The Apple

There was silence between them as they walked under the winter sun. It was near evening, and they were limping their way to the shelter they had spotted just miles out. Their faces were blackened, and the expression in their eyes grew more tired with each waking dawn. Jorge’s green jacket had been ripped in different places, the crisp wool it used to be was now muddied and filled with dry blood and nightmares for warmth. He grew wrinkles just above his eyes, and around his beard laid mud from the night before. His hair was long and gray, with hints of brown scattered throughout, yet the two of them had grown immune to the musty scent it gave off.

Isaac was a young lad, his auburn curly hair was always mysteriously shining, and never smelled. Yet today it was hidden below a Raven’s beanie he had found in an old charred thrift store just five weeks back. It seemed a size too big for his unusually small head, so he always had to push it back a little if he wanted to see. He scratched the left side of his face, feeling the bumps and pussing feeling of his burned cheek. He wasn’t sure what was more painful, being pushed onto those burning coals or the days after treating his wound.

Jorge leaned over the brick wall that sheltered the building they had arrived at. He wheezed for air, and held a hand over his lower back.

“See if you can find a way in, mijo”, he says. He winced as he straightened back up and nodded at the young Isaac.

Isaac nodded and walked off into the broken down chain link fence. The grass was tall and he assumed there hadn’t been activity around the area for a while. He turned around a corner as he saw an opened door leading into the building. He smiled and hopped his way back to Jorge with the same eagerness.

“You got your gun?”, Isaac asked with a toothy grin.

“Right here, peke”, he replied back using the nickname he had given the young lad while lifting up his jacket to show his piece, “And you?”

He nodded and patted the side of his hip.

“Is it loaded?”

Isaac rolled his eyes irritatingly, “Fucks sake old man, yes. Now come on, before the sun goes down.”

They both chuckled and made their way into the building. Right by the entrance was an old “Live Laugh Love” poster that showed its age. Down the dark hallway there was a bit of daylight peering onto the floor of the other side of the building. Shadows of the curtains became more distinguishable as they got closer to what would be their living room for the night. They saw the sets of chairs next to each other, and identical ones across from them. Dirty mirrors decorated the place, empty spray bottles, rusty scissors, and bottles of rubbing alcohol were scattered throughout the floor and on top of the counters.

“Barber shop,” Isaac scoffed. “You need one of those, old man,” he teased.

“Indeed.” Jorge frowned in confusion of the place and how it was settled. “A barber shop? In the middle of nothing?” His accent wasn’t as present now after decades in The States; having been here since he was 18, he picked up on mimicking the American accent, but his grammar never became American-esque as he called it.

“Why not?” Isaac shrugged off the question, “It doesn’t seem far-fetched for a small town.”

“I guess.”

They heard a rattling sound coming from behind a counter with a black register on top of it. A harrowing groan came from the door that sheltered it. The two shared a look and nodded at each other. Jorge took out his gun and cocked it, he slowly approached the door, the smell emanating from it was putrid; the stench of disease. He pulled the forearm covering his nose away and reached for the knob, he took a quick glance at Isaac and whispered, “Aim for the head.” Isaac nodded nervously, the scar on his face started searing again, and his hands trembled as he aimed at the door.

Jorge opened the door rapidly and in an instant the creature lunged at his face. He put up his arm to guard himself but it had already scratched his upper cheek and chomped down on his wrist. “Dispara, cabron!” He urged Isaac to shoot desperately in spanish. A shot rang out and hit the wall, missing the creature as it knocked down Jorge, chewing its way to his bone. Isaac muttered gibberish in fear, and rushed to Jorge, standing over their heads and shot at the creatures back.

“The head, pendejo!”

Another shot rang out and everything went silent. Isaac stood there heaving in fear as Jorge’s groans of pain grew louder and echoed throughout the building. “Get this fucking thing off me,” he moaned, shaking Isaac out of his shock. He leaned down and flipped the creature off of Jorge, his eyes meeting with its dead ones. He stumbled back up and looked down at the creature. Its body was thin and frail to the bone, the cheekbones sunken in and its eyes colorless. The skin had darkened and some even peeled off its face and other places from its body; revealing fleshy bones and maggots crawling about every open crevice.

It must have been years old, Isaac thought. God, that smell. He turned around quickly and belched out what little food he had eaten hours before. “Jorge,” he cleared his throat as the sour taste of his vomit settled in his mouth, “Are you okay?”

He turned to see Jorge sitting against the wall, breathing heavily and eyes wide open in shock. “Oh, fuck,” Isaac said meekly. He ran to his bag and reached for the contents inside it. A half empty bottle of rubbing alcohol, an old rag, and gauze. He stood up and glanced at Jorge, “Can you stand?” He really didn’t want to go over and patch him up while that thing laid there dead. Jorge nodded slowly and winced as he got up, he made his way to the chair nearest to him and sat on it.

As he was being treated, Isaac tried making conversation with him.

“How does it feel?”

“Just fine,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac replied sincerely as he sat back, finishing the patch up job, “I was scared.”

“Don’t be, mijo.”

“If I wasn’t scared you wouldn't have gotten bitten, and now you’re going to-”

Jorge grabbed Isaac’s wrist and hissed, “There are better things to worry about! And my life is not one of them. You hear?” He let go of him and sighed, “Bring me my bag.” He took a look at the patch up Isaac did for him and winced. They didn’t bother talking about how it looked, much less the fact he was infected. The fever would kick in a few hours, and within a day he would be dead and come back as one of those things.

Muertos, he called them, but Isaac called them plain old Zombies.

“You think I should check out the rest of the building for them?” Isaac asked as he handed Jorge his bag.

“No need. Bastards would’ve heard the shots by now.”

“Right,” Isaac nodded. “You need anything?”

Jorge shook his head with a smile as he dug in his bag with his only good hand and took out a bottle of liquor, “Just a drink.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? We got to move in the morning.”

Jorge smiled and shook his head again, “No. You have to move in the morning.”

“You’re crazy. I’m not leaving you.”

“You will.” He gave him those stern eyes only a father could give to his children. “You will not carry me around stunting your progress.”

“We can make it to The Pines together if we get up early! Before the infection takes-”“I said no! And that’s final,” he opened the bottle up, and spilled some on the floor before bringing it up to his mouth and chugging down gulps of it. He cringed at the taste of the harsh liquor and then nodded in satisfaction.

There was silence for a moment before Isaac asked him, “Why do you always spill some on the floor before drinking it?”

Jorge shrugged, “Old custom. Honoring the dead, I suppose.” He leaned his head back on the cushion that the chair had. There were tears in his eyes, the liquor was already getting to him, or maybe it was the bite and the realization that came with it.

“You need a blanket?” Isaac asked.

Jorge didn’t respond, his tears came flowing and he leaned over and wiped them away with his healthy hand. He sat there weeping as Isaac went near him and embraced him. He felt it was the right thing to do, and Jorge let him.

“There, there,” Isaac comforted him awkwardly as Jorge chuckled between tears. “Oh, that’s funny?” Isaac cracked up with him.

He looked at the dusty and rugged mirror then back at the tearful Jorge. “Say old man, what do you say I give you a haircut? A little trim, eh? You could use one.” He turned the barber chair around so it faced the mirror. He looked at their reflection with a toothy grin as he patted Jorge’s shoulders.

“Get the scissors,” Jorge smiled.

Isaac clasped his hands together excitedly and got what he needed from his bag: scissors, a hair comb, and a spray bottle. He paused for a moment and glanced down at the forearm covered in gauze, “Does it hurt?” he asked worriedly.

“Not much, I think the liquor numbed it.”

He nodded and continued to snip away at his long hair until it reached the bottom of his head. “There, now time for the beard,” Isaac turned the chair around so it was facing him and brought the bottle up to Jorge’s face and sprayed some water on him, then he sprayed some on the comb before brushing out the mud from his beard.

When he was done he turned the chair back around so Jorge could see the final product. The old man smiled and nodded in approval. “It’s perfect,” he said, then his smile faded and there was a distinct sorrow in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Jorge gestured to the chair to his right, “Sit.”

Isaac sat down with his bag sitting firmly on his lap, he dug through the furthest pocket and pulled out an apple he had been saving for himself.

“Here,” he held the apple out to Jorge, “Eat.”

Jorge chuckled and took another swig from his bottle of liquor, “Aged whiskey,” he sighed in delight, “Nothing like it.”

“I’m serious,” Isaac urged, “Eat.”

“What use do I have of the apple, mijo?” He held out his hands for an answer, “I’m dead already.”

“You want that bottle to be the last thing you taste?”

“A woman would be preferable but this does the job,” he quipped.

Isaac smiled softly at the joke as he put the apple away. “Suit yourself.”

There was silence for a moment. Jorge had his eyes closed and Isaac worried that the fever had already kicked in. The bite had been severe enough to probably accelerate the effects, but there was no way of knowing.

“How long was I out?”

“Few minutes.”

Jorge nodded slowly and glanced at the bottle with its top barely hanging onto it. He reached out to it and closed it, then handed it to Isaac.

“Pour one for me in the morning, mijo.”

Isaac accepted the bottle reluctantly and put it in his bag. He looked up at Jorge with pitiful eyes, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Neither do I. But you need to.”

“Yeah,” he shifted in his seat, “I know we said we wouldn’t talk about our lives before all of this, but seeing the situation we’re in now-”

“I worked fields before coming to the United States,” Jorge said quietly with his eyes on the floor, “Left behind my mother, and my little girl. Started working as a cook when I got here and eventually owned my own restaurant up in Baltimore. I sent money for my little girl to Los Naranjos and almost raised enough to bring her over… then the outbreak happened.”

He sniffed and smiled at Isaac, “And you?”

“Uh,” Isaac cleared his throat, “I grew up in a foster home and began working for the local food bank when I was, say, eleven? The guy who ran it was the pastor of the local church he, uh,” Isaac smiled as he reminisced, “He’d buy me VHS tapes of old westerns, and novels that were also westerns… it was fun.

“When I was sixteen I had just enough money to leave the midwest with nothing but a few pairs of clothes and a used film camera and made my way up to Virginia. I wanted to make movies but I figured I’d start out with photography first, ya know,” Isaac paused for a second and clicked his tongue, “Well, it didn’t pan out and I ended up working a construction job at eighteen near the Jersey area. And then this shit happened. Now we’re here.”

Jorge listened quietly the entire time, bullets of sweat had started to form across his forehead and above his lips. His gray hair had become dampened with perspiration and his infected arm tensed up.

“Don’t let me become one of them. Please,” his eyes felt drowsy and everything he saw doubled.

Isaac shook his head, the gun on him felt heavier, and he could feel the handle grow colder on his lap where it laid, “There has to be another- I’m not losing you.”

“I’m sorry, mijo. But you know… there is no other way,” he coughed up some vomit as the putrid material spewed out of his mouth and stained the floor. He wiped his mouth with his other hand and said, “Make it quick. You know where.”

Isaac grew tearful, he got up and cocked his gun but held it by his side. “I’m so sorry.”

Jorge’s tears came flowing as his voice broke, “I know mijo, I know.”

He brought the gun up, the barrel pointing straight at his only companion.

“Stay strong, Isaac, you were the closest thing to a son to me.”

A shot rang out, and blood splattered on the mirror and counter. Gushes ran down the chair and dripped onto the floor as Jorge’s corpse slumped over in his seat. Isaac bit his lip in hopes to hold in a scream, but a mournful whimper escaped him. He reached into Jorge’s bag and took out a long blanket that he used to cover up his friend from head to toe.

Morning came and nothing sang. The birds forgot their notes and the crickets left their songs. The sun left its beauty, and the air forgot its calm. The only music played was the sounds of valiant footsteps dragging along another journey; desolate and alone. He walked along that muddied and terrifying road, with the apple and the bottle in hand.

He paused for a moment and spilled some liquor on the ground before bringing it to his lips and gulping down a couple sips. Then he took a bite off the apple and continued walking.