This Rotten World (Book 1) (20 page)

Rudy sat in
his apartment, his busted door yawning open as the day brightened. His mind
whirled with possibilities… or the lack thereof. He could see if he could find
a car, maybe something with the keys still in the ignition. He could try and
escape on foot. Despite the fact that he had never learned to drive and was
woefully out of shape, either of these ideas would be better than sitting in an
apartment with a busted door waiting for another dead person to wander in.

He grabbed
the remains of his last bottle of Code Red off the counter and unscrewed the
red cap. Sweet, sweet sugar flooded his gullet, and he wiped his brow as if he
had just finished with a long day of work. He could have been filming a soft
drink commercial.

A thought
suddenly popped into his head as the caffeinated refreshment coursed its way
through his body. His neighbor, the jerk-off British guy across the hall... he
was dead. He seemed like the type that would have a weapon stashed away here
and there. At the very least, he would probably have a butcher knife, which
would be an upgrade over the dull, ancient steak knife that he had sitting in
his lap.

Without
hesitation, he walked across the hall and stood in front of his neighbor’s
door. He tested the handle just to be sure, but it was locked. Rudy took a
running start at the door and hit it as hard as he could. He bounced off, the
only damage being to his pride.

From down
the hall, he heard a giggle.

"Who's
there?" he queried tremulously, rolling his body over so he could stand.
There was no answer. Rudy looked down the hallway at the door at the end of the
hall. A girl lived there, not as attractive as the girl downstairs, but he
would count himself lucky if he could even talk to her. His face blushed as he
stared at the darkness of the peephole in her door, imagining her there, her
hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter.

Rudy hoped
he was just hearing things. He lowered his shoulder, pumped his thick legs, and
charged into the door again. This time, he did a backflip as the surprisingly
sturdy door rejected his ponderousness. This time there was more than giggling.
There was outright laughter coming from behind the doorway at the end of the
hall.

"Cut
it out!" he yelled. "It isn't funny!" Spittle flew from his
mouth as he knelt on the floor, his face flushed with blood and his eyes
beginning to tear up. He knelt on one knee, trying not to burst into tears. The
door at the end of the hallway opened, and he thought the floodgates were going
to open with it, but he was able to maintain his fragile emotions as she
appeared, laughing, with her hand over her mouth.

She was
wearing black cargo pants and a red T-shirt with a grey long-sleeved shirt
underneath. Her boots were clunky brown things, and they pounded on the floor
of the apartment complex as she rushed to help him to his feet. Through their
combined efforts of struggling and groaning, they were able to get him standing
again.

"What
are you doing?" she said between her smiling teeth.

Rudy was
never very good at directly answering people's questions. He always had
something smart to say, whether he wanted to say it or not. Maybe it was the
shock of the night and its terrible events, but Rudy found himself answering
sincerely for one of the few times in his life. "I'm afraid."

The woman
stopped laughing and said, "I am too."

Rudy
straightened out his bedraggled clothing as he continued, "I thought maybe
this guy might have some sort of weapon in his apartment, so I was trying to
kick the door down."

"Maybe
we can do it together," she said.

For a
second, Rudy thought she was talking about sex, and then he shook his head. Of
course not, he thought. Who would have anything to do with him and his ginger
bulk? "Yeah. Let's give it a try."

She counted
to three, and they both charged at the door. It splintered off the hinges, and
they both fell inward. She was the first to her feet, and again she helped him
stand, her warm hands sending electricity up his arms and into his brain. He
was still looking her in the eyes when he became aware of how awkward he had
become. Then he noticed the surroundings.

The man's
apartment looked like some sort of deranged torture chamber. Whips and chains
hung from the walls, and the entire room had the smell of old, stale marijuana
smoke. A huge, four-person bong shaped like a dragon with swooping wings sat on
the living room table. The floor was covered in plastic, and the garish
lighting turned the room into a sea of pastels and shadows. The windows were
shuttered, and the room was eerily quiet.

"Oh,
my God," she said. "Look at this place. It just goes to show you, you
never know who your neighbors are until you break in and find a weird sex
dungeon."

It seemed
like Rudy would never stop blushing today. "Your place isn't like this, is
it? Are you some sort of pervo as well?" she asked.

"No..."
he stammered as he tried to think up something clever to say. Before he could,
she had hopped up on the couch and pulled a whip off of the wall and began
making whipping sounds.

"Is
this the type of weapon you're looking for? I don't think it will do much to
those people out there, at least not according to the news."

"I
don't think you want to be touching that. You don't know where it's been,"
he said. Rudy laughed as her face went from mild amusement to outright disgust
as it dawned on her exactly what she was doing. The whip fell to the ground,
and she ran into the kitchen and began washing her hands.

Rudy
followed her. When she was done, she pulled open the fridge and discovered that
it was just as sad as Rudy's spread. There was beer though. She grabbed one off
of the shelf and tossed one to Rudy.

"Are
you even old enough to be drinking one of these?" Rudy asked.

"Pshh.
Of course I'm old enough... in Canada. What about you with that babyface?"
she shot back.

Rudy popped
the top off the beer and took down a swig. It was horrible. Despite all of the
wild ideas he had about how beer actually tasted, it tasted nothing like what
he had expected. He could not hide his disgust, which made the girl laugh even
harder. Suddenly, he realized he didn't even know her name.

"My
name is Rudy," he sputtered, trying not to gag at the taste of the beer.

"First
beer, huh, Rudy? Don't worry; it'll grow on you. My name is Amanda. You go to
Portland State, right? I've seen you around there."

The idea
that someone would see him around and still talk to him was a new concept for
Rudy. The idea that someone would notice him at all was news as well.
"Yeah. I'm a junior. What about you?

"What
about me?" she said as she took a swig from her beer.

"Do
you go to Portland State?"

She laughed
at him then, "No. I just stalk random guys on campus."

"Oh."

Amanda
slapped him on the arm, "I'm just joking. Of course, I go to PSU. I'm a
theater major."

Despite his
revulsion, Rudy took another sip from the beer. They journeyed into another
part of the apartment. It looked like the British man's bedroom. It was
somewhat less freaky than the rest of the apartment. Rudy didn't know why, but
it was comforting to know that the man at least slept in a normal space. Amanda
pointed at the ceiling; it was covered in mirrors. There was also a camera on a
tripod in the corner.

Amanda
began fiddling with the camera, but Rudy had his eye on a display that was on
the wall. In a wooden display case, two swords hung on the wall. Rudy's eyes
were large as he approached the swords. He was no sword expert, but he thought
they looked Japanese or Chinese maybe. He reached up and pulled the curved
blade off of the wall. There was another shorter sword underneath, but it was
the larger one that he was interested in. The weight of the sword surprised
him, but the way it moved in his hand felt good. If one of those things showed
up again he could definitely do some damage.

"Hey.
Check this out," Amanda said. He walked over to her and looked at the
viewfinder of the video camera. On the camera, his neighbor was half-clothed
and having sex with some sort of inflatable doll. Rudy didn't watch for long,
but Amanda kept watching and laughing. The laughing didn't continue for long
though, as outside the bedroom window, an orange glow could be seen.

Rudy walked
over to the window and peered through the blinds at the building next door. It
was engulfed in flames. As he watched, a body fell from an upper floor where
the flames were the thickest. Cinders and ashes floated past the window. It was
only a matter of time before the building they were in would go up in flames as
well; of that he was certain.

Amanda, all
mirth gone, snaked an arm around his.

Rudy looked
at her, feeling as if he were dreaming. "Grab that other sword. I think
we're going to need it."

Mort's face
rested on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. In his hand he held a bottle of
pills that he had pulled from the cupboard behind the mirror. Ms. Luella Bates
must have suffered from insomnia judging by the wealth of Ambien that she had
in her possession. His eyes moved back and forth as the creatures outside
continued to try and find him. He could see three sets of shoes through the
crack beneath the doorway.

There was
no window in the bathroom, or else he would have jumped out of it long ago. He
couldn't stand the thought of turning the gun on himself. Instead, all he had was
a bottle of Ambien. He was debating taking the pills. Mort could just pop a
handful of those bad boys in his mouth and hop a train to eternal sleep. He
looked at one of the oval pills. Pink with the letters "AMB" printed
on it... he wondered how many of the things he would have to choke down to end
it all.

The last
thing he wanted to do was take the pills and still be semi-conscious if those
things made their way inside. He couldn't imagine being eaten alive. The real
question was, "If he took the pills and overdosed, would he come back from
the dead?" In the end, he didn't really care. All he wanted was to not
hurt anymore, and if dying from an overdose of sleeping pills was the only
option to avoid being ripped apart by cannibals, well, then that was how it had
to be.

When he
turned on the tap for some water, the banging intensified. He would have to
choke these things down quick. They would be in here in no time. Thankfully,
the house seemed to be of older construction. If it was a newer house, the door
would have been busted down by now, and he would be rotting in the stomachs of
three dead motherfuckers.

He held his
lips to the stream of water and choked down a pill. He had never been good at
swallowing pills. The best he could ever do was swallow them one at a time. He
put another pill in his mouth, as he bent down to the tap, he jumped. A gunshot
rang out in the hallway, followed by another, and then a third. Bodies slumped
to the ground.

He stood
there, not moving, a pill slowly turning bitter in his mouth.

"Anybody
in there?" a nasally voice asked.

Mort stood
there dumbfounded for a second. Then he finally found his voice. He spit the
pill into the sink, and yelled, "I'm in here!" He moved closer to the
door, and asked, "They all dead?"

"For
the second time, my friend. You can come on out now."

Mort opened
the door and two bodies fell at his feet. He jumped backwards but they didn't
move. They were dead along with another one on the landing. His savior stood at
the top of the stairwell. He looked to be a hillbilly sort. Cowboy boots, a
white T-shirt, and blue jeans held up by a plain leather belt with a huge,
brass eagle belt buckle, this was not the man that Mort had envisioned saving
him.

"C'mon
now. Move yer ass. Them gunshots'll be bringin' some more of them things in no
time at all."

The man
turned around and walked away, as if he expected Mort to follow. Mort decided
that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea. The man was a good shot. He yawned
as he stumbled down the stairs. Mort was starting to feel very sleepy.

Ace stood
in the hallway looking at the body of Jungle Fever lying on a cell floor. His
eyes were open, but unseeing. A bullet hole yawned black and bloody in his
forehead.  The hallway echoed with yelling. People shouted at him to free them.
He didn't care about them. They could all go fuck themselves are far as he was
concerned.

He ran down
the hallway, yelling for Tak. Eventually he found him... or what was left of
him. It looked like his cellmate had been eating him. There were bullet holes
in both of their heads, but Tak's cellmate didn't look to have any major damage
besides the bullet hole.

How was he
going to tell Tak's mom? That was the first thought that popped into his head.
It was a ridiculous thought when it ran through his head the second time. Tak's
mom was 5,000 miles away, and even if she were here, what would he say? An
American ate your son in jail?

Ace was
still figuring out his next move as he walked up and down the cellblock,
releasing everyone who was still alive. There were several corpses, but none of
them seemed to be moving around. It was the head that did it. Pop the melon,
drop the felon. It sounded like a good song lyric, but he knew that he would
never write another song again.

This was
the day. Today was the day that Ace became who he had always wanted to be, who
he had pretended to be when he was on stage. Today was the day that Ace became
chaos incarnate. In a country falling apart, with no ties or loyalties to
anyone, 5,000 miles away from home. If today wasn't the day, then there would
never be a day.

As Ace
released the last person, they huddled in front of the door to the cellblock debating
the next course of action.

"What
are we going to do?" a bearded man shouted.

"I
need to get back to my family," shouted another.

"What
the fuck is going on out there?" said a man in an Electric Fever T-shirt.

Ace called
for their attention, thumbing through his limited knowledge of English in his
mind. "We got to live. They got to die."

They looked
at him, each man privately deciding if he was a madman or a genius. The war
went on for too long, so Ace said, "It's time. Time to fight for your
life."

With that,
Ace turned around and unlocked the door. He let them through while he calmly
waited. When the last person had filed through the doorway he tossed the keys
on the ground, and strolled out behind them.

They ran,
screaming through the police station, their fear manifesting itself as
violence, swollen, mechanical, and born from the unknown. Ace kicked down a
door to an office that he passed. He fought the urge to riot with the mob, to
let Ace Fever come to the forefront and assert his control.

They
smashed windows, knocked over desks and broke anything that could be broken as
they surged through the hallways of the police station. As they reached a
stairwell that would take them up to the main floor, they were greeted by two
cops, handguns and mace at the ready. They stood at the top of the stairs
blocking the way. By now, the crowd, 17-men strong, had built up enough inertia
that not even the sight of a policeman's 9mm could slow them down. They romped
over the cops. Even when they lost one of their number to gunfire, they kept
rumbling along, an avalanche of pent up rage, confusion, and fear.

Once they
hurt one cop, they couldn't stop. No one said it,  but they knew it. They had
taken on a hive-like mentality now. Together, they would work to escape from
the building or die trying. Perhaps they'd just keep running, right through the
world, a nonstop whirlwind of violence and change picking up members and
spitting them out, like seeds, ready to flower and blossom into bastions of
destruction and degeneracy.

Ace walked
slowly in this whirlwind, testing doors, and looking for anything that he could
use as a weapon. He still had the ASP baton, but he wanted something sexier,
something more definite. He laughed to himself as he heard the screams of
another police officer from somewhere in the building.

After
opening another door, Ace found himself face to face with a cop that was
hurriedly putting on his utility belt. Ace flung open the ASP baton, and
charged the man before he could pull his gun. As he brought the ASP down on his
arm, he actually heard it break. The officer's arm hung there below the elbow,
drooping as if there weren't bones inside. His scream was loud, so Ace clocked
him across the face. Teeth clattered on the floor, and the police officer fell
over on his side.

He dropped
down to his knees, and pulled the cop's gun from its holster. He looked at it
intently as the officer tried to crawl away from him with his one good arm. Ace
wasn't familiar with firearms. He had once fired a few in a shopping mall in
Honolulu, but other than that, he had rarely seen them. Guns were illegal in
Japan.

He did
manage to find the safety though. Ace stood over the officer, pointing the gun
at the officer's face. A quick squeeze, and he would be gone. Ace's mind warred
with itself. He waited for a sign, something to show him what to do. Chaos was
hard.

The officer
whimpered, on his back with his hands  in front of his face. Blood trickled
from the corner of his mouth, as he spoke. "Please. Don't shoot. I have a
family."

Ace smiled.
"We all have family. Or else we would not exist." Ace turned around,
and walked out of the room, leaving the cop lying there in a bloody heap on the
floor. It was tough being Chaos. The ordered part of his mind, the part that
had been conditioned to civilization kept telling him to kill the cop. It was
justice. It was justice for Tak, justice for Jungle Fever, justice for himself.

In the end,
he decided that more chaos would come from a broken and injured cop than from a
dead one. He tucked his gun away, and walked through the police station. By
now, the crowd had rushed on, their handiwork splattered on walls, floors, and
desks. Some of their handiwork still quivered, but most were dead... or
deadish.

Ace smiled
to himself as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from a dead policeman's pocket. He
strolled out of the police station, on a quest for some food. He was starving,
and he had a lot of work to do.