by Stevie Kopas
“I apologized to you once, Mr. Brance. Do you remember? I said I was sorry that you had to drive all the way up to my store since our customer service hold times were too long. You told me to go fuck myself.”
Mr. Brance was on the floor, pissing his pants, clutching his fire poker to his chest.
“I’m s-sorry,” he stammered.
I cocked my head and looked down at him, his eyes wet with tears, his nose dripping snot into his mouth.
“Then you poured your coffee out all over the counter and it nearly ruined the computer. You know who got blamed for it and given a warning? Not you, Mr. Brance, of course not.”
“I’m sorry!” He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut.
“No, you’re not.” I turned to Tim and nodded. “Go on.”
I walked to the staircase — the sounds of Mr. Brance’s screams filling the house. The gurgling that followed as Tim tore out his throat was almost peaceful.
“I’d stay up there for a while if I were you.” I called up the steps before turning back to Tim. The way Mr. Brance’s blood had spattered the hallway walls reminded me of some funky abstract art. “Don’t fill up just yet, Tim,” I reminded my new friend. “We’ve got some more work to do.”
***
The next name on my list, Mrs. Carpenter, unfortunately had to be crossed out. When Tim and I arrived at her old brick home, the front door was barely hanging on its hinges. She was face-up on the dining room floor, a screwdriver in her mutilated hand. She’d tried, but failed, to defend herself against what I assumed was an undead. Remnants of her intestines peeked from the massive hole in her gut and the left side of her skull had been busted in. They’d really gone for the sweet stuff. I crouched down and took a closer look. Her brain had been devoured almost entirely.
Tim and I moved on to number three and were disappointed yet again to find that Mr. and Mrs. Parson were not at home. They’d probably fled town. The house was locked up tight and no vehicles were to be found in the driveway or the garage.
Tim let out an unhappy grunt and I patted him on the shoulder. “I know, I know. I promised you more snacks.”
We hopped back in the truck and finally got lucky with number four: Brendan McAvoy. He was around my age, a real handsome guy with a shit-ton of his father’s money to blow. He had an ego the size of Texas and a killer sports car; clearly he was overcompensating for something. He lived in a gated community of luxury condos on the outskirts of the city. Lucky for us, the gate was wide open, welcoming us in. I would have thought, with heavy-duty gates like those, that the people who lived there would have been smart enough to lock them up tight, but I never said Brendan was smart. His neighbors were probably just as dim-witted as he was.
We drove in circles through the enormous complex for a while, looking for the right condo. I spotted Brendan’s yellow Viper and sure enough, up the walkway just a bit was the exact address I’d been searching for. I parked beside the Viper – a bit too close – and knew I’d need more space to get out. As I backed out of the space to park for a second time, I made sure to scrape the truck’s bumper down the passenger side of the sports car.
Tim let out a grunt that sounded quite similar to a laugh and it made me chuckle.
We headed toward the condo. The complex was eerie and silent, unlike downtown. I knocked three times on the door and waited. No response.
I knocked again and called out, “Special delivery!”
I heard footsteps from within and placed my finger over the peephole as they grew nearer to the front door.
“Who’s out there?” Brendan asked in a vicious whisper. “I’m armed, don’t try breaking in.”
I laughed. “Why would I knock if I had any intention of breaking in, Brendan?”
There was a long pause. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
“You’ve been a long time customer of mine. It’s Trevor Fink. Trevor Fink from—“
“I know who you are,” he cut me off, his voice sounding angrier than before. “Get the fuck off my property before I come out there and shoot you, you piece of shit!”
I looked at Tim again, I really wished he had some other facial expression aside from dumb-shit. His mouth was never quite closed and his eyes never really focused on anything in particular. I just wanted to share a nice eye-roll with my new friend.
“Then come on out, Brendan.” His empty threats didn’t scare me, but I needed him to open the door.
“You fuckin’ asked for it!”
I heard the deadbolt slide out of place and suddenly the heavy door swung open. I was greeted with the wrong end of a rather large pistol. Even when the dead were up and walking around, this guy was still overcompensating. My eyes crossed as I focused on the gun barrel and took a tiny step back.
“What the shit?” Brendan turned the gun on Tim.
“No!” I grasped one of his wrists and yanked hard.
The gun went off, but luckily for Tim I’d acted in time. The bullet entered and exited through Tim’s left thigh. My zombie friend let out an uncomfortable wail and swiftly brought up both hands, wrapping them around Brendan’s throat. Brendan’s eyes went wide as Tim lifted him off the ground and squeezed. I heard him choking, trying desperately to breathe, and I enjoyed the sounds for a moment before I instructed Tim to bring him inside.
The gun fell from Brendan’s hand, clattering at my feet. I picked it up and tucked it into my waistband. I had no idea how to use it, but I could probably figure it out at some point. I closed the front door behind me and followed the choking sounds into the living room. Brendan’s feet kicked and thrashed, he clawed at Tim’s massive hands and I could tell he was close to passing out.
“You can put him down now,” I told Tim, and in an instant, Brendan was on the floor.
He gasped for air and scurried backward, terrified; his throat already showed signs of bruising, his face red as a tomato. He searched the area around him for a weapon.
“Don’t bother,” I said, taking a seat on his expensive couch.
Brendan continued to back away until he was up against the wall, nowhere left to go.
“What do you want?” he said between gasping breaths. “Why are you here?”
“Good question.” I pulled my journal out and flipped to the appropriate entry.
“April 8, 2015: your custom order hadn’t been filled in time. You had to wait three hours and, rather than be understanding and act like a civilized human being, you caused a scene, threw a bunch of shit around, threatened me, cursed me out, and promised that you’d get me fired.”
Brendan stared at me. “Are you a fucking psycho? Who writes this shit down?”
“Wait wait, I’m not done.” I put up a finger. “April 13, 2015: not only did you attempt to get me fired, but you hammed it up with my boss and got real friendly. While you weren’t successful in getting me canned, you did get me written up even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. I thought my word against yours would have been enough, I thought that the cameras showing your little temper tantrum would have saved me. But alas, Brendan, I was placed on a final written warning. All because you’re a fucking spoiled, self-entitled brat.”
Brendan shook his head, laughing. He was still as smug as ever, even in the face of certain death.
“Well, good for you. You’ve brought your little freak with you to teach me a lesson, is that it? Well get it over with then! The whole world’s gone to shit, what the fuck do I care?”
I considered what he’d said for a long time; there was quite the awkward silence filling the condo. I wondered if all the stuff I’d ever seen in movies was true. I mean, it had to be, right? Life had certainly taken a turn for the strange, and, how the hell else would a rapid take-over of flesh-hungry zombies have happened over night? I looked at Tim. I didn’t know how or why, but he hadn’t attacked me. None of the other zombies had either, they just had zero interest in me. The reason didn’t matter, though, what mattered was that I still had luck on my side. If my ass
umption that one simple bite from Tim meant Brendan would turn into a zombie, I figured that was probably a fate he deserved more than a quick death.
“I’m not gonna kill you, Brendan,” I finally announced.
“Then why the hell are you sitting on my fucking sofa? Why the hell is this thing standing in my living room stinking up the place? Are you that much of a loser? You didn’t have any friends to check up on so you decided to swing by my place? What are you, a faggot?”
I frowned— his arrogance was really starting to get to me.
“I don’t think you should be using that word,” I scolded. “Tim, go ahead and take a bite. Just one though, please, okay? I’ve got other plans for Mr. McAvoy.”
Tim looked at me and groaned, then made his move on Brendan. Brendan hollered and pleaded. I clearly wasn’t listening, but I was enjoying myself nonetheless. Tim grabbed him by the throat again and lifted him up, bringing him closer to his open, hungry jaws. He took a satisfying bite out of Brendan’s right shoulder and I could tell Tim was enjoying every second of it, savoring the hot, fresh flesh and blood in his mouth before swallowing it down into his undead belly. Brendan screamed in agony, blood streaming down his chest and arm. Tim tossed him back down to the floor and Brendan stared down at the wound with wide eyes, still screaming at the top of his lungs.
He tried to scurry away like a wounded animal, but Tim gave him a hard kick in the chest. I didn’t even have to tell him to, he just did it. My friend let out a loud growl, causing Brendan’s panicked screams to rise in volume.
“Is Tim gonna have to shut you up, Brendan?” I hollered over his screams. “Take another bite, Timmy.”
As Tim reached out, his fingers barely grazing Brendan’s neck, the screaming turned to whimpers. Tim looked to me for approval, hunger in his dead eyes. I gave him a look of disappointment and shook my head no. He backed away from Brendan and looked down at the floor. It was weird, it was like he was getting smarter. I wondered if I was absolutely fucking nuts — if any of this was really happening or if I’d finally just lost my mind. Looking back and forth between the undead security guard and Brendan Fucking McAvoy bleeding out on the hardwood floor just seemed so surreal to me.
My stomach growled again.
“I haven’t eaten anything all day,” I said to Brendan and Tim. “I’m gonna see what’s in the kitchen.”
***
Brendan had little sustenance in his bizarrely large kitchen; the thing was practically unused. I opened a can of beans and figured I’d heat them up on the stove, but the mere smell of them turned me off. I shut off the stove and left them there, returning to my seat on the couch. Brendan wasn’t moving but I could see he was still breathing. It took him a lot longer to die than I’d hoped it would. I grew bored quickly, staring at the ugliest painting I’d ever seen on the wall. I think I fell asleep, I wasn’t sure. It sure as hell didn’t feel like I’d slept, but before I knew it, the room was pitch black. I looked around as my eyes focused in the darkness and a terrible stench filled my nostrils. When my eyes focused, I could see Brendan crouched before me, just staring. It made me jump in my seat; I wasn’t expecting him to already be in his zombified glory. I’d really hoped to watch as the life left his eyes. I wanted to see what it was like when someone turned.
When I stood up, Brendan stood as well. When I walked to the other side of the room to flip the lights on, he followed behind me. My eyes adjusted to the bright light in the living room and I turned to the zombie behind me. Our eyes met and I could see, though he was just like Tim, there was something different in those eyes, something new. Hatred.
I smiled.
“Time to go, Tim.”
Tim grunted and moved toward me, bumping into Brendan hard, causing him to lose his balance. We left the apartment and started for the car, but instead of just one set of footsteps following behind me, I heard two.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going, dude, but you’re not coming with us,” I called back.
Tim let out a series of grunts that sounded like laughter; he was seriously starting to grow on me. I opened his door and started to help him into the truck, but he didn’t need the help this time. He even shut the door on his own. Brendan stood there on the sidewalk, staring at his car.
“Yeah, sorry not sorry about the damage and all. I don’t think you’ll be driving that again anytime soon anyway.”
He looked up at me and growled, that hatred still burning brightly in his eyes.
“Take it easy, Brendan. I’m sure you’ll find something to eat if you look hard enough.” I got into the truck and started her up, backing out and shifting into drive. I rolled down the window and called out to Brendan once more. “If you start heading toward the city, you’ll probably make it by morning. There’s still a ton of living people down there. Just try to protect your head.”
I smiled and gave Brendan the finger before speeding off into the night.
***
Number five on my list was easy, almost so easy that it wasn’t enjoyable. Mr. Kerrin was an old, miserable bastard that made it a point to tell me I was what was wrong with my generation every time he came into my store. He made sure to give me all of his opinions and remind me that he thought it was only right that I listened because that was what I was getting paid for, even when those opinions were laced with racism and bigotry. Every time he saw me he’d make sure and remind me what a loser I was, what a disappointment I must be to my parents.
“Well, Mr. Kerrin, it seems that you’re the disappointment this evening, aren’t you?” I’d told him, standing over his trembling body in the kitchen of his filthy home, a puddle of piss forming on the floor around him.
I enjoyed placing a foot on his chest to hold him still as Tim disemboweled him, making sure to eat what he could of Mr. Kerrin’s organs right before his own horrified eyes. Mr. Kerrin finally died — or passed out, I couldn’t tell — before Tim was finished. Tim snapped his neck so he wouldn’t turn and we left the miserable, old fuck there, moving on to number six. Nobody was home, so once again we hit the road.
By the time Tim had torn into lucky number seven’s throat, the simple sound of Kimberly Draft choking on her own blood was starting to bore me. I watched on as Tim pulled muscle from bone, slurping and chewing, making a complete mess of the woman, and realized that just the simple act of Tim gorging himself like this was making me jealous. I was so hungry, but the thought of food was grossing me out. I kept thinking of those beans sitting on Brendan’s stove and every time I pictured them in my head it nauseated me. Was I stressed? Was I sick? I usually had the appetite of an elephant.
Tim looked up at me once his thirst for blood had been quenched; his face was stained and bits of Miss Draft still clung to his lips.
“You ought to wash your face, buddy.” I pointed to the hall and nodded. “There’s probably a bathroom down that way.”
Tim got up and headed off in the direction I pointed. I followed him and watched in awe as he actually did clean his face. Maybe being around me was making him smarter. Maybe it was just a part of whatever this whole zombie thing was, and the longer you were undead the more you started to act like a human again. Whatever the reason, I liked the outcome. I liked what Tim was becoming. He was less of a zombie now and more of an actual companion.
I was finally starting to feel something as we drove through the suburbs, the early light of dawn breaking across the sky: excitement. Number eight held a special place on my list. He was my boss. He lived in a newly built home on the far end of town that was probably about twenty times the size of my pathetic apartment in the city. The porch light was on when we pulled up, and two cars were in the driveway; he and the wife were both home.
As Tim and I walked up the paved drive, we noticed lights on toward the back of the house as well. We crept along the side of the enormous home and I put a hand up, motioning for Tim to stay where he was. I continued on without my friend and peeked around into the fenceless yard. My boss s
tood off to the side near a row of perfectly trimmed hedges, his head resting on his hands atop the handle of a shovel sticking straight up from the ground. I studied the earth around him and realized he stood beside a fresh grave. My only guess was that he’d just buried his wife; a shame really, she was a nice lady, deserved a lot better than the uptight prude that she’d married. My curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to reveal myself. Tim was still hidden around the corner. If I ran into any trouble, I knew he’d come to the rescue.
Mr. Bauman must have heard me shuffling through the grass because he looked up, startled.
“Trevor?” His eyebrows drew together when he spoke my name. “What on earth are you doing here?”
I shrugged in response and stopped just a few feet from him, pointing down at his feet.
“What’s this all about?” I asked.
His eyes grew sad and he looked down. “My wife,” he said, “she was bitten by one of those… creatures.”
“Did she become one of them?”
He looked up at me and shook his head. “I held her hand until she died. Took care of things before she had the chance to come back.”
His eyes glistened, I could tell the tears were coming.
“You look terrible, Trevor.” He looked me up and down. “You smell even worse. You shouldn’t be here. The whole city is falling apart. You should try to find the safe zone, they’ve got an evacuation route set up.”
“Safe zone? I doubt there’s anything safe about it.” I cocked my head and noticed he was staring at something. I brought my hand up to my waistband and placed it on the gun I’d taken from Brendan’s.
“Where’d you get that? I never took you as the firearm type.”
“Found it.”
He nodded, pursing his lips. “I think you need to leave, Trevor.”
“Why? Not feeling like company, Mr. Bauman?”
He took a step back, looking past me; Tim had emerged from the shadows and stepped into the yard. Rather than appearing scared or surprised, Mr. Bauman was quite calm. So calm, that it caught me off guard when he lunged forward and swiped Brendan’s gun from me. He knocked me to the grass and raised the weapon, pointing it straight at Tim’s head.