Unquenchable Hunger
By Blind Acquiescence
The city stood in flames, the smoke rising high into the night sky. Explosions and the sounds of gunfire echoed in the sprawling metropolis. The street lamps flickered on and off, the short bursts of light revealing the violence like an old fashioned zoetrope. The streets were filled with empty and burning vehicles, the sign of a failed mass exodus from the dead and dieing city.
In the alleys and the streets below the twinkling night sky, two groups struggled for dominance. But the invading force wouldn't be aliens or monsters from the void. The invaders were humans, but completely devoid of everything that made them such; they were merely feeding machines. The unblinking, glazed, and unwavering eyes searched for food, while those still alive scrounged to survive and keep their humanity. Humans were hunted like animals, their only weapon was their enemies only weakness, their head. The undead were bound to their brain; it gave them their only purpose, their only drive… to feed. The living, though, still retained their knowledge and their ingenuity. But the undead had already amassed too great a number, and soon all the weaponry man had at his disposal could not save the cities of Earth. It would all soon fall to the dead.
In an alleyway, amidst the screaming and chaos raging in the streets, a group of individuals crouched together. They pushed and shoved each other, nipping at several who would reach into the pile. An explosion rocked the alley as fire illuminated the group. Faces grayed and missing flesh, eyes with thousand yard stares, and greedy, bloody mouths, all congregated over a fresh kill. Moans and snarls ensued, as the undead rip into the body, pulling limbs and intestines to their maws, savoring the flesh of the living.
High above the streets, below a blood red moon, the concrete and steel skyscrapers watched the events unfold in silence…
Jake woke up screaming, his chest pounding so hard that he feared he'd have a heart attack. His room was bathed in a cold darkness, his body drenched in a cold sweat. The digital clock on his night table showed five-thirty in the morning, the numbers displayed in crimson red.
Propping himself up on his elbows, he let himself catch his breath. Outside his shaded windows the city of Portland rested quietly, a developing metropolis and an important port on the coast of Oregon. Jake ran his hand over his face, smearing the sweat and swept his tussled short brown hair back into place. His pulse back down to normal, he reached over and tapped the base of the lamp on his nightstand.
A dull fluorescent light filled the room and illuminated his apartment. It was obviously that of a bachelors'; clothing, papers, and an assortment of other goods lay strewn about on the floor. The kitchen seemed a mess, dirty glasses and plates piled in the sink, and half eaten sandwiches on many of them. The only area that seemed to be clean was his nightstand. On it, a single framed picture stood. It depicted three men, all dressed in blue riot gear, weapons drawn in a macho-man pose, all with cheesy grins emblazoned on their faces. Next to the picture sat several bottles of prescription medication. Thioridazine, haloperidol, and thorazine in big black letters were typed across the sides of the bottles, but printed above the names, the medications all shared one common classification, "Antipsychotic".
With nervous, fumbling hands, Jake reached over and grabbed the bottles, dropping one in the process. He struggled out of bed, picking up the dropped bottle, and stumbled to the kitchen. Grabbing a used, dirty glass, he held it under the tap and filled it. He gripped the lid of one of the bottles and popped it open, spilling the contents onto the counter.
"Shit…" He muttered under his breath. He picked a single tablet and downed it with the water. He did the same with the other two bottles. Gulping back his gag reflex, he bent over the sink and ran water over his face. The delusions were back; the burning city, the cannibals, everything. These same images had haunted him since his youth, forcing him into institution after institution. He had swallowed every pill they shoved down his throat. For a while he'd found relief, but it seemed now like he hadn't outran his demons. The dreams were so vivid, so real. He could taste the smoke, feel the heat of the flames, and smell the rotting flesh.
At the thought of the rotting flesh Jake dry heaved into the sink, the memory still too fresh in his mind. He wiped his mouth and sank to the linoleum floor. He didn't want to, but he'd have to call his shrink. He brought his head up and stared at the wall, but in the corner of his eye he saw the wall mounted phone, the voice message box blinking red. He must have missed a message.
Picking himself up and walking over to the phone, he tapped the voicemail button and heard the electronic voice whine at him that he had missed one call. Jake didn't have many friends anymore, so he knew who the call was from.
"Hey man, it's Kenneth, I'm catching the red eye to Wisconsin tonight for that SWAT meeting and I'm going to spend a few days with my brother up at Fort Pastor. Mind the fort would you? Sergeant Johnson has been all over my ass about the greenhorns getting trained. You want to take them out to the firing range and see what they can do? I swear if anything remotely hostile happens, they wouldn't be able to handle it. But you got Brian and that old codger Lanes to help you. We're supposed to get some vet transfers from Seattle next week. Anyways, stay sharp; you've seemed a little on edge lately. Peace man." Kenneth hung up and the message ended. Jake sighed, remembering Kenneth, one of the few veteran officers left in their SWAT department, was leaving this week. It didn't matter much though, Portland was a quiet city, with not much use for it's SWAT department anyways.Jake walked off towards the shower thinking, "What's the worst that could happen?"