FSE

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The goddamn apocalypse. The end of the fuckin world. Ragnarok. Armageddon.

Here I am, sitting on my bed, still half clothed in a bra and underwear, staring past the curtains, out the window, and at a monster. Its face is still human, some wrinkly old man, but the rest of its flesh is twisted, oozing blood, and it looks like shards of something are growing from within. It's just standing there, but every so often, it shakes and falls over, only to stand again. There's so much blood, and some kind of black fluid trickling from its eyes. I'm not sure how long I've been staring at it, but the sun's going down now, and I need to get out of town.

I'm already packed. I packed when this thing started, a week ago. I should've skipped town then, but I was hoping something would happen to stop this shit. I've stuck around too long already.

Backpack with food, and what medical supplies were around the house, plus a few small tools. A leather jacket my brother gave me years ago. Cargo pants and the only pair of boots I own. Finally, a freshly sharpened knife.

With everything gathered, I rush out to the car. The moment I open the door, that fucking thing rushes at me, now having apparently bitten off its lower lip since I last saw it. I make it to the car, but it's right behind. Thankfully, it trips and slams its face into the hood. I kick it over and scramble into the car. It's up and slamming into the window fast, but I get the key into the ignition and take off, swerving onto the street. The sound of the engine draws all too many more while I steady the vehicle on the road. Finally, I throw my backpack into the passenger seat and start speeding down the road. There's monsters and crashes in the road, but most of the beasts are too slow to reach my car in the time it takes me to swerve around, but the other's manage to leave cracks on my windows and windshield.

Before long, I'm out on the interstate. The crashes and empty cars out here aren't as bad as you'd expect, since a lot of people didn't even have time to flee, or missed the warnings entirely. I nearly crash when I see a man, an actual human being, on the road. The car screeches to a halt only a few feet away from him. I curse in my head when I see his gun.

"Should've fuckin hit me, you stupid fucking bitch!" He screams furiously, before doubling over in a coughing fit. Black slime, the same as the old man, flies from his mouth onto the pavement.

"Woah, calm dow-" I stop mid-sentence as he levels the gun at me. Even as much as he's coughing, his aim is steady.

"I'm not doing it. Sane or not, I'm not becoming one. I guess it's your lucky day." He's quieter now, still staring at me. Eventually, it becomes clear that I'm not going to respond, and he continues, "Survival's too fuckin tempting, you know that? I could smash them, but maybe you'll at least remember my name. Doctor Edmund Strauss." He pulls something from his pocket, a bunch of syringes, and drops them on the hood of my car. Then he slams on the passenger side window with the gun, causing another spider web of cracks to spread through it. "Say the fucking name. Doctor Edmund Strauss."

"Doctor Edmund Strauss," I choke out, starting to panic.

This time, tears and ooze are running down his face, and his voice cracks as he speaks, "Thank you. Good luck." In a swift motion, he swings the gun under his chin and pulls the trigger. Even inside the car, the sound is deafening, and I have to force myself to work past the daze. If any of the monsters are around, they're coming. I hurry out of the car to grab the syringes, whatever they are, and search the body of Edmund Strauss. There's the gun, a loose handful or two of bullets, half a candy bar, and some paper covered in chemical formulas. I shove it all in my own pockets and take off again.

I drive half the night before finally sleeping.

The morning is foggy, and I'm brimming with anxiety while eating a can of cold ravioli. I start to calm once I get the car rolling again, but I can hardly see more than a few feet past the headlights.

Glass sprays inwards while the metal screeches, loud enough that I wish it'd make me deaf. Between that and the glass cutting into my cheek, I hardly notice half the car leaving the earth. The landing is plenty recognizable, however, as the world seems to still be trying to turn, and something in my head is failing to recognize that the car has stopped moving. Ignoring the pain, I turn to my right, only to find a massive creature with leathery skin, almost batlike if not for how mangled it is now, shaking and twitching. It looks mangled and pierced by the impact, but it's still trying to climb in. I reach for the gun, first beside me, where it should have been, and then in the direction that has become below, where it lays on the roof. The monster inches forward, tearing itself open on the door frame that's lodged inside it, and I start firing. For some reason, I just can't control my hands. The first shot pings off the metal, and I hear more glass break. The second shot hits the passenger seat. I fire a third, and this time I hit the monster, in the side. Blood pours out, now covering my backpack. Still it crawls towards me. Before I can fire off a forth shot, some part of my seat belt breaks, and I slam down onto the roof of the car. I land too close, and its claws dig into my left arm, tearing through my flesh until it catches on bone and starts dragging me towards it. My hand is in its mouth before I start firing rapidly. This close, with its rancid breath on me, there's no missing. Holes fill its face, and it falls limp. Despite the damage done, I can't feel anything. My left arm's useless, so I use my right to grab my pack and crawl out of the car. At least the jacket keeps the glass off.

I walk a short way down the road, not even far enough to keep whatever might follow the gunshots from noticing me, before taking stock of the situation. My pack is soaked in the beast's blood, and the bandages are useless. Looking at my arm, I can't even muster the energy to be horrified at the fact that I managed to shoot my hand through the beast's jaw. It's too ruined to matter now. With a deep breath, and increasing dizziness, I use my knife to cut off the longest strand of leather from the ruined sleeve of my jacket, and use my multitool to tie the strip as a tourniquet above the shredded flesh. It's hard, and I fail repeatedly. My hand grows number with each attempt, but eventually I manage to tie it properly. Then I heft up my backpack and return to walking.

Eventually, the fog clears.

Eventually, I fall and roll into a ditch by the side of the road. Funny, I'd been in the middle when I last checked.

I'm not thinking. I can only feel the dullest of aches, but it's all consuming just the same. Hopefully it's morphine in the syringe.

I've no idea where to jab the damn thing, so I aim for the thigh. Less chance of it spilling out of my arm.

It burns so much that I find myself mumbling aloud, cursing the name of Doctor Edmund Strauss. Then, I sleep.

The burning has subsided to a dull tingle by the time I wake up. I'm lucid enough now to see that the leather "tourniquet" must've only stuck to my skin due to the amount of blood that had dried beneath it. My arm is still a nightmare to behold of torn skin and muscle, but not nearly as bad as I'd thought. I use an entire bottle of disinfectant trying to clean it, and scarf down everything in my backpack, down to the doctor's last candy bar. Nearly dying makes for hungry work. Then, I walk, again.

I check every car I pass now, while keeping my pistol in hand and the knife crudely "holstered" through my belt. Sometimes there's food, or water, or a key. Usually that key is in the on position, and the damn car is out of fuel or battery. There is never a corpse. By the time night rolls around, I pick the least dirty one I can find to bed down in. What little I can scrounge isn't enough though. Even with a few lucky breaks, I'm starving, and within two days, I finally decide that I have to risk a rest stop.

My left arm is still stiff, and hurts like hell every time I move my hand, but I've got no choice. There's two of the more human ones roaming around out front, and I'm sure they can see me, but they don't seem to be able to tell I'm not one of them from so far away. I keep far from the stop while I circle around and approach from the back. My plan is thus: Diner first, too hungry to wait and it's closest. Gas station next, probably plenty of food and useful things inside, including a map. Mechanic last, hopefully it has a car.

The back of the diner isn't locked, and no beasts are inside. The freezer has been closed, and the electricity is still running, so I find myself cooking in the most horrific scenario I could think of. Thankfully, I draw no notice while gorging myself on hastily cooked meats and soda. Then I fill a few emptied bottles with coffee for later and head out.

There's no way to avoid the two in the parking lot on my way to the gas station, and I curse myself for eating so much. Unlike in the car however, I manage to put each of them down with a single bullet. I consider trying to smash their skulls, but with the noise I'd rather not waste time. I grab canned food, protein bars and some medical supplies from the gas station, but there's not much else of value.

The garage is locked, but I put a bullet through the side door and pull it open. I immediately try to slam it shut when I see the heaving, fur covered mass inside. It rushes the door and crashes into it, slamming it open and sending me sprawling. My head slams against the pavement, doubling my vision and sending my gun sprawling. I'm crawling towards it as soon as I note its absence, but the monster, blood now spilling from its snout, launches towards me. In that moment, fear is contrasted by an absurd humor as I notice its dick hanging out, limp and still human compared to the rest. I'm reminded of the hell I'm in when its claw pierces into my abdomen and rakes upward, sending me sliding across the pavement. I land close enough to grab my gun, but I can't focus with the pain and adrenaline. It creeps forward and, apparently disregarding my still being alive, tore a chunk out of my right thigh and began to eat. Tears flow down my face from the pain, but I steel myself and aim. My bullet strikes its throat just as it swallows. I ignore my own flesh falling back onto me and fire again, and again. When it drops, I crawl closer and keep firing into its skull, until it's unrecognizable. Then I crawl into the garage, leaving a trail of blood. I pull the door shut as best I can, but I'm weakening quickly, and there's no way the mangled handle will close properly. Inside, I lean against the car I'd hoped to find and start working on my wounds. Blood pools beneath me, and while the damage to my abdomen turns out to be shallow, there's no way to staunch the bleeding.

Fuck it. I pull another of the syringes from my pack. I prick my left leg, and, as the flaming sensation fills me, improvise a ballad of hate towards Edmund Strauss. "May E. Stauss, the pig fucking mystery man, be raped a thousand times in the afterlife," is the last line I manage before I find myself too tired and weak to hold my aim at the door.

And yet, that flame is a divine delight when the dreams wash over me. At no point during the next few hours do I truly sleep; I watch, limply, as black dots appear on my wounds. The dots grow into black scabs, and the bleeding slows. Swirling shapes inhabit the darkness of the room. Eventually, I muster the strength to look towards my damaged arm. Black sinew slides where damaged skin once lived, and I can see my fingernails falling out. Blood and ooze drip from my fingertips, until something new pushes through. There's no pain, only a terrifyingly attractive sort of pleasure as I watch new talons emerge. Eventually, the black sinew slowly joins and hardens into shiny black plates, separate enough to avoid restricting movement. Watching it makes me shiver with delight, until darkness truly takes me, and my eyelids fall shut, to dream of transcendence.

By morning, I wake groggily and wince with every move. I can only recall the vaguest nightmares from my night's rest. There's something wrong with my fingernails now, but at least my worst injuries are scabbed over, with my thigh practically being wrapped in a hard black scale. I might lay there, tired and dazed, forever if not for the maddening hunger that eventually forces me to my feet. I go to open my pack, but change my mind. A careful peek from the door reveals the wolfman to still be dead, and no other beasts to have come to the area, as far as I can tell. The coast being clear, I limp slowly over to the diner, and begin cooking again, this time everything I can manage. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, everything in the diner is fair game in this moment of respite. So the day passes, with no interruption to the cycle of cooking and feasting.

Eventually, I return to the garage. This time I push a tool cabinet in front of the door and sleep inside of the car. It looks like some old muscle car, and the back seat is comfier than the shop floor.

Webs, some black, some white, and so many red. I'm caught in them, but leap from web to web easily, somehow tangling and untangling with ease. The red hurts to touch, and the white are comforting, but drop away after every leap. The black though, every one I touch spins a dozen more, and they feel intoxicating. Soon, I'm ignoring the white webs entirely, and jumping from black to black, eager to have them outnumber the painful red. The dream mixes with wakefulness as I find myself excited. I dreamily rub at my nipples, envisioning those glossy strands sliding against them. Then one hand lowers, rubbing my drenched sex slowly, easing its way in. In my dream, I rub my slit against a strand, feeling that intoxicating pleasure spread. Then I lick the strand, and place a finger in my mouth.

Suddenly, copper and licorice flood my mouth and I snap to reality. My mouth is filled with something, and I start spitting it out, nearly choking as I realize how much there is. Still, there's something delicious about it until I see it on the ground. There's no color in the darkness here, but it's clearly the black sludge. The dream echoes in my mind, and despite my terror, I can't stop. Being awake, being scared, almost makes the feeling even more pleasurable. My heart's pounding by the time I finish, and I can't even feel repulsed by the ooze anymore.

I use the photo app on my phone to check my face. The flash is blinding in the dark, but eventually the picture becomes clear. My canines have lengthened into sharp, curved fangs. They're beautiful and fierce. The scabs have smoothed down now, but some have sprouted where I wasn't injured before.

I take the time to fill up every gas canister I can find at the station, and put them in the trunk of the car. With that done, I look through the mechanic's old clothes, in tatters on the floor, and find the key to the garage door. Then it's finally time to leave.