by Jenkins, Seb
LIFE
AFTER
DEATH
With thanks,
Berni Botto
Alana McKenna
James Mackey
Prologue
The rain lashed down, stinging Max’s face as he sprinted through the darkness. He stumbled and fell to the floor, slicing open his knee as he did so, the puddle beneath him turning a deep red as he agonizingly pulled himself back to his sodden feet with his last remaining energy. He wasn’t far from safety, but as he painfully limped down the shadow-filled street, he could hear the groans and the clicks behind him growing louder. Growing closer. He did not dare look over his shoulder. He knew they weren’t far behind.
The undead were on his trail, and Max was on his last legs. He took the next street on his left, praying that he’d finally escaped them; as he rounded the corner, barely catching his breath, he stopped dead in his tracks as yet another horde of undead lay waiting for him. They were everywhere. Max felt like he had been plunged back into this never-ending nightmare.
For a moment his heart stopped, time stood still and gut-wrenching fear swallowed him whole. His way was blocked, he didn’t have the strength to outrun these creatures anymore. Turning back Max took the only other available road, scampering down it as fast as his legs would allow. He chanced a quick glance behind him, regretting it instantly. They couldn’t be more than 10 seconds away.
His mouth was dry, and tears began to form in his eyes, joining the heavy rain pouring down his face. He clenched his teeth and forced himself onwards, turning back to face the street in front. Max was frozen with fear once more, the sopping wet soles of his shoes glued to the road. Beyond him undead poured out of gardens to the left and right of the street, sweeping onto the road like deadly assassins.
He was now enclosed in this nightmarish circle of the undead. All exits had been closed off, they were herding him like sheep. Herding him like prey. It was so organised, almost as if it had been a trap, set for him all along.
Chapter One
Max Dalton awoke to the droning buzz of his alarm clock, as he angled his weary head towards the red, flashing 6:00am on his table. He reached out from under the warm covers and found the snooze button after grabbing mid-air in a few failed attempts.
It was going to be an inevitably long day; but one which could prove to be both exciting and rewarding. He had been entrusted with a large presentation at the company he had slaved at for 7 years, with no promotion. If today went well this could all change. If he could secure a large contract then Mr Thompson would surely have no choice but to give him the promotion he had been jumping through hoops for.
Truthfully, Max wasn’t happy at all in his job, but the security of a steady -albeit unimpressive- pay check was not something he could afford to gamble with.
Max reluctantly scrambled out of bed and made his way lazily towards the bathroom of his small apartment. It was a real man’s apartment, lacking the female touch that comes with having a girlfriend or wife. The simple fact was that Max did not leave this dark room for anything except work, and relationships continued to evade him as he slipped ever further into his late thirties.
He fumbled around for the bathroom light, then turned on the shower, praying for hot water. Max usually didn’t bother to shave before a day of work, but a good impression was important today so he decided to make the effort. He looked into the bathroom mirror and a tired, sickly-pale man stared back at him.
Max was 37 years old, six foot two, with broad shoulders and a naturally muscular looking body. His thick, black hair was messy and the odd grey hair was beginning to shine through noticeably. The deep, purple bags and wrinkles under his eyes made him look like a man well into his forties, with dark, shadowy stubble covering most of his face and neck. His dark brown eyes were sad and lonely, which wasn’t a false representation. He usually had the look of a man who put little effort into his appearance, but today would be an exception.
He carefully shaved his face before getting into the shower, using a more expensive, untouched bottle of shower gel which had been gifted to him from his brother a year or so earlier. Making sure to comb his hair and wear his best suit, Max skipped breakfast in order to arrive early at the meeting to prepare.
After closing the squeaky door to his apartment, he fiddled with the lock which seemed to get stuck more often than not. For once, Max was full of optimism as he began the short walk to his office.
As Max anxiously waited for the lift to reach the fifth floor, watching the numbers gradually light up one by one, he was conscious of the sweat dripping down his back as realisation ultimately sank in. This was probably one of the most important meetings of his life; it was his way out of the boring rut of a routine he had found himself in.
He didn’t love his job, but Max honestly worked hard and he was excited to finally reap the rewards. He didn’t get excited about much, but today was a big day.
Briefly checking himself out in the full length lift mirror, and sharpening up his collar, he reached the fifth floor and stepped out. His boss was standing by the front desk, which was strange as he rarely ventured out from his large office; he had always been a creature of habit. He arrived at seven on the dot, and left at six, every day the same routine, yet here he was standing outside seemingly waiting for someone.
“Is something wrong, Mr Thompson?” Max asked inquisitively.
“Oh… err… yes… Max, just the man I wanted to see,” Mr Thompson stuttered.
“Care to step into my office?”
Max was confused at his boss’s behaviour. He was usually a slick and confident character, but he now seemed nervous and frantic.
“Of course sir, no problem,” Max answered quickly.
Max followed his boss into his office, a room which had always impressed him. The huge space was mainly occupied by an expensive, grand oak desk behind which sat a menacingly large black chair. The difference in size of the visitors chair and Mr Thompson’s meant that he was always looking down on you; as if you were on the back foot before the conversation had even started.
A fish tank which could rival some aquariums covered the wall behind Mr Thompson, with a variety of bright tropical fish dancing through the water. The room had always inspired Max to stick with his job no matter what, following the pipe dream that one day he might be able to occupy such an elegant office.
“Take a seat Max,” said Mr Thompson
“Yes Sir,” replied Max, sinking into the comfy armchair and now looking up at his boss.
“Can I just say I cannot wait for the opportunity to pitch this morning sir, I really think I can secure the company a great deal,” Max continued, sounding as excited and enthusiastic as possible.
“If I’m honest with you Max, that’s why I invited you in here this morning, I’m afraid you won’t be taking the presentation,” Mr Thompson stated without a hint of remorse.
Max felt his fists clench. How could the company he had been so faithful to over the years betray him like this? He could feel the anger welling up inside him, ready to burst out; but he knew that without this job he wouldn’t be able to afford even the rent on his small, dingy apartment. He needed to make his excuses and leave before he did something he might later regret.
“I respect that decision sir, I will try harder next time, now I must get back to my work…” Max replied in a soft, angry whisper as he rose from the chair to leave.
“Actually Mr Dalton I wasn’t quite finished,” Mr Thompson replied authoritatively.
As Max slowly sank back into the now uncomfortable chair, it dawned on him that his boss never referred to anyone by surname. He felt a large lump in his throat, squirming on the spot as he waited for Mr Thompson to continue.
“A
s you know the company is making some pretty serious cuts at the moment, and we need to take every possible action in order to save money and maximise profit,” Mr Thompson finally said.
Both men knew what was coming, but he carried on in the same formal manner. Max only grew angrier by the second.
“It has come to my attention that this department could stand to lose a few employees and it is with regret that we are going to have to let you go Mr Dalton,” he continued.
Max had stopped listening to the old man behind the desk. Jealousy pumped around his body, filling every inch with insane rage. This small man behind his big desk had the power to plunge Max’s life into darkness, and he didn’t seem to care one bit. Sat there in his sharp, expensive suit, in his grand office, with his stupid wispy grey moustache on his wrinkled, aged, sagging face.
Max simply couldn’t take it. He had given up 7 good years working at this mind numbingly boring company, slotting into the same monotonous routine day in day out, all for nothing.
“What do you mean, let me go?” Max whispered whilst shooting a dagger-like look into his boss’ eyes.
“I’m sorry Max but-?” Mr Thompson replied with a sense of judgement and authority.
“I’ve worked my fingers to the fucking bones for seven miserable years at this company, and now you’re just going to…let me go?!?” Max spat.
“I’m afraid that’s the way it has to be Max, please clean out your desk and leave within the hour,” Mr Thompson arrogantly shot back, barely keeping eye contact as if Max was no longer worth his attention.
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving! Oh, and you know Mark from accounts?” Max shouted as he stood to leave.
“I don’t see what Mark has to do-” Mr Thompson began.
“He’s fucking your daughter!” Max laughed.
Just as he turned he noticed the glimmering engraved plaque, with MR THOMPSON inscribed fancy italics, sitting upon his boss’ desk. Without a moment’s thought Max had it squeezed in the palm on his hand, his knuckles turning a pale white, and with a parting “screw you!” he hurled it towards Mr Thompson’s beloved fish tank, cracking the wall from floor to ceiling.
A stream of foul-smelling tank water began to flow from the cracks onto the posh burgundy rug, no doubt imported from some far away country.
“Hope you can swim arsehole,” Max said with sense of pride as he strode out of Mr Thompson’s office back towards the depressing, dank flat he called home.
Chapter Two
It had been three weeks since Max had lost his job; he hadn’t ventured out of his flat for a second and even the curtains had remained drawn. He needed to shut himself away from the harsh outside world for as long as possible.
The tiny apartment has always been a dump, but it was now unrecognisable. Plates and dishes towered out of the sink, surrounded by colonies of flies, maggots and who knew what else. Not an inch of the floor remained in view, covered by clothes, rubbish and discarded beer bottles.
The foul stench no longer bothered Max, he had become immune to the stuffy, murky smell emitted from every inch of the flat. Frankly, he just didn’t care anymore.
On the way back from work twenty-one days ago, Max had stocked up on the essentials. The last of his dwindling bank balance managed to buy him, 2 bottles of gin, 3 bottles of whiskey, a bottle of vodka and a whole load of beers. He couldn’t remember the last time he had anything close to resembling a meal but the fridge had been well stocked with ready meals; enough for him to skate by.
As he finished off yet another can of beer, he tossed it in no particular direction; hearing the rustling of crisp packets and the clanging of empty cans as it hit what loosely resembled his floor. He swung his legs round to the side of the bed and stood up, which he immediately regretted. It was less like a hangover and more like a permanent migraine as he had not let up on the drinking since his altercation with Mr Thompson.
His head was pounding, the blood crashing like waves against his skull, it felt like knives were being driven into his temples and his eyes were popping from their sockets. Nausea struck him instantly and his vision blurred as he steadied himself on the bedframe.
He waddled towards his bathroom and pulled down his three-day-old boxers. Once he drained his bladder of what he could only assume was now pure alcohol, he sat down at his table and carried out his morning routine. The truth is he didn’t really know what time it was at all; he hadn’t seen sunlight since he arrived home, and he had no plan of changing that anytime soon.
On the table in front of him sat a half-eaten, cold pizza with a few flies buzzing around the greasy pepperoni covering it. He flicked his wrist and brushed the flies away before tucking into his breakfast. After five slices of pizza and a swig or two from a nearby whisky bottle, Max stared across at the far end of the table. He would do this every three days or so, every time he felt most depressed; when he lost all hope.
An old-fashioned looking revolver perched on a chair at the opposite side of the table, as if it were part of the family sitting up for a meal. The saddest thing was that the gun was the closest thing Max had for company lately. A sense of loneliness struck him hard as he reached over to the gun and twirled the cold metal in his hands.
Just holding the weapon filled him with a kind of purpose and power; it gave him a sense of control he hadn’t felt in so long. He would often sit like this for hours, just holding the gun, studying it. He had bought it off a friend of a friend a few years back after a spate of violent break-ins around his apartment. Back then it was purely for protection; now it was more comforting than ever.
He flicked out the chamber and stared at the one solitary bullet in the fourth slot, only reminding him of his own isolation. He spun and clicked it shut again; it was second nature to him now. He stared at the weapon for a minute longer, psyching himself up. He pointed the gun towards his face and edged it closer and closer to the surface of his skin. Gradually he put the muzzle into his mouth as the familiar metallic taste ran down his tongue and around his mouth.
He always took a moment to think about this, as one day it would surely be the last thing he tasted. Whenever he saw people play Russian roulette in films, they always pulled the trigger as fast as possible. He had never understood this. Max wanted to take in every last moment, in case fate decided that it would be his last. It wasn’t really the sense of power or control that kept bringing the gun back into his hands; it was the end result.
He had never been a religious man, but the hollow clicking sound of an empty chamber when he pulled that trigger always made him think that someone up there -god or fate or whatever- was willing him to live on. He shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger, hearing once again the hollow click that meant he had another day to turn things around.
He threw the gun down and jumped back onto his bed, the springs creaking beneath him. It was after these moments that he was in his best mood. He felt alive again. Max fumbled under the duvet for the remote, clasping his hand around it and switching it on. This was met with a booming voice from the speakers as a newsman read urgently, “STAY IN YOUR HOMES, KEEP YOUR FAMIL…”
“Way ahead of you mate,” Max chuckled and switched channels.
He had no interest in the news; quite frankly, it bored him. He sat back and felt relaxed for once, completely oblivious to the outside world and slowly felt his eyes grow heavy as he drifted back to sleep.
He was awoken again a while later; by an ear-splitting thumping. He couldn’t be sure how long he had been asleep, as time merged into one when he sat in the dark all day. The urgent knocking emulating from the front door echoed through his skull, as he struggled to get onto his feet.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, for fuck’s sake!” he yelled towards the cracked, green door.
“Max, for the love of god let me in man!” a familiar voice called back urgently.
Max wrenched open the door. He stumbled back and shielded his face from the excruciating brightness as the sunlight pierced his eyes. T
he man at the door let himself in and threw it closed in a hurry, thumping his body against it as it shut, as if trying to keep someone out. Max blinked away the white light behind his eyes and looked up at his visitor.
“John? What are you doing here?” he asked his brother.
“I haven’t seen you in months!”
“Haven’t…you seen…the news?” John wheezed out in bursts as he caught his breath.
“The news? What are you on about John? Come here you idiot,” Max replied, pulling his brother in for a hug.
The two brothers had always been close, but since Max moved for work seven years ago, the distance between them meant they couldn’t meet as often as they wanted. With no wife, girlfriend, or children, and parents who had passed away when the boys were young, John was the only family Max had left in the world.
It felt good to see him again. Truthfully, it was just what Max needed right now. As Max let go of the embrace, John leaped back towards the door, drawing the curtains open ever so slightly and peering out of the crack in paranoia.
“What’s going on John?” Max asked slowly, with a clear sound of worry now in his voice.
“Have you seriously not seen the news Max? Where have you been for the last week? I called you over and over but your phone never even rang!” John replied without taking his gaze off the window for a second.
“I’ve been…around,” Max mumbled, looking down at his feet, too ashamed to admit that his phone had been cut off months ago.
“Why? What have I missed?” he continued.
“Okay, you need to sit down,” John urged, now looking directly into Max’s eyes. He was clearly confident about the situation outside now as he tip-toed quietly over to the sofa and brushed off the mounds of rubbish that lay upon it. He sat down and patted the spot next to him. Max followed suit, now both nervous and confused about what was going on.
His brother had always been the smarter, slicker one of the two, but here his perfect blonde haircut was ruffled and his deep blue eyes shone with fear. He had never been as muscular as Max, but even so his hunched, trembling figure looked slighter than usual.