by G. D. Lang
I couldn’t bring myself to look away, let alone walk away. I was under the spell of this lifeless, alien body and what it represented. Where do you go as a society once horror is no longer transfixed in celluloid? Once harmless words on a page catapult themselves into a reality we’d thought we understood? Vicarious thrills – munching on popcorn in a dark theater as an imaginary killer stalks a group of defenseless teenagers or sipping wine while immersed in Stephen King’s latest page turner – would no doubt become a thing of the past. If zombies existed then what of vampires and werewolves? Sentient robots or time travelers? Fantasy is only enjoyable because it involves a suspension of reality – we know it’s not real which makes it fun. But if there are no longer limits to what can be or what will be? The only fantasy worth having will be one in which we are spared from living another day in this grim new reality.
I shook my head vigorously hoping to avert my eyes away from the bloodshed in front of me. If this was the future, I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to be a part of it. A piece of me wanted to die right here in this bathroom so I wouldn’t have to see what kind of surprises were hiding around the next corner. But the other part still had a plan: get to Ocean Shores no matter what. If I was going to die, it would be on my terms. I wanted to see natural beauty once more before my time expired. The old pier on the west side of town slowly relenting to the enduring surf; the private stretch of beach north of the city where fog slowly gave way to sunshine every morning even if just for a few minutes; the cliff walls lined with clay where young lovers had risked life and limb just to profess love to someone they’d probably forget about in 5 years. I wanted to see it all one last time. Then I could turn out the lights. Maybe I was overreacting; I had no idea how widespread this thing was but as far as I was concerned, one undead wanderer looking for human flesh is enough to change the world. And I’ve already seen four. I can do the math. The odds of this being an isolated incident are slim to none.
I made my way out of the bathroom and to the café where I hoped there was some food waiting for me. As shell-shocked as I was right now, no amount of horror could kill my appetite. My digestive system had detached itself from my brain knowing that nutrients needed to be replenished in a hurry. Survival is one hell of a calorie-burner. The door opened before I had the opportunity to knock. A new face. A beautiful face.
“Hey, I’m Jane” she said with a warm smile that completely clashed with our current situation. “Come on in. We’ve got sandwiches all made up.” She studied me closer now. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah…” I said “just a little problem in the bathroom.”
“Fiber helps” she smirked.
I laughed, an involuntary and entirely unwanted snort emanating from my nose.
“Sorry about that” I said. “It feels nice to laugh.”
She smiled back at me, our eyes locking for what felt like a few seconds too long. She was hard not to look at. Brown eyes innocently studying me through black-rimmed glasses – the kind of glasses that say “I’m a geek and I’m ok with it.” A faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt clung to her curves the way a shirt should. She wasn’t skinny or plump. Just the right size that tells me she’d be okay going out for a pitcher of beer and a basket of hot wings. “Fat in all the right places” is how my grandfather used to put it. Her shoulder-length brunette locks tied up in a non-fussy pony tail that valued utilitarianism over beauty. She had no makeup on to speak of save for some shimmering lip gloss that made her lips exude just the right level of pouty. The lack of concern about her appearance was the very thing that made her beautiful. If first impressions were anything to go by, she was a geek goddess. And I was in trouble.
“Welcome to paradise” she said with a bit of a curtsy that again put a smile on my face.
“Thank you my lady” I responded. She gave me a wry smile as she turned around and led me to the kitchen where Zoe and Ricky were happily munching away on some delicious looking deli sandwiches. Ricky gave me a nod as Zoe rushed over to once again claim her rightful place clamped onto my leg. She remained silent but her grip said plenty.
“Wild boar or venison?” Jane asked, holding up two identical looking sandwiches enrobed in plastic wrap.
“What, no olive loaf?” I joked. “Let’s see, does boar taste anything like ham? If it does, sign me up.”
She tossed the sandwich into my chest. “It tastes nothing like ham but it’s all we’ve got. So enjoy. Oh, and be sure to tip your waitress” she winked. That mischievous little smile was hard not to love.
Ricky, clearly sensing the chemistry between us, just smirked as he shook his head and quickly returned focus to his half-eaten sandwich. I managed to catch his eye and motion him towards the front of the café. Jane sensed what was happening and called Zoe over to finish her sandwich. We stood where just yesterday there was probably a throng of people standing patiently in line as they debated whether to get potato salad or chips with their sandwich; iced tea or soda to wash it all down. I wondered what goes best with wild game but didn’t really care to know the answer.
“So I don’t think we have to worry about that shooter anymore. She’s dead in the bathroom. She turned right in front me. She actually begged me to kill her.”
“Did you make sure she was dead?” He had a worried look on his face. Clearly, he didn’t trust my ability. Not that I could blame him. I didn’t exactly look like the killing type.
“Oh she’s dead” I said. “Trust me. You can go see for yourself if you want. It’s not pretty.”
“Yeah, I’ll take a look. I forgot to get the rest of my arrows anyway. And I should see how bad the damage to the front window is, see if we can plug it up somehow. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Ok, just let me know if you need any help” I said, ripping the plastic off of my sandwich like a junkie looking for a fix. I choked down half of it in about 10 seconds and found myself staring at Jane. Or more specifically at her chest. I wasn’t admiring it really, it just happened to be in my sight line. Of course she caught me.
I quickly and smoothly pointed to her shirt and asked “which one’s your favorite?”
“The left one. But the right one isn’t bad either.”
“The right what?” asked Zoe. I could feel my cheeks flushing. I walked right into that one.
“Uh, no… I, uh. Which Ninja Turtle is your favorite?” I sounded like a lovesick, bashful teenager who had never touched a booby before but Jane just kept smiling, flirting maybe. I couldn’t be sure. I was never very good at interpreting the signals of the opposite sex.
She let me sweat a little longer before she responded “Donatello has always been my favorite. Purple is my favorite color and I love the idea of him kicking the crap out of people with basically a big stick. It’s so old school, you know? Plus he’s the smartest one and they make fun of him sometimes. I can relate to that. What about you?”
“Definitely Michelangelo. I love how laid back he is. And every young boy wanted to whoop some butt with nunchucks.” I sat there smiling and reminiscing about simpler times, “I remember being mad at my mom for months when she wouldn’t let me buy a pair. And then to rub it in, she bought me those fake plastic knife things that Raphael – my least favorite character – used. Though in her defense, the first time I actually tried using nunchucks, I hurt various parts of my body pretty badly.”
She smiled, “looks like everything came out ok.” She was definitely flirting now. An odd time for it but everyone had their own way of dealing with things. And since I was clearly the target of said flirtation, I was doubly ok with it. I simply smiled as I watched her reach across the table, admiring every curve as it struggled to stay within the confines of her shirt. Her arm rotated to reveal a tattoo on the underside of her wrist.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.
“What do you think it is?”
“I think it’s the Triforce from The Legend of Zelda which officially makes you the coolest chick I’ve ever met.�
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“You are correct… and thanks” she said with a hint of shyness that contradicted her demeanor.
I had spent a lifetime attempting to hide my geek tendencies and this girl was literally wearing hers on her sleeve with pride. Amazing. I suddenly didn’t care about what else was happening or why it was happening. I just wanted to get to know this woman even more before it was too late. My intrigue intensified with every word that came out of her mouth. The distraction was most definitely a welcome one.
After doing a solid job of blocking the hole in the window with various display racks, sleeping bags, and a large gun safe that was on display near the entry of the store, Ricky had returned and we all found ourselves in a bit of a heated argument about whether to stay here in the store and endure an unending supply of anxious and increasingly violent looters or to set out on the road to try and find out more about what was really going on. We’d gone back and forth for some time debating the key points. Predictability versus uncertainty. Relative safety versus unknown danger. Hypothetical scenarios. It all became too much. I forcefully took control of the conversation.
“Ok” I said, pausing until I had everyone’s full attention, “in terms of safety, I don’t have a damn clue if it’s better to keep moving or hunker down. But in terms of sanity, moving is the best option. That way we can focus on what’s next instead of waiting around to die while our imaginations turn us into nervous wrecks.”
Ricky nodded, “the longer we stay put, the quicker we fall apart.”
“Exactly” I said, nodding towards Ricky. “The way I see it? It comes down to fear versus hopelessness. If we stay here, each day will blend into the next and before we know it, all hope of going back to normal will be lost. And without hope, we may as well just lie down and die. But out there we can keep moving, looking for the next thing, surviving instead of waiting for the end. Sure we’ll be scared but fear keeps you on your toes.” I wasn’t sure where that sudden burst of wisdom originated from but it seemed to get everyone on my side so I decided not to question it too thoroughly.
As I stood there arguing a point that I only half believed in, a tinge of guilt nipped at the back of my neck as a part of me wanted all of them to want to stay so I could go off by myself, the way I was usually accustomed to handling any kind of stressful situation. I was never very good in groups. Most introverts aren’t. We tend to be casual observers of the world around us rather than active participants so sticking up for others is not one of my strong points. But seeing the way everyone was now looking at me, I knew taking off on my own wasn’t an option. My little speech had them all looking to me for answers. The de facto leader. It was clear to me that they wanted to be told what to do. Fear had destroyed their ability to make decisions but following orders they could handle. It didn’t require thinking, just doing. So basically they get the easy job and I’m left with all the responsibility. I can’t help but think this is payback for being a flake most of my life.
If only they knew that their new “leader” standing in front of them was the same guy who turned down being captain of his bowling team for fear that it would be too much work. If I couldn’t handle filling out a few forms down at the local Booze N Bowl, how was I supposed to manage keeping three other people from being eaten alive? It’s probably better that I’m the only one who seems to know just how fucked we all are. I still feel like I should’ve listened to my gut and gotten out of here at the first chance. It always seems to backfire when I try to be someone I’m not; like the universe’s way of telling me that it’s ok to just be myself, no matter what amount of perceived flaws I may possess. It was too late to back out now. These weren’t just random faces anymore. I knew these people and I sincerely wanted them to be ok, though I wasn’t quite sure I could protect them the way they seemed to think I could.
It wasn’t long before a plan had been made. We would pack up as much food and supplies as possible, find a SUV in the parking lot that was old enough for Ricky to be able to hotwire, and head for the coast, away from any major population centers. All we could do then was hope for the best. I planned on savoring what could be my last night sleeping in relative comfort. Tomorrow, with fresh minds and legs, we would set off on a journey filled with hope but most likely predetermined to fail.
Chapter 7
We managed to find an older model Jeep Cherokee with a tow package, its once beautiful red paint job now succumbing to the elements or perhaps the fact that it hadn’t been washed since it first rolled off the assembly line. Ricky stocked the back full of food and bathroom related camping gear – propane, camp stove, toilet paper, chemical toilet, freeze-dried meals, Swiss Army knives with a built-in spork and plastic toothpick, and as much water, soda, and beef jerky as we could manage to fit while still maintaining a clear sight line in all directions. I tied camping equipment to the top of the rig – sleeping bags, tents of varying sizes, fire starter logs, and some waterproof camouflage coats and pants just in case. We would place the three crossbows along with arrows and several machetes within reaching distance inside the Jeep just in case we got into trouble. The rest of the perishable food rested in a cooler that would sit under Zoe’s feet. We didn’t know how long any of this would take but we wanted to be prepared for as much as we could so the food in the cooler would be eaten first before any of the other supplies. It would be Zoe’s job to hand out food to anyone who needed it, a job she was looking forward to and one that I hoped would take her mind off of everything else.
As I hooked the last bungee cord into the roof rack and looked out across the parking lot to my trusty old car, now sporting a little less metal than normal, it was hard to believe that just a few days ago my biggest worries were how to make my boss think I was working, whether to buy a stout or pale ale at the store after work, or which video game to play when I got home. Lately I had been in a bit of retro phase with my video games partly because money was tight and I couldn’t afford 50 or 60 dollars for a new game but also because I always miss out on a lot of good games because I buy one or two and play them to death until the disc just finally gives up and stops working. Being a completionist was the only way I knew how to be. I wasn’t finished with a game until every last nook and cranny was discovered, every last achievement attained, every castle beaten, every dungeon explored. Video games were the only thing that I wasn’t too lazy to actually finish. I was halfway through Sly Cooper, a Playstation 2 platformer with a cartoonish emphasis on stealth that had somehow never gotten my attention when it first came out over 10 years ago. Now I was obsessed with its addicting play mechanics and the fact that it actually told you how much of the game you had completed – an OCD gamer’s wet dream. It didn’t hurt that its simplistic difficulty level allowed for a certain degree of inebriation without adversely affecting game play. It was designed for 12-year olds after all. With everything that was going on, all I could wonder is if I would ever have the chance to finish that game, enjoy a beer, or watch 5 hours straight of Man vs. Wild if I so pleased. An overwhelming feeling rising from my gut told me not to hold out too much hope for that.
I took one last glimpse of my car before climbing off the roof of our newer, safer, and more versatile means of transportation. I thought of all of the great times I had in that car – the drug-fueled road trip to The Gorge to watch a still-relevant Dave Matthews Band with a girl whose name I can’t even remember, a steamy backseat grope-fest with a girl I went to high school with who wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then, last minute day-trips to Vancouver B.C. to frequent one of their not-so-secret Amsterdam-style weed cafés, and the dent in the hood from the black bear at Yellowstone who wasn’t very pleased with my friend waving cheeseburgers behind the invisible wall known as my windshield. It was a piece of crap but it was my piece of crap and I would miss it dearly. Just as my feet hit pavement again I remembered the credit card I had seen under my seat and the heap of ill-gotten merchandise most likely sitting in my trunk. I figured it couldn’t hurt to see if t
here was anything useful in there. If nothing else, I could at least examine the evidence of what I’m certain would prove to be the last drug-induced escapade I would ever embark on. I took a machete and asked Jane if she wanted to come with me, making sure Ricky kept an eye on Zoe while we were gone.
We walked slowly and methodically to the car making sure to keep one eye on the perimeter and another eye on the random automobile debris strewn throughout the parking lot, no doubt hiding dead and undead bodies alike amongst its many unseen peaks and valleys. A large SUV – the kind with off-road capabilities whose tires had probably never touched dirt making it more like a really expensive minivan – sat sideways, the oddly polished driveshaft reflecting the early morning sunlight into our faces. The warmth, even with its blinding light was welcome. We both instinctually lifted our chins towards the sky in an attempt to increase the surface area with which to absorb the rays. Like a flower celebrating the arrival of spring. A typical reaction for lifelong residents of the Pacific Northwest. I glanced into the windows of this once-moving artifact of American overconsumption and instantly wished I hadn’t. A middle-aged woman sat buckled tightly into her seat, a victim of what looked like a severe head wound as her vehicle came to what was probably an abrupt stop, resting with the driver’s side planted firmly into the concrete. As we came closer Jane pointed out a series of bites on the woman’s neck that looked like they could’ve been from a small dog. We both simultaneously scanned the area around our feet, hoping not to find an insatiably hungry lapdog for which Alpo just wouldn’t do. Luckily, there was nothing and we both shared the slightest little chuckle at what apparently would now pass as humor in the midst of an apocalypse.