NEWSFLASH - I will be on the July 23 Suspense Radio Show with host John Raab. I am scheduled to follow bestselling author Catherine Coulter. Having confirmed just yesterday, I'm not listed yet. However, here's the link.
by Thomas Scopel
Reaching into my pocket I pull out the last bullet. Looking at its tarnished brass metal shell, I'm glad it doesn't glisten. It slides easily into the revolver’s empty barrel chamber hole and I click the latch closed. I can only hope it doesn’t misfire. If it does, well…I don’t want to think about that…
I look upon my dead friend John, lying silently before me on the moonlit floor. He looks old and decrepit—probably not much different than I look since we are the same age. He was lucky. Old age took him peacefully away.
Hearing the outside rustling as they constantly move about, they will no longer smell him. But I, on the other hand, still give off the living aroma and before long, that first one will get a whiff of me and become frenzied. When that occurs, within a sheer moment the complete horde will certainly take notice. They won’t stop either…not until they reach me anyways. God help me.
It won’t be long now and I eerily can’t help but recall those old George Romero zombie flicks and my once fondness for them. However, I am no longer an admirer—haven’t been for years—not since this whole nightmare began anyways.
When we were out foraging, John and I would jest about the punch line in one of them—it’s been so long that I can’t recall which—but it made mention that when hell was full the dead will walk the earth. Eventually though, it lost the witticism and I can honestly say that I am no longer an aficionado. In fact, I now view Mr. Romero with a reverence once saved for Nostradamus, for he certainly had this specific foresight correct.
Oh, he had it down to an art that Romero guy and I can tell you that his directorial vision came very close to perfect, except for their swiftness that is. These monstrosities move considerably faster than his lumbering about screen counterpart versions. Yep, he definitely had that aspect wrong.
I watch them peering in through the dusty window glass, their lifeless glazed eyes staring into nothingness. We used to find what little humor we could in that too and would say that when you can see the glaze in their eyes, that’s when to fire. Sort of a take on the minutemen during the Revolutionary War and that quote about not firing until you see the whites of the British’s eyes. In our younger days it used to be fun dodging and picking them off. But as the years passed and we grew older, the excitement and humor settled and we grew to realize the grim gravity of it all.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice faint movement as my dear dead friend begins to rouse. His head rises slowly and awkwardly. His eyes are glazed and I can’t help but to grin. I guess that humor hasn’t completely diminished.
I press the tip of the pistol barrel to my chest. I would consider putting it to my head…but…somehow…oddly enough…I think I’ll enjoy seeing the world through a milky white haze…