The Seven Habits

by William Todd Rose

  The bitch has got me pinned good and she’s thrashin’ around on top of me like a bobcat in a sack, trying to scratch and bite and it’s all I could do just to keep her face mere inches from my exposed skin. I mean, she was close enough that I could see all these little dark specks that looked like they were floatin’ in the whites.

  The entire time, what I’m really seein’ is Ocean. I see that little girl out there in the future. I see her crying, see her starving, see her trying to come to grips with matricide. And all I can think is that I failed, that I wasn’t able to protect myself, much less her. I mean, even if I managed to somehow get this thing off me it was already too late, see? They were already coming back. Maybe if I wouldn’t have waited so long. Maybe if I woulda snuffed the whore when I first noticed the sweating.

  But the seed had been planted. Within months, the entire world would be flushed down the fuckin’ toilet because I wanted to be certain. Because I didn’t have the balls to follow my gut when I knew, deep down, that bitch was infected. So I thought, why bother? It’s all over so why not just give in?

  And that’s what I did. I let go of that thing’s neck and just decided to end it all right then and there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Vessel bent her knees and lowered into a half crouch. One arm curled around her stomach, as if shielding the life in her womb, and the other squeezed into a fist. Though the woman probably wasn’t even aware of it, a sound like a growl rattled in the back of her throat, her shoulders heaved with each snort of air gusting through her nose.

  Gauge paused for a moment, chuckling as his eyes twinkled with delight. He glanced at Ocean and raised his eyebrows, as if to say can you believe this, then pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he laughed out loud.

  “Come on, Vessel. Back to your cage… there’s a good bitch.”

  Vessel’s reply was an ear splitting screech that caused Ocean’s entire head to quake with the force of the words.

  “You can’t fucking have her, you bastard! She’s mine. Mine!”

  “Vessel…”

  All traces of amusement had faded from Gauge’s face as he pointed the sickle at the woman. His tone was short, clipped, the words dropping from his mouth with the weight of concrete.

  “I am not playing around. You go to your room. Now!”

  The woman stiffened her body and glared at him with eyes gone wild and crazed.

  “She’s your baby too, Gauge. Don’t you… “

  “She’s my fucking dinner!”

  Gauge’s voice bellowed through the long hallway, causing Ocean to recoil as though she’d been slapped again. The numbness still had hold of her body, everything playing out before her possessed the feeling of an imaginary game, where both of them would turn to her at any moment, smile and wait for her to applaud and squeal with joy.

  This couldn’t really be Gauge, after all. He wasn’t like this, it had to be some sort of charade, a character he was playing…

  “I’ve had just about enough of this shit. If you don’t get your ass back in that room right this minute, I’m cutting that meat out of your damn belly and eating it tonight.”

  Gauge stormed toward Vessel, his face pulled into a long scowl as he hurled the threat.

  At the same time, Vessel let out a cry like an enraged beast. She pitched herself forward, drawing her hands up and hooking her fingers into long talons that swiped through the air. Her fingernails connected with the stubble on Gauge’s jaw and three jagged furrows filled with blood in their wake.

  “You fucking pregnant whore!”

  From where she stood, Ocean could see Vessel’s eyes grow round and her mouth form a perfect O as she gasped. What little color had been in her face drained and she seemed to be hanging from Gauge’s shoulders. He turned away from her sharply, pulling his right arm back simultaneously. There was a sound like the ripping of wet fabric, and another like something between a splash and a squish as Vessel fell to her knees.

  For a moment, Ocean could only look at the little droplets of blood that dripped from the blade of Gauge’s weapon. They seemed to fall to the ground hesitantly, like they knew within the span of a few seconds they would splatter against the concrete below and end their short existence.

  He hopped away like the crimson puddle easing across the floor would melt his shoes, and then Ocean could clearly see the older woman. Vessel rocked back and forth as she knelt, the air escaping her throat in a series of staccato wheezes.

  Her arms formed a bowl just below the arch of her stomach; something pink and glistening slid through the bloody slit in her smock and plopped into her waiting arms. It just seemed to keep coming without end; within moments, the fleshy tubes with their folds and creases were spilling over the sides of her arms and a smell like vomited shit filled the room.

  Vessel looked at Ocean as if she were about to say something. Her trembling lips struggled to find words, but before even the smallest utterance, she crumpled over onto her side. Her mouth still agape, she stared at some infinitesimal spot in the cosmos that no living eyes would ever behold.

  Ocean became aware of a rhythmic lull that seemed to hum in her ear. She blinked several times and forced herself to look away from the pregnant woman’s body, away from the circle of blood that blossomed around her.

  Words. There were words. She saw Gauge, saw his lips moving, and struggled to concentrate. What is he saying? She could tell he was speaking to her. The sounds strung themselves into words, words into sentences, yet there was still a slight delay between hearing them and understanding.

  “… some of that? You want to end up like her?”

  Ocean shook her head, reality seeming to take a fraction of a second to catch up with her movement.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Gauge grabbed her short hair in his fist and pulled Ocean along behind him. She stumbled over her own feet, staggered as she tried to keep up with him.

  There should be pain, shouldn’t there? He was dragging her by her hair… it should have hurt. So why was there nothing more than a slight pressure on her scalp? A tingling that was more like an itch?

  “… ahead of schedule but you should have listened, Ocean… to keep the door closed… your turn.”

  He was pushing her toward the open wooden door. The bed of wadded up paper and the thin sheet stretched across it. The bucket in the corner with its dark smears and shit encrusted lip. The dirty walls and floor… these things were thrown into sharp focus as they loomed larger before her.

  No, no, no, no…

  She wanted to fight, to kick and claw and scream and bite. It felt like something was keeping the impulses from speeding out to her nerves and muscles. Some invisible barrier which was content to let her be shoved through the doorway so roughly that she stumbled and fell, her knees banging against the unforgiving floor. She could hear Gauge’s voice again, sounding distant, as though it were rushing away from her with each flutter of her heart.

  “That’s it… that’s a good girl, you little bitch.”

  She looked up just in time to see the door swing shut with a thunk. Light from the hallway spilled through the little window, casting a pattern of striped shadows to the floor.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for us to get to know each other better.” Hollow laughter echoed as if someone had just told a particularly amusing joke.

  “We’ll be together for a long, long time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  You know what? I couldn’t do it, man. In the amount of time it takes a synapse to spark, I thought about Ocean out there, alone and hungry and scared. Somehow, givin’ up on myself felt like givin’ up on her, too. That’s just not something I was willing to do, dig?

  So that bitch’s teeth are headin’ toward my neck like a striking snake and I did the only thing I could think of. I just kinda bucked, ya know. I used every muscle I had, kinda throwin’ my shoulders back while thrustin’ my chest and stomach up. At the same time, I’m pushin�
� my hands against tits that were colder than two baggies of melted ice. Just kinda shovin’ off, and I musta had some kinda leverage, cause that thing went flyin’ off me like I was the prize bull at a rodeo.

  There was even a brief second where I could still see my hand prints on her boobs, like these pale ghosts that just kinda lingered around. And then I’m scrambling to get up ‘cause I figure if I stay on the floor, I’m a dead man, right? I mean, that bitch pins me again and I don’t know if I could repeat that little bronco trick I just pulled off.

  My heart felt like it was about to explode right outta my chest and that damn dust mask felt like it was some psycho killer tryin’ to suffocate the life right outta me. My lungs are achin’ for some cool, fresh air, to just suck down huge gulps of it, but I don’t dare take that damn thing off.

  Besides, even if I’d been stupid enough to do so, I just didn’t have time.

  I wasn’t even halfway off the floor before that bitch is startin’ to charge again. See, she didn’t know what fear was. She didn’t get tired, couldn’t be hurt. The perfect killing machine—she’ll just keep comin’ at ya and comin’ at ya, wearin’ ya down with the persistence and ferocity of a rabid weasel.

  And me? I ain’t got so much as a pen knife on me. The gun’s out there in the hallway somewhere with my duffel bag and even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t do me any good anyhow. I mean, I wasted all my rounds, pumpin’ them into her chest like that.

  I’m usin’ the edge of the tub to help boost me up and she’d crossed half the distance between us when she just kinda launches herself at me. I mean, one moment she’s running toward me and the next she’s divin’ through the air, flyin’ at me like some fucked up superhero. Got her arms strecthed out in front of her, ready to latch onto my face…

  This time, it was dumb luck that saved me. I slipped, see, in all that water on the floor. One second I’m strugglin’ to get up and the next it feels like someone just pulled the world out from under my feet. I fell hard, man. I mean, the thump rattled the panes in the window and it felt like my spine was about to shoot right outta the top of my head.

  That fuckin’ corpse thing? She just passes right over top of me. Her ankle smacked me upside the temple as she flew by but then there was this sharp crack from her head hittin’ the tile, I suppose. There was a big splash like someone had just done the cannonball at the pool, with drops of water sprayin’ everywhere.

  I know she won’t be down for long, so I’m kinda half crawlin’ toward the door and fighting to stand up at the same time. I don’t like her bein’ back there, behind me, where I can’t see her, can’t tell how close she is. I was just tryin’ to go by sound alone, but everything is a little muffled ‘cause the hood on that suit is cinched so tightly around my head, right?

  Even so, I can hear the tub water sloshin’ and in my mind I get this perfect picture of her risin’ up out of it. Hair plastered to her skull, water runnin’ down her body and reconstitutin’ all that dried blood into these cloudy little streams. Crouchin’ down as she flexes for another pounce.

  Then I hear a sound like someone tossed a handful of pennies into a jar of change, ya know? It’s all mixed up with this other sound, like a big ‘ole trash bag bein’ yanked outta the box. And almost immediately there’s a thud that I can feel through vibrations in the floor more than I can really hear it.

  I look back over my shoulder, real quick like. Just to know if I should turn and fight or just keep runnin’, right?

  The undead bitch is half in the tub, half layin’ over the edge, and she’s got the shower curtain all wrapped around her. I mean, she’s all twisted up in that shit, thrashin’ and kickin’ water. Kinda flops outta the tub and she’s tryin’ to tear her way through it, but only seems to be gettin’ even more tangled up.

  By this time, I’m out into the hallway and the carpet is squishin’ under my feet with all the water it’s done soaked up. I scoop up my duffel and I’m fumblin’ with the zipper. I couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it through those damn plastic gloves and my hands were shakin’ like a palsied old, man anyhow.

  I hear feet runnin’ through water behind me and I know that thing’s got free, and I got three, maybe four seconds tops before she’s springin’ onto my back, so I say fuck it. I give up on unzippin’ the damn thing altogether and just kinda pull each handle in opposite directions. Popped that zipper like a virgin’s cherry. I’ve got one hand thrustin’ inside and I’m whirlin’ around, all in one motion.

  She’s right there, man, close enough that I could see the little puckers of skin around the bullet wounds.

  The duffel bag’s droppin’ to the floor and my arm’s swingin’ around in a wide arc, just lettin’ centrifugal force do most of the work.

  And that pry bar slams into the side of her skull so solidly that a jolt goes up my arm, kinda like I’d just banged my funny bone against somethin’. Her head snaps to the side and she’s just beginnin’ to turn when I hit her again.

  This time, I’ve got both hands choked up on that metal and I’m twisting from the waist like a little leaguer goin’ for a grand slam. It connects with her face, little bits of white teeth go flyin’ even as her body pirouettes in a crazy spiral from the force of the blow.

  I’m bringin’ that bar down again, like a fuckin’ machine, man. Whack. Whack. Whack. I drive the bitch to her knees and she’s still grasping at my suit… only the Tyvek is so slick with the water and all that she’s not gettin’ a good grip anymore.

  I yank her head back by the hair, right? So she’s lookin’ right up at me like she’s about to give head or some shit, and I just start cavin’ in that brow, man. Looked like I was just denting it at first, like there wasn’t anything more than cheap aluminum under that waxy skin.

  Then these bits of bone start breaking through, almost like I was seein’ the fangs of something that was eatin’ its way outta her head. There wasn’t any blood or anything, seein’ as it had all pooled in the bottoms of her feet. Just this broken and battered forehead that looked like… well, it looked fucked, man. You can’t really compare that shit to anything you’ve ever seen, ‘cause you ain’t never seen anything like it.

  Finally, I stop swingin’ and I take that pry bar and kinda plunge it down like I was usin’ a post hole digger. The end of it goes right through the weak spot I’ve created and I feel a bit of spongy resistance for a second, so I throw my body forward and drive that fucker home. Sink it four, maybe five inches into her head.

  Just like that, she goes limp, kinda falls over right there in the hallway. But I’m not the trustin’ sort, I’ve seen way too many horror movies, man. So I whack away on her head with a bunch more blows. The entire time I can feel this surge of excitement floodin’ through me, and I let out a wordless battle cry—part yell, part scream, part crying.

  But I’m alive, damn it. I’m alive and I can fuckin’ appreciate everything. The throbbing pain in my hands and knuckles. How my shoulder is so sore that I wince every time I jostle it. The way I’m hot and sweaty inside the suit but my face feels all cool.

  Finally, I stop hittin’ the bitch. She ain’t gettin’ back up. I made damn sure of that, cause you can’t even tell she has a face anymore, man. Looks more like a pumpkin that’s been tossed outta a movin’ car or some shit.

  I walk into the bathroom and turn the faucets so that the tub finally stops overflowing, then I reach down into the bottom and, even through the Tyvek, I can feel the chill of that water. It felt so damn good, man. Almost like I’d never really felt water before, ya know?

  Once it’s all gurgled and swirled down the drain, I drag that corpse by its feet and kinda plop her ass down in the empty tub. I’m sittin’ on the edge and I’ve got my duffel bag by my side and I’m pullin’ out all these heavy duty lawn and leaf bags that I brought along. Then I get that hacksaw and set about to business.

  It’s harder than it looks on TV and the movies, man. I mean, you really have to work to get those little teeth cuttin’ through b
one. The wrists weren’t so bad ‘cause I guess they’re kinda thin, but when I started sawin’ just below the knees… man, that was a bitch. Had to stop once when the blade got wedged in real tight like, and snapped in half.

  I just kinda left that part of the sawblade sitckin’ out for the time being and decided I should take care of what was left of the head while I still had the strength. I figured if the knee was that much of a bitch, what the fuck would the neck be like, ya know? Only it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I’d gotten a rhythm down or some shit, but it came off like it was made of cheap wood.

  So I’m sittin’ there, holdin’ this severed half a head by the hair, just kinda lookin’ at it. For some reason, I started giggling, don’t really know why. There wasn’t anything particularly funny about the situation. But at the same time, everything was funny, and, before I know it, I’m laughin’ so hard I’ve got tears rollin’ down my face and that battered head is just swingin’ in my hand like some bizarre pendulum.

  That’s about the time you boys in blue showed up, and all I could think to say, even though I knew it could be used as evidence against me in a court of law, was: Ocean, I don’t regret a thing, honey. Not a damn thing.

  Everything after that is kinda vague. It’s like my mind’s this pitch black sky and every so often fireworks of memory flare in the darkness, burning brilliant as the crowd below goes ooohhh. I see my little Honda bathed in red and blue strobes, crowds of people whispering and pointing, then sitting on this bench with my hands trussed behind my back so tightly that my shoulders almost feel like they’re bein’ pushed forward. Blackened fingers rolling across these little cards and a woman’s high pitched laugh that bubbles up through a drone of voices. But all of these bursts of recollection fade quickly, dissolving into this shower of fragmented sparks that wink out in the night.

  The next thing I do remember clearly is layin’ in my cell. Even though there’s a mattress beneath me, it feels like I’m on a slab on concrete and my muscles are so sore that I can barely move. So I’m just racked out there, starin’ up at the ceiling and tryin’ to ignore the smell of piss and vomit that seems to have soaked into every molecule in there.