Me…and the Undead

At the end of the world you weren’t supposed to live, or so Case thought. He hadn’t really been a lucky man, but so few were nowadays. “That goddamned crying,” he whispered to himself. He heard it from the floor above. “I just can’t take it anymore.” The periodic crying would shake him from time to time. The whining sounded like it was a baby, but he thought it was only him and Luna alone in the whole condo. Case was seemingly the only one who could hear it. It often came at odd times during the day, never following a pattern. During the early RAI educational programs, while he showered, or even during his favorite show Paperissimo. Case was often alone, but not really. The sinister howling would travel its terrible way down from the sixth floor. Sometimes on his balcony, he could hear it clearer than ever. The droning was definitely female; the cry sounded more like the pouting of a child who didn’t get what they wanted for Christmas. Today, however, Case had more important activities to attend to. He, of course, being the husband in a rather lackluster marriage, was responsible for all the fuckin’ donkeywork. It was Case who had to go out and get the groceries; it was Case who had to check for mail; and it was poor, pitiful Case who had to go down the goddamned hill and back up again. -UP THE HILL, DOWN THE HILL- Rome, Italy. Their home address was Via Giacinto dei Vecchi Pieralice. It took the lazy American two and a half years to memorize it, and pronounce every fuckin’ syllable correctly. Not that it really mattered nowadays. Goddamned Armageddon had fucked up his whole life. He was quasi-married, although unhappily; at one time in his life, Case loved telling all his friends how much of an angel his wife was. The way she’d arch her eyebrows as he fucked up yet another thing, the way she’d berate him relentlessly as he failed to understand her complex, fragile states, and the absolute mess of an apartment that waited for him, and only him, to clean up after a hard day’s work; it all made him feel like he chose the best woman in the world so many years ago. And yet the dumb bastard stayed. Case thought that maybe Luna would change like magic. POOF! Be gone, bitch! Well, it had been close to seven fuckin’ years of blissful pain, and the shrew still refused to clean pots and pans. Case never complained. Instead, he believed himself the better man. He had made a commitment to that deceiver; that liar; that fuckin’ goddamn ruiner. Casey boy just didn’t know how to express himself. Perhaps it was better to be seen and not heard. At least he had someone during the chaos that had engulfed nearly all the planet. Case had to get ready – again. As if Luna didn’t have enough vodka and wine in the fridge, she need a little bit more. Oh, it was fine with her to sacrifice her husband. Sure, it was fine to dangle a piece of meat to those decomposing motherfuckers outside. No problem whatsoever. Case didn’t mind dipping his toes in the pool full of sharks. No, the poor schmuck only wanted to please her. To make sure her needs were satisfied. They had past problems, but every couple did, right? Why should he still be repenting for past sins? Case figured all that mattered in their strained relationship were Luna’s poor, poor feelings. Luna was very good at turning small issues into galactic proportions. She didn’t need the liquor, no, she just wanted to boss her donkey around. He might as well have changed his name to Assman, or something along those lines. Case would usually go to the Carrefore down the hill across the intersection where he lived. Only problem for the shithead was that he lived on the fifth floor, and the rundown, always-low-on-goods supermarket was almost half a kilometer away; all along the way were those…things. Nobody knew what they were, that is if anyone was still around. Casey knew the bitey bastards meant business. Case’s supermarket runs were scheduled for once a week. Usually Monday mornings around seven. For some unknown reason, this was when the path would always be the clearest. However, today wasn’t Monday. It was Friday. Come Monday, he’d have to go again. Case never questioned his dear Luna. At her request, he shut up and got ready. He covered every inch of his body. Casey boy was a little dense, but not stupid. All fashion aside, Case would wear two pairs of jeans, socks, gloves, long-sleeved T-shirts, and even two facemasks. He never took a chance; ending up like one of those creepy walkers outside was worse than death itself. Case had no weapons per se. He wished he had a gun, but, of course, that would’ve made things so much fuckin’ easier, wouldn’t it? He had dull kitchenware, which was just useless. He had used a plastic broom handle for a while, but it snapped in half during a confrontation with Maria, his old porter. So, he ended up using an oven tray to knock those freaky bastards back. He always carried his trusty North Face backpack everywhere he went. It had been with him through the thick and thin, and had been a more responsible friend to him than his ex-wife. Lastly were his boots. They looked like they belonged to Alice Cooper, or Marilyn Manson. They made Case tall, tall enough to make him stick out in a crowd. Who cared? Even if they grabbed a hold of him, they couldn’t bite through all the layers.