Steve O'Leery

Steve O’Leery woke up with his eyes fixated on his digital alarm clock. He hated the fact that he often slept with his eyes open, a strange habit of his that left many women smacking him in the face because after the nightly activities they shared, it was hard to roll over to a man whom appeared dead. They all reported that wasn’t the best way to end things between them. However, this morning he rolled over to find no one which this really didn’t bother him. He was what most would call a loner, or in some cases a meaningful one-night stand. Neither bothered him, he wasn’t looking for anyone and nor did he think anyone was looking for him. Rolling back over he ended up on his back, staring up at the white peeling ceiling he remembered today was Monday. Moaning, he ran through his mental to do list for the day.

Get up.
Bathe.
Eat.
Possibly go to work.

         Steve sneered at the thought of his job, a lame position of top cashier at the local record store. The Red Gate Record Store was noted for selling records that were hard to find and the occasional stupid teenager would stumble in, see the records and rush out in fear of this dilapidated form of entertainment. Steve himself generally hated today’s technology. He owned the necessary devices: cell phone and a computer. But as for these people who roamed around with their MP3 players and tiny earphones stuck in their ears was beyond him. He enjoyed music, good lord he was working in a record store but he was the kind of guy that used his free time to examine every nook of his life. Women found him in intriguing when really he was concerned with knowing why he did the things he did.
         Two mattresses stacked up served as his bed, sitting up he swung his legs to the side. Padding over to the bathroom he squinted to the mirror. His reflection showed a lean man, black tousled hair, dark eyes with circles around them to match. He needed a shave. Twisting the knobs to get his desired temperature he lathered his hands and was about to put them to his face. Changing his mind he gave himself the excuse, “I prefer the stubble.”
         Showering and dressed he slipped to his kitchen. Visitors remarked how clean his spacious flat was. Which if they paid attention; it was only spacious looking because it lacked what most people would call furniture and personal belongings. The apartment consisted of a very large room which served as a place to dine, cook, and entertain, a doorway left to the kitchen would lead you to his room, then from that a bathroom laid out. He liked the high ceilings and the many windows that gave him a lovely sight of the dirty city below. The floors were creaking wood with miss-matched rugs laid here and there.
         Coming over to his psychedelic green counters, he pulled out a box of Pop-tarts from the cupboard. Finding the last packet, it seemed today was going to be an all right Monday after all. Steve almost felt a victory over the vicious weekday, slamming down into his crappy couch he flicked on the television.
         Crumbs sprayed as he cussed the fact that nothing was ever on T.V. Then a headline on the news caught his eye. The Infectious disease said to take over the World. What could they be talking about? His mind raced through the top diseases of the day. Aids, Cancer, the Bird Flu? The commercial for dog food ended soon enough to show him a puffy old man, his cheeks red with worry spouting what Steve could only imagine was a dream or a prank.
“Hello and Good day.” Said the over weight newsman. “As you may know reports of an infectious killing disease has been ripping its way through heavily populated Europe. Said to have began in rural Russia we now have eye witness attacks here in London.”
Almost worried, Steve polished off his lasting Pop-tart. Whatever this infectious disease was it certainly wouldn’t find him in the record shop. Steve wasn’t the worrying type, which worked out fine with him because he didn’t want anyone to worry about him either.
Stepping outside he was greeted with a nipping breeze, thankfully The Red Gate was only two streets from his flat. Which provided Steve with a small excuse of exercise. Steve looked around, he found that the normal people he saw everyday was doing their normal activities. Nothing too infectious he thought to himself. The only thing infectious would have to be ending up like these routine fellows.  Approaching The Red Gate Shoppe Steve knew that whatever he saw on the news must have been some sort of mistake or clever way to cause a worldwide panic of something utterly stupid. As pre-usual Steve saw his boss sweeping out in front of the store.
He had came from America when he was 29, saying he wanted to live the “cool London scene.” Maurice was a strange man. Not only did he offer a nice little patio seating out in front of the store, he had devised little garden boxes that held nothing more than dirt and neat orderly grass. Placed in the grass, as if it was an actual lawn he had stuck garden gnomes and pink plastic flamingoes in each of them. Maurice lived in the floor above his shop along with his female tabby cat named Jimi. Maurice sadly was stuck in the 60’s, when frankly when there was free love he was wearing diapers. Only being about 20 years Steve’s senior, Maurice wasn’t that old of a man. He wore his hair in brown dread locks that were graying from the scalp down. He wore extremely round spectacles that always stayed at the end of his nose. He mainly wore black T-shirts depicting his favorite 60’s band, mainly that of Jimi Hendrix of which whom he named his cat after. No matter the weather he constantly wore green army material shorts that were cut off at the knees, along with hemp made flip-flops.
“ Hey man,” smiled Maurice with a cigarette held between his chapped lips. “Got some great records in this morning man.”
“Good to hear that, Maurice.” Replied Steve as he by passed chatting with Maurice and headed for the shop’s break room. Entering the kitchen he saw his coffee machine and turned it on. Maurice drank tea mostly, that or alcohol and only Steve drank coffee in the place. Soon the machine began to gurgle, Steve left it and went to the counter and began to cipher through the large molding box filled with records.
The shop door’s bell rang; Steve looked up and saw Maurice enter with Jimi in his arms.
“Damn cat has gone crazy.” Maurice said letting her drop from his arms. “She keeps up climbing up me and everything. Something must be up, man.”
Steve ignored the cat’s predictions. “Bad rat perhaps?”
“Doubt it, man.” Maurice said taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You hear the news this morning? Crazy shit, man.”
“Not really,” said Steve as he headed back towards his coffee. “Had to hurry over this morning, no time.”
“Oh well you missed a great story, man.” Maurice said as he sat down in his worn in green chair.
“What?”
“They said that the Undead is taking over man.”


         After a few minutes of shock Steve looked out the window. Everything seemed to be fine but he could imagine zombies walking around chewing on people. It wasn’t a pretty visual. He felt Maurice come up behind him.
         “Maybe we should lock up or something man?” Maurice did have a point. If zombies were taking over the world they might as well barricade the door.
         “I’ll go out to the shed and see if we have any wood or something.” Steve said calmly, though it’s pretty hard to stay calm when the world was being taken over by zombies. Going through the kitchen he opened the back door, before stepping out he poked his head out and scanned to small lot. It was junky but it looked almost safe with its high privacy fence surrounding the building. Maurice’s hippie van was back there. Covered with a tarp, when he moved here he didn’t see the point in driving much so he kept it in the back for safe keeping.
         That’s when he heard it for the first time. Steve’s ear caught the sound of something he never worried about before. Looking to his right, where a bit of the fence had fallen down he saw his first zombie.
         Not Mr. Lewis! Screamed Steve in his mind. Mr. Lewis was the man who ran the local bookstore. He loved books as much as Maurice loved records. Both, now that Steve thought about where pathetic.
         Mr. Lewis was pale, which wasn’t much of change because living with mostly books would do that to a person but now his pale-ness seemed to pulsate. His eyes were glazed over; the whole effect of zombie drained him of his blood except for the bit he had dripping from his overly chewed neck. Like the films portrayed them, his arms where stretched before him and trying to walk through the fence, moaning for Steve.
         “Great,” Steve said running to the shed. Ripping the door off he found what bit of wood, grabbing it up he ran back. Pushing the door shut behind him, he locked it. Mr. Lewis still stood there, fighting the fence moaning.
         “Well at least they are stupid as hell.” He sighed, coming through the kitchen.
         Maurice was sitting in his green chair reading the paper. He was unmoved by the days news or the sight of Steve. “Hey man you don’t think we’ll get any customers?”
         “I doubt it.” Steve said going over to the front door, dropping the wood and going behind the counter to get the hammer and nails. “Usually people don’t get out to get a record when the world is ending.”
         “Just thinking man,” Maurice smiled returning back to his paper. Steve didn’t expect Maurice to help much, after all it was his store and he was paying Steve by the hour. For the first time Steve was happy about the fact he never really worked hard in his life, since it was going to end he wouldn’t be losing much.
         The barricade was a sad one. The door was barely nailed shut and the windows had major gaps. Standing back from it, Steve examined his handy work. No wonder I work in a record shop.
         Then Steve remembered about Mr. Lewis, “Maurice?”
         “Yeah man?”
         “Mr. Lewis is a zombie.” He muttered. “I saw him when I was in the back.”
         He didn’t look up from his paper, “Never liked him anyway, man.”

         Hours passed and nothing happened. Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Every once in a while a man or woman would run down the street. Five minutes later a zombie came stumbling after them. It seemed Steve was worried over nothing. You could out run a zombie and there didn’t seem to be a lot of them. Night was approaching which didn’t make him feel any better about the situation. They both decided not to watch the news; it wasn’t as if it had helped them before.
         While fixing them some sandwiches, Steve heard Maurice get up and walk to the door.
         “Hey man!” Maurice called loudly.
         “Yes?” Steve replied stepping to the doorway.
         “Think I should let this guy in here?”
         Steve bolted to Maurice, “Wait no!”
         Maurice had already opened the door without much of an effort. A frail looking man stumbled in sweat dripping from his face. He looked terrified. He hit the floor and cowered there for a moment.
         “Don’t let her in!” he wailed covering his head with his arms. He was dressed strangely. Steve didn’t think there was an opera going on, but he appeared to have attended one. He wore a white button up shirt, blacks slacks and an odd black cape. Usually, this outfit would make a man appear cultured. However, for him the entire thing looked entirely too small and the cape needed ironed badly.
         “Let who in-” Steve began but was interrupted as the door was kicked down and splinters of wood flew everywhere.
         This must be who he’s talking about. Steve thought to himself. Why the hell would you run from that?
         The culprit who had kicked the door in was in fact a female. A fine specimen of female to be exact. She wore tight latex looking body suit that went with her every curve. Strapped to her hips, upper thigh and arms was weapons of every assortment. Steve smiled, until she pointed the end of gun at the end of his nose.
         “I said don’t let her in you idiots!” screamed the man from the floor. Maurice was picking himself up and getting bits of wood out of his dreads.
         “Don’t mind me,” she said, with her other hand she pointed a gun at the man on the floor. “Won’t take but a moment.”
         “Ah!”
         “Wait you just can’t shoot him!” Steve yelled. “He’s not a zombie or anything!”
         “Ha,” she laughed. “No he’s a bit worse.”
         “Hey, why does the chick got a gun?” Maurice asked trying to figure out the situation. “I don’t like guns man.”
         “What do you mean worse?”
         “Don’t listen to her, she mad!” the man screamed.
         “He’s a vampire.”
         “A what?”
         Just then when she was about to reply Maurice had picked up a piece of wood and hit her in the right temple. Bringing her down. Steve was amazed. Maurice had never moved that fast in his life.
         “What did you do that for?”
         Maurice dropped the wood, going back to his non-violent self he looked up at Steve. “She was scary as hell, man.”


         Steve wasn’t sure if duck tape would hold her to the chair, but it was better than nothing. She was amazingly attractive, Steve was certain it was the suit she wore. The latex let her every curve show, but it was obvious she wore it not the pick up guys but strictly for her career. Steve ignored trying to understand her career. She wore no make up and her red hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail.
         She was still knocked out from Maurice’s blow. The man hadn’t tried to run; he also must trust the duck tape because she seemed pretty determined to shoot him. The man was standing in a corner, eyeing every movement of her. Each breath she took, he seemed to shudder. It was odd, he looked quite tan but looked as though he applied powder to hide it.
         Tearing the last strip of duck tape and applying it to her arm and the arm of the chair, Steve stood up and looked to the man.
         “So,” he began. “Care to explain anything?”
         The man’s eyes narrowed at Steve, they were steel gray and vicious looking. “I don’t see why I have to.”
         “Perhaps the whole fucking fact that you are in our shop might help!” Steve yelled, which stirred made her stir in the chair.
         “Oh great!” the man crossed his arms. “Look you’ve woke it up!”
         Her head lifted, she squinted at the shop. She began to tug at the restraints. “What the hell!”
         Maurice came into the shop with a tray of tea and cups. “Hey man, sorry about hitting you.”
         “Let me out of here!” she yelled. “Did you not hear me? He’s a vampire!”
         The man looked shocked, Steve went back over to face her. “What do you mean vampire?”
         “The kind that drinks blood you bloody moron!” she shook the chair from side to side.
         “She’s lying?” the man offered which wasn’t very believable.
         “Alright. Let me get this straight. Zombies are taking over, there are such things as vampires now and let me guess, you’re a vampire hunter?” Steve had lowered himself to her eye level. He hands were on the arms over her wrist.
         She wasn’t intimidated; the fact was she was the one with the weapons around here. “Right on all accounts.”
         Standing up, Steve eyed the room and everyone in it. Zombies, vampires and now a woman straight out of the comic books and it was only a goddamn Monday.

         He hadn’t blacked out yet, but it was coming. As far as he knew a unicorn was soon to appear and a tiny many going on about his pot of gold. Steve had never doubted the existence of any living creature. The undead were excluded from this. Maurice managed a “whoa” while Steve remained silent.
         Giving the men ample time to take in this wave of information, Callie Weathersby sat there. This better not ruin my suit, Callie eyed the metallic tape that bound her to the chair. The concept of the undead wasn’t that hard to grasp. However working a record store wasn’t exactly a position that would allow much time to think outside the box nor did the type of people who worked in such place thought much at all. She was shocked that the hippie had taken her out and the guy was brave enough to get in her face. She thought it best to hit him once out of the straps, possibly in the throat regions.
         The so-called vampire sulked in the corner. He was watching everyone; he eyes darting from the hunter, the guy and the hippie even the cat, which was sprawled out on the counter was under his surveillance.
         “How’s about letting me go?” she offered as she wiggled to see if she could get any lead way with the tape. The dagger in her right pouch was dying to stab that hippie.
         “What so you can kill him?” Steve looked at her. “At the moment you’re the only one who is proving to be a problem-minus the zombies outside.” He added.
         “Listen I know it’s hard to believe in vampires but-well-just ask him!” she glared to her right at the creature. Everyone’s eyes darted to the corner.
         His arms where crossed and he waved a hand at them, “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Poor thing is mental; I merely play as a vampire. I’m an actor.”
         “The hell you are!” she rattled the chair even more to where she was about to tip over. “Just let me get out of this chair you lying bastard!”
         Steve’s logic was running dry; at the moment anything was believable. He eyed the would-be vampire. “Come off it already, are you or aren’t you a vampire? I wont hold it against you.”
         “Right so you’re believing a woman who dresses like that over me?” he asked unfolding his arms.
         “Your dressed kinda crazy too man.” Maurice said setting the tray down pouring himself a cup and Jimi one as well.
         “Actor?”
         “Liar!” she roared. “Listen, here get one of those spikes from my wrist cartridge. Make him hold it!”
         Steve did as she said; sliding one out of its holster he weighed it in his hands. It was pretty sharp and heavy, looking up from it the man in the corner looked worried. “That’s up surd! What is that going to prove?”
         “Its pure silver,” she smiled. “Something vampire are extremely allergic too.”
         “I won’t do it!” he exclaimed backing into the wall. “I won’t submit to your games.”
         “That’s fine with me,” Steve shrugged then hurriedly threw it at the man, who absently mindedly caught it. His hand began to steam. He held it for a minute, not in any pain shaking his head.
         “Alright damn,” he sighed tossing it back. Steve’s mouth was gaped open as he caught the silver spike. A massive spike shaped gash showed up in his hand. The skin was scorched but he appeared to not be in a pain. “You caught me.”
         “You’re a vampire?”
         “Didn’t I just say that?” he said scowling. Holding his burned hand out he looked at Maurice. “Got any bandage? Can’t expect me to go around looking like this?”
         “Now do you believe me?” Callie said almost with a sweet alluring tone towards Steve. She watched him kneel down before her and began to strip the tape from her.
         “No killing,” he muttered. “Just explain everything.”

         

         It seemed that everything took a rather long time to explain. A good two tea kettles later Steve, Maurice and Jimi sat there amused at what lay before them. They all sat around the kitchen table; minus the vampire who turned out his name was Warren who stayed standing away in a corner. Steve’s mind wasn’t racing anymore; rather it had stopped and was trying to recap what he was just told.
         “For centuries,” Callie explained. “The undead have been fighting one another. Zombies and Vampires, werewolves every once in awhile but they got bored with it mostly. Finally, Zombies had the high ground and had been planning this for a while. They figured that if you ate all the vampires food then they would die because vampires cannot eat the dead.”
         “Disgusting.” The vampire had added.
         “Exactly how do zombies plan? I mean they aren’t exactly equipped with functioning brains.” Steve asked.
         “It’s much like evolution just backwards. With the zombies they are evolving down. Only the early ones who have survived all this time are able to talk, think and function other than just mauling people to death.”
         “And you lot?” Steve eyed Warren who was trying to fix his cape.
         “We’ve remained pretty much the same.” He said. “Just don’t go believing we are afraid of crosses, holy water and garlic. I happen to enjoy it myself.”
         “And the blood?”
         Warren gave him a toothy smile, which coming from a vampire isn’t very assuring. Callie laughed but patted a dagger where Warren could see her. “Also the whole part where they cannot go out in the sun is an exaggerated lie. They can, but they burn more than we do. Truthfully they are all allergic to sunlight and silver. To add, they are slaves to their thirst for blood.”
         “And you lot to your coffee,” he said. “We don’t discriminate against your food preferences.”
         “Yes well we aren’t the ones going around eating people now are we?” Callie retorted. “You don’t catch us biting people and sucking the caffeine out of them, do you?”
         “Just saying.” He said turning away from them.
         “By the way,” Steve reached for his cup of tea and sipped. “Why are you dressed like that?”
         Warren sighed, “I’d rather not say.”
         Callie laughed, “These days the new-age vampires are all about acting like their ancestors. It seems it’s not cool enough being the undead but they have to act like big Daddy Dracula and prance around in their ball room wear. Rather pathetic really.”
         “You shut up!” Warren yelled from his corner. “And what about you? Typical vampire hunters! Running around mad as hell wearing god knows what. Look at you! You think you look cool wearing that, I’ll admit my dear it is very fetching but not needed. Hollywood is calling, they want their props back, sweetie.”
         “Why you-” Callie began standing up with a gun pulled. Steve raced up between them. Not a smart place he measured after the fact but still, he wasn’t in the mood for any more fights.
         “Listen why don’t we all just wait this shit out?” Steve stayed holding arms up. “We each can go our own way after its over.”
“You expect me to stay here with out killing him?” Callie said, glaring at Warren. “And no biting people!” Steve shot a glance behind him.
“Don’t flatter yourself mate,” he snarled. “I don’t have the taste for imitation meat.”
         “Hey what about him?” Maurice still sitting at the table pointed at the kitchen window. It seems Mr. Lewis had beat the allusive fence. He stood there staring blankly into the kitchen.
         “Let me handle this.” Smiled Callie. She moved the gun that was previously pointed at Warren to the bloody zombie outside. Aiming for the forehead, she pulled the trigger. Mr. Lewis’s head exploded and the headless limp body fell.
         “You enjoyed that entirely too much.” Warren sneered removing his hands from his ears.
         Steve did the same, “So I suppose killing them is as the same in the movies?”
         “The film industry rarely get anything correct,” Callie said putting the gun back in the proper holster. “But in this case they did. Removing the head or blowing them up whole works.” She added.
         Steve recalled every undead film he had ever seen. He shot a glance to Warren, who knew exactly what he was thinking but before he could answer him, Callie cut in.
         “Chop of the head or stab the heart.” She said blankly.
         “Yes well I would like to see you survive that.” Warren said. “And yes Steve, we are immortal.” He added smugly.
“Momentarily.” Callie reminded him sweetly. Warren narrowed his eyes at her, but he was in no mood to fight a vampire hunter especially since he was terrible at it.
“Also, they might be immortal but truthfully when they turn undead they get all…mushy.”
         “I BEG YOUR PARDON?” yelled Warren.
         She rolled her eyes, “Zombies do anyway. Nicking off their heads become a pretty easy task, but…” she went over to Warren grabbing his bandaged hand, “Vampires can regenerate where zombies cannot.”          
         She peeled the bloody bandage and Steve remarked at Warren’s lack of a wound. “Amazing.”
         “Yes,” Warren said taking his hand back from Callie’s grip. “Bloody-fucking-tastic!”
         “Whoa,” Maurice said eyeing Warren’s hand. “That’s pretty cool man.”
         “Do you ever complete and entire sentence without ending it with man?” Warren asked sharply.
         “No man.” Maurice said honestly. He scratched Jimi under her chin as she sat on the kitchen table. “So, what are we doing now man?”
         Everyone then focused on Steve. Some how he had been voted leader without an election and he wasn’t enjoying the thought of being the leader a group that consisted of a cat, a hippie, a vampire hunter and a vampire. He sat back down at the kitchen table, relaxing in the chair he made eye contact with each other them.
         “Beats me.”
A unison sigh came from everyone.
“What?” Steve asked with a tone of anger at the edges of his words. “You can’t expect me to lead us around when I just found out about all this shit!”
He does have a pretty solid excuse, thought Callie. She looked at Steve from her standing position. To be honest he wasn’t half bad looking even compared to Warren, who as usual was an attractive vampire. It was sad how even the undead picked the better-looking ones to recruit, barely leaving the living anything worth having. She noted the stubble on his chin, the dull yet exciting flicker of light in his eyes. One thing she found more attractive in Steve than Warren is the whole fact he had a pulse, which most people take for granted. Still, he’s rather pathetic.
She returned to her side aside from Maurice and across from Steve. She felt the binding of her suit and really wished that she could be more comfortable. Latex, no matter how sexy was not one of the most practical things to wear. Her weapons were weighing as night crept on them. She was surprised how the record shop could be a safe house, but only a few zombies would totter by here and there. Mostly they remained either in the kitchen or the main shop front. Warren, never sitting chose various corners. He watched everyone with caution; excluding Maurice he wasn’t a threat to anyone but himself. Jimi had taken up with Warren, following him to each corner and rubbing her self on his legs and purring like a train.
“I think Jimi has a thing for vampire guy, man.” Maurice said pointing at Warren.
“Oh joy,” muttered Warren trying to push her aside.
It was only the men in the front shop; Callie had asked Maurice if he had anything for her to change in which oddly he did. Steve had never doubted Maurice had at least spoken with a woman before, but having spare clothes came as a shock.
Hearing her footsteps from the floor above, Steve did every thing he could to hide his laugh when he saw her coming down the stairs. To no surprise all Maurice had to offer was something that must have came from the 60’s. She wore extremely short shorts that frayed at the bottom of them and tie-dyed tank. She had remained with her own shoes, the knee length shiny black boots.
“Very fitting vampire hunter,” remarked Warren with his arms crossed. “Flower power and not a gun in sight.”
“I have a few tucked away,” she glared at him. No one commented on those exact places.