EYEHEARTZOMBIES

Bob saw the kids walking by the taxi cab. He tried to raise a hand to flag them down, but he didn’t have enough strenght to get it higher than his waist. The motion threw him off balance, even, and he fell against the side of the alleyway, into a thick patch of shadow. Damn kids. They should have seen him. He tried to throw his arm up again, but still couldn’t make it move like he needed. He’d have to wait for someone else to come by.

Wait. His mind was working slowly. He thought back a few minutes. Voices. He had heard voices. The girl and the boy had been talking to each other. The girl! Maybe she’d — no, wait. She had already walked by, not noticing him. He stood propped up in the alley, bleeding out of the side of his face, his left ear missing. Blood dripped from cuts and scratches in his arms and chest, too, and a nasty bite wound in his stomach was plugged with a small bit of intestine. He held an arm in front of his gut, keeping that bit of insides inside. He thought back a bit further.

“Lie — ” he slurred through thickening lips. The liberry. Library, he corrected himself. It was across the street. The kids had been talking to the liberrian. Librarian. Fuck, Bob, get ahold of yourself. He pushed himself back onto his feet and shuffled out a few steps into the street. Grand Avenue was a wide street and he’d have to really concentrate to make it across. He put his mind on his feet, one in front of the other. Left, right, left, right. He shuffled to the edge of the sidewalk and stopped and looked around as much as he could without turning his head.

The rain wasn’t bothering him any longer. He could barely feel it ticking down onto his skin. His vision was blurry, though. Must have gotten some rain in my eyes. He tried to raise a hand to wipe the drops away, but his arms wouldn’t obey. Fuck it, he thought. He looked up at the library, at the steps. There’d have to be a handicap ramp somewhere, Bob thought. He shuffled over the cliff of the sidewalk and fell forward onto his knees.

He braced himself mentally for the fall, but it didn’t hurt anywhere as much as he had expected. He landed face first, his arms not able to get up in time to catch him. He felt bits of gravel and blacktop embedding themselves in his face and a small piece of glass cut into his cheek, just below his right eye. He tried to yell a curse, but his throat didn’t seem to want to work. It came out as a grunt something like “Pug!” Ah, fuck it, he thought. He rolled over onto his right side and, with the help of gravity, got his left hand braced under him so he could push himself up. Once he was on his knees, his arms gave way and he fell forward onto his face again. Heaving himself up was harder than he though, but he had gotten awfully heavy lately. He’d have to cut back on the Mickey Dee’s.

On his feet again, Bob looked around for the gimp ramp. Fuckin’ cripples, he’d always thought, taking up the good places that us hard working men ought to get to have. Now wasn’t the time for him to bitch and complain about “political correctness”. He needed to get up the ramp and talk to the liberry — fuck! — librarian about getting him to a hospital or somewhere. That fucking bitch in the alley had caught him off-guard and had really fucked him up before he’d had time to respond.

That fucking bitch. Some refugee from a mental ward. She’d been dressed in a hospital johnny, those paper dresses that showed your ass to the world. Her eyes hadn’t even looked at him, they’d both been rolled back in her head. She had to have been doped out of her mind. He’d seen her nostrils flaring as he’d gotten close to her. Fucking bitch. Hunted him like a wolf or tiger, smelling her way through the alley to him. He’d made it past her, but she turned around and grabbed him from behind. Her hands had been like razorblades, cutting his arms. She’d grabbed him in some sort of undead bearhug and dug her talons into his chest, too, then spun him around and bit him on the ear. Ripped it off, too. He’d screamed and punched her while she chewed on the cartiledge.

The punch had obviously broken her nose. He could hear the bone snap and see blood flying down out of her nostrils. She hadn’t stopped chewing, though. She grabbed at him again and he recoiled, trying to escape with at least on ear. He tripped over a bottle and landed on his flabby ass on the dirty alley floor. She fell on him like a spider on a fly, swallowing the rest of the ear in a gut-clenching gulp. She felt around on his body while he rained blows on her head and shoulders. Finally satisfied that she’d found a good spot, she dove mouth-first onto his stomach and ripped out a chunk of jacket, shirt, and skin. She sat up, her face full of appeasement and glee. Bob felt around on the ground, found a rock, and split the top of her skull open with it. She had fallen forward onto him, but he’d rolled out of the way and she’d hit the ground face-first. Rolling onto his knees, he’d smashed her head again and again with the rock, cursing the whole time. Her body jerked and spasmed a few times and then was still.

Bob had sat in the alleyway, panting. It was chilly out, but the narrow walls of the alley, the humidity from the rain, and the sheer panic running through him had worn him out. He was a large man and wasn’t made for fighting… whatever the fuck she had been. She was like the girl in the library, he was sure. God help him.

Now stumbling across the street toward the tall, dark edifice of the library, the woman in the alley was all but forgotten. Even his name was fading from his mind. The world seemed to glow with a light of new discovery. What was this bright… yellow? was that the word?… block sitting here? His toes stubbed into the curb on the other side and he looked down slowly. He raised one foot, carefully testing the height by keeping his toes touching the curb, and slid it forward onto the concrete of the sidewalk. The other foot followed soon. The ramp was on the sidewalk and his mind was sparking just enough to move his feet toward it.

The first several steps up the ramp were easy going. He reached a tipping point halfway up, though, and fell over backward. He barely noticed when his head slammed down onto the pavement. The rain fell on his face and drops fell directly into his eyes. He didn’t blink. His mouth opened and he exhaled a frustrated sigh. It would be so much easier to just lay here. Lay here until he got his strength back. It was coming, he could feel it. Some great power that would help him get to his feet and knock on the door — kick it down, break it down, get inside — and then the lyeberrian could help him — hurt her, kill her, eat her, food, food, food food food!

No! What was he thinking? He wasn’t! That was the problem! He could feel it in his bones. This primal urge, this rage and hatred. He wasn’t really thinking about killing that lyeber — librarian — was he? That wasn’t like him at all. He was a nice guy! Just those damn queers and towelheads that pissed him off now. Nothing that a normal guy can’t get pissed off about, right? He was a good guy, he paid his taxes, voted Republican, went to church. How could he be thinking of killing — rip, kill, eat, tear, destroy — God, stop the thoughts!

He forced himself to sit up. It hurt worse than anything he had ever felt before. A small snapping noise made him throw a hand onto his back. He could feel something sharp poking at the skin on his back. A rib. One of his smaller ribs, one of the floating ones, had snapped. Must have broken it in the fall. Ribs. Barbecue. Meat. Kill! Kill!

Bob Williams shook his head in the rain, shaking the drops from his eyes. His hair, needing a cut for the last week but he’d been so darn busy, fell lankly down by his ears. He bent his legs up beside him and propped himself up on his hands. He would get up; he COULD get up! He grunted and groaned, pushing against his weakening muscles and bones, forcing his legs to straighten out and hold him up. Forcing his back and chest muscles to pull his overweight torso up so he could walk. Another step, another, and another. He could see two bodies laying on the front porch of the library. One of ‘em was the girl — fucking beast — that had killed the paramedic. He guessed the other one was the ‘medic. Another step. He knew he needed to knock on the front door, get the lye — librarian’s — attention. Get her to come to the door so he could go — eat, kill, bite bite bite! — inside to get help. Call the police.

He reached the top of the ramp and stopped, swaying with the wind. He shuffled in a small semi-circle until he was facing the front door, and slid a foot forward. He’d had to raise his feet on the ramp and the extra work was taking it’s toll on him. He looked down at his hands. The veins were turning black under the skin. His fingers were numb and tingling slightly. He raised both hands and arms as high over his head as he could. Black spots started to cloud his vision. Must — kill — knock on the door. Get the lyeberry’n to open — her veins! her stomach! — the door. Get — fed! so hungry! — help.

He reached the door and slammed his fists down onto his. He heard the knock echo through the library inside. He fell forward onto the door, his legs and back giving out. His head hit the solid wood of the door and sent another blast of noise echoing through the rooms full of books. He didn’t hear the footsteps coming his way or the softly Southern voice yelling “Hold on!” He didn’t even hear the key in the outside latch. By the time warm brown hands grabbed him under the shoulders, his ear had stopped hearing anything and his eyes had stopped seeing beyond the black clouds that had slid in as he slid down the front doors.

The strength was coming, though. He could feel it.