Muscle Memory
Story by Stories of Old and Far on SoFurry
It feels good to brush the rust off gentlemen. In the spirit of upcoming Halloween, it's only fair that I write about the dead. No bets, here, but I'm going to see if I can make something a little extra to go along with this. Enjoy. Hope I'm not too rusty.
An alarm clock buzzed, spreading music all throughout the house in a blaring wakeup call as sunlight shone brightly through the slits of closed blinds. With a fumbling hand from out of blankets, he stirred, guiding his sleep driven hand to the off switch, finally silencing the radio alarm.
If there was one thing he couldn’t possibly sleep through, it was mopey country music tinged with sorrows over trucks and lawnmowers. It looped every day, at the same time. It had for a long while now.
But, it still got him out of bed every morning.
His usual morning routine started up in the wake of the annoying sing song tune that shuffled him out of bed, followed by a cursory inspection to make sure he was relatively tidy, brush the teeth, spit everything out, take a peek at the man in the mirror, and do a little half-dressed dance across his home to the special room he’d rigged up. The flick of switches met his eyes with the glow of green lights in response.
Good. Things were still working.
Sitting down in his token armchair and doing a spin for good measure, he grabbed a headset on the table nearby, sliding the mic close to his mouth as he flicked the broadcast switch on.
“Goooooooood morning world, it’s a bright and beautiful day out there, not a cloud in the sky! Watch the sun out there folks, better wear some shades!”
“As always, I’m broadcasting from my lovely two story condo on all frequencies, straight downtown, just look for the walkways and zip lines to other buildings across the street and you’ll be on your way to my very luxurious home! Just make sure you watch out for the front lawn, it’s just a biiiiiit crowded with freeloaders and squatters.”
“I recommend a good old ramming with something on wheels and some buckshot rounds for good measure. As always, you’ll find a nice place to stay here. Plenty of food and water, a five star view, and good company. That was your morning wakeup call folks, and now back to static and silence, with the neeeeeeewwwws.”
The flick of a switch turned the broadcast off, leaving him in silence to remove the mic and headphones to set them down back on the table. He sat in his chair, waiting.
No responder call lights from his radio, as always.
Another spin round in his chair and he stood up with a sigh, flicking the switches down to shut things off.
Now was the most important time of the day.
Breakfast time.
Utensils clattered at the table as he finished off the last of his meal, nothing too complicated, but his own homemade bread mixed with whatever he could find around in his cupboards. He leaned back on his chair, nodding.
“Mhmm. Fantastic cooking if I do say so. Compliments to the chef.”
Chair legs clattered back down on the floor as he pushed away from the table and stood up, checking a watch on his wrist.
“Running late. Gotta run.”
With a practiced sense of routineness, he left his kitchen, passing through his various piles of things, clothing, garbage, books and notes, extension cords, all with familiar ease as he quickly thumped downstairs to the first floor, noticeably darker even with the lights on as thick layers of metal obscured all the windows and the door, through other various piles of clutter, miscellaneous supplies, and all the way to the basement door, which he flung open excitedly as he hit the light switch.
As light filled the cooler, darker room and he stepped down the stairs, on the far side, behind thick, sturdy metal bars, what vaguely resembled a man began howling at him from behind the bars, reaching out with pale, greyed hands and dull grey eyes, snarling at him as he bared teeth.
Casually, he ignored the howling and stepped into his lab, reaching for a recorder on one of his many tables organized around the room, before slipping it onto his belt as he looked over the subject across from him.
“Hmm. Still like eating people don’t you Josh? Well, you hang in there bud. We’ll get that fixed up soon. I promise.”
He paused as the dull eyed man reached as hard as he could through the bars, still baring teeth and howling.
“Listen man, I’ll be out a little longer today. I’ve gotta run to the library and pick up some more reading material. Maybe drop by the hospital too. Nerd stuff, I know. Keep watch of the place while I’m gone.”
The otherwise dead man continued to howl at him as he turned, heading back up the steps as he shut off the lights, closing the heavy soundproofed door behind him. He paused briefly, leaning up against the door as he pressed a button on his recorder.
“Still no signs of change with the subject. I’ve tried everything I know, or at least, everything I can think of, up to this point. Even blood transfusions with my own blood. I have a theory that I want to test, but it requires more research. I’ll be taking a trip to the library today to see if I can find some more material.”
The press of a button and the recording stopped. By now, he’d long since stopped counting the days. He didn’t like to be reminded of how long it was. Josh had been in this state for a few years now, at least. Or, at least, when he stopped counting.
He really didn’t like dwelling on it much.
Sunshine bore down brightly as ever, as he opened the door of the stairwell onto the roof, already dressed for the occasion under a wide straw hat and sunglasses. Casually checking up on rows of potted greens or long makeshift rickety boxes, his basic crop setup, he passed them buy with a nod.
Green and healthy as always.
Nearing the edge of the roof, towards a sturdy metal structure he’d set up, he approached a lawn chair from the back, stopping to pat the clothed dummy that sat in it on the shoulder.
“Morning Frank. What do we have on the roads this morning?”
He looked down at the dummy, clad in sunglasses and a token bright blue Hawaiian shirt with simple cargo shorts to match, as he reached down to pull binoculars from around the neck of the dummy. Leaning over the stone edge of the building, he peered out to the road below, muttering to himself.
“Hmm. More squatters, Frank. We might have to run them off again. Bunch at the doors down below. And I can see a whole bunch more of the stoned shufflers coming down the street.”
Setting the binoculars down around the dummy’s neck, he patted it on the shoulder, looking over the rifle laying on its lap.
“Hey. I’m going to the library today to pick up some more reading stuff. You want me to get you anything?”
He smiled, patting the dummy on the shoulder.
“And not that kind of reading material. I mean the good kind.”
He smiled, contented as he looked over at the metal contraption he’d long since rigged up, guarded by Frank. A sturdy, heavy metal base bolted to the wall it was braced off of, and to the floor as well, rigged up like a tall, wide, metal doorframe. At the top of the frame sat a car’s rim, bolted together with a gear which in turn connected to a crank attached lower down on the frame.
“Right, off I go then. Keep an eye on Josh for me will you?”
He patted Frank on the shoulder, going to turn the crank on the frame, watching as a small, makeshift cart that rested on the other side of the street against the building across from him began to wind its way along the wire as the car’s rim wound the cable. As he cranked, the air snapped as cable suddenly split and frayed, whipping through the air as it recoiled violently, in its wake, a crash in the street below.
Pausing briefly, as he lowered his sunglasses, he leaned over the rooftop to peer to the street down below. His contraption had made a mess. From the remains of where his cart landed, he could already see the sickly black, dark blood pooling out from under the cart as body parts that weren’t completely crushed twitched uselessly.
The commotion startled the rest, and he watched as they moved towards the source, shuffling, crawling, or walking, with some of the more sprightly ones running. He shook his head, peering over to Frank as he punched him on the shoulder.
“What’s the matter with you? Playing a joke like that?”
He sighed, turning to leave as his hands found the recorder he kept on his belt, bringing it up to his mouth to speak. With another sigh, he pressed the record button.
“Well…… because somebody figured it’d be funny to play a joke, I just lost one of my zip lines. That one’s going to be a doozy to fix. That also means that I’ll have to take a longer route now, which is going to slow me down.”
He looked up at the sun from under his hat and sunglasses.
“Probably too late in the day now to go out there and get back before dark. Rule of thumb kids, they’re nocturnal. Better senses at night than in the day. I guess, what I can do now is some more field research on my theory.”
Turning off the recorder, he looked across the rooftop to his other various zip line rigs.
Time to go pay a visit to Slick.
From atop another building, one of many in his little network of travel lines and caches, he sat against the guard rail, watching a man, not too far off from him, feet bound and encased in concrete, and wrapped in chains to hinder all movement except for one arm, left unbound, hanging freely. The man was as dull eyed and grey skinned as any other, but notably still wearing baseball clothes and a helmet. Slick seemed to be on the lower end of cognitive functions, paying him no mind if he kept his distance.
As he leaned against the rails, sitting down to relax as he pitched balls to Slick, he looked down to the pile he’d brought with him, absent mindedly reaching for his recorder.
“So, here’s my theory. Human body dies. Internal organ failure and massive brain trauma. Human host is then rebooted with varying degrees of necrosis.”
He pitched another ball over to Slick, watching as it impacted dead center into Slick’s chest, the man doing nothing in response.
“My theory is, that despite the massive brain trauma on death, they still actually have tangible memories. I got it from my old gym teacher a long time ago. Muscle memory, he called it. Do something enough and your muscles will remember. Stop, and you’ll get rusty.”
Another ball, impacting off of Slick’s batter helmet.
“But even if you’re rusty, if you give it some time, you’ll get back into the swing. And I think that’s what they operate on. That’s why they can walk, or run. Maybe that’s why they seem to have a pension for eating people. Or violence.”
He paused, looking out across the rooftop. He turned a baseball in his hand, slowly. Shutting off his recorder, as he stood back up under evening sun. He nodded, speaking quietly.
“Come on Slick. You got this one. Just like last time.”
Rearing his arm back as he wound up, he spoke loudly.
“All right Slick this one’s coming fast and hard! Yo batta batta!”
The ball whipped past him, through the air on a curve. He watched in tense silence. And then it happened. The ball whipped past Slick. Nothing. He sighed.
“God dammit Slick! That was your big one! You were supposed to take home the gold!”
The corpse turned its dull eyes and head sideways, raising the only free to move body part it had, an arm fitted with a worn down baseball glove. Slowly, its arm rose higher up into the air until it stopped. He rubbed his eyes, squinting as he reached for his recorder.
“Delayed response due to minimal cognitive functions. But, Slick just tried to catch a baseball. He actually tried.”
He smiled, starting to rock on his feet as he clutched his recorder. He watched Slick from across the rooftop, still holding up one arm sluggishly. Reaching down for another ball, making sure it was a baseball, he pushed on the recorder again.
“Sluggish responses, probably due to dulled eyesight in the day. Slick’s arm muscles might react faster than his brain if he feels contact on his glove hand. Commencing trial.”
Another slow windup as he reared back.
“Okay Slick this one’s coming nice and easy!”
He tossed the ball underhanded in a slow arc towards Slick, aiming for the raised glove hand. He watched as his pitch went wide and missed. He nodded, sighing.
“Okay that was my fault Slick. I’m a bad pitcher. Let’s try again. One more time.”
He paused for a moment, his breath catching as he held it.
“And the crowds are silent, waiting. This is it. All or nothing at the endgame. Come on golden boy, tell me I’m right!”
The corpse in chains remained in place, head turning slowly towards his voice. Picking up another ball as he walked a little closer, he took a breath, before making the pitch. The ball soared through the air in a slow arc, landing dead center into Slick’s glove.
Slick’s hand closed around the ball.
“Good evening world, as usual I am broadcasting on all AM and FM frequencies and this is your local evening news report on events today.”
“In other news, our local baseball golden boy caught himself a baseball today, an amazing feat considering the fact that he’s dead!”
“Which, adds further evidence to a theory of mine and a term that I myself personally like to call “limbic resonance.” There’s a note there for you when you’re writing me up for a world peace price by the way. Buuuut, as you all know, all good things must come to an end, and as the sun goes down and the squatters on my lawn get rowdy, it’ll be time to take special preventative measures.”
“Remember kids, safety first out there.”
Hitting the switches down on the small radio for the night, he leaned back on his swivel chair. He could already hear them. Outside in the dark. Their senses coming to as nightfall woke something them. Maybe it was some old buried instinct from ages long ago when primordial man fought with predators in the dark that hunted them.
He closed his eyes, swiveling round on his chair. They could smell him. They could hear him. They clawed at the brick walls of the loft he called home. They could smell the life on him and they so badly wanted to consume it. He nodded in silence.
Dark blood, nearly black as ink smeared the enforced walls of his home every morning. Some of it was from them as they never ceased in their insanity, bashing and clawing in some vain attempt to scale the walls. But some of it came from him.
He looked over to a rifle leaning up against the wall of this stuffy old room. Lucky for him, in excess, bullets could put a cease to their insanity. But he had long ago lost the feeling that perhaps he was doing something wrong when he did it. Now, such fun never ceased for him.
Flicking a few switches on the radio, he started playing one of his favorite tracks, listening to it as he grabbed is rifle. He smiled as he spoke into his recorder, always there at his side when he needed it.
“Field trial on limbic resonance. Dodging bullets.”
He smiled as he flicked another switch, listening to the sound of music outside in the streets.
Floodlights filled the streets below with light as music from his wired speakers played out in the night. He hummed along a tune with the music as he aimed down the scope to the masses below.
“Hmm. Whatcha think Frank? That one’s pretty ugly. Let’s put that one outta his misery. For the ladies, after all. He’ll live a lonely life on his own.”
Looking down the scope to the greyed, darkened face of a man, one of many, he paused briefly. The dark blood that circulated in his system was more active. He could see it scrawled out across veins, a much darker tone now, more apparent than in the daytime. The foggy, cloudy eyes that would have normally stared at him in the daytime were gone, replaced by fully dilated, visible eyes that shone back at him in the light.
A pull of the trigger and the creature that convulsed and twitched down below as it stared at him vanished in a mist of blood and bits, spraying out across the streets and across the others as they crowded and shambled together, all focused on the source of attention up above them. The corpse staggered, before righting itself, head blown off completely.
He paused, reaching for his recorder.
“Interesting note on limbic resonance. The head is the root of all bodily functions, but when removed, the corpse is still able to function, albeit with less efficiency than before.”
He watched through the scope as the corpse now moved, but with no eyes, it had a tendency to shamble the wrong way.
“Actions indicate that enhanced senses will begin to compensate for lack of visual feedback and lack of smell.”
He watched in silence for several minutes, before the corpse found the right way again, facing the direction it would have had to travel to reach him if was he on flat ground.
“Incredibly heightened adaptive skills, surprising for something that has undergone basic necrosis. Important note, shooting heads off has only a momentary disorientation effect, corpse will be able to find you even without most extra sensory skills. Test note, likely that vibrations are its new medium of sense.”
Looking away from his scope and taking a sip of coffee, he patted the dummy on the shoulder next to him.
“Frank, you’re doing badly tonight. Practice up some more. You’re the gate guard. You need to keep things sharp.”
The hat wearing dummy remained still under its sunglasses. He frowned as he muttered under his breath.
“Playing jokes all day and being good for nothing. Fine then. Have it your way.”
Peering through the scope he quickly picked another target, firing off another round, tearing through the corpse’s body cavity as he staggered it, watching as dark blood and bits splashed out from its other side.
“Trauma to any part of the body is negligible as usual, momentary stagger before composure is regained.”
Another shot from his rifle, blowing off an arm in a spray of blood and bone.
“Loss of body parts slows and limits options for them.”
He watched what was left of the arm begin moving on its own amongst the feet of others as they crowded together.
“Separated limbs reanimate and move on their own. Still a considerable threat.”
A quick switch to a higher caliber rifle as he shouldered the larger weapon and took aim, feeling the recoil travel up his arm as he aimed at the midsection of another corpse, watching as it exploded into two halves messily, both the upper and lower halves functioning.
“Complete spinal separation yields nothing.”
Taking another sip of coffee, he grabbed his normal rifle, looking down to the masses below as they crowded at the base of his home, hammering and clawing on the brick, trying to climb. Flicking a switch on his rifle, he fired burst after burst into the crowds below, watching dark blood spray out onto the street as some of them toppled over, only to right themselves or sluggishly push themselves back up to their feet. He stopped, breathing heavily.
“Nothing. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing NOTHING!!!!”
Another spray of gunfire into the mob below rang out in the night as he listened to the music from his speakers. Sitting down in his lawn chair, he propped his feet up on the edge of the building.
“Nothing works. Nothing stops them except for excessive and extreme force.”
He paused, thinking back to Josh, down in his basement, held behind a long ago hastily erected cage.
“Nothing cures them. I’ve tried everything. I need more information. I need more supplies. I need……help with this.”
Setting his recorder aside, he pushed himself off his chair to grab his rifle and sweep through the crowds again. His sweep stopped, as he found another target. He nodded, steadying his aim.
“A shame, Frank. Real pretty one down there. Too bad she’s only go the hots for your first brain.”
Looking through the scope, he watched closely. Somebody with soft facial features. Dark, messy unkempt hair.
“Well, she’d probably literally eat your second head too.”
His finger pressed on the trigger, slowly, as he kept steady. He looked across greyed, pale facial features untouched by death or damage. And found eyes. Eyes that weren’t dilated to see light in the darkness. Eyes that weren’t clouded over. His finger twitched on the trigger slowly.
“Strange, Frank. We’ve got one here who doesn’t look like they’re taken a few bowls of mystery drugs. Might even be a shame to shoot that one……..”
His finger tensed on the trigger, before he suddenly paused. Bright, corrupted yellow eyes turned upwards, off the street, to stare at him through his scope. He blinked, checking his own eyes as he looked away from his scope. There. Down below in the masses. The screeching, shambling masses.
One, singular pair of eyes was focused directly on him.
He looked down his scope again. They weren’t unfocused hazily, directed vaguely at the nearest sign of movement or towards sound. They were staring right at him. Through the scope, it felt like it was watching his own eyes. It clicked for him, suddenly.
Where other corpses were moving, shambling, and bustling among one another, in a mad scramble to try and reach him despite the two story wall in their way, this one was….standing there. In all the mass of limbs and convulsing corpses, one of them stayed completely still. He realized that he was tense. His finger was still on the trigger, halfway.
He paused.
“Nothing left. Nothing left in them but impulses. No human traits. Just targets and subjects.”
Down the scope, he found undiluted eyes watching him again. Steady and focused, right down his scope. He gasped, taking his finger off the trigger as he set his rifle down. He stood up, looking over to Frank.
“Right, I’m calling it a night. Watch the place for me.”
He stood over the edge, looking down to the ruins of his trolley cart below, just on the edge of view of his floodlights.
“No jokes either.”
His eyes passed through the mobs down below, catching sight of one sole point in the masses that wasn’t moving. He patted Frank on the shoulder.
“And don’t shoot the pretty one either.”
The dummy stared off out into the black night. He shook his head.
“No, it’s not like that! You try it then. See if you can shoot when one of them is watching you. Go on. I’ll come back in the morning. Round of bacon and eggs says you don’t.”
He stopped, one last time to stare down at the mobs below. If he listened carefully, he could make out the mass of howls, screaming and guttural wailing from under the music. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes.
He was just tired was all. Tomorrow would be better.
The regular sound of country music shuffled him out of bed. A quick check to see who looked back at him in the mirror. The shuffle off to his radio, greeting the world for the morning once again. His usual morning routine resumed its course as usual, all the way up to the rooftop where he greeted Frank for the morning. Leaning over the building, he scanned the streets below.
Most of them had shuffled off back to darker places since the sun had risen and his home became quiet. But as always, stragglers remained, at the base of his home. His broken trolley cart remained where it was. The dark blood and fragments of last night still remained on the streets. Across a completely otherwise normal street, he spotted something abnormal.
Across the street from him, under the shade of a building, in the shadows that hadn’t yet vanished under the early rising sun, one sole corpse sat, perfectly still. He squinted from under his sunglasses, unshouldering his rifle as he peered down the scope.
Dark, messy, unkempt hair. A very light track sweater, dark enough to match the hair. Unclouded eyes. He paused. Unclouded eyes. That shouldn’t be. It was daytime. He looked through the scope again just to be sure. Darkened veins still remained strongly shaded on the skin that was visible. The corpse down below kept its head down as it sat against the wall, motionless. He looked over to Frank.
“I told you. Couldn’t shoot them if they were looking at you, could you?”
Sighing as he shouldered his rifle, he stared out to the lone corpse across the street.
“That one’s a problem, Frank.”
He leaned over the peak of the rooftop, studying the motionless body in the street down below. By reflex, his hand found itself on the recorder around his belt.
“Anomaly in standard case encounters. Subject displays unclouded eyes in the daytime and heightened blood activity, contrary to nocturnal functions of all other encounters, along with decreased motion, substantially less erratic than normal. Encountered during the night, but subject remained until morning. Warrants potential study.”
He nodded, looking over to Frank.
“Watch the place for me. I’ve got a long shopping list today. I’ll be back before dark.”
Taking a glance past the ruins of one of his trolley carts on the street below, he turned his attention to the other functional contraption that allowed him to cross the street in one piece, smiling as he slid his sunglasses on.
He always loved getting groceries.
He’d long ago counted himself lucky when shopping. There was a hydroelectric dam somewhere further up in the hills which provided a portion of power to the suburbs, namely, his. It was mainly his one sole ounce of luck to be had, really. So long as the power flowed, then so too did the cold fridges.
He hummed a tune casually as he pushed his shopping cart along down the aisle, grabbing whatever he fancied at the time, strolling past various blood stains down the aisle as he made his way over to the refrigerated section. Sure enough, he still had plenty of food to go around. He paused, lowering his sunglasses as he looked into one of the fridges.
“Maple flavored bacon…..the things they come up with these days.”
He continued along, humming a tune as he tossed the package into his shopping cart, making sure to stop by and pick up a carton of eggs as he rounded his way back to the checkout counters. As he emptied his cart out onto the conveyor belt, a corpse behind the counter stirred suddenly.
He pushed his cart along down through the isle, reaching over the counter to press the button to slide his things on the belt down to the scanner. He looked over to the armless corpse, which was pinned under a heavier cash register, dressed in a supermarket vest. The dull eyed corpse did the only thing it could, snap at him uselessly as it struggled to reach him, snarling. He raised his eyebrows in response as the scanner beeped every time he slid something through.
“I never liked you, you know. You always had a kind of attitude. Like it was such a chore for you to bag up my stuff.”
As he passed his package of bacon through the scanner he grabbed it, slapping the snarling corpse on top of the head.
“Now look at you. I’ve got to do everything myself and you’re still getting paid for it.”
He looked over at the end of the belt, searching for bags. He shook his head.
“Didn’t even restock the bags like a proper bag boy.”
He frowned as the corpse continued to try and push itself towards him, snarling and clacking its jaws at him helplessly from under the register.
“Lucky you I brought my own bag.”
Dropping his packsack onto the counter, he shuffled things into it carefully, delicately slipping the carton of eggs on top of it all before closing the pack up. He took one last look at the snarling corpse, before reaching into one of his pockets to toss a few coins across the counter.
“Thanks for the great service bud.”
Shouldering his pack, he paused briefly, looking out around the store. Sometimes, he noticed it. Behind the casual loop of music the store played. Some of the lights flickered. Some of the shelves were knocked over, scattering their contents across the floor. Here and there, there was spatters of blood. Old red stains and trails. And then fresher ones, black and dark.
If he listened, he could make out more than one snarling corpse. He’d pinned a few of them in here, under heavy objects. A loud snarl got his attention, as he stared down at the corpse under the register at the till.
“Fuck you. I don’t tip shitty service.”
He shouldered his pack, walking away from the isle, humming in tune with the store’s happy go lucky music.
The sun fell once more, as nightfall crept out in its wake, signaling an end to the day. It was always like this now. He got less accomplished in the day, having to take his various hand cranked trolleys across rooftops, or having to sneak quietly past crowds of shufflers that wandered around during the day. It was one affair at a time, now.
As his usual music played out across speakers at night, beyond the edge of the floodlights, he eyed up his trolley in the streets below. That was his shortcut to the library. And now that he thought about it, the hospital as well. He needed more supplies. Scoping out the thrashing crowds down below, he could make out the one that stood still.
Amongst all the crowds, that one watched him with a strange, focused intent. He didn’t trust it. But he was intrigued by it. This was a behavior that he’d never seen before. One that he couldn’t bring himself to shoot. He nodded his head, reaching for his recorder.
“Abnormal subject warrants testing and capture. Behavior patterns now confirmed as routine.”
Watching those bright eyes down below as they peered straight at him, steadying himself, he held one hand up into the night air. Eyes tracked the movement.
“Subject has abnormal awareness and focus. Presents more danger than standard infected individuals.”
Switching the recorder off, and leaning back onto his chair, he looked over to Frank.
“I think this one’s a toughie, Frank.”
He leaned back further on the chair, closing his eyes to think. Nighttime meant there was more potential threats to deal with. He could be overrun easily. But in the daytime, the subject still appeared to have some degree of slowed body functions. He weighed the options in his head. He needed more medical supplies. And he needed more books for reference material.
But could he risk it with this strange new variable? What if it followed him? What if he encountered more of them? He needed to know how it worked. Why it worked. What made it so different from the rest? He sighed. He needed more medical supplies first. He couldn’t do anything with the subject if he had nothing.
Standing back up, he aimed his rifle down through the crowds, tensing on the trigger. It was better to remove the threat right now than to wait. Scanning the crowd, he found that familiar face. Pale, grey skin like all the rest. Pronounced, darkly coloured veins. But eyes that were far more aware of their surroundings than all the others, who were operating on smell and sound. Tensing on the trigger as he lined up his sights, he stared down into the infected eyes watching him.
Undilated like the rest. Yellow with the hint of altered coloration. But watching him. He exhaled sharply, setting his rifle down.
“Can’t do it Frank.”
He shook his head.
“That amount of focus, even if its old predatory instinct, could mean larger functioning brain capacity. It could be the key to solving how it works. Maybe even how to fix it.”
Pacing in circles, he peered over the edge of the building to the mobs down below, thrashing and clawing uselessly at the brick walls. Switching his recorder on, he spoke.
“Field trial in study of how far this abnormal’s attention span extends.”
Turning on the spot, he walked back towards the door to the stairwell that led to the floors of his home down below, rushing down the stairs to the second floor, to the small room he’d dedicated to his radio. A flick of the switches and the music outside stopped. Another flick, and the floodlights went out.
He moved in a hurried scramble through the mess of the apartment, looking for what he wanted. In a seemingly random pile, he spotted them. Long red sticks with caps on them. Grabbing one hurriedly, he ran back upstairs to the rooftop. With no music filtering through his speakers, he could hear everything out in the night.
Hundreds of them outside, down below, trying to reach him. Sparking the flare and standing over the edge to watch them under the red glow, he waved it high in the air, before giving it the best pitch he could, watching the red glow sail through the night, landing on the streets below.
In an instant, the now heightened dead, running on nocturnal clocks and senses, turned at the source of the commotion. He could hear the sound of bare feet on concrete as hundreds of them rushed towards the flare down the street, howling or gurgling as some of them ran, and others shuffled or dragged themselves.
Reaching for his rifle and grabbing a flashlight off the small table next to Frank, he peered down to the streets below, sweeping the road with the light. Bloodstains on the concrete, dark and black, and the occasional straggler of a corpse that stayed behind, lower ended on the cognitive functions. As he swept the streets below, hurrying to try and spot what he was looking for, he found it.
Although having turned her attention to the flare down the road, and starting a slow walking gait in the direction of it, the light of his flashlight drew the corpse’s attention back, as it turned, looking upwards to spot him once more. The corpse stopped its walk, turning to stand and merely watch him.
Turning the flashlight off to set it back down on the table, he set his rifle down against the edged wall, nodding quietly as he started thinking.
Maybe. Just maybe, he had a chance now.
Dim light, far off on the horizon began to show, as dark clouds rolled in, bringing with them a cold rain. In the night, he'd scrambled to put gear together that he needed for this. What he was doing now, was risky. But it was the only time he could perform it well. Expending all of his flares to lure the crowds farther down the street as he rode one of his small trolleys from his home to another building further down the street.
Sure enough, his theory was right, as he shone his flashlight on the singular corpse down below, drawing its attention. It followed him down the street as he moved along, strung up on his wire held cart. He'd had a lot of spare time on his hands over the years. Enough to build something that was now, finally going to come into play once more.
Not far down his street, there was another building he'd since made into a safe zone. His real lab. Enough space to study and contain subjects, and enough room that he could fit more medical related supplies in there. The trouble, however, was getting a singular corpse to walk into his trap.
He needed to be down on the street level for this.
Under a blanket of rain, he touched down on the rooftop of his lab, stepping off his small hand cranked trolley, to peer over the side of the building. Sure enough, the one down below had been tracking him all the way here, still watching him as she stood out on the road in the rain.
He left the rooftop, heading downstairs to the first floor of the old building, to the front of the shop that he'd long since cleared of space, to check the heavily meshed and reinforced windows. Outside, in the dim light, he could spot multiple corpses slowly shuffling about.
But the one in the track gear remained standing idly. He looked back behind him to the large, dusty old tarp spread out across the floor, nodding quietly as he set his pack down to pull out the right tool for the job.
Peeking through a slit in the door that he'd left uncovered by metal, he looked down to the shotgun in his hands.
"Double barrels. Gonnaaaaa be messssssy."
Taking one last check through the windows, he placed his hand on the steel door bar, lifting it slowly as he eased on the door. The patter of rainfall on the streets met his ears as he peered out, opening the door wider to see what stalked the streets outside. Crouching down as he pulled a flashlight out of his bag, he flicked the light on briefly, shining it out to his target.
He watched from a distance, across the road, as the corpse turned its head, shuffling itself slowly in the rain to face him. Without so much as a sound like the others would often make upon seeing him, it started running. He threw his flashlight aside as he swore under his breath, backing away from the door quickly.
“Son of a bitch, you were definitely a jogger!”
The corpse closed the gap quickly as he jumped across the tarp on the floor inside, turning to see the dead woman clearing the sidewalk and striding through the doorway of the old shop in long, incredibly fast steps, arms outstretched to grab him as she jumped. Dead hands found themselves on his legs as the corpse stepped onto the tarp and fell through the floor.
He cried out, being tripped and pulled onto his back as he was dragged down, scrambling to try and reach something to hold onto, only sliding across the floor in vain as he cleared everything, feeling the sense of vertigo as he fell into basement floor below.
The landing knocked the wind out of him, as in darkness, he was left lying on the floor in pain. With his trap being triggered, the system of pulleys he’d set up slammed the door to the outside shut leaving him temporarily safe. He stared up at the hole above in the floor, laying on his back, waiting in hushed silence for the other who had dragged him into his own trap.
Nothing happened.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light, as his breathing quickened. Under any other circumstance he would have been running on fear. But now, he was terrified stiff. Why hadn’t it attacked him? It should have jumped him, tried to claw at him or maul him. In the dark, he could barely see it, even.
Standing there, motionless.
He propped himself up with his arms, pushing himself backwards to rest against cold stone. And then he felt it. The pain in his leg, shooting up as he moved. He ran a hand across it, to feel the sting as he found it. Fingernail scratches, from a hand with a grip as strong and cold as the dead. He shook his head.
That couldn’t be. He was immune. He was always…..immune. A small percentage of the population with the rarest blood type was immune to the spread of the disease. He pushed himself up against the wall, looking up to the hole in the floor above him. He couldn’t scale that height. He couldn’t climb the tarp back up.
He felt around in the dark, feeling the bite of cold steel as he found cage bars. He searched frantically, finding the door and lock, hurriedly fumbling through one of his pockets to find his keychain. He felt the lock that kept the door tied shut, fumbling with keys as he tried them one after the other in the dark, until, with shaking hands, the lock came free and he pushed the door open, closing it behind him as he stumbled into the dark, tripping over something.
He eventually found the light switch, flicking it on only to shield his eyes briefly as the fluorescent bulbs stung him, lighting up his workspace, packed with medical equipment and storage shelves. In the light, he looked down his leg to the scratch marks.
Already tinged black.
“Good morning world on a not so bright……..kind of day.”
He stopped, listening to the patter of rainfall on the roof. Listened to the static on the radio.
“Somebody.”
He closed his eyes, listening to the ever present static.
“Somebody…..please.”
He looked down to the floor, at his leg. Darker veins, having spread farther now.
“I uh…… I messed up. I saw this…….strange one. It acted differently from the rest. I tried to trap it for study. And…it….scratched me. I guess, maybe it carried the disease on its skin and not just in its blood.”
He paused.
“I was supposed to be immune. I was……supposed to fix this. That’s what I told myself. When people started dying and the world went wrong……..I…….”
From elsewhere inside his house, music began playing as his alarm clock went off. The same old country tune. He could sing it on autopilot now. He smiled, as some man sung about his tractor in a token southern drawl. He looked over to the radio.
For some reason, the song that played only added to the tears that came out. He set his head down on the desk, banging his hand across it, before looking back up.
“I uh…..I’ll just leave my stuff here. I’m signing off. Remember, people. Stay safe out there. Keep fighting.”
A corpse blew apart, splattering across the street in splashes of black and bits as he slid two more shells into his shotgun. He passed through crowds of them, all of them dead, grey, dull eyed and slow, paying him no mind. Bottle after bottle went down as he wandered the streets in a haze, all day long.
This wasn’t part of the plan. It never was. He’d improvised though. Made some preparations. And now….now he was just going to figure it out as he went. Whether it be from paying a visit to Slick and pitching one last round of balls to him.
Or sitting up on the roof with Frank.
To paying one last visit his flat mate, Josh.
Frank was easy. A push over the edge of the building to send him toppling down to the streets below. Josh….well, he never got along too good with him anyway. He shuffled along the streets in a haze, moving slowly towards his last stop.
But, it was Slick that he slipped up on.
He still remembered it freshly in the haze of alcohol. Pitching balls to the chained up corpse. Watching as he raised an arm up, slowly and sluggishly. His plan was to make it quick. Pitch one last ball to the golden boy and then pull the trigger on him.
And then he remembered that Slick wouldn’t die no matter what he did. And he ended up sobbing at the chained corpse’s feet. And now, somewhere in the haze of the day, he was here. Long past the grocery store where he’d picked up some free rounds on the house.
But now, at the door to his lab.
Past the tarp he’d set back up. Down the basement stairs, step by step into the darkness of the basement. A slow, sluggish and eventful slog through the darkened room, as he carefully made his way to the end of the room, to the holding cell, as he found the door, and the lock.
Drunken hands eventually found the key to open the cell door, as he stepped inside, closing it behind him, uncaring of the lock that clinked shut or the keys that fell to the floor beyond his reach. He slumped down to the floor, in the cold and dark of his own workspace, bottle in hand and gun at his side.
And fell asleep.
He stirred slowly, rolling over in the dark to feel an uncomfortable stone wall at his front. He groaned, rolling over to his other side, feeling the cold clink of a bottle and the hard protrusion of a gun digging into him. He sighed, rolling over onto his back as he hoisted himself up partially, leaning his back against the wall.
He wiped his face, eyes adjusting to the dim light in the basement as he leaned his head back sluggishly, spotting the other who was in the cell with him, standing there aimlessly. His hand found the gun off at his side, as he dragged it over weakly, before pausing.
The commotion stirred the corpse, who turned to watch him. Once more, he stared back, grip weakening on his gun, as he grumbled out.
“This is all your fault.”
He stayed propped up against the wall, watching.
“I was supposed to fix…..everything.”
The corpse’s eyes stayed focused on his as it stood silently.
“And you…..I thought you were something different. But you’re just some……new carrier. Some new mutated strain of the disease when it got into your blood stream.”
He looked over the bottle at his side, before back out into the dim light of the lab he’d set up. Everything he’d salvaged and found, taken from the hospital or clinics. It had taken years. He closed his eyes, chuckling.
“I used to be a vet once, you know. I was training to be one. And then this all showed up. All the fighting, all those people, running for their lives, or fighting with each other, just helping to spread the disease. And I stayed here.”
He opened his eyes to meet the infected yellow sheened ones across from him in the cell.
“I waited. For somebody to come. For something to happen.”
He paused, slinking his head down in his lap as he realized it. Maybe, he was more like them than he ever knew. Clinging to old memories like some automated response. Hoping that things would go right again. Talking all by his lonesome in his daily routines, like things were somehow normal.
He shifted, reaching down for the recorder at his side. He turned it over in his hands, opening up the small slot for batteries. He looked back up to one standing across from him, shaking the recorder with a smile as nothing came out of it, because there was nothing ever inside of it.
“See?”
He tossed the device out through the cell bars to somewhere in the lab, pushing himself to stand upright as he stretched, sighing. The corpse turned to focus elsewhere in the lab at the sound of his recorder landing. He picked up his shotgun quietly, stepping towards the woman as he pressed both barrels to the side of her head.
His finger tensed on the trigger, hand shaking. The corpse’s eyes shifted sideways to watch him directly once more. He stood, frozen in place, trembling. A long exhale escaped him as he dropped the weapon aside, only to reach out with both hands across the cheeks of the dead woman who watched him.
“Look at you. No fear. No regrets. Nothing left at all.”
He walked around to face her completely, frowning.
“Why? Why can’t I do it to you like I do for all the others?”
He stopped, looking straight into eyes that watched him back, sliding a thumb across one cheek as he realized what he was holding. Somebody who had long ago, died. Having the disease spread in their bloodstream, until it attacked their heart, killing them. And then, the dark blood in her system, kick starting her once more.
He looked over grey facial features, etched in dark veins as he slid a hand through black messy hair, watching as her eyes traveled upward to follow his hand.
“Look at you……”
He watched the vacant expression stay on her face as he brought one hand up, slowly, just to place one finger on her nose.
“You used to be somebody. I could have saved you, you know.”
He tilted his head, patting her on the shoulder.
“Tell me your story, before all this.”
Sighing, he looked down at the black, faded sweater she wore.
“Guess you won’t mind now if I have a look.”
Reaching into the pockets of the sweater, he pulled out a few things, finding a small wallet among a phone and an IPod. He smiled, opening up the wallet, laughing suddenly as he looked through cards and pictures. He looked up to the corpse, who still only watched him idly.
“You were a nurse? Right out of med school.”
He closed the wallet, sticking all the cards back in, holding it out to the corpse.
“You keep that. You’ll go places.”
He sighed as the corpse merely stood there, before he slipped the wallet back into the sweater pocket he found it from. He looked back up to the vacant expression and the eyes that watched him closely with every move he made.
“That’s a real shame, you know. You would have made a good nurse. You had the looks for it.”
He paused, staring at the yellow tinged eyes across from him. He slid a hand along a grey cheek, resting a thumb over her lips. He hesitated, staring at her. It was strange to him. He’d been like this…..for so long. Devoid of any living human beings. Any contact. Any real emotion or morals.
So why did he hesitate?
He couldn’t shoot her when she watched him. He could pass through crowds of them, inflicting terrible things on them but never batting an eye. But, he was reluctant, now. At the end of everything, suddenly it was like he woke up. He was suddenly more human than he’d been in years.
He let his thumb slide over her lips, back and forth.
“You know, I wouldn’t normally do this, but……I’m a dead man. And…..we’re probably going to share this cell for a very long time. You’re still very pretty you know.”
He took note of the dull grey skin as he stroked his thumb along, not cold, or warm, either. The black blood in her veins staying room temperature. He felt the shape of her lips, slowly as he passed over them, watching her eyes as he thought about it.
Could he do this?
In what was his last few hours, alone, with nobody else ever being able to know this, could he do this to the vacant eyes that barely showed anything behind them? Even if, he was now a prisoner with her in this cell, sharing the same fate?
And suddenly, quietly, somebody answered for him.
A grey hand slid up his arm, tracing fingers as it traveled upward, to grip his own hand. Darkened lips suddenly parted, letting his thumb in as they sucked gently. He hung his head, shaking. That was the most contact he’d ever had from somebody in……..as long as he could remember.
He smiled weakly as the grey hand held his own gently, while her lips opened and closed, to travel further along his thumb, until he pulled his hand away slowly, watching as she trailed after it momentarily, eyes focused on the movement of his hand, before traveling back up to stare at him innocently.
He nodded weakly.
“Okay.”
He knew what it was. Some old residual memory. But it felt so real to him. Beyond more than just a simple automated reaction. The way fingers slid up his wrist. How everything was so delicate and tender. He had to ask himself, if he could do this.
No, that wasn’t right. Because he wanted to. Maybe that was it from the first time he saw her. Something that was so far gone from being alive or even considered human at this point. And yet…..so elegantly charming in death.
Maybe he’d always wanted to. But should he? To him, this felt like the end. He was going to die one way or another. But should he die like this? Should he throw away the last of his humanity, the last of his dignity and decency, all because he found this one, sole, husk of a person to be the only thing that somehow meant anything to him?
He ended up pushing himself closer to her, closer to her face, to those eyes, feeling his own warm breath rebound off her face, while not a breath was drawn by her, as he focused on her eyes. Was he afraid? Scared of what he might find? Some leap into the unknown that should never be known?
He found his answer as dull grey skin pressed against his own and lips brushed against his, slowly. It didn’t matter if he knew that this was just some involuntary, old instinct in muscle and nerves. The mouth that engulfed his own lips felt more real than anything else to him right now. And it was decided.
He was giving up.
If all of them could run off such basic instincts. Then he could too. No more lying to himself. No more fake world of his to believe and place hope in. No more acting like any of this was normal, or that it could be fixed.
No more humanity.
With it decided in his mind, he gave into himself. Placing one hand against her cheek, a thumb across her lips, taking comfort in the way that she sucked gently, leaving him with one free hand to begin exploring. Pulling the zipper of her sweater down, to expose nothing more than a simple sports bra and her running shorts.
He wasn’t one to wait, as he unlatched the simple top, pulling it away from her to reveal more of her grey flesh, and more of the darkened and black veins running across her body. He paused shortly, if only to enjoy this. She continued her response to his hand pressing against her cheek, sucking gently as he allowed his free hand to explore, roaming down her neck to the middle of her chest, free to slide down between the middle of everything.
Now, more than before, did he start to notice things. Most of those that died, remained in a relative healthy state unless they were damaged. The only real reason some of them underwent necrosis was due to infection from injuries. And as he swept his hand across her skin, across a body that was kept fit and lean, to feel every small contour from the lightly defined muscle to gentle curves, he found himself happy that she was in such good shape, in more ways than one.
The dark veins across her skin felt more pronounced, and he found interest in tracing his fingers along their dark winding pathways, eventually traveling upward once more to enjoy something he hadn’t seen in a long time. The soft, heavy, and gentle weight of breasts exposed to him, free for him to explore, enjoying the way he could cup them in his hand, or feeling her body react as he tugged or pinched.
Her second hand came up now, clasping his hand and taking more control as she now had both of her own hands to hold the one at her mouth. He let her do it without resistance, pausing as he gasped slightly at the new sensation, to look up into her eyes as she began placing her lips across other fingers individually, sucking on them one by one slowly as he felt her tongue twist and flex.
He let his hand slide up, to push one of her arms aside gently, as he ran it through her short messy hair, pulling his other hand away from her gentle lips, watching as she trailed after it again, her normally vacant expression seemingly becoming a pout as her eyes found his, looking mournful that he’d done that to her.
The sight spurred him on, as he no longer was afraid. He pushed forward, her body yielding to him as her backside found the wall, and he closed the distance to her lips, kissing her. The sensation wasn’t like he feared it would be. There was no dryness or slime, anything at all to hint that there was decay of some kind.
Her body had merely stopped, the only thing being active in her now, was the dark blood in her veins.
He found relief, or excitement, he couldn’t tell which, as she acted once more, accepting him with her lips and beginning a feud with him as she tried to overtake his mouth in hers, and vice versa. He flinched to her touch suddenly, as her own hands found themselves at his sides, pulling him in.
By her reflex, he felt bare skin on his, as her hands slid under his shirt to slide across his body, a notable difference in temperature to him, if anything, causing him to grow more excited as he struggled with her lips in silence, suddenly breaking off from them to move lower, against her neck, as he traveled downwards.
Dull grey hands pulled and clenched, drawing him in close to her. There was little warmth to be found as he felt her contours press against him, but all the same, a body was a body. He paused, taking silent comfort in things as he looked up to her face, sliding a hand across her cheek once more, pressing his forehead to hers.
One drew breath in the silence and dark, while one did not.
One seemed far more human and alive than the other ever could be.
In the dim light, he looked over the hand that stroked her cheek. His veins were going black. For his own comfort, or maybe, acceptance, he looked into her eyes, realizing how tired he was. They watched him back, steady and focused. He sighed quietly, beginning to pull away.
He knew he could do more to her. Her body would accept anything he did, bend to whatever pleasure he wanted to feel. But now, it suddenly didn’t feel right to him. Funny, how things worked. Grey hands tugged on his skin, keeping him close. He looked up into her vacant face.
“I’m…..sorry. This isn’t right. You don’t deserve this. Not this.”
He tried pulling away, but pale grey hands held him in place, digging into his backside. He stopped his protest, pressing close to her once more. He had to admit. Feeling something press against him, the body of another, even if it wasn’t a comforting warmth, or a soft heartbeat. He missed that.
He sighed, sliding a hand up her neck slowly, to rest at her cheek again. Her eyes strayed sideways at the motion and feeling of his hand as her mouth opened once more, finding his thumb. Lips sucked gently as he felt her jaw move, accepting his thumb as her teeth clamped on it in gently. He sighed, nodding.
“Okay. I get it.”
His free hand slid down past her exposed breasts, over her stomach, to push past the resisting, tight band of her shorts. He smiled as he felt nothing but bare skin as he traveled lower, finding exactly where he wanted to be. Now, he was suddenly curious. How far did her memory of things extend?
He found his answer as he slid two fingers inside slowly, feeling muscles contract and respond. Her body shuddered, and he watched with quiet, and sudden amusement as her lips parted, hanging open aimlessly as her eyes traveled downwards.
“Guess you haven’t felt that in a long time either.”
He slid his hand away, trailing over her lips as he pulled out from her waistband, to her sudden dismay. He watched her expression seemingly pout as her eyes trailed after his hand. A brush against her cheek drew her attention back to him as he started to undo his belt. Even in the dim light, he could see the black creeping up through his veins, growing darker.
He let everything fall to the floor down his legs, to sweep both of his hands down her sides, pulling the stretchy fabric at her waist down, to feel it eventually slide down her legs to rest at her feet. He let his hands roam over to her backside, cupping and squeezing as he leaned his forwards to rest against her forehead.
“Gotta make this quick.”
With one arm, he began moving one of her legs, slipping her shoed foot through the bundle of fabric on the ground as he lifted, suddenly feeling her muscles act with him as she helped raise it to rest against his side. He wasted no time, guiding himself forwards, stopping to rest as he prodded just barely into her willing body.
He felt the shiver of her muscles in response, watching in some sense of satisfaction as her arms suddenly went slack, falling to her sides as her mouth hung open again and her head leaned back against the wall. His free hand found the side of her head, running it through her messy hair as he supported the back of it, smiling.
“You like that don’t you? Okay then. Ready?”
He let his own instinct kick in, pushing his hips forwards with abandon, closing his eyes as he felt muscles contract tightly around him. He let a long exhale escape as he hilted slowly, feeling her response to him as he opened his eyes to watch the sight before him.
Her mouth hung open, her eyes rolling upwards as her head went slack in his hand. He spoke, breath heavy as he supported her head, watching her eyes roll back down to watch him while he smiled.
“Yeah. Me too.”
He closed the gap, engulfing her mouth with his as he pulled out, only to press inwards again slowly. Her muscles responded, tightening for him as her body shook, sparking him to move faster. He could feel it across her body, as he pressed closer to her and held her. Black veins becoming more pronounced as the dark blood in her began to circulate on its own.
He felt the sudden rise in temperature, her body growing warmer in response, spurring him on to rock his hips at a faster pace. She drew no breath, something he longed for, to feel on his skin, but he accepted this as it was now, feeling the warmth in her mouth as he stayed connected with her, breathing heatedly into mouth as her lips weakly struggled with his.
Her hands slapped against the stone wall she rested against, her raised leg growing heavier for him as she went limp. In heated silence, he continued, stuck in the rhythm now as he pressed so desperately close to her over and over, wanting to feel it all again and again as she accepted him completely.
The silence was broken as flesh met flesh at a hurried pace while he remained locked in struggle with her lips, suddenly crying out in release as he stayed hilted, feeling her raised leg push against him as she pulled him in, feeling one last surge ripple through him, before flooding her insides.
Calm and silence returned, as his breath slowed and he parted from her lips, letting her leg fall gently to rest back on the ground. The two of them shuddered quietly as he pulled out feeling slick and cold in the air compared to her now active body. Weakly, her hands raised in protest as her yellowed eyes returned to focus on him in a pout. He pulled away from her hands, away from her, to slip sluggishly into a darker corner of the cell, only to lay down against the corner. He knew it was coming. He closed his eyes, resting against the wall. He was done now.
Shoes scuffed out in the dark, several steps made in his direction, before something slid against the wall next to him before going silent. Weight pressed on his side, as she leaned against him, head coming to rest on his shoulder. He smiled, chuckling.
“Do something enough, and your muscles will remember for you.”
He moved himself, shifting one arm to wrap across her shoulders.
“You did great. We should do this again sometime.”
He couldn’t see in the haze of darkness, but something told him she was watching him. He slumped, resting his head against hers, reaching out with his other hand to find one of hers in her lap. He locked his fingers with hers, noting that her skin no longer seemed slightly cold to his touch in comparison to his own.
He smiled, one last time.
“Thank you.”
Floorboards creaked as he stepped into the old building, sweeping his flashlight, scanning for targets. He spoke over the radio on his vest.
“Clear up on the topside. Gonna sweep the basement.”
He walked slowly, taking care not to step on the large tarp splayed out across the floor in the dark. He grabbed his radio, stepping past the tarp and making for the back of the old empty shop.
“You think whoever set this all up is still around?”
“Probably not. Most people who try to make it on their own don’t last long. This guy’s stuff hasn’t been used in years. It’s all rusted out and falling apart. Whoever he was, he hasn’t used any of it for decades.”
Opening the door to the basement quietly, he swept the stairwell, before stepping down into the dark. Boots sounded out on concrete as he landed at the bottom of the stairwell, sweeping the room with his light.
“Basement has some sort of setup. Lab equipment. Looks like hospital beds and tech.”
He paused, spotting cell bars in the dark, shining his light along what looked like a makeshift cage at the back of the room.
“The guy was smart. There’s a tarp upstairs on the floor. He cut a hole in the floor and made a cell down in the basement to catch them.”
“That would fit. We’re going through some of the things in the main building. Found a lot of nonsense writing. Practical gibberish. Nothing we could use. The guy was a goner. Smart, but probably insane.”
He wiped a hand across a table as he went, sweeping off a small mound of dust in his hand as it trailed along.
“You think he went all crazy butcher on them?”
“A lot of people do when they’re alone. Surrounded by a bunch of walking corpses. Who wouldn’t go insane?”
He swept his light over the cell bars, spotting something. In the corner. An incredibly dusty sweater and shirt, draped over something. He scanned the area, taking note of things. In the cell, an old bottle on the floor along with a discarded shotgun, covered in dust.
And keys, shining off his light, on the dusty floor outside the cell. He called it in.
“Potential contact. Confined to the cell.”
“Verify and engage. You know the rules.”
He stepped forward, weapon aimed as he bent down to pick up the keys, jingling them loudly. The pile of clothing stirred, as a corpse shifted, standing upright to walk closer to the cage bars, staring at him as she did.
“One contact, no, wait, two contacts. Both are confined to the cell.”
He took a closer look at the naked female watching him from behind the bars, noting her discolored eyes and dark veins.
“Two advanced carriers. Orders?”
“Burn them out. Take whatever you can carry and then regroup. We’re leaving. There’s nothing here for us. We need to get to the dam up in the hills and see if we can use it.”
He watched the female as she merely stood, watching him back.
“Affirmative.”
Lowering his weapon to the floor, he pulled off a small bottle from the pack on his backside, opening the cap on it and pulling a rag out of his pocket. He bent down, stuffing the rag into the bottle.
“One Molotov for the fine lady, you got it, sir.”
He looked up from his work, suddenly pausing. The second corpse had stood now. He watched slowly, as the dead man, rather than stop and stare at him, continued to walk, coming next to the first corpse, brushing it aside to stand in front of it.
He squinted, reaching for his radio.
“Hey, I’m getting some strange behavior from these two ACs. Advisory?”
“Burn them out. We’re not leaving anything standing behind us. ACs are like that anyway. They started showing up a few years back. Different form of the plague makes them look and act passive until you get too close.”
“Affirmative boss.”
Setting his radio back on his belt, he stood up, watching the pair.
“Guess it’s not your lucky day, guys. First you end up in there and now this.”
Holding the bottle out, he lit his lighter. The flame flickered as he brought it closer, before suddenly stopping as he held it still. He muttered under his breath at the sight before him. The male in the front slowly raised both grey, dark veined arms up, keeping them stretched outwards. He closed his lighter, setting the bottle down on the floor as he grabbed his rifle, walking up to the cage bars.
Stopping just out of range of the bars, he looked into the male’s face. Yellow infected eyes that didn’t cloud in the day stared back at him, focused on him. He nodded quietly, tilting his head as he looked over the shoulder to see the female behind him.
Somehow, he understood. Like he knew what must have happened. The keys outside the cell. The gun on the floor. And two of them locked in here. The corpse remained stoic in front of him, focused on him alone. He stared back at it, nodding his head slowly.
“Okay. I read you. Loud and clear.”
He backed away from the cell slowly, picking up his bottle from the floor as he pulled the rag out, tossing the bottle across the room away from the cell as he made for the stairs. He looked back in the dark one last time, watching as the male lowered his arms, to have the one behind him wrap her own arms around him.
He nodded quietly, heading back up the steps to the shop without a word. He didn’t really know what he just did. And he didn’t understand why. But the man in the cell……his eyes stuck with him. The way he looked. No fear. But something else. It reminded him of something.
Passing through the dusty remains of the shop, he stopped to stare at the tarp on the floor, taking note of the contraptions and spools along the ceiling. The tarp was heavy duty, but placed in a way that the ropes holding it barely held it in place. He looked over to the reinforced door. He nodded, having decided it.
Stepping outside past the open door, he looked into the old shop. He still had the keys in his hand, the keychain on one finger. He turned it over in his hand, staring at it. Looking over to the tarp, he suddenly tossed the keys. The heavy ring landed on the tarp with a thud, weighing it down as they slid with the tarp as it fell into the darkness below.
The contraptions and spools wound, slamming the heavy door shut, with one final clink as the heavy metal bar on the other side fell down, sealing it shut to the outside world. He sighed briefly, smiling as he grabbed his radio.
“All done here. Nothing in the basement to take. Hostiles smoked out.”
“That’s it then. Pull back to the rendezvous point. We’ll regroup at the old dam and see if we can find anything there.”
“Affirmative.”
Putting his radio away, he looked out down the road. Scorch marks where fire had rained down on corpses. The dead, remaining dead for once, having been burned to mere ashes, splayed out across the street in droves. Old dilapidated buildings, now almost crumbling in their age. Cars, left where they remained, no longer having any purpose but to rust away.
His thoughts returned to what he’d seen below. And he questioned it. He didn’t understand it. But he felt like he could. Like he could feel it. Like he’d seen it. Like he could know it and touch it as if it were real.
Like it was part of the old world and what it used to be.
Now, foreign even to him, after all these years. Survival. Targets. Taking no chances. What he saw down below reminded him of something he’d long since forgotten about of the old world.
Something he could feel in his bones and muscles, like an old nostalgia he could almost touch. But now, nothing more than a faded memory.
He walked down the street, suddenly breaking out into whistling a happy tune as he went.
He didn’t know where he’d heard the song before.
But he was suddenly glad that he could still remember it by heart.