Crazy little fuck, crazy little fuck, what the hell was that? This is...I swear, this is why I hate kids. Little bastard, all I was trying to do was pull him back from being hit by a car. Little shit bites me? Who lets their kid bite?
Punk ass kid, I should have just let him get hit. Walk out in traffic, ya little jerk, get plowed down, why should I care? Your mom doesn't have the good sense to protect the crap that falls out of her womb, why should I give a damn?
Stupid day, anyway. Woke up late, totally ruined my morning routine: make coffee, have a cup while I smoke a cigarette and watch the news. No time to make coffee, had to boil water for instant while I stepped out for my smoke. Wash down the nicotine with a cup of too-strong coffee; instant always smells a little like cat piss to me, I'm never real comfortable drinking it.
News? Sorry, world, you're just gonna have to handle a day of being ignored. Shower, hopping out practically before the water has even warmed up, dry my hair off as best as I can. You walk outside with a wet head, you got icicles hanging down in your face before you even get to the bus stop.
Another quick few gulps of coffee, burn the hell out of my mouth, but maybe the heat in my belly will keep me warm a little, once I hit the street. Wind blowin so hard that you can barely even see, snow hitting you in the face like it caught you fuckin its wife. This city has no soul, just misery, I swear it.
Get around the corner, the buildings cut the wind, just as cold, but now you can smell the bum piss, so that's nice. Half a mile walk through the dirty snow, huddled up in myself, my coat might as well be made of wet paper, as much good as it's doin me.
Finally come up to the bus stop. The little enclosure doesn't do much to protect you from the elements, but at least there are some annoying ads to look at while you wait. I notice there's a little spot on snow drift in the corner, white as you can get. Like the only clean patch of snow in this city. I know it's dumb, but it makes me smile, a little.
And then I see the kid stumble past. He's dressed in one of them heavy snow suits, the hood of his jacket cinched up around his face so tight he reminds of that Kenny kid from the South Park cartoon. I don't know if he's snow blind or just stupid from the cold, but he wobbles right off the curb, right out in traffic.
Roads like this, cars can't stop even if they want to. And in this town, they probably don't want to. Little bastard's a goner, that's all.
But I find myself running, slipping around a little as my feet try to get traction, I feel like some stupid Scooby Doo cartoon, pumpin my arms and legs, like I'm going somewhere's fast, but really, I'm standing still. And finally my work boots catch on something, and I'm moving.
The taxi materializes out of the snow, it's like a damn horror movie. Like, one second it's not there, and then it is, almost like it's bearing down on the kid. Of course it's not--just some idiot cabbie going too fast in the snow, he can't see shit.
The crazy part is that somehow, I make it. Somehow, I manage to grab the kid by the back of his coat, and I yank him out of the street. The cab still catches one of his feet, though. It's a solid thunk, and I wait for the kid to start wailing. I mean, it knocked his shoe off and everything.
But the kid don't make a noise, and even though his foot looks a little messed up, I figure he might be double-blessed--not only did he have some stranger to yank him out of Death's path, but he also managed to only lose a shoe instead of getting a broken foot.
I ask him if he's okay, I ask him where's his mother. I turn him around, and that's when I see his jacket. See, when I pulled him back, I pulled his hood down, the one that was cinched up so tight that you couldn't see his face. I see the inside of his jacket is all ripped up and slobbery and the filling is leaking out. It's like the kid was just walking around chewing up the inside of his coat or something.
I'm still trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with this kid, still trying to figure out where his idiot parents are, and that's when he lunges forward and bites the hell outta me. I yell out a few choice words, and I shove him away. He smashes into the backside of the enclosure pretty hard, and I think, yep, this is it. Here's where he starts bawling and his mother comes up from nowhere and starts screaming about what did you do to her baby.
Instead, he just comes at me again. I plant a hand in his chest, and he goes tumbling over the bench. He lands on his back, and with all his snow gear on, he can't get up. He looks like a turtle on its back, but a human version. He looks hilarious.
"Stephen?" It's some lady, I'm guessing his mom. She looks like shit, all pale and dazed. Wearing sneakers and a housecoat--I'm guessing some kind of a junkie mom. Who knows?
She rushes over and scoops him up from the ground. She glares at me, accusing.
"He just now fell, he's clumsy as fuck. I yanked his little ass out of traffic. So instead of glaring at me, you should prolly think about showing some gratitude."
She's holding the kid like a baby, even though I know he's gotta be at least nine, all cradling him in her arms and shit. And what really makes it weird is that he's reaching his face up towards hers, I guess trying to kiss her? She holds him out, so that his face never gets close to her skin--not her face, not her arms, not her chest. I notice this because why? Because it looks weird. Everything about this mom and this son is a little weird, a little off. I want nothing to do with them.
You know what? The next stop is only three blocks away, and even with the storm, I could make it, I bet. Make it before the next bus, and if not, so what? I have to call the boss and tell him that everything got held up because of the weather. Whatever, doesn't matter. Anything is better than hanging out with this lunatic chick and her psycho baby.
Halfway down the next block, my insides explode. No way. Really? Stupid day, anyway. Worst I've ever needed to take a shit, like I've been drinking gin and laxative all night.
Back the way I came, back home, as fast I can go while keeping my ass cheeks clenched. This is why you don't buy the vodka on the bottom shelf, that's what I'm thinking, so I don't have to think about how bad I have to take a dump right now. Couple drinks, nothing serious, but the next day, you gotta shit like it's going out of style. Costs a few bucks less, but now look--I'm gonna miss out on an hour or two of work, easy. That math don't wash--I'll be losing money.
The stairs up to my apartment look like a version of hell to me, but I don't even pause. If I shit my pants now, it is what it is--at least I'm close enough that I can use my own trash bags, right?
I make it, but just barely. As I crap out my insides, I text my boss, telling him I can't come in to work today.
I dread his response. The guy's pretty cool about most things, but you miss work, he blows his top. His favorite saying goes, "Anyone can do your job--you're all trained monkey. What I pay you for is to show up and do that job." As much as I'd like to tell you all about what an asshole he is, I have to admit that he's got a pretty good point.
Instead of an angry phone call that I'd have to answer (even though I'm soul-deep on the shitter), I get a text.
NO KIDING!!! BE CAREFUL MY FIERND!!
I stare at his message for a while, knowing that whatever's going on, I'm behind on the news. When I finally feel brave enough, I waddle from the toilet far enough to open the door and grab the remote control.
Yeah, I'm one of those guys who has it set up where he can see the TV from the bathroom. Don't act surprised.
I turn on the news, because that's all there is, on every channel. I listen for a minute, as they talk about how we all need to stay inside. As they talk about the symptoms. As they talk about how the infected will act.
You gotta be kidding me. I watch as the screen shows people stumbling around, trying to eat other people. Then they show a clip of some of the victims. I notice that several of them have shit themselves. Explosive diarrhea is a symptom of the infection. Then death. After that, that's when you get up and try to eat other folks.