by Steve Wands
Outside the deli was a stack of apartment guides and Titan’s Voice, he grabbed one of each and headed for a bench across the street. He flipped through the apartment guide, his belly beginning to bust and began daydreaming. Before he could get too swept up into his fantasy world of rooftop apartments and stacks of fancy boxed wines, the loud sirens of a TCPD patrol car whined by, followed by another and another. He brushed it off and finished his sandwich. He got up off the bench and headed toward the waterfront.
Once there, he folded up his arms and leaned against the sturdy fence, looking into the river. The sounds of seagulls filled the air, tourists were scarce and wind moved calmly across his face. Bark came here almost every day, watching the water, watching the boats and gathering his thoughts. The water seemed to take the weight out of his breath and he stood a little straighter as a result.
Bark was so used to people not looking at him, that every time one of them did he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. It made him feel like a beggar, he hated it, but he had to do what he had to do in order to survive. And now that was sticking his hand out and hoping someone had a nickel or dime to spare. Fall was just about over and things always got tougher with the cold, people usually gave a bit more as a result of that holiday feeling. It was the begging for change all day long in the bitter cold that was tough, when your lips turned into shredded beef and your fingers were as cold as concrete. Sure, underground was usually warmer, fires usually burned but that didn’t make it any easier. At the end of the day you still had to beg. You had to wake up and go to sleep a beggar. And you had to beg everyday just to try not to die a beggar too. When people gave a smile it stung a little less, and that’s what this woman just did. She gave Bark a smile and a few bucks. He could only dream it would be this good the whole way back to his tunnel town. Enough to get a decent dinner and maybe a box of that fancy wine. He thanked her, god blessed her and thought about fucking her.
There was a lot of action going on, he noted, as he walked home palm up. More cops than usual, less people on the street. Everything seemed fine though and he kept on trucking. A few other folks felt they had deep enough pockets to toss Bark a couple of coin collections, varying sizes of silver peppered in a small pond of copper pennies. One was a wheat penny. He loved getting wheat pennies. They reminded him of being a kid, when his Grandmother would give them to him. She always told him to save them cause they would be worth money some day. She was right of course; they’re still worth exactly one cent. And one cent has never bought shit, at least it didn’t back then, now every cent was a cent closer to something and something was better than nothing.
Bark stopped at a pizza joint with a pocket full of change and two singles, the joint was named Jay’s and the place was a glorified hole in the wall. He came here every once in awhile and the owner, who usually worked from sun up to sun down, treated him like a human being. He always gave him a smile, and usually a bigger drink with a free refill and an extra slice or some garlic knots for the road. Bark called the man Jay even though it wasn’t really his name, and Jay called him Sparky even though Bark corrected him every time. The place was as dead as usual. Bark ordered two plain slices and a large Lime-Up and then sat down and waited. He kept his eyes on the television, the volume was low and he tilted his head in hopes to hear it better. It was a news segment broadcasting, there had been several accidents and multiple homicides throughout the last few days. The anchorwoman noted that there had been an escalation and that events continued to occur, she made the suggestion of possible ties and as always had to throw the words terror and terrorist in there, the salt and pepper of the airwaves.
“Everybody’s goin’ nuts out there!” Jay yelled. “No one’s buyin my pies, fuggin’ nuts just goin’ ape shit,” he continued.
“Well, I’m buying, economy can’t be that bad if a bum like me’s still eating,” Bark said with a chuckle.
“Something’s goin’ on, man,” Jay muttered under his black mustache.
“Something’s always going on.”
Jay brought over his two slices, an extra large Lime-Up, a couple of knots and a bag to take with him. According to Bark’s eyes it was another two slices, maybe one of them a Sicilian slice. He thanked him, Jay nodded and Bark picked up a slice folded it and bit deep. It was hot and crisp, he moaned a message to Jay, mmmmmmnnn, and Jay nodded a second time. Jay walked over to the doorway, peering out into the chilly nearing nighttime sky. Shadows moved in the distance, staggering and slow moving.
“God damn drunks, sick of cleaning puke off the sidewalk.”
“What’s that?” Bark grumbled, cheese dangling from his lip.
“Ah, nothing,” Jay grumbled back.
Bark stuffed the last bit of crust into his mouth and slurped up the last of his drink, shaking the ice at the bottom of the cup to signal the end of his meal. He brought his plate and unused fork and knife up to the counter, he grabbed a napkin and dabbed his lip, again thanking Jay. Jay filled up his cup for him and Bark was on his way. The bell jangled as Bark opened the door and left. He headed home for the night.
The bell jangled again, a woman staggered in to Jay’s. She held a purse at her side, her leg was swollen and bloodied, dried blood streaked down to her high leather boots. If you followed the blood back up toward her hips you would find several bites and strips of gouged flesh. Muscle and fat stuck out of the open flesh. Above that were the torn remains of a skirt, kept around her waist by a belt. Hanging slightly over that and partly tucked in her torn skirt was a blood soaked white button up shirt that too was ripped to shreds. Her left breast was hanging freely, a nipple barely hanging by a tendril of skin. From in between her breasts to the bottom of her mouth were ragged folds of skin held together by coagulated blood, the sticky sweet deep red hung from her chin. The insides of her throat were visible as were parts of her sternum. Her jaw hung slack, almost being pulled down by the weight of the gore just below it. Her teeth were crooked, some missing, others cracked. Her face was that of nightmares, hair and blood became a road map of disaster, tears of agony bled mascara down her cheeks, her nose was missing; it looked like her face was dragged down a city block covered in glass. What was left of her eyes found her way to Jay and his shock stuttered stare. Could she even see him?
“My God! Lady sit down, I’ll call 911!” Jay rambled out.
She gargled some kind of groan, her jaw moved as if biting the air. She stepped closer.
Please be patient. All lines are busy. Your call will be answered in the order it was received.
“Fuck, it’s busy! Just sit down—I’ll get you a towel!” He was frantic.
Still staggering closer to him, she moved her tongue across her bottom teeth. It was swollen and discolored. Jay had a towel in hand and moved quickly towards the woman. He raised the towel to her throat and she raised her hands toward his. Confused, he stepped back.
“Sit, hold this to your neck,” he told her.
She didn’t listen, she simply groaned and moved her jaw toward him as if taking bites out of the air. She smelled like piss, shit and death. Jay caught on quick and backed up. He was close enough at first to feel her breath, he now realized she hadn’t breathed. She was not weeping and she seemed unaffected by the pain of her all-too visible wounds. Jay dropped the towel, and stepped back farther, putting the phone back to his ear.
Please be patient. All lines are busy. Your call will be answered in the order it was received.
He had no choice but to continue backwards. He was now behind the counter blindly reaching for the big wooden spatula that was standing against the big oven door. His fingers found it and pulled it into his palm. He raised it in front of him.
“Get back. I’m warning you,” he was calmer now than before.
She said nothing.
“Well, fuck you too.”
Jay put the wide end of the giant spatula into the woman’s cold abdomen. Her movement was halted. He pushed, she was not stepping back, he pushed harder and she staggere
d backward. Groaning in disapproval she attempted to steady herself. Jay didn’t give her the option. He pushed again, harder still, and she staggered roughly to the wall behind her. Jay kept doing this till they were back at the front door. He played a similar game at times when a rat would make its way into the store, though he used a broom instead of the spatula, and the rats were never this big. He managed to pin her against the wall holding her there as he awkwardly opened the door. Finally, he was able to shove her out. He quickly did so and locked the door. He stood, spatula in hand, staring out the glass door. She shuffled back toward the door, hitting the glass with her hand, scraping with her nails. Though she probably couldn’t see, her dead mutilated eyes stared right back into Jay’s eyes. Neither of them blinked. Behind the dead woman, more shadows stirred. Illuminated by the yellow streetlights the shadows turned into figures, those figures walked toward Jay’s Pizza Palace and they were hungry.
Bark had made his way back to his underground suburbia. A fire was crackling in the pit. The makeshift milk-crate couches were deserted. It was surprisingly quiet for this time of the evening, not that Bark knew what time it was. He knew it was dark out, and most folk were sitting by the fire and shooting the shit; telling tall tales of the day and comparing currency by now. A rustling noise was coming from one of the shacks. Bark walked over to it, knocking on the plywood door.
“Hey, Spotz, you in there?” Bark asked.
The rustling became frantic. Bark slowly opened the door, peeking inside. It sounded like someone was looting shit or playing the one-handed shuffle. He hoped to find neither. The door nearly opened, revealed Spotz shoving his belongings into his backpack. Spotz swung his head around. He looked terrified.
“Aggh!” Spotz yelled.
“Hey, man, it’s jus’ me. Where you headed?”
“Outta here. Peeps on the street gone crazy! Fuck, man, they was eatin’ each other—rippin guts out an’ shit!”
“What the fuck you talkin’ bout? You whacked out? Thought you quit that shit,” Bark replied.
“Man, I ain’t on nothin’! You were out there. You didn’t see anything? I ain’t making it up, people attacking people, eating them—just ripping them apart!” Spotz sobbed.
“Aight, aight, relax…”
“Fuck you! Relax? You must be on some shit, we need to get the fuck outta here man, outta the city, and now!”
“Well, do what you gotta do. I’m staying right here.”
“You do that, and yer as good as dead, man.”
“Yeah, sure. Have a good trip,” Bark said as he turned and left the man to his packing.
Spotz didn’t comment. He finished shoving his things into his bag, grabbed his cap and slung the bag over his shoulder. He stepped out of his little shack looking warily in all directions. His eyes found Bark sitting by the fire, stoking it back to a proper size. Spotz quickly walked over to Bark with the intent of getting him to flee the city. Then he heard the noise of moving rocks under shuffling feet. Spotz turned to the usual entrance and sure enough; the neighbors were coming home.
“Bark, get yer shit and let’s go, now!” He snapped, pointing in the direction of the entrance.
“Man, chill the fuck out. You’re freakin’ me out.”
“Just get up and look, they ain’t normal,” Spotz insisted.
“Alright. Alright… just can it,” Bark stood up.
“See?”
“Yeah, I see everybody coming back.”
“Fuck this, I’m outta here you blind bastard.”
Spotz took off down the tunnel. He started a quick jog, following the tracks, rats scurrying as he did. He knew the tunnels well and planned on making it toward the south end of the waterfront where the main tunnel came to an end. Bark watched him take off, shaking his head in disbelief. Crack heads always did crazy shit, he remembered a time when another friend of his got hooked and tore apart the insides of his home with an axe. His friend was convinced that creatures and midgets were living in the walls, pimps and animals were in the trees, but they were okay so long as they stayed outside. Bark turned his attention back to the slowly approaching group. They were grumbling something. It sounded like moans.
“Hey, Joey-G! You score some bug juice?” His question turned into laughter.
His question went unanswered. He could now see Joey-G and the rest of them; Big Ricky, who was the smallest guy you’d ever meet without being a dwarf; Gumbo, who didn’t have any teeth and would put anything in her mouth for a hit of the rock. Then there was Randy, who everybody thought was crazy, and when crack heads called you crazy you were certified bonkers. It looked like Buddy or Wes was in the back, but he couldn’t be sure.
They continued to move closer to Bark, closer to the light of the fire and closer to being revealed as bloodthirsty ghouls. They moaned and hissed, louder now; Bark got a sense that maybe Spotz wasn’t too far off. He felt something was wrong. He cocked his head, as if it would help him see the faces of his friends better. The moaning and noises made Bark shiver, his blood turned to ice. He turned and ran, hoping Spotz was going slow enough that he’d be able to catch up.
Bark had only sprinted for about a minute but his legs burned and his lungs were screaming for air. Though he walked a lot, Bark did not have the stamina for running, he was malnourished, aging poorly and had taped his sneakers together. He called out for Spotz numerous times only to hear his cries bounce back at him. His run turned into a labored speed walk, he continued into the depths of the tunnel system. He could barely hear the moans now; he heard only his breath, and the dripping and hissing of pipes and steam. Rocks shifted under his feet as he hurried through the tunnel. The tunnel emptied out into a larger room with a half dozen other tunnels to choose from. Bark quickly decided to head to the waterfront, he chose the second tunnel from the right. The squeaks of rodents pierced his ears as he entered the tunnel.
“Spotz!” He yelled. He could hear the desperation in his own voice thanks to the echoes.
His voice was hoarse. He felt like shit and was covered in sweat; his sneakers were taking on water. He trudged on, and then quickly came to a pause. He heard the sounds of moving rocks, the kind of sounds that were made by someone or some thing walking on them. He listened. The sounds were slow and steady, calculated. The tunnel was dark, damn near pitch black, shimmers of reflected light acted as road signs in the tunnels. Bark wasn’t looking for a destination, he was looking for the shimmers of light to be broken, and sure enough, they were. Straight ahead, inside the tunnel, no more than ten feet from the tip of his jagged toe something crept toward him.
“Hello?” He called, no answer.
“I know you’re there,” Bark continued.
“I just want to pass, I don’t have anything,” he pleaded with the shadows.
“Please.”
“I swear if you try to take one bite outta my fuggin’ ass you will die in this tunnel. You hear me?” Spotz spoke up.
“Oh, fuck, thank God it’s you, you scared the shit out of me!” Bark wheezed out.
“You were right, some thing is wrong with everybody, they
wer—”
“Can it and let’s move. This way,” Spotz cut him off.
They walked fast and purposefully, nearing the end of the tunnel. They stepped out. A grate in the ceiling allowed a bit of light to shine down on them. Stumbling at them from behind was a grotesque mangled body with outstretched arms. It didn’t moan, and probably couldn’t. It’s throat looked like it was chewed out, his jaw was slung to the left. The tips of his fingers were bloodied and dark, fingernails bent back and chipped. He managed to get his hands around Bark’s neck. Bark gasped and reached for the cold dead hands around his neck. Instead of thinking he reacted, and reacted poorly. It was his instincts that led his life underground, and if he kept it up, those instincts would lead to his death. Spotz grabbed a large rock. Holding it with both hands he raised it over his head and brought if full-force into the face of Bark’s attacker. Spotz held onto
the large rock, almost losing his balance doing so. He lifted it again, pulling the rock out of the smashed-in-face, revealing bits of gore, chipped teeth, and bubbling blood as thick as paste. The creatures grip loosened and Spotz brought the rock down again. This time he put all his weight into it, knocking both himself and the creature to the ground. The rock became a headstone on top of the twitching mangled corpse. Blood oozed from beneath the rock. Bark held his neck and gasped for air as he ran over to Spotz. Spotz was lifting himself up as Bark stood over him. Bark thanked him, but the expression on his face was more than enough.
They carried on their way through the dark maze of tunnels and train tracks. They passed familiar landmarks and other homeless shacks; all of which were unattended, thankfully. The tunnel emptied out into another room. To the left there was a staircase leading to a storage room. To the right of that was another door which led to a service level between them and eventually the street. Neither of these would do. The storage room was a dead end and the service level would have Transit workers and possibly other obstacles especially since Spotz insisted the streets above were running red with madness and murder. Instead, they picked the next tunnel and hurried down it.
They were approaching the end of the tunnel. The tunnel emptied out into a gravel pit with walls on both sides. The tracks continued over the water via a bridge and were reduced to two lines, coming and going. There were plenty of lights along the top of the walls. They climbed out of the pit clinging to the right side of the wall. Spotz peered over the edge and glimpsed a look at hell. He and Bark now stood behind a fence atop the wall they had just climbed up. They both stood flabbergasted. The scene before them was total and utter mayhem. Gunshots filled the air, as did screams and cries. A woman crashed into a parked car, she was driving an SUV with two kids in the back. She tried to reverse the vehicle and ended up hitting another. People surrounded her, a slow swarm but surely a lethal one. As she tried to free the vehicle they were able to break the windows, pulling the children and the woman to the street. Their screams and shrieks were things no human ears should ever have to hear–calling for God, crying for help, a mother reaching for her children as they screamed for her to help them. She couldn’t. She watched the creatures pull flesh from her children’s faces and throats, before she blacked out from her own exploration in pain she watched one of the creatures pull the intestines from one of her small children’s bellies. The creatures feasted, eating the flesh in pulled clumps, hair, lips it didn’t matter. One of them ripped the tongue from the mother’s mouth and ate that too. They couldn’t help but watch.