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"Shoot him in the head, Man!"
May. 13th, 2011 02:57 amNo exit. Four boarded windows and a single door propped shut with a book shelf. Through the cracks between the boards necrotic hands reach as far in as they can and snatch away feverishly. Sitting dead center in the room, huddled around the TV on the floor, sit Charlie and Ollie staring blank-faced into the glow of hissing static.
“What else is on?” Ollie whines.
Charlie flips through some channels – gets static, static, static, test signal drone, static, static, a preacher – “… well folks, it sure looks like all them there atheistarians and secular feminists were talking out their asses when they said that Judgment Day was an antiquated metaphor at best…”
“Wait!”, Ollie perks up, “Go back a few.”
Charlie dutifully cycles back past the static until hitting the high-pitched wail of the Emergency Broadcasting System.
“There!” Ollie shouts excitedly, “Turn it up.”
Charlie shrugs and complies.
Ollie starts bobbing his head furiously and begins spitting out an improvised techno drum beat to accompany the signal drone: “Daa-da-da-daa-da-da-daa…”
Charlie blinks at him with naked astonishment as Ollie continues the beat well past the point of reaching complete and utter absurdity. Once Ollie switches the flow and begins human beat-boxing, Charlie snaps out of the shock of his friend’s spectacle.
“Enough!” Charlie kills the power with a jab of the remote and throws it towards the window.
One of the necrotic hands catches the remote, points it towards the TV and clicks the power back on. The drone fires up again and Ollie immediately goes back to human beat-boxing.
“Aw, c’mon…,” Charlie groans as Ollie starts weaving his torso into a sitting dance.
Finally Charlie gets up and turns off the TV manually.
Ollie stops dancing and lowers his head in a sulk.
The hand at the window clicks the set back on.
Ollie pops back up and resumes dancing and beat-boxing.
Charlie kills the set again. Ollie sulks. The hand turns it back on and repeat as necessary.
Charlie yanks the TV up and throws it towards the window but misses and it crashes into the wall instead. The hand mechanically clicks away at the smashed set, gives up and drops the remote to resume blindly reaching for Charlie… or Ollie, it isn’t particularly picky.
“Dude,” Ollie gasps shocked at the wreckage, “what’re you doing? This ain’t even our place.”
Charlie stands there and stares at Ollie with a silence set somewhere between confusion and contempt.
“I’m just saying…,” Ollie shrugs and stares around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Outside the window the collective moan of the horrors outside begin to seep through the small room. Ollie looks more bored than terrified. His face then lights with the glow of inspiration, snapping his fingers victoriously before producing his cell-phone.
“It’s no good, man.” Charlie snorts and shakes his head sadly, “9-1-1’s been down since this whole dead coming back to life thing started.”
“What’re you talking about?” Ollie huffs and shrugs. He keys away at the phone pad until producing a simple game involving monkeys and holes.
Ollie starts to say something but fails to. Instead he clears his throat to get his friend’s attention. Failing he tries again with a more direct - “Ollie, I need you to listen to me for a second here.”
Ollie rolls his eyes with frustration and pauses the game.
“What?”
“I...,” Charlie tries to summon the words but fails.
“Yeah?”
“I…, look uh, so here’s the thing…,” and Charlie rolls up his sleeve and produces a noticeably infected bite mark on the inside of his arm.
Ollie whistles appreciatively, nods once and then after a respectful period has elapsed in awkward silence, says the only thing a friend can say at a time like this – “Shit.”
“Ollie…,” Charlie chokes and speaks up with a trembling voice, “it’s bad man. I don’t… I don’t how long I got ‘til I… I dunno, become one of them.”
“Which one?” Ollie asks.
“What…?”
“No, I mean which one bit you?”
Charlie glares at his friend: “Does it even matter?”
Ollie thinks about it for a minute and offers: “Well, no, I s’pose not in the long run. But if I had to get bit I would hope it was by one of the hot ones.”
“…?”
“I mean, like, sure I know they’re dead and kinda gross. But, like that naked one that was chasing us through the parking lot with the big…”
“Okay, just stop right there…”
“… fine.” Ollie shrugs peevishly. “Just saying is all.”
Neither man says anything for a charged moment. Finally Ollie, eyes ticking between Charlie and the phone, finally hits resume. He dives blissfully back into game and taps his thumbs away energetically.
Charlie storms over to Ollie, snatches the phone and hurls it towards the window. One of the hands plucks it out of mid-air, gives an appreciative grunt and begins tapping away at the game with another hand.
“C’mon, dude!” Ollie protests, looking longingly at his phone in the creature’s hands, “Now that thing’s gonna fuck up all my scores.”
“Listen to me, man.” Charlie kneels down besides his friend. “I’m going to ask you for a favor. The biggest I’ve ever asked you. Asked any man, really…”
“Charlie, dude, you’re my brother from another mother and always will be… but I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”
“Do what, man?” Charlie looks around confused and back to his friend, “I haven’t even asked you anything yet.”
“I know man and I want to save you the embarrassment of having to. I know it’s your last night on earth and all, so you don’t wanna go out, um…” Ollie pauses then makes air-quotes around the word “alone.”
“Wha…?”
“I mean, maybe if we were drunk…,” Ollie pontificates with a scratch of his chin, “or if I got to be on top.”
Charlie shakes his head and pulls out a pistol tucked behind the back of his shirt.
Ollie continues to stare off imagining the possibilities for a few drawn out seconds before noticing the gun pointed at him. When he does he jumps up startled – “Holy Bejesus!”
“Ollie… I need you to shoot me.”
“Whoah, whoah, whoahhhh… how long have you had that thing?”
“Some hillbilly type when we were hiding out in that truck stop… pried it from his cold dead fingers.”
“Damn!”
“So, uh… would you do the honors?” Charlie hands the gun over to Ollie.
“I’ve uh, wow… I’ve never well…”
“I know man. I know it’s a lot to ask. But please, bro. Please, I don’t want to be one of those things and I can’t, I can’t do it myself.”
Ollie nods solemnly and accepts the weight of the pistol with reluctant hands.
“So, how do I, uh, how do I do this?”
Charlie grimaces and shrugs, “It’s just like everything else. Just point and click.”
“Well, uh, when do you want me to… you know?”
“Sooner than later. I mean, why put it off, right?”
Ollie nods – “On three then?”
“On three.”
Ollie counts down slow – “One… two… three!”
He closes his eyes and fires.
He holds his eyes closed for a second and after a few moments finds the will to look over.
Charlie is still kneeling there looking at his friend impatiently – “You missed.”
“I can see that.” Ollie looks at pistol bewildered and with a single finger jammed in his ear tries to wiggle the ringing out of it. “You want I should try again?”
“Yeah…”
Ollie looks away, levels the pistol at his friend and fires.
An inhuman scream tears through the room.
Ollie looks over and sees Charlie clutching at his now significantly bleeding shoulder.
“Shit…, sorry, sorry.”
“S’okay…,” Charlie gasps clutching at the wound and growling between gritted teeth, “I know… I know this’s gotta be hard for you man. But I need… I need you to look at me when you shoot. Okay?”
“Okay!” Ollie stands up, paces around for a few seconds, huffing and puffing and getting his game face on.
“You ready?” Charlie croaks.
Ollie spins around and fires.
Another wail of pain as Charlie’s kneecap explodes in a sea of bloodied bone shrapnel.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ollie throws the gun down to the floor.
The gun goes off on impact and discharges. Narrowly missing a wincing Charlie…
… sending the bullet to ricochet around the room like an angry wasp, zig-zagging impossibly around the room before burying itself into Charlie’s other shoulder.
Charlie releases an animal scream of pure agony that segues into open sobbing.
“Okay, okay… just give me the gun fer chrissakes!” Charlie snarls reaching out for the pistol with snapping fingers. Ollie picks up the gun carefully and hands it gently to his buddy.
“I thought, you couldn’t do it yourself?” Ollie says and Charlie jams the pistol straight into his friend’s face. He holds it there a moment, fighting the urge not to squeeze the trigger… before finally thrusting it to the side of his temple.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Charlie mutters through winced eyes and pulls the trigger.
Click.
Charlie’s eyes bolt open. He tries again. Click. He tries again. Click.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Charlie howls and throws the gun at Ollie.
Ollie doesn’t dodge but Charlie’s shot careens wildly off course and straight to the window.
There one of the hands through the window grabs it, points the barrel towards Ollie and pulls the trigger.
Bang… and Charlie and Ollie just stare stupidly at one another for a second, before Ollie collapses to the floor in a thump.
The hand then turns the gun on Charlie and fires…
… click.
Click. Click. Click… until the creature grows frustrated and throws the pistol at Charlie.
Sending the pistol to bounce directly off Charlie’s head.
“Ow!”
Charlie just lays there slumped rubbing his head and looking at Ollie.
“Idiot!” He hisses and fights back the tears.
Another second or so passes before with a sigh of resignation – “Well, if you can’t beat ‘em.”
And Charlie finds the strength to rise up from a puddle of his own blood, shamble towards the door, with great effort slides and the last of his ebbing strength, he slide the shelf out of the way to begin prying open the door.
“What else is on?” Ollie whines.
Charlie flips through some channels – gets static, static, static, test signal drone, static, static, a preacher – “… well folks, it sure looks like all them there atheistarians and secular feminists were talking out their asses when they said that Judgment Day was an antiquated metaphor at best…”
“Wait!”, Ollie perks up, “Go back a few.”
Charlie dutifully cycles back past the static until hitting the high-pitched wail of the Emergency Broadcasting System.
“There!” Ollie shouts excitedly, “Turn it up.”
Charlie shrugs and complies.
Ollie starts bobbing his head furiously and begins spitting out an improvised techno drum beat to accompany the signal drone: “Daa-da-da-daa-da-da-daa…”
Charlie blinks at him with naked astonishment as Ollie continues the beat well past the point of reaching complete and utter absurdity. Once Ollie switches the flow and begins human beat-boxing, Charlie snaps out of the shock of his friend’s spectacle.
“Enough!” Charlie kills the power with a jab of the remote and throws it towards the window.
One of the necrotic hands catches the remote, points it towards the TV and clicks the power back on. The drone fires up again and Ollie immediately goes back to human beat-boxing.
“Aw, c’mon…,” Charlie groans as Ollie starts weaving his torso into a sitting dance.
Finally Charlie gets up and turns off the TV manually.
Ollie stops dancing and lowers his head in a sulk.
The hand at the window clicks the set back on.
Ollie pops back up and resumes dancing and beat-boxing.
Charlie kills the set again. Ollie sulks. The hand turns it back on and repeat as necessary.
Charlie yanks the TV up and throws it towards the window but misses and it crashes into the wall instead. The hand mechanically clicks away at the smashed set, gives up and drops the remote to resume blindly reaching for Charlie… or Ollie, it isn’t particularly picky.
“Dude,” Ollie gasps shocked at the wreckage, “what’re you doing? This ain’t even our place.”
Charlie stands there and stares at Ollie with a silence set somewhere between confusion and contempt.
“I’m just saying…,” Ollie shrugs and stares around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Outside the window the collective moan of the horrors outside begin to seep through the small room. Ollie looks more bored than terrified. His face then lights with the glow of inspiration, snapping his fingers victoriously before producing his cell-phone.
“It’s no good, man.” Charlie snorts and shakes his head sadly, “9-1-1’s been down since this whole dead coming back to life thing started.”
“What’re you talking about?” Ollie huffs and shrugs. He keys away at the phone pad until producing a simple game involving monkeys and holes.
Ollie starts to say something but fails to. Instead he clears his throat to get his friend’s attention. Failing he tries again with a more direct - “Ollie, I need you to listen to me for a second here.”
Ollie rolls his eyes with frustration and pauses the game.
“What?”
“I...,” Charlie tries to summon the words but fails.
“Yeah?”
“I…, look uh, so here’s the thing…,” and Charlie rolls up his sleeve and produces a noticeably infected bite mark on the inside of his arm.
Ollie whistles appreciatively, nods once and then after a respectful period has elapsed in awkward silence, says the only thing a friend can say at a time like this – “Shit.”
“Ollie…,” Charlie chokes and speaks up with a trembling voice, “it’s bad man. I don’t… I don’t how long I got ‘til I… I dunno, become one of them.”
“Which one?” Ollie asks.
“What…?”
“No, I mean which one bit you?”
Charlie glares at his friend: “Does it even matter?”
Ollie thinks about it for a minute and offers: “Well, no, I s’pose not in the long run. But if I had to get bit I would hope it was by one of the hot ones.”
“…?”
“I mean, like, sure I know they’re dead and kinda gross. But, like that naked one that was chasing us through the parking lot with the big…”
“Okay, just stop right there…”
“… fine.” Ollie shrugs peevishly. “Just saying is all.”
Neither man says anything for a charged moment. Finally Ollie, eyes ticking between Charlie and the phone, finally hits resume. He dives blissfully back into game and taps his thumbs away energetically.
Charlie storms over to Ollie, snatches the phone and hurls it towards the window. One of the hands plucks it out of mid-air, gives an appreciative grunt and begins tapping away at the game with another hand.
“C’mon, dude!” Ollie protests, looking longingly at his phone in the creature’s hands, “Now that thing’s gonna fuck up all my scores.”
“Listen to me, man.” Charlie kneels down besides his friend. “I’m going to ask you for a favor. The biggest I’ve ever asked you. Asked any man, really…”
“Charlie, dude, you’re my brother from another mother and always will be… but I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”
“Do what, man?” Charlie looks around confused and back to his friend, “I haven’t even asked you anything yet.”
“I know man and I want to save you the embarrassment of having to. I know it’s your last night on earth and all, so you don’t wanna go out, um…” Ollie pauses then makes air-quotes around the word “alone.”
“Wha…?”
“I mean, maybe if we were drunk…,” Ollie pontificates with a scratch of his chin, “or if I got to be on top.”
Charlie shakes his head and pulls out a pistol tucked behind the back of his shirt.
Ollie continues to stare off imagining the possibilities for a few drawn out seconds before noticing the gun pointed at him. When he does he jumps up startled – “Holy Bejesus!”
“Ollie… I need you to shoot me.”
“Whoah, whoah, whoahhhh… how long have you had that thing?”
“Some hillbilly type when we were hiding out in that truck stop… pried it from his cold dead fingers.”
“Damn!”
“So, uh… would you do the honors?” Charlie hands the gun over to Ollie.
“I’ve uh, wow… I’ve never well…”
“I know man. I know it’s a lot to ask. But please, bro. Please, I don’t want to be one of those things and I can’t, I can’t do it myself.”
Ollie nods solemnly and accepts the weight of the pistol with reluctant hands.
“So, how do I, uh, how do I do this?”
Charlie grimaces and shrugs, “It’s just like everything else. Just point and click.”
“Well, uh, when do you want me to… you know?”
“Sooner than later. I mean, why put it off, right?”
Ollie nods – “On three then?”
“On three.”
Ollie counts down slow – “One… two… three!”
He closes his eyes and fires.
He holds his eyes closed for a second and after a few moments finds the will to look over.
Charlie is still kneeling there looking at his friend impatiently – “You missed.”
“I can see that.” Ollie looks at pistol bewildered and with a single finger jammed in his ear tries to wiggle the ringing out of it. “You want I should try again?”
“Yeah…”
Ollie looks away, levels the pistol at his friend and fires.
An inhuman scream tears through the room.
Ollie looks over and sees Charlie clutching at his now significantly bleeding shoulder.
“Shit…, sorry, sorry.”
“S’okay…,” Charlie gasps clutching at the wound and growling between gritted teeth, “I know… I know this’s gotta be hard for you man. But I need… I need you to look at me when you shoot. Okay?”
“Okay!” Ollie stands up, paces around for a few seconds, huffing and puffing and getting his game face on.
“You ready?” Charlie croaks.
Ollie spins around and fires.
Another wail of pain as Charlie’s kneecap explodes in a sea of bloodied bone shrapnel.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ollie throws the gun down to the floor.
The gun goes off on impact and discharges. Narrowly missing a wincing Charlie…
… sending the bullet to ricochet around the room like an angry wasp, zig-zagging impossibly around the room before burying itself into Charlie’s other shoulder.
Charlie releases an animal scream of pure agony that segues into open sobbing.
“Okay, okay… just give me the gun fer chrissakes!” Charlie snarls reaching out for the pistol with snapping fingers. Ollie picks up the gun carefully and hands it gently to his buddy.
“I thought, you couldn’t do it yourself?” Ollie says and Charlie jams the pistol straight into his friend’s face. He holds it there a moment, fighting the urge not to squeeze the trigger… before finally thrusting it to the side of his temple.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Charlie mutters through winced eyes and pulls the trigger.
Click.
Charlie’s eyes bolt open. He tries again. Click. He tries again. Click.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Charlie howls and throws the gun at Ollie.
Ollie doesn’t dodge but Charlie’s shot careens wildly off course and straight to the window.
There one of the hands through the window grabs it, points the barrel towards Ollie and pulls the trigger.
Bang… and Charlie and Ollie just stare stupidly at one another for a second, before Ollie collapses to the floor in a thump.
The hand then turns the gun on Charlie and fires…
… click.
Click. Click. Click… until the creature grows frustrated and throws the pistol at Charlie.
Sending the pistol to bounce directly off Charlie’s head.
“Ow!”
Charlie just lays there slumped rubbing his head and looking at Ollie.
“Idiot!” He hisses and fights back the tears.
Another second or so passes before with a sigh of resignation – “Well, if you can’t beat ‘em.”
And Charlie finds the strength to rise up from a puddle of his own blood, shamble towards the door, with great effort slides and the last of his ebbing strength, he slide the shelf out of the way to begin prying open the door.