Pat awoke to the monotone droning beeps of his now old-fashioned digital alarm clock resting calmly on the nightstand beside his bed. He reached over with his left hand in an attempt to hit the snooze button but instead knocked the alarm clock onto the floor, which continued its abrasive beeping. It nearly knocked over the picture of him and his wife, which now teetered on the edge of the nightstand.
"Shit," Pat muttered as he slowly lifted his body into a sitting position on the edge of his double-mattress bed. Reached down, he fiddled with the alarm until he was able to silence it. "There we go, you little fucker. Not today." He slid the picture back toward the center of his nightstand, laid back down and rolled the covers back over himself before resting his eyelids once again. But after laying in bed awake for ten minutes, he finally admitted defeat with a subtle sigh. He slid out of bed and made his way towards the chair in the corner of the room where his work outfit waited for him, nicely folded and ready for him. He slipped into the visually unappealing khaki pants, stupid yellow hat, and polo shirt with the company name scrolled across his left breast. He went to leave the room but quickly returned to pick up his glasses, which lay gently on the top of his small wooden dresser. Pat made sure to brush his teeth thoroughly, utilizing a nearly worn out manual plastic toothbrush and his favorite mint-flavored toothpaste before finishing up by rinsing out his mouth with some green-tinted mouthwash. He looked at himself blandly in the mirror, tugging at the collar of his shirt, which was already starting to make his neck itch.
"Huh. Kind of hoping by the way this uniform looks that it would be built for comfort. Nope." Pat walked over to the front mat, which lay at the door of his apartment. He grabbed his thin windbreaker off of the overhanging hook, slipped on his worn-down runners, and patted his pocket to make sure he had his wallet and keys. He then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door swiftly, making sure to close it behind him. Pat removed the key from his pocket, re-locked the deadbolt, and tested the knob once just to make sure he'd correctly locked it.
He had begun his walk to work. Most people don't entirely focus on their pathway to work, but Pat likes to take the time to appreciate his. His apartment is built on the top of a hill, and the gas station he works at is situated near the bottom. Now Pat could take the copious row of wooden steps that paves a path almost directly there. Pat, however, prefers to take the scenic route, winding his way down through the densely wooded pine forest on the hillside. Very few people take that path, even fewer at night, but Pat considers it worth the extra ten or so minutes he spares because he finds it sort of refreshing. A calming lull in-between places of stress.
He adjusted his hat before beginning his regularly scheduled trek down the hillside. As he entered the small compact house of pines, the birds chirped their usual tune, not quite music, but more coordinated than just random noise. He passed a small Asian family consisting of a mother and her three kids. Pat sees this family usually twice a week. They smiled and waved, and he did the same. Arriving upon the small creek next, Pat breathed in a gentle sigh, feeling reinvigorated by the sound of the water running through the creek bed as he always did. He stepped over the small wooden bridge. He grabbed his phone to check the time. Right on schedule. After leaving the forest area, he traced his way along the path until he reached the small red gas station called 'Coop'.
Pat only had a seven-hour shift, lucky for him. He worked mostly as a pump attendant, but would occasionally take shifts as a cashier like he was today. Pat basically took whatever shifts he could to help cover the rent and pay for his college classes. He started to dust some chips in one of the back aisles of the gas bar when his phone started ringing in his pocket. A slightly embarrassing 90s pop song came on. The supervisor, Karan, ducked his head out of the small office in the back, frowning at Pat.
"Hey, no phones," Karan stated dryly before pulling his head back inside. He spoke English well, very well, but it always sounded a bit unnatural coming from his mouth, clearly not his first language. Sort of like when someone has to learn to throw with their left arm. No matter how well they can throw, something's always just a bit...peculiar.
Pat looked over at the office and peeked through the door, it had been left open a crack. He could see that Karan was on his phone inside. Pat rolled his eyes, pulled up his phone, and looked at the name that the screen displayed. The name read 'El'. "Really not a good time, Elisabeth," Pat muttered aloud. He looked around to make sure there were no customers inside the store before turning on his phone and discretely sending her a text explaining that he was at work and that he'd call her later. She always did this too, it wasn't like this was anything new to him. Elisabeth seems to operate on her own timetable, calling whenever anything she deems urgent comes up, which is way too often. And she knows he's working on top of that. She knows this because they'd gotten into a fight about it the night before, where Elisabeth accused Pat of not spending enough time with her. She literally went out of her way to ask him when his shifts were after that.
"Karan getting on your case again, hey?" the new pump attendant, Elliot, asked.
"How'd you know?" Pat answered the question with his own.
"You're acting all paranoid about sending a text to your wife. And they call me the rookie," Elliot joked, offering out his fist for a fist bump. Pat obliged, reaching out and meeting his fist.
No customers ever really came to the Coop at the bottom of Sage hill. In fact, being located this far south, on the outskirts of the city, it was a relatively low-trafficked area in general. It served as an occasional pit stop, likely of the last resort variety, but nothing more. Pat waited intently for his break, counting the minutes on the industrial model clock situated just above the main doors.
"Break time," Karan said from his office. "I'll cover the register while you go out."
"Thanks," Pat responded good-naturedly.
"Don't thank me, It's your break. I'm just doing my job, right?" he chuckled dryly.
"Oh, right," Pat replied as he walked out the double glass door entryway. He headed around the side of the small faded brick building. He grabbed the package of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and the light green lighter that came with. As he lit his smoke the flame illuminated the darkness around him. It was getting late, already almost 10:00 PM. That meant Pat only had another hour of his shift left pretty much. He smiled to himself. That's when he remembered his phone. Whipping it out, he called back Elisabeth. The phone rang and rang until finally on the fifth ring she picked up. She always had a flair for the dramatics.
"Who is it?" Elisabeth asked. She knew it was Pat.
"Oh hey, El. It's Pat. You called earlier. I'm just checking in to make sure everything's okay."
"You know it's not okay. The way you treat me. The way you never listen to me. I always get blamed for overreacting. You never stop to consider what I'm reacting to. If you did you'd realize that you do the same shit time and time again. It's like clockwork," Elisabeth voiced frustratedly.
"It's always something with you, isn't it?" Pat sighed, tired of the game. "It's always my fault. I'm always doing something wrong. You seem to act in this passive-aggressive resentment of me. It's like you're under the impression that I didn't lose my son too. And as much as you want to blame me, and I know you blame yourself, it wasn't either of our faults. It was a miscarriage, it could've happened to anyone." Pat opened his mouth to continue but heard the call disconnect, becoming aware to the fact that Elisabeth had already hung up. "Well fuck, isn't that great." Pat checked his watch. His break was over in a minute. He took his last puff from his cigarette, dropped it to the ground, and then stamped it into the cement. He watched as the embers turned cold before returning to work.
Pat made sure to wipe all of the counters and mopped the floor as well as he could before him, Karan, and Elliot locked up for the night.
"Have a good night, everyone. Pat, I'll see you here tomorrow, same time," Karan pointed and smiled fakely. Pat laughed fakely in return and Karan headed off into the brisk night. "Have a good Tuesday night fellas."
"Jackass," Elliot muttered. "Have a good one though," he added genuinely. He noticed Pat frown for a second and his own expression turned slightly concerned. "Thanks for taking me under your wing, I really appreciate it Pat." Pat and Elliot shared a warm smile, and one last fist bump, before both young men began walking in their separate directions.
Pat strolled on to the hillside path, making his way through the tall grass when his phone buzzed in the pocket of his khaki pants. Pat removed his phone from its resting place. Another missed text from Elisabeth. Pat began scrolling through their texts.
-"Pat I'm sorry."
-"Hey, I know I'm being difficult. I'm sorry I'm not acknowledging you more."
-"I don't know why I keep fucking up."
-"I miss the way things used to be. With us."
The last text visibly reached Pat. His eyes began to burn ever so slightly behind his eyes. He didn't cry anymore with Elisabeth, he used to, just not anymore. It was hard for him, but Pat came to realize that this is now the reality he lives in. He decided that he'd rather focus on making things better than dwelling on what could have been. He was also very aware that his recently married wife Elisabeth, had pretty much made the decision to do the exact opposite. But he knew that wasn't her intention, she couldn't help it. Pat's frustration from earlier had quickly turned softer. He pressed on her name and hit call.
There was an awkward silence to start the call, so Pat decided to clear the air. "Are you taking your meds?" he said more as a statement then an actual question, trying his best to keep his emotion out of it. He needed to make sure that she saw him as a sturdy figure she could lean on, now more than ever.
"Is that all that matters to you?" she replied, upset. "I just tried to apologize, it's like you're not even hearing me. I'm trying to make things right, and it's like you don't care."
"Come on, El, that's not fair. You know I care," Pat started. "I know how hard it is for you to take those pills, but you need to. I wouldn't insist unless it was completely necessary. You know that."
"Well if you cared about me, then you'd never ask me to take those pills. I hate the way they make me feel," Elisabeth started to sob in between breaths. "I'm not myself, or...I don't feel like myself."
"It's not about how they make you feel El, it's about how you act out sometimes. I need you to take them for me, okay?" Pat bargained. "I'm sorry if I haven't seemed there for you. I'm going to try better. I've been wrapped up in this too, and I feel...I can't stop thinking about him. I think about him too, you know. But I think it's important to note that our family started before him...before he was..."
"I know," she responded.
"I think the point is, as long...as long as we have each other, we still have a family. As cliche as that sounds. What happened is always gonna be there, that feeling in your stomach, in my stomach, I don't think it's going away any time soon. That doesn't mean we have to give up though, in fact, now we need to be stronger than ever. I'll be home soon, and we can talk more about your medication together, maybe come to a compromise of some sort," Pat explained.
"Okay, I would like that. I would like that a lot," Elisabeth acknowledged. There was a stiff silence. "Thank you for not giving up on us, Pat. I love you"
"Hey, of course." a tear streamed down his cheek. "Me too. I love you too." Pat hung up and stared ahead.
The fortress of tightly condensed pine trees lay before him basking in the powerful yellow glow of the full moon silhouetted in the background. The night bore many stars, very visible from the small valley where Pat now stood. Pat turned on the flashlight in his cellphone and used the light to guide his way into the wooded area. He turned his gaze over to the wooden steps located just a minute or so back in the direction he came. He turned on his phone, looking at the lock screen photo of him and Elisabeth. "Hmph, ten minutes never hurt anyone." Pat jaunted onward, choosing to enter into the pale green sea.
The limited beam of light emanating from the phone provided a reasonably substantial sightline for Pat, however only narrowly in a single direction. The light refracted through the vapor droplets in the air revealing a thin layer of fog that seemed to have descended into the forest. Pat looked strenuously to spot the bridge but he could only see about four feet in front of himself now as the fog seemed to thicken. That's when he heard it. Keeping his ears alert, Pat was able to recognize the all-too-familiar sound of the water running against the rocks. Relieved, Pat headed toward the sound, using his flashlight to look around, illuminating tree by tree. But he couldn't detect any signs of life. Everything must've gone to sleep or scattered off. Pat hastened his pace, deciding now that time was more important than he had previously, no longer content with taking his time. He grew anxious to be back home with El, and quite frankly, the darkly deserted forest was creating a growing sense of unease within Pat.
When Pat reached the bridge, he didn't anticipate the elevated first step correctly and ended up stumbling his way onto it. As he stumbled, his flashlight beam went astray, and Pat caught a glimpse of something peculiar over the side of the bridge. Pat leaned over the worn-down railing and squinted his eyes. His heart clenched in his chest. Pat took off his glasses and cleaned them using the bottom of his jacket. He squinted through his glasses one more time. Now he was sure of it. He rushed down the other side of the bridge and lowered himself to the water.
There, lying among the rocks on the creek bed, was a pale, lifeless, grey hand outstretched and frozen in a posture like it was grasping for something. Pat shimmied down the rocks until he was close enough to examine the hand further. Wait a second, Pat reached out and tugged on the hand. He realized instantly that the hand was still attached to an arm. Maybe even a body. Pat lowered his phone onto a rock, grabbed the body's hand with his own left hand, and grabbed the forearm with his right. He began slowly, hand-over-hand, dragging the body onto shore. Once unearthed, Pat laid it out on the rocks. It was cold to the touch, ice-cold even. Pat took two of his fingers and placed them against the neck of the body. Nothing. He tried adjusting the placement of his fingers. Still nothing. No heartbeat, no life essence. Nothing. Pat dragged the body up out of the rocky creek bed, unable to fully lift it, he propped the body up against a nearby tree and began pacing back and forth.
"What the actual fuck," Pat whispered to himself. He began feeling a weird wet sensation on his hands, which is strange because the water should've most definitely dried off by now. Pat returned to the rock where he'd put his phone, still providing the only light in the forest. But as he reached out to grab it, he noticed that a crimson red blood now covered his hand. He reached out with his other hand only to realize that it too was covered in blood. Perhaps the man hit his head when he fell on some rocks, rolling into the water and drowning. Maybe he died from blood loss, and someone could've rolled him into the creek themselves. Pat speculated but was ultimately unsure; in fact, he hadn't the faintest idea. Pat wiped the blood from his hands on his jacket, grabbed his phone, and dialed 9-1-1.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" the operator inquired.
"Um...yes, I have a body here, on the side of this hill," Pat stammered erratically. "I think he's dead. I'm not sure what happened. I can't see anything out here. He was so cold."
"Please be more specific, sir. What is your location?" the operator asked.
"I'm on Sage hill, in the heavily forested area," Pat replied. He looked over at the body; one eye hammered shut the other wide open, too wide open, staring back at Pat.
"Alright, a unit has been sent to your general location. It should be there within ten minutes," the operator explained. "Please hold tight, sir. The police will need you to answer a few questions. And make sure you don't touch the body or do anything to disrupt the crime scene. Be warned; if the body is deceased, then foul play might be involved. This would indicate the possibility of a perpetrator being in your area."
"A perpetrator? Excuse me, what do you mean a perpetrator?" Pat asked in shock. He wasn't fully comprehending what she was saying, he was desperately trying to wrap his head around it. "Miss?" Pat couldn't hear anything coming through his phone, not even background noise. The call must've ended.
Glancing back down at the body, Pat surmised that the man's expression appeared to be one of screeching agony, his jaw contorted in an unnatural manner almost as if something or someone had manipulated it to look like that. The man's short dark hair a deep contrast to his pale grey skin. Pat raised his phone and began shining his flashlight around at the surrounding trees wildly. The shadows danced around in the fog, creating an eerie effect that started to disturb Pat deeply.
"Hey! Is there anyone out here?" Pat shouted. "I'm warning you man! I've got a gun!" Pat held out his fingers like a gun with his free hand. Pat slowed his breathing until he could hear almost nothing at all, just his shallow breaths and some rustling in the background, far too generalized to be someone specific.
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Pat's phone lit up in his hand, vibrating to life. It was Elisabeth; she was asking where he was. She was getting tired but also concerned about him getting home safely, so she promised she'd wait up for him.
The light on the back of the phone swept the forest like a radar wave, scanning through each tree and bush. Suddenly Pat was met by a slight metallic reflection coming from some nearby brush. Pat approached the reflection slowly. What could it possibly be? What sort of metallic object could be lying out here? As Pat drew closer, he could tell the object was larger than he initially thought. It could be a knife or perhaps even a gun. Pat knelt to the ground, reached into the brush, and dislodged an open metal briefcase half-buried in the dirt. The moist dirt clung to the briefcase, so Pat raised the sleeve of his jacket to cover his hand and brushed it off. This revealed an emblem protruding from the center of the front side of the case. It read "Corona Corp" in bold, blocky lettering. Odd, Patrick had never heard of a Corona Corporation before. Patrick turned the briefcase in his hands until he found the locking mechanism. The briefcase appeared to have some sort of fingerprint scanner. High-tech for a briefcase, let alone one that was discarded and half-buried. Patrick looked inside the briefcase. He raised it with one hand and lit it up with his other. He was astounded to find that the contents of the briefcase were empty. He shook it a bit, ran his fingers around the inner edges, but found nothing. Although, upon closer look, Patrick could see an outline, an indent in the bottom of the case, of something that belonged inside. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't there now. Someone may have used it to hold a weapon of some sort. It could have been some sort of secret or valuable device that got the man killed. Maybe if he could find the wound, he could figure out how the man died.
Pat looked around, noticing that he'd walked off a little ways from the tree where he'd positioned the man's body. Pat stumbled around but was unable to make sense of where he was, his natural sense of direction completely thrown off by his previous panic. Pat was starting to hyperventilate, still in a state of petrified shock. He realized he was still holding the briefcase and set it down by a nearby bench, that way he'd remember where it is if the cops ask. Pat wandered around until he was guided once again by the sound of the creek. Once he reached the creek, he simply traced it back to the point of the bridge, but as he shone his light on the nearby trees, he couldn't see a body. Something was very wrong. As Pat got closer, he could make out the bloody outline at the base of one of the trees but still no body. But that's not possible. Unless the perpetrator, the murderer, is somewhere nearby. What if he'd been watching this whole time? A chill crept slowly down Pat's spine all the way down to the bottom tip of his tailbone. But right when Pat was about to give up hope in locating the whereabouts of the body, he noticed a boot lying behind the base of the tree where he was standing. Pat moved behind the tree and shone his light on the ground. It was the body. It was sprawled out over the ground, contorted in a manner that looked almost purposeful, once again, almost as if it were reaching for something. Could it be that someone's fucking with him?
Pat lifted up the man's hand and looked at it. The fingers were bleeding, worn down to the nubs, his nails all cracked up or missing. That's a disturbing image. Just then Pat heard a crackling sound from a couple meters ahead of where the body lay. He lowered himself down so that he was closer to the ground, took out his keys from his jacket pocket and placed them in his fist like a set of brass knuckles. Pat was ready, his nerves were calmed. He slowly tiptoed toward the direction of the noise, still only able to see a few feet in front of him. As he got closer a shining green aura came from behind one of the trees. Pat dropped down behind the tree to take a closer inspection. What could it be?
It looked to be some sort of syringe, but Pat had no idea what for. It lay in amongst the dew-covered blades of grass but it stuck out like it definitely didn't belong there. Everything about the syringe and the remnants of whatever shiny green liquid was once housed inside seemed...unnatural...and unnerving. "Poison," he murmured aloud. Pat was alarmed to hear a very close, very powerful rustling sound coming from behind him, echoing off of the trees around. Pat's eyes grew wide. He froze completely still in his place. The only thing that could've made that noise was...
Pat stood up straight, stiff as a bored, back still turned to the sound. He slowly turned around and shone his light, but he couldn't' make anything out for sure. He heard a thud and then another rustle, startling him. Wherever that sound was coming from was just out of sight. Pat lurched his body backwards, and he heard a sharp crackling sound coming from below momentarily startling himself again. He looked down to see the shattered glass remnants of the syringe he'd just backed over. Pat looked back up and was met by only darkness. He must've dropped his flashlight in the grass, light pointed downward, for he was aided by no extra light. Pat squinted hard through his glass until he could make out something new in the distance. It was...what was it? A small obscure object in front of the silhouette of one of the trees, very difficult to make out. That's when it hit him. His breath caught in his throat and every single muscle of his body seized up instantaneously. It was the eye, that single vulture eye. This eye housed no pupil, just an empty white abyss. Pat was sure of it. But that's not why Pat was suddenly so terrified, so completely overrun with fear. Pat was currently stumbling backwards because the eye that he saw...was at eye level. This can't be possible.
Pat turned his body and began running through the trees trying to make his way back to the main path. Pat had no flashlight now, and in a state of panic nearly ran directly into a tree, but was able to stop himself just short with one of his outstretched hands. Pat couldn't run, the trees were too tightly packed and the moonlight wasn't able to get through the fog enough to help. Pat stumbled around, pupils wide, arms flailing as he made his way through the trees. He narrowly jumped over a low bush that burst into his vision as he tried to walk as quickly as possible in a constant direction. That's when he heard it. A thudding sound, and then a rustle and then a thud. Pat couldn't make out whether it was coming from beside him or directly behind him. He turned around, now completely unsure of where the path was. Budda budda, an uneven staggering sound growing closer and closer. Pat crept behind a nearby tree, putting it very directly between him and the sound. Then a loud thud and then a crash. Pat slowly peeked his head out from around the tree. No one there, not even a sound. Pat, breathing very heavily now, leaned back against the tree and tried to catch his breath.
Patrick realized that the fog had almost lifted, and he could make out the path again. It was no more than maybe a few meters forward. Pat took a step and then his whole body shrunk. He heard a sound, almost like that of a galloping stallion. It was so abrupt that it shocked Patrick's mind back into existence. He turned his head to the right, but there was a bush blocking his view. Pat slowly walked up toward the bush, the sound now getting louder. Pat raised his hand to the bush, to move it out of the way so he could see, but as he did so something burst through that very bush, sending Pat skidding across the ground on his lower back. Pat looked up in horror. It was the eye. All he could see was the eye towering above him, a stench of rotting flesh invaded his nostrils. The rest of what was left of the man came into view, silhouetted behind that disgusting eyeball, barely remaining within its socket. The man's hair appeared to have mostly fallen out, his flesh seemed to be visibly rotting, decomposing even. This man, this creature, this...thing, began stifling towards him, it's body lurching forward in a perverse manner, arms reaching forward, grasping at Pat. Then, mere moments later, Pat could taste his own blood, feeling it's cold dead skin up against his own. He couldn't breathe. He was choking on it now, gasping for air, his chest heaving up and down with no use. The creature sunk its teeth deeper into Pat's neck. It was eating him. Pat could only think of one word to describe the creature who now feasted on him. Zombie. Pat's eyes shot wide open, unable to breathe, unable to scream, reaching along the ground for his keys. He clawed the dirt frantically until he finally found them. With one last effort he jabbed the keys into the thing's neck, but this was of no use. Pat's lightheadedness grew heavy until his vision began to blur out. All the strength sapped from his body. His uniform, his crisp khaki pants, now all soaked red. And at last, the struggling stopped. What replaced it was silence. A Tuesday-night silence. The only sound to be heard was Pat's phone buzzing aimlessly in the brush somewhere. It was from Elisabeth. Unfortunately, the person whom she intended to reach wasn't going to respond. Not ever. For there was no life, this Tuesday-night, on Sage Hill.