Timothy 02: Tim2

by Mark Tufo

  “Too late, boys,” I told them.

  Hugh was slumbering like a fat grandpa after Thanksgiving dinner. I was slightly at a loss for our next move. Up until the point I placed my hands into my pockets, the fingers on my right hand jamming against a stiff piece of plastic. My first inclination was to just pull it out and heave it away. I was still pissed off that we had let food walk. And I probably would have done so had not the little metal clip at the end gotten hooked on the ruffles of my shirt cuffs. As I made a throwing motion, the key card ended up falling to the ground as I released my hold on it.

  I picked it up, the inner-workings of Clarence’s mind began to reason out our next move as I fingered the corner. I had a good idea where my two little chick-a-dees were headed. I figured it would be loutish of me to not pay them a visit. I knew enough of the city to gauge the building wasn’t more than ten or twelve miles away, not bad for one that can travel mostly unhindered; for them it was going to be a living nightmare. As if in punctuation of my thoughts I heard rifle fire up ahead in the general direction I was headed.

  “To follow or lead?” That is the question. I answered it as soon as I found a car that would start, the previous owner having taken his own life with a round to the chest. Who the fuck does that? Looked like he was a little low too, probably blew out his lung and then had the long-suffering death of lost and leaking blood and uncatchable breathe. “Next time, dipshit, put the gun in your mouth. The metal will taste a little bitter…especially if you have gun oil on it. Then angle it up slightly so the barrel is pressed firmly against the roof of your mouth. You would have been dead before your finger could come off the trigger. Dumb ass,” I said to him. As I pulled him from the seat, he cracked hollowly against the pavement.

  I decided to take a circuitous route from the women just so they wouldn’t hear me coming. I had to figure at some point Yorley was going to snag a car, staying on foot was a dangerous prospect, even for her. Scarlett was going to slow her down, that chick needed medical attention. But then don’t they all? Sorry, that would be psychological attention – and lots of it. Maybe we should have just medicated them into a stupor it would have made men across the globe a lot happier.

  The city was a mess; cars were slammed up against every obstacle like the drivers were being awarded points for it. Untended fires blanketed the city in a thick choking mass of ash and embers. Zombies ambled and some even ran at a good clip, hunting I would imagine. This was the prototypical apocalyptic landscape, they say life imitates art…well then, we nailed it! I had yet to see a traditional human, there was plenty of gunfire chatter, and I would avoid those streets but mankind was on a steep decline curve. I wished I’d got a heftier ride when I slammed into my third zombie.

  None of them looked like they were going to die, but it was going to be extremely difficult to catch a person as they crawled around. Fuck them, that’s what they got for being my competition. Hugh was too busy being a fat ass to take notice. The front of my Subaru was dented up pretty good, and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to ruin my fan and then, inevitably, the engine. I bet it would take AAA a fuck-ton of time to get out here, too. And then I’d eat them for their trouble, wouldn’t that be a bitch. I jarred as I ran over a kid zombie.

  “One less fucker to feed!” I shouted gleefully.

  For a fucked up, destroyed world, my ride was fairly uneventful. My biggest scare coming when the cd player in the car started blaring out Taylor Swift. I stopped a couple of hundred yards short of the building; it was a non-descript 4 or 5 story brownstone. Typical insurance company or bank office building. Nothing special. I was glad the smoke was thick and that the sun was beginning to go down, because I’m a scary looking dude and folks these days are quick to shoot first and not even bother with questions. I thought about slinking along, but how hidden can a three hundred and fifty-pound clown with a red wig, yellow pants, purple ruffled shirt and sewn on face hide? I strode down the sidewalk like I owned it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a death wish but my options were fairly limited. I could only hope that if someone were watching me, they didn’t have a high-powered scope to make out my finer details.

  I tossed Scarlett’s keycard to the side when I realized it was going to be useless. First because there was no power, and second, the door was destroyed by people that were trying to escape from the looks of it.

  “Weird,” I said as I crunched the bits of glass underfoot and stepped in.

  It was quiet, I’m not one of those foresighted fairies who’s going to try and build up drama by saying ‘too quiet’ but there wasn’t anything going on. Smoke and dust swirled lazily in the air as the sun’s final rays of the day snuck through and illuminated small pockets. There was a reception desk off to the right where I would imagine guests needed to sign in – someone took it a few steps further. The shredded bloody, intestine-tangled remnants of a light blue rayon shirt and pants were virtually all that remained of Jed the security guard (his name plate was perfectly displayed for all who might pay homage).

  I checked out the information board to the left of the guard-slash-check-in station. Scarlett’s company, Devine Mortgage and Brokers was listed as being on the fourth floor, which ended up being the top. That seemed like a perfect place to start.

  I had a blonde moment as I walked over to the elevators and pressed the ‘up’ button. “Fuck is this how most women go through life?” I asked as I shook my head. I pulled open the door to the stairs.

  Now remember, I’m a human-zombie hybrid, I’ve been face-deep in the recesses of the human body that no one should dare venture, and even I had to step back when the smell from whatever was in that stairwell assaulted my nostrils. My eyes watered so much I could barely see through them. When I was confident I had sufficiently cleaned out my olfactory senses, I tried it again. I think it was worse this go around because now it wasn’t a surprise. It was something akin to burst boils or growth-encrusted skin left out to rot while alternating between a mold marinade and a feces basting.

  “Alright, let’s see what’s behind door number two,” I said as I went to the other side of the elevators.

  It was marginally better, like maybe the meat hadn’t been rotting as long. I’ve got to admit, the silence was unnerving and I’m the fucking monster that goes bump in the night, so that should tell you something. The only sounds as I ascended that staircase were my footfalls and their resulting echoes. I looked through the small window on the door labeled with a giant ‘4’, before stepping through. Again nothing; and now that the sun was setting, it was even less illuminated than the ground floor, not an overly large hindrance for me, but I was still going to be careful. I don’t think Yorley and Dead Weight Scarlett beat me here; but with death being the price for my carelessness, I figured I’d proceed cautiously.

  Having the power off actually worked to my advantage. Otherwise I would have had to go back downstairs and retrieve the keycard. With electricity the magnets that held the door in place were deactivated, the door opened quietly and I slipped in like a serpent. Devine Mortgages must have been doing well screwing over people because apparently they owned the entire floor. The chaos on the city streets below did not seem to have hit this area at all. At least that’s what I thought just as I stepped in an impossibly large coffee spill.

  “That’s not coffee,” I said as I got down on my haunches and pressed my fingers into the mucky substance. I first smelled and then licked my fingers for good measure. “Not toner either.” It was blood, and not zombie-tainted either.

  Some fighting had occurred, but where was the body? Zombies weren’t leopards; they didn’t kill their prey and then drag it off to eat somewhere safer. No, there were people up here and they had successfully defended against at least one zombie. Not that that was a great indicator of their survivability – one zombie down did not a Rambo make. But they hadn’t rolled over either. Shit, I just want to eat, is that too much to ask? And if they were here, where were they? Wouldn’t your first point of
business be to block the doorways? Unless they need them open for recon and food gathering missions. Makes sense that there wouldn’t be much more than coffee and some snacks in desks in an office. Occasionally the receptionist would bring old holiday candy and put it in a cute jar on her desk. Maybe she was trying to attract a mate by luring them in with food. Fuck what do I know; it’s worked more than once.

  I turned to look back at the door…sure enough, there was a large file cabinet right next to it. Deep grooves cut into the linoleum tiles as it was pushed back into place whenever they reached their haven. I was glad I had been checking the cuts in the tile or I may have missed the whisper drifting up the stairwell. Someone was coming, and I could only hope it was my buddy and that she was bringing Scarlett.

  “This smell gets worse every day,” a female voice said.

  “I know, but it seems to keep the zombies away,” a male voice responded to her.

  Zombie repellant? Interesting. If the world ever turned back around in favor of man I would market the shit out of this stuff.

  “Got a good haul,” the man said. I could tell he was breathing heavily from the exertion of carrying whatever he had.

  I could see lights shining through the door’s small portal as they continued their climb. I figured now was as good a time as any to get myself hidden. I debated about the file cabinet, but until I knew how many of them there were and what kind of weaponry they were hauling around, I decided discretion was the better part of valor. Although lying in wait to eat my adversaries might not be considered the most gallant act.

  I had just picked a space to hide in ‘cubicle city’ when I heard the food, err…I mean people, come in. Then some more heavy breathing and a sigh of relief as the file cabinet was pushed back into place.

  “Whew, we’re not going to have to go out for a few days,” the male said.

  “I hope not, Nick, it’s looking worse out there,” the female said. “Wait do you smell that?” She asked.

  “You’re kidding right? We’ve got gore on us and we just walked through smells that hell would be envious of and you think I can smell something?”

  “Maybe you’re right, but something stinks.”

  “It’s probably you, Laurie. Let’s take a cold shower and we’ll discuss it over a good fucking,” Nick told her.

  “This is my kind of office,” I mumbled quietly.

  “You’re so bad,” Laurie replied jokingly.

  “Alright, I’m going to take a shower. Be back in a couple of minutes,” Nick told her.

  “Take your time,” she told him.

  I heard another door open, and within a few seconds, the sound of running water. I might at this point have gone out on an exploratory hunt, but I could hear Laurie as she approached. If this was her cubicle, she was sure in for one hell of a surprise.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said as she sniffled. She was no more than two cubes away. “I miss you, honey.” I at first thought she might be talking about her dog or a kid. “I’m only screwing him because I’m afraid he won’t protect me if I don’t. I don’t love him.”

  Ah…the normal female; fuck ethics, do what’s right, right now. Her poor bastard of a husband is probably a shit stain on some suburban sidewalk after having failed miserably to get his ungrateful bitch of a bride back while she fucks for safety. I guess that’s better than the ten bucks and a dozen donuts I gave that one hooker I did freshman year.

  I knew she figured she was safe, probably didn’t even have a weapon on her. I could have strolled over there, lifted her by her slender neck and just eaten her, but I wanted her to suffer just one more small strike against her soul. Who am I to deny the devil his due?

  I could hear Nick the prick moaning about how cold the water was and how that was causing shrinkage on his dick. He thought he was being humorous; I could just about make out Laurie cringing. She’d want to take a shower before and after from the sounds of it. Funny thing is, I bet Nick thought he was her knight in shining armor. Some guys are stupider than the women they’re with. Well, that’s his problem not mine.

  “You’re up,” he shouted with a distinct chattering to his teeth.

  I heard the smacking of lips on glass as she kissed Picture Perfect and then the heavy sigh as she got up and headed to the shower. “Be there in a couple of minutes,” she said in as cheery a voice as she could muster, I suppose.

  “Hurry up or I’ll start without you,” Nick replied.

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful,” she said softly enough so that he wouldn’t hear. I, however, almost got caught as I let a small laugh slip. She must have chalked it up to nerves as I heard her go in and then the same sound of running water.

  It took a lot longer than I would have thought someone could stand cold water before she came out. A dirty soul can take a long time to scrub clean, I mused.

  “Did you open the whiskey?” I heard her ask as she walked away from me.

  I was confident it was only the two of them as I stood. I kept low and close to the wall of cubicles on my right. One looking very much like the other at least until I came across the one with the name placard Scarlett Speight, Senior Mtg. Broker.

  “I’ll be back,” I whispered as I touched the cool metal rectangle.

  The lovebirds were making a nest in a conference room I saw as I peeked over a cubicle wall. They had removed the large table and replaced it with sleeping bags, coolers, and food. They had a small weapons cache but from the size of it, they must have been liberals. ‘If we don’t bother the zombies, they won’t bother us’ was probably their motto. It’s only free countries that suffer these fools. They only had a couple of battery-operated lanterns lighting the room, I was effectively hidden from their night-blind eyes.

  Laurie was busy taking long pulls of the bitter amber fluid in anticipation of her joy ride. She was pretty enough in that twenty-five-ish sort of way. Basically she was young and had a pussy – two plusses in her favor. Nick had seen better days, he was on the far edge of his forties maybe even early fifties. He had a waistline-expanding belly pooch that alluded to diabetes, and the broken blood vessels in his nose led me to believe he enjoyed his hardcore liquid beverages. His cheeks were dotted with the pocks of acne gone seriously wrong…yeah, he was a looker.

  ‘Fuck if I had to peer at that face in the mirror every morning I’d be a drinker, too,’ I thought.

  Laurie was wrapped in a beach towel and had a death clinch on the front of it. Nick was leering like he could see through to the gems hidden underneath.

  “You ready?” he asked, exposing a body best left to the imaginations of horror writers. I’d seen walruses on television with less wrinkly skin. He had hair and moles everywhere, he looked like a hairy fucking toad. Dude was killing my appetite. Laurie shivered and I don’t think it had anything to do with the forty-degree shower she just took. I was right there with her.

  “Let me warm up a little more,” she told him as she started taking in larger gulps.

  “Don’t pass out on me like last time,” he said, laughing as he grabbed the bottle.

  “Can we turn out the lights?” she asked.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever you want,” he told her as he pulled her towel open.

  Dammit, I thought as she turned both lanterns off. I had wanted to see if he could get his little Tic-tac dick past his voluminous belly and into its proper pussy pounding position. That would have been a neat trick. There was some general rutting and grunting sounds as I approached.

  Laurie even tried to stimulate him into getting off quicker by talking dirty, but she had the tone and inflection of an answering machine as she said the words. “Oh yeah, baby, come for me. Does that feel good?” I could picture the office fax speaking, it was so monotonic. He was eating it up, so I guess that’s all that mattered.

  “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah,” he was moaning over and over. I could hear the squeal of Styrofoam as Laurie’s head must have been being driven into the cooler. It didn’t stop needle-dick Nick, t
hough; he just kept humping along. Sounded like the little fucking engine that could.

  I had seriously thought about letting him get off, I really did, figured let him go out with a bang. Then I thought better of it. I approached, a trusty weapon attained from my initial cubicle securely in my hands. They were outlined fairly well in the pitch darkness as I approached. I could see them…they couldn’t see me.

  “Do you smell that?” Laurie asked in alarm as I lined up my shot.

  Nick was furiously pounding away, I could see pools of sweat stuck in the dimples of his ass and lower back.

  “Fore!” I shouted.

  “What the fuck?” Nick asked turning his head.

  I swung my golf driver for the fences. I caught him square in the back of the head. The shaft snapped, but not before the head of the driver was lodged half way into his brain bucket. He was convulsing like he was having an earth-shattering orgasm. Laurie was screaming incoherently. I couldn’t really tell; I was laughing insanely. I could see her arms attempting to seek purchase on his sweaty bulk, trying to push him off of her so she could scurry away.

  “Fucking hole in one!” I shouted. “Or is this one in the hole?” I asked as I pulled what was left of the club back and out of his head. “Should probably put a Band-Aid on that,” I told him, tossing the club. Laurie finally pushed him over enough and had escaped; she was hiding in the corner of the room not suspecting that I could see her fairly clearly. She was shaking almost as bad as Nick had been in his death throes.

  “Where you at, honey?” I asked, turning my head so she would think I was walking away. “I won’t hurt you,” I told her.

  She wisely didn’t answer; she wasn’t blonde.

  “Your husband sent me,” I said, trying to bait her.