by Jon Athan
Alan responded, “I don't want to die. Not like this, I can't die like this.” Alan sniffled loudly, then continued, “But, I don't want to eat zombies, either. I can't do that. It... It's just not right. You don't... We don't have to do that, man. We don't have to stoop to their level. At least, not now...”
Arthur smirked as he pulled the barrel from Alan's neck, then said, “That's fine, boy, it was just a test. We needed to know how far you'd go, how you'd react to our precautionary measures. We have other food. It's not the end of the world... yet.”
Arthur's rickety shotgun reverted to a helpful walking cane as he withdrew his weapon. Arthur tossed his left arm around Alan's shoulder and led him towards the counter. Alan reluctantly followed Arthur as the pair simultaneously walked towards the kitchen. As they walked, Alan caught a glimpse of Ellen's glimmering eyes – indecipherable eyes, sincere but conniving.
Arthur stood at the door archway with his arm around Alan and said, “This... This is where the magic happens.”
The kitchen had pristine tile flooring and white walls. The wall to the right had a small wooden table with ceramic plates on top. Farther down, the wall splintered into a hall leading to the offices. The wall to the left of the arch entrance had marble counters with several sinks – the dish and pot washing area. The center was comprised of islands of stoves and ovens. The wall to the far left had a single door leading to the restroom.
Alan gaped as he looked towards the restroom door and asked, “Wha–what the hell is all of that? What the hell have you been doing?”
There was a mound of black garbage bags beside the restroom door. Alan's nose wrinkled upon catching a whiff of the putrid stench emitting from the bags – like the rotten miasma of a body decomposing during a scorching summer. Pale, bloodied legs and arms protruded from every opening. Strands of frizzy human hair seeped out of the mountain of garbage bags. The surrounding walls and floor were stained by the decay.
Arthur smirked as he responded, “The food stash. The decent meat.” Arthur chuckled, then tugged on Alan's shoulder. Arthur said, “Let me show you something special, boy. This isn't something I normally show to just anyone, okay? This is for the guests I actually like. Follow me to the restroom.”
Arthur pulled Alan towards the restroom. The pair stepped around the island of stoves and ovens. Alan nervously glanced over his shoulder as thoughts of escape raced through his mind. To his utter surprise, Eric followed closely behind. The trio's mucky shoes squished and clanked on the tile flooring, leaving a trail of mud and blood behind – a trail of contemporary worldliness. Arthur slowly shoved the door open, then reached into the gloomy room and flicked the light switch. The light buzzed and flickered until it settled and illuminated the grungy restroom.
A man standing five-eight with a strapping physique and resplendent black hair sat near the toilet. The man solely wore gray boxer briefs as he was restrained to the toilet by handcuffs. A woman sat to the man's left near the sink. She stood five-five with tousled brunette hair and a voluptuous figure. Her hazelnut eyes were brimming with brackish tears. She only wore a white brasserie and white underwear. Finally, the young boy from the diner was restrained to a rusty pipe on the parallel wall from the pair. The trio of prisoners were gagged by duct tape. Their faint, muffled cries barely seeped through the gags.
Arthur grinned as he swayed his arm into the restroom, then said, “The fine dining – the exquisite meat. This is the source of the most delicious meat on the planet. You haven't tried steak until you've tried human flesh. Will you join us, boy? Will you be part of our little community and relish in life, Alan? What do you say?”
Alan's eyes widened, shocked by the terrifying revelation. His legs wobbled and his arms trembled. He gritted his teeth as he inspected the injured and tormented prisoners – man, woman, and child. His eyes sparked with rage. He sniffled loudly as he clenched his jaw and grunted. He shook his head as he contemplated his limited options.
Suddenly, Alan turned towards Arthur with an elbow to the stomach. Arthur groaned from the unexpected blow. As he turned towards Eric, Alan felt a powerful whack to his head from the butt of a handgun – a head-rattling pistol whip. Alan stumbled back into the restroom. The laceration on his forehead spurted blood like a garden sprinkler.
As Eric aimed his sleek black handgun at Alan's swaying head from the doorway, Arthur shouted, “Stop! Stop! Just restrain him. We'll handle this my way.”
Arthur moaned and coughed as he recomposed himself. Eric withdrew his firearm, then marched towards Alan with a gleaming pair of handcuffs. Hopelessly dazed by the brutish blow, Alan was restrained to the toilet next to the other adult male prisoner.
As Eric returned to Arthur's side, Alan stuttered, “You–you... you can't... you can't do this. It is... It isn't right. You shouldn't eat the undead... You... You can't eat the living. It's wrong...”
Arthur chuckled as he swiped the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then explained, “It is right, kiddo. You know, I once saw a starved, poor man eat another man for a sandwich. I mean, he really chomped into the poor guy, gnawed into him like a dog on a chew toy – for a sandwich. When he finished eating him, the man was already full and he had no need for the sandwich. The epiphany dawned on him: he could never starve as long as man walked the Earth. So, he went on and started eating men. Well, he didn't discriminate. Men, women, and children were on the menu, don't you worry about that. That crazy man... That starved man was me. But, I'm not starved anymore, boy. I'm not starving, like yourself. I'm surviving and I'm surviving well. Survival by any means, boy.”
Alan grunted from the striking pain on his dome, then scoffed, “You're the real monster in our world. You're not a starved man, you're a damn lunatic. You're a savage. You... you're the reason we won't survive this apocalypse.”
Arthur smirked, then said, “You're free to believe what you want to believe. It's your God-given right. But, it won't change a thing. It's too late for that. I gave you the opportunity to survive. You don't have it in you. You're like these foolish people. I'll see you at dinner, boy.” As he turned away from the prisoners, Arthur directed, “Eric, keep guard of the fine dining until the chef arrives.”
With a stern face, Eric nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”
Eric leaned into the room and shut off the lights. The room was immediately enshrouded by hopeless, melancholic darkness. The woman wildly sobbed as she reached towards the exit with her leg. The male looked towards the ceiling as he dozed in-and-out of consciousness. The child absently stared towards the grungy tile flooring, oblivious of his inevitable fate.
As the door shut, sealing the room with the impenetrable darkness, Alan shouted, “You can't do this! You can't do this to us! We're human, damn it! We're alive! We're alive!”
Day 8 - December 30 th, 2015
As Long As It Moves...
Slivers of warm sunlight seeped through the narrow cracks on the boarded windows. Dust particles and cobwebs swayed in the balmy sunshine. The front door and the kitchen door were barricaded by dining chairs, sofas, and console tables – every loose piece of furniture. The brutish thuds of the steel hammerheads clashing with sturdy planks echoed through the desolate home as the fortification continued.
As she absently stared at a flickering candle flame on the edge of the fireplace, Loraine Larking whispered, “This can't be happening... It's just... It's just not real. It can't be real... It can't be...”
Loraine Larking stood five-three with a timid figure. She wore a blue slip-on patio dress down to her bare kneecaps. Her mucky white sneakers were punctured but intact. Strands of frizzy black hair protruded from her messy bun. Her dull brown eyes were deprived of hope and happiness – an empty abyss.
Mesmerized by the scintillating flame, Loraine whispered, “We shouldn't have done it. It's wrong. It's all wrong. We shouldn't have...”
Loud clapping and heavy footsteps reverberated through the home. As he stepped towards the center of the liv
ing room, Curtis Jones cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Everyone, get down to the living room! We have something important to discuss!” Curtis glanced at Loraine and asked, “You alright?”
Loraine simply nodded as she absently gazed ahead. Curtis stood a sturdy five-eleven. He wore a navy blue short-sleeved button-up shirt tucked into his navy trousers. His black work shoes were faded and mucky. He had lean, vascular arms and a slim torso. He had peach fuzz on his dome, practically bald from the short buzz cut hairstyle. His brown eyes glimmered with compassion and sincerity.
Curtis bit his bottom lip as he nodded back at Loraine, then said, “Good, good...”
The rectangular living room was vacant – the furniture had been moved to create blockades throughout the home. The candle-lit room had hardwood flooring and walls. The wall to the right had two arch entrances leading to the home's main hall. The parallel wall harbored the dingy fireplace. The center of the room was empty. As he placed his hands to his hips and sighed, Curtis watched as Travis Lopez and Marshall Fink entered the living room.
Marshall smiled upon spotting Loraine, then asked, “Sweetie, are you feeling better? Is everything okay?”
Loraine nodded and smiled as Marshall approached. Marshall wrapped a brown wool blanket around Loraine's shoulders, then sat beside her. Marshall stood five-ten. He wore black pleated trousers, a white dress shirt with the top three buttons unfastened, and black dress shoes. He had beach blonde buzz cut hair, lustrous blue eyes, and a powerful jawline.
Travis carelessly bumped into Curtis, then lumbered towards the opposite end of the fireplace as he rolled his eyes. Travis indistinctly snickered and muttered as he staggered to his buttocks. Travis stood five-eight with a hulking physique. He wore filthy blue jeans, a stained red flannel shirt, and begrimed brown boots. He had brawny arms, a burly chest, and a protruding beer belly. The sides of his dome were shaved, only leaving straight black hair atop his ovoid noggin. Wiry stubble enshrouded his chubby cheeks and round jawline.
Travis sighed in vexation, then asked, “What the hell do you want, Curtis? What the hell is so important now?”
Curtis strolled towards the center of the living room, then retrieved a mobile radio from his pocket. He showed the radio to his peers, like a magician showing a card before a trick, then explained, “We haven't received a new message since yesterday. I think we should wait a few days until the next message, which leads me to our little meeting. If we do wait, we have to begin rationing our food and some of us may have to head out to salvage more later. It's a sacrifice we have to make. What are you guys thinking? Sound good to you?”
Marshall inhaled deeply, then said, “I think it's a good...”
Travis interrupted, “It doesn't matter, does it? For all we know, the government has lost control. They're sitting on their asses waiting to be saved while the undead kill. The president is probably up in the sky on his luxurious plane watching the chaos. Thinking about what he should be doing instead of doing it.”
Curtis placed his hands on his hips, then asked, “So, what do you think we should do? Admit defeat? Let them kill us? Fight back? What's your plan, Travis?”
Travis chuckled, then responded, “It's the end of the world. It's the apocalypse. We either die or we fight back. There aren't any other options. There's no more time to waste if we're going to salvage what's left.”
Curtis nodded and asked, “And, how do you suppose we fight back? We don't have any weapons, Travis. We've got nothing on them. You have a stash of weapons hidden around here or something?”
Travis deviously laughed as he stared towards the dusty ceiling, then responded, “We don't have to be physical about it. At least not for now. I've got an idea. A different idea. A way we can salvage the human species...”
Suddenly, Loraine interrupted in a stern, scolding tone, “Why the hell did you bring that thing in here?”
Curtis furrowed his brow as he turned towards Loraine. Travis chuckled as he nodded and grinned. Marshall gently rubbed Loraine's narrow shoulders as he tried to restrain her, but to no avail – her fierce eyes were set on a warpath. Loraine huffed and puffed as she slowly shook her head in disgust and anger.
Loraine scowled as she asked, “Why'd you seal us in here with it?”
Curtis sighed as he looked towards his mucky work shoes, then back towards Loraine. Her eyes swelled with tears and her face twitched from her overwhelming fear and fury – the dreadful apprehension swelling within. Curtis nodded and bit his bottom lip as he stared back down at his scuffed shoes.
Curtis waved his arms and reassured, “Listen, it's locked in the basement, okay? Besides, we can still escape from the attic. It'll be a long drop, but at least they can't enter from up there. I really don't think they can climb yet. We took all the precautions we could take. We're safe. Trust me.”
Loraine glowered as she asked, “But, why'd you bring it in here? What purpose does it serve us?”
As he hesitated, Curtis loudly sniffled, then said, “Its eyes were different...”
***
Travis coughed into his clenched fist, then explained, “If there's anything we agree on, it's that thing in the basement. Listen, that thing is different. It's not like the others, not at all. I've seen those white-eyed zombies for days. They're slow, but very strong and very sneaky. Those red-eyed zombies are fast and powerful, but noisy, too. I... I lost my wife to one of those bastards, I can vouch for that. I know what these things are capable of. But, I've never seen one with such beautiful, amber eyes. Never.”
Curtis slowly approached, then knelt in front of the cuddling pair. He placed the sleek radio on the hardwood floor as he deeply contemplated. He gazed at the radio with worrisome eyes as he gripped the knob on top. A cold sweat of guilt dripped down his brow as he loudly swallowed the anxiety clogged in his throat.
As he absently stared at the radio, Curtis said, “There was one other message looping a few nights ago. The undead in the basement... I think it's important. It may be significant in finding a cure, it might truly be different.”
Curtis turned the knob on the radio. A male's husky voice played: “A message to all survivors. Please contact your local shelter or government agency immediately upon spotting any infected with any abnormalities – particularly, a change in eye color other than red or white. Do not contact or damage said infected. Please relay this message to other survivors without radio access. Thank you for your patience.”
Marshall furrowed his brow as he asked, “Why didn't you tell us about this? Why'd you lie to us earlier?”
Curtis responded, “I didn't know what to do about it. I figured we'd ignore the message, but when I saw her... When I saw it, I couldn't help but capture it. It may be important. It could change everything...”
Loraine interrupted, “So, what do you plan to do with it?”
As Curtis hesitated, Travis answered, “You can think about contacting the military or government, but... that probably won't end well. I... Well, I have a different idea. An idea you rudely interrupted, Loraine.”
Loraine glowered at Travis and asked, “And what's that?”
Travis diabolically chuckled, then responded, “Reproduction. I say we start battling this damn apocalypse with some old fashioned reproduction. We start rebuilding. And, we have the perfect candidate for reproduction downstairs. I'm sure our precious guest won't mind.”
Marshall's eyes widened as he gasped. Loraine held her trembling hands to her mouth as she gagged uncontrollably. Curtis grimaced from the disgust as he carefully inspected every nook and cranny on Travis' unwavering face – he can't be serious.
Travis grinned as he nodded, then said, “The world is going to shit. People are dying. Millions of people are dying. If we're going to repair the damage, we're going to have to start doing something. Someone has to save our species.”
Curtis' hands trembled from the disbelief. His bottom lip quivered as he stuttered, “You–you're thinking about... about having sex with th
at thing? You can't... No, no, you can't really be considering something like that, Travis. It's wrong.”
Travis snickered, then said, “Well, I am.” As Marshall and Loraine gasped, Travis scowled and shouted, “Hey! I lost my wife! She's gone! She's dead! You two have each other! It's all fine and dandy for you, but not me! Don't you dare try to judge me!”
Marshall shook his head and said, “This has nothing to do with that. It's the... It's the idea. You can't do something like that to that thing down there.”
Travis grinned from ear-to-ear as he leered at Loraine and suggested, “Well, maybe I don't have to. Maybe we can share...”
Marshall snapped, “You keep your dirty hands off her! Don't you even dare think about it, pal! I'm warning you...”
“Calm down, calm down,” Curtis said as he walked towards the center of the living room. Curtis turned towards Travis and said, “You know, you're suggesting rape. You'd be raping her if you went through with it. That's not right, Travis. That's some demented shit.”
Travis shrugged and pouted, then said, “It's not human anymore. It doesn't live by our laws. In fact, it breaks the laws of nature. She's supposed to be dead, Curtis. We wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for her and her kind. That's the truth.”
Curtis shook his head and rebutted, “It doesn't matter. It could be human. And, even if it's not, it'd be... it'd be like having sex with an animal. It's not right...”
Travis yelled, “Stop! Stop telling me it's not right, I'm tired of hearing it! I don't care! It's something that has to be done! If we don't, we could be extinct by the end of the week!”
Curtis scoffed, “You think you can save the human race by the end of the week? Under these circumstances? Please...” Curtis rolled his eyes as he paced back-and-forth, then said, “Listen, you can't save the human race with reproduction. It's impossible. Only a cure can save us now. You can have sex with that thing down there, but you wouldn't even be certain of the consequences. What makes you think it can still breed? Huh? It won't work.”