Our Last Bow
Page 10
It didn’t seem in any particular hurry to stand back up. Slowly, it propped itself up on its elbows, and sat looking at me. Blood poured in a steady stream down its left eye socket, down to its lips, and blood-soaked shirt.
It moaned again, and with the deliberation of an old man getting out of a bath tub, it began to push itself off the ground until it was standing up.
It looked down at me, and gave another lethargic growl. I don’t think it was meant to intimidate me. Zombie growls can be scary, but they always sound so listless. It’s like they don’t even know why they’re doing it. They just do it because that’s what you do to your prey. The mind has stopped working, and is on autopilot, going through the motions, even though there is nothing to gain; like being in a coma that you can’t wake up from.
I stared up at him. He had cuts all along his torso. Purple-gray bruises had formed on his skull. His moans were strained, and his skin was beginning to turn a shade of blue. I guessed I must’ve stabbed and/or kicked at his lungs at some point. Not that he seemed to notice or care.
His posture hadn’t changed much; he still stood as tall as his rotting corpse would allow, and he still walked at that slow, deliberate pace. He felt no anger or fear toward me. There was no malice in his expression, no sadistic grin as would befit a depraved murderer. He did not cower away to safety, begging to be left alone as he asked for forgiveness for the crimes of him and his kind.
He just kept coming, to do what came as naturally to him as flying comes to birds. Whatever was left of their humanity was either gone or buried somewhere in the depths of their skulls where it could never be retrieved.
Another footstep behind me, and I turned to see two zombies coming up the alley. I could hear more moans coming from around the corner. I couldn’t tell how many there were, but it would be a lot.
As they made their way toward me, I thought about what I should do. They were taking their sweet damn time trying to kill me, slowly shuffling off the street. I didn’t exactly feel like I was in a hurry to execute an escape plan.
The safest choices would have been to either go back into the aquarium, or go up the ladder on the wall across from me. I wasn’t sure how long the doors to the aquarium would hold out, but I’d never seen a zombie climb a ladder. If it was anything like them going up stairs, then I’d probably be just fine up there. The ladder was the best choice.
My mind knew what to do, but my body lacked the energy. I just wanted to stay there, and let these things eat me. I knew I wouldn’t be infected, wouldn’t have the chance to join their ranks. I almost wished I could. Then I could find out what does happen to your mind when you become a zombie. But it’s not like there would be much solace there anyway. If it is true that your mind goes away, that you cease to be aware of things and it’s like death or a dreamless sleep. And it’s not like I’d notice.
And if it was the opposite, that your mind is still active, and you find yourself a prisoner in your own head, as you watch your body commit these atrocious acts, well what kind of solace would that be? I’d be spending the rest of eternity like that, doomed to forever think about what had happened.
But I wouldn’t be alone.
No, no, best to just end it all, I thought. The zombies were closing in. If I didn’t make a move soon, I’d surely be eaten alive. I didn’t care that it would hurt, and I wasn’t that bothered by it. I thought about the nightmares I’d had where I’d been torn to pieces. They didn’t scare me anymore. Fear can keep a person alive. It kept me alive. It can push you; tell you to run when danger comes.
But at that moment, I wasn’t scared. I felt nothing but emptiness; intense, suffocating, all-encompassing, emptiness.
As I sat there, I saw more zombies entering the alley from both sides. I picked up my stuff, and listlessly walked toward the middle of the alley.
I turned and saw a few zombies pass in front of the ladder. That path had been sealed. I could still go back into the aquarium; hold myself up there, and at least try to find another way to get away from these things so I could…
So I could just run into another group of them? Have them eat me later rather than now? Eventually I’d just find myself in a dead end, or they’d get me in my sleep, or something. I couldn’t run forever.
And even if I could, what would be the point? To walk the earth alone and scared? In my mind, I could see myself as an old man, my rifle slung over my shoulder, endlessly wandering through highways and empty streets. My memories and the moans of the dead would be my only companions.
So I just sat there, thinking about my family, about everything that I had lost. That everyone had lost. Humanity had taken its last bow. It had had its run, and now our time was up. In school we always talked about how the dinosaurs ruled for such and such millions of years, and were eventually killed off by an asteroid. They weren’t able to stop it. What must that have been like for them?
Maybe one day, some other creature will rise up and talk about how the humans ruled the earth, until the zombie plague came.
I shook my head and smirked. The emptiness went away, to be replaced by a soothing sort of calm; for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was in control.
The zombies were closing in now. The fresh air had been totally replaced by the stench of death. I could no longer see the streets on either side of the alley. But I wasn’t running. I was about to be in the center of a feeding frenzy, and didn’t care. Maybe there would be an afterlife. Maybe I’d see my family. I wasn’t sure, but it was worth a shot.
But before I died, there was one thing I still needed to do. I lifted my brother’s rifle, and walked over to the closest zombie. Once I’d gotten within two feet of him, I lifted my rifle, held the barrel directly in front of his face, and pulled the trigger.
His brains erupted out the back of his skull, crashing into the face of the zombie behind him. He stumbled and fell backward, knocking down the five zombies behind him. It was like a horrific domino effect of the dead.
I smiled and held the rifle to the sky.
“Did you see that Stan?!” I shouted, mindless, manic ecstasy overcoming me. “I got a headshot. A killshot. Suck on that!” Then I bent over, and laughed hysterically, holding onto my stomach because it hurt so much.
A gray hand with long feminine nails painted red grabbed onto my shoulder from behind. I was pulled into a pile of the living dead. Human canines sunk into my arms and legs. Clawed hands ripped off bits of skin from my face. I watched vital organs removed from my torso, and devoured by hungry zombie mouths.
And I laughed until they’d picked my bones clean.
Other Titles By Edward Punales
North Pole
The Macready Air Force Base base in Greenland is hunkering down for one of the worst snow storms in recorded history. But when the base receives a mysterious SOS, Dr. Martin Jules and Sgt. Bill Arthur must brave the arctic winds, and come to face-to-face with the horrors of this frozen wasteland.
Love and Monsters
A violent demon given a shot at redemption.
A lonely man granted a life-changing wish.
A young woman making friends with a strange creature.
Dinosaurs, werewolves, aliens, life, death, and everything in-between.
All the weird, beautiful, scary things that can happen, when you mix Love and Monsters
Symphony of Humanity
A creature from another world kidnaps people for his monstrous art.
An ancient roman legion sets sail on a voyage doomed from the start.
A traumatized young girl seeks vengeance against a blood-thirsty dragon.
A young man fights in a violent gang war.
A carnivorous unicorn threatens the safety of a small town.
All this and more, in a collection of stories that celebrate the bizarre, comical, and downright dark side of speculative fiction.
About the Author
I’m a writer, poet, filmmaker, and lover of mythology, science fiction, art, and
cheeseburgers. I’ve published three short story collections, a poetry collection, written and/or directed a handful of short films, regularly publish new work on my Medium page, and have spent way too much time on the internet watching old vine compilations.
I used to write under the pen name Edward Lange, but I switched to my real name in 2015.
I live in South Florida.
Medium: medium.com/@edwardpgames
Email: edwardpunalesauthor@gmail.com
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