89.4 Zombie Radio

Four weeks. That's how long I had. The date was set in stone, the materials were all bought. To back out now would be pointless. Most people with four weeks to live start living it up. They try to do everything they always wanted to do. All the things they feel they missed out on. Not me though. I never wanted to do any of it. I don't feel I'm missing out on anything. This whole, big world just wasn't made for a guy like me and quite frankly I felt it was time I moved on from it. Four weeks and I'd be free. Four weeks and I'd be done with this bull shit.

I lived in a small, two room apartment. Given one of those rooms was a bathroom, it was rather cramped to say the least. I wasn't the type to just collect random junk however, so one room was plenty. I kept to myself for the most part in my life. Some might say a little too, to myself. I usually went out of my way to avoid being around people. I was different from them, not to say I'm above anybody, but I felt like they just weren't on my level. I couldn't stand the idle chit chat, the "Some weather we're having," conversations that everyone else seemed more than comfortable having with complete and total strangers. I've always believed if you're gonna talk to somebody, have something to say, because we all know how fucking hot it is outside, you don't need to reiterate it.

I worked two jobs. From six to two I was a cook for a little diner called "Freeman's." It never payed the greatest and you could never quite avoid the smell of grease the rest of the day after. It never quite payed the bills, so I got another job. From three to eleven I worked second shift down at a factory that made metal shells. The type that go in big paper mills. That's what they tell me at least, I really could care less as long as they're paying me to do it. I like work, it takes my mind off of things. I feel its the closest thing to an out of body experience as I'll ever have. I hate free time. All its ever done is let the flood gates open on all the things I'd rather not think of.

You'd figure with two jobs I'd do pretty okay monetarily, and you'd also be correct. But a man like me has nothing to spend his money on. What would I buy? I have everything I need already available. There's no need for extra crap. So my money just builds in a little bank account. I'm hoping the miniature fortune buys some obscure cousin of mine a trip to Vegas for a night he can't remember with high class hookers. I'd be happy with that, at least my life would have achieved something for somebody else.

It's the first week in this four week countdown to suicide. Every morning I wake up and stare the bottle of sleeping pills I plan on downing with a nice bottle of champagne, right in the face. After this little stare down, I get up and start the routine. I love the kitchen, because you're oblivious to what's really going on outside. Occasionally you get a good chuckle when one of the old guys decides to get kinky and slap one of the new girls on the ass, but mostly its pretty boring. Just you and those slips of paper that sometimes never seem to end, but they always do, and its always the same time when they do.

Then its off to the real grind. There is nothing more tedious than factory work. That's why it pays so well. There's nothing hard about it, its just a matter of physical and mental stamina. A few nights they ask me to stay over and I oblige them. Who needs sleep anyway? Certainly not a man three weeks away from killing himself. If anything he needs every waking hour he can get. He's a man who needs to be reminded why life is not worth living. Also he could use the money, those Vegas hookers don't come cheap.

Another week down, the days start passing a little slower. The diner slows down a little bit. Its slowed down in the past, but never quite like this. Owner says its this new disease that's been on the news. I wouldn't know, I sold my TV a few weeks back. He mentions his theory that its something in the meat. Good thing I've been on a self torture diet of baked potatoes and tap water for the past few weeks as well. I guess his wife hasn't been feeling good, tells me he's not feeling the greatest either. Not surprising, the man's pushing seventy and he eats at least three full meals before one o'clock.

The factory though speeds up. Not because there's more work to do. But because everyone's getting sick and calling off. Rotten bastards I say. I'd show up to work if my dick was falling off. They might send me home, but I'd show up damn it! So now I'm stuck with three times the work, doesn't matter, I thrive on it. Thank God Randle's not sick. Don't get me wrong I think the guy's a redneck asshole, but if he weren't here who'd be giving me work? A few of the more dedicated employees are still showing up. I see one guy spit blood into a handkerchief for nearly three hours straight. Lucky bastard, why can't I get that shit? I could just start eating meat again, but it wouldn't matter. The date of my demise is already set and I feel its necessary to torment myself as much as possible before the big day.

Its the last week now, and I'm getting excited about it. I show up a little early to the diner this morning. Usually Henry, the owner, is there doing paperwork or something. I figure I'll stop in and see if he needs anything extra. Besides what else do I have to do? This morning though he's strangely not there. I wait till the time when I'm usually due in, still nobody. Another hour, still nobody shows up. You'd figure after my five years of loyal service the guy would give me a key by now, but no, he never did. Another half hour passes and I give up. I don't know what's wrong to where nobody shows up, but something's wrong. I decide to go home and stare at the ceiling for a few hours, hoping somebody calls me to come in. It never happens.

Two o'clock rolls around and I decide to head into the factory early. I'll probably just sit outside and listen to whatever comes on the radio, but I think I've stared this ceiling down good enough. I get there, and immediately notice there's no cars in the lot. I walk up to the doors and am greeted by a sign that reads "Shut down until further notice." I think I scream the loudest F bomb I've ever screamed in my life to this point. An entire day off? What will I do with myself. I get home to the empty apartment, heat my baked potato up and decide to sneak a few of the sleeping pills early. It feels good to sleep the day away.

It's the eve of my date with destiny. I decide that it might be a good idea to call my parents just one last time. I don't plan on leaving a note and I'd like them to have maybe some resemblance of closure about my death. I don't want to worry them, just want to say goodbye, and thank them for bringing me into this world that I can't wait to get out of. I dial the number and get no answer. I try multiple times and still no answer. I'd say they weren't home if I weren't calling a cell number. Suddenly in the middle of my last attempt, I here a loud bang from across the hall. It's coming from the cute girl's apartment. I never talked to her, I just always noticed her on my way in from the factory. She was usually a bit trashed at that point in the night and usually had a new guy with her every time. I figure this time she hooked up with the wrong one and he banged her up a little bit. Pretty soon the cops will be here and this whole mess will work itself out. I might even get a little entertainment my last night alive.

Then I hear the most blood curdling scream I've ever heard in my life. The type you can't really even fake in a horror movie. I'm not even sure if it was a scream, it was more like a roar. Now curiosity is getting the better of me. I have got to see what is behind that noise. I look down the hall and don't see anything. Also surprising is the lack of other interested parties. That is not a noise you hear every day, if I, a man who usually could care less has to know what's behind it, surely someone else is curious. Maybe they're just afraid though. I walk into the hall, edging closer to the little cute girl's apartment. I'm an observant guy with a good memory, and when a girl who looks like that goes into somewhere, I tend to remember where it is. More banging, it sounds like its getting closer. Another ear piercing screech, whoever is making this noise is right behind that door.

One last bang, and the door flies open. It was the little cute girl, or was it? The last I saw her she wasn't bleeding profusely from the mouth. Then again STDs these days are pretty abundant so maybe it was her. Maybe she has a weird condition where she has her period out of her mouth. "Fuck it" I think to myself, I'm gonna talk to her, its my last day alive, might as well right? At least to figure out what all the commotions about. The only thing I could manage to squeak out though was "Is everything okay?" I took the swat aimed at my head as code for "No it definitely isn't." I started backing up, but she kept edging closer, her eyes locked in a bloodthirsty trance. I quickened my pace a little and so did she, until the pace turn to a mad sprint to my door.

Luckily I'm fast, must have been all those years running around the kitchen. I closed the door and locked it behind. I even latched the chain, which is unusual for me. "No problem, I'll just call the police and this whole mess will sort itself out." I think to myself. She keeps banging on the door, no matter how many times I ask her to stop she doesn't. I dial the cops. No one answers. I redial the cops. Still no answer. Perhaps I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. I hear some more banging from down the hall. It gets closer and closer until its right on my door. Now I guess I've pissed three neighbors off today. Oh well, stick to the plan, the "just in case" plan I've always had.

I grab the bat I've for no good reason kept since little league out from under my bed. Now's the time to remember what they taught me. I always remember dumb things like that. "Choke up" they always said. "Put your body into the swing." "Keep your eye on the ball." "Hit it like you're mad at it." Only a few of those sayings applied now, the ball was the faces of my neighbors and I was pretty pissed at them. I never got the point of choking up so that was useless, but put your body into the swing, those were some words to live by. I could hear the door start to give way. That chain wouldn't hold them for long either. I needed to take a strategic position, if I tried to take them head on it might get bad.

` The door finally gave and the blood hungry bastards came rushing in. I hid myself behind the door and swung as hard as I could nailing the one in the back of his head. He fell to the floor, knocking the other guy down with him. The little cute girl was still standing. She let out another shriek, only this time I was tired of hearing them. I stepped into the swing of the bat and kept my eye right on her jaw, knocking it halfway around her face. I knew they weren't dead, not yet at least. With my luck the cops will show up right when I'm in the middle of my next step. I started to pound away at the heads of my former neighbors. It was now the closest thing I've had to an out of body experience.

When I was finally finished there wasn't much left of their heads. The little cute girl wasn't so cute without a face. It kind of saddened me. Like a child the phrase "They started it" circled in my head and I actually laughed. Maybe there was something wrong with me. I kicked the lifeless bodies out into the hall and went back into my apartment. Maybe I should just bump the suicide to today. Then something happened in my brain. It was hard to explain. I knew what was going on, it wasn't spelled out exactly, but I'm not stupid. This was it, this was the end. The world was going to be zombies and burning buildings from here on out. Whatever that disease was, definitely had something to do with it. I could just kill myself. I should just kill myself. I can't explain the notion that came over me. I think it was just me being curious as to what happened next. I was going to kill myself anyway, why not go out in style? Eaten by 20 zombies while trying to fend them off with a chainsaw and a sharpened toothbrush. I slung the bat over my shoulder, put the sleeping pills into my pocket, said my final goodbyes to my shit hole apartment and ventured out into the apocalypse.