The Road in Red, Part 1
A work of fiction.
“Now this will be the plague with which the Lord will strike all the peoples who have gone to war against Jerusalem; their flesh will rot while they stand on their feet, and their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouth. On that day a large-scale panic from the Lord will spread among them. One person will grab the hand of another, and one will attack the other.”
– Zechariah 14:12
Noah felt the intense pain of the old man’s bite rip through his thigh, as if someone had injected boiling water into the veins of his leg. The filthy old man managed to break Noah’s skin despite the thick denim material of his jeans. Noah howled in pain, which only seemed to make the old man sink his teeth harder, deeper, into Noah’s thigh. His withering arms flailed at Noah, tearing at his shirt and jeans. Noah reciprocated, jerking his body and kicking up his legs the best he could, fighting the dead weight of the man. Noah hit the man in the head with his fists, clawed up clumps of dirt and threw them in the man’s eyes but it didn’t stop him. The man held his grip on Noah’s thigh. Noah managed to inch himself closer to the gun that was bucked out of his hand when the man tackled him. He kicked and clawed and screamed his way to the gun, wrapped his finger around the trigger and then aimed it at the hungry old man’s face. He didn’t want to waste any bullets if he didn’t need to. He took the end of the gun and jammed it into the old man’s ear. The old man immediately let go of Noah’s thigh, a trail of slime and saliva coming off the bite. The old man, too, howled in pain, an inhumanly low gust of agony that escaped his bloodied lips. Noah repeatedly struck the old man in the ear and face. His skull didn’t give as easily as Noah had hoped. He was a fresh one. Noah freed his good leg from under the old man and kicked him in the chest with all of his might. The old man fell back and Noah pounced on him. He straddled the man to keep him on the ground. Noah raised the gun in the air and slammed it down onto the old man’s face, crushing his nose and releasing a spray of coagulated blood and cartilage. The gun came down again and again, slowly caving in the old man’s face until it was nothing more than fragile bone covered in a thick mass of blackened blood and disassembled brain matter. His arms and legs fell to the ground. Noah’s chest heaved in a rush of adrenaline and exhaustion. He stayed on top of the old man until he caught his breath and then used the man’s shirt to clean the mess from his gun.
Noah got off the old man and stumbled to his feet. He wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm. Looking down, Noah contemplated the bloody mess that once used to be a man. No, he didn’t have time for that. Noah felt a rush of nausea hit his stomach but he willed it away. He pulled his pants down to his knees and inspected the damage. Jagged red marks formed an ellipse right between Noah’s kneecap and groin. The old man hadn’t bitten too deep or managed to tear away any flesh but it still stung like hell. No time to be concerned. Noah had to get back to his home. He’d be okay if he could just make it there.
The dirt road seemed to stretch into oblivion, when in reality it was just a few more miles. Noah was flanked on both sides by the density of trees, their trunks and branches and twigs intermingling and creating a web of cover that was both a good and a bad thing. The provided good cover and protection for him but also for them. Noah could see nothing but straight ahead, which didn’t bother him in the slightest. It made his destination easier knowing he wouldn’t have any detours or distractions. It also made it more dangerous. Those people could be hiding behind any tree, lumbering around in the tall grass and he would never know until they were upon him. That was the case with the old man whose skull he had just bashed in. He wasn’t paying attention, got to close to the trees and the man leapt at him. Noah silently swore at himself for being so careless, for not being alert enough. He ran his hand over the lump in his front left pocket. It hadn’t fallen out during the fall. Good.
The light from the sun that was illuminating his path was becoming dimmer. The sky was graying. Clouds were filling in the blank spaces in the sky, meshing the red dirt with the gray sky into a muddled brown. The air was dusky and dark. This was good. He had heard they didn’t have good eyesight. Unfortunately, neither did he. Noah was tired but had to move quickly through the darkening sky. It looked like it was about to rain.
“Fantastic,” Noah said out loud, right before putting his hand over his mouth. His eyes widened in fright.
No sounds! he reminded himself. It was bad enough that he had to walk the dirt road filled with crunchy leaves and twigs. He didn’t need to bring any more attention to himself by speaking. Those people could hear him and come for him. Noah calmed himself down and continued to walk the path as it continued to blur in front of him. Rain was definitely coming. Just how soon? Noah didn’t like the rain. He felt an unease come over his skin, sinking into his stomach and coming up through his throat, thickening his tongue and closing off the air in his lungs. He shuddered.
Every since Noah was a child, the rain made him uneasy. He was particularly troubled by the Bible story of Noah, for whom he was named after, and the flood, which he learned about in Sunday school. Being a small child, Noah was more than a little freaked at the idea of God swooping in and drowning the entire world. Although the story of Noah continues with God promising not to destroy the world in such a way ever again, Noah always wondered if God might change his mind and usher in the rapture in the form of rain. Any time it would rain or even hint at raining, Noah would get upset and cry. The only person who was ever able to comfort him was his grandmother. She was very heavy and very religious woman. She knew the Bible like the back of her hand and if anyone knew about God, Noah’s grandmother did. He trusted her. When he’d stay with her and it would rain, Noah would inevitably cry and his grandmother would swoop in, scoop him up in her giant arms and lay him across her lap. She’d stroke his hair and sooth him.
“The rain is only God’s tears, sugar,” she’d purr. “It’s His way of letting us know He’s watching over us. When the world has become too wicked, the Lord becomes sad and cries. His tears fall from Heaven and those tears wash away all the bad. When the rain dries up, man’s sin hasbeen cleansed and everything is made good again.” This made Noah feel only slightly better. Why didn’t God just wash away man’s sin the first time around? Maybe he was just really angry. What if he becomes really angry again? Noah tried not to think of such things. If his grandmother said the rain was good then it was. Still, like most childhood fears, that unsettling feeling never completely went away.
Noah was glad his grandmother had passed away of a heart attack two years ago, long enough not to have to witness this. He hated to think like that but he couldn’t imagine his grandmother frail and helpless, unable to defend himself from those people. Even worse, he couldn’t imagine her as one of those people, killing people and…my God, eating them!
I suppose I should shake off this fear of rain, Noah thought. Obviously the world won’t end in water. It’s ending right now, like this, with people maiming and devouring each other.
Noah continued down the road, squinting his eyes to sharpen his vision. The air felt thick with tension. It passed through his clothes and skin and into his bones. They were there. He could feel it. They were all around him. They might be far enough to outrun but they were there. If he couldn’t run, couldn’t walk, he’d be dead. They’d catch up to him and rip him apart. Noah undid his pants and lowered them again. The bite was looking worse, a red halo surrounding the wound. He touched the area around the bite and it was blistered and tender. He sucked in a sharp slice of air. It hurt. The bite itself had raised along his skin. It looked like it was becoming infected. Red blood caked along the irregular wounds but it was no longer leaking fresh blood. Noah pulled up his pants and continued.
A few yards ahead, Noah spotted one. It was a woman with her back facing him. She was shuffling along the edge of the road among the opening of the trees. He took in a deep breath and fixed his eyes to the back of her head. Noah grabbed his gun from his pants and ran his hand along his left front pocket. Still there. It was comforting, reassuring, motivating him to continue forward to reach home. Noah changed his pace, picking up each foot high off the ground so as not to shuffle and cause noise. He inspected the ground before stepping to avoid any rocks or twigs. His eyes took hold of the woman’s head as he slowly inched his way toward her. Stepping carefully. Slowly. Methodically. The woman just stood there, sometimes leaning one way or the other but mostly just standing still. Noah had wished she’d walk around, at least for a bit, so that the crunching of her feet in the grass would somehow overshadow his own footsteps. He had his gun and he could just shoot her easily but he didn’t want to waste bullets if he didn’t have to. He only had four in the chamber and no more. What if he needed them when he found himself in a more desperate situation? What if the bullet he used on this woman could be used for when one of those people was right on top of him? And there was no telling how much longer he would have to walk. Oh, how many times had he driven down this desolate dirt road and never paid attention to the length of the drive, to the road signs, to the landmarks? He had no idea how far away he was from home and cursed his lazy ways. He had never paid attention before but now he was making up for it, focusing all of his energy and concentration on his surroundings. He couldn’t let another person sneak up on him like that old man.
Noah was beside the woman now and several feet of dirt separated them. The closer Noah got, the more he could hear the woman. She was moaning. Was she is pain? Was she tired? The moaning became louder, more unsettling as he passed. A part of him wanted to shoot this woman, to put her out of her misery, to relieve her of the burden of her hunger. He contemplated the woman just like he began to contemplate the old man. No, he had no time. He couldn’t lose focus. Besides, he didn’t want to kill anyone if he didn’t have to. It felt filthy, sinful.
And then she shifted.
Noah sucked up a breath of air that expanded his lugs to their capacity. His eyes lost focus for a second and he froze. The woman began to walk and then stagger back, moaning and looking up into the sky. She turned to her side and Noah saw that her face had rotted away. Or maybe it was bitten off. She was too far away and it was too dark to see clear enough. Another drop of rain fell across Noah’s cheek and startled him. He let in another sharp breath of air. His heart pounded so hard that he knew the woman would hear the muscle in his chest crashing against his ribs. The woman was missing all the flesh from her lower jaw, only bone and teeth remaining. A black tongue uncoiled from her mouth and slide across her bloody lower teeth. A black hole replaced the area where an eyeball once sat. Her clothes were modest and tattered, an oversized sweater over a green shirt and a floral dress that was ripped in the back. They were covered in blood. He guessed she was in her mid-thirties. Another drop of rain on his face. The woman shuffled again but this time she turned her back to Noah. The road was clear of debris and Noah felt that he could safely make it past this woman without disturbing her or at least outrun her if she saw him.
Low groans escaped the missing flesh of the woman’s mouth. Pain. Hunger. A slight sadness that squeezed its way into her fractured voice. Pitiful creature, Noah thought as he walked backward, not taking his eyes off this woman. He raised his gun to her head. Could he make the shot from here? Would he just hit her in her back or miss completely? If so, she’d come for him. She wouldn’t stop. He could outrun her but she’d never stop following him. He would tire out but she would not. He lowered the gun and then turned around.
Noah began to walk when he felt someone shoot him in the leg. The pain was too great to go unheard. He let out a wail of agony. He fell to his knees and grabbed his leg, the one the man bit into. No, Noah wasn’t shot but it felt like he was. It was actually the bite that brought him down. It was definitely infected and definitely getting worse.
The woman with no face turned around. Her one eye fixed on Noah and she groaned, a groan of steadfast satisfaction. She staggered toward Noah at the speed of hunger, much faster than Noah had previously seen these people go.
Noah immediately swore and groaned himself. Through clenched teeth, he let out a small scream and stood up on his feet again. The woman was after him. Her eye met his as a few more drops of rain fell onto his face and shoulder. He began to run.
Noah put quite a bit of distance between him and the woman, looking back only occasionally to see her getting smaller and smaller in his line of sight, yet still staggering toward him. He slowed his pace when he noticed a large tree limb to his right. Noah took a few moments to catch his breath and inspect the limb. It was brown and rough with long striations of bark that ran the length of the limb. The woman was catching up. She looked iridescent and ghostly in the limited light that struggled to break through the clouds. Noah shoved the gun in his right pocket, picked up the tree limb and went back for the woman. He found her, her arms outstretched, her tongue flapping and lapping at her teeth, her legs struggling to keep up with her urge to feed. Noah almost wanted to cry. This woman so desperately wanted to eat him. Her tongue wagged at the sight of his skin. If she had any lips, she might have been smiling. Noah had to do this. This woman, this soccer mom or vice president, this daughter or wife, this human being needed to be killed for her own peace. Kill or be killed. He hated killing them. He just had to. The woman got closer. Noah readied the tree limb and as the woman approached, Noah heard a shuffling from behind him. His head immediately shot up. He jerked his gaze behind him. Another one. More crunching of limbs and leaves revealed the presence of a third person. Noah realized his scream had grabbed the attention of anyone that was close by. Noah turned his attention back to the woman. Now, she was upon him. Noah had misjudged her speed and she was closer than he had anticipated. He was taken aback and plunged the tree limb into the woman’s face. He missed her brain completely, managing instead to hit her nose and cheek. Landing the skull wouldn’t have worked anyway because the tree limb merely crumbled in her face and did not penetrate her flesh. The tree limb looked fine on the ground but beneath the good bark, it was black and frail, more rotted than she was. The impact of the tree limb caused the woman to fall back onto the dirt.
The two other people, two men, stumbled out of the trees and set their sights on Noah. The woman scrambled to find Noah’s feet. She grabbed his right ankle and tugged, causing a shooting pain in Noah’s bite wound. It felt as if the pain were blooming inside him, burying its way through his skin and into his bone simultaneously. Another scream escaped Noah’s lips, louder and longer this time. And no doubt attracting more of those people. The woman opened her mouth to take a bite out of Noah’s shoe.
“Not again!” he screamed as he kicked the woman in the face, sending her nose flying but not killing her. Noah continued to kick as the two men drew closer. He jerked and stomped on the woman’s hands, fighting through the agony and breaking off fingers and snapping her wrists until she finally let go. Moans of lust and agony poured over the woman’s teeth and were caught in her black, wagging tongue. Noah shifted his weight onto his bad leg and then raised the good one, sending his heavy boot down on the woman’s head. Her skull cracked but he hadn’t managed to get to her brain.
“Die, bitch!” he screamed as he stomped and stomped until the pain in his leg was too intense to bear.
Noah turned around to see two pairs of hands in his face. Noah leaned back and tripped over the woman, falling on his tailbone and knocking the air out of his lungs. He grabbed his chest as the two men shuffled toward Noah, stepping on and over the woman to get to him. Overhead, the sun was shining through the cracks in the clouds, sending down bars of light onto the dirt. One stream of light shone directly over Noah, blurring his vision of the men over him. Breath finally managed to sink back into Noah’s lungs as he grabbed his gun. He aimed it at the man on his right, the one who was closer. He pulled the trigger and with an unsettling sound like thunder cracking, the man whipped back with a loud moan and then set his gaze back on Noah. He had only managed to clip the man’s shoulder. Wasted shot. Four more bullets. He aimed the second one at the other man. This guy smelled like rotting meat and feces. He pulled the trigger and with a thunderous boom, the man was down. Noah kicked the other man and managed to snap his ankle, sending him to the ground next to Noah. This gave him enough of an opportunity to get to his feet and run. Three of them on the ground and none of them were dead. The woman had managed to survive Noah’s barrage of stomping and kicking and the man that smelled the worst hadn’t been shot in the head, either. He was too decomposed for Noah to tell where he had been hit. He supposed it didn’t matter because the man was still moving, still coming for him.
The light closed up as Noah ran. The clouds took over the sky and sent more and more droplets of rain. Noah was surrounded by darkness, death and decay. All three of them were on their feet now, following Noah, even the man with the snapped ankle. He was obviously a lot slower now but the other two could still cause a problem if he hit a roadblock up ahead. Noah ran but the pain in his leg never left, never let up. It took him over. He stopped and tried not to yell. He swore instead. A string of obscenities flew through his teeth, as many dirty words and phrases that his mind could conceive. Noah wasn’t one to swear as it wasn’t a very polite or Christian thing to do. He only did it when he was angry. Somehow slipping dirty words past his lips made him feel better, as if the satisfaction of sneakily naughty behavior temporarily distracted him from his problems. Raindrops hit his forehead. He clenched his teeth and grabbed his thigh, squeezing it in hopes the pressure would take away the pain. He felt something wet hit the inside of his pants, a jolt of pain and then relief. The pain subsided enough that he could run again. He had to run fast. The man and woman were catching up. Noah heard more rustling on either side of him, a commotion in the trees. Around him and up ahead he could barely make out the faces of people in the limited light. They were all around him, all coming out to see what’s for dinner. Noah’s heart raced not from his running but from the fright of all of these people. They were surrounding him now, coming out from the trees and joining the man and woman. He didn’t dare look back, too scared to see just how many were behind him, just how many were all too willing to tear him limb from limb.
What were driving these people? How were they able to walk, to stand, to live after being shot and beat and set on fire? Noah had a hard time believing they were dead. It was the rational part of him, the logical reasoning and thinking Noah that couldn’t understand the happenings. He knew better, that they were dead, that they were ghouls and monsters and sent from hell to collect souls but he didn’t want to accept it. He had seen with his own eyes the destruction inflicted upon these people and how they still sat right back up, still kept coming, enduring damage that no ordinary human would be able to survive. He had even done terrible things to these people, all in an attempt to escape them, of course, witnessed it first hand by his own doing and still they rose. Nothing stopped them except enough damage to the brain. It was the only method Noah knew. Although he hated killing these things that he still considered people, he knew they were already dead. I’m not doing anything wrong, not sinning, he tried to convince himself. Just trying to survive. Still, despite everything, he felt like he was going to hell for taking a human life. Could they hear him running, see his muscles swimming beneath his skin or just smell the fresh meat of him? Whatever motivated them to come back from the dead, Noah had a motivation, too. He had to get back to his house, had to get back to his…
Noah stopped. His face grew pale as the rain lightly sprinkled across his face, as if the water were rinsing the color from his skin. In front of him, bleeding and groaning, were a line of those things stretching across the entirety of the road, all looking at him, all moving forward at the sight of him.
(See Previous Entry for Conclusion)