MicroHorror

Harley reached up and fingered the hole in his skull. Fluids oozed down his cheek. The zombie who’d beaten him down wandered away, out the front door.

Harley struggled to his feet, his vision blurring, sparks flicking around the periphery.

The horde streamed on along Riverside Drive, gaining energy as the innocents along the way joined their numbers. Harley staggered down the front path from his home. The screams were unnerving, but he could feel one building from his own diaphragm. The changes were happening fast.

Tracey, he thought, the idea fragmenting as it passed through the remains of his mind. Brains, he thought.

Another zombie stumbled into him, falling to the ground, half its face eaten away, its knee joint shattered. “Brains,” it said, getting back to shaky feet, rejoining the flow along the street.

Harley watched as they moved, feeling his own feet drawn to the flow. Brains, he thought, brains.

Then, struggling, he said, “No.” His head felt heavy, dull. “Tracey.” And he turned against the flow.

His thoughts were thickening, like thinking through molasses. No, that’s not right, walking through molasses, thinking through… brains, he thought, turning.

Tracey.

Focus.

He followed the sidewalk towards her new apartment. Feeding thoughts kept forcing themselves into his head and he had to push them aside. Had to see Tracey, apologize before he went, before he was sucked down with the rest.

The building was dark, the front door broken open. A zombie was feeding on a child’s body on the step. Harley stepped over them and the zombie clawed at his leg. He kicked it away, feeling drawn to the open skull. Focus. He went inside, heading for the stairs.

Her door was locked. Brains, Harley thought.

“Focus,” he said to himself. “Focus. Sorry for what happened. You are more important to me than… than… feed, brains.”

He pulled out his key ring. Still had her key on it. It took several clumsy tries, but the key went in, turned.

Harley pushed the door open, heard a whimper in the unlit apartment.

“Oh, God,” Tracey said.

Brains, brains. Then he found his voice. “T… T… Tr… Tracey.”

“Harley,” her voice a hoarse whisper. “That you?”

“Honey?” Brains, brains. His thoughts so confused. “I…” Feed, brains.

“I… sorry… sorry for…” He stepped forward, looking for her in the shadows. “Sorry I let you down.”

“Oh, Harley.”

He turned to her voice. There in the bedroom. Silhouetted, sitting on the bed.

“Tracey.” He staggered in, head ringing, belly aching. Time to feed.

“Harley.”

He reached for her, as she reached for him, and he saw that her head was gashed too, an ear missing.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Too late.”

And they held each other.

• Copyright: © 2009 Sean Monaghan