You know what? I couldn’t do it, man. In the amount of time it takes a synapse to spark, I thought about Ocean out there, alone and hungry and scared. Somehow, givin’ up on myself felt like givin’ up on her, too. That’s just not something I was willing to do, dig?
So that bitch’s teeth are headin’ toward my neck like a striking snake and I did the only thing I could think of. I just kinda bucked, ya know. I used every muscle I had, kinda throwin’ my shoulders back while thrustin’ my chest and stomach up. At the same time, I’m pushin’ my hands against tits that were colder than two baggies of melted ice. Just kinda shovin’ off, and I musta had some kinda leverage, cause that thing went flyin’ off me like I was the prize bull at a rodeo.
There was even a brief second where I could still see my hand prints on her boobs, like these pale ghosts that just kinda lingered around. And then I’m scrambling to get up ‘cause I figure if I stay on the floor, I’m a dead man, right? I mean, that bitch pins me again and I don’t know if I could repeat that little bronco trick I just pulled off.
My heart felt like it was about to explode right outta my chest and that damn dust mask felt like it was some psycho killer tryin’ to suffocate the life right outta me. My lungs are achin’ for some cool, fresh air, to just suck down huge gulps of it, but I don’t dare take that damn thing off.
Besides, even if I’d been stupid enough to do so, I just didn’t have time.
I wasn’t even halfway off the floor before that bitch is startin’ to charge again. See, she didn’t know what fear was. She didn’t get tired, couldn’t be hurt. The perfect killing machine—she’ll just keep comin’ at ya and comin’ at ya, wearin’ ya down with the persistence and ferocity of a rabid weasel.
And me? I ain’t got so much as a pen knife on me. The gun’s out there in the hallway somewhere with my duffel bag and even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t do me any good anyhow. I mean, I wasted all my rounds, pumpin’ them into her chest like that.
I’m usin’ the edge of the tub to help boost me up and she’d crossed half the distance between us when she just kinda launches herself at me. I mean, one moment she’s running toward me and the next she’s divin’ through the air, flyin’ at me like some fucked up superhero. Got her arms strecthed out in front of her, ready to latch onto my face…
This time, it was dumb luck that saved me. I slipped, see, in all that water on the floor. One second I’m strugglin’ to get up and the next it feels like someone just pulled the world out from under my feet. I fell hard, man. I mean, the thump rattled the panes in the window and it felt like my spine was about to shoot right outta the top of my head.
That fuckin’ corpse thing? She just passes right over top of me. Her ankle smacked me upside the temple as she flew by but then there was this sharp crack from her head hittin’ the tile, I suppose. There was a big splash like someone had just done the cannonball at the pool, with drops of water sprayin’ everywhere.
I know she won’t be down for long, so I’m kinda half crawlin’ toward the door and fighting to stand up at the same time. I don’t like her bein’ back there, behind me, where I can’t see her, can’t tell how close she is. I was just tryin’ to go by sound alone, but everything is a little muffled ‘cause the hood on that suit is cinched so tightly around my head, right?
Even so, I can hear the tub water sloshin’ and in my mind I get this perfect picture of her risin’ up out of it. Hair plastered to her skull, water runnin’ down her body and reconstitutin’ all that dried blood into these cloudy little streams. Crouchin’ down as she flexes for another pounce.
Then I hear a sound like someone tossed a handful of pennies into a jar of change, ya know? It’s all mixed up with this other sound, like a big ‘ole trash bag bein’ yanked outta the box. And almost immediately there’s a thud that I can feel through vibrations in the floor more than I can really hear it.
I look back over my shoulder, real quick like. Just to know if I should turn and fight or just keep runnin’, right?
The undead bitch is half in the tub, half layin’ over the edge, and she’s got the shower curtain all wrapped around her. I mean, she’s all twisted up in that shit, thrashin’ and kickin’ water. Kinda flops outta the tub and she’s tryin’ to tear her way through it, but only seems to be gettin’ even more tangled up.
By this time, I’m out into the hallway and the carpet is squishin’ under my feet with all the water it’s done soaked up. I scoop up my duffel and I’m fumblin’ with the zipper. I couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it through those damn plastic gloves and my hands were shakin’ like a palsied old, man anyhow.
I hear feet runnin’ through water behind me and I know that thing’s got free, and I got three, maybe four seconds tops before she’s springin’ onto my back, so I say fuck it. I give up on unzippin’ the damn thing altogether and just kinda pull each handle in opposite directions. Popped that zipper like a virgin’s cherry. I’ve got one hand thrustin’ inside and I’m whirlin’ around, all in one motion.
She’s right there, man, close enough that I could see the little puckers of skin around the bullet wounds.
The duffel bag’s droppin’ to the floor and my arm’s swingin’ around in a wide arc, just lettin’ centrifugal force do most of the work.
And that pry bar slams into the side of her skull so solidly that a jolt goes up my arm, kinda like I’d just banged my funny bone against somethin’. Her head snaps to the side and she’s just beginnin’ to turn when I hit her again.
This time, I’ve got both hands choked up on that metal and I’m twisting from the waist like a little leaguer goin’ for a grand slam. It connects with her face, little bits of white teeth go flyin’ even as her body pirouettes in a crazy spiral from the force of the blow.
I’m bringin’ that bar down again, like a fuckin’ machine, man. Whack. Whack. Whack. I drive the bitch to her knees and she’s still grasping at my suit… only the Tyvek is so slick with the water and all that she’s not gettin’ a good grip anymore.
I yank her head back by the hair, right? So she’s lookin’ right up at me like she’s about to give head or some shit, and I just start cavin’ in that brow, man. Looked like I was just denting it at first, like there wasn’t anything more than cheap aluminum under that waxy skin.
Then these bits of bone start breaking through, almost like I was seein’ the fangs of something that was eatin’ its way outta her head. There wasn’t any blood or anything, seein’ as it had all pooled in the bottoms of her feet. Just this broken and battered forehead that looked like… well, it looked fucked, man. You can’t really compare that shit to anything you’ve ever seen, ‘cause you ain’t never seen anything like it.
Finally, I stop swingin’ and I take that pry bar and kinda plunge it down like I was usin’ a post hole digger. The end of it goes right through the weak spot I’ve created and I feel a bit of spongy resistance for a second, so I throw my body forward and drive that fucker home. Sink it four, maybe five inches into her head.
Just like that, she goes limp, kinda falls over right there in the hallway. But I’m not the trustin’ sort, I’ve seen way too many horror movies, man. So I whack away on her head with a bunch more blows. The entire time I can feel this surge of excitement floodin’ through me, and I let out a wordless battle cry—part yell, part scream, part crying.
But I’m alive, damn it. I’m alive and I can fuckin’ appreciate everything. The throbbing pain in my hands and knuckles. How my shoulder is so sore that I wince every time I jostle it. The way I’m hot and sweaty inside the suit but my face feels all cool.
Finally, I stop hittin’ the bitch. She ain’t gettin’ back up. I made damn sure of that, cause you can’t even tell she has a face anymore, man. Looks more like a pumpkin that’s been tossed outta a movin’ car or some shit.
I walk into the bathroom and turn the faucets so that the tub finally stops overflowing, then I reach down into the bottom and, even through the Tyvek, I can feel the chill of that water. It felt so damn good, man. Almost like I’d never really felt water before, ya know?
Once it’s all gurgled and swirled down the drain, I drag that corpse by its feet and kinda plop her ass down in the empty tub. I’m sittin’ on the edge and I’ve got my duffel bag by my side and I’m pullin’ out all these heavy duty lawn and leaf bags that I brought along. Then I get that hacksaw and set about to business.
It’s harder than it looks on TV and the movies, man. I mean, you really have to work to get those little teeth cuttin’ through bone. The wrists weren’t so bad ‘cause I guess they’re kinda thin, but when I started sawin’ just below the knees… man, that was a bitch. Had to stop once when the blade got wedged in real tight like, and snapped in half.
I just kinda left that part of the sawblade sitckin’ out for the time being and decided I should take care of what was left of the head while I still had the strength. I figured if the knee was that much of a bitch, what the fuck would the neck be like, ya know? Only it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I’d gotten a rhythm down or some shit, but it came off like it was made of cheap wood.
So I’m sittin’ there, holdin’ this severed half a head by the hair, just kinda lookin’ at it. For some reason, I started giggling, don’t really know why. There wasn’t anything particularly funny about the situation. But at the same time, everything was funny, and, before I know it, I’m laughin’ so hard I’ve got tears rollin’ down my face and that battered head is just swingin’ in my hand like some bizarre pendulum.
That’s about the time you boys in blue showed up, and all I could think to say, even though I knew it could be used as evidence against me in a court of law, was: Ocean, I don’t regret a thing, honey. Not a damn thing.
Everything after that is kinda vague. It’s like my mind’s this pitch black sky and every so often fireworks of memory flare in the darkness, burning brilliant as the crowd below goes ooohhh. I see my little Honda bathed in red and blue strobes, crowds of people whispering and pointing, then sitting on this bench with my hands trussed behind my back so tightly that my shoulders almost feel like they’re bein’ pushed forward. Blackened fingers rolling across these little cards and a woman’s high pitched laugh that bubbles up through a drone of voices. But all of these bursts of recollection fade quickly, dissolving into this shower of fragmented sparks that wink out in the night.
The next thing I do remember clearly is layin’ in my cell. Even though there’s a mattress beneath me, it feels like I’m on a slab on concrete and my muscles are so sore that I can barely move. So I’m just racked out there, starin’ up at the ceiling and tryin’ to ignore the smell of piss and vomit that seems to have soaked into every molecule in there.
I’m thinkin’ about Ocean. What she’s doin’, if she’d been eatin’ right… hell, if she’s even still alive for that matter. Last time I was with her, she was gettin’ bitch slapped across the face by that fucktard Gauge. Anything could have happened to her and I’d never know. So yeah, I was worried about the girl. For all I knew, she was dead and the re-death of Clarice fuckin’ Hudson had no impact on her miserable life what-so-fucking-ever.
And then I felt that ‘ole familiar wind tuggin’ at my soul. I hear the sounds all around me, feel my consciousness being stripped away, the jabs of pain that made my sore muscles seem like spa treatment. And it’s right there, man. Halfway between my cot and the stream of people who kept finding reasons to stroll by my cell for a quick peak at society’s latest monster.
Now, I actually experienced two things when the Eye pulled me in. The first one, I ain’t gonna tell you about. I figure there’s some things a man just has to keep to himself, ya know? Not secrets really. More like these intensely personal experiences that burrow down deep inside, carve out a little niche, and graft onto your soul. These are the types of things that change a man. They can either crush him like a cigarette butt beneath the heel of Fate or make him even more focused. More determined to do anything and everything he can.
But that’s all I’m gonna say about that. I will, however, tell ya about the second thing I experienced. This was one of those overviews of time… like I’d been lifted up on high by the wings of an angel with the immediate future spread out wide below me. Just this disembodied observer, yet somehow, I could still cry, if you can dig that. And I wept just like a little sniveling bitch… because I could finally see the truth of the matter.
Within the coming months something changes, man. I don’t know, maybe it’s a mutation. Maybe environmental variables, some shit FEMA released in the air to try and fight this thing with, or maybe the sickness was really just a symptom all along, ya know? Something that gradually changed aerobic cellular respiration into anaerobic.
All I know for certain is that it won’t matter if you’re infected. Not anymore. People are gonna die just like they’ve been doin’ for millenia. Old age, accidents, murder, suicide… but they’ll still come back. Those who get bit or scratched? Well, that will just kinda speed the process along. But, sooner or later, damn near everyone comes back.
Turns out, I suppose, that you can’t fight nature after all. Not really… I gave it one helluva try, though, didn’t I?
My first experience, that personal one that I won’t tell ya about, let me know that there were things I have to prepare for, things looming just around the corner. We have a limited amount of time in this skin, ya know, and we have to make the most of every possible minute. To some people, that means tickin’ off check marks on their bucket lists.
But, for me, it means trying to do everything within my power to make sure my special little girl stays as safe as possible.
I couldn’t stop the contagion, and now I’m gonna be locked away so society can sleep easy, secure in the knowledge that another madman has become nothing more than an interesting blurb in some Time-Life series.
But the apocalypse is comin’, man, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop it.
You may think you’ve written the last chapter in the Adventures of Bosley Coughlin, but I’m here to tell ya, jack… my story’s not over.
Not by a long shot.