“Don’t go lookin’ down in there,” she said and raised a brow. Just one brow. I can’t raise just one brow, but she can. She can do lots of things that I can’t.
That look, though, that look was for me and I knew that I couldn’t look. Which is why I had to.
Down by the fence post there’s a gutter. down in the gutter, there are things that crawl inside. I saw a rat go in there, and I saw a little chipmunk go in there once, too. Never did see them come out.
Today, though, I thought I saw something in there. I though I saw it and I looked because, well, you know that I had to because she told me not to.
There were eyes in there. The light from the sewer shone in a rectangular shaft and just highlighted eyes with frizzy hair coming down into her face. The eyes were yellow and rimmed with red, like perhaps death warmed over. I couldn’t stop looking.
She moved out of the light and I had to get another look. I got my huge flashlight, the really big on that I use when I go camping, that one, and I lit it up and looked down in there again. I found that girl still lookin’ up out at me, and behind her was a man, strapped to a chair, with a fierce fury brewing behind those eyes. He looked even more tired than her and was also looking right at me. I stepped back and yelled for Sherrie.
“Hey! Sherrie! Get over here!” I said as I flashed the light back and forth between the two characters in the sewer.
“Wha- oh, goddamnit,” she said and put her hands on her hips and sighed. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO. LOOK. IN. THERE.” She tapped her toe and and stared at me.
“I- I didn’t-” I stammered, looking down at them and then up back at Sherrie. “I thought you- well, I thought you’d want to see them. It’s freakin’ me out!”
“I don’t need to see them. I put them there.” She pulled her hands off her hips and turned around, pulling a small steno book from her bag. “See the big one there, the one that’s tied up?” She pointed at him and he didn’t break his gaze at me. “Him? He’s too far gone. All zombie now. I tied him up a week ago.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re shitting me.” I said, trying for a laugh.
“I ain’t shittin’ ya, boy!” She yelled at me. She never yells at me. Except when I do what she told me not to do because that’s what I do. So I guess she does yell at me. But she knows I’m going to do it, so why the pretense?
“The OTHER one, the girl, she’s about 2 days into it. She’s still thinkin’, that one, she’s still there in her head but I can’t let her out or she’ll turn other folks into zombies. Can’t have that, nope.” She shook her head and looked down in the dungeon, then held out the steno by the corner and moved it up and down a couple of times. I took it.
The book was a diary of sorts, filled with pages of zombie hunting, zombie experimentation, and she was building a zombie catalog, all the folks that were turned into zombies, starting from the back page and working backwards.
My name was on the list.
“Hey – why’s my name here? I’m not a zombie! I didn’t even know zombies were real until 10 seconds ago.” I said and started towards her. She had turned her back to me and was rifling through her bag again. I came up behind her, “Sher… hey, why am I-”
She turned and stuck me with a needle in my shoulder.
“OW!” I jumped back and she smiled.
“You are now,” she said. “That was a mutagen with an accelerator.” She went back to the bag, pushing things aside, looking for something. “Ah, here it is,” she said and held up a little black box. “And here’s the antidote.” She smiled again, walked over to the hole, and tossed the black box into the room with the 2 zombies.
I backed up away from her, over towards her bag.
“Now, one of them’s tied up, the other’s not,” said to me as I rubbed my arm. “You’ve got about 45 minutes to figure out how to get your antidote. You’ve been a great experiment, Rudy, faithful but stupi-”
I stabbed the needle into her arm.
This was actually a dream I had last night – it was very real, but I suppose I should have known it was a dream while I was in it, but there weren’t the normal cues, so my subconscious went along with it.
My dream actually progressed across several dreams, at one point I was nonchalantly carrying a bloody zombie head in a burlap sack, going about my business. Figured I’d keep the reader in suspense, though, and not let on that I won out and claimed a decapitated zombie head as my prize.
I’m trying desperately to write quickly and to make few edits. I am trying to keep the writing simple, small words, things I would actually say in an average conversation, and avoid adverbs. I think I’m getting better all the time, though the stories don’t always lend themselves to the flash fiction style of writing. Even so, I adapt them, as I’ve done here, so the writing tells the story quickly and let’s the reader get on with her day.