Valentine drove with the window down. His shaggy copper hair whipped across his face as we soared through deserted roads, weaving between one accident and the next, heading south on residential streets calm and panicked all at once.
Eat’em lay across the dashboard in front of me, poking his tail through the cracked window, watching it bob against wind current like a lure swaying from the bow of a fishing boat.
The cab was reticent. Hope dissipated. The world outside reeled in shock from sudden pestilence. My heart swelled and I fought back the tears, which scratched at the back of my crimson eyes, threatening to make them redder.
“Can we listen to some music?” I asked. “The quiet is going to drive me mad.”
Val clicked on the radio without a word. The omnipresent gods of irony controlled the airwaves today. Down with the Sickness by Disturbed tore into my eardrums, as my uncle’s thousand dollar speakers burst to life.
I turned it off with the same immediacy, but the damage had been done… within seconds, Eat’em began to hum the tune as if the song were still playing. I could almost hear the words “Madness is the gift that has been given to me.” It was the worst song I could think of to get stuck in the pint-size demon’s head.
Dixie still lived in the same apartment. It was the same one she lived in when we met, and the same one I moved into before getting arrested for the homicide of Dr. Reeder. The small single-room domicile wasn’t anything to be excited over before, but in recent history it’d fallen to the destruction of vandalism as much as time. The words “Devil’s Bride” were spray painted across the door in bright red. Windows were cracked, some shattered out completely, spatters of dried egg spotted the side of the building.
“When’s the last time you checked in on her?” I asked Val as we helped Lieutenant Bellecroix up a small set of stairs leading to the front entry.
“A couple weeks ago,” he said.
“And it was like this?” I knocked on the door, overwhelmed with more emotion than I could handle. I was exhausted and saddened, but excited to see my purple-haired beauty.
“Not like this, no,” Val said. “But we haven’t exactly had a large following of fans due to your dumb ass.”
“My dumb ass was trying to prevent this,” I knocked, ready to embrace Dixie the moment she opened the door.
“Good job that,” Val said. “You might as well have jumpstarted it.”
“He was our neighbor for how long?” I said, “You could be like them. You could just as easily have been added to his army of freaks.”
“But I wasn’t.”
I knocked again.
“A little gratitude would be nice,” I said.
“Gratitude?” Val said, “Ha! Okay… How ‘bout, thanks Jacob, great job on ending the world early. Thanks Jacob, life is so much better now I’m one of the most hated men in America. Yeah, telling women I’m related to the famous Jacob Caleb Brook really does a number on their panties.”
“I get it.”
“No, no, no,” he said, “Least of all let me say this! Thanks Jacob, the death of my friends, and teachers, and coworkers is going to do wonders in conjunction with all the hard work I’ve done for the degree I will now never receive, because even if all the great and wonderful things Jacob Brook has done for the world, somehow… by the grace of Jacob, of course… smooths itself over, I’m sure every university nationwide is going to jump through hoops to have me attend their campus. So, pardon me for not expressing my immediate gratitude to you for placating my most deeply desired hopes of being loathed amongst the few survivors of your insipid fantasies of grandeur. Forgive me for not praising your heroics when all I’ve done is put myself and everything I care about at risk protecting you. How could I be so selfish?”
“Dude,” I said. “I’m sorry…”
We stood in silence on my old doorstep for what felt like ages – each of us under one of Bellecroix’s limp arms as the officer drifted in and out of caring about our loving feud.
“I didn’t know, Val,” I said. “I’m just trying to do what’s right.”
“Yeah, well me too.”
Bellecroix mumbled, “I’ve never wanted to die this badly.” To which, Eat’em added, “Amen, yes.”
I knocked one last time before checking the handle.
The door of the Devil’s Bride opened to an unthinkable nightmare. A mosaic of blood and gore strewn about in a physical rendition of madness. Bloody scribbles combined together on the far wall to create a giant collage, which when observed from the front doorway formed a three letter word.
WAR
Are you worried your loved one has succumbed to the Grotesque Infection? Use this quiz to find out:
What color is your loved one’s eyes?
Blue, brown, green, or hazel
Blood red
Jet black
Which activity best fits your loved one?
Play video games or watch television
Play baseball or other sports
Clean obsessively
Whose your loved one’s favorite philosopher
They don’t care about philosophy
Wilhelm Godfried Leibniz
All of them
Describe your loved one’s complexion:
Old and wrinkled
Young and smooth
It’s like something is living under their skin
Red and covered in quills
What did your loved one eat for lunch
A sandwich
Three energy drinks and some antacids
Another loved one
ANSWER KEY:
If the answer to any of these questions is C there’s a good chance your loved one has been infected. If you circled C more than once, you should probably consider leaving their presence as soon as humanly possible. If the answer to number 5 was C, you should call the proper authorities regardless; there is definitely something wrong with your loved one. Seriously.
Chase Webster was born in Germany and grew up across the United States. He wrote for the Shorthorn Newspaper and is the author of LA Fisher and Eat’em. He is currently an Airman in the US Air Force and specializes in munitions storage and maintenance. Recently he served in Operation Enduring Freedom.
Chase lives in Texas with his wife Ornanik “Nikki” Webster (Bug), his daughter Olivia “Little” Webster (Monkey), and their dog Hershel Thibodeaux “Tibby” Bellecroix (Bubba).
SURVIVAL NOTES:
Table of Contents
Prologue
CHAPTER 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
In Memoriam
Coming Soon
Chase Webster, Eat'em
Eat'em Page 22