by T. W. Brown
***
Juan Hoya pulled his coat up over his face. The dull thud sounded again. If there was anything that he hated more than being woke up…he couldn’t think of it.
Thud.
There it was again! It was probably some damn wino from the Park Blocks come up to the University area looking for better pickings. Well, he would just have to set whoever it was straight. This was his street, and if somebody was gonna bang on his car, then he’d damn sure give ‘em some attention.
Jerking away the coat he slept under in the backseat of the Oldsmobile Cutlass he had called home for the past eight months, Juan sat up. His hand reached for the aluminum baseball bat he kept close by for emergencies. A face stared in, pressed against the glass of the backseat passenger window.
“Get the fuck outta here!” Juan yelled, making a threatening lunge.
Whoever it was didn’t seem fazed. Instead, a meaty hand slapped against the window. The face pressed closer, smearing a film of something on the glass.
Juan reached behind himself and unlocked the door. Whoever this was, they were about to get mopped. Scooting backwards and hoisting his legs around, his feet hit the cold asphalt. Rising to unfold his six-foot-two frame, Juan shivered slightly from the chill. Now he was even angrier. He hated being cold almost as much as he hated being woke up. It would take forever to warm his feet up again.
The sudden impact of the smell that filled his nostrils caused him to gag and lose just a bit of steam. He felt last night’s forty-ouncer surge up from his stomach and reach the back of his mouth. He swallowed hard as he spun to face this lame-o who had messed up a good night’s sleep.
“You need to drag your drunk ass down to the river and clean up,” Juan snarled.
The wino was staggering around the back of the car, reaching out for him with outstretched hands. If he was looking for money or help, this drunk had come to the wrong place. A quick glance around confirmed there was nobody near. One good crack in the head and this guy could sleep it off in a Dumpster a few blocks away.
“Another step and I’m gonna crack that dome of yours!” Juan tightened his grip and drew back, prepared to swing big if this guy didn’t beat feet in another direction.
The smell grew stronger as this thing drew nearer with each labored step. Things had gone far enough for Juan Hoya. He swung the bat, connecting solid with the cheek of this staggering bag of stench. Its head rocked back and to the right. Yet…it staggered only slightly more than it had been already. Juan blinked in disbelief as this guy took another step towards him, now clearing the rear of his car…and the shadows.
For the first time, he got a good look at the person who had not only woke him up, but took one of his best shots only to be apparently unfazed. What he saw seemed impossible. This guy’s throat was torn out. Not just a little gash. No, it was ripped open so far that you could see inside. Blood was all down the front of this guy. His eyes were sorta milky and bloodshot…but not. It was like this guy’s blood was black or something.
“That’s tight,” Juan breathed. Of course it was creepy, but it was also the coolest thing he had ever seen. The ripped open neck however was not ‘tight’.
The thing continued to come at him. Juan swung again, connecting with the temple. This time it staggered…stumbled. He brought the bat down on the back of its skull. A satisfying crunch that he could feel as well as hear was the result. Still, this thing tried to come up from its hands and knees! With everything he had, a series of three more swings brought the thing down to stay. The skull burst open, spilling its contents in a wide, splattered arc across the asphalt.
“Now that’s tight like a tigah,” he snorted, admiring his handiwork.
A sound up the street by the pizza place jerked his attention away from the body at his feet. His heart began racing at the possibility of a witness to his crime. He sighed in relief as he made out one of the whores that worked the area, Latricia. The stagger was oddly similar to the guy laying in the gutter with his brains spilled everyplace. He had walked that same jerky, unnatural way. More like a bird than a person, Juan decided.
Two more figures came around the same corner. But it was weird; they would take a few steps past the building on the corner, then just freeze. Their heads would snap his way, and then the bodies would slowly come around in the direction the heads pointed. Then, in that strange, jerky walk, they began moving towards him.
As the trio made their way closer, they entered a large circle of light cast by the regularly placed street lamps that alternated sides in both directions. All three were covered in what had to be blood. One of them looked like it was missing half an arm.
Juan considered what he was seeing for a moment. This was like one of those movies. Something about Dead. Zombies? But that couldn’t be…could it? He watched those things get even closer. There was the first hint of that gagging smell. So, if he was right, and these things were zombies…
Hefting the bat, Juan rushed the whore. She was a good twenty feet ahead of the other two. As he circled around, her head followed in jerky, birdlike fits. Teasingly, he dangled his hand towards the open mouth of whatever the hell this thing was. A lunge and the click of teeth sounded as he jerked back.
This could be tight.
He went to work with his bat. Taking out a leg, connecting with the left knee so hard that the leg folded back, still it came. A whirling overhead spin connected with the other leg, shattering the shin. Still it came, dragging itself with out-stretched arms. Never once did it scream. By darting in and out, pretty soon all three had been denied the use of their legs. Like nightmarish paraplegics, they dragged themselves after Juan. The only sounds were moans that ranged from a squeaky sound to the low guttural sort.
This could mean all kinds of stuff.
If it was like the movies…
He walked back to his car and grabbed his knapsack. With a nudge, he closed the door. He had to take a look around and see if this was everywhere. If it was, he’d find a new car. Preferably one that actually started and ran.
A few minutes later, Juan Hoya was headed for the heart of downtown. Four bodies lay sprawled out—unmoving—heads reduced to a mass of gore on the street. Fifteen minutes later, he stood on the sixth floor of a parking garage. In every direction he saw them. Some alone. Some in groups.
Across the street was a department store. Never in his life had he been able to consider shopping in that place. He wouldn’t even shoplift there. As soon as he walked in, he knew damned good and well that security would be watching every step he took.
Leaning against the bumper of the Corvette he had hot-wired, Juan rested his aluminum bat on one shoulder. A whole bunch of cop cars had sped by with lights flashing and sirens blaring just a couple of minutes ago. Most likely, they would be real busy for quite some time. They wouldn’t be able to come check out a little store alarm for a while. Now would be the perfect time to bust in, grab some stuff, and then get the hell away from the city before sunrise.
“Tight,” Juan whispered as he opened the door to his ‘new’ Corvette. He revved the engine, feeling the power-surge vibrating the entire car.
“Tight like a tigah.”
***
San Diego, CA—Melissa grabbed her gym bag. On her way past the mirrors she stopped for one last look. At least forty pounds! Damn, she was starting to look good! A couple more months and she would come to the gym during normal hours.
Walking out of the women’s locker room, she noticed Phil, the graveyard shift front desk guy, and a couple of others gawking up at the television. She couldn’t see the picture, but imagined it was probably the Girls Gone Wild! infomercial.
For the first seven months that she had been coming to this gym at two a.m. sharp, nobody had so much as mumbled an incoherent word her direction. That had started changing about three weeks ago. One night she had come back in because, like a ditz, she had left the lights on in her car. The battery was stone-cold dead. She had cables, but she needed a jump
. When she walked in, Phil and a couple of the late night regulars were having quite a laugh.
“…an ass the size of a really big sumo wrestler,” one of the guys, Ritchie she thought was his name, was howling.
“Yeah, and did you ever catch a whiff before she headed to the showers?” Phil made gagging noises.
“Like rotten armpit and Limburger cheese,” another laughed. She hadn’t known his name yet.
“Yeah,” Phil was still waving his hand in front of his face, “can you imagine the funk from that cootchie?”
“Ain’t probably seen action in twenty years,” Ritchie crowed.
Yes, they were all having a great laugh. And Melissa knew at whose expense. She wanted to turn around and run out the door. She would walk home. The warmth in her face let her know that she was blushing deeply. But it was the next sentence that caused that warmth to spread throughout her body. And it came from Phil.
“But, damn! That girl has busted ass every single night. I even started checking the register on my off days. She hasn’t missed a night in over eight months!”
“A few more months and I might even tap that,” Ritchie added.
Melissa hadn’t heard another word. That was the closest thing to a compliment she’d had directed her way since before the miscarriage. Since before she managed to pack two hundred pounds on her five foot frame. One day, she had looked in the mirror and not recognized the face staring back. That had been it. She went on a rampage, lugging garbage bags of junk from cupboards and the refrigerator to the Dumpster. Next, she joined the gym up the street at the strip-mall that also housed an ice-cream shop and hot tub outlet. After a week, the stares and snickers became too much. Thankfully, the gym was a twenty-four hour place. She started coming at two a.m.
That night, Ritchie had come out and jumped her car for her. Then, in the backseat, he had ‘tapped that’. She drove home that night with the unfamiliar sensation of semen trickling down her thighs.
The next night, she found out that the guys wanted to help her. All of a sudden, she had five personal trainers. Not being stupid, she knew why. For the next few weeks, she also had an escort to the parking lot. That came to an end when it was suggested that perhaps two guys should walk her out. Melissa refused. No amount of persuasion could sway her.
Truthfully, she’d grown bored with them. She was almost ready for bigger game. There was this really cute, single guy in her apartment complex. His name was Jaime. He had been nice to her even when she was huge. Not in any sort of way that indicated interest. Yet, lately, his gaze lingered longer. There was a look in his eyes that Melissa had never seen before; not directed at her anyways.
Desire.
She had the meatheads at the gym to thank for that. She quickly figured out who was ‘walking her to the car’ each night by the way they looked at her.
There was a difference in how Jaime looked at her, versus how the guys in the gym did. There was a softness in his eyes, and a genuine smile. None of the guys in the gym ever smiled. And not once, in the backseat, had she been face-to-face with her paramour-du-jour. She just knew it would be different with Jaime.
She opened the glass door. A cool night breeze washed over her still warm-from-the-shower skin, causing goose bumps to well up and down both arms. Something else came on the wind.
A smell.
Melissa stepped out on the walkway and turned towards the parking lot. A row of hedges had walled off the gym ever since the women’s aerobic class had complained about the gawkers. That was four years before Melissa joined.
As she stepped around the hedge, that smell poured over her like rancid oil; seemingly clinging to her skin, filling her mouth and nose, burning her eyes. Standing right in front of her was Jaime! Only…something was fundamentally wrong. His eyes, once bright and full of good-natured warmth, were now milky, empty, and laced with a darkness. Even in the false light that shone bluish-white from above, Melissa could see that he was empty of any of that inner-light that made Jaime who and what she knew.
His hand rose to her shoulder, the fingers closed with vice-like tightness. She looked at the arm, to where a large chunk was missing in the middle. Dark blood had dried all the way to the wrist. Something inside her wanted to scream, but she had forgotten how to all of a sudden. A war raged in her mind.
Run!
He came for me!
Scream!
Jaime is here!
His other hand found her other shoulder. He moved close, his mouth open. As their bodies came together, Melissa felt something wet and thick against her bare knees. She knew that if she looked down the spell would pop like a soap bubble. There was something wrong about the wet, rope-thick coils that smeared against the day-old stubble on her legs.
His mouth was almost to hers now. That smell could not be coming from him. Not Jaime. He was here to finally reward her hard work and sacrifice. Their mouths came together. In her mind, Melissa had pictured this very moment countless times.
The sudden agony was like a bucket of cold water. She jerked back and forth, trying desperately to free herself of the source of such pain. She felt her tongue rip and tear away. Blood filled her mouth and throat, causing her to cough and choke. She struggled against the hands on her shoulders and fell back onto her butt. Fingernail marks scored her shoulders and the tee-shirt hung in two pieces around her waist.
She saw Jaime for what he really was, or what he had become. Two thick intestinal strands hung to his thighs from a rip across his abdomen. Bite-sized pieces were missing from both arms, and his shirt was torn, not only at his stomach but the left side of his chest as well where another chunk had been taken.
Melissa wanted to scream, but only choked. Using her hands, she tried to scoot back away from the horror that stood above her. Jaime’s body lunged at her awkwardly and landed with his face burying itself in one still-large breast. She felt his mouth open wide, teeth brushing her skin, then…more pain. His mouth closed and tore, bringing away a wad of cotton sports-bra as well as flesh. The pain was brutal, but Melissa was drown-ing. Drowning on the blood she kept sucking into her lungs with every attempt to scream. Another bite into her flesh, and blood erupted from her open mouth in a red, hot, sticky geyser. She felt hands tearing at the loose, soft skin of her stomach.
Her scream finally came in the form of a weak, mewling gurgle. The remnants of her tongue and lower lip flapped and blood splattered her face. The light seemed to dim, and Melissa knew that she was dying. The pain slowly changed to a dull warmth.
Darkness came.
***
“You sure this isn’t some sort of joke?” Ritchie stared at the television over Phil’s shoulder.
“Ain’t seeming to be.” Phil watched the grainy footage that kept running on a loop while the commentator announced the grim news.
“…as of yet the White House has made no comment other than to deny that this crisis is terrorist related. Word of savage outbreaks like those reported earlier are now coming in from all around the globe. There has been no word from the CDC that confirms internet rumors of the dead reanimating. They were however, quick to discount what they deemed an “overactive cluster of horror-movie fanatics creating a story to satisfy an adolescent fantasy.” Doctor Linda Sing had this to say at the latest CDC press briefing.”
A middle-aged woman with short, dark hair appeared on screen with her name and title just above the news ticker. Her pale skin looked even more washed out under the lights. This was exaggerated further by the fact that she wore absolutely no make-up.
“Those rumors of the dead coming back and attacking the living are beyond ludicrous. Ignoring the pure physiological impossibility, there is simply no way this can be considered with any seriousness.”
“You believe this?” said Gerry, another of the regulars, and the one who the others had blamed for their free piece of ass cutting them off. He’d been the first to suggest that Melissa accommodate two of them at one time.
“This is like some War o
f the Worlds shit,” Phil laughed unconvincingly.
The electronic pulse tone sounded, announcing some-body entering or exiting the gym. Gerry, Phil, and Ritchie looked at one another with hopeful smiles. Simultaneously they all called out in a lusty sing-song.
“Me-lis-sa.”
Shoving Phil into Ritchie, Gerry got the jump. He had been in a real dry spell with the exception of those walks out to the car with Melissa. Since the night she’d announced it was over, he had been forced ‘to go solo’, and he always struggled with that Catholic-induced shame afterwards. Running around the corner into the big entry foyer, Gerry noticed a stench unlike anything in his life. It made his protein farts smell like fresh mountain air.
“Holy—” He was unable to finish the next word as his latest power drink exploded from his mouth and nose in a bile-mixed spray of watery vomit.
The smell was bad, but it was the apparition standing just about ten feet away that turned his guts to searing jelly. As the vomit sprayed from seemingly every orifice in his head, both his bladder and bowels let go. All this took place in a matter of seconds.
What remained of Melissa stood in the middle of the lobby. Another figure was just behind her. And he—Gerry was pretty sure it was a he—seemed to be stuck in the door. Or at least what had to be his intestines were. The guy was trying to pull free, but only managed to have more of the gray-pink coils spooling out from the hole in his guts.
Melissa looked little better. She was covered in blood. Her entire abdomen was hollowed out into a crimson cavern of raw, dangling viscera. Enough of her rib cage showed to reveal that a couple of bones had been snapped off. Remnants of her over-large breasts hung in tatters. But her face was what broke Gerry’s mind. The lower jaw remained awkwardly attached. All of the left cheek and most of the right had vanished. The mouth hung open to reveal a blackish stump that had to have been her tongue at one point. The eyes were coated in some sickly film and bloodshot in black.