Authors: Mortimer Jackson
If Atton had any complaints against naps, it was how they made him feel once he woke up.
He was tired, drowsy, and yet he couldn't sleep. He stood up and walked, but still with one eye still half-unconscious. Atton yawned silently, and stretched. The sweat was gone now, leaving behind a sticky skin, and the smell of body odor.
He journeyed the aquarium for a brief exercise, only now taking the time to explore a place he'd never seen in his life.
The Clayton Aquarium was a series of display tanks filled with sludge water and rotting dead fish. A shame, considering that on any regular day when they had people around to take care of it, he imagined the place was quite nice.
It’d have been perfect place
for a family with kids to see all the kinds of fish that lived out in the ocean. He would have liked to see that. Sea creatures swimming from one end of their tank to the next, showing off their underwater alacrity, along with the bright colors of their scales.
The aquarium didn't contain any outdoor mirrors save for along the exits. The lighting in the building was self-contained, which Atton imagined was for the benefit of the fish they kept on display. Their environment had to be artificially controlled to allow the fish to grow and flourish.
As a man who used to grow plants for a living, he knew all about the importance of lighting. And what made the aquarium seem the safest place for him to be in for the moment being was that without indoor power, the aquarium didn't have any.
The darkness kept him safe. Underneath the protection of tinted glass, Atton didn't have to hide. He was free to be, and free to think.
5:12 PM
He'd only ever been to an aquarium once when he was a child. He went to Monterey Bay with his parents, back when his father was still alive. He found it fascinating that out of all the animals they kept inside their large, expensive tanks, the one that impressed him the most was the freshwater glass fish. Fish that looked as small and as ordinary as any other, except that their bodies were completely transparent. You could see straight through them, into their silver innards and bones.
He checked the time and asked himself if now was a good time to go back and find the others. In the end he decided that it was as good enough a time to leave as any.
He did, but kept caution at the forefront of his mind.
The infected could have been hiding anywhere. They had a tendency hide when lurking for prey. Though he had no way of knowing if that was what they were doing now. He wouldn’t until he found out for himself. From what he could see from the opening at the front door, the coast was clear. Streets were empty, roads free.
If he was right, then there wouldn’t be a safer time to go.
If he was wrong, he'd find that out soon enough.
Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore
Date: November 9, 2002
Recorded Session: 6
Dr. Shore:
Is there something troubling you?
Atton:
No. Why?
Dr. Shore:
It’s just, well I noticed that you have been writing less frequently in your journal now than you used to.
Atton:
You said I only needed to write five entries each week.
Dr. Shore: That’s the minimum. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that implies about people who perform the bare minimum.
Atton:
You’re right. I’ll try to write more often.
Dr. Shore:
Do you need stationery supplies?
Atton:
No. And even if I did they wouldn’t let me take it.
Dr. Shore:
Of course. I’m sorry. How could I forget?
Atton:
It’s alright. The guards loan me pens, so I’m fine.
Dr. Shore:
Is it stress, then?
Atton:
I suppose you can call it that.
Dr. Shore:
Tell me all about it.
Atton:
A cellmate of mine is having problems with the other inmates. They won’t stop picking on him, and I don’t know what I should do.
Dr. Shore:
Have you told the guards?
Atton:
No.
Dr. Shore:
Well, you can probably start there.
Atton:
I keep telling him that everything’s going to be alright. But he doesn’t believe me. And I can’t say I blame him.
Dr. Shore:
Your cellmate. His name would be Tobias Reiner, wouldn’t it?
Atton:
He’s here on manslaughter. He told me all about it on the first day he came in. He was arguing with his wife. He tried to convince her to see things his way. He was mad so he tried convincing her with a gun. To scare her straight. Things didn’t go as expected.
Dr. Shore:
What exactly is your concern?
Atton:
He doesn’t belong here.
Dr. Shore:
He killed his wife did he not?
Atton:
On accident. But that’s not the point. He’s not like the people in here. He’s too soft for Wyden Hall.
Dr. Shore:
I’m sure not all inmates here are vicious people. Take a look at yourself for one.
Atton:
Doctor, the only reason those boys haven’t tried to rough me up not once is because they know who I am on the outside. They know that I’m still riding with the Southside Freedom.
Dr. Shore:
I thought that you’ve abandoned your gang affiliation.
Atton:
They don’t need to know that.
Dr. Shore:
Atton, the first step in reforming your ways is changing the way that others perceive you.
Atton:
Doctor, you’re not listening to me.
Dr. Shore:
I am. And trust me. I know what I’m saying. It’s easy to slip back into hold habits unless we let go of the identities that keep us from changing.
5:38 PM
There was a 95 Honda Accord parked along the street. It was the easiest car around to hotwire, so Atton made reaching it his number one priority.
Footsteps approached from somewhere behind him. Atton turned around to see a face bob into view. It hadn’t seen him yet, so Atton tried hiding by rolling for cover underneath the car.
Feet trampled over gravel and broken glass. First one, then two. Then they came in from all around him. Atton could see the shoes lining up from all sides, going every which way. He steadied the shotgun, but didn’t dare move himself an inch.
They hadn’t found him yet. That much was certain. If they had, they’d have been running straight towards him, not pacing to and fro like they did right now.
It occurred to him that this was the second time today that he was surrounded by infected.
Or
Zombies
, as Eli would have called them.
It was curious why nobody else least of all himself ever thought of the infected as zombies. He remembered when the first reports cropped up about the walking dead, they were simply referred to as
the infected
with no medical name to boot. No scientific lingo to describe what they were. Just
infected
. Like the doctors had never seen anything like it before.
With so many books and movies about dead walking cannibals, it was a wonder that no one ever saw the connection. Eli chalked it up to people trying to delude themselves. According to him they did it to make themselves think that what was going on around them was something far more complex than it really was. Far more mysterious. In refusing to simplify all that was happening around them with the word
Zombie
, they made the infection seem all that much more magnificent.
As Eli would so often say,
People like to think they’re so damn important.
The sun’s orange tint was setting before his eyes. Atton watched from underneath the car as it faded away. Legs continued to shuffle by the dozens in and around his periphery. He cautiously laid the shotgun on the ground, careful not to make a noise. The urge for sleep returned, strengthened by the afternoon nap that he took just earlier in the day. Atton closed his eyes, and before he knew it, he had a dream.
“
World’s goin’ ta’ hell in a hand basket,” Eli said as he gazed out the window.
Atton sat cross-legged in his prison bed, silently trying his best to drown out the howls and moans.
“
You don’t have to tell me,” he said in return.
“
Guards on the towers gone retarded too. They can’t hold their guns right for shit, and one of them just fell off the rails.”
The moans didn’t stop. He closed his ears, but it wasn’t enough to suppress what was going on in the other cells. Prisoners tried to break free, wailing on the bars even after their hands began to bleed. Everyone around him was pale and infected. But he didn’t need to see them to believe it. Even as he closed his eyes, he felt his lips scrunch with dread at the sheer sound of it all. Zombies. Infected. Voices of people he’d heard so many times before, now moaning like soulless monsters.
Even the guards joined in. They circled along the jail cells, trudging lazily like they were sleep walking. One of the guards, Tim Burnett, began walking towards Atton and Eli. The key to their cell was chained around his belt, though he didn’t act as if he knew it anymore.
“
Are we really goin’ to hell, or was this hell all along?”
Atton cried, “Why is this happening?”
“
Don’t know my friend. But ain’t that the mystery to everythin’ in life? Why does shit happen?”
The world was falling apart. All those years spent in prison, recovering from his sins. And now right before he could even have the chance to prove himself, redemption had suddenly fallen so far beyond his reach.
Eli’s hand suddenly touched his shoulder. He was calmer now than he’d ever seen him before. He wasn’t laughing or smiling like he’d gotten so used to seeing him do. He wasn’t even angry.
“
Friend, if this is the end for the both of us, then I’m sorry for what I did.”
Chapter Thirteen
Day Six
Friday
April 25, 2003
12:07 PM
When Atton woke up, he could scarcely recall the previous day. So much had happened in so little time, it was hard to believe which parts of it were real, and which were simply in his head.
He remembered the dream he had last night, which made Eli's death even harder to forget, and bear.
Say what he could of Eli, no matter how things eventually changed him, he’d started out as a good man.
Atton leered on all sides of his cover, finding no legs or movement within the area. Zombies were gone, so he assumed it was safe enough to get back up.
He started up slow, then hurried when he was sure there were no prying eyes. He restarted the engine, crossing the same wires he'd tried to fix before.
The car started. He shut the driver's door behind him, and drove.
12:19 PM
Atton had his breakfast at a nearby coffee shop. Muffins, chocolate chip cookies, and a carton of orange juice. They weren’t filling, but the taste satisfied his appetite well enough. A bag of jalapeño flavored chips settled down whatever cravings remained.
He left the engine running outside. He didn't think he'd be out long, so Atton didn't see any need to turn it off. Plus it wasn't like he had keys. Turning the engine off of a hot-wired car wasn't as simple as shifting a key. And to top it off, Atton didn't want to chance being unprepared in case the zombies came back, even if it was to save himself a gallon or two of gas.
After breakfast he drove for the Costco building. Grace used to worry whenever he and Eli were ever gone more than a few hours. By now she was likely tearing her hair apart. And that would be before he told her about Eli and the other survivor.
After what he let happen to her, Atton could barely stand himself. It was one thing to see Eli die. It was another to see a 16 year old girl drop off a rooftop with no chances of survival. To see her go, afraid, unable to reach her in time. Unable to say he was sorry.
Atton smacked his hands against the steering wheel, pulling it closer then pushing it further away. He tried breaking the tiller off the car, but it didn’t budge. Atton's arms were too weak.
Atton was too weak.
Transcripts of Dr. Nelson Shore
Date: November 23, 2002
Recorded Session: 9
Atton:
Things aren't getting much better for him.
Dr. Shore:
For Mr. Reiner, you mean.