by Howard, Bill
"Alright." I said, "But let’s go slowly . . . "
The three of us started up the steps with our hands raised; the last thing we needed was to be shot dead by other non-infected people. Just as our heads barely got in the clear, we heard a massive crash from the west, further down Front Street. It sounded like glass breaking and metal clanging, but on a very large scale, like a construction site accident. We froze in our tracks, and the soldiers did the same. Their guns rose to attention, sights aligned with well-trained eyes. The tank hit an abrupt stop as well, tossing some pavement chunks into the air in front of the treads as it lurched forward and then settled back. We were all waiting, and it was so quiet you could hear army-issue boots shifting in road gravel. Then the sound reached our ears and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. A din, a unified noise of many separate noises. I squinted and looked down Front Street, trying to make out something, anything. All I could see was the familiar haze of heat rising from the hot blacktop. Then, within the haze, something moved; at first, in the dead center of the air distortion, then straight across the entire road. The sound grew louder. It was the sound of voices, except that they were random, like animals grunting and groaning, instead of words. After another 30 seconds that felt like hours, they were finally visible. There must have been thousands of people, of all sizes, shapes and races. There was a lot of colour, bright clothing, hats, capes, and jackets. Large cardboard things hung on their backs. They held staffs and wore helmets. Then my eye caught a familiar sight. A Stormtrooper? Then another. Batman? Was I at some point hit on the head with something a blunt object? The call echoed out in the street from the soldiers' radios, who braced themselves and repositioned, readied, and re-aimed their weapons. As the mob grew closer, it was an all-too-familiar sight. The science fiction/comic/horror convention was happening that day, and the geeks came out in droves. All of them. Infected. And all looking for something to kill. I spun around to Thom and Isabel, and with my eyes as unintentionally wide as they could go, motioned for them to go back down the stairwell, but they were one step ahead of me and already moving. As we turned our backs and ran, the loud firecracker popping of machine gun fire erupted in the street above, followed by a large boom that rattled debris from the ceiling above us. We ran back to the gift shop, but stopped short. We all looked at each other with the same thought in our heads. Did we really want to be stuck in a shop with no back door with thousands of those things behind us? We scrambled around looking for alternatives. After a few seconds of searching, Isabel found a door marked Maintenance, and it seemed to have a slightly bent doorknob that prevented it from closing securely. We looked inside to see a long tunnel with industrial lighting along the walls. We decided to take our chances in there; at least it might lead somewhere and although there may be some of those things in there, it was doubtful there were thousands. Thom and I heaved on the door once inside, forcing it shut and turning the automatic lock to click into place, popping the push bar back out on our side. We began a quick trot down the dirty hallway for a few minutes until we reached an arched metal door with a lever handle. Above the door, an old, rusted sign read 'Sewer Access'. I raised my eyebrows and looked at my two travelling companions. Thom shrugged as if to say, 'after you, kind sir'. I cranked the lever and opened the door, which produced a high-pitched squeal that made the three of us wince. Inside the door, there was a hole in the metal floor, and a steel rung ladder descended into an area that gave off the least alluring aroma I have ever encountered. I stepped onto the first rung and prayed silently that I wasn't leading us into our final resting place. I might die trying to get home, but I didn't want it to be in a sewer.
CHAPTER 7:
THE SUMMER OF RECEPTIONS
The summer of 1999 was full of weddings, the first of which was the marriage of Patrick and Diane. It had been a relatively short engagement, and the wedding was in May of that year. Diane had been busy making last minute plans for the ceremony, but we still found time to hang out and relax a little, something she may have needed more than I could know. About a week before the wedding, Diane and I were in my apartment watching TV, relaxing, and having our usual philosophical discussions about life. Out of nowhere Diane came out with a question that really knocked me on my ass.
"Should I go ahead with the wedding?"
I was taken aback; I didn't know how to respond to that. I had known Patrick for much longer than I knew Diane, and in the past I knew him to be a bit of a philanderer, but he was generally a good guy. As time marched on, I had become much closer to Diane than I ever was to Patrick. I didn't know where to put my conflicting loyalties. Did I think she should marry him? I didn't know. I assumed everything was good between them, but I didn't know for sure. The fact that she was asking me this was an indication that maybe all was not as good as it seemed. I told her that it was her decision and that I couldn't really tell her what to do either way. Needless to say, she went ahead with it.
The wedding was a small and strange affair. Aside from Patrick and Diane, I was there as the best man, and Diane's sister Marla was the maid of honour. No one else was there. No family was invited; the church was empty. At the time I thought it was strange, but I quickly shrugged it off. They went on their honeymoon to a resort in Mexico, but they didn’t seem to act as couples usually do after a romantic honeymoon; they just acted as if they had already been married forever, with none of the usual 'new marriage' excitement.
As the summer went on, Diane and I continued to hang out a lot; nothing really changed between us after the marriage. During that summer of matrimony, we went to a total of four more weddings. The night of the fourth wedding, after the ceremony, Diane seemed to have come down with something and had decided to opt out of the reception and head home. Before the reception, the rest of us went back to the apartment building, and I decided to bring her over a book, Clive Barker's Thief of Always, and a can of chicken noodle soup, and then I left with the others to head to the reception.
I didn’t find the reception was as much fun as usual, mostly due to Diane's absence. There was joking, drinking, and all-around fun, but I found myself sitting alone for a good part of the night, wondering if Diane was okay. The party ended late, and we didn't get back to the Brock until about 2 a.m. I waved goodbye to Patrick and went into my apartment. Thom was still out with some friends of his so I had the place to myself and it was eerily quiet. I slumped onto the couch and clicked on the TV, and through very lazy eyes, took in an episode of Law & Order. As my eyelids became heavier and heavier, through the weariness of my vision I saw a book on the table in front of me. I forced my eyelids back open and tried to focus. It was the Thief of Always that I had just lent to Diane earlier in the evening. I smiled; she must have felt well enough at some point to make the effort to bring it back to my apartment, which was great. I picked up the book, shut off the TV, and headed to my beckoning bed. Once I was in my room, I reached over to put the book on my dresser when I noticed a wad of paper hanging out of the book, sandwiched between the pages. I didn't remember leaving anything in the book when I brought it to Diane, so I grasped the paper and pulled it out. It was sketchpad paper, folded over several times. I unfolded it and glanced at the first line handwritten on the note:
First of all, I love you with all my heart.
I stopped and looked up into nothing. My heart jumped and I was instantly panicked. I looked around the room to see if I was being watched--which was ridiculous, I know--but it seemed logical at the time. Was this some sort of joke? I opened the note back up and continued to read.
The note went on to say that she had realized that she shouldn’t have gone through with her marriage, that she had known all along that it was a mistake, but had given in to pressure from herself as well as both of the families involved. She said the reason there were no family members invited to the wedding was really just to minimize the importance of the day in her own mind. She also said the honeymoon was horrible and her and Patrick had fought the
entire time, and that she had cried during the entire flight home. She had just recently admitted to herself that she was really in love with me, but that it was not the reason for the second thoughts about her marriage. The thoughts just happened to come to light at the same time. I really couldn't believe what I was reading, but at the same time, a switch flicked on inside my head and I finally admitted to myself that I felt the same way about her. I stayed up that entire night, reading the note over and over again. The next day at work, on my lunch break, I picked up the phone to call Diane. I had to let her know I felt the same way, and that we would get through this mess together.
CHAPTER 8:
THE SEWER THE BETTER
We had been walking through the downtown sewer system for about an hour when I came to the realization that, although it was disgusting down there, it wasn't as bad as I would have anticipated. Most of the time we were trudging through about 5 inches of brown water, and we had haphazardly figured out how to go approximately east. Of course, the sewer system didn’t always want to go east, but we managed as best we could to stay the course. We hadn't had the forethought or planning opportunity to gather much of a stash for our trek, but we did manage to grab some bottled water and snack food from the gift shop. Occasionally during our trek, we found an alcove or platform that was less disgusting than the rest, and sat to drink and eat. We had travelled about five hours when, through the democratic process of voting, we decided to take a look above ground. We walked until we found the first ladder and pinhole of light from above, and ascended to the surface. As the first one up, I had to brace my shoulder against the deceivingly heavy manhole cover to pop it open. Once raised, I slid it to one side and peered very slowly above, hoping that my head would stay joined to my body for at least a little while longer. We seemed to be in the middle of an industrial area, which I guess was a good thing, because there didn’t seem to be anyone around, infected or otherwise. I motioned for Thom to come up, and I pulled myself out of the hole and onto the pavement. My wet shoes sloshed against the ground, smacking the pavement like a fish hitting a dock. I stood upright and took notice of the surroundings, surveying the area, as it were. Thom and Isabel came up after me, their soaked footwear imitating the sounds of mine. There was a warehouse right in front of us, some sort of packing plant, and an industrial business complex on the opposite side of the road. Aside from those two buildings there didn't seem to be anything around, just roads pulling away in each direction into farmlands. A few vehicles were scattered in the roadways, including an overturned pickup truck, but none appeared to have anyone in them. I figured there was a good chance we could salvage one of the cars and maybe make some good time getting home this morning. We walked guardedly into the open road towards a silver Rav-4 that was just off the road and up onto the grass across the street. The passenger door was open. Thom grabbed a metal signpost that was lying on the side of the road, and nodded to me as if to say he had my back. I approached the door, set my hand on the outside of it and, edging my way over, craned my neck to look inside. The front seat was empty. I moved onto the seat, and raised my head up over the headrest to get a glimpse into the back seat. There was nothing there either. Thom moved around to the back of the SUV and looked in the rear window to the storage area, and signaled that it was clear. I spun forward in the seat and shimmied over to the drivers' side, reaching for the ignition. Now ordinarily this would be the part in the movie when the victims realize there are no keys and they have no hope of escaping. Thank Christ this was not a movie. The keys dangled from the ignition, a large metal AC/DC keychain on it that was so heavy and jagged that I'm sure it wouldn’t make it through an airport security check. I turned the key, hoping for some noise, and noise it made. It turned over in one try; it purred even. Thom and Isabel smiled, I think for the first time since all this started. They hopped in, Thom in the passenger seat and Isabel in the back, and slammed their doors simultaneously. I put the Rav in drive and started to hit the gas, but stopped. I turned to Thom, puzzled.
"Umm, which way do we go?"
We all burst out laughing, and after a second or two, it became raucous laughter, more of a nervous laugh than anything else, but satisfying nonetheless. As we recovered from our laugh fest, Thom pointed out the windshield towards the east, but as I looked at his face, I wondered why picking a direction caused such a sudden cessation of his laughter and smile? My eyes followed his arm out from his body, past his hand and finger, and into the road ahead. Standing in the middle of the road about 50 yards ahead of us were three figures. None of them moved except for a visible rising and falling of their chests with heavy breathing. They did not look well; their faces were dark, stained. Their clothes were stained too. Isabel leaned into the front seat right beside my ear.
"Reverse." She whispered, as if they might hear.
I shifted the car into reverse and looked over my shoulder. Past Isabel and into the road behind us, there were about 10-15 more people running out from behind the industrial complex and towards our car. My expression must have changed drastically; I might even have let out some sort of yell, because both Thom and Isabel jumped in their seats and looked back. Before I even had time to move my head back forward, I heard loud, low barks from either side of the car. We seemed to be a beacon, drawing out every infected thing within miles. Looking to the front again, the original three were now joined by about 13 more, and all running towards us. Thom and Isabel were both yelling “GO GO GO” at the top of their lungs. I slammed the car into drive and hit the gas so hard I thought my foot was going to go through the floor. The Rav-4 lurched forward, dirt from the road spraying up behind us as we bolted forward. The grill of the car made contact with the first infected person after about 10 yards, and to this day I will never forget the sick thud and the splatting sound that echoed through the car as it got bent over the hood and its head hit the windshield full force, shattering like a melon. With my foot glued to the floor, we ran over, clipped, and smacked more infected beings, covering the car with a dark red and yellow sludge. A few tried to grab and hang on to the car, but the roughness of the road bumped most of them off. One had a particularly strong hold of the luggage rails on the roof, and when we swerved, its head hit Isabel's window and shattered into a million crystalline cubes. Oddly enough, that didn’t cause him to let go. Quite the contrary, he reached into the window and grabbed a handful of Isabel's short hair. Isabel screamed with a piercing cry of pain as the strength of her hair roots was tested. She was yanked towards the window, her head slightly hanging out of the car as the thing tried to adjust its grip. Thom had spun around almost instantly and was reaching over his headrest in an attempt to pry the things fingers off. As we sped along at 80 km/hr, I noticed out of Thom's side mirror that not one, but two more infected were actually climbing over the first one’s body to get to the car, their feet dragging in the dirt alongside the car. I yelled to Thom.
"Two more climbing up the first one!"
Thom looked at me quickly.
"Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Shit!"
Thom turned his attention back to Isabel, whose shoulders were now outside of the car window. One of her hands was clawing at the thing’s face, the other wrapped up in the middle seatbelt, her arm turning white from the pressure. Thom spun back around into the front, looking around frantically. He reached all over the car, in the glove box, under the seat. His hand came back up from under the seat with a large, red metal security club. He fleetingly smiled at me and turned back towards Isabel and her chain of zombies. As Thom turned to face the thing, its head was rearing back, its jaw opening so wide it seemed it might swallow the entire car. He jumped on the chance and shoved the club straight out like a sword into the its mouth. The other two things’ heads were now visible over each shoulder of the first one, yellow bile foaming out of their mouths. The club sunk deep into the infected thing’s throat, almost poking right through to the back of the neck were it not for a spine blocking the way. The thing gagged a horrible g
ag, yellow and red spray gushing out from its oral cavity. It almost seemed like slow motion as its fingers opened up on Isabel's scalp, which was now bleeding down her forehead and streaking her face. The hand finally released its grasp of her scalp and the three gruesome, wet, screaming faces flew away from the car like a whip being cracked. Isabel slumped back into her seat, her left arm finally free to be loosened from the seatbelt. Thom leaned between the seats halfway into the back and grabbed her face.
"Are you okay? Isabel, are you okay?" his voice trembled.
Isabel's eyes fluttered then came to rest on Thom's face. Her features began to relax and her body calm.
"Yes. I'm okay. Thank you."
Thom slumped down, almost lying between the seats and let out a huge breath. I did the same and then checked all the mirrors around the car. All seemed clear. For now. The only thing that lay ahead of us now was a long country road with nothing on it, which seemed a little strange all things considered.
CHAPTER 9:
THOMAS RICHARD WASHINGTON
Thomas Richard Washington was born in Flushing, New York in 1974. At the age of six, his parents moved to Pickering, Ontario due to an illness of his father’s. Thom's mother was Canadian, so it made sense to move to Canada to be with his mother's family, who could help take care of his father.
Thom's teenage years were rough. He got into some trouble with the law after getting involved with some delinquent friends, and when at 15, he lost his father to cancer, he had a hard time dealing with the loss. After a near-death incident involving a stolen car at age 16, Thom had a wakeup call and started to get his life together. He dropped the criminal activity, went back to school, and took care of his mother as she tried valiantly to support them both. After high school, Thom went to university and studied music production, which he graduated with honours.