Tabula Rasa

Pounding...

Beating...

Hammering...

Who am I?

I sit upright, back screaming in protest as it's moved for the first time in...a long time. The handcuff that chains me to the table makes a loud clack and bites into my wrist. I look around the room and quickly realize that I don’t recognize where I am. In fact, I don’t think I've seen any of the shit in here.

That's when it hits me; I don't know anything about myself. I may as well have been born five minutes ago; aside from the ability to form coherent thought and speak I'd be no different than what I am now. My clothes are dirty and ripped, bruises cover my body and a dull ache permeates my senses.

And to top it all of this stupid motherfucking banging won't quit!

I thought all this time it was in my head but I realize now that it's at the door to my "room." Adding to my unease is the fact that I can hear moans from behind the door; the banging intensifies by the second until it's a nonstop tidal wave of noise. The banging, the moans, the amnesia...it all comes crashing down around me; the walls begin to close in.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" I scream as loud as I can, my free right hand shooting to my temple. If anything, my screams 'fan the fire', raising the banging to epic levels.

Looking around the room in desperation, I don’t come up with much. The buzzing, flickering fluorescent bulbs on the far side of the room cast menacing shadows throughout the room. The only thing on the table is a folded piece of paper, there's a hole through the right hand corner of the two way mirror that dominates the right side wall.

What catches my attention isn't the hole, but what lies under it. Sitting in the middle of a viscous pool of dripping blood, is a Hacksaw. I don't know what it's doing there, I don't even know how I know what it is but I do know that it can get me out of these cuffs.

Whatever I'm going to do I'd better make it quick. I observe as the banging reaches critical levels. Without warning, the door shudders, a fine film of dust trickles out of the frame. Before I do anything else I pick up the piece of paper, unfolding it with shaking hands I read the single word written on its surface, the black charcoal of the pencil in stark contrast to the white of the paper.

Rhodes

Rhodes eh? Well it's as good a name as any.

A particularly sharp bang jolts me out of my thoughts, I see the ends of two rotted fingers snaking their way past the door. Slipping the paper into my pocket, I twist in my seat and reach for the hacksaw. My outstretched fingertips mere inches away from the saw, a distance that might as well be miles.

Swinging back around in my seat, I'm just in time to hear another sharp bang. The breach between door and frame widens a few inches, enough to admit an entire rotted hand.

Damn that was fast!

Quickly bracing my feet as best I can, I pull the table towards the saw. After enough grunting and groaning to rival the fellows outside, I manage to move the table a few inches.

Goddamn that fucker's heavy, a few lousy inches!

Hoping that it's enough, I turn back around and reach for the hacksaw. Grasping the blood soaked handle, I bring it up to the handcuff chain and begin to saw. Keeping up my furious pace, I hear yet another bang just as I finish sawing through the chain. The door's now fully off its hinges, an entire arm sticks through the aperture.

I shoot to my feet so fast that my head spins a little, the banging that's been so constant during this "experience" gives way to a horrendous screeching of stressed metal and the splintering of wood. Through the shattered door they come for me, like monsters from some little kid's nightmare, they pour in like a human flood.

Zombies Rhodes, they're called zombies.

Funny how I can remember that, but not my name. Not slowing to ‘stop and smell the decomposition’, I jump on the table and run straight for the window space near the hole. The thick glass shatters into hundreds of pieces and I crash down inside of a dark room. Flipping onto my back, I crawl away from the framed hole that used to be a window.

With my heart threatening to hammer out of my chest, I claw for purchase on some nearby equipment, and pull myself to my feet. Keeping my eyes trained on the opening, my ears to the sound of the moaning beyond it, I use my sense of touch to find the door out of here. I'm still looking when the first zombie spills into the room like so much human garbage, or half human garbage.

The entire bottom half of the zombie is gone, a trail of intestines and other organs are the only signs that there ever was a bottom half. The half zombie lets out a moan as it grasps its way along the floor to me.

Frightened beyond belief, I almost sob in relief when I find the door. Flinging it open, I rush through dark and bloodstained halls, a mad dash to the exit. All around me, various bodies lie in various states of death. Some with gunshots to the head, some with blunt trauma to the brainpan, others still clawing out at me with dead, rotting hands but all of them wear some version of police garb.

Running through deserted offices and blood stained rooms, I hear the ravenous slathering of the horde behind, their putrid stench of death overpowering.

Listen Rhodes, these things are so stupid they'd trip over their own feet, a shard of my mind admonishes me. Stop for a sec and tip some shit over, it'll be like a goddamn roadblock!

Well, my mind hasn't steered me wrong...yet. Skidding to a stop on the ratty carpet, I turn to face my pursuers, like the pied piper of the dead I've got a line of them behind me about four wide and six deep. I take a rain check on the math and reach for the nearest filing cabinet instead; pulling as hard as I can I send the great metal goliath crashing to the ground.

Papers fly around me like a cyclone and the carpet shudders as if there's an earthquake, staggering away I quickly pick up speed. Sprinting past things like water coolers and swivel chairs, I kick them into the path of the horde behind me without missing a beat. Ending the little show of roadblocks with a large ass desk that was near the doors I look back at the horde again, it seems they've lost a little steam since the last time I laid eyes on them.

Not only are the 'roadblocks' working perfectly, but the zombies are actually tripping over each other. Realizing I've got a few minutes breathing room, I laugh aloud and take a quick look around. From what I can tell this place must almost certainly be a police station, as a matter of fact I can see the plaque on the wall that shows what branch they are, the name of the town is covered up by gore so the only words I can make out are Police Station.

I see the blood soaked dispatch office, the massacre of the chief's office and the locked, reinforced door of the armoury. At least what I'm assuming to be the armoury since it has such a heavy door. Any further looking are interrupted by the wet squelch of the nearby horde, the odour that precedes them like a skunk is not pleasant...to say the least.

Deciding I've got enough, I make my way to the entrance at a slow jog. Shouldering my way through the doors, I push onto the street beyond.

All I’ve got to do is make it to the surface, the authorities can tell me who I am and deal with the zombies, I sigh in relief as I make it to safety outside the building. Wait a minute…something’s not right here.

Fires burn in overturned trashcans, car doors yaw open like gaping maws and lose papers blow down the empty street like a storm. A moan to my left draws my attention. Another of those hideous, bloated motherfucking zombies shuffles from the shadows. Arms outstretched and mouth gaping open. I realize that whatever’s happening…it’s not just in that room.

A gasp of surprise to my right takes my eyes off the zombie, looking in the direction I see a cop propped up against the side of the building in a bloodstained uniform. Alternating one eye between the slowly approaching zombie and the front doors, I keep the other eye trained on the figure and advance slowly towards them.

Getting closer I can see that it is a man and that man is indeed a cop, he's got a gun out and his badge shines softly in the muted light of a nearby sign. His face however remains bathed in shadows, as I draw closer he raises the gun at me.

"You infected?" The officer asks shortly, his breath coming in short wheezes and his voice laced with pain.

"Infected?" My own voice sounds horse and unused.

"Ya know, bitten, scratched anything like that?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm not."

"Well if you're only 'pretty sure' I'm gonna have to ask you to strip." He responds, deadpan.

Well he is a Police Officer...

"Uhhh...whatever you say Officer." I reply uncertainly as I reach for my clothes.

"No!" He gasps. "It...was just a joke, what I need you...to do is...a lot simpler than that."

"So what do you need me to do?" I ask, my hands dropping to my sides.

"I need you to take this weapon," he flips the gun around so it's pointing at me grip first. "And put a bullet through my brain."

An icy feeling works its way into my gut to compete with the hunger that's overtaken me, "W-won't that...kill you?" I swallow hard.

"Well yeah, that's the idea since I don't want to come back as one of those things." The Officer replies as if it should be common knowledge.

"B-but won't that be...murder?" I hiss the last word. Not responding, the Officer shifts his aim to the approaching street zombie and pulls the trigger. A neat little hole appears in the zombie's forehead while the immediate area behind him gets misted with blood and brain; the body collapses to the ground like a rock.

"Murder!" The Officer laughs derisively as he pins his gaze back on me. "That right there should show you that there's no such thing nowadays, you got amnesia or something?"

Amnesia!

"Yes that's exactly what I have!" I exclaim, happy to finally know what's wrong with me.

"That's some fucked up shit," he mutters. "Anyway, you just take the gun, point it at my head and pull the trigger. It's that simple and if anybody deserves to kill me it should be you."

Too numb to ask him about his puzzling statement I take the gun in my hand, lining up the sights with his head I have time to see him close his eyes before I pull the trigger. The blast of the gun is unbelievably loud, his blood warm as it spatters up against me. I stare in shock at what I just did until the doors behind me burst open, the undead reaching for me.

Giving the Officer's body one last glance, I sprint away from the station. Passing buildings, I wonder what I should do now.

Who did people used to go to for help besides the Police? I ponder as I slow to a trot. Maybe the flame men, no the fire men! I'll go to the fire station!

I make it to the end of the street before I remember; I don't know where the fire station is.

Well I've got a lot of walking ahead of Me.

I hope that when I do get there they can tell me who I am...and what's going on around here.