At World's End

<i>This story takes heavy influence from the Japanese web novel/visual novel "I Walk Among Zombies" by Uraji Rokuro. Their concept for the zombies were very innovative, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Though the story meandered a bit before being abandoned, I think there were a lot of solid ideas, and this story here is my take on what could've been. </i>

The only thing worse than missing the bus was missing the stop, and somehow Ray had managed to do both on a single night. Naturally, it was also pouring outside during the 15-minute walk back to his apartment, topped off by the fact that he didn't have an umbrella. A likely portent of things to come, seeing as today was only the first day of tax season.

Go into business, they said. It would be easy, they said. What they didn't say was the 12-hour workdays even as an intern that made Ray's university work seem like heaven in comparison. Plus, the work had hardly felt fulfilling. He spent half the day phone in hand, waiting on hold as he got juggled around by various government departments playing hot potato with him. By the time he got off of work, he had barely missed his bus, and ended up dozing off on the next bus, which resulted in him almost ending up on the wrong side of town.

Shivering from the cold, Ray finally arrived at his ratty apartment, already losing feeling in his toes. In a perfect world, there would be a kind lover waiting back home, with a warm bowl of soup waiting for him. In reality, he was probably just going to eat instant ramen again, a staple in the single college-aged male diet.

"Shit, again?" Ray muttered to himself, looking at the "out of order" sign on the elevator. "That's twice this week."

You get what you pay for, and paying bottom tier rent got you an apartment held together by duct tape and prayers. Shaking his head in annoyance, Ray began making the trek up to the fourth floor, going as fast as he can. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to run into any of the other denizens residing in this shitty place. With his luck today, he wouldn't be surprised if he got shanked for looking at someone the wrong way.

Right as Ray opened the door to exit the stairwell on the fourth floor, he ran right into someone walking in the halls, and the man he bumped into fell onto the ground awkwardly, not even using his arms to cushion the fall.

"Fucking hell," Ray muttered as he offers his hand out to the fallen man. "You alright man?" But as he does so, he notices something a little odd about him. The guy was pale, unnaturally so, and his eyes seemed to be rolled so far up Ray can't even see his pupils. Was he another druggie? As Ray was reconsidering helping the man up, the once prone man leapt up of his own volition and pounced on Ray aggressively, tackling him to the floor.

"What the fu-", before Ray can react, the man's mouth was bearing down on him, seemingly ready to begin munching down on him. Reacting purely on instinct, Ray raised his left forearm, trying to use it to shield his face. With no hesitation, the man bit into Ray's arm, causing Ray to yell in pain. Using his right arm, Ray grabs the handle of his heavy briefcase, and swings it into the man's head, smacking the jaw with a heavy thud. The tight grip on Ray's arm was loosened, which was enough to allow Ray to slip his arm out and use it for a shove, flinging the man backwards. Scrambling to his feet, Ray took another look at his attacker, whose jaw seemed to have been entirely dislocated, yet was not showing any signs of being in pain.

Gripping his briefcase with both hands, Ray lunged forward with another vicious strike, and his opponent simply allowed it to hit him with no attempt to block or dodge the attack. When the suitcase made contact, there was a sickening

<i>crack</i>

, and the man fell to the ground, this time completely still.

Ray briefly considered one more hit for good measure but figured that that would probably put him outside the legal realms of self-defense. Instead, he opted to just head back to his room, nursing his wounded arm. Somehow, the man had bitten through not only his shirt, but also his jacket, resulting in a bloody mess of torn skin. Locking the door behind him, he took out his phone to call the cops to report the incident but figured he should clean the wound first.

It seems the fight took a larger toll on Ray than he originally thought, and now that the adrenaline was no longer pumping, he felt a heavy fatigue take over. Even the pain of washing the injury wasn't enough to shake it off, and he wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and conk out. Ray's place had no bandages, and he certainly wasn't about to go to the hospital, so he just wrapped a towel around it and hoped for the best. By the time he was done, he could barely stay on his feet and keep his eyes open. Maybe he'll call the cops tomorrow instead...

*

Ray woke up with a ravenous hunger, which makes sense, seeing has he skipped dinner last night. Groggily opening his eyes, he found himself on his bed, still wearing his work clothes. With his blinds closed, he had no idea what time it was, and he sincerely hoped it wasn't 8 am yet, though he suspected he was likely going to be late for work today. Reaching for the nightstand, he grabbed his phone, but found that it was dead. Strange, considering it was still at around 20% last night. Shrugging, he plugged it into the charger before taking off his clothes and heading into the bathroom for a shower. As he did so, he checked his bite injury again, and was shocked to see how much it had healed. Just last night, it was fresh and still bleeding, and somehow it had healed overnight to just being a scar?

Having a bad feeling about the state of things, Ray left his bathroom without bothering with the shower, and turned on his phone, which was now sitting at 2%. His heartbeat going crazy, he stared at the phone's start up screen as it booted up. "C'mon, c'mon", he muttered, trying to confirm his suspicions.

Finally, the phone was on, and Ray immediately checked the date. A bright JAN 16 was showing in the top left corner. Except yesterday was January 8

th

...wasn't it? At that moment, Ray noticed the absurd number of notifications on his phone. 24 missed phone calls. 108 unread text messages. What the hell was going on? Even if he missed work for a week, there shouldn't be that many messages. He wanted to go through these right now, but at that moment, his stomach growled, reminding him that if the date was correct, then he hadn't eaten anything in over a week.

Quickly, Ray began boiling some hot water for preparation for instant ramen and decided to take a shower in the meantime. Clean and food ready, he sat down in his dining room, which was really just an extension of the kitchen, and flipped through his notifications as he ate. A lot of phone calls and text messages January 9

th

from his boss, which makes sense. The messages were all work related, so he quickly scrolled past them. More messages and calls followed on the 10

th

, mostly more of the same, though there was a message from the landlord saying there was to be a police investigation of the murder that took place here. On the 11

th

, it seemed he had received some messages from his friend Kevin, who was apparently wondering how the riots were on Ray's side of the city.

Confused, Ray opened the shutters and took a quick peek outside, but the view wasn't great, and he couldn't see too much outside. Going back to his messages, he continued scrolling through the more recent ones. Lots of missed phone calls from Kevin, as well as Ray's little sister, Alice, which was certainly a surprise. They'd hardly gotten along when they were younger, and the relationship certainly hadn't improved over time. After all, he was the anti-social low achiever, content with mediocrity, while she was blessed with both charisma and intelligence. She had left several voice mails, warning about mobs of sick people rioting all over the city, and maybe even the country, with lots of casualties. She advised that he should either get to a shelter or stay put, but definitely don't wander outside. Her tone was curt and direct, but the fact that she bothered at all put her a step above their parents. With his phone charged, he tried calling her, but found that there was no signal. After trying to search stuff up online, he found that his Wi-Fi router was seemingly down, and so was his mobile data.

As much as Ray wanted to heed his sister's advice, he was running out of food. He had intended to buy more last week, with his heavy workload, he never got around to it. Kicking himself for his laziness, Ray slowly unlocked his door and took a careful look around. The hallway was the same as always: silent and reeking of weed. Slowly, Ray left his room, peering down the halls both ways and not seeing a soul. Perhaps the riots have already ended? The elevator, unsurprisingly, was still down, so it was back to the stairs.

As Ray headed down, there was a certain tension in him that he himself couldn't describe. While he didn't consider himself a coward by any means, there was something about the atmosphere of this building that was just simply

off

, and it unnerved him greatly. This tension only grew when he saw bloodstains on the ground floor, covering the handrails and doors.

Swallowing his saliva nervously, Ray pushed open the door to the ground floor, and the amount of blood on the smeared all over the walls was nauseating. The streaks of blood went in every which direction, to the point where it was easier to point out which parts of the wall

wasn't

covered in blood. Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw a familiar grey outfit, the uniform of the building janitor: Jenkins.

Ray breathed a slight sigh of relief. He knew Jenkins, and while they were hardly friends, they both mutually tolerated each other, which was more than he can say for most of his neighbors. However, as Ray approached him, he felt that something was wrong. Very wrong. Jenkins was crouched on the ground, back turned to Ray, and was doing something with his hands.

"Hey, Jenkins, you alright?" Ray called out, only to be ignored. His sense of unease was growing, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he walked closer. In that moment, Jenkins, or what's left of him, turned around. The poor man's face was absolutely shredded, both eyeballs gone, and his nose was caved inwards. By all logical standards, he should be well dead, yet here he was.

As Jenkins stood up, Ray got a clear look of what the dead man was crouching over: a corpse, with its guts spilling out and mangled. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible for that. The sight was too much for Ray to handle, and his legs gave out beneath him. It was fortunate that he has used the bathroom beforehand because he would doubtlessly be pissing himself if there was anything left in the tank. Slowly, the corpse of Jenkins shambled closer and closer, yet Ray was frozen with fright. Despite the warning signals his brain was sending, his muscles simply weren't responding. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Ignobly and pathetically, offering zero ounce of resistance. But it seemed like life had other plans, because zombie Jenkins, with that limping shamble of his, walked right past the fallen Ray and began climbing the stairs upwards, slowly but steadily, and before long he was out of sight.

"What on earth..." Ray said to himself, watching as the zombie disappeared from view. Did it just ignore him? It seemed happy to eat humans just fine, so why did it not seem interested in him at all? Suddenly, he recalled the moment before he blacked out for a week, when he was bitten by that druggie. Rolling up his sleeve, he double checked his arm. The scar was there, albeit faintly. However, Ray didn't have long to think about it before he was faced with another decision: in the floors above him, he can hear screams of absolute terror. Was that what zombie Jenkins was going after?

Ray considered going to help but discarded that idea almost immediately. His own life was far more valuable than anyone else here, and he wasn't about to rely on a sample size of one to conclude that he was safe from zombies. First things first, he needed to arm himself. The janitor's office was right here in the lobby, and it was conveniently unlocked, probably by Jenkins before he died. Inside were an assortment of mops, brooms, and other useless tools, but tucked away in a corner was a crowbar, which Ray could put to good use.

By now, the screams had stopped, but Ray had heard tons of footsteps the floor above. Were they all zombies? Clutching his new weapon tightly, he slowly went up the stairs to the second floor and was met with a grisly sight. A freshly killed woman, her face twisted with terror even after her death, being feasted upon by over ten zombies in the second-floor hallway, only meters from the stairwell. He can feel his stomach churning in revulsion, and forcible swallowed the bile that was rising out of his throat. Leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, Ray tried to prepare himself mentally. Every ounce of his body rebelled against the very idea of getting close to that feasting horde. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, he inched his way closer, eyes peeled for any sign that the zombies have noticed him. But they were happily gorging themselves, and it seems he was being well and truly ignored. Feeling slightly braver, Ray sprints forward, dashing past the feasting zombies and making for the third floor, and still, they don't react. After confirming that they aren't following him, Ray returns to the fourth floor, to his room, where his first order of business was to vomit his morning meal into the toilet. Having done that, he promptly went back to bed, because if he simply ignored the problem, surely it would just go away?

*

Unfortunately, when Ray woke up from his nap, sweaty from his nightmare, nothing has changed. The only difference was his hunger levels, which have only increased. After an hour of deliberation and procrastination, he came to the conclusion that he had no choice but to go back outside.

In order to be safe, Ray clothed himself in his thickest winter clothes, hoping they would be bite-proof. It was unbearably hot and uncomfortable, but it sure as hell beat dying. Armed with his crowbar, he once again exited the shelter of his home and into the halls. Like before, the fourth floor was completely deserted, with no zombie or human in sight. Downstairs, back on the second floor, the zombies had finished feeding, and were just standing around the corpse idly, as though they were bored. Interestingly, it seemed like the corpse hasn't zombified. Perhaps there simply wasn't enough flesh left to reanimate?

Taking a deep breathe, Ray slowly walked past them, heading down to the ground floor. As expected, no reactions whatsoever. However, he wanted to conduct his experimentations on a single, isolated zombie if possible, just in case something went wrong. In one of the hallways on the ground floor, he spotted a short male zombie just standing there, facing a door.

Ray wondered for a moment why it was down here and not on the second floor with the others. Did its human detection range not extend that far? Regardless, Ray approached the zombie from behind until he was just a foot away and gave the zombie a quick poke with his crowbar. No reaction at all. Slowly, Ray raised the crowbar above his head, and smashed it downwards into the zombie's knees. Not a fatal blow, but a crippling one. Immediately after, Ray scampered backwards to observe any possible signs of aggression. The zombie collapsed to the floor, yet remained unmoving otherwise, not even turning towards Ray or acknowledging the attack in any way. How peculiar.

Having assured himself of his safety, Ray ran back upstairs, this time with more confidence, before shedding his ridiculous outfit in favor of more comfortable clothing. Slinging a backpack onto his shoulders, he left the apartment building for the first time since he woke up and was greeted by the sight of absolute carnage on the city streets. Multiple car crashes rendering the road unusable to vehicles and zombies were occupying the space that's left. The residual smell of gasoline and corpses was still present, and in the far distance, Ray can see buildings still on fire.

Carefully weaving his way around the crowd of zombies, Ray made his way to the local grocery store. Incredibly, it seems the place had hardly been looted, which was difficult to believe. Does that mean the zombie attack was so sudden people didn't have time to stock up on supplies? Trying not to think too deeply about the implications, Ray began stocking up on food, starting with the perishables. While the store's electricity and therefore refrigeration system was still functioning, there's no telling when it could shut down due to a lack of human maintenance.

Soon enough, his backpack was full, but there was so much more for the taking. Looking around the store, Ray saw a row of shopping carts, and an idea came to mind. Soon, he was lugging shopping carts worth of food out of the store back to the apartment. There was no way he could get it all to his room, and even if he could, it wouldn't fit his fridge, so he looked around for the landlord's master key to open up the ground floor rooms and stored the food in the fridges there instead. It's not like he was expecting any of the tenants to be returning here, after all.

A tremendous undertaking, as far as Ray was concerned, but one necessary for his survival. Not just food either, he would have to go around town looking for various useful tools eventually, but for now, he was content with what he had.

*

5 days had passed since Ray's first day in this apocalyptic wasteland, and honestly? It wasn't too bad, all things considered. The city's water and electrical systems were still functional, and he had enough food to last him quite a good while. Now, the lack of internet access was painful, but he had plenty of single player games and torrented movies on his laptop to kill time with. Above all though, he got to enjoy the solitude he had craved so much. No more early morning rushes to catch the bus, no more hour-long phone calls with stupid clients, and no more boring team meetings. To Ray, this world may well have been tailor made to fit his tastes.

The only thing Ray missed was his collection of porn. Indeed, he had most of his favorites bookmarked, but not downloaded, so he no longer had access to any of it, which meant he had to use his imagination like a lowly peasant. Just the other day, he was so starved for women that he had almost contemplated using a female zombie for stress relief but had discarded that idea almost immediately out of disgust.

During this time, Ray also tried his best to learn about zombie behavior. He suspected that they didn't really see or hear things, but simply have an innate sense for living things, and unless they're actively feeding, they tend to just stand around in a place familiar to them when they were alive. Notably, he saw huge swaths of zombies just standing in front of a bus station, before collectively dispersing as night came. Out of curiosity, Ray followed one of those zombies as it left the bus station and found that it had returned to the front door of a house, presumably the zombie's house. Obviously, it was incapable of entering, so it just stood there in front of the door, waiting forlornly for daytime so it can return to the bus station to repeat the cycle. This showed that some zombies do retain a sense of habit, which was honestly quite creepy to Ray. Brainless hungry monsters he was okay with, but the implication that there could be something human inside? That was too much to think about.