Tim Meyer - Less Than Human

Instead of finding the commode, Josh found a back office where he raided the desk and cabinets for anything useful. He hoped the desk belonged to an alcoholic, maybe there would be small bottle of brandy stuffed in the back of the drawers. It had been so long since Josh had a drink of anything. And right now, he needed something. Poison coursed through his veins, he could feel it. The dragon was hungry.

After coming up empty, Josh headed for the bathroom. A white door on the opposite end of the building displayed a stick-figure drawing of a man. He cautiously pushed open the door, peering into the restroom. Making sure the coast was clear, Josh sighed. No flesh-eating corpses snacking on someone who had trapped themselves on the shitter waited for him.

Josh tried the lights. Nothing happened. The bathroom seemed relatively spotless. Cleaned recently, Josh guessed. The tile on the floor and walls sparkled, even in the dim light a small window provided. As Josh approached the urinal, the dragon blew streams of fire into his chest. Try not to think about it, he told himself as he relieved his bladder. However, that’s all Josh could think about. The pills. Putting one in his mouth. Swallowing. The feel-good sensations that soon followed. The warmth that consumed him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His stomach lurched. He zipped himself up quickly, then stormed into the closest stall. He bent over, vomiting long streams of puke with the consistency of cake batter. Inside, the dragon continued its destructive path.

For what seemed like forever, he knelt on the floor, resting his head on the toilet seat. Thoughts came to him. Ugly thoughts. He wondered if he should even bother carrying on. What was the point, now that the dead had risen and claimed the world their own? He’d seen the movies. How quickly everyone became one. Sure, in the movies the heroes survive, but this wasn’t a fucking movie, and he wasn’t a fucking hero. He was pathetic. Worthless. He’d eventually end up one of them, one of the dead. And that poor man he was traveling with— Ben. He’d only hold him back, probably get him killed too. Ben would probably would never see his son again thanks to Josh and his filthy habit. Pathetic, Josh thought. What’s the point? I’m already dead…

What about Olivia? Surely you care about her. Surely she’s worth carrying on for.

Sure he cared, but his feelings for her were limited, or else they’d probably still be together. Their good times were in the past. They partied a lot, they drank a lot, they smoked a lot, and they fucked quite often. But there was something missing, something Josh couldn’t quite pinpoint, something he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around. Let’s face it—you’re never going to marry the girl. You never planned on it. So really, what’s the fucking point? The voice that spoke freely was right. The deep feelings weren’t there, no sense that he needed to have her. He liked her because she was into the same shit he was, and she fucked like a porn star. That pretty much summed it up. She was plain. Run of the mill. A dime a dozen. There were tens of thousands like her. She was replaceable, the flavor of the month.

So, back to the question: what was the point of carrying on?

He sat there, head on the toilet, contemplating suicide and not for the first time in his life. He reached low points during the past few years when he thought being dead had its advantages. No bills, no job, no stress. But now, he realized, the world had died. None of that mattered. There were no more bills to pay, or jobs to report to. The only stress was trying to survive a nightmare where the dead became living once again, and hey—that wasn’t bad, was it? No, in fact, Josh kind of enjoyed the past twenty-four hours in a sick, twisted way. It was like a video game, except… real.

Josh smiled, feeling somewhat better. This was a new world, one where he had the chance to better himself. Prove to himself that he was worth something. He could be anyone he wanted now. He was no longer street scum who stole money from his mother’s purse when she wasn’t looking. Instead, he could do the right thing. He could help Ben find his little boy. He could be that hero. He could slay that dragon.

The dead new world had given Josh Emberson a second chance.

I can do it, he thought. One day at a time. I’ll just take one day at a time.

Feeling good for the first time in a long time, Josh stood up, popping a cigarette into his mouth. He lit up on the way to the exit, not wasting time on washing his hands.

As soon as Josh opened the door, he was greeted by the dangerous end of a shotgun.

“Speak,” the man said, pressing the end of the barrel to his forehead.

“Um… don’t fucking shoot me…” was the only words that fell from his mouth.

“Put your hands up,” the man commanded.

Josh raised one arm up.

“Both of them.”

“My right arm is broken. Can’t move it.”

“Is this really necessary, Steve?” someone asked from behind him. Josh glanced past Steve and saw a woman twice his age, leaning on the information center’s desk. She rested her hands on the shoulders of a fifteen-year old girl, garbed in a scout’s uniform. Josh assumed the woman behind her was her mother. Next to them was another woman, much older, but not quite old enough to enjoy special discounts at movie theaters and all-you-can-eat buffets. She scrunched her face like she had sucked a bowl full of lemons. Something about her irked Josh the minute his eyes found her. “He’s obviously not one of… them . He doesn’t look dangerous.”

“Can’t be too sure,” Steve said. Beads of sweat seeped from his pores. The shotgun trembled in his clutches violently, his trigger finger twitching spastically. Josh feared the man’s sense of control, his misunderstanding of what was going on around him. The man in the shit-brown uniform and yellow patches that stated WILDLIFE PARK RANGER glared at Josh suspiciously. Perspiration ran from under the brim of his cream-colored campaign hat, down his cheeks. Mouth twitched, eyes narrowed. RANGER STEVE, as it read on his name tag, shook his head slowly. “We can’t be sure of a single thing, Victoria.”

“Christ,” she muttered, holding her daughter closely.

“Christ will help us, Vicky,” the older woman informed her, placing her wrinkly hand on her shoulder. “We should pray.”

Josh thought she was joking. He almost laughed. But as she closed her eyes and started humming a familiar hymn, he realized she was serious. She started reciting the words to “Our Father” under her breath, expecting the others to join in.

No one did.

“There’s someone else. Outside,” another young woman said from the far side of the recreation center, after the woman finished praying.

“Brittany!” Victoria yelled. “What did I tell you about standing close to the window? One of them might see—”

“Relax, Mother.” Brittany trudged across the room, joining the others. “Those things are gone…”

“You don’t know that, Brit.”

Brittany glanced down at her sister. “How you holding up, Emily?”

Emily shook her head, her eyes welling. Brittany squeezed her chin lightly, the way her father used to, while shooting her mother a scornful gaze. Victoria stared back. Her look was more intimidating, clearly having more practice.

“Look,” Josh said. “I’d really appreciate it if you got that gun out of my face, chief. I’m not a fucking zombie.” He noticed the praying woman curled her lips when he cussed.

Ranger Steve held the gun level with Josh’s face. Slightly turning his head away from the barrel, Josh expected the thunderous boom that would end his life. At this point, he knew the Ranger wasn’t going to intentionally kill him—if he had wanted to, he would have done so already.