What’s Happening?!

John Erokan awoke suddenly, his bed sheets soaked in sweat. He was almost disgusted with the dream he had just had. It had seemed too real.

Looking around his room he saw a gloomy yet somehow delightful light outside through his window. Maybe he was weird, but to him cloudy days seemed to be happier to him. Although his ideas may be different from most people he stuck with them, it had always been his “motto”.

John also noticed it had just recently snowed a little bit, for there was a fresh coat of white powder outside. It was perfect. He loved snowy, gloomy days. The cold and the gloom were a wonderful combination for going on a run. He figured that he had not gone on a run in a while and it would be good for him to start the day off with a good run.

Walking over to his dresser, he began to reach for one of the drawers when he had a sudden ache in his left arm. It seemed very strange, he rubbed his arm and it felt sore but he could not think of what he could have done to make it feel as such. Ignoring it he continued to get dressed, sliding on a pair of sweat pants and a light jacket.

He opened the front door of his house and felt the cool air outside. John took a deep breath inhaling the fresh, crisp air. It was refreshing and made him feel somehow calm.

The streets were clear of any snow and suspected the salt had taken care of anything that had been on it. He started his run at a light jog. To him this was the perfect day for a jog. It was not too cold and the grass and houses were covered in a small layer of the white powder and made for a beautiful scenery that he could enjoy.

John turned down a street breathing in the wonderful and chilly air. He was glad that he had gone for a run it had been way too long.

John slowed, as an abrupt pain in his left arm started again. He felt it again and it seemed even more sore than it had earlier.

However, it went away as quickly as it had started and John kept running. As he looked ahead, he noticed something odd about a patch of snow a ways away. He squinted to see if it was what he thought. There was a patch of snow on the side of the road up ahead that had been stained red.

He blinked and looked again but it had disappeared. He was just seeing things, but it had seemed strangely real to him.

John slowed when he neared the spot where he thought he had seen the blood. When he neared it he thought he heard a gunshot and the pain in his arm started up again, only this time the pain was excruciating. He stopped running and grabbed his arm only to see that there was blood where his hand grabbed!

He looked at the patch where he thought he had seen the blood and to his surprise there it was, the he thought he had seen was his own!

John turned his head to see an obviously disturbed man holding a pistol at his side. His eyes were wide his lips spread apart to show his teeth in a huge insane grin. John didn’t know what to think when he saw the figure but he knew his arm hurt extremely bad.

The man began to raise the pistol slowly, apparently planning to aim it at John and finish him off. John would not allow any such thing. He was not ready in any way to accept death.

John decided to make a run for it, and he bolted away towards a house to his left just as he heard another crack from the pistol. Luckily, the man had missed and John ran around to the side of the house and leaned against the corner of the wall. John looked down at his arm. Blood was slowly oozing down his arm. He reached up to touch the wound with is other hand but as he did so he saw the crazy man turn the corner.

John quickly ducked as the man fired again and missed. John ran at the man hunched over and tackled him in center mass. John slammed the man into the ground using all the force he could. He was pissed and wanted to know why this man was trying to kill him.

“What is wrong with you?!” John yelled at the man punching him in the face.

The man didn’t respond and tried to aim the pistol at John again. John hastily grabbed the barrel of the pistol with one hand and the handle with the other. He then forced the pistol to the side so that the barrel was facing away from them. In a quick motion, using the pistol as a lever he twisted the handle up towards him.

John felt nauseous as he heard the man’s trigger finger snap. He knew that it was going to happen but frankly, John had not been expecting it.

The man was screaming and writhing in pain. Ignoring this John easily pulled the gun from the man’s grasp. John turned the pistol and aimed it at the man’s face.

“Why are you trying to kill me?!”

John could feel anger and rage building up inside of him when the man gave no reply. Punching the man again, John removed the magazine from the pistol and shoving it into his pocket. He then pulled the slide back and tossed the extra bullet out of the chamber.

John threw the empty gun to the side so that he would not be mistaken for the bad guy when the police arrived. He was sure that the whole neighborhood had heard the gunshots and probably already called the police.

John forced the man over onto his stomach, pulled the man’s arm up behind his back, and held it with his knee so that the man would not get away. John looked around. He was next to a car in someone’s driveway.

He looked down at his arm again and saw that the slow oozing blood had reached his finger tips and was dripping onto the snow and staining it bright red. It was a through and though but he needed an ambulance bad. This all seemed too familiar to him and it scared him that he felt like he had done all of this before.

John had never been shot before but for some reason it did not hurt as much as he thought it might. He somehow doubted anyone had called for an ambulance so he began to reach for his phone to call 9-1-1 but he was distracted as the door to the house he was next to opened.

John could not see who it was from his position behind the car but before he could even call out the man underneath of him did first.

“Hey, guys I’m over here! Help!”

The man began to squirm, trying to get free of John’s grasp. John could not allow this so he grabbed the man’s arm and pushed it up even farther until he felt and heard a loud pop as the man’s arm was dislocated at the shoulder.

John had not meant to do this but it nearly sickened him at the fact that he had did not bother him. He had never purposely hurt anyone before and whenever he had accidentally hurt someone he felt sick. Nevertheless, he could not help the strange feeling of déjà vu.

Ignoring the loud screams of the man he was on top of, John saw a large man walk around the side of the car. The man was holding a pistol and John seemed to instinctly know what he was going to do.

Standing quickly John swung his foot at the man’s gun and kicked it from his hand. John threw himself at the man knocking him into the garage door with a bang as the hollow metal doors rang at the impact.

John pushed himself away from the man and as the man stepped towards him, John kicked at the man’s knee with all of his weight. The man’s knee bent backwards and John heard the loud snap of bone.

The man fell to the ground screaming in pain holding his now broken knee.

“God! What is wrong with me?!” John thought to himself

He had never once hurt anyone but he could not seem to control himself when these men attacked him and it scared him.

John looked over to the first man. He had passed out from the pain. John then looked at the man he had just immobilized. The man ignored John completely and seemed to be fully focused on his wrecked knee.

Walking over to where he had kicked the man’s gun he bent over slowly and picked it up. Same as before, he removed the magazine and extra bullet then stuck the magazine into his pocket.

He touched his wounded arm and winced at the pain it brought. What was happening? It was all to weird.

John reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and typed in the numbers 9-1-1. Just before he pressed the SEND button, he saw the neighborhood cop pull up in his cruiser.

“Thank God!” John said falling onto his knees and putting his phone away.

The officer quickly got out of his car, “Excuse me sir is everything alright?”

John almost laughed, “no sir… I’ve been shot.”

Without answering the officer grabbed his radio and called for an ambulance.

There was a sudden burst of gunfire from another shooter, and the police officer quickly ducked down taking cover behind his bullet proof cruiser. John suddenly got very angry, he was tired of these people and he wanted to put an end to their annoyances.

Getting up slowly as to not feel as light headed, John peered around the car there was a large van. Walking around the car John took refuge against the side of the van. He then again peered around the back of the van and saw another man taking pot shots at the cop.

When the police officer saw John he ceased fire. He was not allowed to fire upon civilians. The man took the opportunity to fire off a few more rounds at the police officer. When he did, John ran up behind then man, using one arm to put him in a head lock and the other arm to grab his firing hand and twist it back and away from the cop.

The police officer quickly ran up to them, aimed his weapon at the man, and yelled, "Drop your weapon!"

The man reluctantly dropped his weapon and stopped struggling. The police officer kicked the weapon further away from him.

“Here, you get to cuff him. You deserve it,” the officer joked, unclipping the handcuffs from his belt and handing them to John.

“Sweet…” John said sarcastically

John cuffed the man and threw him to the ground face first.

“There are two others unconscious over there,” John said motioning to the other side of the car.

“Goodness! Have you done this before?”

John clenched his jaw then shook his head, “No…”

“What do are you?” the officer asked.

“A college student... I’m studying for a game art major.”

The officer shook his head in disbelief and then directed his attention to the man on the ground in front of them, “Are there any more of you in the house?”

The man nodded.

“How many?”

“Just one,” the man said with a huff.

The officer looked at John and then the blood oozing from his arm, “You. Sit down and don’t move. Wait here for the back up and the ambulance.”

John nodded and sat down leaning against the side of the garage. The police officer then walked up to the front door of the house pistol at the ready.

John leaned his head against the wall. He felt dizzy and tired and wanted nothing but to go back to bed.

He suddenly heard a yell and then a couple of gunshots. John’s eyes shot open and saw a man burst through the door and heading towards the cruiser, which had been left on.

Without thinking about it, John picked up the gun next to him and sighted the man’s legs as he neared the cruiser. John pulled the trigger and he felt the gun kick back. The man then fell hard to the ground screaming.

John struggled slightly but stood up dropping the gun. He ran inside to see the officer lying against a blood-covered wall. At first, he thought the officer might be dead but he was proven wrong when the officer inhaled heavily and coughed.

John tried to run over to the officer quickly but ended up stumbling hastily. He knelt over the officer and saw that he had been shot in the right side of his chest and was bleeding badly. John placed his hands over the wound to try to stop the bleeding but the thick, hot blood just oozed through his already blood stained hands.

“Stay with me!” John said slapping the officers cheek in order to keep him from blacking out, “You can’t just die…”

There were three loud gunshots each painful impact as they tore through his chest. He looked down to see masses of blood pouring from the holes now in his chest, and he saw his blood that had just splattered all over the officer.

John began to fall over backwards and everything seemed muffled and extremely white. Before he even hit the ground his vision was nothing but a bright, white blur.

John awoke suddenly. His room was dully lit by the gloomy brightness outside, he loved gloomy cold days. He looked out the window and saw that it must have snowed over night. The perfect day to go for a run.

He sat up but there was a sudden pain in his chest, which went away as quickly as it had come.

“That was weird,” John said aloud.

Forgetting about it, he got up and got dressed to go for a run, sliding on a pair of sweat pants and a light jacket.

He left the house to enjoy the fresh, crisp air of the nice and cool morning it was beautiful outside.

John turned down a street and continued at a brisk jog. He then felt déjà vu. When was that last time he had gone running? Was it yesterday? Or was it so long ago he couldn’t remember?

The feeling bothered him but he kept on running … until he saw what looked liked blood on a patch of snow up looked ahead.

He stopped and rubbed his eyes. He looked again but it was gone.

“What’s happening?!” John question himself.

He continued running again but his arm began to ache and suddenly he heard it.

The gunshot. He felt the pain in his arm only it did not hurt all too bad, more like he had just fallen off his bike. He looked down to see his blood oozing from his arm and splattered on the snow.

John turned around slowly to see a man with crazy eyes and a wild smile… He had definitely done this before.

Roderick (2)

I guess I should say that before I was at the state park I had been at my home, having been well hidden for the four days in which the outbreak had already been occurring. I’d received a nasty wound on the very first day before I’d even known that I should have been hiding.

After the four days passed I left, wandering in search of hope. My first thoughts turned towards the wilderness, perhaps there’d be fewer spooks out that way. I met some people along the way from whom I learned that there weren’t just zombies, and that everyone was pretty sure that the zombies were being created by vampires, and I learned what exactly a cannibal is in those terms. I guess maybe you don’t know; a cannibal became the term to describe someone who was bitten by a spook, but hadn’t been fully turned. Just enough so they retained their humanity but still craved flesh. I’m not sure if a cannibal actually needs it. I think it’s more like Wendigo syndrome. I read about that on the internet, I think. It was a proneness to eating flesh, or resorting to cannibalism in survival situations much earlier than other rational people.

Ok, so from the park, I came across the truck, and I quickly decided I would give civilization one last shot, even if it might take a shot at me. That asshole kicked me out of his truck, I ran into the ranger station to avoid the spooks, and here I am.

So I listened to the sounds of someone running, and the spooks slow shuffling away toward it. The sound of running trailed off, and with it the spooks’ shuffling grew quieter and quieter. Knowing that they would likely be outpaced by this savior, and knowing that spooks returned to where they last found food, I decided to make a break for it.

I knew that the road that the truck had been parked on would lead to a highway, and given every zombie scenario I’d ever encountered there were plenty of cars parked on the sides of highways. I figured I’d give it a shot.

While the zombies shambled away I tried to run as quietly as possible, which I discovered can be a very difficult thing to do. One of them caught on, and not wanting to make a scene, I smashed it in the head with my crowbar, peeling back the skull in a very professional manner.

This violent event, which occurred upon the very spot the truck had driven through just moments prior, took me a great deal longer than I intended. I was very distracted by this fresh kill. I left it eventually, but not before seeing the first of the spooks returning to the ranger’s station. I cursed my luck, considered using my pistol to gun a few of them down, and decided upon sprinting in a not so quiet manner.

I had been a runner before this, one of those people you saw running along the sidewalks in the early morning with gym shorts and a headband, and so I knew I could outpace the spooks as well as my savior had. It would be taking a risk, of course. I wished that I hadn’t taken so much time with the spook I killed, so that I could have simply returned to the safety of the ranger’s station.

But now I found myself jogging as I’d always done before, knowing that the spooks would potentially tire of me, perhaps returning to the ranger’s station, believing that there was someone else inside. I was a wishful thinker at that moment.

I jogged a ways along this path; I would like to say for twenty minutes, until I reached the highway. But, as my luck would have it, there were no abandoned cars. I stopped to catch my breath for a moment, knowing that I might see spooks before long.

It was still the dead of night, except now the moon was peeking from the clouds. This enabled a brilliant line of sight into the park, and I knew it would be an unusually handy early-warning system.

From my knowledge of the highway I rested upon, it’d be a few miles more before I reached any semi-habitable place. So I knew I could probably make it to safety before daylight. I took a couple of extra minutes to stretch and waited to see if any spooks shambled out upon the trunks and bushes.

Instead, I heard the running once more. It was up the highway a ways, and at first I could not see her. But she came closer and I could see that it was another survivor. At first I wondered if she would attack me; if she was a cannibal, she would likely pretend to be my friend and then attack me when I let my guard down, but if she were a vampire she wouldn’t have to.

But then again, I knew an easy way to test whether one she was. The pistol I’d retrieved from the ranger’s station was still tucked into the belt that held up my jeans at the waist. One bullet would reveal everything I’d need to know.

While my hand strayed there, it eventually settled on the crowbar. “Hello!” I called, as it was obvious she had already seen me.

She slowed to a walk, and put a finger up to her mouth in a “shush” kind of way. I waited for her to get closer, and she finally said, “What do you think you’re doing? Are you suicidal?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “The trying to steal the truck or the hiding in the ranger’s station?”

“What?” She asked. “No, yelling at me like that.”

“Ah,” I said. “Ok.”

“What about trying to steal a truck?” She said.

“Well, I didn’t try to steal it. It was empty and covered in blood when I first saw it, so I thought it was up for grabs. Then the owner decided he wasn’t dead and took it back,” I said.

“Do you have a safe place to stay for the day?” She asked.

“Not really,” I said. “I’d hoped to get a truck and head for the safe zone.”

“You really are suicidal aren’t you? You know they’re shooting people right? Anyone who tries to break quarantine.”

“I did not know,” I said. “Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Uh,” she said. “Survive?”

“That’s shitty,” I said. I wanted to scream, I think, except I didn’t, and instead just clenched my teeth and balled my fists. It hadn’t ever really impressed upon me until then that all hope was lost, there was no chance of salvation.

“At least until the military carpet bombs everything. I think that’s their plan.”

I wanted to grab my gun and shoot her then; she was so relaxed about this, so relaxed about being the bearer of bad news. I even wondered if she enjoyed it.

“Come on, we’ll screw and drink,” she said finally.

All of my negative emotions resolved, I grinned.

“Maybe in reverse order,” she added. She kissed me on the lips in a very apocalyptic kind of way, and it lasted for ten or so seconds; long enough to get me excited for liberation in a carnal sense. Afterwards, she said, “Come on.” And began to walk down the highway. I followed after staring for a second, delighted in my luck. I pondered upon the strange feeling I had, something about the way she kissed was foreign. Perhaps she was not American. I wondered if they kissed significantly different in different countries.

It’s hard to say how much time passed while we moved along the highway. We walked in silence, only once passing an abandoned car with smashed windows and a ripped out radio. I found a few dollars in a purse in the backseat, and she claimed ownership to a bottle of liquor in the trunk. I wondered about her age, and how much she’d consumed in the past. My first tastes of alcohol had been at age seven though, at my stepfather’s house. Maybe she was like me, and was naturally attuned to such substances.

After passing the abandoned car, we walked along the highway for some more hours, and as the sun began to brighten the horizon in a really warm orange kind of way, she suddenly turned and bounded over a guardrail to step into the forest. I followed after a moment’s hesitation. I wondered where we were then, as I’d known of no town near that part of the highway.

We walked through thick brush and branch before reaching a manor set into a hill overlooking a creek. We approached by way of the creek, I should add, climbing up a ladder to the porch on the back of the structure, where she unlocked a sliding door that led into a grand foyer.

When she shut the cardboard-covered glass door behind us, she said, “Home sweet home.”

“Were you rich?” I blurted.

“A little. It was my mother mostly.” She said.

“Ah,” I said. “How old are you?”

“That’s an odd question to ask,” she said. “And you wouldn’t believe the answer if I told you.”

“Ok,” I said, “Twenty three?” I ventured.

“You flatter me with such conservative estimates,” she said, smiling. She flipped a light switch and I got my first good look at her face; distinctly Arabic, in the exotic kind of way. Her eyes were what caught me the most; the deepest verdant shade of green I’d seen with flecks of gold around the iris. It made me think of a comment my step-father had said once, about how Arabic women always had the prettiest eyes because in the countries they came from that would be the only part of their face not obscured by a burka, and therefore the men would prefer the girls with the “prettiest” eyes.

And I left it at that. She led me to the kitchen, and I took a seat at the end of the dining table closest to the front door. She set the liquor on the table and walked off; we’d soundlessly agreed upon a meal, I thought.

While I waited, I ended up standing up and taking a walk around the kitchen. I decided to look for a glass. The first cabinet I opened contained bowls, and the second was an arrangement of glasses, short and tall. I selected a shorter one and walked back to the liquor my patron had grabbed. I poured myself a shot and downed it, savoring the fiery burst of flavor coursing over my tongue. A minute passed, and I took another.

Roderick (1)

I shone my flashlight over the truck and called out, “Hello?” into its empty windows. There was blood on the outside of the door, which made me assume that whoever the driver had been had been pulled out.

No reply.

I grabbed my crowbar and crawled into the driver’s seat. I jimmied open the panel beneath the steering wheel and connected what wires need to be connected in order to hotwire a car. It was my second time ever doing it, so I moved carefully to not trigger the alarm. Once it agreed to work for me, I turned on the radio and listened.

I flipped up and down the spectrum, past radio stations outside of the quarantine, and finally fell upon one that was a recorded broadcast by the government.

Between the static I got a few words.

[…nearest police station…evacuation…]

I took it to mean that we had to escape to a police station. I turned put the car into drive and awkwardly drove off onto the road. I’d never driven a truck before.

I was thinking about an escape. All I’d ever known was running the past few days, running and killing. My crowbar had done more than simply helped me break into cars and hotwire them.

It was while driving past the park ranger’s station that I heard the transistor in the backseat spark to life. I stopped, set it to park, and crawled back to have a look-see. I saw its bright green lettering flashing, something about some station it’d “found”. All I could hear was someone frantically trying to say something, but it was too quiet to make out any words. I fumbled around the knobs and buttons and came across the volume control.

[please help me please oh god] It sounded like a teenage girl, although I wasn’t sure.

I found a microphone, and quickly spoke once I found the button that’d allow it to receive audio. “Hello? Where are you? Maybe I can help?”

[hello?] she said cautiously.

“Hey, where are you?” I asked.

[who is this?] she asked, suddenly sounding skeptical and calm.

“I’m a policeman. My name is Roderick,” I said. It was a small lie. I’d never had any interest in police work, but I considered myself to be a fine individual.

[Roderick you said? how did you find this]

“Back of a pickup truck, why?”

[my father is the only one who knows this frequency], she said, [is he alright?]

“I didn’t see him,” I said, honestly, “I just found the truck and I needed a ride… So…”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. [he told me he was going to find supplies], she said. [please give him his truck back]

“I can help you though,” I said. “I mean there are reasons why he wouldn’t be with his truck. And I saw an awful lot of zombies back there. I don’t think he’s doing so hot right now.” There was silence from the other side, “Listen, I’m trying to get to the police station in ‘Clark. If you’re on the way there I can break you out. I mean, are you surrounded or what?” I considered going back though, even though I’d said I wouldn’t.

[kinda…] she began coughing.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

[yeah. I'm surrounded.]

Wary suddenly, I made a mental note that I would drive past wherever she was. I wouldn’t waste time on someone that might be showing signs of infection. “So… where are you?”

I didn’t hear her response, if there was one, because I heard a shout and turned my head towards the source, to look straight into the barrel of an over-large revolver. “Get out of my truck, mister.” He spoke with a thick southern drawl.

He had a thick mustache perched over trembling lips. His chin quivered too, and it was then I realized that he had never fired the revolver at a living thing before. Or at least, I felt certain he hadn’t. “Listen, buddy, we can coexist right here. I figured the owner of this truck was long dead. Given the smashed windows and blood, ya know. You can have it back,” I said. With that, I slowly grabbed the door handle and gripped the crowbar with my other hand. “We can team right the fuck up.”

“No sir,” he said. He backed up far enough that I wouldn’t be able to smash in his head with the crowbar.

When I opened the door I tossed my crowbar at his feet and then held both hands up. He lowered his gun slightly, although if he pulled the trigger he’d still probably have gotten me in the chest or legs. I stepped aside slowly, “Why not?” I asked. “Your impression of me right now is that I’m a desperate survivor. Hell, I’m desperate enough to believe that you aren’t some cannibal or vampire. What harm could I—”

“Do I look like a vam’per to you?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said. When he raised his gun again I held by hands out and said, “Just kidding. Chill.”

“No, you’re not jokin’. I’m not gonna kill you though,” he said. “Walk over to the station there. And maybe I won’t injure you.”

“Yes sir,” I said, now feeling quite agitated. He was going to leave me out here. And the zombies were probably going to be closing in at any second. As I stepped back, I said, “You’re the worst sort of asshole, you know that? I’m going to die and you’re going to go on living. I was going to save your daughter, but you’ve wasted enough time here to last two lifetimes. She’s probably succumbed to her infection.”

“How did you know that?” He said. When I grinned (I was so surprised I was right) he pointed the gun at the ground and fired, wasting a perfectly good bullet, “How did you know that?” He repeated.

“I could hear it in her voice, when she hesitated. She sounded a bit hysterically paranoid.” I made great efforts to pronounce every syllable in hysterically paranoid. I figured it would make me sound more intelligent.

“You some kind of doctor?” He asked.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“Do you know a cure?” He asked, his aim wavering.

“We both know there’s no cure,” I said, not wanting to promise something there was no chance of delivering.

“Then get over to that station,” he said, his aim steadying. “And keep your hands in the air until I’m gone.”

I’d really been hoping that I could lie my way into a ride. I was no doctor, but if I could make him believe it, I could get him to let his guard down, smash his head in while he wasn’t looking, and take the truck. “Yes sir,” I said again. I turned and walked away, keeping my hands up. I practically jogged over to it, with the headlights placing the shadow against the wall. I set my hands against their shaded copies and waited. I heard the truck peel away, and the headlights passed.

I was left in the pitch dark of the night. Back to where I started. No ride, a crowbar, and a grenade. My shirt was starting to smell seriously shitty and I was not feeling ready to spend the rest of the night living in terror.

I heard a groan drift down the wind. “Fuck.”

I walked around to the side of the ranger station and found the front door. It was locked, but the crowbar was quite handy in smashing the window, giving me ample opportunity to reach my hand in and flip the lock to its friendliest position. I stepped in and closed it behind me. I saw a bookshelf and quickly flipped it down, and pushed it in front of the door. I walked to the receptionist desk and crawled behind it. I sat down and hoped that the zombies would move on if they couldn’t see me. Yet I could hear them getting closer.

By the number of their growls, moans, and shuffling feet, I knew they were numerous. Too many for my crowbar. I felt the grenade in my pocket, and wondered how it’d feel to pull the pin and wait for it to go off. I’d place it right beside my heart, I thought. I might not even feel a thing.

I could hear them outside the window now, and decided it was too early to give up. I turned around and searched through the shelves in the receptionist’s desk. Papers, pencils, pens, and other things that were completely useless.

Until I reached under the chair and felt the pistol taped there. I ripped it off and by its weight I figured it had a few bullets left in it. If nothing else, it might help me make an escape. I didn’t consider myself to be a marksman by any stretch of the imagination, but if there weren’t a proper swarm of them I knew I wouldn’t need to do much aiming. Just walk up to them until they were about arm’s length away, and then it’d be near impossible to miss.

I stood up, and looked at them. All I could see was their outlines, but they weren’t swaying, or attempting to break in. I wondered if something else had gotten their attention.

I heard the sound of someone running.

social anxiety disorder at a party (thru a guy's eyes)

I am at a party. I’ve had a fair amount to drink and everything is bathed in a warm red-orange glow.

Everyone’s talking to everyone else. I’m struggling to maintain a conversation with a girl who is in a relationship. It’s comforting that she’s in a relationship; I don’t have to watch what I say, and I can be honest. I tell her about college, and listen when she talks about her own experiences. We’ve known each other since middle school, but I know we’ve grown distant, and I know it’s never going to be the way it was before. It’s for the better anyway. I still like her, I guess. I awkwardly end the conversation and she seems relieved. I look for a moment at her beautiful eyes and wish for all the world I could know what it feels like.

I take a walk around the room, stopping by the concentrations of conversation.

This one guy, he plays guitar really well, he knows all sorts of songs and he’s in this cool band, and, like, he thinks it might be a big deal. He’s attracted a crowd of groupies, most of which are immensely attractive girls. I know I’m jealous that I hadn’t put more time into learning guitar. I think about his future. If he gets lucky, he’ll be rich and will never be at a loss for companionship. But it’s always more likely that they burn out somewhere along the way.

I walk on, green envy clouding my thoughts. I stop by a second group, and listen in for a second.

With a grin and narrowed eyes, this well dressed kid speculates on how wonderful it’d be to pop a girl’s cherry. He makes it clear that he really likes having sex. Most of the guys talking to him share similar sentiments. I’m at a loss. More jealous rage in the back of my mind, so I move on.

This other fellow has put in the hours at the gym (his arms ripple with muscle and his face is lean), and has put six or seven shots of whiskey down his throat in the past thirty minutes. He’s loud, liable to brag, but overall friendly. And the girls around him don’t care that he’s obnoxious. They’re attracted to it, even if they don’t know it. It’s the confidence.

Every guy who’s popular with the ladies is confident. I decide that I’ll be more confident. I’ll start socializing.

But I think back to the girl I’d been talking to earlier, and see her standing with her significant other. I get a nod from the boyfriend, an acknowledgement that I’m harmless, and the party continues. I look at everyone and think that I might need to vomit.

I step outside, leaning over the railing, scolding myself for drinking too much. Never again, I think. But nothing arises from my throat, and my stomach calms. I don’t feel how cold the air is. I see hills beyond, and a road winding between the trees.

I wonder what it would feel like to die.

[edit: even though this is in first person, it doesn't mean it's a true story]

Leopold awoke, his arms wrapped around Susan’s waist. His throat burned and his legs were sore. I should be retired. He looked up and saw sunlight creeping in through the windows; the dust in the air manufactured brilliant rays of light. The beauty of the sunlight was dampened, however, when it revealed the peeling wallpaper (with the skeletal wooden walls beneath) and the caked dirt on the windowsill. The rest of the room was empty save he and his wife, their backpacks, and the moldy carpet.

He crawled from his sleeping bag and groggily pulled himself to a sitting position. Deciding that he had gone too long without a smoke, crawled to his backpack; he zipped it open to retrieve a hatchet and a cigar. He ran his fingers against his chin, and feeling the stubble, decided he would shave before doing anything else. He fetched the razor from his backpack’s rear pocket.

He stepped out of the room and walked down the narrow hallway to the bathroom. He turned the faucet handle, expecting it to silently reply that the plumbing was out. Instead, foggy water poured out. He splashed some on his face and then brought the razor up. A cry from outside of the house caught his attention before he touched his cheek. He stuffed his razor into his jacket pocket along with his cigar and turned off the sink.

He ran from the bathroom, taking a brief look inside the room he and Susan had slept in to see that she was still there, to the front door. He opened it slowly, hatchet in hand and muscles tense. He was briefly overwhelmed by the sunlight before his eyes adjusted as he eased open the door.

It was a chilly autumn morning; the frost covered forest was calm and silent. Most of the trees had already dropped their leaves, but a few branches remained with orange and yellow vegetation. A morning fog obscured his vision; he judged that he only had a half mile. He squinted, looking for a source of the scream, when he caught a shaking tree branch. Something leapt out of the fog and climbed into a thick patch of leaves. He couldn’t make out its form very well. He reasoned that it might have been a squirrel or a raccoon.

But he knew better. He’d seen it before from afar, and knew it had been following them. Not one of the quiet ones that grumbled and hummed, but one of the loud ones. One of the ones that didn’t die without putting up a vicious fight.

He took steps out of the doorway to go towards the forest. If nothing else, he could get a better look. And if it was the thing he feared it was, he could distract it from the house. Probably could kill it, too. The dried blood on his hatchet’s head testified to his abilities.

He considered Susan then. She had a rifle, one of the accurate ones that the army used. He turned to walk back inside, and that was when he heard the window break.

He ran in through the living area and down the hallway. As he turned the corner into the room he saw a single black feather floating through the air. It puzzled him, but it also seemed somehow familiar. Where had he heard about the black feathers before? He knelt down and grabbed it. It was oily but light. And he ran his finger along the edge and felt that it was sharp enough that it could probably cut skin if used right. He looked at the broken window and saw blood. He looked out the window and couldn’t see anything. And then he heard the scream again, the same one that had roused him from the bathroom.

He dropped the feather and went back to the front door. As he neared the aperture he heard it breathing, deep ragged inhalations that betrayed what it was. He stood in the open doorway and looked at it, and it looked back at him. It had been a woman once, he could tell it in the face. Her hair had mostly fallen out, although bandages concealed it. Maybe that had been how she was infected in the first place, a head wound. Her outfit was military camouflage, which explained to him why he’d had such a hard time seeing her in the trees. The monster’s eyes were locked on him, tinted red, pupils narrow. Maybe it saw the distracted look on his face.

The feather had meant that it wasn’t this post-soldier that had taken his wife; it had been something else, something worse. And as if reading his thoughts, the monster looked up, screamed once more, and darted off. This last scream was a sound he hadn’t heard one of the monsters make before; it sounded distinctly like fear.

Leopold turned, all of a sudden knowing what was happening. He understood it then. He backed away to get a better look at his roof and saw it there. His wife’s body was skewered on its right claw, and its eye-less head tracked him. Its mouth was open, dripping blood, although it was blood too dark to have been Susan’s. Its teeth swayed like fingers, and he realized that it didn’t breathe. Judging from its scale to his wife’s body, it was somewhat taller than the average man; perhaps eight feet. Leopold’s breath caught in his throat.

The Fleshreaper.

It fluttered twice and then rose into the air, his wife’s body still pierced on its scythe-like claw. It flew off into the trees and he saw that it was like some twisted skeletal version of an angel. Perhaps the reason it needs flesh is because it has lost so much of its own, he thought.

As Leopold was left in the doorstep of the empty house, he felt emotions welling up. But before his face could betray his emotions, he pulled out his cigar, lit the end with a match, and listened to the cold wind whistling through the woods as he took his first puff.

Urban Survival: Chapter 2 part 2

He stuffed his face, he had not eaten good food, or even real food in a few days. The most he had, had to eat was some MREs and although they were filling, he was not a huge fan.

When Max had finished he walked over to the window and looked out. The window overlooked the city street, which, many years ago, used to be crowded with pedestrians and cars but now there was nothing more than the street itself and some rubble.

He decided he was at least on the eighth story of the building. Then he also noticed that there was movement on the ground below. There were still hundreds of groups of Cree attempting to find a way into the building. Max wondered if that was the ‘it’ Aeila had been talking about… he certainly hoped it was not.

Max could see rain drops falling daintily past his prison window, “at least the rain is beginning to let up,” he thought to himself.

He turned around and looked around the room again, while resting against the wall. Max then closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He wondered how his squad was and hoped they had made it back to the safe house all right. They probably thought he was dead.

Max slid down the wall into a sitting position, resting his arms on his bent knees. He was so tired. He had not had a full nights rest in almost week.

The wonderful feeling of sleep was creeping up on Max but he didn’t fight it, instead he let it engulf him.

However, someone shaking him and calling his name suddenly woke him. Max tried to scramble to his feet quickly out of instinct but someone held him down.

“Max! Max, everything’s fine it’s just me,” a female voice said laughing.

Max looked up at her face and saw that it was Aeila.

He looked around, “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know? I was only gone about, maybe twenty minutes.”

Max looked at her confused. He could have sworn it was longer than that but then again he had been asleep.

The Kahnora, Nova stood happily behind Aeila watching them intently. There was a protective grey bone crest over her head that covered all but Nova’s eyes. He also noticed that what he originally thought was smooth skin on Nova was really just short fine hairs. Nova’s pelt was not a solid black either. However, her fur had thin grey tiger stripes running down her sides.

“Come on, get up. I found Marcus, so now you’ve got to go see Jaq. I’m sure he’s already grown impatient.”

“Who is Marcus?” Max asked still sitting.

Aeila laughed, “Get up and I’ll show you. He’s right outside.”

Max got up slowly. Aeila watched him carefully as if she were studying him, Max pretended not to notice and walked over to the desk where he had left his canteen. Picking it up, he clipped it to his belt and turned around. Aeila was still watching him but when she saw that Max had noticed, she looked away quickly and blushed.

“Sorry. Are you ready to go?”

Max smiled, “Do I have a choice?”

“Unfortunately, no. Come on.”

Max followed her through the open door and stepped out into a hallway, Nova tailing closely behind. The hall was lit by floodlights at random intervals. He could hear the faint humming of the generators that were powering them. The two guards that had been watching Max’s prison were nowhere in sight but Max did not think anything of it.

Standing in the hall was an Ayra who looked a bit older than Max. The Ayra was also shorter than the others, just like Aeila.

“Max, this is Marcus” Aeila said leading them down the hallway, “I believe you met him earlier in the parking garage.”

Max nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement following her, “oh, you mean one of the ones who left you to die?”

“Yeah, I told her I was sorry. But Fal would have told the guards to raise the bridge if I didn’t tell them to wait for her. Aeila always finds a way out of trouble.”

Max immediately knew which Ayra it was when he heard his Australian-like accent, “Yeah and if I wasn’t such a nice guy she would be Cree chow.”

Marcus looked at his feet as Aeila lead them through a door to some stairs, “I know what I did was wrong. I just… panicked.”

“It’s okay Marcus, I understand,” Aeila reassured him.

The three of them descended the stairs in silence as Nova ran on ahead.

“So… This ‘thing’ that I need to fix… it doesn’t have anything to do with the hoard of Cree surrounding the building would it?” Max asked worriedly.

Aeila didn’t answer for a couple seconds and began to concern Max, but then she finally said hesitantly, “Sort of…”

Max put on a fake smile, “Oh great! Just what I ordered bloodthirsty carnivores…”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and exited through a door marked with a big number seven.

When Max saw what was on the other side of the door his jaw dropped.

“Max. Welcome to our safe house.” Aeila told Max when she saw his face.

They were in a huge room that would have originally been full of cubicles but now it had a huge hole in the center of the floor with smoke rising up through it into a vent hole in the ceiling. Small huts had been erected along the edges of the room. Max walked over to the edge of the hole and looked down.

The hole went through three floors to where Max could see four floors below him. On the floor farthest down, there was a large bonfire which was what was creating the smoke.

On each floor, there were randomly shaped huts and a bunch of Ayra walking around and talking with one another. Across the room on the floor below him, Max could see a group of Ayra kids kicking around an old soda can.

He could see Nova was already down a couple of stories running around with two other Kahnora. One had a reddish-brown pelt and the other a bluish-green one. Max had only every seen one Kahnora before, he had seen it on one of his scavenge missions but then he had no clue what kind of animal it was.

“Come on,” Aeila said grabbing Max’s arm and leading him around to one side of the hole.

A rectangular section of the floor had been cut out and set up like a ramp down to the next floor. The two Ayra led Max through the mini town and down multiple ramps until they had reached the floor with the bonfire. All the Ayra men and women smiled and waved when they saw Max, Aeila and Marcus walk by.

At first, Max thought that they were waving to Aeila and Marcus but when he looked a bit closer, he saw that they were staring directly at him. At least that is what it felt like. Then Max also noticed that the teenaged Ayra girls were staring at him and giggling as he passed.

Max was very confused. He had no idea that Ayra could be so… friendly. But then again the only Ayra he had ever dealt with before were the POWs captured during the War with the Ayra. And those Ayra were extremely unhappy campers.

Up ahead, Max could see a set of double doors that they were now heading towards and he wondered what Jaq was going to tell him. He could only think about the hoard of angry and probably hungry Cree just outside of the building. If that was what he was supposed to fix… he was a dead man.

Max was interrupted in mid thought when a cocky looking Ayra and two larger cohorts suddenly blocked their path.

“Hey, Aeila. What do you got there? Is that you’re new boyfriend? You know humans are never up to any good.” The Ayra said, his voice trying to sound smooth and sly.

Aeila shifted her weight to her right leg and crossed her arms, “neither are you Syler. Not get out of our way!”

Max noticed that all the happy, cheerfulness in her voice present when she had talked to Max was now completely absent in the words she spoke to Syler.

Nova seemed to have noticed what was going on and stepped in between Aeila and Syler. She growled harshly and bared her teeth. The most eerie thing about it was the fact that Nova’s smooth, short hair was now bristling and seeming to ripple across her body.

“Whoa ho-ho! Come on babe…”

Syler chuckled, “Cute pet.”

He took a step towards Nova and kicked her. Nova yelped and ran to hide behind Aeila, still growling. Syler then tried to lean in and kiss Aeila on the cheek but before he got anywhere Aeila punched him in the gut with all her might. Syler winced as he sucked in sharply for air.

“You’ve always be a strong girl Aeila, but you’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.”

As Syler stepped towards Aeila, Marcus placed his hand on Syler’s shoulder, “Leave her alone Syler.”

Syler spun around and threw Marcus to the ground.

“Syler calm down.” One of Syler’s large cronies tried to tell him.

Looking at the large Ayra he shouted, “Shut… Up!”

Turning back to Marcus, Syler yelled, “You don’t tell me what to do Human! I don’t listen to people like you!”

Max looked awkwardly at Marcus. Was Marcus truly Human? If he were, that would explain his Australian accent. Moreover, if he were Human Max could not resist. This was one of the moments when Max felt he needed to help someone who was in trouble.

As Syler turned back to deal with Aeila he stopped suddenly, almost surprised, when he saw Max standing between him and his “prey”.

“Then maybe you’ll listen me,” Max said squaring his shoulders.

He had no intention of actually fighting but just in case a fight broke out he didn’t want to be caught off guard.

Syler laughed, “That’s cute Human. Now get out of my way.”

The Ayra stepped towards Max to shove him out of the way. But as Syler’s hands touched Max, Max threw his hands up and broke Syler’s contact with him.

Stumbling to catch himself from falling forward, Syler’s face changed from amusement to anger.

Once he regained his balance he again commanded, “Get out of my way!”

Slyer emphasized ‘way’ by swinging his fist at Max, but Max easily deflected the blow. Slyer swung a few more fists angrily, which Max effortlessly blocked. Growing increasingly more aggravated with each blocked punch, Syler threw a low blow.

Max caught Syler’s arm with both hands and twisted so that Syler was forced to turn his back to Max. Max then kicked him in the back sending Syler sprawling. When Syler got up the sight was pathetic. He looked frustrated and embarrassed as if his pride had just been pried from his clutches.

As Syler charged Max desperately, Aeila turned to Syler’s large crony who had tried to calm him down and asked, “Brale, would you please stop Syler before he hurts himself? We need to get going. Orders from Jaq.”

The muscular Ayra nodded, “Sure thing Aeila. He’s getting out of hand anyways.”

Brale walked up behind Syler. Wrapping his arms around Syler’s waist Brale picked him up. He lifted Syler off the ground and away from Max with ease.

“What are you doing you idiot!?” Syler yelled at Brale trying to hit his own man.

Marcus walked over to Aeila, “are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that,” Aeila laughed, then turned to Max, “Thank you. Again.”

Nova let a complimentary whistle as well.

Max nodded, “It was nothing.”

Smiling Aeila led Max and Marcus back down their original path. Nova ran ahead a she had before, trotting through the doorway excitedly.

As they walked through the double doors, Max could hear Syler still yelling at Brale.

“Well that was fun,” Max said to himself sarcastically.

Urban Survival: Chapter 2 part 1

Max opened his eyes slowly. Everything seemed extremely bright, so he had to squint but doing so made his raging headache even worse. For a second he couldn’t remember what had happened, but when he tried to hold his head he realized that he was tied up. Everything that had happened sunk back in and Max hit his head on the ground, angry at himself, ignoring the extra pain he had just caused.

“God Max, what did you do?” he asked himself out loud.

Once he had gotten used to the light, Max looked around. He was in a small room full of old janitorial supplies. There was a door in front of him and a small window in the corner of the room that let in the dull light that Max had thought was so bright at first. From his position on the ground Max could see the faint glare of the sun through the cloud cover and guessed he had only been out for maybe an hour.

He heard the muffled talking of some people outside guessing that they were probably guards stationed outside of his ‘prison’. Max was beginning to regret following that female Ayra, of whom he could not quite remember the name of. Everything still seemed a little fuzzy.

Max’s attention was drawn to the door as it suddenly opened and a very attractive young woman in her early twenties entered the room carrying some kind of tray in her hands. Her slender body was clothed in Human garb; a black tank top and blue skinny jeans. Her brown bangs were brushed over one of her ears.

She was also shorter than the other Ayra, like the one he had met earlier in the parking garage and then he wondered if all female Ayra were shorter than the males. She also looked more Human with her height. Max had seen Ayra without their armor before but he did not know that Ayra could be so… beautiful.

Suddenly a slick black creature bolted through the door moving quickly but stealthily heading towards Max. Max, startled, tried backing away from the oncoming creature but with no luck and felt warm slobber on his face as the creature licked him. Its wide, almost flat head kind of, in a way, reminded Max of a newt or salamander.

He felt defenseless against this creature… well he was, he had no way of protecting his face with his hands tied behind his back.

The female Ayra called the creature away from Max and it walked over to the Ayra excitedly panting and wagging its tail while staring at Max. The creature was the size of a large dog and acted a lot like one as well.

“What is that thing?!” Max asked startled.

She smiled, “This is my Kahnora. Her name’s Nova. She likes you.”

Two guards walked in behind her and she turned to the guards, “Untie him.”

“But Jaq said…”

“I don’t care what Jaq said,” the young Ayra interrupted them.

“Sorry Aeila, we were told to tie him up. Orders are orders.”

Nova began to growl and bared her teeth at the two guards.

“Wait, Aeila? You’re the one who got me into this mess,” Max muttered.

“Well don’t go pointing fingers, but yeah, I helped you stay alive,” Aeila answered, then turned back to the guards, “What? You afraid this one Tiny Human is going to be able to get through two, Big and Strong Ayra like yourself? Come on, for me?”

Max did not like how she exaggerated the word tiny… or big and strong for that matter. He looked at the two guards, they weren’t that big, Max could easily take them bare handed even if they were taller than him. But he kept quiet.

The two guards looked a little uncomfortable with the way she said it as well, but one replied, “Well okay, I guess if you put it that way…”

“Thank you,” Aeila said as the two guards passed her and walked up to Max.

Nova stopped growling and began panting and wagging her tail happily again as each of the guards pulled out a blade and cut the ropes around Max’s wrists and ankles. Max sat up, massaging his wrists and staring at Aeila.

She nodded towards the doors, “you can leave us.”

The two guards looked confused, “But, Aeila…”

“That’ll be all,” she interrupted, again motioning to the door.

The guards reluctantly left the room. Max watched them as they did so, then he turned his attention to Aeila as the door closed behind her.

There was an awkward silence. Then Aeila spoke, “So you know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“Max,” he stated looking her in the eyes.

Aeila smiled, “Well, Max, I brought you some food.”

Max waited to see if she had anything else to say. She didn’t.

“Is that all?” he asked and Aeila just stared at him blankly, “I mean, you guys hold me at gun point, knock me out, tie me up and throw me in a janitor’s closet. And now you’re bringing me food?”

“Yeah… yeah that about sums it up.” She answered him still with a smile on her face.

“Oh, okay cool.” He said, still confused.

Max stood up and stretched but suddenly felt light headed and had to catch himself on a small desk that was nearby.

“Are you alright?” Aeila asked taking a couple steps towards Max and setting the tray on a self next to her.

Max waved her off, “Yeah, I’m fine. Did you bring me some water? I could really use something to drink right now.”

“Oh, I had your canteen filled,” she said grabbing his canteen off the tray she had set down.

Max took it gladly and gulped down half of the canteen’s contents, but he was still careful not to let any of the water drip out of his mouth. He had made it a habit, years ago to not waste any food or water, and get as much as you could, while you could.

When Max finished drinking he stared at the desk he was leaning on, taking deep breaths and thinking. He looked down at himself and just then realized that he had been stripped of all his gear, down to his undershirt and pants. Aeila stood there in silence watching Max as he frantically search for the yarn doll and necklace.

Then he remembered that the necklace was around his neck and he reached for it to feel that it was truly still there, and that is all that really mattered to him... for now anyways.

Max then turned to Aeila with a puzzled look on his face, “Why being so kind to me, a Human?”

“You saved my life.”

When she said this Nova let out a short whistle and began wagging her tail even more violently.

“That can’t be it, can it? Every other Ayra I’ve met thinks I was the one to endanger your home. How many of you are there?”

“A few hundred,” she said interrupting.

“What!”

“Yeah, there are a few hundred of us.”

“Huh, well that’s just great! So hundreds of Ayra, want me dead?” Max asked, freaking out.

“Oh no, no, no over half of them don’t even know you’re here. The ones that know, like Jaq, they just want you to fix it.”

Max stared at her awkwardly, “Fix it?... Fix what? What did I possible do now?”

“Well nothing, but they’re just blaming you for it.” Aeila stated slowly.

“It? Are you ever going to tell me what ‘it’ is?”

Aeila smiled, “Sorry no, um, Jaq wants to tell you himself.”

“Oh? What, is he my buddy now?” Max asked sarcastically.

Aeila laughed, but then her smile faded, “Well you’re not going to like what he has to say.”

Max looked seriously at Aeila setting his canteen on the desk and then pulling himself up onto it in a sitting position, “Well that doesn’t sound too good… Is it life threatening?”

Before Aeila said anything she cocked her head and stared at Max intently. This made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

Max didn’t like the silence and felt relieved when Aeila finally spoke, “You’re bleeding.”

“What? Don’t change the subject!”

“No, your cheek, it’s still bleeding.”

Max reached up and felt the cheek that Jaq had smacked with his pistol. He winced when he touched the large gash on his face. He pulled his fingers away and looked at them; there was wet blood on his fingers.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, let me take a look at it,” said Aeila walking up with an outstretched hand.

She tilted his chin up and leaned in closer for a better look. She grabbed Max’s open canteen and poured some water on the wound making Max jerk away slightly. Aeila opened a small pouch on her belt reaching in and pulling out a piece of cloth. She dabbed the gash gingerly but it still made Max cringe.

His face cringed when she wiped the gash one last time.

She smiled, “sorry.”

Aeila pulled some kind of bandage out of her pouch and placed it over the wound. She pressed gently around the edges of the adhesive part of the bandage to make sure it stayed.

Closing the pouch, Aeila stared once again at Max.

“What?” Max asked uncomfortably.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Aeila looking at him it was just that it was a little awkward.

“Sorry, nothing. It’s just you… you remind me of someone I used to know,” Aeila answered looking away.

“Stop apologizing. It’s okay, really. It’s just… Well, a little awkward.”

“No, I… I understand, sorry.”

Max rolled his eyes and smiled when she said sorry, then all went quiet. Aeila walked over to where she had set down the tray and picked it up.

Walking back over to Max she set the tray down on the desk, “I convinced Jaq to allow you to live with us. But first you have to do something for us, the safe house. I can’t give you any details. Despite what you saw when I came in I really do listen to most orders. Eat up, and I’ll be back to get you. I need to find someone first.”

Max didn’t answer and watched as she walked towards the door. Without another word she knocked on the door and the guards opened it. Nova dashed through the opening excitedly but before Aeila walked out she turned and took one last look at Max then she was gone as the door shut behind her.

Max shook his head and began eating the food Aeila had brought him.