Next Exit: Purgatory

by A. Maire Dinsmore

contained adequate shoes and clothes. Lily dropped back a bit as Alex began to rush from building to building, staring through what were once massive glass paned windows, trying to determine what had been inside. When he came across the discarded outlines of bodies he further brightened at the discovery of mannequins. Recalling every zombie apocalypse movie he’d seen in his lifetime, Alex began preparing a mental list of the supplies he’d need to look for – clothes, boots, a pack, weapons, first aid kit – his mind rattled off everything from duct tape to flares as he moved about the empty and smashed displays, giving little thought to his surroundings or the fact that he’d left Lily far behind him.

  Menswear was usually on the first floor and in the back of the store, tucked somewhere behind the shoes and around the corner from tools so women could shop to their hearts delight and not feel guilty for abandoning their men – or so was Alex’s opinion. When he considered this, however, he felt that the layout benefited him greatly, though there was a greater chance that nothing he needed was going to actually be where it was supposed to be.

  As it turned out, the entire first floor was empty. Alex did his best not to get discouraged as he rerouted himself towards the escalators, hopeful that there was something useful on the floor above.

  Lily was leaning against the railing of the escalator waiting for him as he approached, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Find what you’re looking for?” she asked dryly, eyes watching some dark corner of the store.

  “Not yet,” Alex said gruffly, brushing quickly past her and taking the unmoving stairs two at a time. Admitting he was wrong to a woman was one thing, but admitting he was wrong to one who was close to ten years his junior and that had saved his life? He desperately needed to be something close to able to defend himself. Panic at the thought of it stuck him and his heart started pounding harder, spurring him to take the corner faster at the top of the stairs. His sweat slicked palm slipped on the railing and a sharp screech echoed throughout the second floor.

  But Alex paid no attention to it, he took a moment to glance about the room and his eyes landed on what looked like a large discarded pile in the far corner.

  Halfway across the room the floor beneath his feet began to rumble and sway, making progression of movement difficult. Alex fell to his knees, the sharp impact of the ground echoing through his legs. Crouched on all fours, his shoulders ached as he heaved his breath, the stench of his wounds long forgotten; trying to figure out what the hell was going on around him.

  With an explosion of metal and glass to one side of him, a tentacle shot downward from the ceiling and arched in an oddly graceful motion as it slowed and then stopped. Alex barely breathed as it watched it, swaying from side to side in a way that reminded Alex of a ballet he’d been dragged to practically kicking and screaming by an ex-girlfriend.

  A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face, tracing his jawline until it fell directly into one of the gaping shoulder wounds. The instant the hot salt hit the tender inner flesh of his body Alex hissed, regretting the sound the moment it passed his lips.

  The tentacle wasted no time in sweeping towards him and Alex leapt the opposite direction; further away from the escalator but he wasn’t really given a choice. His plan of re-clothing himself and collecting a go-bag had been forgotten and survival was now first and foremost on his mind.

  A series of similar explosions told him that more tentacles had joined the first and a guttural scream sent a chill down his spine; it had come from almost directly above him and whatever that was… he did not want to meet it. Alex pushed himself off a fallen shelving unit and made to run a large circle inside the building, hoping that it would confuse the beast and he would be able to slip away on the other side. But partway through the loop he came up against something he hadn’t expected; a hole in the floor. He skidded to a stop at the edge of it, peering down as he contemplated his options.

  He saw Lily standing down there and started to call out to her, wanting her to save him yet again. But the sound was choked in his throat as something touched his skin and he turned his head, feeling time slow as his pulse pounded in his temples.

  A tentacle wrapped around his wrist, the skin sizzling where it touched. Droll seeped out the corners of his mouth as it gaped open, his mind unable to form a reaction. Bubbles began to form in the skin in his forearm, spreading quickly up the arm. Finally Alex screamed and began to thrash at the thing that held him. It lifted him off of his feet and begun to swing him around, and he knew in that moment it was going to be over soon.

  But a sickening pop and awful tearing of flesh released his arm from the rest of his body, the joint having been weakened by the cuts in his shoulder and unable to take the strain of being tossed about. The tentacle now held onto a single arm and the rest of Alex’s body flew through the air towards a window, out which he flew with a magnificent crash.

  He landed on the abandoned street below, the wind knocked out of him, staring up at the reddened sky with stars bursting in his vision and blackness dancing around the edges as it threatened to take over. For a long while he didn’t move. Then he saw Lily’s face appear before him and he finally inhaled a breath.

  “Find what you’re looking for?” she asked, repeating the question she’d asked him inside.

  Alex’s only response was a cough, spitting up inhaled glass and blood as he struggled to sit up. “Fuck you,” he finally managed, pushing himself to a seated position with his one remaining arm and noting miserably that he was right handed and had indeed, lost his right arm. What had he done to deserve this?

  A look of bemusement crossed her face and Lily turned away, leaving him there to sit and wallow in misery among the blood and shattered glass.

  “You’ll be completely useless now,” he muttered to himself, turning his head to look at his shoulder and what remained there. “Just fucking great.” He wished desperately for a drink. Glancing about, Alex’s mood dipped even lower when he realized that Lily was gone; she’s probably left me now that I’m a cripple. He thought to himself, cursing the joke of being left to eaten alive by monsters by a one-eyed girl.

  Brushing his arm across his face, burning with fever, Alex prepared himself to get to his feet. Had anyone been watching it would have been a comical sight but for him it was just frustrating and by the time he managed to get himself standing his hand and forearm were bleeding from the glass, the shoulder wound where his right arm once was dripped blood non-stop and he felt lightheaded.

  “Fine, just leave me here!” he shouted at a random direction, casting droplets of blood as he waved his hand about. “See if I miss you any,” he muttered, kicking away larger piece of glass as he shuffled off towards a shorter street of buildings. One of these had to be a bar, right?

  Three doors down from the corner of the road Alex found an old bar, slamming open the door and claiming the place as his own with smears of blood on nearly every surface he could touch. It took him a bit of time to figure out how to get behind the bar itself, between the fever and the pain he was having trouble with basic problem solving.

  The first bottle he grabbed was a whiskey off the highest shelf he could manage, placing the bottle itself between his legs and working the cap off with his blood and sweat slicked fingers was difficult but soon enough he had placed his lips against the rim and was slowly, carefully tipping the bottle upwards; his arm shaking with the effort of doing so carefully. The dark liquid poured into his mouth but the familiar burn was missing. It tasted like nothing, like water. Desperate, Alex began chugging at the bottle, cursing at it like a newborn infant at the breast for the first time, grunting and snorting as he swallowed loudly.

  The sob that escaped his lips was one of near madness, throwing the bottle to the floor as he grabbed at another this time not giving thought or care to the type. He smashed the neck against the counter and poured the vodka into his mouth, not even bothering to filter the glass out with his teeth.

  But it was
the same as the whiskey. He tasted nothing; there was no burn. It was like water.

  By the time Alex noticed Lily standing in the doorway he’d gone through nearly all the bottles, each time thinking that it would be different with the next bottle, that it was the bottle that was the problem and not him. He looked up at her and shook his head, not understanding what was happening. His face was etched in an expression of misery and when he realized she’d been watching him, he slid to the floor and began to cry.

  “What is going on? I don’t deserve this!” he assured her, beating at his chest with his arm.

  Lily leapt up in a swift and fluid movement to crouch on the top of the bar, peering down on him. “You don’t?” she questioned, sounding as if she were on the verge of laughter. He wanted to scream at the sound of her voice.

  “Aren’t you here to help me?” he wailed, picking up a bottle and tossing it halfheartedly at her head.

  “Who said that?” she inquired, jumping down from the counter and landing in front of him. Her eye was cold now, her mouth no longer amused. “I never said that.”

  Alex gaped at her for a moment, doing his best to think between the torture, the pain, the fever… to remember what she’d said when they met and in the