CHAPTER 2 - RIFT
The world recreates itself and I wake up.
A blaring alarm rings through the room and it amplifies with each passing second. Everything is spinning. I fall off the bed and I puke once more.
Things just do not happen three times and it will still be a coincidence. It's not a dream. It's real. I need to wake up.
Everytime I die, I wake up.
A searing pain reaches my throat and vomit stains the floor as the memory of dying repeats. The pain of dissolving in acid while showered in darkness cannot be mistaken for a dream even if it's unrealistic.
The wailing of people caught and eaten. It's not something that can be glossed over. I'm scared. I can't deal with that for a third time.
"I need to run away," I mutter as I rub my temples.
A few moments to gather myself, I get up and run down the stairs careful not to trip and lose footing. The fridge opens and refreshing cool air sweeps my face. I take a pitcher and drink a glass of water to wash away the nerves.
Staying here is dangerous.
With no time to waste, I run back to my room and search the closet for a backpack. It's worn: missing zippers and a few wear and tear there, but it's still usable and fairly reliable.
Clothes go inside, not many, just enough to get through the day. A pair of socks, underwear, and a spare shirt. Taking this chance to change clothes, I put on a white t-shirt inside a baggy gray hoodie and jeans. The shoes do not matter as there's only one pair of running shoes available.
A quick scan of the room provides no insight as to what can help with my problem. It's still impossible to kill that eyeball, but there's always a chance and it's my job to figure out how.
I take my phone off the charging port and dump the charger inside the backpack. Luckily, I always charge at night. I've got time. The floating eyeball will come at night so I'll get to the port and drive off to an island.
As I go down the stairs, the phone rings. It's Mom. I hurriedly connect the call.
"You need something?" I say, feigning calm and that everything is normal.
"Good morning, honey. Yes, I do need something," she says, her words trailing. "I need you to take a look at the cafe for me for the day. I'll be out with your aunt Martha and uncle Ben... apparently, they feel the urge to do skating in the mall and yes, there is one nearby wanna come?"
"No thanks," I reply while packing knives, a lighter, scissors, and a stainless steel water bottle.
She continues to yap as I scan the room for anything of value and of use, "So get this, since they'll be having a fun time there, I thought why not go to the archery place and try a few shots? Your father was an archer you know? He was in the archery club at school—although he didn't win any games—but he looked cool and I'm really lucky to have him! Oh you should've seen him practice perfectly only to fumble from all the stares!"
There's nothing else of note.
I continue to listen and reply a few words to affirm and respond to her and after a few more minutes we ended the call. Tonight, she will die. It will take time to convince her to go with me and that goes for everyone else as they don't know what will happen.
Everyone will die except me.
"Taxi!" I shout as I wave my arms.
It's occupied and sped past. I wait again and this time it noticed my call. A yellow car stops infront and I board the vehicle with the backpack on the floor between my legs.
"Where to?" the driver asks.
"Clement Port please," I reply and he nods.
A low thrum echo as the car sped away.
I stare at the blurry sight while thoughts of what to do next occupy my mind. It's not about how to stop the monster eyeball from destroying the city, but what actions do I need to take to get there.
To move forward, I need to take a step.
"Travel, I take it sir?" the driver asks, glancing at the backpack I brought.
"Sort of," I answer. "It's only for a few days though."
The driver shrugs as he turns the car left. "Well if you're heading for Clement Port, I take it you're going to Sunshine Cove. That place's famous. I recommend it. One time I went with my 13 year old daughter—she's 20 now, by the way—and we went hiking up a mountain and it was beautiful I tell you."
"You have a daughter?" I ask.
"My greatest treasure," he says, stopping at another red light. "Can't live without her. Not since I lost my wife, so she's all I got. But she seems to be hanging out with those delinquents and I've scolded her many times and now I don't know what to do."
"I'd say you still raised her well," I answer.
I look outside and see children laughing as they play in a nearby park. Infants, toddlers, and kids. They will die tonight, have already died twice, and I'm the only one who remembers.
"You seem like a decent fellow," the driver says. "I wouldn't mind if you dated my daughter."
I choke on air. "You must be joking."
"Haha! Not at all!" the driver says. "If she's hanging out with delinquents then she might be with one so I might as well introduce her to someone decent. If you manage to get her to like you then you have my blessing!"
"I'll consider it," I give a perfunctory reply.
The driver opens a compartment and reaches for an item before handing it to me. It's a card. How very professional and also disturbing.
"It's got my name, number, and email," he says. "I've got a bunch and handed them out to handsome guys that seem like good people and you're one of them!"
Doesn't that sound like he's selling her off?
"Thanks, but I might not be a good person," I say.
He smirks and strokes his beard. "That's my secret Captain, I always know if people are good or bad!"
Half an hour away and a dozen more sales pitch for his daughter, we finally arrive. There's a lot of people. There're cars and people dragging a suitcase, a backpack, there's even a pretty huge speaker with a microphone attached.
Once this is over, I'm definitely getting a vacation.
"Should I drop you off there?" the driver asks, pointing at a nearby 7-eleven.
"Sure," I reply, but all of a sudden, the ground starts to shake.
People are panicking and running away. Up ahead, the ground seems to split and have taken cars and even people into its depths.
"Ay, caramba!" the driver exclaims as he reverses and tries to get away only to be stopped by traffic. "We gotta get out sir!"
I nod and open the door, dragging my backpack as we run through the crowd of vehicles and people. This didn't happen the previous day. If it did then it should've alerted everyone and it won't take long before news reach far but it was peaceful all day until the floating eye.
This is new.
While running back to the city, I notice the rift stop a few meters away. It has swallowed the land and have crushed a short building and gathered dust and rubble. People died once again.
Glass breaking, car horns ringing, alarms blaring. People are tearing and breaking into shops and causing more chaos. There's a stampede up ahead. The crowd isn't moving fast enough, we can't get out of here.
"What the hell is that!?" a guy yells.
"Holy shit!" another exclaims.
We watch as countless limbs sprout from the rift, climbing, and out came bodies of rotten flesh and ooze with visible stench. A sinister gleam from their eyes, they groan and walk towards us as hundreds more struggle to climb out.
They scatter. Entering buildings, stores, and walking ever-closer to our position.
The driver, which seems to be Carlos, drags me away into a nearby store. I follow while taking a look at the pandemonium up ahead—a group of people are playing heroes.
"Zombies!" a shout and a gunshot to the head.
"Oh how I dreamed of this! Hahaha!" another one continues the sentence.
People are wielding guns behind cars with a smirk on their faces. There's a group of guys holding a bat managing to knock a few backwards and stalling the horde.
It seems to be working. For a short while. 'Cause with one down, a few more show up and the group have gradually lost their steam and it won't be long before mistakes are made.
"Argh!" a guttural scream as one gets bit.
"Shit, Fred!" one tries to help but can't get close. He stands in horror as his friend gets devoured. He has no choice but to run, and the others did the same.
The doors close and we immediately scramble to block the windows and all entrances.
"Mommy, I'm scared!" a little girl cries.
"What the hell is happening?" a guy in a suit paces around trying to ease the nerves.
"Hello? Yes! I'm at...," one is calling the police.
It looks like a flea market and mass panic is wearing out their bodies. Amid this chaotic place, a young man makes himself known.
"Everybody quiet!" he shouts and they turn to him. He whispers right after, "If those really are zombies then we have to be silent or we're all dead, got it?"
He continues, "They're going to be here any minute, and it's loud outside so we're still okay for now. But keep your voices down."
The lights are off. The doors are shut. The windows are covered. And silence is drowning the room. We listen as the groans of the undead pass by while screams, car horns, alarms, all noises possible resound outside and keeping us safe.
Together with most of the occupants, I held my heart and carefully took a peek outside and watched as a group gnaws on a woman screaming as she tries to get them off her but fails.
No one dares to save her—she's already been bit.
As she lives out her life under suffering, her guts spilling as they open her up and her innards for all to see, she notices my gaze and with eyes wide she reaches a hand only for her finger to be crunched.
Her screams echo in my ears.
I watched it all happen.
And I will remember this.