Riding The Apocalypse Read Free

TV is directly between her breasts. Now over the years, let’s just say, the TV has been less obscured by others compared to my ex. That day I was grateful for more than the obvious reason because they helped partially obscure what I was seeing. I huddled down further and changed from the black screen to another news station which was still broadcasting. I was trying to watch the coverage, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the minutes passed. I could feel her warm breath as she gasped repeatedly, and felt my own head shift as she turned to the left, averting her eyes. We could not look away for long though. We were drawn to the images like rubberneckers to an automobile accident. It was so hard to believe what was unfolding on my TV was real and not some bad movie. It just couldn’t be real, could it? I edged back, closer to my ex’s left ear, her long, brown hair partially blocked my eyes and felt comforting against the side of my face.
    The camera must have been mounted on a tripod atop a news van or truck or something like that because the camera angle never moved. The cameraman was probably long gone.
    The unmanned camera was focused on the turnabout in front of Stanford Hospital. It was a wide shot, showing the entire loop of the drop-off area, a road up a small hill and back down the other side with a small lawn inside the cement loop. Grass covered the hill leading up to ambulance parking. It was actually pretty nice as hospitals go. Or would have been if not for what was unfolding.
    The scene was surreal. There was a crashed ambulance abandoned at an awkward angle, almost perpendicular to the glass doors atop the roundabout. The emergency vehicle had come to rest with the right bumper abutting the right innermost column, the lights were flashing silently and all the doors were opened and marked with reddish brown smears. The column which had halted its progress was one of four that supported the bright white awning sheltering the drop-off area. “EMERGENCY” was emblazoned across the top in bright red letters, completing the facade of the building.
    How literal.
    “Who the fuck was that?!” my ex screamed in my ear.
    Our heads collided together as I pulled her tightly to me. She screamed again as I buried my thumb into her right triceps muscle. I released her upper arm and watched the color return as I slid back down to my preferred position.
    “Who the fuck was that?!” I repeated. I again saw what appeared to be a pale gray man wearing a crimson red scarf stumble from behind the right side of the ambulance. Then he abruptly reversed his course, and stumbled out of sight behind the emergency vehicle, gone from the camera’s static view.
    Partially obscured by my ex’s left breast was another man, lurching slowly up the hill. His gait was odd, and he was covered in blood. I immediately thought of the Surgeon General’s warning—
    “Oh my God!” I shouted.
    The man with the scarf appeared again. He wandered from around the ambulance toward the camera. As he passed the emergency vehicle, the scarf left a bright red streak across the back of the van.
    It was not a scarf.
    What I had thought was a scarf was actually the man’s right arm, or what was left of it. The arm had somehow been nearly severed at the elbow, and was flailing alongside his body with no bone to hold the flesh in place. The blood was a darker crimson than I imagined it would be. I was amazed at the almost  purple appearance of his ripped skin and exposed sinews. His movements were coltish as he stumbled then turned again toward the camera. He promptly tripped again as his left foot dragged across the red-painted cement curb. The monster rolled awkwardly down the small grassy hill, staying in view the entire time. Had it not been such a terrifying scene, it would be comical. The one armed man did not even attempt to break his fall, and rolled down the bank. Near the end he tumbled into another monster who was limping up the