“So tired,” a female voice responded.
“Shit.” I stood. We needed to help them.
“Jessica, NO!” the man screamed, and then, so did Jessica. It pierced the burgeoning night like a train whistle at three in the morning; it sounded like she was being eviscerated.
Her screams were cut short and there was a volley of rifle shots. From the sounds of it, it was the same gun. Then there was a heavy grunt as if something impacted the man, followed by shrieks for mercy as whatever attacked him seemed to start with his most tender bits. I cringed inwardly; my throat was dry and I was terrified. Whatever those things were, if they were zombies, we had now moved on to the fourth or fifth generation of them, as they constantly seemed to evolve.
“Phrito?” John asked, shaking a bag under my nose.
“Don’t move, John,” I told him.
We could hear the wet smacks of many mouths chewing through two bodies. Occasionally, I would swear I could hear them raising up and sniffing at the air. It was a good twenty minutes before they had finished their early evening meal. We could hear them start to move on as the food began to diminish. I had to think of it as food and not as what had been two living, thinking, and breathing beings. That was how one held onto their sanity.
“Are we still being quiet?” John asked, not more than an inch from my ear.
I could smell the funk of Phrito breath as he did so. I couldn’t even begin to think how he had opened that obnoxious wrapper without me hearing it. I had to hope that, if I hadn’t heard it, then neither had whatever was out there.
“Want one?” John asked as he shoved a Phrito into my mouth just when I was about to respond.
I would have cussed him out and maybe given him a shove if I knew where those things outside were. You know how they depict ancient kings being hand-fed grapes? Well, personally, I find that fucking disgusting. I am not going to put anything into my body that someone has JUST touched with their germ-encrusted hands. Did they perhaps just pick a wedgie? Maybe they dug out a golden nose nugget. Maybe their crotch was itchy and they shoved that hand down the front of their pants and scratched away at their sweat-soaked genitalia. Or worse yet, they had just touched an elevator button. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a plague had started here in one of those germ breeding facilities, elevators, if I didn’t make myself abundantly clear.
My wife used to get a kick out of how I would pull my sleeve over my hand before I would depress anything in one of those pulley-driven disease boxes. An untended gas station bathroom was less of a breeding ground. If you still had the internet, I’d tell you to look it up; facts are facts. Fuck, what do I know? Maybe waiters and waitresses are the type of people that don’t believe in washing after using the restroom. Now there’s a disgusting thought! Ever wonder what your food server has been up to as she hands you your water glass, her thumb strategically located inside the glass?
Rest assured, any place you think that hand has been, it has. We’re humans and we’re gross. We all know what we do when we think no one is watching. Supermodel to fast food worker, doesn’t matter, we all have the same parts. So remember that the next time your boyfriend/girlfriend sticks a gross-ass strawberry in your mouth. Okay, that’s worded wrong, I love strawberries, it’s the bacteria-laced fingers I have a problem with.
So when John the Tripper shoved that Phrito in my mouth I could barely concentrate on the deliciousness of the snack, rather, I was more fixated on what else was attached to its main ingredients. Corn didn’t quite sound as good if you added e. coli to the mix.
“Don’t fucking do—” He shoved another one in my mouth.
“Good huh?” he said as he spilled the rest of the bag into his mouth, some sticking in his beard and others falling to the floor. He flipped on the lighter and snatched them up, summarily eating those as well.
I was horrified. I began to smash some of them under my foot. John gripped my leg and was trying to prevent me from coming down on any more of them. As I shifted, he would wet his fingers, placing them to the floor and have the Phrito dust stick to them.
I almost gagged at the sight of it. Hands were already disgusting, but they had nothing over where feet had been. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed.
“I’m hungry,” he said, hurt clear in his tone.
“There’s like ten thousand packs! Get another one!” I was on the verge of shouting.
“You should be more quiet,” he told me as he turned. I saw his feet merrily lift up off the ground when he saw the boxes, like he had just discovered them for the first time. And with John, that probably was the case. “Want one?” John dug into a new box.
“I’m good.”
Our earlier scuffle was apparently all but forgotten—at least for him. Now I was left wondering how long it would take his germs to incubate in my stomach and make me ill. I could only hope I lived long enough to find out.
Jack Walker — A Rabbit Hole
I suppose I should start with a bit of an introduction. I’m Jack Walker and the last survivor of those who fled the planet Krypton. Although the tights are a little snug, I can still leap a mighty tall building. Well, if the wind is right.
Okay, I can’t continue as the tears of laughter are interfering with my ability to see. So, the real story is almost as incredulous. The world changed in the blink of an eye, and I’m one of the few survivors struggling to stay alive in a world filled with night runners and marauders. For those of you who don’t know, night runners are the result of a genetic mutation stemming from a flu vaccine that was supposed to counteract a flu pandemic sweeping across the world. Needless to say, night runners are not on my Christmas card list, nor will they ever be the recipient of the other half of a ‘best friends forever’ bracelet.
As for me, well, I’m just a normal guy trying to survive in a drastically altered world. Having a bit of a military background allows me to keep the pointy end of a carbine aimed in the right direction without sending those around me running for cover. However, with that said, each day brings about new dangers for the small group of survivors I’m with.
Having built a sanctuary in a Cabela’s store, we are still a rung down on the food chain and barely able to keep one step ahead of the quickly adapting night runners. And now, there is this. The world I was in was surreal enough, but now I find myself in one even stranger.
Keep in mind that things have happened in the other world, and some things about me may not make a lot of sense until you find out what went on before.
* * * * * *
Sitting with Robert, Bri, and the rest of Red Team, I listen as they tell various war stories; both recent and past. Although the kitchen crew manages to make quite tasty meals, I barely notice as thoughts race through my head. They are very scattered, with none sticking around for very long before being replaced by another. I glance toward the front door and the daylight pouring in through the entrance windows.
I notice, in an abstract manner, the periphery close in. The gray light filtering in seems to zoom into focus, and I feel myself rush forward into the light as if speeding through a tunnel. The light vanishes.
* * * * * *
Light returns in a flash. It’s not a slow emergence of shadows becoming slowly brighter, it’s instantaneous. One moment I’m eating with my kids and the others of Red Team, the next I’m standing here — wherever here is. The change of scenery is so vastly different; it’s shocking and takes me unawares.
The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, carried on a light breeze blowing against my back. It’s not the friendly scent of wood smoke drifting from cheery fireplaces or wood stoves on a chilled day, it’s the cloying odor of something manufactured, and it permeates the air. The high cloud cover is almost obscured by the thin, dark smoke that is pushed along by the higher winds aloft.