by Al K. Line
"It's okay, don't worry about it," she said, voice wavering. She fixed her eyes on the road and sped up.
"Okay."
"How much further, Dancer?" she asked, glancing at him in the rearview. "Dancer?"
He took an age to answer then said, "Not long. Another thirty minutes, tops. You remember where I told you to go?"
"I remember."
Seems there had been a whole conversation I'd missed out on, too. This was becoming close. If we didn't get help soon we'd be brain munchers in a matter of hours.
"Spark?" croaked Dancer.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"If this doesn't go as planned then I'm sorry."
I shifted in my seat so I faced him, trying not to wince. "Nothing to be sorry about, buddy. We tried and that's the main thing."
"Not about the brain fetish thing. I'm sorry for... You'll see. I'm sorry."
The rest of the journey was made in silence apart from the heavy, labored breathing of the zombies-to-be and the quiet sobs of Kate.
See, this is why I hate road trips. They're depressing as hell and you never get to choose the music. Plus the only snacks were ones I really hoped I never got a taste for.
I snapped to attention as Adele blared out the CD player. "Ugh, turn it off, turn it off. You trying to make my last few minutes utter torture?"
"You fell asleep," accused Kate. "So I'm leaving it on so you'll stay awake." Kate turned it up and I squirmed in my seat as Adele sang about night falling, or something like that.
Damn, was I gonna go out listening to generic, overrated pop? What a bloody nightmare.
A Shuffle
"I don't like this," said Kate as she pulled up in a creepy alley, scaring a cat that emerged from a pile of garbage, glared at us, then was gone.
"It'll be fine," said Dancer, groaning as he opened the door and got out.
"Mithnite, give us a minute, okay, buddy?" I said, grateful the music had stopped now we were at the spot Dancer had directed Kate to.
"Sure, no problem," he said.
Before he got out I caught the look he gave Kate and the nod she gave in return. He was worried I'd turn and attack her. We all knew there wasn't much time left, that if Dancer's contact failed to come through then no way would we make it until morning.
My head was a fog of strange cravings and my life was slipping away, memories replaced with a hunger I resisted with my entire being.
I reached for Kate and she took my hand. "Look, it'll be okay. But if it isn't, if—"
"Faz, don't talk like that. You'll be fine, I know you will."
"I hope so. But just in case, if we don't come back, or if we do and we aren't successful, then know that I love you. Kate, you have made me happier than I have ever been in my entire life. I worship you, adore you, and I'm sorry it's come to this."
"Oh, Faz." Kate lunged across the gap and held me tight, hand cupping the back of my head like a newborn.
I shoved her away and it was the hardest thing I ever did in my life. She looked at me, shocked and bewildered. Anguish on her face at such a rejection.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's too much, the scent of you. I can smell your brains. I want them, I..." I fumbled with the door handle, finally got it open, and forced limbs into action that ached so bad I honestly wasn't sure they'd work. Standing in the dark alley, I peered back in and said, "I'm sorry."
The last image I had of Kate was her beautiful face streaked with tears. Then I slammed the door shut and said to a nervous Mithnite who was beside me, ready to protect Kate, "Remember your promise. And if I don't see you again, make sure to keep up your studies." I patted him on the back then shuffled away from the car and moved down the alley to Dancer and Persimmon, both beside the bike.
"You ready?" asked Dancer.
"I'm ready."
"Good luck, guys. You're gonna need it, you know that, right?" Persimmon smiled weakly and took a step back without being consciously aware of the distance she created between us. I didn't blame her. Hell, if I could I'd move away from us.
"We know," I said. "Thanks, Persimmon. For everything."
"Maybe, if we, er..." Dancer trailed off, eyes darting anywhere but to Persimmon. "Um, maybe if I'm not a zombie we could go and, um—"
"Bloody hell, Dancer, you're minutes away from death and you can't even ask a girl out for a date?" said Persimmon with a chuckle.
"Only because you're so gorgeous. You make me nervous," he said, finally getting the courage to make eye contact. Dancer may be good as Head but he sure as hell isn't good with women. Guess he's just made that way. It was nice to see. Showed he was a genuine guy, not just cocky and full of himself.
"Me, gorgeous?" said Persimmon, brow creasing and looking genuinely surprised.
"Um, yeah. You do know you're like, ultra hot, right? More. You're bloody absolutely stunning. Plus, you have a very nice personality and a lovely smile," said Dancer hurriedly.
"Nice save, buddy," I said, smiling despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
"Me? Haha, that's very nice of you to say so."
"Wow, you really don't know how pretty you are, do you?" I was stunned. She always acted like she knew. Not in a way that made you think she believed herself better than anyone else, just a deep confidence. Happy in her own skin.
"I guess I'm okay," she said. "But lots of women are prettier. Anyway, if you were trying to ask me out then yes, I'd love to, Dancer." Persimmon stepped forward and kissed Dancer lightly on the cheek then stepped back out of arm's reach.
"Then I'll definitely beat this thing," said Dancer, a renewed sense of purpose in his voice and manner.
"Me too, just so I can see your face when you have to go through with your date," I said to Persimmon, knowing deep down that she genuinely liked him. Weird, eh? This day just got stranger and stranger. Goes to show that what you think about people is often far from the truth. You can't see what goes on in people's heads no matter how much you think you can.
"Dick," said Persimmon, and then she walked back to the car and got in the passenger's side.
The door closed and we waved into the glare of headlights then shambled down the alley. Dancer turned, I followed, and we left our friends behind, maybe for the last time.
It was just us now. Two men shuffling along the dark streets of a small town in the north of England, trying to hold on to the one thing that kept us human.
Love.
The Hunger
The town slept.
There wasn't a soul in sight as we wandered through cramped streets, poorly lit with many streetlights broken. Stores were shuttered, graffiti prevalent, and many of the dirty windows had for rent signs. The place had seen better days. Another victim of the out-of-town mega stores that left small businesses unable to compete. The shoppers couldn't really be blamed. Everyone was mindful of their cash flow and it may be a noble idea to support local businesses but when you can buy everything cheaper somewhere else then your family comes first. A real shame, and certainly not a way to keep communities alive, but there you go.
Soon we were away from the main part of the town and out into the suburban sprawl. Endless repetitions of similar houses, lacking the flourishes and the design considerations of homes built in the Victorian era. Why did everything have to look the same? Identical brick boxes with boring, well-manicured lawns, and dull, mid-range cars parked in the drives? Just people doing their best, Faz, don't judge.
The going got tough after about twenty minutes. We were slowing, the infection really taking hold now. I caught myself drooling and lost to dreams of cannibalism. Consumed by desire for warm flesh and lumpy brains scooped with relish into my gaping mouth.
I lost count of how often one of us had to stop and give ourselves a good talking to, or just shake out a limb as it had gone stone cold. Blood refusing to flow, everything shutting down little by little.
Soon we would be gone.
"Damn, what if we turn here?" I said, wheezing as I fought to get the words
out. "We could go on the rampage and nobody will be able to stop us. We'll be past saving. I don't wanna be that guy, Dancer."
"You won't. If one of us dies then the other will deal with it, right?"
"Yeah, course." I knew we'd made that promise, but it would be easier said than done if we were any further down this rabbit hole. Heck, I wasn't sure I had the energy or the will to put my friend to rest if he died right now. What if he got away before I could destroy his brain and put an end to the nightmare before I too was gripped with the full effects of the virus?
"We need to hurry up. Not much further now, just a few more minutes. She better be in," he said as an afterthought, and I think we both felt the terror rise. What if, after all this, we failed because this mystery woman happened to be away?
"You haven't called or checked or asked if she's here, have you?"
"No. I told you, she won't like this, not one bit. If I'd called, she would have said no. We're risking a lot here, Spark. For you, especially."
"What do you mean? Come on, this secrecy is stupid now. Don't you think I should know what I'm facing?"
Dancer kept moving although our pace was painfully slow. "No, because if I told you then you'd be in no state to deal with this. I'm sorry, okay?"
"You've said that already, a few times. Look, dude, I'm getting freaked out. What is this all about?"
"Spark, you just have to trust me. This isn't the way I wanted things to go down. I expected something very different, but I have no choice. I just hope she understands. I hope you do."
"Okay, buddy. If you think you're doing the right thing, whatever this is about, then I guess I trust you."
"Good, because we're here." Dancer put an arm to my shoulder and stared at me hard. "You have to stay calm. Don't overreact. Don't freak her out, and whatever you do, don't leave. You ready?"
"I guess. Haha, who am I kidding? Whoever this is, she's our last hope. This is it, Dancer. If this fails, our lives are over. This is our final destination."
"I know."
He didn't look convinced, he looked decidedly unsure of himself.
We turned as one and faced a boring looking small detached house with a tiny, utterly pointless lawn at the front and an entirely forgetful car in the drive. Curtains were drawn but a little light spilled out from a downstairs window. The living room, I assumed.
We walked up the short path to the front door, a cheap PVC and glass thing with a plain brass knocker more for decoration than anything as there was a bell.
Dancer pressed the button and I heard Jimi Hendrix play from the chimer somewhere in the hall. A light flipped on. Through the frosted glass I could just about make out a shape coming toward us.
The door opened.
"You promised me," said my wife, as she glared at Dancer. She puffed deep on her joint, turned from us, and shuffled back down the hallway.
This is It?
"What the fuck?" My head spun, my knees buckled, and if Dancer hadn't grabbed me and yanked me inside before I got my wits back I would have done a runner. Okay, I would have shambled off slowly and painfully, but you get the idea.
"I told you it wouldn't be easy. But it's not what you think. You have to trust me, Spark. This is it, the end. It's this or death. No more Kate, no more looking after Mithnite. Nothing."
"I... I don't know if I can. This can't be happening." I shook my head and slapped my temples as if it would clear the dream, the nightmare, and I'd be somewhere else. Waking up at home in bed would be ideal. But I was still there, still standing in a hallway with rough pine floorboards, prints by Robert Venosa on the walls, and paper lanterns strung up the stairs on a banister with chipped, cheap white paint.
"Just come in. I'm sorry, this is the worst possible time for this, but she can help. It's not her, Spark. It's not her. Just keep telling yourself that and you'll be all right."
"Ha, sure. Easy for you to say. She's dead, Dancer. I saw her die. I can't do this, it was so fucking hard then. I think I'm going mad."
"Come on." Dancer gripped my arm tight and pulled me forward.
"You have got to be kidding me," I moaned as I was pulled through the bead curtain and into what can only be described as hippie paradise. There were lava lamps, those weird tie-dye throws used as wall coverings, bongs and bottles and statues of Vishnu. Incense clouded the air, making it hard to breathe, and sat cross-legged on a cheap rug was the one person I knew for a fact I'd never see again in my life.
My head still spun. I was finally losing it. I grabbed for the curtain, pulling it down, beads spilling across the floor. I focused on the shining plastic, trying to gather myself, but it was too much and I couldn't cope.
"This is impossible," I moaned, too confused and emotionally charged to understand what was happening.
"Sorry, Spark, I knew this was a bad idea, but what choice did I have?" said Dancer, looking uncomfortable as a vampire at the dentist and for bloody good reason.
Somehow, I remained standing, although my legs were wobbling and it had nothing to do with the zombie inside almost ready to emerge. "Hey, Sarah." I smiled at the leggy lass, hair straight and down her backside, eyes glazed and smiling beatifically up at us. She was utterly composed, hadn't batted a stoned eyelid at the mess I'd made or the mess I was in.
"You shouldn't be here. I'm not ready. I don't want to get in the way."
"Huh? What? I don't understand. I don't understand any of this." I turned to Dancer. "What's going on?"
"Calm down. Just breathe."
"I can't fucking breathe. My dead wife is sitting on the floor and I'm about to turn into a goddamn zombie."
"Okay, so it's not an ideal meeting," said Dancer.
"Zombies!" said the startled blast from the past as her high disappeared and she jumped to her feet.
"Brains." I clasped a hand to my mouth, the word like a mental trigger. All I could do was picture her gray matter spilled on the floor, me lapping it up. Scooping it with my blackened hands, the power and the sustenance fortifying my almost dead body. I reached out for a carved Indian table, a cheap import, but it toppled, and me along with it.
Dancer reached for me, but I heard him inhale sharply and his lungs rattled. I noted the change in his eyes as Sarah's scent reached him through the mire of incense.
He lunged for her, legs like stilts, his face waxy but criss-crossed with bulging black veins ready to burst from his skin and spurt putrid poison. A vein pulsed like a fat wiggly worm at his neck and he licked his lips, a hideous blue swollen thing of a tongue running over fat, ashen lips.
I tried to do the same, to taste the scent of fresh meat in the air, but my tongue was so engorged, my throat so raw with anticipation, that it hardly poked through my teeth now. They were furred up, all kinds of nasty, and all I could think was I wanted to split her skull open and devour her. Claw at her belly. Release the sweet sausages that were her bowels and suck on them until they were drained and I was full, satiated for just a while.
Thoughts of the past evaporated along with my sense of self. I forgot that this was the only other woman I had truly loved in my entire life. That I had spent decades living with her, laughing with her, loving her. That I'd watched her age and eventually get taken from me.
She was forty when we met, and died in her early sixties. It was the most painful six months of my entire life as I watched her fade away and turn from a buxom beauty full of the joys of life to a wasted skeleton. The chemo ate her away and the cancer finally won a battle she fought valiantly right until the end.
My beautiful Sarah. How I loved and adored this woman. I vowed never to get attached to another human being with such depth of emotion ever again. She was alive, she was young again. She was beautiful.
And I was about to smash her head in and feast on her brains.
If Dancer didn't get there first.
In the Kitchen
"Will somebody please explain what... the... fuck... is happening?" I shifted my position against the bindings that kep
t me sat in the chair, glancing around only to find I was in a cramped, outdated kitchen. Dancer was beside me, Sarah at the opposite end of the table closest to the door that led to the hallway. She held a knife in front of her and her hands shook almost uncontrollably.
"Don't you dare try to eat me or I'll kill you both," she warned.
"Um, Sarah, I don't know how this is happening, how you're here, but trust me, you don't want to kill us. If you do, we'll just turn all the quicker."
"He's right," agreed Dancer. "Unless you stab us in the brain."
"Shut up, you utter muppet."
"Oh, oops."
"Be quiet, both of you!" Sarah put a finger to her dimpled cheek in concentration, the mannerism so familiar, yet forgotten for over forty years, that I began to cry.
"How are you alive? I've missed you so much. You look young again. I saw you age, Sarah, saw you die. I was at your bedside. I held your hand as you passed." The tears were coming fast and strong now. I couldn't think about coming back from the brink of being a zombie, how much my body hurt, how ineffective the bindings were as I could burn through them hardly calling to the Empty. All I could think about was her. Watching her emaciated body fade away years too early until I was left alone.
"Don't call me that. You haven't told him, have you? You promised you wouldn't come, Dancer. You said you'd let me decide when the time was right, that you'd tell me when he was back how he should be. When he returned to the Hidden world."
"Sorry. Look, he is back, has accepted who he is. But things got complicated and I haven't had the chance to tell you. We got bitten. By zombies," Dancer added helpfully.
"I kinda guessed that. So, ugh, the washing line isn't gonna stop you, then?"
"Nope," said Dancer. He turned to me and said, "Spark, care to get these off us?"
"Sure. Whatever." I faded out for a moment, touching the Empty as lightly as possible until my ink flared subtly. Sparks danced off my broken body as the plastic-coated stuff melted away, dripping onto my suit. Whatever, it was ruined already. I reached out a hand and grabbed Dancer's ties and let them melt away, too. He shook them off but we remained seated.