Free Dahmer Flu by Christopher Cox Page B

pregnant, but she didn’t seem too surprised; perhaps it was shock. We each mourned, briefly, for our respective losses; for the fantasies and dreams of what not-yet-was. Somehow, among all the death and all the sorrow, this one was a true tragedy.
    We each mourned, briefly, for our respective losses- the fantasies and dreams of what not-yet-was. Somehow, among all the death, this one struck us as a tragedy.
    “I’ve been bleeding for a few days,” Aimee explained, “but it didn’t seem serious. I really thought that-”
    She stopped in mid-sentence, having heard the same thing as Madi and I- a low guttural moan that was both hungry and primitive. The sound was muffled by and echoed off the walls, making it seem to come from every direction at once. Yet, it wasn’t the undead chorus, but only a single voice. We froze in place, afraid to breathe. We were mostly unarmed, tired and, for Aimee, too weak to fight.
    The sound grew louder, the producer being frustrated at whatever stood between it and its meal. The sound reached a fever pitch until we heard a massive crash. Then another. And then another. It grew louder and more insistent and stronger as the beating continued. I knew- we all knew by now- that the sounds would attract others if any were around. The undead were remarkably social and would always come when they heard the sounds of a live meal.
    “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Keep this door shut until I do.”
    The three- now only three- sat on the bed, very still. “I love you,” I said to all of them.
    “I love you, too,” said the girls in unison.
    I left the room and closed the door behind me, hearing the lock click into place behind me. Clearly, they felt fear; me, I felt alone and on the wrong side of the locked door. I crept along the hallway towards the living room, my flashlight off, but ready. The crashing had stopped and now I heard the soft, rhythmic shuffle of undead feet, and the occasional knock as the creature hit an object. The sound was getting louder- it was coming this way.
    I reached the end of the hallway and took a breath. The house was pitch dark and I knew that I would feel the creature before I saw it without light. I flicked on my flashlight, casting a beam into the living room; as if by chance, it fell directly on the face of a man, or what was left of it, at the far end of the room. He wore faded jeans and a plaid work shirt, and shuffled towards me anxiously. His skull had been caved in and dried blood ran from the wound, dripping over the dark cavity of his missing eye- the other watched me hungrily. Behind him, one of the doors, now seen to be hollow wood and thin, had been beaten off its hinges and broken in two. It was the husband- he wouldn’t die as a man, after all.
    Along with the flashlight, I leveled the revolver at his remaining eye; I couldn’t afford to miss- couldn’t risk the sound of more than a single shot. I waited until he grew closer, for a clean shot. Halfway across the room, he hastened as if he could smell my flesh. His moaning reached a fevered pitch as he closed, closer still, one step at a time. Nearly within grasping distance, I squeezed the trigger.
    Crack!
    The creature stumbled in mid-step, its shoulder snapping back violently with the strike. It continued to close, undeterred; already I could smell the putrid breath.
    Crack!
    My ears rang with the concussion, but my lead had finally found its mark. The creature’s eye disintegrated in a mass of black frothy cream, and its head snapped at an impossible angle. It stood, aloft for several seconds, balanced only by bizarre fortune, before collapsing forward at my feet. I jumped back quickly to avoid the mass as the head hit the ground with a sickening thud. The house was now still, except for the fading ringing in my ears.
    I paused and listened, and there were no more. The night was silent as I pulled the creature back to the breached room and closed the door as much as was possible. I