"Hey. Hey, doc."
George's eyes fluttered open, and his head greeted him with a throbbing pain at once. He groaned, wishing he had remembered to bring aspirin, and slowly sat up, pushing himself to a sitting position. His body felt numb. How long had he been lying here?
"You all right, doc?"
George looked up at the speaker, and immediately recognized him. It was David, the quiet mechanic/plumber from the bar.
The bar..."How did I wind up here?" George asked, climbing to his feet. All he remembered was going into the bar, noticing the various people, analyzing the bartender's wound-
Wait!Zombies had invaded Raccoon City! Was he infected? How had he escaped? Surely he couldn't have escaped unscathed.
"The zombies!" George exclaimed. "Where are they?"
David peered over the side of the roof.
"Pretty much everywhere you look," he said.
George joined him in peering over the side, and was amazed at what he saw.
Hundreds, thousands of zombies prowled the streets, searching for fresh prey. Many surrounded the building he and David were on, somehow sensing their presence, despite the fact that most of the creatures' eyes were rotted. Off in the distance, George could see fires, broken windows, blood-stained walls, and the occasional zombie shuffling the streets.
He turned back to David.
"But...how did I get here?" he asked.
David thought, chewing on a toothpick that he took out of his pocket.
"It happened like this, doc," he began.
David was sitting in the corner, watching the other people in the bar. Everyone was mostly keeping to themselves, but the cop sitting at the counter looked like he was getting drunk enough to chance a talk with the woman reporter. David snorted. Alcohol, the artificial courage. Amazing what an effect it had on some people.
The door opened, and a doctor walked in, looking rather downcast, despite his obvious effort to keep his face emotionless.
David didn't like doctors much. Rich, snooty, bossy, "I-went-to-Harvard-and-you-didn't" personalities. How obnoxious.
He watched as the doctor's cell phone rang. The doctor pressed a button and quietly said, "Hello?"
David watched as his face became even blanker, although the grief in his eyes was visible even from the distant corner where he himself was sitting. After a few seconds, he looked at the phone, and hit a button to turn it off. He slowly tucked it back in his pocket, and ordered a wine from the waitress. He sat patiently, his hands clasped, waiting for the impending breakdown that was sure to follow whatever horrible thing had been said on the phone.
...There was something about this doctor, David thought to himself. David…trusted him. Whatever bad news--being laid off, failed heart transplant, whatever—the phone had brought, he didn't deserve it.
David stretched, then casually made his way over to the doctor's table.
"Wait, wait!" George said, interrupting David. "It's all coming back now!"
George told David what had happened earlier, before he had entered the bar.
"Rachael, I'm leaving work early," George said, stripping off his surgical gloves. "Tell anyone who calls that I won't be back until tomorrow."
The secretary nodded. "I will, Mr. Hamilton."
In the locker room, George quickly changed into his formal suit, the one that both he and his wife loved. He was just old-fashioned at heart.
Walking with a bounce in his step, he stopped at a florist's shop to gather some lilies that his wife, Carol, loved. Paying the owner, he walked to his car and sped home.
When he pulled up, all the lights were out but the bedroom light.
How nice, George thought, Carol's staying up to wait for me.
He quietly let himself in and crept up the stairs, wanting to surprise her. He silently walked to the door, and just as he was about to turn the doorknob, his wife's laughter stopped him.
He drew back, staring at the door warily.
"Oh, Sam," she moaned, and then giggled again.
George felt a lump forming in his throat. He was going to be sick.
"You like it?" a male voice asked, causing Carol to laugh and then moan.
George slumped against the wall next to the door, feeling empty. How could his wife do this to him?
"Next week?" Carol asked Sam, nuzzling him as they opened the bedroom door.
George stepped out of the darkness, fixing them with a piercing glare.
"George!" Carol gasped, immediately taking a step back. "You're home early!"
"Yes," he said bitterly. He held up some lilies. "I came home to surprise my beautiful wife with her favorite flowers. I guess you had a bigger surprise for me."
He reached into his jacket pocket.
"What are you going to do?" she asked nervously, trembling a little. Sam stepped back as well, keeping his eyes on George's hand.
George pulled out his car keys. "I'm going for a drive."
He turned and went down the stairs, hearing his wife begging for him not to leave behind him.
"George, wait! You don't understand!" she pleaded, trying to follow him. "Don't go!"
George slammed the door.
George drove. He drove and drove and drove, but nothing changed. He was still seething over his wife's adultery. He had to get his mind off this. It would drive him crazy thinking about it.
He spotted a bar. Perfect. What better place to get your mind off something?
George walked in, not glancing at anyone. He sat down at the first table he reached, not looking up.
His phone rang a few minutes after he sat down. He had a feeling he knew who was calling as he answered.
"Hello?"
"George. I'm filing for a divorce," Carol said.
George waited for her to say something else, but realized she had hung up.
Feeling empty and alone, he turned his phone off and ordered some wine. It was time to muse over his life.
Someone sat down opposite him. George hadn't even seen him coming.
"Hey," the plumber/mechanic said, "you're not looking too good."
George shrugged. "I'd rather not talk about it."
The plumber/mechanic nodded quietly in understanding. George felt that he was being a bit rude to the man, so he stretched his hand across the table.
"George Hamilton," he said.
"David...King," the plumber/mechanic said, shaking George's hand.
"And...that's all I remember," George admitted.
"Oh, it gets better," David said.
The doctor drank his wine, and they both sat in silence. David watched as George looked at the various people in the bar, his eyes lingering on the blonde waitress. Maybe he was getting a little drunk.
"Are you drinking anything?" George asked, noticing David's empty hands.
David shook his head. "No. Alcohol's too harmful for you."
George nodded in agreement.
"I agree, but tonight, I really need it," George said, taking another sip of wine.
David said nothing, and waited for him to continue.
After taking a few more sips to free his tongue, George related what had happened tonight to David. David shook his head.
"Real kick in the nuts, huh?" David said.
George chuckled. "Yes, it was quite a blow." Damn he sounded sophisticated. He wasn't quite sure what that word meant at the moment, but he sounded like it.
"Oh, it's coming back now," George said. "I told you what happened, and then that zombie attacked the bartender."
The door swung open, but only David glanced up. George was too boozed up to see straight. He was slurring, had double vision, and couldn't walk in a straight line.
"Ha ha ha! Guess what, David? There's a doctor in the house! A ha ha ha ha ha!"
David frowned at him. "Damn you're drunk."
There was a gurgling behind them, and the door slammed closed. George turned around and saw the bartender on the ground, bleeding profusely from his throat. With a grunt, he got out of his chair, and staggered over to the bartender.
"Never fear, there's a doctor here!" he said, laughing at his own rhyme.
He knelt next to the bartender, but the poor guy was already gone. George assumed that the horrendous blood loss and shock did it to him. He stood up to face the others.
"I'm sorry to say this, but he's dead," he announced, and the others mumbled and sighed. A dismal mood hung over the bar like a rain cloud.
George sighed. Could things get any worse?
They could, as a matter of fact.
A man started pounding on the windows. George turned around and frowned at him.
"Go away," he said, but the man kept pounding.
"If you break those windows, you'll have to pay for them, and they aren't cheap," George warned, but the man kept pounding.
"Listen, you stupid bastard," George snapped, "Cut it out already!"
A cop at the counter came over. He was pretty wasted too.
"What do you think he's trying to do?" he asked. They both stared at him in silence, the pounding the only noise.
George shrugged. "Maybe he's too drunk to operate a door."
The cop nodded. They watched as more people joined the man in pounding on the windows.
"What, has the whole town gone insane?" George asked, shaking his head.
"Use the door, you idiots!" the cop yelled through the glass. "The door!"
The glass started to crack, and they both took a step back.
"I'm starting to think that maybe they aren't after the beer," the cop said, drawing his gun.
George blinked. "Maybe they're zombies."
Everything became quiet, and George was uncomfortably aware of all the eyes in the room focusing on him. He swallowed.
"You know, because they have bloody chunks missing out of them, they're moaning, and that one guy attacked the bartender in a cannibalistic manner." What the hell was he saying? George couldn't even understand himself.
"So, what you're saying is...we should run?" the woman reporter asked, standing up.
"Yeah." Zombies were invading, and George was drunk. Great.
He managed to stagger over to David.
"I think...too much wine..." he slurred, and passed out on David.
David made a face.
"And you smelled horrible! You drooled, too," he said. "You're just lucky that you're shorter than me, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to carry you out to the roof."
"Thank you." George cleared his throat. "Where are the others?"
David shrugged. "I don't know. They said I should stay behind and wait for you to wake up. Then they jumped to the other roof."
George looked around, desperately wanting either aspirin or more wine.
"Which direction?" he asked.
David pointed.
"I think they took a running start-" he began, but stopped, speechless, as George began to sprint.
George, running full out, made a great leap, soaring over to the other side. He stumbled and nearly fell, but he managed to catch his balance. He had made it.
He turned around.
"Come on, David!" he called. "It's the only way to go!"
David muttered something to himself, eyeing the gap between the two roofs.
"Are you coming or what?" George asked.
Taking a deep breath, David took a few steps back, and then took a running leap, barely making it to the other side. George had to haul him up, but they had both made it. They would find the others, but how many had survived, who knew...
Another fic, I know. I don't know whether or not I'll continue this. Lemme know what you think of it.