The Final Day: Complete Edition

by Salzman, Shawn

  "Come get some."

  I've been waiting since 1988 to use that line, ever since I sat in my older brother's apartment one Saturday night, watching Bruce Campbell in Evil Dead 2. I don't have a chainsaw arm but this rake is more than good enough.

  The three walkers shamble toward me. The front one, a woman, looks like she just turned. Light grey skin with no rot, she's wearing nothing more than a simple cotton nightgown. She must have turned in her sleep.

  I hate that I have to stain her pretty nightgown but, oh well. I choke up and swing as hard as I can. The tines on the rake hit her square in the side of the face. The crunch of breaking bone is sickening and I wince at the sight. She goes down instantly, taking my rake with her - now a permanent attachment to her head.

  Unable to comprehend what just happened, the other two trip over her, then one another, and tumble to the ground. Without hesitation, I charge. With a wince and a leap, I curb stomp the first guy's head into the driveway. With a loud pop, my foot goes right through his head. Brain matter and blood splash out, covering my shoes and pants leg.

  "Ugh, damn!"

  I start to feel bile rising in my throat. It instantly disappears as I feel an exceptionally strong hand close around my ankle. The last of the three stooges has me in his grasp, dragging his mouth in so he can take a chunk of me.

  I draw my left foot back and kick him square in the face. The nose shatters. The way the skin shifts, I know the bone pushed back into his brain. His hazy eyes roll back into his head as his hand releases me and falls limply to the ground next to me.

  "Is the coast clear?"

  I spin around to see Charlie's head poking out of the door.

  "Yes," I say as I double check. "Start bringing them out."

  No sooner do the words leave my mouth, Lexi steps outside with Kari in close check. Kari smiles at me and I graciously return the favor. My family's coming home. What more could I ask for?

  A sharp pain flicks at my left temple. Flashes of light streak across my eyes. I squeeze my eyes closed and wince at the pressure that is starting to build in my head again.

  "Michael, are you okay?" I hear Kari's voice call to me. The touch of her hand on my arm follows.

  "I think so."

  I open my eyes and jump back. "Jesus Christ!"

  This can't be real. Kari's neck is torn open. Blood oozes from her severed jugular. Pieces of torn flesh dangle from grisly gashes on her face.

  "Michael," Kari cries out. "What's wrong?"

  I cover my face and shut my eyes as tight as I can. My heart is pounding so hard, I can feel it in my head.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I peek out from my fingers at Kari. Then I look at Lexi. Everything's fine.

  "I'm fine," I lie. "I just got a sharp pain in my eye, that's all."

  I look into Kari's eyes. She doesn't believe it. Why would she? She knows me better than this.

  "I'm okay. Really."

  She stares at me for what seems like forever, scrutinizing my words. I nod and smile at her just enough that she gives up her pursuit.

  "Give me your stuff," I reach for her bag, then Lexi's. "I'll put these away. You two just get in."

  I open the hatch and toss the pillows and bags inside. Another bag lands in my arms as soon as I get rid of the first. Steven shuffles around me and heads to the driver's side sliding door.

  "Here you go, Mike."

  I turn to see Amy staring at me as she holds out her bag. I grab it from her and stare for a moment. She tries to smile at me, but I don't think she has it in her, anymore. She was so close with her mom, this has to be just catastrophic to her.

  As I look at her, blood starts to form at the corners of her eyes. The crimson beads up the starts to trickle down her cheeks.

  "Mike," Amy says slowly, cautiously. "Are you alright?"

  Do I look alright, you little fucking bitch? I should stick my thumbs right through your eyes and dig them right the fuck out.

  Michael, fight it! It's starting to get to you!

  I shut my eyes tight, then open them again. Amy is fine. She looks perfectly normal.

  "I'm fine," I smile at her. "Get in and get buckled up."

  What the hell is happening? These visions... just like my dreams, only now they're happening when I'm awake. It's feeding on me. This disease, or whatever it is, is taking me over. I actually felt like I wanted to tear her apart.

  I'm scared. This isn't me.

  No, Michael, it isn't you. You need to hurry.

  I hurry to the passenger side. My little Lexi, despite all that's going on, still has a smile for me. I smile right back as I stretch the seatbelt across her lap and click the buckle.

  "Mike!"

  I step back from the van. Charlie is standing on the porch, door held open.

  "I need you to help me bring Marty down," Charlie confesses. "I don't think I can get him by myself."

  Shit. I wish we would have gotten him down first. Now, the van is full of people and I have to leave them behind to help him.

  "Okay," I look at Kari. "Settle in and lock all the doors until we get back."

  Kari gives me a peck on the cheek. "Hurry, babe."

  I hurry up the steps. Charlie disappears inside. Just as I hit the doorway, the sharp stabbing pain returns. This is way more intense than the last. I stagger on my feet and reach out for the door frame to brace myself.

  My head is spinning. Objects all around me focus, then blur. I feel my sanity balancing on a line about to snap. Images flash in and out of my mind. Grisly scenes of carnage: a dismembered corpse strewn about an unknown room, blood spattered windows streaked with bloody handprints, screams of horror as I tear them apart...

  I can smell your blood, you fuck.

  Michael, you're slipping away! Fight it, Michael! Fight it!

  Oh, shut the fuck up. Stay the hell out of my head. He took my family. Now, I'm gonna take his life.

  Michael, he kept your family safe! And now, he's letting you take them back!

  Get out of my head!

  I slam my fist into the wall and relish the pain. Drywall cracks and splits, the sharp fractures cut into my skin and the blood flows. I raise my hand to my mouth and let the warm liquid tease my tongue.

  "Mike?" I hear that fucker stomping down the stairs. "What happened?"

  He looks at the hole in his wall, then at me.

  "What did you do, Mike?"

  Fuck you. I'm not giving you an answer. I know it pisses you off, too. I can hear your anger.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thumpety-thumpety fucking thump...

  "Mike," the bastard starts to back away. "Why the hell are you looking at me like that?"

  "Aw, Charlie," I frown. "Looking at you how? Like the monster you think I am?"

  He stumbles over his words. "Mike, I -- I told you I was sorry."

  "Sorry," I mock him. "When? Sorry when you left me in the park? Sorry when you shot me? Or, are you sorry now that I'm gonna tear you apart?"

  Charlie's hands are up in the air. Aw, he wants to surrender.

  "C'mon, Mike" he's begging. "Help me get Marty, so we can get you back to the doctor. Right? Isn't that the plan?"

  I lick my lips. His fear makes him that much more appetizing. This is fun. I wish this would have happened sooner.

  He backs up faster and faster. Maybe he will trip over his own stupid feet so I won't have to chase him. Of course, where would the fun be in that?

  I charge at him. My head hits his chest, dead center and I feel his sternum crack from the blow as both of us tumble to the floor. His hands dig into my shoulders as he tries to push me away.

  He tries to scream. No good. I press my hand against his mouth and squeeze. His fear, his writhing fuels my strength. I can feel his teeth begin to break at the roots... until my flesh starts to burn. Pain shoots through my arm as his teeth sink into my fingers.

  Bastard!

  Michael, no!

  I lunge in. My teeth pierce the flesh of his n
eck. Blood tickles my tongue and my senses as more of his flesh fills my mouth.

  I clamp my jaw shut, tearing his jugular from his throat. Blood sprays from the hole in his neck and splashes on my face. Orgasmic spasms tease my body! The blood... how exhilarating it is!

  Charlie looks at me with the look he'll keep in death - pure, unadulterated horror. His mouth forms words that come out as nothing more than a gurgle as he chokes on his own blood.

  Now, I am who he said I am.

  Michael, what have you done?

  I stand up and relish his helpless body as blood flows free, the crimson elixir pools up around him. I open my mouth to show him his flesh as I gnash away at it, then swallow the morsel.

  His body is still. I step over him and look up the stairwell. One step at a time, I draw nearer to the old man, helpless in the bed. Drugged out of his fucking mind, he will be easy.

  The smell is putrid, his scent rancid. We don't eat our kind.

  He's not your kind, Michael! You're not one of them! You have to snap out of it!

  I hope the little voice dies soon. Then I can... be.

  I look down on Marty. The old man is a liability and I am not taking him with me. Should I just leave him be? Where would the fun be in that?

  I loosen a bit of flesh from my teeth as my eyes fall upon the most suitable thing to remove him from existence. I walk to the window sill and wrap my fingers around the claw hammer.

  I raise my hand and drive the hammer down. The face and neck of the hammer smash through his forehead, smooth and easy and the rush is intense. I slam the hammer down again and again. Each hit defiling his bone and flesh, he becomes more and more unrecognizable. Every recoil comes with its own splash of blood and flesh. I turn the hammer, claw down and swing my last swing. The hammer drives deep in to the mass that was once his face.

  No warning, pain hammers my head just like the one I put in his. Electric light flashes across my eyes as everything begins to blur. My flesh tingles and my balance shifts.

  The floor rushes to me as I fall. Sharp pain drifts through the back of my head as I feel my skull hit the corner of the wall. My vision disappears, everything turns black.

  .

  ..

  ...

  Michael.

  .

  ..

  ...

  Michael, wake up.

  A blinding light floods my vision. Moments pass as shapes begin to materialize in front of me. A window, a door... blood splattered all over the walls.

  I raise my hand to my forehead and wince. It feels like I've been hit by a truck. My hair is wet. I pull my hand back and it is soaked with blood. Not just my hand, my entire arm and my clothes.

  I panic and leap to my feet. Marty's corpse is on the bed. His head is an unrecognizable mass of blood and flesh.

  I feel bile rise in my throat. My guts wrench and roil as I double over and vomit. Blood and chunks of flesh spew from my mouth and hit the floor.

  "Oh, God. What have I done?"

  You killed them, Michael.

  "What? Shit!"

  I stumble out of the room and reach for the railing. Each step a feat in itself, I descend the staircase. My guts churn inside. Short of breath and in panic-mode, I struggle to breathe.

  I reach the bottom. As I begin to round the corner, my feet splash in fresh blood. My eyes dart forward and, lying on the floor, is Charlie.

  I gasp as I jump back against the wall. Why can't I remember any of this?

  I step over Charlie's body and dash through the kitchen to the bathroom. A twist of my hand and water bursts from the aerator. I feverishly wash away the blood from my hands and face.

  As I snatch the towel and begin to dry my face, I reach out and flick the light on. My eyes meet my image in the mirror and I gasp in horror. My left eye is blood red, vessels broken and strained. The pupil is fading, the color washing over with white - it's dying.

  It's happening! I'm becoming one of those fucking things!

  Michael, we need to hurry.

  Yes.

  I dash out of the bathroom and head for the door, careful to snatch a pair of sunglasses from an end table by the front door. No hesitation, I put the glasses on and head out the door. There's no way I can let Kari see my eyes.

  What about Charlie? And Marty? How are you going to explain them?

  I jump off the side of the porch and dash to the van. The locks click before I get there. I hop into the driver's seat and jam the key in the ignition.

  "Where's Charlie and Marty?" Kari asks, almost on cue.

  I turn the key and the van fires up.

  "Marty turned and attacked us," I lie. "He got Charlie. I had to put him down."

  Amy's scream from the back seat sends shivers down my spine as I slip the van in reverse and back down the driveway...

  8 AM

  HOUR NINETEEN

  The scraping and popping of gravel beneath the tires gives way to the quietness of pavement. I slip the van in drive and begin the trek home. Thankfully, it's a short trip. I am exhausted... and very, very scared that I am too exhausted to fight off what is coming over me.

  For that short time, I became one of those things. The taste of flesh and blood still lingers in my mouth, a grim reminder that, despite how pissed off I was at him, I will never see my friend again.

  I am a murderer. I know, it's not like I did it by choice, right? I still did it though. I took Charlie's life. I took Marty's life, too. Sure, Marty was going to end up a walking cadaver, but he was still a human being. I took his life before he could turn, but I horribly defiled his body.

  Perhaps Kinnelson could have helped him, even in the advanced state he was in. Or maybe he couldn't. After this, in the back of my mind, I don't even know if Kinnelson can help me anymore, either.

  I wish I could control this - fight it back somehow. It seems that the stabbing pain in my head and the flashes of light trigger it. Maybe I can block it away, barricade it from rearing its ugly head.

  I glance over at Kari then check the rearview for my Steven and Lexi. With how fast my condition seems to have advanced, is this really the right decision to bring them back with me? What happens if I can't hold it back? Just the thought of the possible outcome scares the shit out of me. All the hell that I've gone through to get them back and I don't even know if I can keep them safe. Maybe Charlie was right.

  Poor Amy. As I look at her through the rearview mirror, that vibrant, beautiful little girl is nothing but an empty shell. Her grandpa killed her mother. Now, her grandpa and her father are dead, too... by my hands.

  But, Michael, it wasn't you. The real you wouldn't hurt anyone.

  Real? I don't even know what's real anymore? The visions I keep getting, are they nothing? Or, are they premonitions of things to come? There sure was no warning when I walked up and tore the throat out of my best friend with my teeth, then stormed upstairs and made Jell-O™ out of Marty's skull. If this is reality, I'll give anything to have the everyday life back that I thought was so mundane over this nightmarish hell I'm trying to survive in now.

  The real me wouldn't hurt anyone. This affliction is changing everything, affecting me in ways I couldn't have imagined. Is this how it is going to be? Am I going to have remorseful memories of all of this carnage every time something happens? This could be how I am for the rest of eternity, or at least until someone puts me out of my misery.

  Quit talking as if you are already one of them. You're still you, Michael.

  I'm not one of them. I'm still me. For now. I can't tell if Kinnelson's concoction is working or not. Maybe I left too soon. If I would have stayed for the treatment, there stood a chance that this would have never happened. I know this would have never happened.

  "Michael," Kari's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

  "Yes, babe."

  "Take off the glasses," she orders me with that voice still soft and sweet. She has a knack for that.

  The sky is overcast. I was so absorbed in my own thoug
hts, I didn't even realize it.

  I can't do it. If I do, she'll freak. Then the kids will freak. An excuse is best right now.

  "My eyes hurt," I lie. "I have a headache from hell and -"

  "Take off the glasses, Michael," she's getting pissed.

  "Why?"

  "Because, I said so," her reason of choice.

  I huff and puff. There is no choice anymore but to comply. I pinch the temple of the glasses in between my fingers and slowly remove them from my head. But I'm not going to look at her.

  "There."

  "Look at me, Michael," she demands.

  "Why?"

  Dammit, that shouldn't have come out.

  "Now, Michael," she growls at me through clenched teeth. She is pissed now.

  I let off the gas and let the Freestar roll on its own until we come to a stop, just to prolong the inevitable. A heavy sigh and I turn my head to face her. She gasps as she covers her mouth.

  "Oh, my God," tears are forming in her eyes. "Michael, what's happening to you?"

  I face forward and pull the visor down. I don't even want to look. It was bad enough when I looked at Marty's place. I hesitate, but force my way through it as I flip the mirror open.

  "Shit," I gasp at the sight.

  My right eye is okay. The left is something else. A gooey puss is caked. The white of my eye is no more. In its place a deep, blood-red. The iris is no longer the blue-green of normal. Instead, it is beginning to streak with reddish lines hinted with orange.

  "Christ," I stomp on the gas. "It's happening!"

  The tires chirp on the pavement below as the engine races. The world around us moves quicker and quicker as I traverse the roadway. I have to get back to Kinnelson.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kari shift in her seat, farther away from me. I don't even need to look at her. I can feel the fear and scrutiny in her eyes. She knows what is happening, that's one-hundred percent clear.