Swarm (Dead Ends) (6 page)

The gun cocking alerted me to his presence. If this was the same person who shot Paul in cold blood without asking questions and had attempted to procure the same fate for me, I knew I was as good as dead. I stood frozen in fear, too afraid to even tuck my genitals back into the safety of my pants. I found myself in what I’m sure is the most prone position a man could possibly experience, my hands struggling to figure out whether to reach for the sky or instinctually protect my most precious of assets. He grabbed me from behind, his left arm wrapping around my neck as the business end of the gun bore deep into the small of my back. Fear mixed with a call from nature that could no longer be ignored forced the urine out in full force, the satisfaction one normally experiences with such an urgent expulsion nowhere to be found, lost in the numbness that accompanies the realization that your life may soon come to an end.

I wanted to fight but could do nothing, my body otherwise detained until its base needs were met. I expected a “freeze!” or “don’t move!” but no such exclamations were made. Instead, the grip on my neck loosened, the cold steel on my back removed as a gravelly female voice painfully whimpered “help me…” A barely audible whisper that no doubt began in her brain as a full-fledged yell until the pain forced her vocal cords to involuntarily constrict. I quickly turned away, creating distance between us that would allow me to put everything back where it belonged. I was able to see her now, an unusually tall, wiry woman who looked as though she’d been fighting on the front lines of some unnamed war in a region I couldn’t pronounce. She grabbed her stomach not unlike a pregnant woman having labor pains, though she didn’t appear to be with child. A shooting pain must have found its way to her hands as the gun dropped to the floor discharging a single round which ricocheted several times before losing momentum, causing me to instinctually cover my head as if a tree branch were about to fall on me. How I thought this particular move would stop a bullet, I wasn’t sure. But it gave me a miniscule, if not false sense of security.

I readied myself to fight, taking a low stance with fists reluctantly held up for no other reason than I thought this is what one does in a situation like this. Fisticuffs not being a particular specialty of mine, I was relieved to see this lanky woman slowly fall backwards into the side of the nearest stall, a slight indent visible as she sank to the floor. I had managed to handle Jim Bob in the end but I wasn’t so naïve as to think I was now an assassin who could handle any perpetrator, undead or not, with ease. I’ll leave that kind of ignorance for the alpha-males who charge into a situation chests pumped and guns loaded, supremely confident of their own invincibility. I was out of my element to be sure but submitting to that vital truth is what I believe will keep me alive in the end. You have to adapt to the environment because it sure as hell isn’t going to adapt to you.

As her strength dwindled, her hands dropped to her sides revealing a large wound on the inside of her arm just below the elbow. It oozed with a yellowish puss that reminded me of a sinus infection I had several months back. The blood encircling the wound seemed to be clotting at a rapid pace, congealing before it even had a chance to drip to the floor. I could just make out teeth marks that created an uneven tearing of the skin. The crude hallmark of blunt human teeth forced to do the dirty work without the aid of a knife and fork. Indisputable empirical evidence of a zombie plague and an official end to the reality I had come to know. What happened next only intensified the point. All of the veins in her body seemed to be expanding and taking on a blue hue similar to the veins we all see on the inside of our wrists but much more pronounced. She began ripping at her face and neck as if trying to peel away the layers of the virus that had clearly taken root in her blood stream.

She strained to look at me and harder still to painfully yelp out “End it...Now, dammit! PLEASE!”She was crying now as her eyes began to turn yellow, her tears tinged with blood as she pleaded not for the sparing of her life but instead for the termination of it while it still belonged to her and not the virus. I readied the crossbow, taking a few seconds to familiarize myself with its intended mode of operation. Our eyes locked with an intensity befitting of the situation. We both knew what needed to be done and what would happen if it was not.

“It has to be in the head” she said with the conviction of someone with nothing left to fear. She pressed the tips of her fingers into her temple to belabor the point. This was no time for miscommunication.

I nodded quickly, a sudden calm overtaking my body as I steeled myself for what needed to be done. The crossbow seemed to raise itself involuntarily. I took aim and prayed that she would soon be in the hands of whatever god she held dear. I hoped that if the roles were reversed she’d do me the same favor. With all of the experience of the 
novice
 (see: nonexistent) hunter that I was, I pulled the trigger before confirming my aim, the arrow barely grazing her left cheek as it plunged into the side of her ear. She was turning now. I rolled my eyes and loaded another arrow, the 
final
 arrow I was sure to tell myself, steadied my aim and hit her in the forehead a few inches above the nose just as the look in her eye turned from human to something else entirely. The arrow pinned her head to the stall just below the dent she had created moments earlier. The body went limp; a solemn but fitting trophy in a place where hanging heads on the wall seemed to be a birthright. 

I couldn’t bring myself to look away, let alone walk away. I was under the spell of this lifeless, alien body and what it represented. Where do you go as a society once horror is no longer transfixed in celluloid? Once harmless words on a page catapult themselves into a reality we’d thought we understood? Vicarious thrills – munching on popcorn in a dark theater as an imaginary killer stalks a group of defenseless teenagers or sipping wine while immersed in Stephen King’s latest page turner – would no doubt become a thing of the past. If zombies existed then what of vampires and werewolves? Sentient robots or time travelers? Fantasy is only enjoyable because it involves a suspension of reality – we know it’s not real which makes it fun. But if there are no longer limits to what
can
be or what
will
be? The only fantasy worth having will be one in which we are spared from living another day in this grim new reality.

I shook my head vigorously hoping to avert my eyes away from the bloodshed in front of me. If this was the future, I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to be a part of it. A piece of me wanted to die right here in this bathroom so I wouldn’t have to see what kind of surprises were hiding around the next corner. But the other part still had a plan: get to Ocean Shores no matter what. If I was going to die, it would be on my terms. I wanted to see natural beauty once more before my time expired. The old pier on the west side of town slowly relenting to the enduring surf; the private stretch of beach north of the city where fog slowly gave way to sunshine every morning even if just for a few minutes; the cliff walls lined with clay where young lovers had risked life and limb just to profess love to someone they’d probably forget about in 5 years. I wanted to see it all one last time. Then I could turn out the lights. Maybe I was overreacting; I had no idea how widespread this thing was but as far as I was concerned, one undead wanderer looking for human flesh is enough to change the world. And I’ve already seen four. I can do the math. The odds of this being an isolated incident are slim to none.

I made my way out of the bathroom and to the café where I hoped there was some food waiting for me. As shell-shocked as I was right now, no amount of horror could kill my appetite. My digestive system had detached itself from my brain knowing that nutrients needed to be replenished in a hurry. Survival is one hell of a calorie-burner. The door opened before I had the opportunity to knock. A new face. A beautiful face.

“Hey, I’m Jane” she said with a warm smile that completely clashed with our current situation. “Come on in. We’ve got sandwiches all made up.” She studied me closer now. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” I said “just a little problem in the bathroom.”

“Fiber helps” she smirked.

I laughed, an involuntary and entirely unwanted snort emanating from my nose.

“Sorry about that” I said. “It feels nice to laugh.”

She smiled back at me, our eyes locking for what felt like a few seconds too long. She was hard not to look at. Brown eyes innocently studying me through black-rimmed glasses – the kind of glasses that say “I’m a geek and I’m ok with it.” A faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt clung to her curves the way a shirt should. She wasn’t skinny or plump. Just the right size that tells me she’d be okay going out for a pitcher of beer and a basket of hot wings. “Fat in all the right places” is how my grandfather used to put it. Her shoulder-length brunette locks tied up in a non-fussy pony tail that valued utilitarianism over beauty. She had no makeup on to speak of save for some shimmering lip gloss that made her lips exude just the right level of pouty. The lack of concern about her appearance was the very thing that made her beautiful. If first impressions were anything to go by, she was a geek goddess. And I was in trouble.

“Welcome to paradise” she said with a bit of a curtsy that again put a smile on my face.

“Thank you my lady” I responded. She gave me a wry smile as she turned around and led me to the kitchen where Zoe and Ricky were happily munching away on some delicious looking deli sandwiches. Ricky gave me a nod as Zoe rushed over to once again claim her rightful place clamped onto my leg. She remained silent but her grip said plenty.

“Wild boar or venison?” Jane asked, holding up two identical looking sandwiches enrobed in plastic wrap.

“What, no olive loaf?” I joked. “Let’s see, does boar taste anything like ham? If it does, sign me up.”

She tossed the sandwich into my chest. “It tastes nothing like ham but it’s all we’ve got. So enjoy. Oh, and be sure to tip your waitress” she winked. That mischievous little smile was hard not to love.

Ricky, clearly sensing the chemistry between us, just smirked as he shook his head and quickly returned focus to his half-eaten sandwich. I managed to catch his eye and motion him towards the front of the café. Jane sensed what was happening and called Zoe over to finish her sandwich. We stood where just yesterday there was probably a throng of people standing patiently in line as they debated whether to get potato salad or chips with their sandwich; iced tea or soda to wash it all down. I wondered what goes best with wild game but didn’t really care to know the answer.

“So I don’t think we have to worry about that shooter anymore. She’s dead in the bathroom. She
turned
right in front me. She actually begged me to kill her.”

“Did you make sure she was dead?” He had a worried look on his face. Clearly, he didn’t trust my ability. Not that I could blame him. I didn’t exactly look like the killing type.

“Oh she’s dead” I said. “Trust me. You can go see for yourself if you want. It’s not pretty.”

“Yeah, I’ll take a look. I forgot to get the rest of my arrows anyway. And I should see how bad the damage to the front window is, see if we can plug it up somehow. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Ok, just let me know if you need any help” I said, ripping the plastic off of my sandwich like a junkie looking for a fix. I choked down half of it in about 10 seconds and found myself staring at Jane. Or more specifically at her chest. I wasn’t admiring it really, it just happened to be in my sight line. Of course she caught me.

I quickly and smoothly pointed to her shirt and asked “which one’s your favorite?”

“The left one. But the right one isn’t bad either.”

“The right
what
?” asked Zoe. I could feel my cheeks flushing. I walked right into that one.

“Uh, no… I, uh. Which Ninja Turtle is your favorite?” I sounded like a lovesick, bashful teenager who had never touched a booby before but Jane just kept smiling, flirting maybe. I couldn’t be sure. I was never very good at interpreting the signals of the opposite sex.

She let me sweat a little longer before she responded “Donatello has always been my favorite. Purple is my favorite color and I love the idea of him kicking the crap out of people with basically a big stick. It’s so old school, you know? Plus he’s the smartest one and they make fun of him sometimes. I can relate to that. What about you?”

“Definitely Michelangelo. I love how laid back he is. And every young boy wanted to whoop some butt with nunchucks.” I sat there smiling and reminiscing about simpler times, “I remember being mad at my mom for months when she wouldn’t let me buy a pair. And then to rub it in, she bought me those fake plastic knife things that Raphael – my
least
favorite character – used. Though in her defense, the first time I actually tried using nunchucks, I hurt various parts of my body pretty badly.”

She smiled, “looks like everything came out ok.” She was definitely flirting now. An odd time for it but everyone had their own way of dealing with things. And since I was clearly the target of said flirtation, I was doubly ok with it. I simply smiled as I watched her reach across the table, admiring every curve as it struggled to stay within the confines of her shirt. Her arm rotated to reveal a tattoo on the underside of her wrist.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

“What do you think it is?”

“I think it’s the Triforce from The Legend of Zelda which officially makes you the coolest chick I’ve ever met.”

“You are correct… and thanks” she said with a hint of shyness that contradicted her demeanor.

I had spent a lifetime attempting to hide my geek tendencies and this girl was literally wearing hers on her sleeve with pride. Amazing. I suddenly didn’t care about what else was happening or why it was happening. I just wanted to get to know this woman even more before it was too late. My intrigue intensified with every word that came out of her mouth. The distraction was most definitely a welcome one.