May 19, 2019 - O2 Remaining: 173 Hours / 7.21 Days

Eury Morrissey

My phone was cold in my hand. I had resisted the urge to turn the screen on a total of fifteen times already, and that wasn’t counting this most recent bout. There was nothing on there for me to see. I think my desperation ended the same moment my cell connection did. It wasn’t like there was anyone outside of Sheridan for me to call, but knowing that I had the ability to, made the difference. I spent this morning searching for answers, and as much as the internet could give them, I found precisely nothing of use. Aside from a bunch of annoying real-estate and tourism links, searching for Sheridan Oregon gave me three helpful-ish results;

The first link was a single web-page that contained a link for Sheridan’s disaster response manual. Thinking that there might’ve been something of value there, I downloaded it quickly. After opening it, I quickly closed it and got to reading the other two. If I cared about that sort of thing, I would’ve thought it was a waste of data looking at the dark-gray scanned sheets. The date listed on the front was for 1972. The moment I closed it in disgust was when I saw that one of the sub-headings had IN CASE OF SOVIET AIR INVASION written on it. The other two results were pretty innocuous. One was an article written by someone back when I was in high school here in Sheridan. The moment I saw the date I knew better than to even keep reading it. I’m sure it was something that was important back then, but not now. I had only stumbled across the damn thing because it had been saved to some Portland newspaper I never heard of—so that was bordering on interesting.

Though, the name on the by-line did look familiar.

The last link was to some weird video-sharing website I had never seen before. The title of the video was SHERIDANOREGON051719 so that was a bit of a red-flag. The video itself was nothing overly interesting if I was being honest. It was hard to really make anything out on the dark and blurry video. At first, I could see what looked like people dancing in a club, then after a minute or so of shitty unfocused filming, I could see what looked like a bar fight break out on the other side of the room from the camera. Then a few seconds of the cameraman trying to get a better shot. It was a wasted effort as the crowd was already trying to get away from whatever it was causing the fight meaning that all the video captured was blurry footage of people running around.

Under the video, in an annoyingly hard to read font, was the description:

“Bar fight in Sheridan, Oregon, May 17th 2019. Did you see that drunk asshole get the fuck knocked out of him?”

I’ve never heard anyone get the “fuck knocked out of him” but who am I to argue grammar on the internet. Regardless, there was a fight in a bar in Sheridan. Meaning, that nearly useless blurry video was probably a video of the fight that happened at O’Brian’s last night. The same one that sent Alaska and Davis out to the clinic.

I watched it for another four or five times until my phone finally died. It was at that moment I realized the power must've gone out sometime last night. I hadn’t noticed that it was wasn’t charging until it was too late.

It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours and Dad was right—of course, he was right—the power was already out. The only saving grace was because of my father's forewarning, I had made the decision to switch to the first of my two E cylinders overnight.

In an effort to save O2—and because if I'm being honest, I didn't want to poke my head out of the hiding hole I made—I spent the day in bed. I even went as far as to reduce my O2 to half of what I normally need, meaning if I tried to move around too much I’d be liable to pass out. At this rate, the full E cylinder I had switched to would last me well into the morning. So, knowing that my hands were tied, I laid still in my bed and began tracing designs in the stained stipple ceiling above me.

When you opened your eyes again, you were right where you left. The same old stipple, the same designs that you had been making just moments before. Had it only been moments? Through the window, the sky had changed dramatically. When you turned your O2 down, it had been pretty early in the day still—around three if you remembered correctly, but now, now it looked like it was past midnight. The sky outside was covered with an unrelenting cloud cover and was twinged a familiar orange. It reminded you of something. Something that had been so familiar once, what was—

Bang. Bang. BANG!

The door to your room slammed open suddenly. From the dark house beyond, two figures entered the room like a pair of prowling tigers. In the front, a tall well-built man. His face was bruised purple, and his shirt was torn, bloodied, and covered in dried vomit. Behind him was someone who you are much more familiar with. Curlers followed behind him in her blood-covered pink nightgown. It was at that moment that you recognized the man. It was the junkie from outside.

Oh god. Oh god no. You thought, but God had nothing to do with this.

Stress began to wrap itself around your heart. Your mind went blank as you tried and failed to figure out what you were going to do next. The pair of them began to encircle you, their glassy, empty eyes never breaking away from you, giving you a vision of what you will soon be.

You rocked forward, getting your feet beneath you. As you jumped towards the door, you launched your pillow at the junkie—not like that would matter much in the long run. The explosion of action seemed to trigger something in them as they both pounced at the bed, mauling the spot you had just been. You were out the door and into the hall before they pulled themselves from the bed. You slammed the door behind you.

It was thin but it was something between them and me. But you knew that it only delayed the inevitable.

It was only a moment before they slammed heavily into the door, shaking it in its frame. The hairs on the back of your neck stood erect as one of them began to howl. That haunting, inhuman howl, it was fear that was running through your blood. Regardless, you spun quickly and began to run towards the head of the stairs.

Where are you going, Eury?

Away. Anywhere else. You thought.

You swung yourself around the bannister and began to rush down the stairs. As you passed beneath your door, it exploded off of its hinges. Bouncing heavily off the bannister above you. They’re coming for you now.

The junkie roared in triumph as he and Curlers chased after you.

You were at the bottom of the stairs by the time they were at the top. You had three options; garage, front door, or back into the house.

Which one? If I go outside, then—

You knew that you would die. There will be more of them out there.

Fine then the kitchen for a—

Do you honestly think you can overpower two crazed monsters?

You could hear the two of them scrambling down the stairs behind you. Out of options, you opened the door to the garage, opening it just enough for you to get inside. You pushed it closed, just as the pair of them reached it.

They began to throw their bodies at the door, over and over and over again, screaming in pain—or was it bloodlust—as the door barely held up against their assault.

You thanked god or Alaska or whoever made the thick metal door with a heavy lock on it. It should keep them out for a least a little while. But you knew deep down that it wouldn’t keep you safe for long.

You found the switch for the lights. Flipping it illuminated the old garage in a soft yellow light. You turned to face the broken down rustbucket of a car rotting in the center of the room—another reminder that you will never leave this house. You jogged over to the shelves that lined the opposite wall regardless.

“There had to be something here heavy or deadly enough to—” You began to think.

Suddenly, you stopped mid-search. Looking around, you couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

The heavy rattling of the door got you back to work.

“C’mon Alaska, you’ve got to have something that I can use!” The sound of your voice sounded wrong to you. You didn’t know why.

What the hell is happening?

You asked yourself, but of course, you were too stupid to understand.

In that moment of helplessness, you remembered Alaska’s text. Her gun safe. You knew that it had to be around here somewhere.

In the back corner of the garage, beside the workbench, the safe stood almost taller than you, which was easy since you are barely more than a child. You jogged over to the safe, the wrong feeling only growing as you did. Without even thinking, you spun the dial of the lock. With a simple click the door to the safe opened.

What? How the—

Another terrible howl from behind the door interrupted your thoughts.

Gun. You needed to get the gun loaded now but you wouldn’t have enough time, so why bother? Still, you grabbed the pistol and a handful of bullets from the box below it. You removed the magazine then quickly began to load it. You had only shot once or twice before with your father. He never was one for guns, but he wanted you to be prepared for anything. Another stroke of luck for you that the people around you were much more capable than you are.

Splinters of the wooden door frame sprayed over you as the door burst open. You slammed the half-filled magazine back into the gun. Before you even had a chance to think about it, you unloaded the first three shots directly into the junkie. While the impact of the shot pushed him back slightly, it was like you had shot him with popcorn rather than bullets. You pulled the trigger another four times, two to the head, another two to the chest, for the same effect. The man continued to trudge towards you. With every step, black viscous ooze leaked from the small bullet holes. You were already almost out of bullets.

I need to get out of here. I need to escape.

Your only escape routes, the door to the house and the garage door switch were both behind the two of them. You are trapped.

You ran away again. But this time, there was nowhere for you to go—no university, no other life, nowhere. You put the rusty car between yourself and the two of them. When you tried to get more bullets for the pistol the few bullets you had left, slipped out of your hands.

Just give up Eury.

No!

You unloaded the last two shots into Curlers. Then you weakly threw the empty pistol at the junkie as he lunged at you.

It’s hopeless Eury. Give up.

“Fuck off!”

You screamed futilely as you backed into the garage door. The moment your skin touched the metal, the large rolling door began to shake. Inches away you could hear the hundreds of howling, moaning, freaks screaming for you.

It’s too late now. It’s time to let them in.

“No!”

The banging on the garage got louder and louder as the two of them closed in on you.

“I’m not going to give up! Fuck you.” Your voice was weak as you yelled at them. As a last-ditch attempt, you tried to make a fist. While the years of taekwondo came flowing back to you, it was useless anyway.

You couldn’t help but get a little excited the moment you squeezed your fingers into a fist.

Of course! Why didn’t I think of this sooner! A black belt in taekwondo, I could take a fucking junkie and a god damned grandma! You thought.

Why was I even worried? I was in taekwondo right up until the cancer, I mean it was ten years of—

Oh, right. Finally, you realized your reality. 

The cancer.

I think it’s time that you let them in, don’t you?

The voice that spoke in your head wasn’t your own. It was mine.

You looked at the light, and instantly, it turned off.

That’s right, you remembered that the power had turned off last night, hadn't it? The room fell into a darkness so deep, that even your fist in front of your face disappeared.

“You’ll never be free of me. Don’t you ever forget that again.”

My voice whispered in your ear as invisible hands dove deep into your chest, ripping and shredding your lungs until you were completely nothing.

You collapsed from the pain, gasping in the dark for more air, for some sort of relief from the all-encompassing agony.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of pain, and darkness, I heard something.

A loud bang. And then, for what felt like the first time in forever, I felt air in my lungs.

As the moments ticked past, I felt the first sliver of my consciousness return to me. Fear. Fear of them. That when I open my eyes, they would still be there.

Bang.

“Hey! Let me in!” There was a voice in the distance. Something too far away to sound real. It was that thing, still preying on me.

The fear totally paralyzed my body. Nothing could be done except squeeze my eyes as tightly as I could. Then I began counting.

Then, a few seconds later, another part of my mind returned to me. Something small, logical, that knew something was wrong. Not enough oxygen was flowing into my brain. These were just nightmares. There was nothing there, and when I opened my eyes, I would know, I reassured myself.

But what if you’re wrong?

I hesitated a moment longer. But then, just as all of those vicious subconscious thoughts came to me from nowhere, a burst of confidence appeared just as suddenly, and I opened my eyes to see an empty room.

Silence. Finally.

Then, I heard what I hoped I could go a lot longer without hearing again: a banging at the door—for real this time.

Just as I was about to press a second pillow over my ear to drown out the noise, I heard something I absolutely didn't expect; words.

"Hey! Open the fucking door!" The man's voice was louder than I was comfortable with, and after what happened when I called out to Curlers, who knew what that noise he was making would attract. "Let me in!" The guy was loud but not quite yelling. He was probably at the back door rather than the front, because, and I couldn’t be sure, but I swore I heard at least another few them running down the street sometime during the day.

I fumbled at first when I tried to stand. My legs screamed at the movement, and my head was still swimming, but I managed despite my low oxygen. I grabbed the tank in both of my hands, ignoring the same ache I found in my arms as well. It took me until I was already in the hallway for me to begin to feel a bit better.

Standing at the top of the stairs I froze in place again. There was no protest from my muscles, or a sudden dizzy spell. No. It was fear. Because up here, I was safe. But down there? Beyond the bannister in the inky-black void that was the first floor, it was a whole different story. Except for the moonlight, the main floor was completely dark and the uncertainty of what it hid paralyzed me.

“Open the damn door! I think I hear them.”

Should I help him?

I should, it was wrong for me to even hesitate, yet I still did. Frantic, and out of breath, he was waiting for a response. He was waiting for me to help him, but even knowing this, I hesitated.

What if he’s just like them? What if...

You’re afraid because you’re weak. You’re just a little doll, waiting to be rescued.

Regardless, if he was normal, I couldn’t leave him out there. Alone. Like I was in this house.

In the distance, I heard screams.

I made up my mind. With the tank in my hands too heavy to hold, I scrambled down the stairs faster than my legs could really carry me. My body was still trying its best to stop me from doing the right thing.

“If you’re in there and not crazy, open the damn door or I’m gonna have to break it open!”

Suddenly I became very thankful for the weight of the tank. The sound of the man’s voice and the shadow he cast onto the curtain of the back door window made me freeze again.

“Open up!” Again, the man’s voice was strained, getting too loud to be called a whisper.

“Go away! I have a weapon!” The second thing I said today, and it was a threat. Great.

The real weapon I should’ve had, the gun, was still back in the gun safe. Alaska’s text stopped me both the times I had went to grab it earlier: “Don’t fire unless you are absolutely sure you are going to hit, and what you are pointing at is something that you absolutely want to go down.”

“Oh my god! There’s actually somebody there!” Again, in only a moment, my mind changed. The sound of relief in his voice softened me but I couldn’t force myself to move another step. I heard an all too familiar sound on the other side of the door. Screaming. Howling. The same sounds from my nightmare. “Please, let me in, I think I can hear them getting closer!”

“How do I know you’re not like them?”

“One of them? Have you heard a single one of them talk?”

“All I’ve seen them do is attack people. How do I know that you aren’t just going to do that the moment I open the door?” Another howl caused me to tighten my grip around my canister. Over the sound of the wind outside I could just barely hear something getting closer.

“Because if I was planning on killing you, then I would’ve come over here yesterday when I saw you put out that light! Now open the door because I’m not looking to break it and let those crazy fucks in there too.”

The sounds were getting louder, the movement, the howling, all of it was getting louder, anchoring me further to the floor. Every second was passing like an eternity, and within those excruciatingly long yet short moments, the world began to swirl again, just like it had before.

“Open the damn door before they get here and it’s too late! I just don’t want to die! Please, please just help me!”

Two steps. It should’ve been easy, but between the dizziness and my fear made the steps near impossible.

“Hurry up!”

Another shriek, closer than the others, rang out as my fingers turned the lock.

“Oh god no!” As the lock clicked into the door, he twisted the knob and flung the door open. Directly into me. The force of the metal corner colliding with my face knocked me on my ass. I tried my best to get my bearings but it was useless. The world around me was spinning too fast for me to stop it. My legs seemingly forgot how to move. As the strength in my body started to leave me, I heard two distinct things.

The sound of the door locking.

And the sound of footsteps coming towards me.

“I think they’re here.” The man said, in a surprisingly familiar tone.

The face that entered my ever-shrinking vision was ink-black as if all the details had been lost in the darkness. All but a fine row of white teeth.

O2 Remaining: 161 Hours / 6.71 Days