The worst feeling in the world is watching your wife leave to visit her new boyfriend. Erik thought he’d done a good job standing beside his wife as she struggled to fit into what he believed was an awesome marriage. The scene played out vivid and loud till she was finally gone. Erik decided he’d had enough. He packed up a small gym bag with a couple days clothes and all the food from the refrigerator. Even the mustard, mayonnaise and last weeks Wednesday dinner sat uncomfortably within the bag. When he finished with the food he grabbed the bottle of Southern Comfort saved for this occasion and took a swallow. The syrup-colored liquid paused near the center of his throat and burned. Erik relished the burn as it finally sank down into his depressed organs.
His car, an impressive 1965 Mustang, sat in the driveway waiting to take him to the end of the world. No one polished their cars anymore, even the classics. They had far bigger things to worry about but Erik spent three days scrounging for wax and soap from the busted shops and home around West Lincoln Rd. He didn’t care that a city of horror sat behind a tall stone wall on the south-side of Kingsboro. Nor, did he care what horror would breach the wall as he drove closer to it.
“That’s right,” he told his terrified conscious, “I’m going to walk through the gate, and stand in the center of hell and let them take me.” He then swallowed another mouthful of Southern Comfort and sat in the driver’s seat. The whiskey swirled through his body as he navigated through the wreckage of Kingsboro till he approached the wall. It was a 15- foot high megalith of a barrier. Made quickly of stone and concrete, anything that could be found to build it. It was like a kaleidoscope of disastrous prevention. He turned the wheel left and followed the wall. Brown, Green and red paint mixed with stones. The memories of a previous time secured into a barrier. On the top of the wall sat automated weapons that moved occasionally with the slightest of movement on the other-side of the wall. Suddenly, from within his conscious screamed. It had enough and was attempting to stop him. Erik stopped the Mustang, the entrance appeared a short distance away. He sat quietly negotiating with an obnoxious voice of reason. “It may be crazy, what he’s doing,” he reasoned, “but it had to be done.”
With his conscious quiet he moved the Mustang forward, hitting the gas a little hard and almost thrusting the right-side of the car against the wall. Luckily, he recovered but sadly this attracted the attention of the guards at the gate and they began to approach.
“Well, it had to happen , eventually,” he reasoned.
He did have a plan B, sitting under the drivers seat. The .45 was polished, cleaned and loaded like everything else.
The first guard walked up to the beautiful machine admiring it like an attractive woman. “What are you doing?” He asked, his tone jealous.
“I want to go inside,” Erik said with a terse smile. The guard smiled back. His companion, standing by the gate, quickly flipped up a cellphone and started dialing.
“Sargent..” the companion began but the first guard waved him off and he ended the call.
The first guard began to negotiate a settlement.
“I will let you in if you give me your car.”
“Really,” said Erik. “No”.
“That is my best and final offer,” said the guard smiling.
“I have 200 dollars for entrance to the other side of the wall,” said Erik
The guard thought quietly and discussed it with a set of telling looks to his companion. Erik could tell that this was not going to end well. He pushed the .45 from under the front seat. He leaned to pick it up but the guard interrupted him.
“Ok, we will let you in for $200 dollars.”
Erik smiled and handed the guard a wallet. “Credit cards too, take them and spend what you want, I don’t care,” he added.
The guard smiled and stepped away. Erik eyed them carefully as he pulled up to the gate. The guards followed. The guard’s companion had joined him as he discussed the situation. Erik grabbed the .45. It sat at his side while the guards talked behind him. The first guard approached. His footsteps heavy in the loose stone below them. Erik leaned to the right as a rifle blow just missed his head. Quickly, he grabbed the .45 and fired a round that took half the guard’s ear off. The guard fell away. Erik quickly opened the driver’s door, but stumbled as the whiskey settled into his knees. He grabbed the young guard by his blue uniform and put the .45 into his open mouth.
The other guard stood motionless. “Likely crapping his pants,” Erik thought. “Open the goddamn, gate you punk kid,” Erik threatened. The guard’s companion complied.
“Didn’t think I could move that fast, did you,” Erik said to the first guard. He then stepped back into the Mustang with the first guard bent toward him bleeding onto the steering wheel and floor. “Your bleeding on my car,” Erik growled and pulled the Mustang forward. The guard struggled to shuffle sideways but Erik didn’t care. He past the guard’s companion and entered the gate. He released the guard and hit the gas. The Mustang roared to life. Erik expected to dodge bullets but none came. He had finally fulfilled part one of suicide by zombie.