Life Among The Dead (38 page)

Dan has an idea. With no knife and the razor left back in the cage, he has to bite his hand to pull his plan off. He needs blood, and lots of it. He just prays this works.

#

Dozens of happy people in robes that reflect the morning sun in blinding white are gathered. They are at the brink of the Great Salvation and couldn’t be more ecstatic. They brave the chilly air, not letting it deter their faith, or dampen the joyous occasion.

“
I can see them!” One yells with glee.

“
I can’t wait.” Another says, holding her hands to her mouth to contain the elation inside her head that would otherwise ooze free.

A figure shambles out of the cavernous hall. He wears the uniform of a soldier. Blood glistens on his ears and cheek as he staggers through the crowd. His face is expressionless though he moans the song of salvation. The people of Gaines see that it is the intruder they had captured. Some clap for his transformation.

The man in the black robe jumps in Dan’s way. He grabs the soldier’s shoulders. Dan is almost grateful for the distraction. He has just caught sight of the Sheriff, dead on the ground, and is having trouble not looking at him. If he wants to get away from these nuts, he will have to play dead.

“
Save me.” The cult’s priest pleads. He turns his head to bare his ear to the word of God.

When in Rome,
Dan decides. He grabs the man’s head roughly and sinks his teeth into his auricle. The cartilage crunches into pieces as blood fills the fake zombie’s mouth. It tastes like copper and makes him feel sick.

Dan releases the man who smiles about receiving the bite. The soldier changes his direction, trying to find a way out of the lot without drawing suspicion. From what he is able to see the lot is completely enclosed by chain link, more zealots wanting his attention obstruct his view. He grabs the head of a woman and tears into her ear. Dan grabs another follower after her and gives him what he is begging for.

“
There’s more coming out.” Someone finally yells, pointing to the temple. The mass that had crowded Dan now dashes to the disciples that stagger into the daylight. They are all too eager and don’t want to wait in line anymore.

“
Thank God.” Dan whispers after the mob erodes away. His mouth is wet with their blood. It feels cool in the cold morning air. The cult’s absence allows Dan to see the lot better. Several cars are parked along the building, most are very expensive sports cars that he imagines are more tributes. Most importantly he sees his truck.

The soldier disregards the massacre brewing and sprints to the red truck. He almost yelps with joy when he finds the door is unlocked and the keys are still in the ignition. It is an even bigger boon that all his stuff is still inside; the .38 revolver, the rifle, his useless 9mm ammo. His coffee had been spilled onto the floorboards. He feels wide-awake and figures he can function without it.

Dan spits a piece of ear onto the floor that he couldn’t expel in front of the cultists. He turns the engine over and spots something on the dash that, at this point, seems like the most important item he could possibly recover. His smokes.

“
My lucky day.” He pushes in the vehicle’s lighter and waits for it to pop. He watches the dead bring the believers to Nirvana. Dan lights his cigarette gladly. He not only needs his fix, he also needs to get the taste of blood out of his mouth.

Dan isn’t sure if it was intended as a commentary on his person, but those who confiscated his truck had it parked in a handicap space. He pulls out knowing he will go unnoticed since everyone is so busy at the moment. He charges through the chain link.

Gaines is a ghost town; all of the dead had been lured into the old depot. He drags a long piece of the fence behind him. The steel makes sparks as it dances along the pavement. The cultists must have locked the perimeter fence again after knocking Dan out. He sees it is secured once more with a fresh padlock.

“
Let’s try this again.” Dan revs up and accelerates through the barrier. He flies down the tree-lined road once more. He wants to put as much road between him and Gaines as fast as he possibly can. He hates this town. He hates all the idiots who let themselves be taken by that man. He hates Greg. Most of all he hates being waylaid for something so stupid. He has somewhere to be.

The trees are a blur as they pass by. The road branches off into other directions, but he continues northward at a break neck pace. He isn’t entirely sure where he is, but figures he can stop in a few miles to check the atlas in the glove box.

The sickness has spread,
he realizes.
It’s not just Waterloo. It’s everywhere.
He worries about his family.
Have they met with any trouble along their way? Are they all right?
He asks himself so many questions it hurts his stomach not knowing the answers. Dan’s left foot bounces with anxiety. He needs to take his mind off of it. It can only hurt his chances of success to worry like this.

Dan pulls over to the side of the road, happy with the distance he has put behind him and those nut sacks. He pulls out the atlas and tries to find himself on the map. The soldier looks around for landmarks to help him pinpoint his position. A sign tells him that the State Penitentiary can be found where the road forks left.

“
There is Gaines.” He groans at the sight of the name. “I am…?”

Dan traces the road he had traveled with his finger. He had lost count of how many turns he had passed.

“
State Pen.” He taps the map. “Here I am.”

5

Prison is hard on everybody. You find yourself locked away from the world among violent people. A person must learn to watch their back. Alliances and rivalries are forged out of necessity, the need to survive. Today, prison is especially hard for Charlie King.

Charlie lies on his bunk staring at the plaster ceiling of his six by five cell. He lets his mind wander to better times. He thinks about high school, the last time he was truly happy. He thinks of all the people he knew. He was well liked, people trusted him back then. He thinks about all the girls he used to go with.

The convict smiles as he reviews his most pleasurable conquests. He starts to get aroused when Ashley graces his mind’s eye. She was the aptly named student body president of his graduating class. He remembers the body she hid under those preppy clothes. The convict never understood how a guy like him could win over such a smart girl.

Charlie’s hand slides under the waistband of his prison issued jeans, coaxing his old friend to full attention. He holds himself for the sixth time in the past 48 hours. There isn’t much else to do since the guards disappeared. The prisoners haven’t been let out of their cages since the vanishing act. There has been no yard time, no gym, and no showers. They haven’t even been fed. Needless to say, he has plenty of time on his hands.

His mind creates the image of the school nurse for his enjoyment. He never learned her first name. He always called her Nurse Cummings. It was no wonder all the boys feigned illness to be sent to see her. She had a real knack for making a young man feel better. It was sad when she was let go for her amazing bedside manner. A seventy-year-old former nun, that Charlie tries not to visualize at the moment, had replaced her.

A girl pushes her way into the spotlight of his masturbation fantasy. She always gets him home; Lydia, his gothic goddess. He found her dark makeup mesmerizing. He loves to remember how her long black hair moved as she rode him, and how those dark locks would tickle his chest when she leaned forward. Her skin was very pale from her avoidance of the sun, as if she truly was a creature of the night. He remembers the feel of the rough cold tombstone under his back. Lydia always wanted to do it in the cemetery.

Almost there.
He chooses to finish by reliving one encounter in particular. It was midnight on Halloween, and his dark hearted lover had a set of vampire teeth. He replays the scene as tension builds in his pants. She had him leaning against a tree. It turned her on that the tree’s roots bisected a grave.

“
It gets nourishment from the body.” Lydia had said while on her knees, her black fishnet stockings getting soaked as they pressed into the grass. She undid his pants slowly, smiling up at him with those devilish fangs. Once she had his pants to his ankles, a cool breeze caressed places breezes seldom go. She had hissed at him, opening her black stained lips wide before…

“
Are you hungry?” A voice asks Charlie from below.

“
What?” He responds, losing his precious train of thought. Lydia, Nurse Robins, and the extremely flexible Ashley are gone. He stares once again at the cracked ceiling.

“
I asked…” The voice speaks again as the owner starts to rise from the bunk below. The double-decker bed shakes from the movement Charlie’s cellmate makes. The man quickly pulls his hand away from his retreating erection and covers the diminishing bulge with the tail of his shirt.

“
Are you hungry?” The skinny man in glasses reiterates.

“
Of course I’m hungry, Mitchell. Those fuckers haven’t fed us in two days.” Charlie completes his sentence with a frustrated sigh. He shifts his pelvis trying to relieve his discomfort.

“
I wonder what’s going on. They never do this.” Mitchell says looking through the bars.

“
I know.”

“
Maybe it’s a punishment of some kind.”

“
They can’t do it forever. They have to feed us.” Charlie reassures.

“
Yeah, but I’m just so hungry.”

“
I know!” Charlie says loudly out of frustration. He has listened to the man say that for the past two days. “I promise, you will eat again.”

Mitchell is quiet for a few minutes. He just stands there at the bunk beds, looking out through the bars of the cell. He sits on his mattress and mutters. “Fuck, I need food.”

Charlie doesn’t want to hear him mention eating again. It makes it worse for him. He always believed that the one thing that can’t solve a problem is bitching about it. He decides to share with the annoying man a trick that may help. In the very least it should shut Mitchell up for a while.

“
I knew this guy once,” Charlie begins. “From the Philippines…”

“
Where’s that?” Mitchell interrupts.

“
I don’t know. Some Asian island I believe.”

“
I’ve never heard of it.”

“
Just listen. He was from a poor part of the place. He and his people were always starving. He told a friend of his out there how hungry he was, and his friend told him a trick on how to alleviate it. He told it to me, now I will tell you.”

“
Will it help?”

“
Would I mention it if it didn’t work?” Charlie waits for a response, taking the smaller man’s silence as a ‘No’. He continues. “His friend told him he should spit in his belly button.”

“
What were they fags?” Mitchell laughs.

“
Not in his friend’s belly button. His own. I know it sounds weird, but it works.”

Charlie can hear the man below spitting.

“
I can’t get it in.” Mitchell whines.

“
Lick your finger and do it,” Charlie coaches from above. “Like a wet willy.”

“
Hey! It does work. I feel much better. Thanks man.”

“
Don’t mention it. I was sick of your bitching.” Charlie says, following the ceiling cracks with his eyes.

“
Sorry. Did your friend have any tricks for boredom?” Mitchell asks.

“
I only know one and you ruined it for me.”

“
I did…? Oh shit! That’s what you were doing. I am so sorry.”

Screaming from the hallways draws Mitchell from his bunk. He bounds to the bars, pressing his head against the steel in an attempt to look down the corridor. The other prisoners have been calling out since the guards vanished. They scream for food and their rights. They try to raise any acknowledgement they can. The only answer came in the form of those among them who screams back, telling them to shut up. Under all the bellowing there is an underlining moan.

Charlie and Mitchell are silent as they listen to the pathetic and incessant screams. Charlie tries not to hear them calling out. He has a problem he has been debating for the past couple of weeks. Under his pillow an object makes a bulge, the source of his inner turmoil. The small lump feels enormous under his skull. He lights a cigarette.

“
Do you have another one? I’m out.” Mitchell asks.

“
Last one.” Charlie replies.

“
Damn it.”

Charlie takes a long drag. It isn’t his last. He still has two more in his pack. He feels guilty now for holding out.

“
Here. You can finish this one.” Charlie hands it down.

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yeah, I should be getting more tomorrow. My mom said she’s going to visit.”

Mitchell takes the half smoked cigarette and draws deeply. He says thank you, but Charlie doesn’t answer. The man on the top bunk rolls over to face the wall. His head travels over the lump under his pillow. It feels like a boulder. The debate rages in his brain.
You have to,
he tells himself.
I don’t know if I can,
he counters.

Theirs is the only quiet cell on the block as Mitchell smokes the acquired cigarette all the way to the filter. Charlie turns over. His head, once again, climbs over the mountain under his pillow.