eleven-year-old self was starting to get a little scared. I turned to see if any of the other grown-ups in the line could help. Maybe they would know what to do or where Mr Chase was.
The businessman stood staring ahead, a trickle of blood decorated his comic book grey moustache. The old lady behind, leant forward on her walker, the drips tapping at the pseudo leather seat. Her knuckles white and bulged as she clutched the handles. Her head was turned to look at the young mother, also frozen and staring at the baby, in turn stuck in a doll-like pose. Each person still as a statue. Each with a dapple of red smeared across their chins, dripping down from their nasal openings and splashing across the floor. All except the little old lady who's blood tapped out a constant four-four rhythm on her fake leather seat. Tap. Tap. Taptap. Tap.
My hand found its way to my mouth. I could feel the fear rising up within me readying itself to take control and reduce my eleven-year-old self to tears. The bravery left me and I fled the chemist. Outside, back in the street, the sun seemed that little bit lower. It glinted off the glass from the cars parked and dazzled my tear-blurred eyes.
I ran back to our shop and burst through the door, the buzzer signalled my arrival.
"He's not there. They are all frozen. Daddy. Dad?”
Dads figure was visible through the tanks as I ran towards the back of the store. I could see him. Hands raised. Phone in one hand and a paper towel in the other. Maybe he had managed to get hold of a doctor or something. Maybe he got hold of Mr Chase.
"There all like mum," I pushed through the little curtain which formed some kind of entrance to the back of the shop. "Daddy they are all th-"
He stood in front of me. Eyes locked on my mum. I could hear the phone's bipbipbip still clasped within his hand.
"Daddy?" I heard myself say. My voice seemed too quiet within my head. "Mum?"
"Dad. Dad," I shook him and the phone dropped to the floor, smashed and sent shards of screen under the fish tank stands.
"Mum?"
"Daddy?"
My fragile state of mind broke and the tears flowed. I curled up into a little ball and cried. I crawled under the fish tank stand and cuddled my dad’s smashed phone, unable to comprehend what the hell was going on. The man on the news cast still talking about a global pandemic coming from the antarctic, then he too stopped talking. Maybe the tablets battery ran out.
An almighty crash snapped me out my stupor. A car had run up the back of another. A truck ploughed through the fender bender turning our little carpark into a mass of twisted metal.
I ran outside and stared at the carnage around me. Twisted metal, steaming bonnets pushed into all kinds of shapes. Faces pushed into airbags and cars sat at crazy angles on top of each other. I looked around dumb struck. It was the noise more than anything that struck me. Or I guess the lack of it. Just the tick tick of a wheel spinning from an upturned car and the voice on a radio urging people to stay inside, then enjoy the latest hits of today and the yesterday.
Cars wrecked. People stood still. Things exploded, Nobody screamed. Or cried. Or moaned. Or moved.
A few more cars slammed into to wreckage and I ran back inside.
I hid under the fishtanks, clutching my dads smashed phone again and rocked myself back and forth unable to comprehend what was happening. My parents, seemingly nothing more than fleshy mannequins staring at each other.
Outside the sun dipped behind the houses opposite out little pet shop. I could see the faded white weatherboards turning pink as the days end painted them in a dusky light. The smoke from the car wrecks spewed into the salmon skies, and the acrid stench of burning rubber stung my eyes as fumes wafted through the open shop door.
It was quite dark when I opened my eyes. My tummy rumbled. It took me a little while to sum up the courage to crawl out from underneath the tank stands and I slid over to where my parent stood.
“Mum … Dad …?”
I reached up and touch my dad’s hand. He was cold and clammy. I’d been around enough dead things from when we lost baby animals to know what a dead things felt like.
I ignored my growling tummy and climbed up onto the chest freezer, curled up next to mum using my jumper as a pillow and closed my wet eyes tight and wished I could wake up and everything would be ok.
When I woke. The street outside was bathed in yellow from the over head lights. From where I lay I could see the summer bugs and Christmas beetles flitting and swarming at the florescent lights in our window. Normally, I’d have run outside, trying to collect the little bugs to feed to the oscars, but not that night. It seemed like that night, the bugs were the only thing left moving.
Through the phones spiderweb of broken glass, I could see that it was 2 am and the rumbles from my guts reminded me that I needed to eat something. Sitting on top of the fridge was a share bag of Burger Rings. Normally they’d have been reserved for school lunches, or the occasional treat with mum when dad wasn’t looking. Dads eyes stared ever towards mum as I reached up and took the share bag from the top of the fridge.
“I’m sorry daddy,” I looked at him, wishing that he’d chastise me for taking the bag. The sound of him getting grumpy would be heaven to my ears as that would have been normal.
I tore open the bag and gobbled the puffed potato snacks down, shovelling handfuls into my mouth.
Every now and then I’d glance over my shoulder, through the watery fishtank vista onto the street outside, and then back to my parents. My young imagination re-playing scenes from all the stupid zombie shows that I loved to watch without mum and dad knowing. I thought that I was being so clever, sneaking my iPod into bed and viewing well into the night. I didn’t feel so clever anymore. Just frightened out of my mind, waiting for my parents to start moving again, but instead of loving embraces and hugs, they would be reaching for me, ready to rip me limb from limb and eat my flesh.
They didn’t move, and around 4 am I grabbed a doggy-igloo and crawled inside and closed my eyes again. If zombies were to attack perhaps I’d go un-noticed hiding inside. Maybe this time when I woke they would be fine and this nightmare would be over.
My dad told me that you’d always remember where you were on the important days. See, I was just 11 the day the world ended. It wasn't very spectacular. Nothing like I thought it would’ve been. More like a series of confusing incidences which became progressively more frightening as the days passed. I’ll remember this day. Oh yes, I’ll remember.
About the Author
I am a freelance creative designer with an overactive imagination. I have a love of horror stories and base most of my work from my dreams. My head scares the shit out of me sometimes.
I hope you enjoyed this short, inspired by such a nightmare.
I’m working on more short stories and my first full length novel, so please join me on twitter or facebook for news of future releases.
Twitter: @A_L_Maher
https://www.facebook.com/pages/A-L-Maher/305832586279307
I’d love to hear from you.
Cheers
AL
Up and coming from A L Maher
Snippets from the novel ‘The Invisible People.’
———
A girl sat slouched against the side of the building, a vacant stare fixed upon the opposite wall as rain played across her face. She didn’t shiver from the bitter wind howling through the gaps between the high-rise buildings. Nor did she flinch as a fly, slow moving and close to a winter’s death, chose her lips as a landing place and sought shelter from the cold inside her still and open mouth. She just stared, her upturned palms resting in the pool of scarlet spreading around her, diluted by the litter-strewn puddles.
A child like figure, small and naked scuttled over her. Its bald head slick with rain and blood. The bony curve of its spine was distinguishable through translucent skin, rounded mounds of a xylophonic rib cage moving and stretching as it arched forward chewing at her neck.
…
———
S
huffles grinned his best toothless grin and smacked his chops, blew a chunk of snot into his hands and walked his hipperty-hop walk towards the wet and busy mass. He was the grinning messiah. The stinking Moses of the street parting the sea of humanity, making his way to the Mount Sinai of fast food eateries for a couple of one dollar burgers.
…
———
Sydney was a busy place, even in this weather. The neons reflected their glowing lights across the rain lashed road, while the buses and taxis stopped and the traffic snarled and fought.
Preacher could hear a band playing and with no particular direction go other than his gut feeling, he followed the sound. One of the pubs had live acts on Wednesdays. Normally he would stop and listen, until the gorillas in black would move him on, but not tonight.
Back in the day he loved music. All kinds of music, but jazz was his thing. He would don his best black shirt and polish his shoes, make sure that his hair was ‘just so’ and hit all the coolest spots looking out for the slickest tunes and finest wines. That’s where he met Vicky. He loved her then; he loved her still. The way her hair seemed to glow – auburn-red she called it. She loved the jazz too. Some nights they would sit at home till the early hours just listening. It was all about the music, weed, talking shit and making love.
He often wondered what he did wrong. How did he end up out here on the streets, away from her warm