By Brian
Man, when the mushroom apocalypse hit, it totally was a bummer for me, cause y'know, I had been climbing my way to the top with no signs of stopping. Wait? You don't know who I am? Ah, I see. Yeah, everyone knew me back in the good 'ol days when all we had to worry about regarding mushrooms was that asshat who always ordered them on our pizzas and not worry about them eating us. When your pizza gets up and starts eating you, that's always a big big bummer. And with twenty years of that shit, I guess it's easy to forget about the age of YouTube and rock and roll.
My name is… was, I suppose, Mitchell Greaves. I was the head of a rock band called Crispy Rotten Apple Pies, or C.R.A.P. as we spelled it out on our album covers. And I was on my way to becoming the King of Rock and Roll stardom, the John of a new generation, when all the shit went down… My agent assured me that I was bound to be the king, despite him saying that to every single band under our label. I'm sure he meant it most for me!
So the last thing I most clearly remember before the outbreak was playing our tenth show with sold-out tickets in a row in Texas. Yep, I remember it clearly. The four of us on the stage, pretending to play our instruments and me pretending to sing as someone in the back played the studio recordings on the loudspeaker system while our hipster scum audience cheered. Come to think of it, it wasn't even a stage. It was the trashcan in the backlot of a foreclosed Pizza Donuts restaurant. And our audience wasn't even hipsters. Well, at least not the type that can speak.
Once we came to, I actually was pretty depressed since we hadn't actually gotten any money from this concert. For some strange reason, everything just up and vanished. I mean, our groupies were gone, even the blow-up doll. Our agent and manager just up and vanished too, like with all our money that we had gotten from other shows. True, the most we had made on tours up to that day could probably buy out only the entirety of a dollar menu, but it was still our money, gained from our original music! I mean, all our songs were covers of songs by famous old bands with dead lead singers, but don't give me that jazz. We put our own unique spin on them!
Since we alone and stranded in Texas, me and the boys decided to split up for the rest of the day to go and find some coins and a payphone. Yeah, for some reason, all our cell phones were missing too and the only money we had on us were hundred dollar bills. We would've used them, but phone booths don't give change and that like blows. Furthermore, there ain't no dollar or card slots on phone booths.
I was heading down a dark alleyway, looking for someone to mug since there always is inexplicably that one vulnerable inexperienced fool who goes down these dark alleyways when I heard a voice. I whirled my head around and saw that it was a little girl, nearly half my size. I was going over the ethics of mugging this sweet looking little thing and was about to make my moves when she spoke first. Her voice was like an angel.
"Looking for something, big guy?"
"Um, if you're one of those, like that movie… no." I shook my head, made a big no-no with my hands.
"Of course not. But I do need some money, if you're willing to pay for it." She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small pouch. Unzipping the drawstring, whatever was inside was shining gold. So bright, I couldn't make out what it was but its draw was so alluring that I could not bring my eyes away…
"What… what is that?"
She smiled. "Hardcore drugs."
I should've known better, but the glow… I was addicted to these "hardcore drugs" already and I hadn't even taken them yet. I should've asked her for a sample at least, but instantly I found myself ripping off all my money and jewelry and shoveling them into that preteen drug pusher's small tender palms.
She ran off thanking me, and talking about her dad's birthday or something. And I was left holding a small pouch of "hardcore drugs" in the alleyway.
And before I could regain control of myself, I had already sprinkled all the hardcore drugs over the pavement. Instantly, my face was buried in them, snorting away. My god… the feeling I experienced as I entered my ultrahigh… it was pure nirvana! The blood in my veins burned hot with the force of the golden ecstasy… in that moment, I knew that I was invincible and that anything could be done! And fueled by the power of these hardcore drugs, I set off to show the world who I was.
When I staggered back to the motel room, all the teeth in the left side of my mouth had been knocked out and I had been stripped of all my clothing except my underwear. My bandmates were already inside, being pleasured by prostitutes or injecting heroin. Pft, heroin. After experiencing the sheer heaven of the hardcore drugs, I was never going back to that simple peasant trash.
"So, anyone find any quarters?"
"No." They all said, looking rather guilty, even as the bass player was being blown off by the hired help.
"I guess this means we're stuck here then."
"But it's as any a fine place to be stuck in." The drummer said as he started to overdose. We ignored the white stuff dribbling out of his nose, and the sight of his eyeballs rolling back. We were all sure that the OD would just be a temporary impediment. And with that thought, we all went to bed.
We were woken up by a crash in the night. Well, three of us. The hookers had all left, and our drummer looked kind of dead. I mean, he didn't even wake up when I kicked him in the balls. But we weren't particularly saddened by his passing. I mean, he was just the drummer, and they're kinda replaceable in this sort of business. Somebody had left the TV on, and it was switched to the news. The news lady was in front of something that was on fire.
"We've received reports that victims of the infection show signs of increased aggression"
Then some police looking guys came running in screaming about gas leaks. Then the stuff on the TV screen blew up and faded into static.
"Well…" The guitarist muttered. "I'm sure that was nothing really serious."
"Yeah, news channels pull made up BS like this as stunts all the time. Even a YouTuber can make more realistic explosions that that." I added.
"Hey man, I think I have some coke left. You wanna snort it before we go looking for quarters again?"
"Nah, coke ain't rad anymore. I found something new… better than even new coke…" I said, remembering full well the bliss of hardcore drugs.
"Fine, then. Your los" There was a loud boom from somewhere outside. I staggered over to the window. Looked like someone was blowing stuff up for fun or something, as the fireball flared up and settled down. But as usual, I was sure that it was nothing serious. Then something else threw itself against the window. I jumped back. That thing shrieked, but we just stared at it. It was some nut in a hospital gown with red eyes and a bloody nose. It pounded its hands against the glass of our window, and suddenly it broke.
Wow, they really were going the full mile with this ratings stunt. The crazy person tumbled in, and instantly rushed at the person directly ahead of it. The guitarist, who was just stumbling out of his bed, stark naked. Instantly, the guitarist reacted and jumped at the guy with the deadliest weapon he had on him right now. He spread his legs open wide and with a twist, he whacked the window-breaker on the cheek with it.
"Check it out, man? Who's the boss?" Our guitarist flexed his muscles, of which he didn't really have any. He flashed a smile, his teeth all yellow and rotting. "Tell me you got all that on cameraargh!" The window breaker didn't take kind to be whacked in the face like that. He was trying to claw the guitarist and bite him, the guitarist holding the dude away only by a sliver. I was starting to think that maybe that shit on the TV wasn't faked after all.
"No matter... I can get it on camera myself!" The guitarist pledged, trying to take a selfie with his phone while trying to keep the crazy dude off of him at the same time. He wasn't having too much luck in either field.
"Man, the guitarist's fucked." The bassist said unmoved, just watching the guitarist struggle with the crazy dude.
"You think we should save him?"
"And put ourselves at risk? Please, what year do you think this is?"
"Well, if it was the drummer, you might have a point. But this is the guitarist we're talking about."
"Shit, you're right."
And with that, I grabbed the drummer's sticks. With them, I started smashing the crazy dude on the backside of his head harder than I had ever smashed anything before. When I had finished smashing, he was sprawled out on the carpet with his brains leaking out.
"Oh thank you, Mitchell!" The guitarist was kissing my feet.
"I think I finally figured out what's going on!" The bassist chimed in.
"What?"
"Zombies! And obviously, we have to- oh God, he's been bitten!" The bassist pointed wildly at a splotch of red stuff on the guitarist's shoulders.
"Wait, wait, wait!" The guitarist begged. "I… uh, keep ketchup packets on me for good luck! One of 'em must've popped and spilled while I was" The bassist punched him out.
"I'm sorry, guitar guy, but I watched that movie. Every time someone says that they're always the guy who's actually the zombie!"
"What are we going to do?"
"We put him down the most humane way we can… by beating his head in."
"Sure. Sounds humane to me."
I grabbed his guitar and handed it to the bassist.
"Hmm…" I sniffed the splotch on his arm. I then noticed some packets tumbling out of his pockets. "Maybe it really was just ketchup."
We got dressed and made sure not to step in any of the blood or brain fluid on the carpet. We grabbed the bass, since it was the only good instrument we had left and it sure would suck to have to buy a new one when we got back home since after all we already had to buy a new guitarist and drummer. I could hear fires burning in the distance, and cars honking. People streamed by the parking lot of the guitar, some of them holding children or bags of stuff. They were screaming and more crazy people were chasing them. Man, whatever those people had smoked I sure as hell was glad that wasn't what the weird girl had sold me.
"Man, we gotta get out of this place." The bassist said. He busted the window of a nearby car. The alarms started to beep, and some of the crazy dudes turned their attention to us. They started to run towards us.
"Wait, man."
"What, Graves?"
"I gotta go to the bathroom."
"Fine, make it quick."
"You wanna come with me? I mean…"
"No, I think I'll be fine. I mean, what's the worse that could happen?"
I did it quickly.
When I finished my business, the crazy dudes were already on the bassist. He screamed as they tore him apart.
"Do you need help?"
"No, I'm sure I'll be better in the morning! It's only a flesh wouaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" Well, shit. Did those bastards know how long it took for me to find all of them? Now, I had to do it all again. Sure, the drummer would be easy but it was no easy feat finding guitarists and bassists who weren't already taken! I quickly ran past the thrashing body and expanding trail of blood. I ran for a while through the city, and everything looked like it was on fire or being killed.
On my way out of the city, I think I saw these two guys off the path. There was this dead army looking guy nearby, and one of them was holding something in his arms and seemed to be sobbing. I didn't see what it was, but wow, what an unmanly wuss. I wondered what the hell was eating those two folks.
Well, one thing led to another. I eventually found out that there were these fungi that were making people crazy, called Cordyceps. Suddenly, life didn't seem so awesomely radical anymore. Instead of playing instruments or singing, I spent all my days and nights just running around, trying to stay alive. Only doing it for real wasn't as catchy as the Bee Gees song. And again… one thing leads to another.
Pursued by another pack of those things through an abandoned store, my group and I forgot to check for spores – causing us to run through an entire mist of 'em without our gas masks on. And just to solidify my fate, some of those "runners" caught up to us and managed to take a small bite out of my upper leg. That was like a total bummer, for all of us. Totally kicked the rad for good out of our lives. Well, out of their lives.
There were only enough bullets to account for them, not me. So I guess that was both a rad and not-rad moment.
By the time I stopped crying and cursing the world, which was about a week later, I noticed that something was off. Everyone I knew who got infected only lasted a day before the fungus made them crazy. But I had lasted a whole week, and the only thing that hurt was my lungs and tearducts from all the crying and cursing. How could I still be in control of myself? I looked at a mirror. Just like a runner, the infection was starting to show signs all over my body. I should've been struggling for my life right there, fighting futilely against the infection, but instead I could feel my mind fighting back. Then I remembered.
The hardcore drugs.
Of course.
They had allowed my mind to transcend to a higher plane of thinking and existence that allowed my mind and spirit to remain who I was even as my physical body was lost to the Cordyceps. Well, this seemed cool at first, but it really wasn't. You see, the cool part about being in a rock band is that you really got to know your buds, and having friends is a cool thing. But when you're infected, nobody wants to be your friend. Everyone "normal" simply shoots at you, and everyone like you is such an attention whore. I mean, I'm in front of them trying to talk B-ball, and she's just covering up her face mumbling about how much it hurts. Ok, when we became stalkers, it actually was sort of fun. For the first hour, at least. After that, perpetual hide and seek gets kinda lame-o. And when the fungus truly took effect, yeah, everyone besides me returned to the same old BS.
Being blind sorta sucked at first, but it turned out pretty cool once I got the hang of echolocation. I felt like Daredevil, my favorite superhero as a kid. If I still had a functioning dick, my my would it be in some rather intense places...
As I had little to do besides meander about for these past twenty years and occasionally eat, I settled down for a while and just thought, reflecting back on the life I led back when things were fab. I ultimately realized that I had wasted my talents and potential for a life of shallow hedonism. Well, no more. Even in this form, I realized I was still capable of great things. And as such, the old Mitchell who believed in his old gain was dead. It may have taken an infection for me to realize this, but I'll be damned if I failed now. The new me was one who would put the needs of others before himself! And this is how I got to this current sit- ow, will you assholes please stop shooting me? I'm trying to explain myself to you!
Alright, listen, I may not give off the most of initial appearances but if you'd just take the moment to stop and listen to m- Jesus Christ, that magnum round fucking hurt! Listen assholes, I may be kinda fungi-armored at the moment, but that does not mean I'm indestructible or invulnerable! Christ, is this how you regular folks repay altruism these days? All I tried to do was open that safe for you! I killed all those ugly military-soundin' fellows you guys called Fireflies for you, didn't I?
Look, I was just trying to help. Quit shooting me! Wow, a spiked stick. You people really have no limit, do you? And you didn't have to call me a bloater either! Yes, I spent a great deal of my life living off nothing but Pizza Hut and Mountain Dew, but I made a good deal to exercise afterwards! Some of us are conscious about our weight, you know! Wait… wait… OH FREAK IT'S FUCKING FIRE! ALRIGHT YOU BASTARDS, LOOKS LIKE I'M GOING TO HAVE TO SPORE YOU INTO SOME COMMON SENSE!
Hey you, don't you see what I just lobbed into your buddies over there? Quit hitting me with that stick! Look, I don't really want to hit you, but you're giving me no choice! If you would just politely sit back and listen to me as I explain myself oh look what you've done! I've accidentally lashed out and broken your neck. When will you people learn? You're all dead now, and I've accidentally burnt my toes.
But despite today's failure, my quest goes on. I will roam this land, searching far and wide, for people like these unfortunate folks who are caught in a jiffy. Like those who can't get a jar of pickles open or those who need to get a car moving. And using my immense strength and powers, I shall help them solve those problems. And the world shall finally see that not all us murderous mushroom heads are as bad as the papers make us seem! Um, just forget I totally murdered these eight folks back here.
For I am Mitchell Greaves, the Intelligent Altruist Cordyceps Man.
