Annie hasn't breathed fresh air in the past 3 weeks. Not since the sirens started and not since they died out 6 days ago. She assumed the reserve batteries in the city building had gone out, but it could have been the things that used to work there and live all around her. The light had dimmed like a storm had come, but no rain fell and no wind blew. The only thing to arrive at her door were former neighbors as former human beings. She watched them bang on the Kent's door and tear inside with only screams from Martha and then silence.
She hasn't opened her door since that day. Her favorite end tables had gone to the only two windows in the place and only light from the tiny window in the bathroom managed to penetrate her cave. Her food supply was beginning to dwindle and had only lasted this long thanks to organizing the neighborhood canned food drive for the homeless. The first week was filled with meaty stews and beans followed by a week of more watery fare. The past few days had been spent rationing out four cans of creamed corn and 3 cans of french cut green beans. She was getting a bit desperate, but not desperate enough to open the door.
As if on cue, the doorbell rings. She creeps to the peep hole but can't see anything in the night. While her eye is focusing in on the house across the street still on fire, the doorbell rings again. She backed away from the door and stood in silence for a few minutes until the doorbell rang again. Out of far expired instincts, she called out. "Who is it?"
A slight pounding against the door could be heard and then a low guttural groan came as a reply. "Huh-HUH-huh-huh!" She almost thought she understood the voice even in grunt form. After a few moments, he repeated himself. "Huh-huh-huh-huuuuh!" Annie felt a sense of cabin fever build as she began to sense a translation forming in her head. A lack of human contact became more apparent as Annie answered back to her former delivery man.
"Delivery? For little old me? But I didn't order anything." She smiled flirtatiously although no one could see it but Annie. She could her scraping on the other side of the door and a frantic grunting of the same message as if that would get him in faster.
"What kind of delivery do you have for me today?" The repeated grunting stopped as if the thing outside was thinking hard about what she might want. She waited long enough to where she almost asked again when the voice came back.
"HuhhuhHUH?" She finds herself astonished to think she understands what is being groaned to her from behind the door. She could swear he said 'chocolate'.
"Chocolate? No, thank you. I don't have time for empty calories."
"HuhHUH?" He's prepared for her refusal of chocolates. He's a strategist, this one is.
"Flowers? That's sweet, but I don't get much sunlight in here and they'd fall to pieces quickly in here." She ends this statement with a slight giggle at the absurdity of the situation. The laughter seems to irritate the voice as a loud line of angry groans followed that she thought could be taken as vulgarity. After a stream of profanity, the groan impatiently tried again.
"Huh HUUH!"
"Milkman? That's just being silly, isn't it? This isn't the 50s or 60s. People go to the store for these things nowadays though the convenience of delivered milk would be nice to have."
"HuhHUHhuh?"
"Insurance! That's crazy! Who sells insurance these days door to door and who would be stupid enough to buy insurance at a time like this? There are things out in this world now that want to get in and hurt me and money from a policy won't keep them away."
"HuhHUH!"
"Oh, a zombie. That very honest of you. Come on in." Annie reaches her hand to the door and unlocks the deadbolt.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Experimental Occupations
20 seconds... Sean stares blankly at the clock through the hole in his hand. The searing sensation from 20 seconds before was fading from the nerve endings and would stop invading his brain in about 10 more. The bucket he held his hand over had filled with the gore that his childhood friend from across the street would have loved in a movie, but now lay empty of blood. Instead the piece of flesh had reabsorbed the lost blood and begun to reform into a clay like texture he would have run through a strainer to make fake silly hair for his Mr. Potato Head when he was younger.
30 seconds... He watched the lump of material in the bucket begin to bubble and shift as it doubled in size. The process of regrowth was startling to watch every time he saw it. Now at his 56th viewing as evidenced by his running diary of accidents, Sean knew what would happen if he did not intervene in the growing mass of cells formerly belonging to him. The mass would continue to grow until it reached nearly 100 pounds in weight and began reforming into another person.
45 seconds... The hole in his hand had been bubbling like the mass in the bucket and had resealed. When the sensation fully returned to his hand and the tingling like he'd been on a riding lawnmower for three hours with a bad case of the shakes, Sean would write in his hand that a 2 inch hole sealed in 45 seconds as part of his homemade instruction manual. Since he realized there was something strange going on with his body in the way of regeneration of damaged cells, Sean did not want to go into the unknown day after day, so he started tracking the details and delays in healing he experienced. He refused to go about life as if he were indestructible because he knew he was not. He could be broken and destroyed. He could be shot and would bleed like anyone else. He would not go about his life like he could not be killed because he could be. Even if he had technically been dead several times and would be rebuilt, he could not risk what he was watching at that moment.
60 seconds... He began to see the first signs of hair and facial features in the bucket as he tipped the bucket over to avoid it being destroyed when another version of himself was formed from his discarded matter. The timing had gone similar to test 48 where a wayward rock kicked up from a truck on the freeway had ripped through the fleshy section of his hand and left it bubbling on the side of the interstate. Sean had slammed on the break and skid to the side of the road before making his run backwards the quarter mile to avoid leaving a naked version of himself on the road side.
75 seconds... Sean recognized his own eye looking up at him from the blue carpet of the shooting range. Limbs had begun to take shape and Sean threw a towel over the new version of himself to give himself some privacy in case security wandered in and found them there. In a pinch, he would have to claim he and his twin brother had made a bet and would likely just get kicked out after hiding out in the building after closing. Tonight, however, would be like the last few times.
90 seconds... The limbs begin to bubble on the ends and the shape of feet and hands can be seen. If his estimates are correct, he would be standing beside himself in 30 seconds from now. In the past year since his treatments, Sean had found himself face to face with a mirror image only 7 times. His previous injuries sent Sean panicky at first. Cutting off the tip of his finger, he quickly grabbed it to put it on ice expecting to rush the the hospital and hope for a reattachment. The moment he placed the tip in the palm of his hand, it disappeared into a pool of water and muddy looking dust. When he looked at the finger he had cut, it was healed.
105 seconds... It wasn't until he cut himself over a drainage grate that Sean was forced to watch the blob grow. It quickly became too big for the drain and expanded until a mass of flesh was pressing up on the bottom of the grate. The metal cut the newly formed flesh as Sean reached down to touch the mass, a smear of blood contacted his undamaged fingertip and the mass splashed down as a puddle of water and drained away like some sick hallucination.
120 seconds... Sean puts a hand out to steady his naked doppelganger and helps him to his feet. 120 seconds? his double asks. Yes Sean thinks and is pleased to see his twin self hears it. So this is why we let a new copy form this time. I remember now. the twin thinks. That and the healing time for a bullet wound. I believe we are done here for tonight. Sean thinks. The twin nods his head and walks to the near drain in the floor before ripping a chunk of flesh up from his palm. Reaching out the damaged palm, the twin grabs Sean's healed hand and splashes to the ground. When security walks in five minutes later, Sean is sweeping the mess of mud into a broom pan and dropping it into his custodial cart's trash can.
"Good evening, sir." Sean tips his hat to the security officer and wheels his equipment out the door. The gun hidden beneath the trash can, Sean packs up his stuff and heads home. Done with his chapter on gunshot wounds, Sean will quit the job the next day.
30 seconds... He watched the lump of material in the bucket begin to bubble and shift as it doubled in size. The process of regrowth was startling to watch every time he saw it. Now at his 56th viewing as evidenced by his running diary of accidents, Sean knew what would happen if he did not intervene in the growing mass of cells formerly belonging to him. The mass would continue to grow until it reached nearly 100 pounds in weight and began reforming into another person.
45 seconds... The hole in his hand had been bubbling like the mass in the bucket and had resealed. When the sensation fully returned to his hand and the tingling like he'd been on a riding lawnmower for three hours with a bad case of the shakes, Sean would write in his hand that a 2 inch hole sealed in 45 seconds as part of his homemade instruction manual. Since he realized there was something strange going on with his body in the way of regeneration of damaged cells, Sean did not want to go into the unknown day after day, so he started tracking the details and delays in healing he experienced. He refused to go about life as if he were indestructible because he knew he was not. He could be broken and destroyed. He could be shot and would bleed like anyone else. He would not go about his life like he could not be killed because he could be. Even if he had technically been dead several times and would be rebuilt, he could not risk what he was watching at that moment.
60 seconds... He began to see the first signs of hair and facial features in the bucket as he tipped the bucket over to avoid it being destroyed when another version of himself was formed from his discarded matter. The timing had gone similar to test 48 where a wayward rock kicked up from a truck on the freeway had ripped through the fleshy section of his hand and left it bubbling on the side of the interstate. Sean had slammed on the break and skid to the side of the road before making his run backwards the quarter mile to avoid leaving a naked version of himself on the road side.
75 seconds... Sean recognized his own eye looking up at him from the blue carpet of the shooting range. Limbs had begun to take shape and Sean threw a towel over the new version of himself to give himself some privacy in case security wandered in and found them there. In a pinch, he would have to claim he and his twin brother had made a bet and would likely just get kicked out after hiding out in the building after closing. Tonight, however, would be like the last few times.
90 seconds... The limbs begin to bubble on the ends and the shape of feet and hands can be seen. If his estimates are correct, he would be standing beside himself in 30 seconds from now. In the past year since his treatments, Sean had found himself face to face with a mirror image only 7 times. His previous injuries sent Sean panicky at first. Cutting off the tip of his finger, he quickly grabbed it to put it on ice expecting to rush the the hospital and hope for a reattachment. The moment he placed the tip in the palm of his hand, it disappeared into a pool of water and muddy looking dust. When he looked at the finger he had cut, it was healed.
105 seconds... It wasn't until he cut himself over a drainage grate that Sean was forced to watch the blob grow. It quickly became too big for the drain and expanded until a mass of flesh was pressing up on the bottom of the grate. The metal cut the newly formed flesh as Sean reached down to touch the mass, a smear of blood contacted his undamaged fingertip and the mass splashed down as a puddle of water and drained away like some sick hallucination.
120 seconds... Sean puts a hand out to steady his naked doppelganger and helps him to his feet. 120 seconds? his double asks. Yes Sean thinks and is pleased to see his twin self hears it. So this is why we let a new copy form this time. I remember now. the twin thinks. That and the healing time for a bullet wound. I believe we are done here for tonight. Sean thinks. The twin nods his head and walks to the near drain in the floor before ripping a chunk of flesh up from his palm. Reaching out the damaged palm, the twin grabs Sean's healed hand and splashes to the ground. When security walks in five minutes later, Sean is sweeping the mess of mud into a broom pan and dropping it into his custodial cart's trash can.
"Good evening, sir." Sean tips his hat to the security officer and wheels his equipment out the door. The gun hidden beneath the trash can, Sean packs up his stuff and heads home. Done with his chapter on gunshot wounds, Sean will quit the job the next day.
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