When The Light Goes Out

by Jack Thompson

  I forced my arm out with more strength then I should have had, given the fall I'd just taken. As my right arm, with the chain, finished extending fully, I heard a sickening snap. I felt no pain, but figured that the adrenaline pumping through my system would have prevented my acknowledging it anyway. I stared into a sea of bloody blue, as I put my whole body into the movement of the chain, swinging it at whatever it may hit with all my might as dripping teeth grew closer to me.

  A second disgusting crack was apparent as I sealed my eyes, hoping to protect myself somehow. From blood getting in my eyes. From the sight of (hopefully) twice dead beauty. I didn't know. I didn't care. All that mattered was the form quickly weighing me down. However there was no pain. No teeth ripping into flesh. No blood pouring from newly torn flesh. No cannibalism. Just fear, and discomfort.

  Why wasn't she biting me?

  Why wasn't she trying to kill me? Why was there no pain?

  I took a chance, opening my eyes. For all I knew she realized my eyes were closed, and was merely waiting for me to open them, so she could enjoy the notion that I was completely aware of her devouring my flesh while she feasted. But she was laying there. Head hanging over my shoulder, forehead probably resting on the cement walkway. It was disconcerting.

  Was she dead? Re-dead, as the truth stood. Was she playing a trick on me? Could zombies play tricks? I didn't know, and really needed to stop asking questions. Laying there under one of the coffin stuffers would probably end up drawing attention real soon. I didn't think that was a very good idea, at all. At all. I didn't want to be eaten. I really didn't.

  When she didn't move, I shifted a little, eventually pushing her off of me as far as I was physically capable of pushing her. Which, considering, was only about enough to get my arms free. I forced my hands under her, pushing every dirty remark my brother would have pulled up from my mind, as I pushed her up from her chest, rolling her over. It was the offered sight there, that finally sent the nausea to a climax. My stomach to my ankles. My half digested food to the ground.

  I'd broken her neck with the chain. Cracked the esophagus, that was now not only visible, but sticking out of her throat. I doubted it was that, that killed her though. The chain had probably screwed with the brain stem at least I was hoping. That way I'd have proof of how to kill zombies. At least the movies had that much truth.

  "But this isn't the movies.." I choked the words out around bile. Clawing coagulated blood, that definitely wasn't mine, from my face as my eyes watered. I reasoned that it was acid from my stomach, burning at my throat, that was kicking the tear ducts into action. I wasn't upset that I'd killed someone who was about to eat me. That I'd killed a zombie. Who cries over a zombie?

  With that in mind, I pushed the body farther back, with my foot. Essentially kicking the twice dead corpse, but effectively getting her the hell away from me. I had semisolid blood on me, and it was her fault. Her fault. It was her blood. I didn't have a choice but to kill her. I didn't want to, under other circumstances I wouldn't have. But I didn't have a choice. It was her or me, and I chose me.

  Who wouldn't have? I reasoned. Trying to prove to myself, to my conscience, that I wasn't a terrible person. That I wasn't a murderer. Does killing a zombie make you a murderer? A killer? Does it put the proverbial blood on your hands? Would it put you in jail? I hoped not. It was self defense, right? Yeah. It was self defense, and no one could tell me that it wasn't.

  God, I was getting hysterical. Clawing at my face, crying. I'd tried so hard not to cry. There wasn't anything to cry about boy, isn't that a lie? I killed my classmate, mutilated my brother, and more or less destroyed his bike. I was a terrible person, and probably going to die sometime during the quickly darkening night. I didn't want to die, but it was a fate I was willing to resign myself to.

  Everyone dies someday. Everyone.

  No exceptions.

  As much as the thought of death, and whatever came next made my stomach do somersaults, I knew that it just might be my day. I wasn't a fighter. I didn't have inhuman strength. I didn't even have a good weapon. I was sitting there with a blood coated chain wrapped around my hand, trying to hide the tears running down my face. I didn't want anyone to see me crying. I didn't want to look weak. It was not a time to look weak. So I struggled to my feet. Forcing myself to stand up straight, and assess the damage done to me during the fall.

  I winced as the sight of two skinned forearms brought the pain of them to the front of my mind. My jeans, I realized, had a hole ripped in the left knee, where I'd apparently fallen on it. Skidded. Stopped. That leg, too, had a minute amount of blood oozing from it. If I didn't look just like a smorgasbord for the undead, I wasn't sure what would.

  Almost as if the monsters were psychic, ghastly moaning started picking up the moment I thought it. A fist closed around either of my shoulders.

  So I closed my eyes, preparing to die.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I could nearly feel the cold fingers of death wrap around my heart. It felt like an eternity, with the lifeless moaning getting louder, as if they could smell my blood. Maybe they could. I didn't know. I didn't know anything. They probably knew just knew there was a bleeding human being, waiting to be eaten.

  Waiting. Waiting.

  The fingers tightening on my shoulders weren't helping matters much. They were making me nervous. Making me tremble. For a second time, I closed my eyes and prayed the whole situation was a dream. But upon opening them, the sight of a body, barren of eyes and a lower jaw shuffling in my direction was available. The creatures were getting closer. More, and more of them. They were advancing like I never would have expected.

  Finally, my knees gave out, sending my entire body to the floor. However I didn't go crashing, painfully, to the ground as I'd expected to. Instead the hands on my shoulders snapped down to support me, giving me the momentary thought that perhaps it was a living person behind me. Not someone about to practice cannibalism. A living person trying to help me. Trying to comfort me.

  "Are you okay, kid?"

  Oh yes, it most definitely was a human being, slowly lowering me to the ground. He, it had to be a he, was trying to help me. Knowing this, I was able to get past the insult of being called a kid. Maybe I looked like one, standing there in clothes far too big for me. Who knew? I didn't. I didn't care either, as the man moved around to the front of me.

  His eyes, I noticed with refreshing relief, were white and green with little black pupils in the center. I felt I could have kissed him, just for having normal eyes. For a minute there, I swore I was going to as he pushed a little hair from my face. Him, I didn't recognize surprising as it was a rather small community. But I was very happy he was there stranger or not pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. At first I didn't know what he was doing, but he started to wipe the blood on my face.

  "Are you okay?" He asked the question again, his voice deep, and accented. The words came in surprising rhythm, from behind perfectly straight teeth, embedded in a long face, slightly covered with stubble. He, I decided, had to be at least thirty, and English. He certainly wasn't young, but he didn't quite look old either. He had this sort of vitality behind those wonderfully normal eyes.

  Why hadn't he helped me before? I couldn't help but wonder. He was there the second I stood up, so why didn't he help me with the zombie? Was he too without a weapon? A glance about his person showed at least two heavy possibly sharp objects in his left pocket. Maybe a blade of some kind, I didn't know. But I did know that it had to have been more useful then my chain.

  "Regardless," the word broke me out of my thoughts, being spoken when I didn't respond to his question. I could only imagine how frightened I looked, covered in blood, and tears.

  If it hadn't all been cleaned away that is. "We need to get you away from here quick. The blood will be drawing attention we don't want, soon. Real soon. I swear they can smell it. The name's Dustin," a hand extended which I promptly took to pull me to my feet. "Who might you be?"


  I hadn't the voice to answer him as we started moving though. I just blinked, and opened my mouth for a second. No sound, just a little bit of air, before I closed it again, and averted my eyes. He wanted to know who I was. But why did it matter? Who even cared? I was drawing attention from the man-eaters. He was risking his life to help me. Save me. Protect me. And once more, I felt like that little six and a half year old, wanting to sleep in my big brothers bed lest the monsters eat the pie again.

  "It's kind of rude, to consistently call you 'kid', kid. What are you known as? Tell me or I'm going to have to give you a nickname. I'm not good at nicknames!" His eyes sparkled as he tossed the warning back at me. There was no malice, no annoyance in his tone. Just humor. Like he knew I was scared, and was trying to make light of the situation.

  Maybe he was.

  Maybe my fear was obvious. Maybe he was scared too. "Excel."

  "What?" The mans sure steps faltered, when I spoke. Maybe it was the way my voice cracked, or the fact that it was a whisper. Maybe he hadn't even heard me. Maybe he just heard me mumble. It sounded that way even to my ears. "What did you say?"

  "Excel. My name is Excel." "Excel?"

  "Life savings say my parents named me on a bet." "Or drunk."

  "Drunk works too."

  He flashed his pearly whites at me, as he glanced back. Perhaps pleased that I was talking. But, then again, he could have just been amused at the way I started joking. My name was always a bit of an icebreaker. Hell, as a person, in general, I was an icebreaker. Whenever my parents took me places, they used me to break the silence. 'Hey, this is our youngest, Excel.' Always worked pretty well.

  The thought brought on a whole new wave of pain, as I raised a hand to rub my eyes. Would I ever see my parents again? I was going around with some stranger, joking, while my parents could be dying. The thought was gut wrenching . I didn't want my mom, and dad to die. I hadn't seen them in so long. What if my mom got a new haircut, or my dad got promoted? Would I ever find out? They'd been planning on moving to a quiet little house in the country soon. Would they ever be able to? Would they ever live that life?

  Probably not. They were probably dead. My parents didn't fight. Dad didn't own a gun, mom threatened him against bringing one into the house. Guns always scared her having grown up in a bad neighborhood. She was glad to have gotten out, and didn't want any reminders. You didn't need a gun if you were safe, and we the family were safe, she insisted. There was no other answer. You didn't say 'no' to the woman who cooked your meals at night. Not unless you wanted her to spit in the pasta.

  "Are you okay, Excel?" Dustin repeated the question a third time. I hadn't notice him halt his movements. When had we stopped moving? Where had he led me? Why? I looked around, and took a moment to realize where we were.

  The shopping district. Food stores.

  Shoe stores.

  My favorite "acquired taste" shop. Why here?

  "You were slowing down. Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," I whispered. "Just fine." But the look in his eyes revealed me to be a liar. He knew. He even started to open his mouth to protest, one assumes, but paused. He shook his head, turning back around to continue leading me. He hadn't let go of my hand, I realized. Jeeze, things were breaking through that thick skull of mine extra slow. Everything, even those things amazingly simple, were coming in small, sporadic bursts. "Where are we going?"

  "The school."

  "The.. school?" I stared at him. "The college?" "Yeah, you know the place, right?"

  "I attend classes there!" The exclamation seemed to startle him, but he continued walking past the stumble. He just pulled me along behind him in what I saw with a little instruction was the direction of my educational hut. "We can't go there!" Dustin barely glanced back at me, didn't ask me why. I didn't care if he wanted to know why, I was going to tell him anyway. "That's where my brother got it!"

  That was when he stopped walking. But he didn't just do that. He let go of my hand, slowly turning toward me, with a strange look in his eyes. He blinked at me, staring, crossing his arms over his chest. Now he was expecting an answer. Now I had is complete and undivided attention.

  Wonderful.

  Absolutely wonderful. "You're brother?"

  "Yeah, my.. my brother. He" "Attacked you."

  "He didn't mean it. He's my brother, he'd never try to hurt me."

  Oh what a steaming load that one was. In the back of my head, a little voice was insisting that the thing back in my apartment wasn't my brother. It hadn't been my brother since the moment his heart stopped. Slowly, he'd been losing the title as my brother the moment he got sick. Contracted the disease. However you want to say it. He'd stopped. But I couldn't bring myself to actually say it.

  "Yes, Excel, he meant it. Those things don't know anything but food. And it just so happens that the food they know is the likes of you, and me. They're" "Zombies."

  "Quite my thought Excel, but they seem a bit odd from the movies I recall." He sighed before shaking his head again, raising a hand to pat my shoulder. "No matter what they are, they want us for supper, and we need to get to that school. It's where I came from, before I got you. Been visiting. Sorry I couldn't have gotten to you just a bit earlier."

  "It's all right."

  "I guess. You got hurt, but you got off lucky. I was a bit late to save a young lady before. A kid. Saw her get never mind. It's not important, not now. We need to get you to your school." A small, rather weary looking smile rose about Dustin's face as he eased me forward a step. He extended his hand again, which I dually took, and began to walk.

  Somehow, in the back of my mind, I wondered if he had children. He was certainly making me feel like one the way he was leading me along. Now, that's not to say I was complaining. I wouldn't have moved on my own, and was well aware of the fact. As childish as it was, holding his hand just took me off my toes a moment. Calmed me just a little. It made me feel like someone was looking out for me.

  Technically, someone was. Dustin was. Although all I knew was his name, and the color of his features, he was looking out for me. A complete stranger. Something told me he was a foreigner, more or less new to the country, and cursing coming to us. Figures that the Americans would be the end of him, right? He was too kind to be American. Too kind. And his accent was very apparent. He couldn't have lived here long, if really ever.

  "Where are you from Mr. Dustin?"

  "Mister?" There was a chuckle in the voice that questioned the title. Did I mistake his age? Was he younger then how I pinned him? Did the title insult him? I hoped not. I doubted it. He wouldn't be laughing, softly from his throat, if it had.

  "Would you prefer 'Miss'?" I couldn't help the tiny taunt.

  "No one's ever really called me 'Mister' before. Just some of my son's buddies. But even most of them call me Dustin. Just Dustin. Please do the same, Excel. I'm not quite that old yet."

  He did have a child then. Again, there was a pang of guilt, a bit of pain. Was his son in the country? Was he safe? Hurt? Dead? Would Dustin ever see him again? I hoped so. It hurt to imagine never seeing my parents, I didn't want to imagine how it would feel to never again see your child.

  "If that's what you prefer Dustin, but my parents always taught me" "Dustin!"

  I glanced up to see who exactly cut me off. Running toward us was a beautiful woman, with golden hair that fell somewhere about her back. I couldn't tell quite where for sure, with the way it was whipping in the wind. I grew frightened when she drew a pistol, even more so when Dustin rounded on me with a pair of what could only be described as daggers.

  Would they kill me?

  Was the kind hearted conversation during our trip here all a ruse?

  I found no need for fear though, as Dustin practically flung me to the ground behind him, ducking down himself as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. I glanced up just enough to see the torn of up face a man, skin grayed to death, eyes brown and red, fall to the ground. My heart jumped at those eyes, but the m
an wasn't my brother. Wrong hair color, I realized after my breath caught in my throat.

  "Thank you, Mr. Dustin."

  "Are you okay, Excel?" The man responded to my breathless comment with a question. Staring at me before he got to his feet. Lowering his hands to under my arms, he lifted me to my own with barely a breath. Honestly, he looked terrified. But I couldn't blame him, I wasn't anymore fit for calm.

  "I'm all right."

  "Dustin!" It was the lady again, rushing toward us with the gun still in hand. "Dustin, good, you're okay. I told you not to run off, sir. I told you! You could have gotten hurt, you know. Gotten hurt like nothing else, then where would we be? Where would your son be? Eh?! Who's this?"

  I made eye contact with the woman, realizing she couldn't have been much older then myself, maybe twenty five. Probably younger. She had bright blue eyes that seemed to twinkle at me. She was another one that I didn't know. Considering she had an accent even thicker then Dustin's, they had to have come from the same place.

  "Excel, this is Catherine. Catherine, Excel. Please try to get along!"

  "I resent that implication sir!" Catherine snapped at Dustin, before turning a rather charming smile toward me. "Cathy, please. Don't like my name all that much." "Nice to meet you, Cathy."