"And many of them shall rise from the dust of the earth, some to
everlasting life, some to shame and everlasting contempt."
-Daniel 12:2
-Do it, pull the trigger, the voice in my head repeats over and over like Milli and Vanilli's last live performance. This is me, first person plural as Orson Scott Card would call it, standing at the top of the skyscraper. The somewhat less than normal screams down below me replace the voices. They're still screams of pain in any case. The pressure of the .45 pistol is now cutting off the circulation of the blood through the vain in my temple. -Squeeze, don't pull, I remind myself. The wood door is almost gone now so I back up to the shattered window. Then, I turn and look out. The empty burning shell of a city is all that is in front of me. God only knows what lies on the surface as well as below this city. I stop and think about how I got here.
These weren't my eyes that I was looking through. I could see everything through someone else's eyes. He scanned a card and tapped over five numbers on a keypad: 07853. My eyes flinch and it is gone. Everything starts to move. I'm moving; towards the bathroom, I have to take a mean piss. Cut to blood stains and carnage in a white clean room. Another vision through the same person. Something terrible has happened. "What the fuck." I mutter to myself.
Fade to me talking on the phone. "I'm telling you, something bad is happening, happened or about to happen." I'm almost shouting. "What proof do you have?" Roger Hubbard's voice flows from the other end of the city. "I've seen things." "What'd you see, huh?" Obnoxiously indulging me. This is going nowhere. "I've had these.visions. They change every time." "You have nothing. There is no proof that anything is happening any where." "Terrible things happen everyday but we never learn of them." Then the double click and the dead air buzz. Shit.
It's been a week. "A new strain of the flu is running rampant through out the city." The newscaster only provides background sound; I pick it up any way. The phone rings. "Hello." "What do you know?" "Something terrible is going to happen if it hasn't already. Something with white clean rooms, flasks, equations, numbers." I speak on without reason. "I've had these visions, they're telling me something. I've seen blood and violence, now they have stopped there is nothing else." Silence over the line. The newscaster makes himself known again. "Some of the symptoms include: nostalgia, vomiting, cough and patches of irritated, dry skin." Blam! Blam! Mmm.. Sounds like chaos.
People are dying now. The northwestern section of the city has been quarantined. People are said to look like 'zombies.' This strain of the flu has spread like mad. Even some animals have even had the misfortune of being contaminated by this bug. They've become crazy and violent. -There's a helluva combination. I'm walking down the street. I walk into a store. The man hands me my cigarettes. The man's shirt says 'Ahmed'; Ahmed was to pale looking to be Middle Eastern in the condition he was in. The man looked like shit. Eyes glazed over like he'd been rubbing them for hours, pale complexion; he went comatose. His eyes gazed off and he feel over the counter, his head smacking the counter. Blood dotted the end of the counter. I stepped back and looked left and right. There was no more blood running. I looked out the window to see if anybody saw what just happened. I felt a small wind brush over my fingers. I looked past my arm and the man was trying slide his way over the counter towards me. I back up just enough to where he couldn't reach me. Flash. A man's blood stained jacket is wrapped around my face. I can't move. I'm bound to a cold metal chair. Human and monster screams come from every direction. Flash. The man crawling closer to me stands up. He's at least a foot taller than me. My first reflex is something I don't even know I'm doing. The very second he starts for me that sewer exhaust smell hits me. I move with him and a right uppercut is under his nose. I feel the bone go stiff under my knuckle and blood trickles. It's done.
"Are you sure that he was coming for you?" "He could've been going for that package of psuedo-viagra." "Alright smart-ass, we're going to go to the station." Fucking police. I'm stashed into a small backseat seat. The black grated steel cage separates me from the front seat. Even through the metal barrier of hand- cuffs I could still get to my cigarettes. Cops must be slipping. Their eyes look tired. Must be all these murders and quarantines. Hell the cop even cuffed my hands infront of me. We pull away from midday traffic, away from the store. I lit a cigarette. "You can't smoke in here." This cell is great. It has an incredibly uncomfortable cot, along with the white ceilings above for the pleasure of loosing you're mind. A bad case of writers block for everybody else besides me. I can make the ceiling my canvas for Van Goah, M.C. Escher, etc. The image will be there everyday and nothing will be different for a minute inside this ceil. Paper says that the body count has risen from 30 to 175 in just twenty-four hours. Odor. Dead flesh belonging to the man on the floor. His entrails and innards became his clothing. There was this incredible hunger starting to spawn down inside me. I drop to my knees and sink in. The copper taste of blood mixed with the rubbery feel of intestines .reminiscent of a steak. White. I cover the jail ceil in bile. Past meals from the day wave at me through my tears. "Guard!" I shout "Shut the fuck up in there!" A voice echoes through the hollow steel. "Unless the smell of a septic tank is your form of incense, I suggest.." "Alright, goddammit!" -Didn't take as long as I thought it would. The guard hand-cuffs me to the ceil directly in front of her. If I had multiple personality disorder that included Charles Manson. I'd be putting it to good use right about now. The portly guard woman radio for the janitor to 'show up and clean this shit up.' Janitor gets treated like shit, but he has the entire hand and he has no clue. HE could cause so much chaos in one setting that everything the cops had would be dropped to 'find this motherfucker.' It'd be a great day for janitors everywhere. The janitor guy finally stumbles in and looks at the puke. "Fuckin hell." he mutters in a Scottish accent.
The Charlie Brown theme was buzzing through my head until I heard the most terrifying scream. I looked at the janitor; he had a terrified look on his face. I look down the hall and blood is starting to pool up at the corner. The janitor is just sitting there pissing his pants while I'm hanging like a piece of sacrificial meat for what lurks around the gray-lit halls. "Hey! Hey! Snap the fuck out!" I shout at him. He looks at me; his jaw is still hanging open. "I gotcha laddie," he says removing a lock smithing tool. The job takes him about three seconds and I'm free. "Thanks," I say peering down the hall, "We need to find a way out." The Scotsman is already headed through a vent shaft that I know I'll never be able to get through. I light a cigarette and walk down the hall to the guard post is. The portly guard got what was coming to her.
The guard was packing a Browning 9mm with two extra clips. -Cheesy movie facts: Bullet in the head, cut off the head, somethin' somethin' head. Got it. I start wandering down the halls I should be at the Third floor, which is where the exit is. The part if the police station was built into the side of a hill. Two of the three floors are subterranean. I walk through a few doors and the lobby door is In front of me. I open the door. Darkness. Silhouettes pass by in S.W.A.T. gear except it says Umbrella Inc. Moan. I see the zombies coming from left, right, and behind. I hold up the right hand and squeeze the trigger. He collapses under himself. One moves in front of me. I dash foreword with both arms held out snagging both of them off balance, effectively dropping them 2 stories. One landed in a fountain and got back up; the other's head nailed a desk and knocked it clean off.
Walking out of the police station the smell of dead flesh is so thick you could probably pass out. Fifty feet away from me a man is lying on the ground and his skull is smashed open. Its contents aren't laying on the ground next to him. If there had been different circumstances, that would probably be on my tab. Haaaaaa. It was a low sharp breath. Looking out over the cement canopy, on top was the classical definition of a monster. Vaguely humanoid looks like it was turned inside out. Exposed muscle, brain and organ tissue. It started to lean back and let a high-pitched scream go. For a second I thought I saw my reflection in its teeth. It came crashing down at me in a kamikaze sort of way. Then blackness. When I woke up the 'death from above' monster's brain was smashed into gel on the flagpole that was behind me. Its claws were embedded so far into the ground I couldn't see them any more.
I ran over to the car in the parking lot and got in. If they arrest me for stealing this car I can claim -I played too many video games and that's what 'made' me steal it and kill that nice policeman. I could get away with it that way to. When I can see out of the parking lot to my right, was a wrecked car graveyard. Multiple car pile-up. There are a few miscellaneous body parts are lying around. There are even some three or four of the undead walking about. Most of them are on fire. Cutting left with out looking I knock a zombie down with the side of the car, I hear my rear tire crack his skull on the cement.
It feels good to go 90 on a public street and know that you can get away with it. Until you see a gang of humans run out firing like mad from behind a wall that didn't, until then seem to exist. After them there was the thing they where firing at. It's their vehicular homicide victim susbstitute. Before I smash into its side at seventy-five miles an hour it turns and stares me in the face. Moment of impact. My head slams into the steering wheel and I'm not moving anymore. I look up at the windshield, and there's something I'll call a forearm and hand for now, and the something's claw split the driver's side headrest in to about four separate parts. I get out and look around. I clock the six people standing at the corner. Metal is screeching and bending somewhere, I can only hear it. Looking over the car, the destroyed pay-phone booth started to move. I saw red for some reason. Jumping the car screaming 'Die you scaly fucking bastard." Firing shots at the moving booth. I kicked away some debris. The monster was in two perfect halves. It wasn't moving so.perfect. Perfect was a haze of smoke, like any other smoke, I took a long breath of it and it changed. Clarity. That's when I figure out what I was going to do.
-Do it, pull the trigger, the voice in my head repeats over and over like Milli and Vanilli's last live performance. This is me, first person plural as Orson Scott Card would call it, standing at the top of the skyscraper. The somewhat less than normal screams down below me replace the voices. They're still screams of pain in any case. The pressure of the .45 pistol is now cutting off the circulation of the blood through the vain in my temple. -Squeeze, don't pull, I remind myself. The wood door is almost gone now so I back up to the shattered window. Then, I turn and look out. The empty burning shell of a city is all that is in front of me. God only knows what lies on the surface as well as below this city. I stop and think about how I got here.
These weren't my eyes that I was looking through. I could see everything through someone else's eyes. He scanned a card and tapped over five numbers on a keypad: 07853. My eyes flinch and it is gone. Everything starts to move. I'm moving; towards the bathroom, I have to take a mean piss. Cut to blood stains and carnage in a white clean room. Another vision through the same person. Something terrible has happened. "What the fuck." I mutter to myself.
Fade to me talking on the phone. "I'm telling you, something bad is happening, happened or about to happen." I'm almost shouting. "What proof do you have?" Roger Hubbard's voice flows from the other end of the city. "I've seen things." "What'd you see, huh?" Obnoxiously indulging me. This is going nowhere. "I've had these.visions. They change every time." "You have nothing. There is no proof that anything is happening any where." "Terrible things happen everyday but we never learn of them." Then the double click and the dead air buzz. Shit.
It's been a week. "A new strain of the flu is running rampant through out the city." The newscaster only provides background sound; I pick it up any way. The phone rings. "Hello." "What do you know?" "Something terrible is going to happen if it hasn't already. Something with white clean rooms, flasks, equations, numbers." I speak on without reason. "I've had these visions, they're telling me something. I've seen blood and violence, now they have stopped there is nothing else." Silence over the line. The newscaster makes himself known again. "Some of the symptoms include: nostalgia, vomiting, cough and patches of irritated, dry skin." Blam! Blam! Mmm.. Sounds like chaos.
People are dying now. The northwestern section of the city has been quarantined. People are said to look like 'zombies.' This strain of the flu has spread like mad. Even some animals have even had the misfortune of being contaminated by this bug. They've become crazy and violent. -There's a helluva combination. I'm walking down the street. I walk into a store. The man hands me my cigarettes. The man's shirt says 'Ahmed'; Ahmed was to pale looking to be Middle Eastern in the condition he was in. The man looked like shit. Eyes glazed over like he'd been rubbing them for hours, pale complexion; he went comatose. His eyes gazed off and he feel over the counter, his head smacking the counter. Blood dotted the end of the counter. I stepped back and looked left and right. There was no more blood running. I looked out the window to see if anybody saw what just happened. I felt a small wind brush over my fingers. I looked past my arm and the man was trying slide his way over the counter towards me. I back up just enough to where he couldn't reach me. Flash. A man's blood stained jacket is wrapped around my face. I can't move. I'm bound to a cold metal chair. Human and monster screams come from every direction. Flash. The man crawling closer to me stands up. He's at least a foot taller than me. My first reflex is something I don't even know I'm doing. The very second he starts for me that sewer exhaust smell hits me. I move with him and a right uppercut is under his nose. I feel the bone go stiff under my knuckle and blood trickles. It's done.
"Are you sure that he was coming for you?" "He could've been going for that package of psuedo-viagra." "Alright smart-ass, we're going to go to the station." Fucking police. I'm stashed into a small backseat seat. The black grated steel cage separates me from the front seat. Even through the metal barrier of hand- cuffs I could still get to my cigarettes. Cops must be slipping. Their eyes look tired. Must be all these murders and quarantines. Hell the cop even cuffed my hands infront of me. We pull away from midday traffic, away from the store. I lit a cigarette. "You can't smoke in here." This cell is great. It has an incredibly uncomfortable cot, along with the white ceilings above for the pleasure of loosing you're mind. A bad case of writers block for everybody else besides me. I can make the ceiling my canvas for Van Goah, M.C. Escher, etc. The image will be there everyday and nothing will be different for a minute inside this ceil. Paper says that the body count has risen from 30 to 175 in just twenty-four hours. Odor. Dead flesh belonging to the man on the floor. His entrails and innards became his clothing. There was this incredible hunger starting to spawn down inside me. I drop to my knees and sink in. The copper taste of blood mixed with the rubbery feel of intestines .reminiscent of a steak. White. I cover the jail ceil in bile. Past meals from the day wave at me through my tears. "Guard!" I shout "Shut the fuck up in there!" A voice echoes through the hollow steel. "Unless the smell of a septic tank is your form of incense, I suggest.." "Alright, goddammit!" -Didn't take as long as I thought it would. The guard hand-cuffs me to the ceil directly in front of her. If I had multiple personality disorder that included Charles Manson. I'd be putting it to good use right about now. The portly guard woman radio for the janitor to 'show up and clean this shit up.' Janitor gets treated like shit, but he has the entire hand and he has no clue. HE could cause so much chaos in one setting that everything the cops had would be dropped to 'find this motherfucker.' It'd be a great day for janitors everywhere. The janitor guy finally stumbles in and looks at the puke. "Fuckin hell." he mutters in a Scottish accent.
The Charlie Brown theme was buzzing through my head until I heard the most terrifying scream. I looked at the janitor; he had a terrified look on his face. I look down the hall and blood is starting to pool up at the corner. The janitor is just sitting there pissing his pants while I'm hanging like a piece of sacrificial meat for what lurks around the gray-lit halls. "Hey! Hey! Snap the fuck out!" I shout at him. He looks at me; his jaw is still hanging open. "I gotcha laddie," he says removing a lock smithing tool. The job takes him about three seconds and I'm free. "Thanks," I say peering down the hall, "We need to find a way out." The Scotsman is already headed through a vent shaft that I know I'll never be able to get through. I light a cigarette and walk down the hall to the guard post is. The portly guard got what was coming to her.
The guard was packing a Browning 9mm with two extra clips. -Cheesy movie facts: Bullet in the head, cut off the head, somethin' somethin' head. Got it. I start wandering down the halls I should be at the Third floor, which is where the exit is. The part if the police station was built into the side of a hill. Two of the three floors are subterranean. I walk through a few doors and the lobby door is In front of me. I open the door. Darkness. Silhouettes pass by in S.W.A.T. gear except it says Umbrella Inc. Moan. I see the zombies coming from left, right, and behind. I hold up the right hand and squeeze the trigger. He collapses under himself. One moves in front of me. I dash foreword with both arms held out snagging both of them off balance, effectively dropping them 2 stories. One landed in a fountain and got back up; the other's head nailed a desk and knocked it clean off.
Walking out of the police station the smell of dead flesh is so thick you could probably pass out. Fifty feet away from me a man is lying on the ground and his skull is smashed open. Its contents aren't laying on the ground next to him. If there had been different circumstances, that would probably be on my tab. Haaaaaa. It was a low sharp breath. Looking out over the cement canopy, on top was the classical definition of a monster. Vaguely humanoid looks like it was turned inside out. Exposed muscle, brain and organ tissue. It started to lean back and let a high-pitched scream go. For a second I thought I saw my reflection in its teeth. It came crashing down at me in a kamikaze sort of way. Then blackness. When I woke up the 'death from above' monster's brain was smashed into gel on the flagpole that was behind me. Its claws were embedded so far into the ground I couldn't see them any more.
I ran over to the car in the parking lot and got in. If they arrest me for stealing this car I can claim -I played too many video games and that's what 'made' me steal it and kill that nice policeman. I could get away with it that way to. When I can see out of the parking lot to my right, was a wrecked car graveyard. Multiple car pile-up. There are a few miscellaneous body parts are lying around. There are even some three or four of the undead walking about. Most of them are on fire. Cutting left with out looking I knock a zombie down with the side of the car, I hear my rear tire crack his skull on the cement.
It feels good to go 90 on a public street and know that you can get away with it. Until you see a gang of humans run out firing like mad from behind a wall that didn't, until then seem to exist. After them there was the thing they where firing at. It's their vehicular homicide victim susbstitute. Before I smash into its side at seventy-five miles an hour it turns and stares me in the face. Moment of impact. My head slams into the steering wheel and I'm not moving anymore. I look up at the windshield, and there's something I'll call a forearm and hand for now, and the something's claw split the driver's side headrest in to about four separate parts. I get out and look around. I clock the six people standing at the corner. Metal is screeching and bending somewhere, I can only hear it. Looking over the car, the destroyed pay-phone booth started to move. I saw red for some reason. Jumping the car screaming 'Die you scaly fucking bastard." Firing shots at the moving booth. I kicked away some debris. The monster was in two perfect halves. It wasn't moving so.perfect. Perfect was a haze of smoke, like any other smoke, I took a long breath of it and it changed. Clarity. That's when I figure out what I was going to do.