on his heel and marches to the window. He pulls aside the curtains, reveals a fat lady squeezing against the glass. Before anybody has time to react, Silas has unlocked the window, grabbed the handle and swung it open. The bars still stop the dead lady, put she immediately reaches her thick fingers through.

  “Silas!” Jonas begins, but he’s cut off as Silas aims the rifle right between the lady’s eyes and pulls the trigger.

  Dennis closes his eyes a second too late, and he sees the lady’s head flip backwards as she falls to the ground and disappears out of sight.

  Silas closes and locks the window. “There,” he says, looking at Jonas. “You happy?”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Jonas mutters. “But I guess it’ll do. Can I go back to bed now?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about him?” He nods towards Dennis.

  “I’ll take him downstairs,” Silas says, suddenly sounding reasonable. “He’ll stay with his mom from now on.”

  “Good,” Jonas says and yawns. “See you in the morning.” He goes back inside the bedroom and closes the door.

  As soon as Dennis is alone with Silas, he feels the atmosphere change. But Silas doesn’t even look at him; he just picks up the keys and strides towards the kitchen.

  “You comin’?” he calls over his shoulder.

  FORTY-SIX

  They’ve been flying less than twenty minutes, but to Eli, time is no longer important. For all he knows, he could have been in the helicopter for hours or even days, listening to the deep whooping and feeling the pleasant rumbling from the floor and wall.

  He’s sitting all the way in the back, legs crossed, leaning against the wall, secured in place by a strap around his waist. A vacant smile is resting on his face, his eyelids keep closing halfway, then opening again.

  In front of him is the Arabic girl and her brother, both of them sleeping, leaning against each other. Farther off sits Dan and his father, and next to Eli is William and his dog—

  What was its name again? Cooper? Izzy? No, it was some other Rockstar …

  Eli’s memory isn’t working. He’s very tired, exhausted really; he hasn’t slept for over twenty-four hours, and he’s sure he will drift off any minute. But part of him doesn’t want to go just yet. That part wants to keep enjoying the effect of the drug coursing through his body.

  He managed to grab the bottle as they boarded the helicopter without anybody noticing. It had fallen to the floor, so he simply needed to bend down and scoop it up, covering the gesture by pretending to check his shoelaces—which was a pretty fucking stupid misdirection, now that he thinks of it, something you’d do to trick a child.

  Oh, well, no matter. It worked.

  He got the bottle. Percocet, the label read. Eli had tried them before. They killed not only physical pain, but the emotional kind, too.

  How many did I take?

  He has no idea. The bottle is more than halfway empty, so he probably shouldn’t take anymore.

  Which is fine. He’s gotten what he needed. Relief. Sweet, blissful relief. And The Demon Voice is completely gone.

  Eli leans his head back and breathes deeply, resting his attention on the simmering sensation in his arms and legs.

  How could he ever have believed it was possible to live without this feeling? This is obviously the greatest thing a human being could experience; the absolute peak state, free from even the slightest discomfort, where nothing existed but peace and pleasure. Come to think of it, Eli suspects it could be the meaning of life itself.

  He rubs his legs absentmindedly, enjoying the feel of his palms against his bare shins. Funny how one of them feels a little thicker than the other. Also, there’s a faint throbbing in one of them.

  Eli looks down dreamily. The skin on his left leg is weirdly reddish, the coloring growing more prominent towards the shoe. It’s also swollen visibly.

  Oh, that’s right, Eli thinks. The scratch.

  He’s about to untie his shoe to look at it—more out of curiosity than concern—but then remembers he’s not alone. Some of the others might notice him doing it.

  They can’t know about the scratch. William said he’d kick me off the helicopter.

  Eli sniggers as a funny image drops into his mind: A cartoon helicopter flying across the sky, and a cartoon version of himself being booted out the back hatch. He’s looking at the camera with big, startled eyes and there’s an exclamation point hovering above his head.

  There was nothing funny about the scratch when he got it, though. He remembers feeling terrified. Now, looking back, he doesn’t really get it, though. Why would he freak out over something like that? Sure, it means he’s going to die, but aren’t they all? This is the end of the world, after all. The Zombie Apocalypse.

  “They didn’t even live half an hour. The fever came within ten minutes.”

  Dan’s voice suddenly reverberates in his mind. And, now that he thinks about it, he actually does have a fever; he feels warm, and sweat is trickling down his back and forehead. He hardly feels it, though. The Percocet has made sure of that. Also, the way his leg is looking, Eli is sure it would hurt like hell had he not been medicated out of his mind right now.

  Eli realizes he’s actually worried. The fear is trying to come creeping back. He automatically reaches for his pocket and takes out the pill bottle. He pops it open discretely and takes three more, swallowing them in one gulp.

  There. I’ll feel better in a minute, he assures himself and closes his eyes.

  His mind drifts back to when he had just gotten the scratch, back to when the zombie woman had caught his foot. He still can’t believe he got away with it. That William actually fell for the trick. In the moment, Eli had thought it would never fly. But he did it anyway, hoping against hope.

  It was so simple.

  Elegant, really.

  When William demanded he show them his foot, Eli had simply showed him the right one. Not the left one, which of course was the one the woman had grabbed.

  William probably hadn’t had time to notice, it all went by so fast. And none of the others protested, either.

  Eli smiles, feeling sati
sfied with himself. The effect of the three additional pills feels like it’s kicking in already. He’s drifting off further into the pleasant mist of peace deep inside his mind, where he’ll be beyond any intruding thoughts.

  Eli decides he’s fought it off long enough and simply lets go.

  It feels like sinking into black water, or rather, like the black water rises up and engulfs him very gently, drowning out everything else.

  But Eli doesn’t stop there.

  He drifts off farther down than he’s ever gone, down below the normal drug-induced slumber, sinking even past deep unconsciousness, reaching a coma-like state, and still he’s drifting, on and on, deeper and deeper, headed for the deepest level, approaching the depth you don’t ascend from ever again.

  Eli stops breathing. It happens very quietly. No one else in the helicopter notices.

  For about sixty seconds, nothing happens.

  Eli isn’t there. He’s gone. Obliterated. The idea of Eli has been erased completely.

  Then, there’s something.

  It’s like the Big Bang, defying all logic, breaking all the natural laws as something appears out of nothing.

  A spark in the darkness.

  And then, Eli is suddenly there again. Except it’s not him, not really, not all of him, at least. And the thing that once was part of Eli begins slowly to rise up from where nothing is supposed to return …

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Dennis has got a bad feeling. Something tells him Silas is still furious, even though he doesn’t show it anymore.

  But he has no other choice than follow Silas down to the bunker.

  As they walk through the tunnel, Silas doesn’t look back or even speak once. He uses the key to unlock the metal door, and they enter the lit-up bunker.

  Silas goes to unlock the door to the bathroom. But just as he puts in the key, he stops. He steps back and waves the rifle at Dennis. “You open it.”

  Dennis hesitates for a moment, then walks to the door and turns the key. He opens the door.

  Mom is sitting on the bunk, wearing her white gown, her hands folded in her lap. It looks like she was just sleeping. She smiles briefly as she sees him. “Hello, Dennis.”