by A. P. Fuchs
The five that still hung around my building were taken care of easily enough. I drove the end of the bat pretty good into the face of one and sliced the neck of another so much so she that her trachea spilled out. The other three came at me all at once, slow and clumsy, and each one was dropped with a cracked skull. I had to step around the brains to get back in the front door.
And now I’m here, still covered in blood, stinky and sweaty, the memory of being out there killing zombies something that happened to someone else yet at the fore of my mind all the same.
…
…
This is the first time for me to write anything, I mean really write something long and, hopefully, with meaning, so I just went back to the first entry and skimmed it over. I was going to tell you about what happened “six hours ago.” Guess it’s not six anymore. Too much has happened since. Let’s just call that time period “before” and call it good.
Let me tell you about what happened before.
Selena. She was my before. Even before I met her, she was my before. I’ve always known her, saw her in different people (as you know) until I met her for real one day. You also know the overview of it not working out and all the rest.
But there’s another before you need to know about.
One involving Selena, a zombie, me, and a whole lot of blood.
·14: Before
I couldn’t take it anymore, the wondering.
I had to know if Selena was alive.
Though the world got screwed up a long time before, not knowing was killing me.
I did the math: everyone dead equaled she was dead, too.
Still didn’t compute. That’s the funny thing about hope. No matter how bleak the circumstances, no matter how unlikely things would work out, it still nagged at you, telling you that somehow, some way, some when everything would be all right.
I go on-line, did some searches, feeling something like a super spy able to discover whatever I wanted at the touch of a button.
See, nowadays everybody’s plugged into the Net. Most people are users; the only ones who aren’t are those who live on the streets. Communication was everything before the dead rose. Still is now—if you could find somebody to talk to. Have a job? There’s a trail somewhere in Cyberspace. Have money? Your transactions are wired into the Net, too. Like movies? Same deal. All rentals are done on-line. No more going to the video store, but even if you do shop at the few left, those rentals are still tracked via the store’s Web site.
I digress.
Finding Selena’s address didn’t take long. Got her phone number off a video receipt of Rents-‘R’-Us. Stuck her phone number into 411 and, wholla, there she was.
Address committed to memory, I grabbed my Louisville and stood by my door. Was I really going to do this? Go out there, try and evade the dead and see if she was home? I must have stood there for a half hour just thinking about what I was going to do. See, Selena didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Long story there, but let’s just say I didn’t handle the break up very well. Had a thing for trying to contact her after the fact even after being repeatedly told the show was over.
But this was different. It wasn’t every day the world ended. I figured she’d cut me some grace and let the past be the past.
If I found her, that was.
When I finally went outside, it was evening, the cool air just setting in, the silence of a dead city almost soothing to the nerves (if I made an effort to not think about what was out there).
I began walking. For every zombie I saw, I made sure I had ample time to either hide or take a different route. It caused the walk to Selena’s to take forever. I got there, however, some two hours after I left (I think). She lived in a highrise called Sweet Iris, the building’s name making zero sense (as did a lot of the things named in Comptropolis). I didn’t know how long she had lived there for since we last spoke. It didn’t matter.
Sweet Iris looked to be about fifty stories tall. Her suite number was 4912, so I assumed that meant the forty-ninth floor.
The front door, all glass, had been smashed a long time ago. I went in, the stench of rotting flesh thick on the air. I stepped back outside and breathed in deep and readied myself to get back in there and “take it like a man.”
Once back inside, I kept taking big gulps of air, holding it, as I went further in, thinking the less I breathed the better off I would be. Then I realized that by holding the air in, I was allowing my lungs ample time to fully absorb whatever microscopic organisms were in the air. Even diseased.
Breathing normal, I finished crossing the expansive lobby, one lined with wilting trees and a no-longer-running stream with gold fish floating belly-up on its surface. Must have been nice back in its heyday.
The elevators were dead and the thought of climbing forty-nine floors made my stomach do a flip.
Then I remembered it was for Selena.
It was always about Selena.
* * *
I nearly died by the time I finally reached her door. Panting, heart rapping inside my chest, I had to put a hand against the doorframe to deal with my dizzy head and the stitch in my side.
Selena’s door.
I’ve been here a million times before, both when I was with her and in my mind ever since. This door was a gateway to a world of love, pleasure and the infilling of something that only happens when you meet the one person you’re sure you’re destined to be with forever.
The feeling of her safety was there, overwhelming me, and for a moment I forgot about the creatures lurking outside and how the rest of the world was dead.
Then reality came back and there I was, ready to find my girl.
I kicked down the door.
Selena’s apartment was rank, the funk of death immediately bringing bile up to the back of my throat.
The white walls and ivory-colored doors that lined the foyer still looked like they had the last time I was here.
I closed the door behind me and checked the light switch, just in case. No power. I inadvertently glanced back at the door and felt tears well up in my eyes at what I saw: blood, dark smears of the stuff all up and down it as if Selena had tried to beat down the door and busted her hands open in the process. Why she hadn’t used the handle, I didn’t know, unless—
Then it hit me.
She couldn’t escape. Something or someone stopped her.
Movement behind me.
I spun around, Louisville ready, just itching it plow it into the skull of the monster that took my sweet girl.
The floor was coated in blood, black and dried.
Slowly, I stepped forward, gently placing one foot in front of the other as lightly as I could so as not to make a sound. Too late. The dried blood on the wooden floor cracked as I walked on it.
I passed the kitchen on the right, the one where we cooked our first-anniversary meal together. Heart aching and throat dry, I pressed on. The living room was next and it was just in behind the ornate swinging door in front of me.
I thought about getting out of there, about running for safety.
But I had to know.
I gently pushed open the door.
That’s when she charged me.
·15: Before, Part II
The zombie came, arms outstretched, reaching for my neck and shoulders. I stepped to the side; she narrowly missed me. The zombie had its back to me but before I could raise the bat, long, matted brown hair swirled around and a pair of yellow teeth burst forth from a pair lips along with a terrible hiss. Those eyes, sunken and dead, looked at me with such hunger that I couldn’t believe Selena would—Selena…Selena…it wasn’t Selena.
The zombie grabbed hold of me, locking its arms around my waist. My own arms were free. I dropped the bat on purpose and shot out my hands and held back the dead girl’s head so her snapping jaw wouldn’t take a bite out of my face. I had to know for sure. The girl’s skin was bumpy and boiled, gray and lifeless. Chipped, yellowed teeth snapped up and d
own in front of a shriveled tongue. Vacant eyes kept staring straight ahead, just past me, as if seeing something that wasn’t there. It just kept snapping its mouth open and closed and open and closed and…those eyes.
They weren’t brown.
They were blue—faded—but blue.
Thank God.
I shoved the dead girl away from me, quickly crouched down, picked up the Louisville, then let her have it across the skull. The shards of glass along the bat’s weighted end lodged themselves into her head. I ripped them clean out, dragging along bits of flesh and bone with it. Syrupy blood splashed against the floor. The zombie teetered to the side. I came down on her head with the bat again. She fell. I stepped on top of her stomach and plowed the slugger into her face at least twenty times.
She made me think she was Selena.
After her face and head were good and gone and was nothing more than a stringy mess of skin, blood and bone, I finally stepped off her and moved to the side.
Then I heard something coming from the direction of the bedroom.
I kicked what was left of the dead girl’s head just for good measure.
She made me think she was Selena.
She made me think…
That sound again.
The bedroom.
I moved toward it.
Selena’s bedroom was just down the hallway, the room on the right just before the bathroom at the end. I’ve been down that hallway hundreds of times before and there was one time in particular that I’ll always remember. More on that in a second.
The Louisville unexpectedly grew heavy, my heart pounding knowing what I might find. The hallway’s white walls seemed oddly out of place all of a sudden, the white an awful contrast to the dark world Comtropolis now found itself in never mind the darkness in my own heart telling me I didn’t belong in such a bright place as this.
I hoisted up the bat shoulder height and stood in front of the bedroom door. Inside, dull thunks echoed, at first just one then a whole series of them. They stopped then resumed. Stopped then resumed. Then kept on going, each thunk nearly matching the frantic beating of my own heart. It took a moment for me to realize that tears had formed at the corners of my eyes. I thought I was already all cried out over her. Now…
My breathing sped up and no matter how hard I tried to slow it down, I couldn’t. Throat dry, I clenched the bat, reached out—and opened the door.
Thunk, thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Across from me, in between a pink-quilted bed high enough above the ground for a princess and an ornate dresser up against the wall beneath the window, was a girl who I’d recognize anywhere, back turned to me, repeatedly walking into the wall, her head smacking against it as if trying to beat out black and tormenting thoughts.
Selena.
She wore black pants, a gray sweater a couple sizes too big, no shoes. Her wavy brown hair hung loose halfway down her back.
My arms ached to reach out and hold her.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
I wanted to speak, to get her attention. My voice caught in my throat and the words didn’t come.
I stepped in further, each foot dragging a dumbbell.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Se—Selena…” I barely managed.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
I went closer, about ten feet away.
“It’s me. Marty. Are you—” My voice caught again. I cleared my throat. “Are you—” I wanted to ask if she was okay but something inside me said that if I asked that, that when I saw her it would hurt even more.
Only a few feet behind her now, my bat still raised.
She kept pounding her head against the wall.
“Selena…” I reached out and touched her shoulder.
Selena kept hitting her head.
I tried again, this time pulling a bit on her right shoulder to help turn her around.
She did.
She was dead.
Her gaunt skin was like skim milk, her brown eyes pale and vacant. Dry, cracked lips that hadn’t seen a drink in who knew how long grinned then displayed yellow teeth just like the other girl.
My arms dropped, the bat suddenly too heavy for me to carry. I still held onto it though I couldn’t bring it up in between us when she lunged at me. A dull thump boomed inside my skull and the back of my head lit up in dry pain. It took a second to realize I was on the carpet, Selena on top of me, seeming to weigh twice as much as she did when she was alive though no extra weight showed.
Growling, her mouth went immediately to my neck. I jerked my head to the side, bought a few inches, the let go of the bat and pulled my hands up between us and pushed her off. Rolling over, I scrambled to my feet, Selena somewhere behind me. Running to the opposite side of the room near her closet, I planted my feet firmly, raised my fists and got ready. She darted toward me, low, guttural groans dripping from her mouth like drool. She didn’t recognize me or care who I was.
The realization almost paralyzed me then, her not caring. Felt too much like how she treated me after we’d finished dating.
My bat was on the other side her.
She latched onto me with both hands, her grip hard and firm, squeezing the life out of the muscles just beside my neck. On instinct, I shot my first out, punching her in the chest, the force strong enough to cause her body to bend at the waist. She straightened in no time then came in again, this time forcing me into her. I went with this, shooting my weight forward, knocking her to the ground so this time I was on top. Of all things to think or feel or notice, when I drew my hands in between her arms to break her hold on my neck, it reminded me of the time she had once put her arms around me, drawing me in for a kiss. I had similarly reached in between her arms, gently pulled them down then ran my hands across her cheeks and brought her face close to mine. Our lips locked, tongues searching the other’s, nothing but passion and love.
A kiss of need.
Now, I put my hands to her face again, this time gripped her hard, my fingers close to her ears, my thumbs on her cheekbones. I bent my arms at the elbow then shot them straight out, slamming the back of her head against the floor.
I did it again, this second time fazing her.
I got off her and ran for my bat. When my fingers wrapped around the wooden handle, it was like coming home. Movement behind me. Spinning around, I was greeted to a blur of brown hair and gray material. I cracked the bat across her face. Her body reeled to the side. One giant step closer and I brought it down on the back of her skull. Her neck cracked. She dropped to her hands and knees.
Whatever tenderness for her that was in my heart vanished and was replaced with the life-giving breath of rage.
“You took everything from me!” I screamed.
The bat came down, plowing once more into her skull. Her body dropped by my feet, prone, face down. I got on my knees, rolled her over, her dead eyes now blood shot, her face a mish mash of ripped flesh and blood.
“I loved you and you destroyed my life! I hate you! I hate you!” And I brought the butt end of the bat down into her nose, crushing it.
Selena coughed, threw up blood, then tried to attack me though the attempt was feeble.
“How could you!” I shrieked. “How could you!”
Nothing but low groans escaped her lips.
She didn’t hear me.
She didn’t care.
·16: Watersheds
What’s sick about all this is that my whole life boils down to Selena. There’s my life before her and my life after. No in between or some kind of transition period or years of maturing or anything that goes with growing up. I suppose every life, in the end, has some kind of watershed. Selena was mine. Just wish it wasn’t so painful.
I’m home now, writing this (obviously), thinking that perhaps a new watershed has presented itself.
Madness.
My new turning point.
I had beat whatever was left of life out of Selena.
Scratch that.
I…killed her.
Can’t finish this now.
Later.
·17: Watersheds
Like I said, my life changed because of one girl. Now, it seems, it’s changing again thanks to the world’s decent into chaos and the living dead.
In that bedroom, sitting next to her body, covered in blood, I didn’t cry. Most people would. Anyone who kills the one they love would bawl till their eyes bled. But I do remember the buzzing inside my head, my brain feel soaked with alcohol and the lightheadedness that goes with being stoned.
I sat there, her head in my lap, my hands stroking her hair over what was left of her skull after I had dismantled it with the Louisville. Glancing around her room, I remembered that particular time I hinted at earlier.
It was the time she and I had first made love.
Both of us had been raised proper, the idea being not to have sex before marriage. Believe me, many nights after long make out sessions we fought with everything we had to not give in and go one or ten steps further. In hindsight—and perhaps this is only the part of me my parents raised talking—I’m glad we abstained as long as we did because the night we did first get glimpse into each other worlds was so powerful that I’m sure our abstinence played a huge part in it.
That hallway, the two of us, walking down it hand-in-hand, each breathing choppy due to racing and apprehensive hearts, was like a tunnel to a new world where discovery awaited and rebirth was just around the corner.
We went into the bathroom first, Selena turning on the shower, the room suddenly filling with the moist warmth of steam and the security that goes with it.