Free Red Winter by Drew Montgomery Page A

life.

When his hands grasped my left arm in an iron grip, I was suddenly broken out of my trance and began to fight. I couldn't break his grip and began to panic. With my free arm, I was pushing off his face, keeping his snapping jaws away from me.

What saved my life was the combination of a cheap jacket and the typically uneven Houston sidewalk. In my struggles, I shifted over an uneven crack and slipped, turning my ankle. But what directed my attention from the pain that would inevitably come was a ripping noise. A quick glance revealed the seam along the zipper beginning to burst. I pulled again and the seam ripped further.

With one final pull, the jacket was completely torn and the man fell, landing square on his ass, holding my jacket in his hands while I still stood. As I backed away, I saw him rise to his feet, his bloody mouth forming a gruesome sneer. I backed away further, preparing to run when I heard a deafening bang and saw the man's head explode.

As the body collapsed to the ground, I saw Gino standing there, smoking shotgun in hand. I don't think I've ever been more relieved to see the old bastard more in my life.

"Chase, are you alright?" he asked in that thick accent, but I ignored him and rushed to Ben. It was too late for him, though. The blood was already congealing in a pool beneath him and his eyes gazed lifelessly into the sky, but I wouldn't believe it.

"Gino, call the police, quickly!" I exclaimed.

Gino rushed away as I grabbed up the remains of my jacket and tried in vain to stop the remaining blood from leaving Ben's body, a fool's errand.

So here I am not, and if you're reading this, STAY INDOORS. Something's happening, something awful. I haven't turned on the news, I'm afraid to, so maybe I'm out of the loop, but...Jesus Christ. I don't know how I'll survive this.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

    Gone to Hell

    I'm fine.

It took almost a week, but I've finally collected myself. A week of left over pain pills from the car accident last year (past the expiration date, but I don't care) and booze, but last night I finally had a restful sleep. I still dreamed of Ben dying on the ground in front of me, but it didn't seem as bad for some reason.

I also finally gained the courage to turn on the news this morning. Seeing as work didn't even bother calling me on Monday, I could only assume the worst.

And of course, the worst has come. The emergency broadcast system is running with that god-awful tone, but no one comes on. I have the TV set up right by my computer and on mute, but after several hours, there is still nothing. Maybe someone can clue me in, or maybe there's no one left to.

I still haven't looked out my window, but I guess I should. I need to get out to get supplies at some point.

But...what if this is all in my mind? What if the attacker was simply a mental patient who couldn't be controlled? What if everything is really okay, that this is just a bad flu season?

No. No, no matter what I tell myself, that's not true. There was something I left out of my last post, something about Ben's death that made it worse. I had felt his neck, felt for a pulse and found none. None on his wrist or beneath the bicep either. No heartbeat, nothing.

But when the authorities came and zipped him up in that body bag, I saw him move. I told myself at the time that it was just grief, just my mind playing tricks on me, expecting him to jump up, laugh at the joke and continue on with our lives, but that's not the case. I saw him move and deep down, I know that ambulance did not make it to the morgue.

There hasn't been much noise outside my apartment. Even on the ninth floor, there is always the noise of people, of cars, of sirens. But the past few days have been silent. It's unsettling. I never thought I'd miss all the racket of downtown, but right now, I'd give anything for noise, even that stupid dog that the owner has no control over.

And yet, I still cannot bring myself to look out the window. Not