Paths

by David DeSimone

  Fearing he’d lose his prey, the maniac crawled several feet across the floor until he was within reach of Drew’s ankle. He almost had him. Although his hold was frustratingly brief, he felt his prey’s thick, plump meat in his fingers and it produced an uncontrollable fit of jaw snapping. Saliva spilled over his lower lip and swung from the shelf of his chin in long stringy tendrils. If his prey had not escaped his grip, the maniac would have had a tasty meal, unlike the rancid smell wafting from behind the checkout counter. For reasons he could not understand, being near that awful smell only increased his already piqued rage. The smell of fresh meat, however, like that of his prey, intensified his hunger, driving him to single minded determination to tear and eat.

  Judging by the slavering mouth and feral look on his face, Drew suspected the maniac’s intentions were not just bad, but very bad. He looked like a rabid dog.

  He couldn’t understand why. What in hell was wrong with him, and everyone else for that matter?

  The maniac, who looked like he could bench-press his truck, slowly began to get to his feet.

  Because the crowd outside exhibited the same aggressive behavior as the maniac, exiting through the front door was not an option.

  Drew turned and faced the maniac.

  Giving no pause, the giant lunged at Drew.

  Reacting under pure instinct, Drew ducked under the monster’s arm, shoving him aside and made a run for the bathroom door, slamming it shut.

  As Drew slammed the bolt home, the maniac threw all of his weight against the door. The impact caused Drew to recoil.

  WHOMPH! WHOMPH! WHOMPH! WHOMPH!

  Each powerful blow knocked paint chips away from the rickety door’s surface.

  It felt as though the monster was going to burst through at any second.

  Drew ran to the opposite corner, scanned the room, found what he needed.

  From behind the toilet, he lifted the porcelain lid from the water tank and held it chest-high. Then he stood in the middle of the room and waited.

  WHOMPH!

  The lid was slippery with his sweat. He hoisted it with his knee, readjusting his grip.

  WHOMPH!

  His stomach lurched shooting acid up into his esophagus burning the back of his throat. Swallowing only made it burn more.

  Realizing his only options were to fight or die, Drew Fairwood, Associate Director of Grober Systems, Incorporate, and loving husband, was getting ready to kill a man.

  Game on!

  WHOMPH!

  With that blow came a new sound, the dry, crisp sound of wood splitting.

  His grip tightened on the lid, he assumed a warrior stance with feet planted hip-width apart.

  WHOMPH!

  Wood splinters began poking out of the middle of the door panel and doorframe. Jesus!

  Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation, he let out a rapid series of shallow breaths.

  WHOMPH!

  Drew closed his eyes and tried to think of a prayer.

  WHOMPH!

  “I’m not dying in a bathroom,” he muttered.

  WHOMPH!

  He repeated the words, louder this time. “I’m not dying in a bathroom!”

  WHOMPH!

  He raised the porcelain lid a few inches higher, shouted, “I’m not dying in a fucking bathrooooom!”

  With this last battle cry, Drew charged forward.

  The door imploded, showering Drew with wood and paint debris.

  The maniac stumbled in, forehead meeting with the bottom side of a fifteen-pound slab of porcelain.

  He crumpled to his hands and knees.

  The force of the onrush threw Drew back, slamming his back against the wall. Dazed, he somehow stayed on his feet maintaining a firm grip on the lid.

  On wobbly legs, the maniac clambered to his feet, his red cap no longer on his head. There was a large purplish-blue welt growing in the middle of his forehead where the lid had connected, though he didn’t seem aware of it. His interest remained strictly on his prey.

  He lunged stupidly at Drew.

  Once again, Drew raised the lid and prepared to swing.

  The maniac made no effort to defend himself.

  He bore down on Drew, pinning him against the wall, causing Drew to drop the lid.

  The maniac grabbed the back of Drew’s head, pulling him in until he was inches from Drew’s face.

  Drew turned his head away, felt the giant’s hot, damp breath on his cheek. He heard a snapping sound. When he turned back to see what it was, he was horrified to discover a set of teeth coming toward him.

  Oh, my God! He’s trying to take a bite out of me, he thought in a panic.

  Holding him off with his left arm, Drew threw a right elbow jab, clipping the lower-left side of his attacker’s jaw and causing him to jerk his head back.

  Drew ducked under the maniac and broke free.

  The maniac turned and lunged at Drew. Once again Drew ducked under the maniac’s reach and found the toilet lid.

  With a final burst of strength, Drew swung the lid in an upward arc, crushing the maniac’s lower face with a solid crunch!

  The monster’s head was thrown back.

  Before he could recover, Drew struck him again with a downward blow.

  The maniac staggered backward. Wet, bubbling sounds issued from his crushed face.

  Drew raised the porcelain lid over his head like Moses holding the sacred tablets over the heads of awestruck Israelites, and brought the lid down squarely on the crown of the monster’s head.

  The maniac crumpled to the floor. Incredibly, he tried to get back up but Drew was already on him. Swinging the lid for the very last time, it pulverized his head like a ripe melon.

  Blood and brains sprayed out in all directions, splashing against Drew’s thighs. His blue jeans were covered in gore.

  Gasping, Drew became aware of the weight of the lid. It felt lighter. He looked down, saw only half remained. He let it slip from his fingers.

  Fully realizing what he had done, Drew doubled over and vomited.

  3

  He had beaten Goliath. Though exhausted, he felt a sense of satisfaction and empowerment. He needed time to recover and reflect, but the sooner he could get out of this place, the sooner he could get to Eva.

  The roaring of the melee outside continued. Groans and screams came from every direction.

  People turned savage.

  But the real question was whether the madness qualified as savage, as it relates to human behavior, or was it something else?

  A man tried to bite him in a bathroom of a suburban gas station, right in the middle of the day! Where was the precedence in that? The attack was unprovoked and apparently spontaneous. It didn’t make sense. People just don’t want to bite other people for no reason.

  There had to be a reason for this madness, but Drew would be damned if he could think of one. He only knew that it all began with the Big Whiteout, and since that just happened, he had no time to give it much thought.

  But following the bizarrely soundless whiteout, people no longer seemed able to hold back their aggression. One moment everyone’s civilized (or pretending to be), the next they’re attacking each other.

  It wasn’t savagery they were exhibiting, but something more raw and impulsive. They were behaving like flesh-eating zombies than anything else.

  Jesus, no! He thought with revulsion.

  This can’t be happening!

  A torrent of questions raced through his mind.

  Why did it happen?

  How did happen?

  And why did it affect people the way it did?

  Why had he and his wife been spared? Out of all the questions he had, this was the one he could answer. The MRI accident was the common denominator between them. The MRI accident - or meltdown - had left them with some kind of protective shielding, magnetic or something else yet to be defined, which explained the strange behavior of electronics within their proximity.

  And what about
the whiteout? Was it a terrorist attack?

  Had they somehow managed to punch through American air defenses, and instead of slamming airplanes into buildings, detonated the big one, the one everyone feared would inevitably happen?

  If it was a nuclear bomb, then it had to have been one of exceptionally high yield. The flashpoint alone produced light so bright it seemed as if it enveloped everything under the sky, and lasted for an unusually long time. And yet nothing was destroyed. A nuke as far as he knew would have sent a wave of fire and destruction seconds after the initial flash.

  He doubted it was an airburst either. A nuclear airburst would have produced an electromagnetic pulse that would have fried the power grid, and yet the ceiling light was still on.

  There was one other thing: Nukes don’t turn people into ravenous zombie-like monsters and especially not instant ravenous zombie-like monsters. Radiation sickness caused by a nuclear explosion does not show up right away. Oftentimes it takes years before the victim starts to see signs and symptoms, such as lesions and tumors. Even the most extreme cases, symptoms don’t start occurring for several hours.

  It wasn’t a nuclear explosion. It may not have even been of this planet. It may have come from somewhere far, far away.

  A cosmic burst.

  He was beginning to have an idea of what it was. But he didn’t have time to think about that now. Time was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

  Eva was out there. He could almost hear her screaming his name.

  4

  Against all odds of saving Eva, Drew remained stubbornly hopeful.

  Peering out the shattered bathroom door, he watched in horror as the mob rocked the Acura back and forth.

  Their numbers had increased dramatically.

  He couldn’t imagine the crippling terror his wife was feeling. It made him sad, angry and afraid. How much longer, he wondered, until the car toppled over? If that happened, he would be unable to save her. She would be dead for sure.

  The mob of zombies had gotten so thick that the back of the pack was unnervingly close to the front entrance of the food mart. Their single-minded determination to get to his wife was the only thing that kept their interest away from the store.

  Drew couldn’t let them see him.

  Stepping over the dead maniac, and almost slipping on blood and brain matter, he crept through the bathroom door and entered the main area of the food mart. He got a few steps in when he was met by the store clerk.

  They stood inches apart in stunned silence.

  He had the same wild look as the maniac. His skin no longer held a healthy olive complexion, but was now a sickly pale greenish-gray, lips pulling back into a hideous snarl looking as taut and dangerous as a rabid dog ready to attack.

  Cautiously back stepping, Drew’s eyes never left the thing that was once the clerk.

  Then, like a coiled snake, the clerk sprung into action, leaping forward and grabbing Drew’s left ear.

  The pain was excruciating, a burning that felt like the left side of Drew’s head was on fire. As he tried to pry the clerk’s fingers from his ear, his right hand wrapped around the clerk’s throat. Spittle flung from his tongue landing on Drew’s face. Disgusted, he pushed the clerk at arm’s length, causing his head to tilt painfully at an awkward angle.

  Staggering and whirling like a clumsy couple trying to Tango, they stumbled back into the bathroom, tripping over the maniac’s corpse. The large body absorbed the brunt of Drew’s fall, rolling to one side with the clerk in tow. During this roll, the clerk switched his grip from Drew’s ear to the back of his neck, his nails digging painfully into Drew’s skin and drawing him closer to his snapping teeth.

  Pushing the clerk away, Drew managed to get on top of him and wrapped both hands around the clerk’s throat. Pressing his thumbs deep into the soft spot of the trachea, he closed off the airflow. A thin wheezing sound rose out of the clerk’s throat. Still trying to pull Drew into his snapping teeth, the clerk wasn’t even aware he was dying.

  After long minutes of struggle, arms aching, Drew finally felt the hands around the back of his neck slacken. The clerk continued to buck and squirm under him.

  Drew held his grip for another minute longer until the clerk stopped moving, his lifeless arms sliding off of Drew’s shoulders.

  Drew rolled to one side, propped himself up on one elbow. He felt his ear. It was hot and tender but at least it was still there. He touched the nape of his neck and felt wetness. When he drew his fingers back, the tips were smeared with blood. He was scraped up pretty badly and would likely need antibiotics before too long.

  He heard pounding from the front entrance. It sounded like a barrage of beanbags pelting the glass. He got up, peered through the bathroom doorway. That’s when he saw them looking straight at him.

  Godammit!

  Struggling with the clerk provoked the zombies into a frenzy and now they were threatening to breach the glass wall.

  Faces mashed against the glass with dozens of pounding hands.

  Eventually the glass would begin to crack. Seconds later it would shatter.

  Drew surveyed the aisles, the back of the room along the coolers. No good. There was no emergency exit, no place to escape. He looked behind the checkout counter and noticed on the floor a trap door with a pull ring. Somewhere down there had to be a set of stairs that led up to the loading dock.

  Keeping his head low, he made a dash for the counter. When he got there, he hooked his fingers through the ring, pulled up and raised the trap door. He entered backwards into darkness, began climbing down the steps lowering the trap door after him.

  Within this new darkness the pounding seemed even louder as if the ceiling was about to cave in, reminding him of what would happen if they caught him. The zombies would use their combined savage strength to rip him to shreds, his bones twisted and torn from their joints.

  As he neared the bottom, light from somewhere in the basement began to illuminate the walls. He stopped, struck by a horrible realization. What if he wasn’t alone? What if someone was down there waiting for him? He wielded around stealing quick glances in every direction, saw nothing but a single tungsten light tethered from the ceiling in the back alcove between stacks of crates and boxes. Otherwise the basement was vacant.

  He was alone.

  He approached the staircase on the opposite wall, which led to the loading dock and began his ascent.

  Now came the hard part: finding a way to save Eva.

  Before reaching the top of the stairs he paused, sat down on one of the steps. He tried to conjure an image of the gas station lot, how two islands divided it, each having four filling pumps, and the food mart with parking spaces flanking each side. He wanted to know if there were cars parked away from the mob. Knowing this he could sneak around the back of the food mart and make a dash for a car without being detected.

  But he would need the key to the ignition. How would he get the keys?

  How could he not have seen the obvious? He needed the key. He always needed the key. His whole life seemed to be lived with that one important key missing. He needed it to stand up to his father, needed it for work to be more assertive, needed it for Eva so he could help her come to terms with her infertility. It would be a crushing talk for both of them, but the sooner they have it the sooner they could move on with their lives - that is, if they still had lives to move on to.

  A key.

  The key.

  He had a flash. It wasn’t as bright as the one that took down the world, but it made him spring to his feet. He thought of the Ford F-150. Hadn’t the maniac parked it by a corner pump way out by the entry ramp, and wasn’t it also the furthest vehicle away from the Acura?

  With mounting excitement Drew’s eyes widened. He heard himself whisper, “Yes, he did park it there.”

  All he needed was to go back into the bathroom, pay one more visit to his crazy trucker friend and get the key from him.

  As he mounted the steps leading up to the trapd
oor behind the pay counter, he had a passing thought. The very instrument of terror had become an avatar of hope. Drew smiled bitterly, and snorted. Nothing like a little irony to spice up your life.

  From behind the pay counter the trapdoor yawned from the floorboards, his arm rose steadily lifting the lid. Drew cautiously climbed out.

  The number of zombies along the storefront had doubled, maybe tripled. The pounding grew worse. Oh, God! Drew thought. Then he heard something pop, like the sound of a cap gun going off, and knew what it was: the glass was beginning to break.

  Hunching low, he crept into the bathroom, reached the maniac’s lifeless bulk and immediately went to work searching the pockets of the dead man’s jeans. He frantically fumbled first through the right pocket and produced only a wallet. He tossed the wallet aside, switched to the left pocket, felt around. Within seconds his fingers struck loose metal with an audible clink. The keys.

  He grabbed the set and pulled. It took several tugs to unsnag it from the inside’s threading.

  He held the key fob firmly in his hand.

  There was a crash. He looked up and saw the windows collapsing with zombies pouring in, cutting off his escape route through the basement.

  He had only seconds to find another way out.

  He turned toward the casement window, leapt over the clerk’s corpse and mounted the toilet and climbed the water tank. With feet balancing along the edges of the lidless tank Drew hoisted himself onto the ledge of the partially open window. He forced his way through the narrow opening. He made it as far as his chest and then got stuck.

  Pushing, kicking and wriggling he tried desperately to inch further through the metal frame. Drew heard glass breaking, shelves and other things crashing to the floor.

  They were closing in.

  He pumped his legs furiously and used his arms to push himself forward, buying a few more inches before stopping again.

  Seconds felt like hours. He could almost feel their hands grabbing his legs, and teeth sinking into his flesh.

  Drew came close to screaming, but at the last second he realized that would risk drawing the attention of the handful of zombies who were milling about across the street. Instead, he funneled his energies toward his escape. The metal frame dug painfully into his breastbone and back.