The Final Day: Complete Edition

by Salzman, Shawn

  "Kari!"

  I rush for the door, lowering my shoulder. I hit the door full speed, breaking right through it as if it is nothing. My legs tangle beneath me and, for the split second that I am airborne, I feel like a floating feather.

  I hit the carpet hard - a lot harder than I imagine. Pain shoots through my chest and I can feel the air evacuating my lungs again, but I am not going to let it. I close my mouth tight and fight to keep the remaining air in me.

  A low growl invades my ears with another gurgling breath that immediately follows. I force myself to my feet then instantly drop to my knees and scream.

  Steven and Lexi are staring at me, their mouths wrapped in a halo of blood and flesh. Eyes grey and cloudy, hair disheveled and matted, skin a grayish blue - my babies are them.

  "God, no! Please, no," I cry out, my voice a hollow remnant of its former.

  In between them lies Kari in a river of blood, torn open and consumed. Each breath coming from her blood-filled lungs. Her eyes find mine and she mouths words.

  "Michael," she manages to whisper. "Help me, Mich --"

  Steven and Lexi slam their teeth into her chest, jowls gnashing and snarling as they tear into her. Ravenous and unrelenting, like a pack of wolves, they continue to devour her.

  "Michael," Kari forces a scream. "Michael!"

  I cry out, frozen with fear, my chest heavy, my thoughts devastated.

  "No! Stop," I yell. "Get off her!"

  I can't control myself any longer. I'm breaking down and I can't stop it.

  "Michael!"

  Michael!

  "Michael! Michael!"

  I feel hands on my shoulders, dragging me away. I can't -

  Blinding light beads into my eyes and I scream. Tears run off and my eyes focus on Kari, my head in her hands. Her soft lips press against my forehead.

  "Michael, baby," She says softly. "It's okay. You're okay, baby."

  I wrap my arms around her and hold her tighter than I ever have. I look out of the corner of my eye and see my dear Steven and Lexi asleep on the couch next to me.

  The nightmares are getting worse. Are these nightmares? Or premonitions? I don't give a shit anymore. All I know is that I can't take much more. They're becoming more real every time.

  Is this what is becoming of me? It's getting harder to tell what's real and what isn't. I'm a danger to my family and, worst of all, I'm becoming a danger to myself.

  I close my eyes and bury my head in her embrace. "I can't do this anymore.”

  1 AM

  HOUR TWELVE

  I look past Kari and right into Doctor Kinnelson's eyes. It's getting harder and harder to discern what is reality and what is not. His presence alone brings a sense of reality to this unclear existence. And this sense of reality is the only offer of hope that I may be cured of this affliction.

  Kinnelson extends his hand to me. "Sorry I'm late, Michael."

  "Under the circumstances," I begin as I shake his hand. "I'd say you are on perfect time."

  Thinking back to everything that's happened since I left the hospital, I'm genuinely surprised he made it here at all, especially if he had to go through anything the likes of which we've been through. No apologies or justifications need to be made, as far as I am concerned.

  Doctor Kinnelson takes Kari's hand in his. "Hello, we meet again."

  Kari smiles at him.

  "I just wish it would be under better circumstances," he smiles back.

  Doctor Kinnelson spins around to view Steven and Lexi, setting patiently on the couch. The look in his eyes is like a grandfather looking upon his grandchildren. His demeanor exudes a paternal warmth.

  "These two must be yours," a smile broadening on his face.

  "Yes, they are," I pipe in. “This is Steven and Alexis."

  "Lexi," Kari interjects.

  "Hello," Kinnelson beams as he slowly lowers himself to one knee.

  "Absolutely beautiful children. I'm Doctor Kinnelson."

  Steven shakes Kinnelson's hand. "Are you here to help my dad?"

  "Well, I am going to do everything I possibly can."

  "You're not going to be able to help him," Steven shakes his head. "He's gonna be a zombie just like all the others."

  "Steven," Kari snaps. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's okay," I look at Steven. "He doesn't know any better."

  Kari nudges the kids. "C'mon guys, let's go get some jammies on."

  Kari scoots the kids out of the room, leaving me to ponder on my son's words. I know he didn't mean them, but they hurt nonetheless. He may be the wiser one. There was never a cure in any of the movies. Never. Maybe hoping for a cure is just a way of making the wait before the inevitable happens just a little bit easier.

  "He's not right, is he?"

  Doctor Kinnelson purses his lips and sighs. "I'd like to give you a definite no, but I can't. I think you and I both know that, Michael."

  I nod.

  "That's not to say that I don't believe in a cure either," Doctor Kinnelson continues. "I know there will be a cure."

  Doctor Kinnelson reaches for a black bag on the chair at his left side. He unzips the bag and starts to rummage through its contents. A number of objects appear from the bag: a stethoscope, suture kit, antiseptic wipes... nothing out of the ordinary. The next item, however sends shivers throughout my entire body.

  Firmly secure between his thumb and forefinger is a small vile filled with a bluish-green liquid. He gently moves his hand, swirling the contents within.

  "That's why I have this," Doctor Kinnelson tries to grin.

  "Is that what I think it is?"

  "It is," he nods. "For lack of a better term, you might say it is a medicinal kamikaze. I've taken medicines for every type of infection or virus that I see in you and mixed them together. There's Amphotericin, Clindamycin; I've included a touch of the Human Diploid Cell Vaccine; there's some horse serum-based antivenin and -"

  "Antivenin," I interrupt him. "You mean like the stuff for treating spider bites and shit like that?"

  He nods enthusiastically. "Absolutely! The nature of the wound on your shoulder bears a remarkable resemblance to the bite of a black widow spider or perhaps the bite of a brown recluse in its advanced stages. Again, this is all experimental. This isn't some simple virus or even a variation of H1N1 or SARS. The wound on your shoulder looks like a cesspool of many different ailments. Speaking of which, I want to take a look at that shoulder of yours before we continue."

  I clutch the fabric of my shirt in my hands and pull my shirt off. I look at Doctor Kinnelson's face. His eyes widen and he inches back. His hand shoots straight up to cover his mouth. I steal a glance and instantly feel like I am going to hurl.

  The wound on my shoulder is black, rotted. The inside of the wound - once pink - is now completely dead and beginning to decay. The surrounding tissue is turning greyish blue, almost spanning my entire shoulder.

  Doctor Kinnelson taps the wound and looks to me for a reaction. I can't feel a damn thing. I shake my head.

  From within his bag, he pulls out a plastic case and sets it on the coffee table. He flips the latches and pops the case open, revealing a small microscope reminiscent of what you would find in a child's science lab. I want to laugh at its simplicity but, I give Doctor Kinnelson props for being able to pack that much shit in that black bag of his. I mean, he literally has a portable laboratory at his disposal.

  Doctor Kinnelson stands the microscope on the table and plugs the power cord into the power strip beside the couch. He flips the power switch, then looks into the eyepiece as he thumbs the coarse adjustment then the fine.

  "I need to see more," Doctor Kinnelson pulls back as he retrieves a scalpel from his bag. "I'm sorry, Michael."

  He winces as he plunges the scalpel into my shoulder. Thankfully, I don't share his pain. In fact, I don't feel a damn thing. I glance over as he carves another chunk out of my shoulder. Black ooze beads over the fresh cut, but there is no blood. He sets the piece on t
he specimen holder and his attention disappears from me as he peers into the eyepiece once again.

  I look at the black ooze. Is this my blood? Do I have any real blood left? Or, is this blackened, tar-like liquid all that remains of my life?

  Michael, don't be foolish. We are still breathing and our heart is still beating, is it not?

  How am I being foolish? My body is slowing giving in to this infection. My shoulder and back look like a cadaver and, second by second, more of me is taken over. How long will it be before all of me is taken over and I am reduced to one of those fucking things shambling around outside?

  "Doc," I press. "Not to sound like a dick but, I really don't think we have time to screw around."

  Doctor Kinnelson immediately pulls back from the microscope. "You're right. We don't have a second to waste. The infection is spreading faster than I had anticipated."

  He fumbles through the bag and pulls out a fresh syringe. Without hesitation, he plunges the needle into the vile and slowly pulls the plunger back. I stare as the bluish serum fills the cylinder.

  "Kari," a voice erupts from outside as fists pound on the door. "You in there?"

  My heart skips a beat at the sound of the voice. It's Charlie. Images flood my mind of the way he looked at me at the park; the cold words he spoke after I saved his daughter's life.

  "Go home, Charlie."

  "Mike," he says, almost truly shocked. "Let me in, Mike."

  The sound of his voice makes my blood boil. "I said go home, Charlie."

  Kari appears from the hallway and starts for the door. I jump off the couch and quickly step in her path.

  "C'mon, Michael." Kari pleads. "It's Charlie."

  A loud bang rattles the windows of the house as Charlie slams his shoulder into the door. The fucker's trying to break in. After everything I've done for his daughter and he's got the balls to alienate me.

  Michael, calm down!

  "Fuck calm," I growl back. "Get the fuck out of here, Charlie!"

  "Open the door, freak," his words are accented by a booming thud against the door.

  Kari grabs my hand. "Michael, stop! Charlie's our friend!"

  "Like fuck he is," I shake her loose.

  Another thud and I begin to see the hinges rip free from the door frame. Wood starts to splinter. Any minute and he's going to be in my house.

  "I'm warning you, Charlie!"

  A hand falls on my shoulder. It's Kinnelson. "Please, Michael, you have to calm down. The infection feeds on this... anger, Michael!"

  "Sit down, Doc," I twist free. "And shut up. This has nothing to do with you!"

  The door bursts off the hinges and slams into me, knocking me to the ground. Charlie storms past me, glaring down on me and heads directly for Kari.

  "Kari," Charlie hurries as he grabs Kari by the wrist. "Get the kids ready, now. You're coming with me."

  She can't break his grip. "No, Charlie."

  "No time for no. You're not staying with this freak! Now, move your ass, Kari!"

  He drags her across the room toward the hallway leading to the kid's bedrooms. I plant my palms against the oak door and shove the door off of me.

  "Get your fucking hands off of her," I yell as I pull myself off the floor. "She's not going anywhere!"

  "Really?" Charlie shoves Kari down the hallway as he reaches behind his back and comes out with a gun. "Get back down on the floor, Mike! You have no say in this anymore."

  "Fucker!"

  I charge toward him. A shot rings out and I can feel searing pain race through my leg, but it’s not good enough to take me down. I grab Charlie by the hair and slam him on the floor. The impact knocks the gun loose. Now, he has no protection.

  Michael, you have to stop! What are you doing? He's right. Let him take Kari out of here! You're out of control, Michael!

  "Fuck you," I tell off my conscience.

  Before it even registers, I see it coming. It's too late. My teeth rattle as Charlie's fist slams into my jaw. My vision blurs and I'm taken off guard. He takes advantage of the situation and I'm instantly on my back. Another punch slams the side of my head and it feels like a hammer. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

  I answer him back with a fist to the side of his face. Adrenaline-laced exhilaration floods my body as I see his lip split wide open and the cartilage in his nose shift and crack. Blood forms at his lip and drops. I open my mouth and accept it. The blood hits my tongue and I can feel its life-giving elixir flow into me, fueling me.

  I swing again, but he blocks it immediately. A flurry of punches rain down on my face. My vision clouds and fades in and out of blackness. I don't feel the pain. All I want is the blood. I want it. I crave it. I can almost hear the blood flowing through his veins; his heartbeat is a beacon, calling me in.

  Michael, what are you doing? Fight it, Michael! Fight it!

  Maybe...

  The craving is intense. Maybe, I will. Maybe, I won't.

  Another impact and I start to slip away. Blackness is consuming me. I'm fading. Fading...

  But the blood...

  I won't. "Fuck you, Charlie."

  "I'm sorry, Mike," Charlie whispers as he pulls the trigger.

  Expecting death, I hear the gun click. It's jammed. I rip the gun out of Charlie's hand and smash him in the side of the face with it. He rolls off of me.

  I waste no time as I pin him to the ground. Without hesitation, I slam the gun down on his head again. The splash of warm blood hits my face and I shudder.

  "Fuck you, Charlie," I yell. "Where were you when I fucking needed you, you bastard?"

  "Mike," Charlie cries out. "Stop, please! Just stop!"

  I can't help but laugh as I slam the gun down on his head again. His cries fuel my anger. His pain makes me stronger. I wipe the blood from his face and lick it off my hand then raise the gun to deliver the final blow.

  A stabbing, piercing pain shoots through my neck. My arm tingles and goes numb. The gun drops from my hand. My body feels heavy and the room spins. My vision disappears and I can feel myself fading again... fading...

  Michael, what have you done?

  2 AM

  HOUR THIRTEEN

  Red tints the walls around me. Salt, iron-like metallic flavors tickle my taste buds and send orgasmic tinges of delight throughout my body. Like a fine wine, the taste is immeasurable.

  Blood drips from the walls. Rivulets of red caress every imperfection like minute aqueducts carefully directing the blood in intricate patterns to the floor where a crimson pool swells to generous proportions.

  I reach out for the lake of blood, my fingers grasp for anything to move me closer to it. To behold it with my eyes is divine. Oh, but to taste it... that is the essence of bliss, an undiluted pleasure to feed my ever-growing hunger.

  Fight it, Michael! You must fight it!

  Why fight it? You know this is what we want. We've been playing this game long enough. It is time to just give in and let it take us over. Think about it. No more pain, no suffering, just the hunger. I'm tired. I don't want to struggle anymore.

  Nonsense. We don't want this! Michael, you have to fight it! What about Kari and the kids? Don't you give a crap about them?

  I'm tired of fighting. Everyone around me is dead or dying. Maybe it would be better if Kari and the kids were dead, then they wouldn't have to suffer through all of this. Haven't they seen enough pain?

  Do you hear yourself, Michael? Do you have any coherent inclination of the thoughts and words running through your head?

  Seriously, they wouldn't have to see me turn into one of them. Do you really think that they want to see their father turn into a mindless, walking cadaver?

  Well, they sure don't need to see their father giving up! What is that going to show them, Michael? They are scared to death. This is not the time nor the place to give up on them while you succumb to your own selfishness.

  They're scared? I'm the one that's becoming one of those things!

  Do you realize
how stupid you sound, Michael? Their whole world has been upset, turned upside down and pulled right out from underneath them. They are looking to you for guidance through this and all you are doing is wallowing in your own self-pity! You need to be strong for them. You need to help them through this. They need you!

  Why the hell would they need me? Like Charlie said, I'm a freak, right?

  Charlie. Shit!

  A rush of adrenaline channels through me. Like a rift through time, my subconscious bends and folds to the onrush of reality. Familiar objects take shape, emerging from the foggy plateau of a darkened sleep as my eyes begin to focus.

  Everything is quiet, not a voice nearby nor any evidence of Charlie even being here, except for the broken door and the horrible pounding inside my head. I've never had my face used as a speed bag. He got me good.

  "Kari?"

  The silence tells its story. She's not here, and neither is Charlie.

  I muster my strength and try to pick myself up off the floor. Searing pain shoots through my left leg. The truth of transpired events rears its ugly head. Yeah, I admit, I forgot that my best friend went out of his way to put a bullet in my leg.

  I look across the room. Just on the opposite side of an overturned Lazy Boy, lies a body. Well, it’s a hand, actually. My wishful thinking hopes that there is a body to go along with it. Actually, I hope it’s that piece of shit, so-called friend of mine with a nice big bullet hole between his eyes.

  I try to crawl. My left arm reaches out and I hit the floor as if nothing was holding me back. I hit my hand off the floor several times but I can't feel a damn thing. My arm is numb as can be. The neuropathy in my left arm is a stark contrast to the searing pain running through my leg and I find myself wishing it were numb, as well.

  I reach out with my right hand and search for something to grab on to. There's not a thing in arm's reach. Careful not to disturb my injured leg, I kick out with my right foot over and over again. My body nudges across the floor, closing in an inch at a time.