The Need For Flesh (Apocalyptic Cannibalism Book 1)

by Matthew Hawking

  Cover design by: Janiel Scueta

  Copyright © 2013 Kindle Publishing Matthew Hawking

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book

  “Hello, is anyone there?” –Day of the Dead

  Prologue

  In 2014 a pharmaceutical drug simply known as “KP-29” went live for use without any prior beta testing. Many people have speculated why and how this came to be. Many have failed to come up with any sort of reliable Intel. As with any new drug, it always took a while before the public really knew about the side effects. What they did not expect - was the drug - to literally change their whole demeanour in less than a week. People did not want it anymore, they needed it. The drug not only hijacked the brain completely, but rendered the human into a deep subconscious hallucination - where reality and dream became one. Sadly, this was only the beginning. As of today: Wednesday, September 24, 2014– 70% of New York is under quarantine.

  (1)

  It’s been raining for almost five days straight. And it still was. Well…that’s what the window said; occasionally making a crunching noise as the rain became more violent. But most of the time it sounded peaceful. At least it drenched out the sound of what was going on outside...God, yes, at least it did.

  Brian Amsden never considered himself a creative; in fact, the last time someone praised his creativity was way back in primary school. The class had to draw a cartoon character, and he drew Donald Duck that when finished – looked more like a fucking rat, than duck. But, he was a young kid, and the teacher said: Good job Brian! That is so beautiful, you have talent. His young impressionable mind took this to heart; and so, began his creative pursuit that lasted for no more than three days.

  Brian did – however, like reading, and reading, was the only thing keeping him busy in this quiet apartment. He would occasionally stare back at the cover while reading, and then at the water washing down the window. Sometimes he heard things outside, things he chose to ignore. Last night around three am was the worst; he knew it was three am because that’s when they always raised the alarm; warning the few people left stranded, that they should get out. There was no mistaking the sound from last night, he hid under his own bed covers (as if that would help), when he heard those things walk outside. Their footsteps were very even and slow, then, once in while they would sprint forward – and stop, to walk slow again.

  Upper Manhattan was closed down, fully quarantined; this included the Bronx where Brian lived. The only current safe place was Lower Manhattan. That is where they told everyone to go to: Make your way down as soon as possible, Do not speak to anyone while making your way down, It is better to be on foot than car, Do not take anything from people.

  Brian has not seen it for himself, but he heard crossing the barrier blocking Lower Manhattan and Upper Manhattan was now almost impossible. It was like a WW2 trench. Bright lights. Loud intercoms. A lot of guns. He even heard innocent civilians getting shot. That is when Brian and the few minority decided to stay where they were, probably because out of fear to go out. As days led to weeks, Brian (and as far as he was concerned), many others, would not only regret staying – but be praying with all their heart – that someone would come evacuate them.

  They never came.

  It all happened so quick.

  Brian remembers a week ago, so vivid.

  (2)

  Wednesday, September 17, 2014

  Brian was in his apartment reading the latest September issue of Maxim; featuring a two page spread of Mila Kunis in her bikini. He was just about to turn the page when–

  Bam-Bam-Bam! The door knocked.

  Jeesus what time is it. Brian thought. He looked at his phone. It was only nine-forty. He walked over to find his best friend Mason - panting and looking for breath.

  ‘Mas–’

  ‘I saw it. I saw it.’ Mason said.

  ‘You saw…what? Jeesus come in man.’ Brian said, and closed the door.

  The way Mason walked over to the chair made him feel uncomfortable; he was walking shoulders slumped and head fixated downwards. The last time Brian saw his best friend like this was way back in primary school. His dog got ran over right in front of him – by a driver too busy catching up with his favourite football team on his phone: “Ye’ Chicago Bears won! You go Chic– BAM! –what the fu’” (This was the part where drops of red sprayed across the window).

  Mason did not say much. In fact, he has been sitting in the exact same spot for almost thirty minutes now. Brian was never good with theses sort of stuff, he freaked out internally, so he opted waiting for him to utter the first word.

  ‘I saw it.’ Mason mumbled. Finally speaking, but two words in thirty minutes were not going to suffice. Brian got up from his chair and opened a window.

  ‘If you don’t tell me what is bothering you Mason, I can’t help you.’

  Mason looked up at Brian, with a face whiter than before. ‘It’s about the....it’s about the drugs Brian.’

  This was the last thing he wanted to hear. It felt like his intestines were now tying a perfect knot inside, where it kept pulling and pulling. Mason did not say what drug he was talking about – because Brian knew – it was written all over his face. Why now, Brian thought, why now when he was just about to open a magazine with Mila Kunis inside.

  ‘Mason, don’t tell me you took the drug again? Because you know what happened the last time we took it.’

  Mason didn’t look at him. He was too busy staring at the floor.

  ‘We even made a pact. We swore we would not touch that shit ever again.’ Brian said, now assuming that this was what it all was about. ‘You remember don’t you Ma–’

  ‘I did not take it.’

  ‘What then Mason, what is it? Tell me.’

  This was when Mason opened up. He took three deep breaths and sat back for the first time. His mouth opened up and he let everything out. Five minutes into the story – Brian had to find a seat to sit down; he did not like what he was hearing. Apparently he went out to the local Seven-Eleven. Upon arriving he went to the back of the store to get a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk. With the two items in hand, he started walking to the front. This was when he heard screaming – not outside – but inside. Two white men were shouting at the cashier to give them some drugs.

  ‘But this was not your normal robbery’ Mason said. ‘Why would they try and get drugs from a Seven-Eleven cashier? This was a young kid we were talking about: maybe nineteen, glasses and severe acne. Not some fucking Mexican drug lord.’

  Brian tried comforting his friend half way through the story, Brian said that everything was fine, it was not his fault and that robberies are more common than they thought. But this brought no comfort to Mason, and for a good reason, because Mason did not tell the second part of the story yet.

  ‘So I hid behind one of the aisle walls.’ Mason continued. ‘The milk fell from my hands onto the ground. But luckily they took no notice. That’s when things really started to get out of control.’ Mason sighed. ‘Then all hell broke loose Brian. I can’t believe I am going to tell you this…but it what I saw with my own two eyes.’

  Brian did not know if he wanted to hear the full story, but what was he going to do, sit there? Mouth shut? Hey Mason – it’s cool – let’s talk later? No. So Brian did what any person would do, sink your ass further into the sofa and an
ticipate.

  ‘The cashier was just as stunned as I was, I could see it on his face. When he said they don’t keep any drugs…the two men…they got out of control. I remember it so clearly, they looked at each other grinning the most evil smile I have ever seen, and then…they lashed out on the young kid, full out, I mean…full out. They both ripped out a kitchen knife from God knows where…and slashed his throat.’

  Think I should have just kept reading my Maxim. Brian thought.

  ‘And then it got worse.’

  ‘How…can it get any worse?’ Brian asked.

  ‘Brian, they…they…’

  Is that rain starting to fall outside? Brian could hear little drops start to fall on the window.

  ‘They fucking ate the kid!’

  Brian heard those five words come perfect out of Mason’s mouth. But somehow, his ears chose to ignore it almost completely. ‘What, did you just say?’

  Mason burst out crying. ‘They ate…the fucking kid.’

  Brian will never forget this night. Probably for the rest of his life, for many factors: One, it was the first time in his life that he had to deal with cannibalism, let alone some young kid at Seven-Eleven getting eaten for dinner. Two, after comforting Mason everything seemed ok. He went home and that was it, or so he thought. The next day Brian went over to his apartment to hang out with him; upon entering he found Mason in his bedroom with his brains hanging on the ceiling. Guess he could not handle the sudden trauma. Brian lost his best friend.

  (3)

  Friday, September 19, 2014

  It’s been over two days now since his best friend committed suicide. He was not doing much, and decided to stay indoors. He had no motivation to speak to anyone else apart from his aberrated face in the mirror. Apart from lumbering down the narrow halls of his shitty apartment and reading the occasional: 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey (which was now lying lost somewhere), Brian did not feel much anymore. He supposed he was going through the stage where a psychiatrist would say: Brian. After thorough analysis, and countless of hours of you lying on my expensive (real leather) couch, and not to mention all the money I made by mostly listening, I can now confirm that you are going through the – WAIT FOR IT – drum roll – maybe some thunder for effect; Brian. You are in denial.

  Even if Brian was suffering from the so called denial, and even if he knew it, he did not care. He just lost a best friend and that is what mattered most.

  Brian was pretty sure that yesterday people came knocking on the door. He had no idea who, but he was sure there were a lot of knocks. He must have been asleep.

  (4)

  Saturday, September 20, 2014

  Brian mustered enough energy to get up from the sofa where his best friend sat three days ago – and walked to the kitchen, where he made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He opened up the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. Before even opening the bottle of milk, he saw white pieces drifting inside; between a layer of yellow and white.

  Fucking great. He thought. He opened up the milk and sure enough his suspicion was correct. The smell of putrid snail. The milk was off.

  Well looks like I am going to have t–

  Bam-Bam! The door knocked.

  Brian decided to open the door this time. In front of Brian stood two people; two military personnel. Both still had their helm on and Brian could swear that the guy on the left had his hand hovering over the holster, as if to say: Make a move buddy, and I will shoot you down.

  ‘Can I help you guys?’ Brian asked.

  ‘Sir. We are here to inform you that the whole of Upper Manhattan and above is being evacuated.’

  Tell me I just did not hear that. Is this another 9.11? Brian thought.

  ‘Under the law we are authorised to search the premises under a mass evacuation. Do you comply?’

  Brian did comply. What else was he going to say? Sorry I am busy making my peanut butter sandwich?

  It’s been over five minutes now, and the way they rummaged the apartment – made Brian angry. First they went to the living room, where they lifted the couch upside down and murdered it with a knife. They only moved on when the air filled with foam and fluff. Then – one officer went over to the wall and looked behind every picture frame, while the other got onto his knees and tapped the floor, as to find a secret basement.

  ‘So what is all this about?’ Brian asked, probably too casual.

  They ignore him. They did not even look at Brian; it was as if he was invisible. They both walked to the kitchen and looked around: opening every cupboard, searching the trash can and even opening up jars. Then, one of them spotted the sandwich. He called his partner – pointed at the sandwich and said: Austin. Look, he is eating.

  Brian was even more confused. Why did he just say that? Was this guy trying to joke around? But the way he was talking made Brian think otherwise, he was serious as serious can get.

  ‘Sir how long have you been eating?’ Austin asked, the one still hovering his hand close to his holster.

  ‘Uh. All­­–’

  ‘Let me rephrase the question for you. Did you have any breakfast this morning?’

  ‘Yeah…yeah I did, some oat meal and orange juice.’

  Austin looked at his partner and gave a nod of approval. ‘Looks like his hunger is normal - he should be fine’

  ‘Yeah…my uh, hunger is just fine, in fact, I was just about to eat a peanut butter sandwich’ Brian mumbled.

  But again, they did not listen. They were already back rummaging the kitchen. Next stop – refrigerator.

  Brian went over to his stylish new sofa, and sat on it where possible. He gave up on asking them for questions, he was just going to sit there and wait for them to tear his place apart, why not? What if they were not even military, Brian thought. But - the M-16 guns hanging on them made him realise that they were the real deal.

  Another five minutes went by, they were now in his bedroom, Brian could hear them–

  Then, a radio talkie went off in the kitchen: All personal. We have two hot on 232 West 135th Street. I repeat. We have two hot on 232 West 135th Street. Calling all personnel.

  What is “two hot”? Brian thought.

  Something dropped in Brian’s bedroom, sounded like something heavy. Almost in a flash the two army men came rushing down. One saying to the other: I knew shit was going to break loose there. I bet it was those two funny looking we drove past. I fuc’n knew it. The way they kept staring up.

  And then they were gone. Leaving Brian wondering what the hell was going on, and an apartment – that looked like it just got broke into.

  (5)

  Sunday, September 21, 2014

  The next morning Brian got up early. His routine was still the same: pressing the snooze button for an extra few minutes of sleep, making breakfast and then brushing teeth. While brushing Brian could swear he heard a lot of banging and even some shouting outside last night. But maybe it was just a dream; he did vaguely remember having a nightmare. He was walking outside in Central Park, when a man approached him asking if he saw his little kid. When Brian replied no, the man started crying furiously. This is where the dream starts to fade a bit, Brian remembers putting his hand on the man’s shoulder to comfort him; that’s when he looked up, his whole face changed, it was Mason’s face. He started laughing like a maniac, then while doing so, the sky above turned from blue to orange. Brian tried telling him that he was so sorry for not saving him - but it was like talking to a wall, Mason rummaged his pockets and slowly got out a gun. Brian used every ounce of energy in his body to grab the gun from his hands, but the more the gun elevated to his head the more Brian’s body got stiff – to the point where he could not move. Then, there was a loud thunder and the sky turned red. This was when Brian woke up, screaming.

  After the two army men left yesterday, Brian turned on the TV to watch CNN. They said something about a large gas leak around Manhattan, and that they were evacuating people to a safer distance. T
hey were interviewing this one guy from the Bronx, a large black man that kept licking his lips. They told him that he was right in the middle of the supposed danger zone – to which he replied: I ain’ going nowhere. I live just across the street, I got two kids, I got mouths to feed and I will tell you again. I. ain’. Goin’. Nowhere.

  Brian could not help but laugh, he thought: typical fucking New Yorker. After that – he switched the TV off and started cleaning up his apartment. He never thought two people could cause so much damage in such a short time. But he did not really care, cleaning kept his mind of Mason for a few hours, and that is all he needed. Brian also decided to stay where he was after watching CNN. A gas leak cannot be that bad he thought, besides, there was that tornado here not that long ago, so there has been worse.

  Two-thirty in the morning. Brian woke up to screaming outside. The screaming was bad; Brian was sure it was more than two women screaming a wretched cry; it even sounded like they were getting raped at one point. When Brian got up to have a look outside, four people ran down the road, it was hard to see, it was dark. He went back to sleep.

  (6)

  Monday, September 22, 2014

  Brian got up around eleven-forty the next day. With his apartment looking a little better he decided to go out of the house for the first time – after Mason’s death. Brian was stunned to find the roads still saturated with army and police vehicles. It was mostly army trucks though; one road Brian walked on - had five parked next to each other in a neat line.

  There were luckily still a lot of normal civilians walking around, though, as Brian thought that, he saw three yellow school busses getting loaded with people. One bus in particular was parked skew next to a tall apartment building. People were walking out at a very slow pace, while two or three Army men waved at the direction they should go. Brian stood there for a few minutes and watched from the side. He would lie if he did not feel a little worried, people sure were being evacuated, and very quick it seemed. While civilians walked to the bus, the neat line of people got disrupted when a fight broke out.