The End

 

 

The end of the world came with neither a bang nor a whimper, but with a growl.

It was the growl of hunger, spewed from the ragged throats of those who had fallen to the plague only to rise up again; the dead reborn.

The sickness came upon us overnight. In the morning, thousands of people were infected. The news plastered the networks with warnings of its indeterminate virulence, showing footage of the walking dead ambling about their lives as though they were unaware of their condition. By nightfall, the dead numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The following dawn, all pretense of their humanity had gone, mundane routines replaced by an appetite that could not be sated. Carnage soon followed.

By the time most people had a sense of things, it was too late. Life as we knew it was over, and escape was a dream never to be realized. The dead outnumbered the living, and they would forevermore.

The streets were clogged with the detritus of fear and the bloody remnants of a reality gone all to hell. Infection was in the air, carried on the rotting flesh of the corpses that refused to lie down and die. They brought with them the plague, and murder besides. Driven to devour the living, their motives unknown, the dead stormed through the city, laying waste to life.

There was no time to prepare, to horde or loot; to fight back. There was only time for terror.

The dead roamed the halls of our mid-town apartment building before the sun had set the first night. We watched the fall of civilization live on television. Despite that, I’d believed us lucky, perhaps even blessed. Money had made our former lives easy, my family and I; Jane and Karen, Toby. Money had provided us with a haven against the horrors of New York, the crimes of our fellow man. Our apartment had come equipped with a safe room, sealed away from the outside world, hidden behind a façade of common books. There was three feet of steel-reinforced concrete between us and the dead. We would be safe behind its sturdy walls.

At least we would have been…had I kept the door closed.

It had been just three days into the epidemic when the power went out, leaving our cramped quarters warm and thick with our panicked breaths. The backup generator hadn’t come on as we’d been told it should, the air stale and heavy in our lungs. The darkness was absolute. We huddled together, a trembling mass of whimpered sobs, and waited, and waited…and waited. It wasn’t until I heard Jane wheeze and shudder against me that I knew we would soon run out of air. Nothing left to do, I cracked the door and whispered a grateful thanks it had been manufactured to open without current.

Despite the bitter scent of sewage and vaguely subtle smell of meat gone bad that slipped into the safe room, it was as if we’d opened the gates to Heaven. We did nothing for several moments but draw air into our lungs, the fear of what lay outside temporarily lost in the pleasure of our next breath.

“Can we leave the door open, Daddy?” my daughter asked a short while later, her words moist with tears. Our plight settled over me once more, like a winter chill.

No electricity to keep the ventilation circulating, no wind to stop the smells of our confinement from gathering, if we were to close the door again the air would stagnate and we would die. For all the chaos of what lay outside, that was my only certainty. Our haven had become a trap.

I had to see to the generator.

My wife and I argued in hushed voices, the stares of the children on us the entire time, their fearful eyes glistening in the gloom. They clung to each other in silence. When at last I had convinced Jane of what must be done, muffled sobs had overtaken the quiet. Against the screaming will of my instincts, I was headed for the basement where the generators were housed.

Not a fan of guns, I hadn’t bothered to put one in the safe room, worried that my children might stumble across it, and betting I would never need it. While I wouldn’t have known how to use the thing anyway, beyond pointing and pulling the trigger, I regretted that decision as I left the safe room unarmed.

We’d agreed that Jane would watch from the door until I was out of the apartment, and then seal the safe room until I came back. Refreshed, the air inside would last for several hours; far longer than I would need to travel down ten flights of stairs and get the generator running. We purposely avoided discussing what would happen if I didn’t return. I kissed them each, just in case.

My family left behind, and with the weight of their eyes on my back, I slipped across the carpeted floor of the apartment. Sitting just as we had left it, the outer door still closed and bolted tight, I felt a burgeoning confidence. Perhaps the dead had been chased from the building, or had left of their own accord in search of easier prey. Built without a peephole and the cameras down, I couldn’t see what lay beyond. I drew up close to the door and set my ear against the frame. Though I could barely focus beyond the frantic rush of my pulse, I heard nothing outside.

I gave my wife the thumbs up sign and quickly dropped my hand, hoping she hadn’t seen how much it shook. She would need all her courage for the children. I stood there and stared at the door a moment before I could bring myself to unlatch the chain and turn the lock. The sounds were like a cannonade in my skull, my skin prickling in their wake.

I waited a few seconds longer, fighting to rein my heartbeat in. At last, I cast one final glance at the crack that led to the safe room, mouthed my love, and turned the knob. The door came open with a quiet creak, a whisper in the pews at church.

Despite the stench that stung my nose and set my eyes to watering, no horror leapt at me from the hall. After a few moments of rigid defiance, my body in revolt and unwilling to move, I steeled my courage and leaned forward. I peeked around the frame and out into the hall with my heart in my throat.

The white tiles, which had once shone so bright under the overhead lights as to force your eyes from the floor to avoid being blinded, were now stained in crusted streaks of brown and black. The hall was lighted only by the windows set at the far ends, filtering the last of the daylight through their half-opened blinds. I had never before seen the hallway so dark, so bleak. It was a labyrinth corridor. Shadows danced in the sunken doorways. I wanted nothing more than to run back to the safe room and bar the door until someone came to rescue us. Reason laughed at me.

With the bitter sound still echoing in my ears, I eased the apartment door shut and stepped out into the hallway, making my way toward the stairwell. My footsteps seemed to follow me in the stillness. I’d only gone about ten yards when I heard a muffled scrape, the sound of a footfall perhaps, out of sync with my own. I stopped and listened and heard it again, behind me. My breath clung to my lungs as I spun about, praying I’d imagined it, but God held no salvation for me.

There in the hallway, not but a short distance from my home, lurked one of the living dead. It shuffled slowly across the tiles, as if on unstable feet. Its yellowed gaze cut through the dimness and settled over me. Behind it, two more spilled from the apartment across the way, shoving at the first for space. I was glad for the murk that blurred the details of their forms, for their stink washed over me as though it were a beast all its own. To see such decay without the filter of darkness would have frozen me in place. On its own, however, the putrescence spurred me to flight.

Able to think of only one safe place, however irrational it might seem, I ran for home. I made it to the apartment door and had flung it aside before it dawned on me how foolish I’d been. My eyes went straight to the obscuring shelf to find it still open, the safe room exposed. Just outside, Toby clutched an armful of stuffed animals. He stared at me with wide eyes, too surprised to be afraid. I stopped short to keep the dead from seeing him. Jane screeched, startling him into motion. He scrambled to his mother’s side, leaving a trail of scattered animals behind.

I sighed as he slipped inside the safe room, but another of Jane’s shrieks brought me back to the moment. A low-rumbling growl rang out at my ear, followed by a blow the shoulder. Foul air whipped past and I was knocked forward, crashing to the floor. My face bounced off the carpeted ground, and I felt the skin scraped from my cheek. The burning sensation lasted only an instant as my shoulder erupted in an inferno of its own. An encompassing whiteness crowded my eyes, a snowstorm of agony. Something grabbed my leg and I heard the sharp tear of material. The searing sense of flesh being ripped away cleared my sight. A weight pressed down upon me.

“Close the door,” I yelled, the words coming out in a high-pitched crackle.

Jane only stared, clutching to Toby as they stood just inside the room. The color drained from their faces as the dead at my back tore yet another piece of me away, a rough tugging at my calf sending icepick shards of pain up my leg.

I could see the terror in her eyes through the darkness that encroached upon my vision, the rigid stiffness of her as she clung to our boy. She wouldn’t move in time; she wasn’t able.

Though I couldn’t rationalize what was happening on a conscious level, the dead somehow returned to stalk the living, I understood, without any doubt, my time had come. I couldn’t save myself, but I could give my family one last chance at survival.

As the world blurred before me, I lashed out, swinging my arm at the creatures to my rear. My fist struck bone and I heard a snap, like a twig breaking. My hand went numb in an instant. The corpse on top of me stumbled, tearing away another piece of my leg, but the confining pressure at my back was gone.

I pulled myself to my knees, ignoring the pain that shredded my nerves as though I crawled across a sheet of shattered glass, and got to my feet. Hungered growls sounded behind me as the dead advanced. That was all I could hear.

I could barely stand, gravity threatening to pull me down against the unstable support of my nearly severed leg. Knowing I would falter should I look at my wounds, I kept my eyes on Jane and Toby, Karen’s pale face peering out at me from around them.

The growls drew closer as I stumbled toward my family, too slow even to outpace the dead. I smelled their rank foulness as they closed, and could feel their putrid shadows falling over me. Nothing left to do, failure looming like a guillotine, I gathered the last of my strength and leapt forward.

My crippled leg exploded in a tempest of pain as I pressed it to action, but it held just long enough. I dove through the air, free of the corpses that trailed me, my arms outstretched.

“I love you,” I screamed, hoping my family would hear and understand.
I struck the ground in front of the concealing shelf, my arm and shoulder sliding into it with just enough force to set it in motion. It swung on silent hinges, books tumbling down on top of me. The shadowy world beyond the door rapidly disappeared. Jane’s face seemed to crack, deep lines furrowed across her brow as she must have realized that moment was the last we’d ever see of each other.

I’d done all I could. She was on her own.

The bookshelf latched tight with a click, and the growls descended upon me. That was how my world ended…

~

Or so I believed.

I awoke with a scream, scrambling into consciousness. The stained wood of the bookshelf filled my eyes. I sat up quick when I saw the scattered books, torn pages and broken spines surrounding me. The back of the shelf had been clawed at. Deep gouges covered its face, the varnish torn away in places where splinters of sharpened wood stuck out askew, but I could see nothing of what lay beyond. My eyes lingered on the damage as my hand crept forward to grasp the edge, fingers creaking as they closed on it. I tugged. The concealing shelf didn’t budge.

Relief flooded over me, then fear followed on its heels. I spun my head about to see that the dead had gone. The front door hung open as I’d left it, but I could not hear their shambling voices. Perhaps God had not abandoned me after all.

I went to rise, getting to my knees with ease, and then to my feet. My leg collapsed the moment I stood, and I tumbled to the blood-stained carpet. I had forgotten about my wounds. I felt the impact of the floor, but was surprised to feel no pain.

Bent beneath me, I straightened my leg to examine it. From the calf down, there was nothing. Blackened tendrils of flesh hung from its jagged end, a shard of bone protruding. I stared at the ruin of my leg as though it belonged to someone else, feeling nothing. There was no hint of the pain one would expect from such a grievous injury or the sickness at its revelation. I truly felt nothing.

With a cautious finger I reached down and poked my wound. I sensed rather than felt its pressure, but still there was no flash of pain, no sense of hurt. I pushed harder, but it felt no different the second time. Following along its length with my eyes, the leg ran to my hip, confirming it was mine.

I’m paralyzed, was my first thought before I remembered I had climbed to my feet just moments before. It made no sense, but before I could ponder it further, I heard a low grumble. My gaze snapped to the front door. One of the dead stood there staring at me. I recognized it. It was the same creature that had surprised me in the hallway.

I scrambled back against the bookshelf in expectation of its charge, but the corpse simply growled once more and wandered back into the hall. Muscles knotted from tension, I shook my arms loose once I’d heard its voice fade away. I went to sigh but my breath was dormant in my lungs. I glanced down at my chest to see that it sat without motion. The uncomfortable thought that I was not breathing flickered to life inside my mind. However, there was no panic at the realization. That was worse than the revelation itself.

I couldn’t understand how I could still live yet not breath, be so hurt and yet not feel pain. A gentle throbbing seemed to fill my head as I chased the tail of my thoughts, no sense to be found in its depths. I pushed sluggish reason aside and rose once more to my knees. I’d been given a second chance, for whatever reason, and all I wanted was to be with my family.

The shelf supporting me, I got to my remaining foot and leaned against the wall, knocking hard on the wooden backing.

“It’s me,” I shouted, though the words tumbled out like crumbling stones. To clear my throat, I coughed. It sounded no better when I tried again, my tongue seeming too raw, too swollen, to produce words. I knocked again, but I knew they wouldn’t answer if they couldn’t tell it was me; if they could even hear me.

Black dots danced at the edges of my vision. I blinked to chase them away, but they only grew worse, as though something stained my eyes. My head thundered like a storm brewed inside. I could feel the clouds rolling in, coating my thoughts in a misty haze.

The bookshelf loomed before me. I knocked to no response and knocked harder still. They had to hear me. Had to know I was there. Why wouldn’t they answer?

“Jane.” The dead rumbled nearby. “Toby! Karen!”

They must hear them. That’s why. I looked behind to see an empty room. Wondering at the sounds, I turned back to knock once more.

Something inside me settled without warning, giving way with a wet hiss. Blackened ooze ran down my pant legs and splattered to the floor, forming a steaming puddle about my foot. Bits of reddish meat floated in the muck, strange shapes squirming in it. I flinched at the sight, readying myself for the stench I knew must follow, but there was none. My feces stained the carpet, bubbling up from beneath my shoe as I shifted to stay standing. I paid it no mind. There was only my family.

“Jane!” The roar of the dead drowned my voice.

A chill settled over the room as I pounded on the shelf. She had to hear me. She had to. I needed in before the dead returned. I needed in.

Something moved across my field of vision. I blinked, rubbing at my eyes to chase the squirming tendrils away, but they seemed to multiply; shadowy worms breeding in the pits of my eyes.

Blackness flickered…

~

Eyes open, I saw the shelf; scarred. Streaks of blood smeared its battered face. The dead had come back. They wanted my family. Jane. Toby. Jane and…Karen. Karen. My daughter. The door kept us apart. The dead, but I knew…I knew…if I just…just…if I…

The door opened; a crack. Gasps whistled behind its darkness.

I knew…if I…knew…if I just waited.

I pulled the door aside. Screams filled my head. My family, I’d scared them. I hadn’t…

“Shhh,” I called out, hearing the dead roar.

There was terror in Jane’s eyes. Toby clung to her, Karen beside. They could hear them…hear the dead coming. I wouldn’t let them be hurt. Not my family.

“I love you,” I told them. The dead were close. They growled at my back.

I stumbled inside, the door yanked shut behind me. I heard it latch.

My family would be safe now.

Safe from the dead.