“The Soulless” II

To be sure, I’ve only seen the guy once or twice in the halls, but he always looked sad, sadder than me. We’d nod at one another, each understanding that we’re sexually frustrated, lonely and ready to kill ourselves after that amazing fuck. But, this time, his eyes are lifeless and milky, as if he is possessed.

As the guy charges at me I forget where I am. I’m lost in his crazy face. His skin is sea foam, black mucus sputters from his mouth, his eyes bulge and his familiar moaning is tainted with a peculiar, demonic tone.

I slam the bedroom door shut, yet he continues to charge as if I never shut it. He rams himself into it with amazing strength, dead weight, he dents the wood. I run, shaking. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit. My hands won’t quit moving long enough for me to open the drawer of my night stand.

I grab it. The door gives way to his slamming (he weighs about three hundred pounds). I pull the trigger and leave a smoking hole in his forehead, spraying the shiny, shoe-polish liquid on the walls behind him. He teeters for a moment then falls back. I grab my flashlight from beneath my bed, it’s been dutifully waiting along with my college physics book and old manga.

I shine the light down on the body, which no longer moans, which no longer hurdles its oblong fatty limbs at me. From the hole in his head seeps the same black liquid that froths from his mouth. With the light on him, I see him better.

He smells as if he’s been decomposing. His skin, a queer combination of orange, black and green, like an old bruise, has been rotting. I start to gag but not before I hear footsteps. Another man comes into my apartment, he is of the same countenance as my neighbor. I grab the gun.

Bang. In the chest. But he keeps coming, that shot should have at least knocked him over, yet it didn’t. What the hell? Seriously. I want a fucking timeout but I don’t get one and I use the last bullet to shoot the guy in the head. Then, I quickly pack a bag with food and assorted necessities and head to the roof. So much for jacking off.

I get to the roof. I had to steal a crowbar form the janitorial office, kill the janitor with said crowbar and kill another one of those guys, but I did it.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I kneel on the ledge, I look down over the side and see that same bum stomping about as if something has made him very cross.

“Hey!” I yell down to him, I don’t know why, maybe to warn him.

He doesn’t respond.

“Yo! Hello?” I keep yelling but he doesn’t hear me, maybe he’s old. I take out a can of tuna fish from my bag and toss it at the guy. It doesn’t hit him, it hits the wall, any normal person would look up. He doesn’t. Fuckin’ bum, here I am trying to save him.

“Hey!” I hear someone yell and I look to the building next door to mine. There’s this man with a British accent on his fire escape desperately trying to shut his window, but one of those things is on the other side, snarling, wedged itself in the small opening. The guy yells for help, there isn’t anything I can do, I prepare to throw over the crowbar when he finally shuts the window.

“You alright?” I yell over to him.

“Oh, yeah. I guess so,” he sighs heavily. He’s out of breath.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask. He doesn’t respond. He begins to stand on the railing of the fire escape.

“I’ma jump over!” He hollers to me. He’s crazy.

“You’ll never fucking make it!” I warn him but the guy is determined. The freezing rain made the railing like ice and the idiot falls into the alley.

“Shit!” He whines at the alley floor. The bum now turns and notices. I think the bum might help him. Within an instant the bum is on the idiot. The bum tears into his skin and the idiot is screaming madly.

Fuck. This is not happening. I fall back and vomit all over the the roof. The idiot’s screams stop. Fuck. That’s all I got. Fuck. I’m weak and I feel like I haven’t had a glass of water in a year. I look back over the side and the bum is gone and the carcass of the idiot is mutilated, destroyed, his entire mid section is removed, his organs, half eaten, are dispersed amongst the trash.

I don’t have time to mourn or worry, the door is being pushed down in a similar manner as I had done to get in. I grip the crowbar tighter, I’m now glad I hadn’t thrown it to the guy. A man pushes down the door, I’ve never seen him before. He seems to be having coherent thought, but I still hold the crowbar over my head, ready to crack his skull in half.

“Hold it there, buddy,” sighs the man. He’s got grey hair, a large nose and acne scars, but, it’s so dark, they could just be wrinkles. I don’t respond, I can’t. I drop the crowbar and both of us lurch.

After securing the door, he walks to the ledge and looks over with a pair of binoculars.

I don’t know what the fuck he’s looking for or what he can even see. The only things clear are the red and blue lights from sirens blinking on the sides of the buildings.

“Can you tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask meekly. I stroll over to look down where the idiot fell, he’s no longer there. My stomach burns, I look away before I vomit again.

“Well, they believe it’s some kind of sickness. Viral warfare,” says the man. His voice is nice, like radio announcer. From his pocket he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Parliament.

“So?” I implore him to continue, he looks at me for a while with the dead cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Forgot m’lighter.” He spits out the cig. I don’t tell him I have matches. I don’t need some asshole blowing smoke in my damn face. Not now. “The dead come back to life and spread it orally, like with rabies. You know, those ‘coons that catch it, they’ll attack whatever.”

I feel like I’ve hit my own head with the crowbar. I roll my fingers around my neck to remove the tension. “The dead?”

“Yessir,” he answers simply. His silence informs me he has no further information. We sit beside one another, our backs resting on the door.

I take out a stale roll from my pack, I begin to gnaw at it, offering him some, he declines. I’m transfixed by my breath, it’s like a wispy ghost or tissue paper. The sourdough bread in my mouth makes my stomach gurgle. I think about my job. I’m thinking about my coworker, I’m thinking about how she’s probably dead, I kind of feel guilty for being alive.

The man beside me begins to tell me his life story, apparently he doesn’t realize I don’t care. He tells me his name, Frank, not that I’ll remember. He tells me he’s a cop, that there is probably a place we can go to for safety. He claims we will be safer together or with a group. He says having someone always watch your back is a good thing. I don’t know. I could be dead now if I had to worry about someone else, I’m glad I’m not dead, I’m glad I didn’t think too much about the situation. I crossed ten different apartments with people inside.

I don’t care. I don’t care, I keep telling myself that. I don’t care.

Crash. I feel myself be pushed around.

“Get up!” Frank cries, he kicks me in the side. I look to my right, arms are snaking through the crack in the door. Another crash and I’m knocked forward. I drop the crowbar. Four zombies come through the passageway. I hear Frank cry out something. I duck as one of them lunges at me. I trip and land face first on the cement roof of the apartment building. The snarling grows louder, the door’s hinges wail, Frank utters commands. I need to stand up…