But still I continue looking upward, tilting my head back until I am almost looking directly up at the sky.
Lightning flashes and I saw unblinking eyes lacking even the tiniest spark of life. The flesh is pale and bloated and looks as though fish may have been tugging flakes away for quite some time. But the features are unmistakable. This giant creature, this rotter from the depths… it’s me.
It moves more quickly than I thought it would, it’s arm shooting out and snatching Jason and Monica into a fist the size of a large boulder. The others scatter like cockroaches in the light, but I realize that my feet have turned to roots and burrowed down into the ground so tightly that I can’t move at all.
I watch as this monstrous, undead me pops the boy and his mother into its mouth as if they were nothing more than sunflower seeds. And then it’s scooping Josie and Watchmaker up, raising them toward its cavernous mouth and I want to scream, to throw stones, to do something,
“That ain’t you, squirt. That ain’t you at all. You don’t have a hunger like that.”
Lightning flashes again, this time so bright that all I can see is an endless expanse of white with little blue bursts popping like flashbulbs. When the intensity of the light fades, I find myself in the back in the shack.
The pain in my side feels like it’s been bitten into again, as if the injuries are fresh and new. The wind howls and I feel the breeze cooling the sweat on my body as the door bangs back and forth against the wall. At some point it must’ve blown open, but I don’t remember this happening. I can see outside, though, and it’s as black as the heart of Satan, the trees whipping back and forth as if bowing in subservience to the might of the approaching storm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see him. Jason. Standing there and looking for all the world like he wishes he could rip my head off with his bare hands. But when I turn to look, the image fades and there’s only the same dusty walls I’ve come to know so well.
“I’m sorry.” I try to say, but the words that come from my mouth are undecipherable. I may have as well been speaking in code.
But it does turn my mind back to that day again. Back to that town. Back to that little church at the edge of the woods …
I looked around me, trying to take stock of anything I could use to save that kid’s life without sacrificing my own. But the pickings were rather slim: nothing more really than piles of rubble, broken glass, an electronics store, and a little shop of knick-knacks with a wooden sign proclaiming
I knew if I stayed out in the open that it was only a matter of time before one of those zombies at the church saw me. And since the street held nothing useful for me, I slipped into the electronics store, taking care that the little silver bell above the door didn’t jingle as I pushed it open.
For the most part, everything inside was still in order. Computers looked down from shelves at me, reflecting the gloom of the store in their dark monitors; a few adding machines were strewn across the floor and reams of paper had burst open, spilling white, rectangular sheets like abstract throw rugs. I saw a row of televisions and wondered if anyone was still broadcasting, if there was news of exactly how far this thing had spread. But, lacking the time for idle speculation, I eased my way past them and made my way to the back office.
The office consisted of a desk with a 1980s style boom box perched on the corner, a calendar tacked to the wall, and a whiteboard with a list of names, days, and scheduled times scrawled across its surface. There were a few filing cabinets, a phone that the snapped telephone pole on the street made useless, and a door on the opposite side with a little red exit sign above it. Just a standard office. No more, no less.
I slumped into the chair at the desk and swiveled back and forth. I wanted to pound my fists against the wood, to release the energy in my tense muscles with a shout. They would be in that church sooner or later. And here I was, surrounded by useless artifacts. Powerless. Helpless. A would-be hero facing his own limitations and failings.
Lying in front of the boom box was what appeared to be the plastic case for a series of motivational tapes of some sort. They were labeled, in large black letters
An idea flared in my mind like a match striking. I bolted from the chair, grabbed the boom box with both hands and flipped it over. I fumbled with the little plastic covering and finally popped it out. Six D-cell batteries inside. There might be hope yet.
I then ran over to the exit door which had a little sign advising that an alarm would sound if opened. Seeing as how power was gone from this street, however, I didn’t think that would really be much of an issue. Pushing it open, I peeked outside and saw that it lead into a typical alley: brick buildings on either side, dumpsters, graffiti.
Alrighty then, I thought. Let’s pray this works.
Returning to the boom box, I turned the volume knob until it could go no further. Then I slid the three little paddles on the equalizer to the very top of their troughs and depressed the little button labeled
As the words came booming from the speakers, I made for the exit and slipped out into the alley I’d glimpsed earlier. My heart was pounding and adrenaline was surging through my veins like a ruptured water main. But I forced myself to slow down, to walk as softly through the alley as I could and to press myself into the shadows.
In the silence of the town, I could hear the narrator on the tapes almost as clearly as if I were wearing headphones.
“… you have to believe. Now, what exactly do I mean by believe? Isn’t belief a simple matter of…. ”
By the time I got to the mouth of the alley, I could just make out the church in the distance. The zombies were still hammering at the door and walls, still scrambling to gain entrance in any way they could.
“It’s not working.” I thought. “Son of a bitch, it’s not working!”
“… having a conviction from information received from, or derived by, your five senses? Yes and no.”
As I watched however, I saw one of the corpses whip its head back toward the street. It stood there for a moment like a coon hound catching a scent. Others took notice as well and the entire crowd began to slowly turn toward the source of the sound. The thudding on the walls had completely stopped now, which made the words of the motivational speaker even more distinct and clear.
“What I am talking about is belief based on the presumption that you…. ”
Like water bursting through an earthen dam, they spilled out onto the street. A few freshies in the pack led the way, but the rotters straggled after as quickly as their deteriorating muscle would allow.
I pressed myself flat against the alley wall, hoping that the shadows and their single-mindedness would help cloak me from view. I heard them pass with the sound of feet shuffling against concrete, fart-like sounds as gas from rotting organs escaped, scraping and dragging. The smell drifted into the alley like I was downwind from a pig farm after slaughtering day. I held my breath and pinched my nose to keep from gagging on the noxious stench, to keep from giving away my hiding place with a retch.
I heard the breaking of glass, things toppling over with thumps and thuds, and knew they had entered the store. As quickly and quietly as possible I started making my way toward the church, making sure to stay as far from the line of sight of the store as possible. Just in case any of them happened to look out the window at the pillaged street beyond.
Almost halfway there and all I could think was,
Then I noticed that the man on the tape had begun to slur his words, sounding like a drunkard four shots into a binge. The sentences were getting slower and seemed to be dragging.
“Good god, can’t I catch a fuckin’ break?”
It had never occurred to me that the batteries in the boom box might not be fresh. And there had been a whole display out in the front part of the store, too….
