Don’t Die, day 1
I had just changed busses, leaving the first one and taking the second on my way to work. I had to get up before the sun could even start to pale the Savannah horizon if I was to make the early morning shift to wait on breakfast tables. It was a nine-mile distance between home and the 24/7 diner close to the army airfield. But it was fine, I was used to it.
I sat at the back of the bus, as deep down into the seat as I could, a red hoodie up and covering my head. I knew I may be looking like a crackhead, but whatever. As the bus drifted away, I opened my old backpack over my lap, found a small hand mirror inside and looked at myself in it, maybe for the third or fourth time this morning. Once again what I saw made me relive the slap I’d received across the face, disgust closing on my throat as if it had just happened. My right eye was smeared with a bluish-purple bruise; small, but very visible, even though it was not swollen. Seething, I shoved the mirror back inside and zipped it closed.
I hadn’t slept that night. I just calmed down enough to get up from the floor and go to the kitchen to drink all the water I could manage to drink, pushing down the painful knot on my throat. Moving to my bedroom and locking myself in, light off, I sat on my bed, back to the headboard, knife still close to hand on the mattress, and listened, simply listened for hours. It took an eternity for the house next door to go quiet. Maybe the men had left. Or maybe they had all passed out from drinking so much.
Fuck, last night was hard. I could have used a drink or two.
Ok, who am I kidding? I could have drunk the house down and passed out and never woken up again.
The fury I felt now was for more than D and his friends. It was for more than for being harassed cowardly by a man bigger and physically stronger than me. It was for my own fucking hesitation. Weak, momentary hesitation made me not grab the knife sooner. It had given him time to get hold of me, touch me, lick me, and even after that, to hit me, the mark of his slap angrily visible on my face. I hesitated and I hated herself for that.
I wanted a drink, even now on the bus, going to work. The smell of weed I had smelt last night coming from the Dixon’s was still very much alive in my nostrils. God, I missed it bad. A joint and a glass of wine? Heaven.
People at the diner stared, my co-workers asked if I was ok, what had happened, who did this, and to dodge the questions was more work than I had energy for the morning. I would have kept the hood on if it was possible, but instead, I had to change the uniform, pull my dreadlocks back, and raised my head, refusing to look down. It was not just my colleagues or manager who gave me weird looks; the customers did, too. Mr. Smith, the inn next door’s manager who had breakfast there daily, wanted to know who the miserable soul who had hit me was. Bless him in his good heart. I thanked him for his empathy as I filled his mug with freshly brewed coffee.
Hours later, midway between breakfast and lunchtime I was almost distracted by the memories of last night, that insisted on coming back when I didn’t want them too. I heard the door open to let in a late customer, the doorbell singing delicately. Jar of coffee in hand, standing behind the counter, I froze in place as she saw Daryl stand there, looking around searchingly as if checking to see if he was at the right place.
His eyes found me in a moment. He took in my beige uniform and white apron garments, looking quickly up and down at me. I knew they looked completely out of character on me because I had blonde, long dreadlocks, which I was pretty proud of, a pierced nose, right arm closed with tattoos, and the left one nearly so, so wearing beige waitressing uniform did, in fact, look weird.
I guess Daryl saw the moment of surprise quickly disappear from my face because I controlled it fast, giving place to sheer coldness and despite. Lowering his head, Daryl walked in my direction, hunched, finding an empty seat by the counter, all the while being followed by my eyes. Silently, he looked up at me again and then down to the counter one more time, as if he couldn’t meet my eyes for too long.
I took a moment to realize I probably should move. I thought of asking Rosa to wait on him, but she was taking plates from the kitchen counter now and making her way to serve some customers. Swallowing a sudden lump on my throat, I breathed in deeply and took the few steps that separated me from Daryl across the counter. I just stood there looking at him, who was still looking down. He was wearing a black Megadeth t-shirt and I hated it because I kinda liked Megadeth. I sighed to get my annoyance under control and took a clean mug from under the counter, placed it roughly there, startling him and making him lookup. His eyes seemed even more clear blue now than by the distance that I was used to seeing them, and I could also see bags under them. It looked like he also hadn’t slept last night. I filled the mug with coffee, eyes still on him.
“Gonna eat?” I asked coldly.
“Eggs,” he mumbled.
Raising my left eyebrow, as I used to do unconsciously, I walked away from him without another word. There was work to do, after all. I placed his order, deciding he was going to have them scrambled, no matter what kind of eggs he had meant. I moved around the diner, waiting on tables, refilling mugs, but I couldn’t stop looking at Daryl every minute or so. He had never shown up there before, I had no idea how he knew where I worked – obviously, it couldn’t be just a coincidence. Why would Dixon come have breakfast ten miles away from his house? The fact that he did so after what happened last night made me wonder. When I reached him again to refill his coffee he was already eating, Rosa must have served him. This time though, Daryl stared up at me.
“What?” I barked annoyed but kept my voice down.
“D’s an asshole.”
“No kiddin’.”
“He hurt ya.”
It was not a question. He looked pointedly at my bruise, ignored fork falling from his hand to the plate with a clatter.
“Yeah,” I rose my chin even more. “And I hurt him back. Your point?”
“Knife might not be enough next time,” he muttered looking down to his plate again and picking up his fork before completing his sentence. “Big guy.”
“I can also bite,” I placed the coffee mug on the counter before resting both her hands on it right in front of him, leaning a little to look at him. “The fuck do you want, Daryl?” I hissed and he looked up. There was a second of surprise in his eyes at the sound of his name. “I can take care of myself,” I continued. “Met worse than D”.
I moved away again, picking up the jar before he could say anything else. On my way towards the tables, I asked Rosa to wait on the band t-shirt guy at the end of the counter for me. Rosa didn’t ask why, just nodded and moved on.
I tried to breathe normally and feel relieved I would not have to speak to Daryl again, but I didn’t. His very presence annoyed me, like a big reminder of what had happened last night – a big, blue-eyed reminder, I hated that the looked that good. I knew Daryl wasn’t the worst of those men; he never did anything wrong to me, but he's trying to talk to me after having been assaulted by his friend last night made me angry almost to the limit. My hands were a bit shaky and even that made me angrier.
He left money on the counter and left the diner without another word, not even five minutes later. For some strange reason, it didn’t make things better, on the contrary. I had no idea what good this visit had been for, other than to let me know that the Dixons knew where I worked. The next hour dragged by, the diner emptying little by little until it was possible for the waitresses to take a break. Rosa went first, leaving me alone for twenty minutes to clean up all the tables and sweep the floor. The movement of using the broom surprised me with a slight pain in my arm muscle, right above her elbow. I looked down at it and found a different color on my tattooed hummingbird, some purple where it should be only green. Rosa returned just then, catching me as I had her eyes closed, controlling my breath to keep from having an angry fit.
“You should go to the police,” I heard Rosa say in a heavily accented worried voice, just as I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Ask for help.”
“Don’t worry about me, Rosa,” I tried to smile at the sympathy. “I fought back. I always fight back.”
“But he looks very strong,” she continued, worried stamped on her dark eyes
“He..?”
“The man in the t-shirt,” Rosa explained pointing to where Daryl had sat before.
“Oh no,” I understood and smiled. “It wasn’t this guy. It was someone else.”
“Oh, ok”, Rosa nodded. “But be careful, comprende?”
“I can take care of myself, Rosa. But thanks anyway. I’ll be fine”.
“Good. Now go, go have a break”, she motioned me, taking the broom off my hand in the process.
Thanking her, I did as dear Rosa said, yanking off the apron from my waist before finding my backpack in a locker under the counter and taking out a pack of cigarettes from inside. I headed out quickly; those break minutes being very necessary to calm me. Leaving through the back door, I walked towards the street across the parking lot as I lit up a cigarette, a plastic cup of coffee held in the other hand. I reached the small fenced area where a dumpster was hidden and leaned on it, inhaling deeply and closing my eyes for a moment.
“Can I get one?” I heard from somewhere to my left.
Daryl was leaning in the same position as I was, on the other end of the brown fence, one knee bent with his foot resting on the wood. I stared, the cigarette between slightly parted lips, eyes narrowed as the smoke reached them.
“The fuck you doin’ here?”, the cigarette almost fell.
Daryl straightened up and took a short step in my direction, but still kept his distance, looking pointedly at the pack of cigarettes in my hand, still asking for one. I rolled my eyes and threw it at him.
“Lighter’s inside.”
He caught it in the air and stayed where he was, taking his time to take one out, light it up and replace the lighter inside. I still stared at him, carefully watching him inhale deeply, lips closing around the yellow filter, a small pout as he blew the smoke upwards. He looked at me then, catching me staring, but I didn’t mind, eyes still locked on him, a frown clear on my forehead. Daryl took a tentative step towards me, reaching out to carefully give the pack back.
“Not gonna pull the knife on you, Daryl,” I finally spoke out of my shock, as I took it and looked down at my feet and kept on smoking.
He huffed out a quick laugh. “Jus’ being careful.”
“What you want?” I asked, going straight to the point.
“D’s mad,” he delivered as if it explained his presence
“Boo-hoo”.
“Kept talkin’ ‘bout how he’s gonna get back at ya”.
“Not afraid of him.”
“Ya should be.”
“And why’s that?”
He raised his voice a little. “You know why,” he stated, getting visibly annoyed.
“Yeah, I hurt his fuckin’ masculinity,” my voice sounded louder as I looked up back at Daryl. “And I’ll hurt it more if he comes near me. I told ya I can take care of myself.”
“Ya can’t if he ain’t alone,” his voice chanted very clearly in my ears.
I could tell he was getting pissed. “Oh, he ain’t gonna be alone?” Merle gonna help him? Or you?”
“Not us,” he mumbled. “We ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”
“Funny, Daryl, how in all the years we’ve been neighbors, you’ve never spoken to me until today.” I paused to take a puff, my back no longer against the fence as I turned to him. “Ya know how long I lived there? Eighteen fuckin’ years. Was a freakin’ kid, and so were you. Tried to talk to you at first, remember that? Only time you talked to me was to say fuck off. Now ya wanna talk? Alert me? What is it?”
“Look, I ain’t never done anything to you,” he flicked the butt of the cigarette away. It fell on the curb, the still lit ember flying around. “Or Merle. We don’t need all this hate.”
“So Merle never did nothing to me?” I inquired indignantly. “You really think that?”
“What, did he?” Daryl challenged.
“You think to humiliate me, scaring the fuck outta me with the things he says, the gestures he makes is nothing? He fuckin’ threatens me every time he sees me. That’s nothin’?”
“Ain’t never touched you,” he said still pissed but a little less forcefully
I also lowered her voice. “It’s a matter of time.”
“Merle ain’t no rapist.” He took one step closer.
“Speaks and acts like one.” I flicked the cigarette away as well and drained the cup of coffee that was still in my hand, grimacing because it had gone cold. “And you, I don’t know why you’re talkin’ to me now. You hear what he and all those fuckers you have around all the time say and you see them do all kinds’a things and all you do is just sit there, doin’ nothin’.”
“Ya know what? Forget it!” Daryl barked angrily, stepping away from me. “Trying to warn ya and ya keep bitchin’ at me,” he turned to go away. “Fuck you.”
I closed her eyes and took a deep breath, my heart was pounding. As I reopened them I watched him walk away for a moment, his steps denouncing just how angry he was.
“Hey!” I called aloud and he stopped and turned, already far away. “When?”
“Tonight,” he yelled back.
“I’ll be ready for him.”
* * *
I’d been going to an adult education program in a community center of Savannah for about a semester now. I’d dropped out before high school and this was a decision I couldn’t regret more. Now I was a thirty-two-year-old adult education student, a waitress at a cheap diner, living in one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods in the city, with no perspectives of getting out of there.
And craving for a glass of wine. Or a bottle.
I lit yet another cigarette – this habit I didn’t even try to quit – taking a deep puff and closing my eyes for a moment. I’d been in this position for almost two hours, standing at my bedroom window, looking out, hidden by the shade. The window allowed me to look out at the front yard, the unkempt yellowish grass, and old, rusty barbecue grill abandoned there for a long time. The family across the street was fighting again, unrecognizable yelled words filling the otherwise silent, deserted street.
The only light in the house was in the living room, the TV also on, soundless. There was a talent show tonight. Bobbi-Jo was out again, of course. My roommate – I refused to call her anything other than that – was out more often than not. It was better this way, being alone at home tonight because I knew something bad was about to happen. D was coming, I was sure of that. I did question myself as to why I believed what Daryl said that morning, but the fact was that I just did. Merle’s voice could be heard from inside the house next door, speaking loudly as he usually did, although he didn’t have friends over tonight.
That was weird; it was Saturday. He always had people over on the weekends.
I had been watching the right side of the street attentively, guessing that if someone came, he’d come from the Dixon’s house direction, but a movement by the left side caught my attention. Two figures approached and I thought they’d come from the empty field there was at the end of the street. They lurked in the shadows until the street light let me see their faces. I took a moment to recognize them, and I was glad to see it wasn’t Merle or Daryl. I tried to remember the name of the second men who were walking with D, was it Owen, or Morty?
There was no chill in my spine this time. I was ready.
The two men approached my front steps and tried the door, finding it locked. Nobody in this neighborhood left their door unlocked, especially at night. I put her cigarette down in the ashtray that sat at the window frame and withdrew from it slowly, heading to the door that led to the living room. Standing there, I could see their shadows going around the house, moving to the kitchen door. With another couple of steps, I was by the kitchen counter that separated it from the living room, and paused there, taking a deep breath. I felt calm and prepared, but my goddamn heart insisted on beating fast.
The door clicked open after a moment and was pushed in with a careful, slow shove. I heard it creak but nobody came through it for a moment. D took his time in appearing, only his head first, taking in the space in front of him. He saw me then, standing right there on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. His eyes hardened instantly, a creepy disparity with the smile bloomed in his lips.
“What are you doing here?”, I asked breaking the silence, chin raised.
“Well, well, well”, the man drawled, taking a step into the kitchen; Behind him, the second men followed close, also looking around, “Not so brave now, are ya?”
“You should leave,” I affirmed, eyeing Owen – or Morty, as he took careful, slow steps into the living room, while D stood where he was.
“Yeah, not gonna happen, sugar,” D licked his teeth.
“Don’t think ya understand,” I dared to smirk. “Ya should go…For your sake.”
They laughed, both men exchanging amused, yet still hardened looks.
“Say please, sweetass,” the second man said from now almost behind me. “Always wanted to know what ya’d sounded like beggin’ me.”
“This is because of last night, ain’t it?”, I asked looking over her shoulder at him and them back at D. He had taken a couple more steps towards me. “Thought you said you were only kiddin’. No big deal, huh?”
Behind her, the man snorted just as D jawed “Well, ya see… Thing is, Samantha, I ain’t actually foolin’ around. Not kiddin’ at all.”
“Yeah, thought so. So what, you couldn’t get me then, so had to bring by a friend as a backup, ‘cause ya didn’t think you could do that by yourself?”
“Can take ya easy on ma own, girl,” D opened his arms and shrugged, “but I ain’t no stingy guy, ya know?” He stepped towards me one more time, now closer. Just close enough. “Got no problems sharin’ stuff with ma boys.”
“I ain’t no stuff, D”, my voice was still collected even as my eyes traveled around the room to take in Morty – or Owen and D again.
Don’t hesitate…
“And just so ya know…” with a whisper, I took a slow, deliberate step towards D. “My name’s not Samantha.”
With a sudden intake of breath, I raised her right arm, the heel of my hand connecting upwards with his nose. He cried out, hands flying to cover his face. As much as I wanted to see him bleed for the second time in twenty-four hours, I had no time. The man behind grabbed me, arms circling my shoulders from behind, holding me strongly.
“Chill out, angry bird!” he growled in my ear, taking the opportunity to bury his face in my neck. I almost puked; he stank.
“Fuckin’ bitch!”, D cried yet again, hands dropping allowing me to see blood oozing from his broken nose, even as I struggled against the arms around my torso. He licked the nose blood out of his stubble and then smirked dangerously. “Told ya, ya cunt, ain’t gonna mind taming ya.”
His smile dropped, though, and I saw the surprise in his widening eyes when he saw me reach for my waistband.
“Owen, look out!” D yelled.
Oh, so it’s Owen.
Owen couldn’t react fast enough. I knew he was distracted by grinding his hips against my ass, grunting, arms keeping me in place. I raised her arm, fueled by disgust, and lowered it strongly behind me.
He screamed and let go.
I didn’t know where I hit him, but I heard his heavyweight hit the floor, his movement making the knife slide out of him and remain in my hand. D lunged for me and I raised the knife hand again, but he was faster than I had expected. With the force of his weight, he pushed me to the ground, falling in top of me and holding my arms down against the floor. I struggled and I might have screamed without even noticing it, but he was nearly twice my size. As I fought him, he laughed, drops of spit and blood falling from his open mouth to my cheek.
I was probably going to vomit after it all was over.
D used his knee to press my right forearm on the ground. It hurt badly and I couldn’t move for a painful moment, I thought my bone might break. He took the knife I was still gripping and pressed it to my throat.
“Now how does it feel, huh?” he roared and a shower of spit fell down on her. “How does the other side of the knife feel?”
“You’re a coward, ya know that?” I enraged up at him. “And fuckin’ pathetic, ‘cause ya can’t get a girl to want to fuck you!”
“Funnier that way.” D replied and licked his blood again. D was sitting on my stomach, just under my breasts, and he left my left arm free.
Damn males, always underestimating women. My free arm reached down for a second knife, hidden inside my boot. My fingers brushed over the handle for a moment before they closed firmly around it. I felt the coldness of the blade slide over my skin, leaving a burning sensation behind as I cut myself pulling it out.
There was no more thought then. I didn’t aim, I didn’t plan, I didn’t even breathe. In a second, the knife was stuck in the side of his neck, blood oozing out, rolling down his neck and shoulders, raining down onto my face. I may have screamed but I’m not even sure, because I was looking up at D still on top of me, his eyes wide in despair, mouth opened in a silent, desperate scream. I pushed him away from me with all the force I could at the moment and he fell to the side, unmoving.
I sat up, unable to think of anything other than the layer of blood and spit on her face.
Behind me, I faintly heard Owen shout “You fuckin’ whore!”, but just barely over the sound of my own heart pumping on my ears. I looked back over my shoulder and saw him getting up from the floor, cradling his hurt thigh. He was behind me and holding the knife D dropped. “You killed him, bitch!”
I had no time to react and I knew it. In that split second, all I thought was fuck, looking up at his red, ire filled eyes, but something hit him on the shoulder and he screamed again, the knife falling from his hand to the blood washed floor faster than his own body.
I whirled my head around looking for the source of whatever it was that had happened, and there was Daryl walking into the room, some sort of medieval-looking weapon raised and aimed at Owen, who was now crawling backward until his back hit the couch, right-hand cradling left shoulder, screaming in a very unflattering way.
“Shut up!” Daryl barked approaching and looking down at his pathetic form. “Another word and the next is through your eye”.
Astonished, I saw another form entering the room as well and moved my eyes from Daryl to see Merle also moving in. The man leaned down to get the knife on the floor and away from Owen’s reach. He stood by my side and handed it back to me, the blade coated in thick, dripping blood.
“Think this is yours,” he said calmly.
I looked up at him from where I was still sitting on the floor, legs straight in front of me, mouth agape. Soundless, I took it from Merle’s hand and looked around to my other side. And saw D’s lifeless body.
I had just killed a man.
* * *
Owen was silent and breathing hard, back still to the couch, a hand on his shoulder, the other on his thigh, both pressuring his deep, painful wounds. His eyes were red and trained on D’s body. He was dead, blood pooling around him, lifeless, opened eyes staring up at the ceiling. I was sitting on the other couch, hands resting on my knees, unable to tear my eyes off his inert form.
“Bobbi-Jo’s gonna kill me,” I mumbled to myself and I’m not even sure why because Bobbi-Jo’s reaction was the least of my concerns now and started patting my jeans pockets looking for a pack of cigarettes. I found it in my back pocket, all creased, and took one out. It was nearly broken in half, but I didn’t mind. Placing it between my lips, my fingers trembled a little before I started patting myself again looking for the lighter.
Daryl approached, lighting his own and offering light mine too, without a word. I looked up at him for a moment before leaning in to light it. After I had taken the first puff, Daryl handed me a piece of cloth. “For your face”, he grumbled as I took it, once again looking up at him questioningly. When I did nothing except for holding it, he made a swiping gesture over his own face.
“What are we gonna do?” Merle’s hoarse voice came from the kitchen, pulling me out of a daze. “Can’t call the cops.”
“It was self-defense,” Daryl answered and Merle laughed.
“I don’t want no fuckin’ cops pokin’ around. You used the fuckin’ crossbow as a fuckin’ weapon. Wanna go to jail, too?”
They discussed it heatedly but in low voices. Everything else was silent. The house, the street, the neighbors. It was unnerving. I looked from D to the cloth Daryl handed me and stared at it for a second before bringing it up to scrub my face. It was cool, Daryl must have wet it in the kitchen sink, and it made me snap back to reality.
“What about him?” I asked looking at Owen and the Dixons went quiet. I took another puff. “They broke in and attacked me. I was jus’ defended myself. Ya heard me scream, came to help. You didn’t kill anyone, I did.”
“Should’ve killed him, too,” Merle raised his voice and walked from the kitchen around the counter, stepped over D’s body and crouched in front of Owen. The man’s eyes widened impossibly and he flinched. “Smart, brave guy, huh, O?” Merle spoke slowly. “While we’re at it, why don’t ya tell me where the fuck you hid my dope, huh?”
I didn’t want to hear a fucking word of it. I got up and went to the kitchen where Daryl was standing looking at the two men. “I don’t fuckin’ believe your brother”, I told him. “A fuckin’ crime scene and he wants to know about his meth.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna miss him,” Daryl said. “Fuckin’ junkie, no family.”
“You’re talkin’ about D now, right?” I asked filling a glass of water from the sink, cigarette between two fingers. Daryl snorted rudely as I drank it quickly. “Rapists, both of ‘em,” I completed. “I just wish I’d done more to him before. Shoud’ve cut off his sorry excuse of a dick.”
“I say we get rid of the body. Nobody gonna look for him.” Merle suggested.
“What about him?” I asked again, my chin pointing at Owen, surely considering dumping D’s body an excellent option.
Merle got up and kept looking down at Owen. “Owen ain’t gonna say a word, is he? He’s good to go on girls and to steal from passed out friends, ain’t ya, O? Give ’im someone bigger, he’ll shit his pants. Ya owe me, O, gonna forget that?”
On the floor and looking up, wide-eyed, he grumbled ‘no’ many times, terrified.
“Don’t forget ‘bout the girl here”, Daryl said pointing at me with his hand. “Beat ya, didn’t she?”
“Hey, ya got any food?” was what Merle said when he turned back towards the kitchen. “I’m starvin’.”
Stunned, I stared at him, hips against the counter, a deep frown on my face, cigarette still between my fingers, eyeing Merle with his slightly raised eyebrows, sincerely waiting for me to answer something.
“What?”
“Food?”, he repeated, and the look he had was one other than the evil fun, lustful one he’d always given me. He seemed just normal; not exactly friendly, but simply like a regular person would treat their neighbor when saying hello on the sidewalk, instead of in their living room with a dead body between them.
“Hum, ah…” I stuttered in shock. “The fridge,” I finished motioning my thumb over my shoulder. Merle nodded and once again stepped over the dead man, his boots making a blood trail on the worn our wooden floor, went around the counter and joined me and Daryl inside the kitchen. He opened the fridge and crouched down to examine its contents, my eyes glued to the back of his head and very aware of his movements until Daryl caught my attention by poking my arm with a finger.
“Hey”, he murmured and I looked at him, eyes still somewhat perplexed. He continued. “You ok?”
“Yeah. They didn’t hurt me.”
“No, I mean…” he dragged on and pointed at D’s body with his chin.
“Yeah,” I repeated, trying to be clearer, but still needing to clear my throat before continuing. “He deserved it. I’d do that to any fuckin’ rapist. Might jus’ do that to Owen. Ain’t gonna lose sleep for him.”
Slowly, he nodded avoiding my eyes to instead look around, down at Merle and at the two men on the living room floor. The three of us were silent for a while as I finished my cigarette and Merle fussed over how little food there was in the fridge. Daryl turned around to lean back on the counter to avoid staring at D’s dead body, his big, heavy weapon resting against the wall near him.
“Hey, what’s that?” I asked Daryl, pointing at it.
“Wha’, that? ‘S a crossbow.”
“You shoot arrows with it?” I approached it on the wall and bent a little to see it better.
“Yeah, like a normal bow but the mechanism releases it.”
I straightened again and looked at him. The thing was pretty damn cool and now that I was getting calmer I remember the image of him entering the room with it raised, his arms tense holding it up and damn. I didn’t really know or like him very much but let’s be honest, it’s not like I was blind or anything.
But “Badass,” was all I said as I returned to lean against the counter. He nodded, a bit surprised, eyeing me for a moment longer.
“What the fuck…” Merle mumbled from nearly inside the fridge.
“Munchies?”, I asked him as I pressed the butt of my cigarette on a forgotten wooden ashtray that rested nearby.
“Course”, he said, getting up and still looking inside it. “The fuck is it with all the veggies?”
“They’re mine. Lower shelves are mine, the upper is Bobbi’s. Make sure ya don’t touch any of hers, she goes nuts when someone –”, I stopped then, making Merle look at me, and I gave him a sudden smile. “You know what, knock yourself out!”
Merle laughed back, “There ya go”.
I turned away from him, and also from Daryl just then, feeling completely mesmerized by what was happening. Two men entering me house to assault me, me killing one of them with a knife to the neck, my nearly stranger neighbors coming to help, having them both in my house since then, Merle speaking to me as if we were friends, and what freaked me out the most – me, talking to him as if it was no big deal. It’d been a long time since I remembered any dream I had; perhaps I was gonna wake up anytime now, and never even remember this insane dream. The taste of the cigarette in my mouth felt real, though. The smell of blood too, now mixed with an extremely sweet smell that, when I looked back at the men to figure it out, I saw it came from a Bosco chocolate syrup Merle was pouring directly into his open mouth. Daryl only shook his head. I wasn’t sure if people could feel such clear, strong smells in dreams.
“Shit!” we all heard Owen say, but none of us looked at him. Daryl fished his own pack of cigarettes from his jeans’ back pocket. “What the fuck? Guys!” Owen spoke again, his voice more urgent.
“Hey, Pop Rocks!” Merle was fussing over the fridge again. “Why’s Bobbi keeping Pop Rocks in the fridge?”
I shook her head. Fuckin’ Bobbi-Jo. “She thinks…Geez, that the heat could make it explode.” Merle laughed aloud and Daryl snorted. “Yeah, she ain’t the smartest person I know.”
Merle was about to say something, I saw him open his mouth, Owen interrupted again, his voice loud and desperate, a tone that made it impossible for any of us to keep ignoring him.
“No, no, no, shit! Fuck! Help me!”
We all turned at the same time because it was clear that something terrible was happening. But of all things that could have crossed my mind, of any imaginable possibility, I’d ever have thought of that. Nothing in my life so far had ever prepared me to see what I saw then. And nothing, in any of our lives from now on, would ever be the same.
I was frozen froze in place, my brain working too hard to understand what I was seeing to send any order for my body to move. By my side, the Dixons were also silent, stiffened. What we saw was D – whose dead body had been lying there for all that time, probably most of his blood now drenching the room’s wooden floor – agitate with strange and unnatural movement a moment before he sat up, a grotesque sound coming out of his mouth, his back turned to us as he faced Owen, who was now screaming in absolute terror and trying to stand up. Having lost his own fair amount of blood himself, Owen couldn’t, his wounded leg slipping over D’s blood. With now more excited grunts, D moved towards him, crawling faster than he had sat up. Owen wailed for help franticly, as D moved over his sitting form until he reached the chubby, sweat-soaked flesh of his neck, where he urgently sank his teeth. Owen fought him with his only available arm, but it seemed to be no use because D was biting and swallowing his flesh, and he kept doing it as if nothing had happened even after Owen stopped fighting, blood oozing out of the wound fast enough to kill him. He had stopped screaming, dead…Just like his friend was. Or should have been. Because there was no way he’d be alive after all the blood he lost, and the knife was still fucking poking out of his neck, for fuck’s sakes!
Daryl, Merle and I stared at them, absolutely still. Paralyzed. Shocked. None of us seemed to be breathing, all I could hear was my heart in my ears. My stomach churned and I felt bile in my throat, and that was the only thing that made me sure I wasn’t having a cinematic, sci-fi nightmare.
D kept on eating Owen, groaning, moaning, feeding. It was that, literally a person eating another just like that, in my living room.
By my side, Merle broke the silence with a weak, trembling voice, something so unlike him it nearly made me look away from the gore scene happening right there, “D?” As nothing happened, Merle stepped behind me and around the counter, very carefully. “Doug?”
I don’t know what part of my brain could still register that information. D’s real name was Douglas, not Dickhead.
D stopped moving then and damn, I knew shit was about to get even worse. My stomach went cold and I felt a sharp ache on my right wrist – it was a weird thing I had every time I got apprehensive about something as if my mind was sending me a signal of whatever it was, I felt this weird thing on my left pulse point. And there it was, sharper than ever. D’s groans also stopped for a moment as he turned around, still crouched, slowly. And when he faced us, the communal, strong intake of breath sounded over D’s new groan. Merle took a step back, nearly tumbling. That was not D. D wasn’t there, he was dead. His neck still carrying my knife, blood still rolling down his chest, there was a piece of Owen’s flesh hanging from the corner of his bloody mouth, his eyes completely lifeless with a nauseating shade of grey, but yet he stared at Merle, who was the one standing closer to him and raised up, his movements unnatural, and took an unsteady step towards him, moaning wordlessly.
At his dead, walking body’s back, the front door clicked with the sound of a key turning. The door was pushed open and the sound attracted D, who stopped mid-step towards Merle and turned around. Bobbi-Jo appeared under the doorframe, tight black dress showing up much of her thighs and a lot of her breasts, and she was laughing, completely unaware, pulling some random guy inside with her.
“Bobbi, no!” I screamed coming out of my shock as D lunged his dead body towards her.
“Run!” Daryl shouted by my side.
It was no use. In a second, his teeth were on her face, her cheek coming out in one bite. She yelped and fell to the ground, D on top of her, biting more chunks out of the right side of her face and I swear he wasn’t even chewing, he was just biting piece after piece of her face and swallowing it whole. The man who came with her backed to the wall, close to my bedroom door, eyes and mouth wide open but soundless, shocked frozen.
None of us saw Owen getting up, I was honestly too concerned into trying not to piss myself, my body moving and coming back to my place as I had no fucking idea of what was happening and what to do. Owen’s flesh was missing from his neck and chest. Just as he was crawling across the room, the Dixons saw him, his eyes as dead as a doornail, and they both seemed to wake from a daze at the same time. Daryl moved out of the kitchen towards Owen just as he raised his dead body from the ground to stand up right in front of Bobbi’s friend. His teeth were already sunk into the guy’s neck when Daryl reached and tackled him away, only to turn himself into Owen’s chosen meal.
I still hadn’t moved, watching nervously as Daryl pushed the dead man away from him over and over. On the other side of the room, Merle had shoved D away from Bobbi-Jo and was now fighting him, punching him in the face repeatedly. Looking from one fight to the other, nervousness making me hesitate – and once again hate myself for it – I tried to decide who I should help, and how, for that matter. With difficulty, I registered that Owen seemed to be much closer to Daryl than D was to Merle, so I forced myself to move, the knife Merle had given me back in hand. I rushed over behind Owen and, without a second of thought, stabbed him right on the nape of his neck. Owen’s corpse groaned louder and his movement slowed a little, giving Daryl the opportunity to move away. I had to stare again, though, eyes wide, because Owen hadn’t stopped moving. He had a fucking knife jammed in the base of its skull, but he still moved. How the fuck was he still able to move?!
“We gotta get out! Merle!” Daryl yelled as we both turned for a moment to look at him after a particularly worrying yelp. D was on top of him now, Merle keeping his jaws away by holding him up by the neck. There was blood oozing everywhere and cursing words could be heard coming out between Merle’s clenched teeth.
Daryl tried to keep Owen away from him and I saw that his movements seemed slower now, so I decided to go help Merle. As fluidly as I could with my shaking muscles, I reached for the knife in his neck, held it and took it out of his flesh and slammed it rick back into his temple. I felt bone under the flesh the knife perforated, unable to get in.
“Son of a fuck!” I cried out, reaching for his head with my other hand and grabbing a handful of his hair, pulling it back and further away from Merle. D’s face turned up, desperate groans coming from his open, near toothless mouth. I saw he looked exactly like his old self, except for his eyes and the fact that he was trying to eat Merle. Fighting hesitation once again, I tightened my fist around D’s hair, raised the knife hand and stabbed down, blade easily perforating his eye socket. He stopped moving instantly, groans dying out, as the batteries of a nasty toy had been removed, and his body fell heavily on top of Merle.
“The brain!” Merle shouted from under D’s body, who now I believed to be really dead, because damn, with a stab to the keck and other into his brain via his eye just fucking had to kill a person! I understood it at the same time Merle did.
“Daryl! Hit the brain!” I also screamed.
Daryl ran from Owen just as he heard us and Owen looked around, lost for a moment. I crouched behind D and Merle, who remained there under the dead weight. When Owen focused his attention on Daryl again, he had already reached his crossbow, and he had apparently been able to reload it as well, because he then aimed and shot an arrow right into Owen’s eye. The groans stopped and his body remained still for a second before dropping backwards to the ground.
Though only for a moment, silence filled the room once again.
Merle angrily shoved D away from him and sat up looking down at himself seeing all the blood dripping. “What in the fuckin’ fuck was that?” he questioned aloud, trembling, now looking at his hands. He wasn’t answered. I stood up, breathing hard, hands raised to my head. Daryl lowered the crossbow that had still been aimed at Owen. I felt like throwing up. We went silent, the sound of our breaths the only sound in the house. It was like a war zone; blood everywhere.
The silence was broken by a groan, a different one, coming from somewhere on the ground. We all swirled around towards it, the crossbow raised again. Bobbi-Jo was moving, sitting up and looking right at me. Her jaw moved, slamming closed with a noise, half her face and a large chunk of her neck gone. I flinched.
“Let’s go. We gotta go.” I whispered urgently. The unknown man, his back to the wall and neck torn open, also groaned, much louder. “Now! Get up, Merle!” I shouted down at him and moved to the kitchen door. “Daryl, move!”
