The Immortal Photographer (2)

Marcus put his ear against the door. He heard the growl of a vehicle die in intensity. They knew he had escaped, and were now trying to flee. He swung the door open and found that he had been brought to the lower levels of the building. The emergency lighting hadn’t died out yet so the lot was bathed in red lighting. The air was dry and haunted by ghosts of exhaust, spilled oil, and gasoline. Marcus held the revolver out in front of him as he jogged to the exit ramp. He got to the foot of the ramp when he heard the gate slam down just ahead of him.

“Great.”

He walked up to see if there were any switches to lift the gate. No switch, but a slit to see the outside. He peeked out the slit.

“Just great.”

His shoulders lowered as he saw the infected swarm around the building. Their numbers seem to grow every single day. They filled the street with the stench of decay. Marcus made a face and decided to make his way back. His camera was upstairs, so he looked for a set of stairs. He passed by the locker room where he was held and found a trail of blood leading away from it to a nearby security cubicle. He glanced inside and found that the old man was missing.

“Son of a bitch.”

He walked toward the cubicle and immediately knew what had happened. Marcus heard sounds of slurping and something tearing. He figured an infected had found its way down here and found an easy meal. He put the revolver away and pulled out the combat knife. Stepping closer, he looked into the cubicle. Blood was everywhere; on the floor, on the desk, on the upturned chair in the corner, on the paper that was strewn about, on the walls, and on the faces of three infected, who all looked with wide eyes at possibly the best meal they could ever have.

“Ah shit.”

They rose and stumbled over the remains of the old man as they made their way to Marcus. The one closest to him, a young girl who wore the clothing of a nurse, leaped first. Marcus wanted to keep quiet, to not attract anymore, so he let her collide with him. She landed on Marcus, with a combat knife through her nasal passage. He shoved the dead nurse aside and removed the knife just in time to drive it into the skull of the second infected leaper, a boy of about 17. His eyes were bloodshot but stopped moving. His piercing glare dug into Marcus, as if his eyes could eat more than the image of flesh and blood his brain registered.

Marcus stood up to meet the third. He was a big guy who wore tactical gear of a S.W.A.T. team member. He was covered from head to toe in body armor except for his left hand, where he was bitten, and the ragged opening in his mask where he chewed through the fabric to get to the flesh that defined his existence. Marcus felt sorry for the infected, and wondered if they were really only filled with furious hunger. He looked at the uniform. The S.W.A.T. member still had his sidearm, two canisters that looked like grenades, and a retractable nightstick. The man didn’t let Marcus make a decision. He was hungry. He rushed Marcus and pinned him against the wall. Marcus couldn’t lift the knife against the big man’s grip, and could barely shy back from the snapping jaws.

“Don’t… be such a… pig.” He said through clenched teeth.

He knew the man paid no attention to his suggestion. He quickly looked for a solution and remembered the canisters on the man’s uniform. With his free hand, Marcus pulled the ring on what he hoped was a flash bang grenade.

“This is not an all you can eat buffet.”

The next second was filled with bright light and deafening noise as the mercury and magnesium of the grenade blended together.

“Eat this.”

The effect gave Marcus just enough time to blindly shove his combat knife through the man’s mouth and sever his spinal cord. He felt the man fall as he lost control of everything below his neck. Marcus stood for a moment and waited for his healing to finish. His eyes were fried from the hot white light and his eardrums had exploded. When his ears healed, he heard the wet smacking of jaws and stood at ready. He stood tense as he began to see clearly again. There were no more infected. The wet smacking came from the man on the floor. He had lost control of his limbs, but his head was fully animated. His goggles had been shoved up a bit to reveal his eyes, which were locked on Marcus. His jaws were smacking violently, eager to pick his bones clean. The sound of his teeth slamming together made Marcus smirk. He approached the man. When he was close enough he crouched and watched him.

“Still ticking huh?”

Marcus carefully removed the man’s tactical gear. He took the nightstick, the sidearm and some ammunition clips. Both of the grenades had gone off in a chain reaction and left a patch of flash fried skin. The stench permeated the air, and almost made Marcus puke. It didn’t seem to bother the infected man, or draw his attention. He only focused on Marcus and continued to bite at the air. The blood from his throat wound was oozing out between his teeth, creating a pool around the head, and stretched out towards Marcus’ boots.

“Yeah, well… good luck with that.”

Marcus stood and made his way to the cubicle to see if the old man had been resurrected. He was not, but he did have a swipe card that stuck out of his blood soaked jacket. The card read, “Level 19 access, Mr. Heyrman”. Marcus took the card. That was probably where the old man had stowed his camera. He kept on eye out for anymore infected. None had come to investigate the noise from the flash bangs, so he figured the three had been stuck in the stairwell.
The stairwell door was propped open by the body of a security guard. The top of his head was gone and it looked like the infected had eaten him. Marcus wasn’t sure if he was killed by the infected or if he took his own life. The guard held his pistol so he favored the latter. After moving the body, so the door would close, Marcus looked up the stairwell to get a sense of how far level 19 was. He sighed and began to trek his way up to level 19.

On the way, he pondered about his headshot experience. The things he saw and experienced were wild and incomprehensible. He would experience his past memories in rapid succession, followed by flashing colors and a feeling of floating. One thing he remembered vividly was how he came to be.

His existence was always shrouded in mystery and he tried so hard to forget his beginning as an immortal. The “dream” was strange. He felt himself begin as a single celled organism with a conscience. He grew at a phenomenal speed into a zygote, then a fetus, and ultimately into a complete aware human form. The form was pinned and injected in every pore by beams of light. The light made him feel whole and invincible. He remembered seeing his form reach for the beams and pulling them out. The light died, but whenever his body was opened by some violent means, the light appeared again to seal the body back to perfection. He saw himself as perfect and incorruptible. The dream came to a peak when the form opened its eyes and glowing tears flowed down his cheeks.

Marcus overshot level 19 by a single step when he realized he had been daydreaming. He stepped back down and carefully opened the door. The hallway that revealed itself looked clean and well kept. He found a door and used the card he swiped from the old mans corpse. The door opened. It looked like this specific room was meant to be a panic room; an impregnable room with all essential supplies for survival. On the bed was his camera.

He picked it up and ran through the photos to make sure the old man didn’t do anything to them.

“Let’s see here… yeah. There’s one. Goody.” He seemed satisfied with the photos.

A call came through his radio.

“Marcus… the infected are decreasing in number in the streets. It looks like they’re making their way into a tall building. You don’t happen to be in there do you?”

Marcus grumbled in annoyance.

“I’m on the 19th floor, I just got my camera back, what’re my chances of a pick up on the roof?”

“Slim, but get up there anyway. If they crowd you, you can just jump to the next building over.”

“The next building? That’s over 7 floors below this one!”

“What. Are you scared you’ll die? We need those photos. Go to the roof.”

Marcus sighed once again, and began to make his way up to the 32nd floor of the tall building.

The Immortal Photographer (1)

“I already told you, I didn’t do it”

“I know what you told me, but tell me something new. What were you doing there?”

Marcus sighed.

The ropes binding his body to the chair were blood soaked and slowly chewing their way into his wrists and ankles.

“I was at the drop, with the camera. I was mailed money and instructions to photograph the switch.”

The room was dark except for the pulsing embers of unseen cigarette smokers and the blinding lamp that illuminated Marcus’ face.

One of the embers drew in close, revealing an old man. His eyes were dark green and he scrutinized Marcus’ face. Taking a long drag, he spoke.

“So, who was it? Who sent you this money?”

The sudden appearance of the old man’s face lit up Marcus’ further with the unmistakable features of recognition.

“You… but how?”

The old man pulled back into the darkness, snuffed his cigarette, and replaced its absence with the metallic click of a revolver.

“Answer the question Marcus”

“Go to hell”

For a few moments, the room was lit by the gunfire. The strobe-like effect revealed the rest of the room to Marcus. While each round entered his body and passed through his back, he managed to see who was in the room with the old man. They were dressed in robes and stood with arms crossed, eager to hear his answer.
Marcus coughed.

“You bastards… let me go. You can’t kill me, I will tell you nothing.”

The dark filled with chuckles and the sound of spent cartridges hitting ground, followed by the same metallic click.

“Is that so, how long can you last this torture? How long can anybody stand the pain of revolver fire into the chest? Head? Groin perhaps?"

Marcus’ ropes loosened with each round the old man fired into him. If he were to make it out of here, he would have to draw out the torture.

“I’ve experience more pain than you can imagine. Do what you will.”

Three rounds slammed into his diaphragm in rapid succession. The pain was unbearable. Marcus could feel the hot bullets melting a destructive path through him. They sliced muscles, shattered bones, and widened the chest cavity. Marcus was in a helpless state for a few moments, his organs had liquefied and blood had boiled out of his back, when his discomfort brought him to the point of fainting, all of the wounds began the heal. The blasts from the revolver had slightly shifted the lamps light down to Marcus’ chest where one could see his body stitch itself back together.

The organs reformed followed by the materialization of bone and muscle, but before the rest of the regeneration could be seen, the skin had sealed itself up. Only when the old man heard Marcus take a deep breath did he know that he had fully recovered. He lit another cigarette and readjusted the lamp back into Marcus’ face.

“Listen to me. I have three rounds left in this piece, each one will go into your head.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

The ember grew in brightness and smoke filled Marcus’ line of sight.

“What is it like to have your brains blown out? Must be a fascinating experience.”

“It’d be my pleasure to help you experience it.”

The ropes had loosened a little but were not loose enough to escape. If the old man kept shooting him in the head, his escape plan would take a lot longer than he expected. The constant regeneration was making him hungry. If he didn’t eat soon, his metabolism would slow, and so would his healing. Marcus wouldn’t die, of course, but the agony would last much longer than it had to.

“Take your best shot, I’ll let you know when I wake up.”

The old man laughed and the revolver came into view, the barrel nudged against Marcus’ forehead.

“Who sent you?”

Marcus leaned back in the chair. The blow of the revolver would knock him down and crush his hands. Turning them thin, and allowing them to slip through the ropes binding him, if he could act fast enough. He hoped his hands would stay crushed while his brain regenerated. He had never been shot in the head before, so he was a little nervous, but his fear of death had dissipated decades ago.

“Do it.”

The gun went off and just as he hoped, the chair fell on its back and crushed his hands, though Marcus was out cold. His brains were strewn about the floor along with bits of skull and hair. The old man sighed and snapped his fingers, the chair rose back into place and Marcus’ head lolled side to side spilling more blood.

“Now we wait.”

He could see the process had already begun. He holstered the revolver and began waiting for Marcus to wake up. The process took the better part of 20 minutes, and when Marcus finally opened his eyes, the barrel was once again set against his forehead.

“How was it?”

Marcus squinted and looked as though he was suffering from a headache, but he was really fighting against the regeneration of his hands. Just long enough to get one hand out without making it look obvious.

“Quite pleasant, imagine being taken back to your earliest memory and reliving every moment of your life at the same time. By the way, how long was I out?”

“Long enough to thin my patience you insolent…”

A hand came out of the shadows and moved the revolver away from Marcus’ face. The hand was gloved in leather and held the gun while a voice spoke in a hushed tone.

“They have found the entrance, it’s only a matter of time before they come through this way. We cannot hurt this man, but we may be able to use him.”

“I see, hit the lights.”

The room was lit. Marcus quickly held his free hand against the tied one to keep his captors deceived. The old man directed the robed individuals out the door and turned back to face Marcus once again.

“Those cannibals will be here soon, I would put you out of your misery but, since I can’t, instead I’ll knock you out. When you wake up, someone may be chewing on you.”

The old man brought up the revolver and craftily flipped it over, preparing to whip Marcus’ into unconsciousness. As he swung down, Marcus lashed out with his free hand and grabbed the revolver. He slid his finger into the trigger and pulled. The action took the old man by surprise and the revolver discharged a round into his stomach. He released the revolver and grabbed his gut. Marcus put the gun against his bound wrist and fired. The round tore through the wrist and Marcus pulled the mangled hand free.

The old man was bleeding out from the bullet wound. He reached into his pants to grab a cell phone. Marcus took careful aim and expertly threw the gun at the old man’s head, knocking him out. He sat a moment and watched his hand regenerate.

He tapped the skin below his left ear lobe to activate his radio.

“This is Marcus. Do you read me?”

“Marcus? Your transmission is weak, where are you?”

“A little tied up… I’ll be there with the film in an hour.”

“Hurry, we need those photos. I hope you’re not in the city, there’s a lot of infected down there.”
There was a crash in the rooms above Marcus. Fumbling footsteps and screeches.

“Yeah, they’re already here.”

“Oh, wow… um. Give me your location, I’ll send in a pick up.”
Marcus began untying his ankles.

“I’ll let you know, soon as I get outside. Look, I can take a bite from these things, but if they overwhelm me… think of me as meat that never runs out.”

There was a pause.

“Right. Get topside and keep broadcasting, the pick up will trace you.”
Marcus stood and made his way to the old man. He fumbled through the man’s coat and pants for a phone and ammunition for the revolver. He found three speed loaders and a combat knife.
He then grabbed the man by his collar and slapped him awake.
The old man groaned in pain, and tried to bat away Marcus’ hands.

“You… where did you put my camera?”

He coughed blood but smiled weakly.

“It’s upstairs…good luck.”

His eyes rolled back and the man was gone. Marcus stood, and hung his head low. He knew he’d have to fight his way threw them. He was beginning to weaken. The torture had taken a huge toll on his body. He reached into his back pocket for a power bar. He took his time eating it. The taste of protein was bland but rejuvenating. He ate another one before he loaded the revolver and made his way to the door. He looked back at the dead old man and mumbled under his breath.

“All this for a goddamned picture…”

His stomach growled.

“Yeah, I hear you. We’ll be home for dinner.”