Dying is Better

Old Town sat on the southern part of a vibrant and lively city, where the buildings were all glass and steel, a very clean and busy look. Old Town on the other hand was built of brick and wood. Slowly the planet was taking back Old Town. The busy, tech-savy people of the modern world left and the homeless and drug-dealing crowd flowed in. Streets cracked, as plants rose up from beneath to invade to once lively area. Buildings weaken with every passing year. Tonight the city sits quite and all but empty. On a dark street near the center of Old town sits a single lonely police cruiser.

For the fifth straight night James found himself sitting in his cruiser alone, eating cold, dry, and flavorless pizza and drinking warm Dr Pepper from the can. The rotten smell of Old Town lofted through the vents of the car causing the cruiser to smell like a port-o-potty. Tossing the hard and tasteless crust out the window attached a few rats, which smelled even worse. If that was not bad enough, he had to sit in silence so he could hear the voices over the bug he had planted in an apartment four buildings away. In the last three nights there have been no voices at all forcing him to listen to nothing, but the rats chewing on the pieces of crust.

As it got later and he began to get tired, he would end up falling a sleep and dreaming. Dreaming of beaches, half naked women, and, as of late, being eaten by rats. He was pretty sure the dreams were caused by having to listen to the sound of the little bustards chewing away just outside his window. Awaking in a sweat of fear four nights in a row has begun to get to him. Every now and then, he would find himself searching the cruiser to make sure none of the rats got in. Every little itch caused him to jump and begin searching. By the time dawn came he would step on the gas and fly home where he would jump right into the shower then his bed. For the last four nights that is what he did, but tonight was not going to go as planned.

Sitting quietly, his head dropped back on to the headrest, as he drifted off to sleep once again. He found himself sitting on the edge of the lake with a fishing pole in one hand and a cold crisp beer in the other. Taking a sip from his beer, his pole began to tug. He quickly dropped the can and placed both hands tightly around the pole. Pulling with all his might, he stood up to get a better grip, but still the fish was winning. Figuring that he would be unable to reel the fish in he decided to climb into the lake and net it once it was close enough. Stepping into the water he found it to be warm like piss, but he paid no attention to it and he continued to fight with the fish. Then just near his feet he saw the fish he was fighting with. Large then expected James smiled, as he reached behind for the net. With net in hand, he held the pole tight with his left hand and set the net just below the water line with his right. He scooped the fish up from behind quickly and lifting it up wards. The fish thruster it’s body about, fighting to escape. As he lifted the beast out of the water it changed forms before his eyes. James dropped the pole and tried to drop the net only to find it glued to his hand. He tried to rip it from only to have the flesh of his hand begin to peal off, like melted cheese from bread. Screaming, he tried shaking the net loose when he looked down to see a giant rat in the net. The rat’s claws cut through the netting like butter, once free the beast turned its attention to James. Frozen in fear and unable to move, he could do nothing as the beast jumped up onto his chest and began to tear away at his skin. Screaming still, James tried beating the beast off only to enrage it more. Then with out warning he felt the beast bite into his neck. The screaming was suddenly ripped away as the beast pulled back its head back and upwards, ripping out James’ throat.

He awoke in a sweat for the fifth night in a row to find him-self, not just sitting in the cruiser, but also in a pool of his own piss. Explains the warm water, he thought as he wiped off the sweat from his brow and reached into the back seat for a clean pair of pants to change into. Always prepared, he thought to himself as he turned forward with clean pants in hand. Just as he was about to open the door of the cruiser he noticed a figure standing in front of the cruiser. Cautiously he reached for his gun and placed the pants on the passenger seat. At first glace the man looked like the everyday homeless person found in Old Town, but James was to exhausted to relies the truth. With his hand on his pistol is stepped from the cruiser, giving the rat and their meal a swift kick to the side. The smell of rotten meat filled the air, causing James to think twice about getting out. Doing his best to ignore the smell, he slammed the door shut and turned his attention to the figure that was now moaning and seem to be licking the hood of the cruiser.

Great, he thought as he walked around to the front of the car, all I need is some homeless old fart ruining my cruiser. “Ok, mister,” he said standing behind the man trying not to get sick from smell, that he noticed was coming from the man and not the sewages. “That’s enough,” he paused for a second, as he looked over the man once more. It was then the he noticed the torn clothing and bit marks that covered the man’s body. “Are...are you ...alright?” James stumbled his words, as his attention moved to the cruiser. A solid red liquid slowly dripped from the white hood. Stepping to the passenger side quickly, James noticed it was coming from the month of the man. He was chewing on something, but he could not tell what. Suddenly the man rose up from the hood, as if he had just noticed James. James quickly stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on his ass. James fumbled for his weapon, but could not seem to pull it free. Fear filled every pour of his body, as he watched the man continue to chew away on a human hand. Gun, what gun, James thought as he began crawling away from the figure on all four, then pushing himself to his feet he dashed for the ally.
Once is the complete darkness of the ally, he rested against a cold moist brick wall. Huffing and puffing, he did his best to slow his fifty-year-old heart down. Once he was able to breath a little easier, he peered out of the ally to see if the figure was still around. Looking up the street he saw nothing more then his cruiser sitting under the only working streetlight. Looking down the street he found nothing, but more darkness. Taking one final deep breath, he fell against the wall and relaxed. It was a dream, he thought. Just a dream, he began to laugh at himself, as he usually did whenever he made an ass of himself. Gathering himself, he climbed back to his feet and stepped out of the ally checking once more to make sure the streets were clear. Once he was sure everything was fine, he headed back to the cruiser. I am sure glad no one saw that. The big bad policeman got scared and hid all because of some homeless person. Thinking about it, he rephrased it in his head. Office running from nothing and cowers in darkness. He felt it would make a great headline for the papers. Laughing once more he open the door of the cruiser and climbed in. Zombies…yeah right…but, he began to think of zombie for some reason, if the man was a zombie…no that is impossible. He leaned forward in his seat and there on the hood he was hoping not to find a puddle of blood, but there it was. Why is the blood there? If it were a dream…the blood wouldn’t be there. His mind began to imagine zombies stepping out of the darkness and slowly heading toward the cruiser. Searching the darkness of the streets he found nothing, but his mind continued to focus on the idea of zombies hiding from view.

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his eyes to clear out the dirt and quickly reached for a drink. Caffeine the gift from gods, he thought as he downed another can of Dr. Pepper. He tossed the can into the back seat and slapped himself in face, wake-up you bastard. He used the rear view mirror to check his appearance, only to find it wasn’t worth checking. Dark patches surrounded his blood shot eyes. His face was frail and white, his lips dry and cracking, and his hair gray and oily.
Suddenly the radio came to life, causing James to jump out of his seat and slam his head against the roof of the cruiser.

“Car 45, this is Base. Come in car 45.” The oldest woman alive had to be Ginger Carter. She had worked for the department for thirty-five years now and seemed to enjoy scaring the hell out of James though out the night, by calling him for every little jaywalker in the area.

“Go head Base.” James replied wiping the sweat from his forehead and rubbing his injured head.

The voice on the other end changed to a grumpy man with a sharp voice. “James, get over to Kenny Street. There is a bust going down on the other side of Old Town.” Lieutenant Omar Forman always sounded pissed, but this was more of a worried tone.

“I am on my way, Lieutenant.” James though about saying something else, but the Lieutenant quickly cut him off.

“James… I need you to get your head in the game for this one.” The comment was not meant to hurt James, but Lieutenant was right. Inside, deep inside under the old washed up office, was a man that wanted to be just like his father, the hero that gave his life to save the day. It was also true that James had been getting a little lazy at work as of late, but he did not want to admit to himself what it was.

James took a deep breath, “I am on my way, over and out.” He quickly placed the microphone back on the dashboard and rested his head on the steering wheel. I can do this just take a deep breathe. He paused for a second then lowered his head. Turning the car on, he noticed a figure, from the corner of his eye, standing at his window. He quickly turned as two hands busted through the glass and grabbed hold of him. He struggled to break free has the calmly wet hands locked around his neck. Death…will there be a heaven, he wondered as the arms pulled him from the cruiser and in to the darkness.