This Place Is Dead Pt. III

“That’s the thing about this city…”

The early-morning light came in through the back door to Greywood 13B, filtered red. Two silhouettes wobbled there, pressed up against the glass. They smeared the blood with their fingers. It reminded Ike of the paintings his grandchildren had made for him. He’d pinned them to his fridge.

Darell coughed. He lay sprawled across the tiles, leant against the wall like a drunk. Specks of blood flicked from his mouth, and a pink foam frothed at the corners of his lips. His hand clutched Ike’s wrist with such strength that it hurt. “It’ll eat you alive.”

Ike tilted his head and frowned. “What—”

Darell chuckled, but his voice contained little humour. “Tear you limb from limb. Rip your skin off. Shred your flesh. Pull out your organs ‘til you’re nothing but a hollow shell.” He smiled, lips painted crimson.

Ike’s stomach churned. He surveyed the man’s wounds, from the chunk taken out of his right cheek, to the ragged tear in his abdomen. Darell had screamed when he tried to stuff his intestines back in. “I-I can get help,” said Ike. He stammered. “Some bandages, some antiseptic, I—”

Darell silenced him with a wave of the hand. Still, he held on to Ike’s wrist. “Won’t help. Not now. Too late.”

The last two syllables hit Ike like a slap of cold water. Too late to save him? Or too late for something else? Too late for them? For humanity?

“But I know what to do. I took a first aid course, I can—”

Darrel shook his head and grunted. “Nuh. Sit.” Not a question. He didn’t yank the old man down, though. He let Ike sit down of his own volition. Ike, 73 years old and a sufferer of painful arthritis, obeyed. Even though the dying man wasn’t even half his age, he carried an air of authority.

Ike sighed as he thumped to the tiles with little grace. His joints would let him have it later. “You know,” he tried to make himself comfortable, “the zombies won’t be here forever. At some point, something will come and flush them out, like poison from a wound. Always does.”

Darrel regarded him for a moment, one eye closed, the other squinted. Ike looked away from that unflinching gaze. “I wasn’t talking about the zombies, Ike. And you don’t know that for certain.” He grunted, and more blood dribbled over his bottom lip. “We swore that nothing like this would ever happen. We were wrong. I swore that I’d keep this place safe. I was wrong.” He shook his head. “Nothing’s certain in this life.”

Ike frowned, unsure if he’d heard him. “You’re saying that we will rip you apart?” He smiled at the absurdity of it. “Your friends and neighbours?”

Darrel nodded. “Not necessarily you specifically, but… yeah. Nobody cares about each other anymore. Nobody looks out for—” he gasped as a convulsion racked his body. “…anyone anymore,” he said. “You don’t rip apart like them—” he jutted his chin to the shapes behind the smear of blood “—but you do it all the same. You take. You don’t give. You kill with inaction. Murder with apathy.”

“That—” Ike swallowed, a click at the back of his throat “—that’s not true.” Even to his ears, his words sounded hollow. Meaningless. The empty platitudes you give to a dying man, to give his passing some peace.

Darrel raised his eyebrows. “No? Tell me, who was there covering my back when they jumped me, huh?” He leaned towards Ike, spittle and blood on his chin. Ike didn’t flinch away. “Who’s here now, with my face ripped off and my guts torn out, huh?” Darell poked a finger into Ike’s chest. His eyes fluttered. “No one.”

Ike’s temper flared. “No! I won’t let you leave like this. After all you did for us, I won’t let this… this… pitiful nihilism take ahold in your final moments.” He shook his head. “I won’t.”

Darell grinned, teeth crimson. “Pitiful?” He found this funny.

Ike frowned and doubled down. “That’s right! Pitiful! Has it occurred to you that all some people can do is take? If you’ve got nothing to give, how do you give it?”

Darell stared at the wall opposite. His breaths came in ragged bursts, like the stop-start of a tap. Deep inside his chest, something gurgled.

“Why was nobody out there with you? They were scared, Darell. And they felt safe in their homes. Why? Because you were there to protect them. They didn’t take. You… you gave. And why’s nobody here now? Because they don’t know what to do or say. How can we—” Ike gestured to the rest of the building “—ever repay a debt so appalling?” Ike shook his head. “We can’t. We’re forever indebted to you. And we will never forget that. Never.”

Darell nodded. “Right.” He conceded the point.

Ike found himself on a roll. “And you say nobody’s here for you? That’s rubbish.” Ike leaned in close. “I’m here for you, Darell. I represent those whom you have saved.” He put a hand on Darell’s shoulder. “Listen to me, now. I won’t have you dying with this venom in your heart. Perhaps it’s the agony that’s twisted you. Or maybe it’s all those chemicals your brain’s dumping into your system. Perhaps it’s the shock those bastards gave you.” Ike looked up to see one infected eye before it’s owner hid it behind a bloodied smudge. “Or perhaps it’s the fear of dying.”

Darell looked up, eyes wide. The whites of his eyes were oh so white. Whiter than white. Ghost white.

“Don’t let this anger into your heart, Darell. Not now. Not after everything. Day in, day out, you were there for us. Your love and warmth were inextinguishable. Don’t give in at this final moment. Please. You’ve made it so far — better than the rest of us. You’ve set us the example of what we should be.”

“But, what I’ve said—”

“You can take it back, son.” Ike squeezed Darell’s shoulder. “After all, it’s just you and I here.”

Darell’s face had become the colour of paper. “I didn’t really mean—”

“Shh. I know, son. I know. Shh. Stop fighting. You’ve fought so much — and for so long. So just shh, my son.

“And be at peace.”