When The Light Goes Out

by Jack Thompson

  Stubborn man.

  "At a time like this, no it wasn't Dustin." He looked at me oddly for this statement. He seemed to want me to explain, so I continued. "I don't care what the circumstances are. I don't care if he's ten years older then me, or twenty, or one hundred. These are hard times. These are going to remain hard times. Him keeping such valuable secrets isn't going to make life easier on any of us."

  "But"

  "Listen to me Dustin, please. Listen to me. I know that you're older than I am. You're a father. I'm nowhere close to being ready for parenthood. So you've already got that much on me. But that doesn't matter. You've pretty much been straight forward with me from the start. Unless you want to confess that you've lied, terribly so, somewhere along the way, and I'll be forced to go at your eyes with sporks while you sleep."

  I smiled a bit, as this gained a chuckle from him. However I wouldn't tell him that I was relieved he shook his head, in the negative, at the request of his confession. It meant either he hadn't lied, or he was planning on getting himself in pretty deep.

  For my own sake, I went with the former.

  "I don't see how he has an excuse for lying. I don't" "Technically he didn't lie."

  "Technically zombies are humans too."

  That shut him up.

  "I won't deny him his rights. I won't say he has to tell us when he's going to go take a whiz, however at a time like this with man eating monsters around one would consider it common courtesy. I can't help feeling that a little trust would be nice. Don't you think? I don't really want to be traveling around with a guy who's not going to be helpful to us."

  After a moment of staring, Dustin knocked my head, and started pulling me along to the group. Which was a bit of a relief. At least he wasn't feeling too horrible about himself. That was all I could really think about. I'd pretty much succeeded in cheering him up, even if it hadn't worked one hundred percent.

  Why was I worried about his happiness?

  How could I expect him to by happy with such pressing matters?

  Why was I asking myself questions I obviously didn't know the answers to? "Feeling better?"

  I glanced over at Ian who was giving me such a funny look that I couldn't help but wonder who slipped him the joy juice. Honestly. He had an utterly lopsided grin, like the muscles in his face decided that left was so sexy that it just needed to be the new up. One of his eyes was partially closed the sort of 'someone just decked me' closed as oppose to the

  'I'm going to twitch the muscles about my eye socket to see how people react' closed. The look really wasn't him in my completely honest, however brutal, opinion.

  "Dude, you swallowed a lemon, or what?" "Funny much."

  "Well you look a bit off." I paused to step forward, resting a hand on his elbow for a small moment. "What's up?" "Blaz."

  "What about"

  "The old man swatted him one on the ass!" Came flying from Pixie's chocolate covered mouth before the chess dweeb had a chance to explain. His eyes, then, narrowed considerably. Glaring supposed death at the child who probably had more of an idea of what she was doing then I was willing to give her credit for.

  "Calm down Ian." Was what I managed. "She knows not what she does."

  "Bull. She knows perfectly well what she does, she's just using her small stature to warp your fragile mind." I laughed.

  He was probably perfectly right. "I know, Ian."

  "Then why"

  "She doesn't know that we know. Now does she." I didn't say it as a question. "Touche."

  "Eaten yet?"

  "Not much of an appetite." "Me neither."

  And the two of us proceeded to stare. At one another. Away from each other. At shelves, and far walls, and other people. I was unable to look him in the eyes for one reason or another. Perhaps it was the realization that we were actually thinking the same exact thing.

  I knew we were.

  There was no doubt in my mind.

  "It's hard to think of eating with zombies popping up every which way, isn't it?" Ian beat me to the question, so I settled on just nodding my head.

  At least I was right in the fact that we were thinking the same thing. The thought of eating made me rather sick to my stomach. The smell of meat still roasting on the grill made me wonder if that could possibly be drawing the coffin stuffers to us. Nodding my head a second time, I decided that it was food for thought if you'll forgive the pun.

  "Dammit."

  I was startled from my thoughts by the word, and turned my head to a rather distressed looking Ian. "Dammit."

  "Ian?" I suppressed the urge to warn him that he was using my line. "How did this happen?"

  "I've only been asking that question, without getting a single answer, since this entire thing started." I sighed then, and sort of urged him into a walk by his elbow. Thinking of

  Dustin, I didn't lead the boy too far away, just far enough away for a little privacy. "It's hard, isn't it?" "Are we thinking of the same thing here?"

  "It's hard not knowing what the hell's going on." "Yeah."

  "I hate this just as much as you do, trust me. I never asked for this to happen. You never did. I'm not so sure anyone did. But it happened. And we may never figure out why. All I

  know is that we have to deal with it, somehow." "How?"

  "I don't know." I paused. "I really don't."

  I didn't like standing there in total silence, looking at the boys feet because there was nothing better to do. I didn't know what would be appropriate, or appreciated. It wasn't my job to figure out what this boy wanted, or needed, as much as I wanted to. I wanted to help him. I wanted to cheer him up. I wanted him to stop looking as if someone just ran his puppy over with a tank.

  I momentarily considered hugging him, but pushed that thought away quickly. It probably wasn't what he wanted. Sympathy. Honestly, who wants sympathy, given they aren't attention whores? I've never met someone who wanted people to feel bad for them. I certainly didn't like it when people felt bad for me. I made it known often enough.

  But what else was there to do in such a confusing situation? Normally I would have told him to go get a girlfriend, but that probably wouldn't have been taken well. Even said as a joke. The last thing I wanted was to insult an ally.

  Speaking of which, I'd probably done so with Blaz. I didn't want to admit it, but he was indeed an ally. Unless of course he was fighting on the side of the living dead. And as interesting as that notion was, I knew it wasn't very likely. Hell, it wasn't even a little likely. It just wasn't probable at all. It was a stupid idea. It was frightening. I didn't even want to think about it.

  But I had thought about it, so naturally it just wouldn't leave my head, and kept running circles. Damn.

  Damn.

  "Think we'll make it?"

  "Pardon?" I looked up at Ian who looked positively downtrodden. Poor kid. "What do you mean?" "This. Do you think we'll make it out of this?"

  "This as in.."

  "Forgot that there were zombies invading or something?"

  "No. No. Just making sure." We were silent again, but only for a short while. "No." "What?"

  "In all honesty.. No. I don't think we'll make it. I'm quite convinced that we'll all end up dead if you want me to tell the truth."

  "Then I'm not the only one." "No. No you're not."

  Our conversation was sporadic from there. Stopping and starting at unmeasured intervals. Basically following the thought process of us dying. How we might die. It only came up once, the request, "If I get bitten, I want you to kill me." But it was enough to make me realize exactly how real the danger was, all over again.

  It made me think of our missing comrade.

  "Do you think Malachi's okay?" I asked after staring at the boy, unable to read the expression on his face. He did look rather upset. Scratch that. He looked extremely upset. "Do you think he may have survived whatever happened back there?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "He was strong, Ian. He was very strong. And he see
med to know what he was doing for one stupid reason or another. He never fumbled. Not once." "I know, Excel. But I'm not sure. It doesn't matter how strong, or skilled you are. Those monsters kill regardless of status, if you haven't noticed yet." "But could he have gotten away?"

  "We got away."

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  Brown eyes rested on me for a moment, as the boy ran his hand through his honey locks. I personally thought he was considering what he should say. But as far as I knew for sure he was trying to figure out which way led to the portable electronic games.

  "He was way more skilled then we were, and we survived. No?"

  "Mmhmm.." I made the affirmative noise in the back of my throat, trying to follow his train of thought.

  "If we, completely unskilled, scared, and otherwise useless kids managed to survive a surprise attack without any weapons, then he with his two guns could be just fine right now. I think there's a very good chance that he made it out okay. A very, very good chance."

  Ian's thought process certainly made sense to me then. Thinking of it that way, I actually agreed with him. We two fools managed to make it out alive, so Malachi was probably perfectly safe. And I still didn't know why I was worried about him. I still didn't understand why I wanted him back with us.

  No.

  I'm lying.

  I did know why I wanted him back with us.

  Malachi was a cruel, selfabsorbed, bastard who would probably sell his own mother if he needed to. But he made me feel incredibly safe while I was with him. Part of me wondered if he knew. Part of me absolutely doubted that he knew. Part of me didn't care if he did or not. He was mean. He threatened to kill me. But I was very sure that he wouldn't let my fate fall to the hands, and teeth, of the vicious man eaters at least if it wasn't by his doing.

  He was mean, cruel, and self centered but apparently, even to him, a life was a life. No amount of badgering could have gotten me to jump out a window, to save someone I didn't know from a group of zombies, if I didn't want to myself. So I couldn't bring myself to honestly believe he'd let anyone die (without purpose, perhaps) in such a horrid way. Not me, not anyone else. I just couldn't think of anyone quite that horrible. Outside of the cinema I mean. Once in those theaters, all bets were off, and there was no positive answer until the very end.

  "I'm worried about him too, Excel." It was encouraging to know.

  "Given he's alive, what do you think he's doing right now?" I couldn't help the question, and grinned over at the boy, working with a more positive train of thought. He was alive, and he was up to something. But, of everything he could be doing, what?

  "Getting laid." I sputtered.

  "Hey, it's what I'd be doing!" Ian called defensively when he saw the look on my face an expression of shock mixed horror. More so at the fact that he admitted such a thing then the action he spoke of.

  "Don't want to die a virgin?" "Look who's talking."

  I sputtered again, this time glaring. I had half a mind to attack the boy, but restrained myself. The negative thoughts, and mean plans weren't helping anyone. Not my allies, not myself. But I swung an open palm at his shoulder regardless smacking him as soundly as I could without hurting him.

  Bastard cringed anyway. "Wimp."

  "You hit hard." "Girly man." "You hit hard!" "Weakling."

  "Cut out the Terminator accent already!" Ah, finally he noticed.

  The terrible accent was one that I could see surviving for centuries. It was just that bad, and perfect for lightening up the most dismal situations. I could clearly remember hearing it used over, and over again during various problems, and could recognize it in a heartbeat, although I'd never seen any of the movies. They were just so old. With the newest special effects, I wasn't so sure I could stomach them.

  "But it's so appropria-"

  "No it's not, stop lying to yourself, Excel."

  I laughed then, and more or less slid down the shelf to the floor. Not so sure what else I could do. I had three choices. Go back to the group, wander away, or do exactly as I was. I

  just happened to follow my choice by leaning against Ian's legs, with the smallest sigh I could manage. "When'd life get so hard?"

  "When cannibalism became the new fad."

  "Pleasant." I couldn't deny the truth in the statement. "But why?" "Because karma hates us."

  "Works for me."

  But it didn't work for me, didn't work for anyone. It especially didn't work for those who became an after dinner snack, so I didn't know why I was complaining. No, no. I did know why I was complaining. I was complaining because their problems weren't mine no matter how much I wished I could solve them. I had to look out for myself first and foremost.

  Everyone has the right to be a little selfish. So I wanted to complain.

  Big deal.

  I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so bad about it.

  I couldn't figure out why I was lying to myself constantly. I really didn't want to make a habit out of it.

  "Ian, I"

  "Ye love birds are 'avin' fun, eh?"

  "Blaz." The name came out more as growl, unfortunately. I hadn't meant for it to. But it did. At the same time, I didn't mean for my eyes to narrow or my upper lip to curl up into something sort of like a snarl. But, all of it did.

  Needless to say that old man, with the white hair, and sparkling blue eyes wiped the expression off my face. I simply couldn't believe it. I raised a hand to my throbbing cheek slowly, grateful that I felt no tears well up in my eyes. I took the hit, and only entertained the thought of torturing the man until he begged for death for a moment.

  "Blaz! What the hell did you do that for?!"

  "Stay out of this, lad. The brat was givin' me a look. Ye won't be treatin' me like that, ye won't. I won't allow it. I deserve me respect as much as that Dustin does and ye appear rather fond of the man, Excel."

  "Ever hear of earning respect?" "Excuse me?"

  I felt Ian staring down at me, in shock perhaps. Maybe he couldn't believe that I was actually keeping my cool, that I wasn't cursing and throwing a fit. Maybe he was shocked that I

  spoke the words I did.

  I was sure as hell shocked.

  But there was no way in the fiery pits of hell I'd take back what I said.

  "Losing your hearing, old man?" I asked, rather callously. Staring the old timer down as I did so. I decided to say the words syllable for syllable. Slowly. "Ever hear of earning

  respect?"

  There was a sudden fire burning behind those eyes. I was almost happy I put it there.

  "Yer parents never taught ye much about manners did they?" "Leave my parents out of this."

  "Nope, they never did. If they had ye'd know not to speak to people of me generation that way. Yer elders. We deserve more respect." "My parents certainly taught me better than yours taught you."

  I didn't flinch at the raised hand. Instead I rose to my feet, staring straight into the man's eyes with a fire of my own. I was actually, secretly hoping that my glare would bake his brain from the inner most crevices out. But I would never admit that to an audience.

  "Hit me again, sir, and you'll have an enemy you'll soon regret making." "Is that a threat ye snot nosed rascal?"

  "A threat. A Promise. A warning. Whatever bakes your cookies, sir."

  The look we exchanged could melt ice, and freeze alcohol. It was the perfect mixed of feigned cold indifference, and white hot anger. Him at me, me at him. Both of us at the audacity of the other. Somewhere between the time we first met and now, the number of insults whether real or imagined reached an indescribable level. I was furious with the man, and I couldn't quite figure out why. I never got quite so heated over being slapped.

  Maybe it was his holier than thou attitude. Yes.

  Yes, that had to be it. "Now, guys.."

  I managed to block Ian's voice out after his beginning words. I knew he was going to try to stop whatever was going to happen, but immature little ol' me wanted
to see the outcome of whatever did happen. I wanted to know who'd win, who'd land the first punch.

  Was it pitiful to want to hit an old man? Was it pitiful to wonder if you'd win or not? "Enough!"

  Somewhere along the way Ian had called Dustin to break up the fight before it started. I was only a little ashamed that I jumped when he yelled, but I consoled myself with the thought that Blaz flinched as well. Maybe neither of us were expecting it. I surely wasn't. The frantic look in Blaz's eyes told me that he probably hadn't been.

  Made me feel better.

  "No, Dustin." I was sure I'd regret my words. "No. Let him do whatever he was going to do." "What, Dustin? Afraid yer little friends face is going to get broken in?"

  "Afraid he's going to break his hand trying?" "You're both acting like children."

  "That one over there is a child." "Look who's talking."

  "Enough!" "No!"

  The tension was palpable, almost frighteningly so. I could feel the old man's anger, just as I knew mine was obvious. I wanted him dead, and gone. Screw allies, and to hell with trying to be nice. I didn't know what he wanted to happen to me. But whatever it was, I wanted it to happen soon, because I didn't want my life resting in the hands of a man with a grudge.