fuck, fuck....
(for the confused.)
you've gotta know this. you've got to read this--or i have to write it--it'll, I dunno...it'll help me make it all make sense....but, fuck...
IT GOT UP.
There was something weird in the air, jesus, fucking jesus, I should have known something was up when Miette didn't come back to the house. Eli's fucking cat...Eli's fucking cat, I kept telling Andy as he lay down on the couch. Poor fucking thing...and it smelled, too, when I stumbled out of bed this morning, there was something weird in the air, it was like...rot...I thought it was the trash, or some animal killed another in the bushes somewhere...
I woke up late, I got to work on time, I wasn't even paying attention--it was early, I saw a few more pedestrians than normal--god, I most have driven right past them--but I didn't even think about it. I got to the bus barn and people were talking about missing drivers--good fucking jesus, I was excited that I could pick up a couple extra runs, get a few more dollars.
I had to dodge a couple stupid pedestrians in the middle of the road, but most of my morning run is off the beaten path. Dropped off the elementary school kids, dropped off the middle-school kids--I remember seeing a couple adults in the soccer field, thought they were teachers.
I had to take the bus to the fuel station...
The morning sun was gorgeous--it's a beautiful day outside--and I was so distracted by the temperature that I wasn't paying attention. It's a perfect, seventy-five degrees, maybe? Why the hell am I thinking about the weather?
I'd gotten used to the smell. I just didn't think about it, got sloppy, didn't notice it until I put the pump back on its base. It wasn't a bum, although he must have come from by the railroad tracks--his clothes were too nice, and his hair and...what was left of his face were far too clean...
I was too freaked out to say anything, which probably saved my life. He came right at me, grabbed at my arm--and missed. Flight kicked in; I shoved him into one of the pumps and darted into the bus. I looked up to hit the emergency door release as I took the steps; I tripped over the last step, falling into the seat and losing my footing. , landing right on my injured wrist; the second I took to shake the stars from my vision almost cost me my foot.
I felt fingers along the sole of my shoe. I whipped my body around. Hitting the emergency door release meant the door no longer opened or closed freely--it effectively locked it in whatever position it happened to be in, subjecting it to the control of the switch to the left of the steering wheel--unfortunately, it happened to be open, and it was fucking BEARING RIGHT DOWN ON ME, jaw working. I heard it moan, but I was distracted by the flesh missing from the lower part of his face. I could see the muscle and tendons moving the jaw; no human being could survive that.
I remember that being a conscious train of thought, because as soon as I thought "human being," I kicked, hard as I could. His grip loosened for a second as he was pushed backward; I kicked him one more time as I whipped my body around once more, turning the key in the ignition. The momentum of my turn threw my face against the steering wheel and my body partly off the seat. My wrist screamed again as my right hand took all my weight...
...and the door, whose switch I had mercifully left in the "closed" position, pushed itself shut with a hydraulic whine...
...but the hand didn't stop gripping my foot. Facing away from it, I kicked once more, forcing my leg free; I pushed and scrambled to my feet, wondering why it didn't attack me again.
It was stuck in the door.
It was stuck in the fucking door, right hand in the bus, bicep-deep. It was partially off the ground, though; its shoulder joint was straining, but it didn't seem to notice, it's eyes fixed on me.
Shock and fear were clouding my judgement, to be sure, but I wasn't stupified to a point at which I didn't know what I was dealing with. I leapt into the seat, turned the key, threw the bus in gear and floored it, tugging the wheel to the left slightly, aiming toward just missing the enormous iron lamppost, and succeeding.
There was a wet rending sound, coupled with a gruesome splatter; the door's hydraulics held, but the thing's shoulder joint didn't. I snapped a look at the door and immediately slammed on the brakes.
The arm was still wedged in the door, limp and lifeless; blood, a dull, dark, rusty red-brown color had spattered all over the side of the bus. I checked the mirror; it had fallen on its back about fifty feet behind me. I paused for a second, then hit the switch. The arm fell, bouncing on the bottom step and falling out of the bus.
I lost it then. "WHAT," I screamed, "THE FUCK!?!?!?!"
I don't know if it was my scream, or the smell of my fear, or what, but--I saw it in the fucking mirror, too scared not to believe what I was seeing--IT GOT UP. Slowly, without the use of the arm now resting at the foot of my passenger door, but it fucking got up.
I inhaled sharply, trying to decide what to do. I knew I needed to get out of there, the bus was running, but I didn't know what I was driving into, or where. I wasn't armed, I didn't have anything...
A burst of static on the radio behind me..."WHAT'S GOING ON?" A deep voice roared, signal clipping.
A fucked-up calm came over me in a quick wave, sparking my memory--and my fight reflex. I bounded off the bus and ran to the compartment in front of the fuel tank. I wrenched it open, grabbing the yellow metal bar I used to check my tire pressure, and turned to face it; I was about to charge it when I felt movement behind me and to my left.
This was someone I recognized; he was the attendant at the storage facility near the fueling station. His face seemed unblemished; I couldn't tell if he was in shock, like me. I didn't say a word, which was my second wise decision; he moaned, a sound identical to my one-armed friend now thirty feet away, and lurched at me.
I shuffled back toward the door of the bus, but he was going to head me off. I had no choice but to dart to my right, away from the door. He turned to follow me, his back now to my sanctuary, and I gritted my teeth as I heard more movement--and more moans--behind me, coming closer. I couldn't afford to get any further from the bus.
Since they were already coming for me, I threw any pretense of caution to the wind--screaming, I charged my two-armed assailant, reaching over his outstretched arms and catching his shoulders with a violent push. He was much smaller than I; he flew backward, banging against the bus, and fell to the ground in a heap. He started to move his head; I stopped the movement, bringing the tire-beater down with all my strength.
It cracked against his skull, sending vibrations through my arm, turning the scream from my wrist into a deafening, stabbing, painful howl. I struck again; I felt the skull began to fracture, and I swung twice more.
He stopped moving, but one-arm was now close enough for me to smell him. I sprung to my feet and launched myself back onto the bus.
I roared toward the highway, but I could tell that wasn't a viable option; I could see all sorts of vehicles bashing together in all directions, and people--some frantically sprinting, some familiarly lurching--already starting to crowd the roadway. The lurchers were crowding the normal roads, too--I decided to make for the bus barn.
A small woman caromed off my front bumper as I took a corner at thirty. I reached for the radio. "This is Darryl," I said, eerily calm. "Is there anyone out there?"
A staccato crackle of static greeted me as no more than three people attempted to respond. One person finally got through. "Get to Fifth Street," a warm, gruff woman's voice said. Alice.
I managed to get there intact--the crowd thinned a bit in the industrial area near the bus barn. Not wanting to get trapped in a parking lot, I parked the bus across the street and, still holding the tire-beater, I ran in the building.
That's about where it's at. I couldn't get through to anyone on my cell phone, but internet seems to be working; connection's too slow to see anything else, but I guess it's not just here that this is happening.
We're gonna make a break for it, I think. North, maybe. I don't know. As soon as my phone starts working, or if someone would just get the fuck off the landline, I'll try to call Damon, see if he's around.
I'm not letting go of this tire-beater, though.
you've gotta know this. you've got to read this--or i have to write it--it'll, I dunno...it'll help me make it all make sense....but, fuck...
IT GOT UP.
There was something weird in the air, jesus, fucking jesus, I should have known something was up when Miette didn't come back to the house. Eli's fucking cat...Eli's fucking cat, I kept telling Andy as he lay down on the couch. Poor fucking thing...and it smelled, too, when I stumbled out of bed this morning, there was something weird in the air, it was like...rot...I thought it was the trash, or some animal killed another in the bushes somewhere...
I woke up late, I got to work on time, I wasn't even paying attention--it was early, I saw a few more pedestrians than normal--god, I most have driven right past them--but I didn't even think about it. I got to the bus barn and people were talking about missing drivers--good fucking jesus, I was excited that I could pick up a couple extra runs, get a few more dollars.
I had to dodge a couple stupid pedestrians in the middle of the road, but most of my morning run is off the beaten path. Dropped off the elementary school kids, dropped off the middle-school kids--I remember seeing a couple adults in the soccer field, thought they were teachers.
I had to take the bus to the fuel station...
The morning sun was gorgeous--it's a beautiful day outside--and I was so distracted by the temperature that I wasn't paying attention. It's a perfect, seventy-five degrees, maybe? Why the hell am I thinking about the weather?
I'd gotten used to the smell. I just didn't think about it, got sloppy, didn't notice it until I put the pump back on its base. It wasn't a bum, although he must have come from by the railroad tracks--his clothes were too nice, and his hair and...what was left of his face were far too clean...
I was too freaked out to say anything, which probably saved my life. He came right at me, grabbed at my arm--and missed. Flight kicked in; I shoved him into one of the pumps and darted into the bus. I looked up to hit the emergency door release as I took the steps; I tripped over the last step, falling into the seat and losing my footing. , landing right on my injured wrist; the second I took to shake the stars from my vision almost cost me my foot.
I felt fingers along the sole of my shoe. I whipped my body around. Hitting the emergency door release meant the door no longer opened or closed freely--it effectively locked it in whatever position it happened to be in, subjecting it to the control of the switch to the left of the steering wheel--unfortunately, it happened to be open, and it was fucking BEARING RIGHT DOWN ON ME, jaw working. I heard it moan, but I was distracted by the flesh missing from the lower part of his face. I could see the muscle and tendons moving the jaw; no human being could survive that.
I remember that being a conscious train of thought, because as soon as I thought "human being," I kicked, hard as I could. His grip loosened for a second as he was pushed backward; I kicked him one more time as I whipped my body around once more, turning the key in the ignition. The momentum of my turn threw my face against the steering wheel and my body partly off the seat. My wrist screamed again as my right hand took all my weight...
...and the door, whose switch I had mercifully left in the "closed" position, pushed itself shut with a hydraulic whine...
...but the hand didn't stop gripping my foot. Facing away from it, I kicked once more, forcing my leg free; I pushed and scrambled to my feet, wondering why it didn't attack me again.
It was stuck in the door.
It was stuck in the fucking door, right hand in the bus, bicep-deep. It was partially off the ground, though; its shoulder joint was straining, but it didn't seem to notice, it's eyes fixed on me.
Shock and fear were clouding my judgement, to be sure, but I wasn't stupified to a point at which I didn't know what I was dealing with. I leapt into the seat, turned the key, threw the bus in gear and floored it, tugging the wheel to the left slightly, aiming toward just missing the enormous iron lamppost, and succeeding.
There was a wet rending sound, coupled with a gruesome splatter; the door's hydraulics held, but the thing's shoulder joint didn't. I snapped a look at the door and immediately slammed on the brakes.
The arm was still wedged in the door, limp and lifeless; blood, a dull, dark, rusty red-brown color had spattered all over the side of the bus. I checked the mirror; it had fallen on its back about fifty feet behind me. I paused for a second, then hit the switch. The arm fell, bouncing on the bottom step and falling out of the bus.
I lost it then. "WHAT," I screamed, "THE FUCK!?!?!?!"
I don't know if it was my scream, or the smell of my fear, or what, but--I saw it in the fucking mirror, too scared not to believe what I was seeing--IT GOT UP. Slowly, without the use of the arm now resting at the foot of my passenger door, but it fucking got up.
I inhaled sharply, trying to decide what to do. I knew I needed to get out of there, the bus was running, but I didn't know what I was driving into, or where. I wasn't armed, I didn't have anything...
A burst of static on the radio behind me..."WHAT'S GOING ON?" A deep voice roared, signal clipping.
A fucked-up calm came over me in a quick wave, sparking my memory--and my fight reflex. I bounded off the bus and ran to the compartment in front of the fuel tank. I wrenched it open, grabbing the yellow metal bar I used to check my tire pressure, and turned to face it; I was about to charge it when I felt movement behind me and to my left.
This was someone I recognized; he was the attendant at the storage facility near the fueling station. His face seemed unblemished; I couldn't tell if he was in shock, like me. I didn't say a word, which was my second wise decision; he moaned, a sound identical to my one-armed friend now thirty feet away, and lurched at me.
I shuffled back toward the door of the bus, but he was going to head me off. I had no choice but to dart to my right, away from the door. He turned to follow me, his back now to my sanctuary, and I gritted my teeth as I heard more movement--and more moans--behind me, coming closer. I couldn't afford to get any further from the bus.
Since they were already coming for me, I threw any pretense of caution to the wind--screaming, I charged my two-armed assailant, reaching over his outstretched arms and catching his shoulders with a violent push. He was much smaller than I; he flew backward, banging against the bus, and fell to the ground in a heap. He started to move his head; I stopped the movement, bringing the tire-beater down with all my strength.
It cracked against his skull, sending vibrations through my arm, turning the scream from my wrist into a deafening, stabbing, painful howl. I struck again; I felt the skull began to fracture, and I swung twice more.
He stopped moving, but one-arm was now close enough for me to smell him. I sprung to my feet and launched myself back onto the bus.
I roared toward the highway, but I could tell that wasn't a viable option; I could see all sorts of vehicles bashing together in all directions, and people--some frantically sprinting, some familiarly lurching--already starting to crowd the roadway. The lurchers were crowding the normal roads, too--I decided to make for the bus barn.
A small woman caromed off my front bumper as I took a corner at thirty. I reached for the radio. "This is Darryl," I said, eerily calm. "Is there anyone out there?"
A staccato crackle of static greeted me as no more than three people attempted to respond. One person finally got through. "Get to Fifth Street," a warm, gruff woman's voice said. Alice.
I managed to get there intact--the crowd thinned a bit in the industrial area near the bus barn. Not wanting to get trapped in a parking lot, I parked the bus across the street and, still holding the tire-beater, I ran in the building.
That's about where it's at. I couldn't get through to anyone on my cell phone, but internet seems to be working; connection's too slow to see anything else, but I guess it's not just here that this is happening.
We're gonna make a break for it, I think. North, maybe. I don't know. As soon as my phone starts working, or if someone would just get the fuck off the landline, I'll try to call Damon, see if he's around.
I'm not letting go of this tire-beater, though.