All four of the survivors entered the shelter at almost the same time, weary, scraped, battered, and bruised beyond measure. Each instinctively grasped at his hip, shoulder, or side for a weapon that was no longer there, makeshift or finely tooled, then relaxed as they saw the others were similarly disarmed.
There were seats, convenient yet uncomfortable, arranged around a small, generic table with some nondescript food atop it. They used them wordlessly.
At last, when the plate was down to the final scraps, one of them spoke through his last mouthful. “Helluva thing out there, wasn’t it?”
There were nods, slow and solemn, weary.
“I was in the country when it hit, missed the brunt of it. Any of you guys from the cities? Was it as bad as it seemed?”
“Worse,” said a second man, one hand fidgeting with his baseball cap, brim slipping side-to-side once every five seconds like clockwork. His eyes swept around the room rapid-fire, scanning exits, entries, points of defence. “Panic, riots, gas main explosions, power failures, traffic jams mixed with overturned trucks. Cops vanishing, fire department in shambles. Was a goddamned shitstorm.”
The third stared at the empty table with the blank expression of a cow regarding a barn wall. “There were so many missing lights,” he said, voice a dreamy monotone. “There should have been lights, and there weren’t any. They put out all the lights. They don’t like it when you can see them coming. Really pisses them off.” His gaze lifted up to the ceiling, leaving behind his voice.
The other two looked to the last man, the biggest in the room. He appeared to be trying to curl himself into as small a position as possible in his chair, humming a quick and nervous tune. His eyes met theirs, and he steadied for a moment. “They killed all the cows,” he said, then giggled and redoubled his humming.
The first and second man looked to each other and shrugged.
“I would like to tell a story,” announced the third man, making the others jump a little. “It’s how I got here.”
“I was working,” said the third man, who was now looking directly at and through them, “at my job. It was in a store. A bookstore, I think. And it was very boring, so I was on an evening smoke break. A very long smoke break, a smoke break that would last until my manager found me, because it was so boring, you see. And that’s why I am still alive, because they came in fast and hard through the front door. I heard the screams, pushed the door open, and I saw what was happening. They were all dying by then. Lots of red, but other, funny colours too. Like a boxful of dirty crayons. Very ugly.”
He shrugged, the pudginess of his shoulders rippling. “So I ran. I am not good at running, but I forced it, and I think I overtook the worst of them. They were fast, but they had to stop to hunt and kill and put out the lights, so they could use the dark properly. I didn’t have to stop until I couldn’t run anymore, and that took time. More time than I thought. When I stopped, I was out of the city, heading off the road. The highway was burning, full of broken cars and dead people, you see, so I could not walk on it.”
There was a long, slow silence as he stared at his fingers, something behind that pudding-formed face thinking everything over as carefully as it could. The slight whispery sound of the second man’s fidgeting was too loud, overlapping oddly with the fourth man’s humming, which incorporated it quickly into its own nervous leitmotif.
“Then,” he continued, “I walked. And after a few days, I ran out of food. And as I was walking through the forest, I saw a barn. I’d been avoiding buildings and roads, but I was so hungry, you see. I went up to it, and everyone was dead, and one of them too. The farmer had a hunting rifle, you see, and he had aimed very carefully. But he and his family had been dead and ruined by its comrades, but it hadn’t been, and I was so hungry. It was one of them, and they aren’t like us, so it wasn’t really cannibalism, you see. Besides, I used their oven because it was still working, and it’s all right because I cooked it. You see how it is.”
The silence was shorter, but quieter this time. Even the fourth man had stopped humming and was listening with cautious care.
“After that I walked some more. And then I saw signs of people, so I followed them. And they found me, and showed me to this place. There aren’t many of them, and I am very thankful. I was so hungry again, you see.”
The second man spoke first. “Hell of a story. You got damned lucky out there. Right near the city limits, eh? I wasn’t so lucky. Let me tell you what happened in there.” He searched his pockets, then pulled a face. “Fuck. Outta smokes. Had to trade my pack to the guys here for these new clothes.” He sighed. “Ah well, my nerves’ll just have to take it.”
“So,” he began, “I got off my shift, I get in my truck, and I pull onto the street. There’s too much traffic, but that’s normal, and I should be used to it but I’ve just had the most miserable fucking day. We’ve all been there, right?” A beat, during which only the first man nodded confirmation – the fourth was back to his humming, and the third was staring at the second man’s baseball cap.
“Yeah, we have. So when some clown tries to cut me off almost to the exact second that it looks like we’re moving again, I didn’t take it kindly. As a matter of fact, I jumped out of the truck, ran up to him, and started chewing the little shithead out through the window. Well, he got out of the car and surprise, he wasn’t such a little shithead anymore. Must’ve been six foot eight, and, well you guys can see I’m not exactly up there. But there’s no way in hell I’m backing down.”
“So we get into a fight. Just yelling at first, but then he tries looming over me, and I poke him in the gut, and then the shoving starts. We’re about five seconds from a genuine goddamned fistfight in the middle of a rush hour traffic jam, and we’re yelling so loud we can’t even hear the screams from up ahead. The first one of them I saw took the shithead from behind. Popped his head like a cork mid-cuss. The only reason I made it out of that was that I didn’t stick around to gawp – I was tensed for a fist fight, and I just redirected that focus a little. Ran straight for the car, yanked my handgun out, and killed it when it couldn’t have been more than half a foot from me. One shot, clean kill. It was a closer talker than shithead’d been.”
“Now unlike you,” he said, grinning toothily at the third man, who remained blank, “I couldn’t run. Bad knee, but more importantly, I had nowhere to run. Bumper-to-bumper traffic, and just me, my Glock, and about a million fewer cartridges than I’d have liked. Tough luck. But I didn’t really have time to complain, and it wasn’t like it could’ve fixed anything.”
“My first thought was to get home. I’ve got other guns there, and there was no way I was getting out of the city armed like I was, with traffic a mess and my knee. So I headed for the subways. There was bloody hell breaking loose everywhere on the streets, explosions, crashes, fires, and they were all over it like a dog on its own shit. I figured so long as I was careful where I stepped and made sure to get out of the way before I heard a train coming, everything’d be fine.”
“Well, as lucky would have it, they prefer the dark – like you said pal, they keep out of the lights, and break ‘em. But I didn’t know that until I was half a mile down the tunnel and hearing them out there, just past where I could see. They’d taken out a subway car. Bodies everywhere. I hid in it while they checked around, and when they moved on, I followed real nice and slow. Found another gun on one of the passengers too, so no big deal. More ammo’s nice. Then I guess they had a guy run rear guard – maybe they heard me earlier on and thought I was some sort of tail – and I almost walked into him when I pulled into the next station. Surprised both of us, but I was more frightened than he was. Gave me the advantage, landed him a sound pistol-whip in the teeth, and gave me the chance for a quick show of marksmanship. Three rounds to be sure, all of ‘em dead centre. Bastards die hard. I didn’t care how bad my knee was then; I ran. I only made it about a block away, but I ran, and I guess they thought I went back down the tunnel, either that or they just didn’t think I was worth following. Sure as hell didn’t go back below, though. Gives me the shakes just thinking about it.”
“After that? It got blurry. I tried sticking to the streets, keeping low in the chaos. Didn’t work too well, almost got killed four times in as many minutes. Tried moving inside. They were prepared for that too; inside all the buildings, like termites invading an anthill. Bloody slaughterhouses, every one. Didn’t have as many near-death experiences there though – I was just one of a morass of targets. Plus, I got smart and left right away.”
“At some point I ditched the idea of heading home. Too far, and it was too dangerous. I think I was probably expecting to die, I just hadn’t realized it yet. So I started marching for the highway, taking down anything that looked at me funny. I killed one other guy by accident – thought he was one of them. Poor bastard. I felt bad about it, but only for a moment, because then I’d gotten someone else’s attention with the shot. That happened a lot. One of them spots you? Fire at it, maybe you get him, maybe you don’t. But that doesn’t matter, because you’ve just alerted three or four more. The best you can do is pray that either you move faster than they do or that they find someone else and pick on him instead. Heard that happen a few times. Poor bastards. By then I didn’t feel sorry, just glad. They were going to die anyways, might as well die saving my ass.”
“When I hit the highway? Exactly as bad as we’ve said it was. Nothing but hell on a neat little eight-lane asphalt line. Swarming with them everywhere.”
“From then on, I basically did the same thing as the zen master here just told, except I had a gun. Picked off the odd lone one of ‘em I ran into, shot game when I could find it – they don’t seem to think much of anything of most animals, weird when you think of how thorough they were on all of us, you’d think they lived for blood – and ate it raw. No smoke that way, and no scent. Keeping that last one made me swear off that last packet, but it kept me nicely tetchy. Got a mite delirious a few times after drinking from a bad stream, but pulled through until I found this place. Not too shabby, and they were happy to take me in. Shame they wouldn’t let me bring my gun inside, but they’ve got a strongbox for it and they’ve got decent security. Should be safe. Probably.”
He sat back, grunting in satisfaction. “And that’s my story told. Who’s up next?”
Surprisingly, the fourth man uncoiled himself. It was slow and odd, but not cumbersome – the sort of regally contorted movements that a python uses to unwrap itself from its prey.
“Me,” he said. “Me me me. Definitely ME.” His eye was odd; resting on them, then flicking wildly about, then staring flat and stable again, daring the viewer to believe that it had moved in the first place. “Is that all right?”
“Sure,” said the second man. “Yes,” said the first man. The third man said nothing, but bobbed his head gently, bouncing his chin on his blubbery neck.
“Right. Right.” He giggled a little. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little on EDGE. A little nervous. A little. But yes, what happened.”
“I owned a ranch, a big ranch, a fine ranch, I made a lot of money oh a lot of lovely money. Because I was good and my cows were good and I was good at the business it was all so GOOD. And I’d eaten breakfast and was just going out the back door and I went out to look at the herd and the cows were all dead all my beautiful COWS.” He broke into heaving sobs, and before the others had time to blink he was back to grinning happily.
“But anyways I saw they were dead because they had no faces anymore and I knew they were dead because they had no insides anymore they’d pulled out all the cows’ insides oh my beautiful cow INSIDES see mister sir mister you see they care about SOME animals right DON’T YOU?” The stare that he directed at the second man was hard and flat, a near-threat backed up by clenching fists that made him reach to his side for that invisible weapon again. And again, that smile melted back in faster than lightning.
“And they were there, so many of them, all about the insides and I shouted at them shouldn’t have done that because they saw me and chased me and I had to run get my gun locked myself in my house fired at them stupid slow things thought I was helpless but they set FIRE to it oh my house my worn comfortable house, all gone, all the money all the wood all the books and records and beds and tables and BURNT.” He coughed out a laughing sob. “But it didn’t matter, got away, lost the eye to a falling timber because I had to blow out a wall with the gas main but I got away and cleaned out the socket good and I walked off because I was all that was left because the cows were all dead and the ranch was gone oh me oh my oh me.”
He curled up again, and was quiet but for the humming.
“And what happened then?” asked the first man.
The humming paused. “I came here, and they put me here and now you’re here and they wanted me to meet you. Good to see faces on faces and no insides at all, all hidden inside. Good, oh my.” It resumed, twice as fast and three times as heated.
The second man turned back to the first. “Well, you’re up, buddy. What happened to you?”
The first man smiled bleakly. “Nothing as exciting as any of yours, I’m afraid. I was on a working vacation in the country. Telecommuted; very nice, very cushy, pretty little cottage in a nice little village. Me and my wife both. One evening the lights started going out back in town, and before we know it something’s breaking down our back door. They had the house almost surrounded, and barricade as fast as we could – and we, well, my wife was fast, quick on her feet and a cool head – they were coming in and we couldn’t stop them. So we ran for the car. And because my legs were longer, and my wife’s feet aren’t as fast as her hands, I got there first. And because I’m not as cool a head in a crisis, I locked the doors before she got in, then panicked and didn’t unlock them. They were too close by then, there was nothing I could’ve done, and I couldn’t have known she’d have been able to run for as far as she did after the car before they got her. It wasn’t my fault. Really. Absolutely. I was upset about it, but you get over these things. I was suicidal and self-destructive in the car, but I think I’m over it now. The people here have helped a lot, telling me to be calm and giving me some pills for it. You can forgive a man a little lapse.” He grinned, thin muscles crawling on his face. “I mean, how often does he find himself be forced to watch his wife get killed by the walking dead?”
The other lulls in the conversation, uncomfortable or strange as they had been, had felt natural, part of the ebb and flow of a discourse, bizarre as it was. This one was a lurching, grinding, heaving halt. All three of the others stared at him, even the fourth man, even the third man.
“You’re fucking crazy,” said the second man, flatly. “Fucking crazy. Zombies? You’re babbling shit about zombies? They put me in here with a fucking headcase who believes in zombies?”
The first man’s grin had faded away into bemused umbrage. “What? But you said yourself – you said that –”
“Zombies? I didn’t say shit about zombies. Magic? Voodoo? None of it. It was fuckin’ crazy for the government to declare war on its own damned citizens, but some of us saw it coming, and there weren’t any fucking living corpses involved.!” He laughed raucously, and spat at the first man’s foot. “Were you always nuts, or did the black ops doing in your wife do that to you? You’re crazy.”
“What?!” demanded the second man. “You think I’m crazy? Listen to yourself! How would the government convince the army to shoot up its own – no, there’s no point! That’s crazy! YOU’RE the crazy one! How can you even imagine that, and how the hell did you miss seeing the damned zombies?!”
“There were no men,” interrupted the calm voice of the third man. “There were no dead men, no living men. They weren’t men at all; they were too tall, too thin, too lean and cold. They had come so far to get here, spent so much effort and used so many machines. Their machines spat beautiful red lights that stood out so nicely, with the lights they broke. I do not think they appreciate our world’s light. You are both crazy.”
“No no no NO!” insisted the fourth man. “They were tall yes, but thick thick THICK with teeth and claws and blades and eyes where you can’t look and can’t unsee because they like to bite and tear, cut off the faces and yank out the INSIDES that should stay on the INSIDE don’t you UNDERSTAND are you all CRAZY?!” he screeched.
“Nutcases,” swore the second man. “I’m surrounded by goddamned nutcases! Why would they put me in a room with three fucking shit-for-brains nutcases!?” He strode to the door, slamming each step down furiously, rattled at the knob with ire, then desperation. “Locked? What the fucking hell? Why’d they lock me in with two lights-in-the-sky dingalings and a nutjob who’s seen too many Romero flicks?!”
“At least aliens are scientifically plausible,” sneered the first man. “There’s no way to prove they don’t exist. And what about all the paranormal activity over the years that no sceptics have ever disproven? You’re the craziest one here, crazier than these guys. At least they aren’t pretending they’re sane.”
“I saw what I saw,” said the third man. “And what I saw was right, even if what it was was so wrong. You are all crazy.”
“Crazy,” giggled the fourth. “Crazy crazy crazy CRAZY!” All of YOU! Because you didn’t see them properly, because you didn’t see the FACES!” He laughed long and loud and ran to the wall, beating it with his head so hard it seemed his teeth would crack right out of his gleefully clenched jaw. “Crazy crazy crazy on the INSIDE!”
The thuds were loud enough to echo right through the one-way mirror, and the observing medical staff found themselves wincing as the treatment session broke down. Patient number two was yelling at the others about how they couldn’t claim going mad was an excuse for voting the apocalypse into office, patient three was trying to explain how the thin men were probably vulnerable to music because “they can’t see music either,” and patient one was repeating “oh really?” in an increasingly mocking and obnoxious voice at everything anyone else said. Patient four’s forehead was becoming bruised.
“Intervene now?” inquired an intern to the psychiatrist on monitor duty.
The psychiatrist sighed, then cut himself off with a wince as the first patient said something unforgivable about the second through fourth patient’s mothers. “I suppose so. Send security in. I really thought we had something there, you know, a breakthrough just around the corner, a mutual realization of shared delusions that could make all four of them wake up to reality, break that “last-sane-person” complex. For just a few moments… oh well. More traditional methods should see them all through this, I hope. Send in security, and let’s get them away from each other before it gets any worse. We don’t want this to turn violent.”