2WIRE

Chapter 1


1
He sat on the couch in his small apartment, the blood on his hands begining to dry and make his skin itch. He was unaware of the scratching noise coming from outside his door, and unaware of the tepid smell of decaying flesh. The gun lay to his left on the couch cushion, it's metallic weight pressing down on his soul. He had done what had to be done, done what should of been done days earlier. Tears began to fall from his eyes, those eyes like a tradegy, those eyes of a fallen angel. The sound of the person on the floor outside his door began to die down, but the smell was just as strong. He stared deep into his television even though the power shut off three days ago. It was a shady black mirror just the same, reflecting what he had just done. His mind was fighting itself, trying to justify what he had just down, trying to condemn what he had just down. The tears didn't last long, ten seconds at most, but it felt like an eternity of torture to him. He stood up, leaving the gun on the couch, and finally heard the noise coming from outside his door. He knew what was out there, knew exactly. He seriously wondered if he had died and gone to hell, because this sure felt like it. It seemed like he was the only survivor of the 2WIRE attack, everyone else he had seen was suffering from The Sickness. A testement to that was in the bedroom he shared with his girlfriend of three years. She was still laying in their bed, dead as can be, her skin pale and blotched with patched of sick neon green infection. He had taken the best care he could have given the situation. He was ashamed that he actually did it, but at least he ended her suffering. Her tears were so real, like a slap to the face at two in the morning. She begged him to end it, to stop the pain and he did. The gun his mentor gave him had taken away the woman who was his world, taken away the reasons he lived for. He stepped towards the door, his hand stretched out to grasp the door knob. When his fingers grasped the cool brass, he heard that the person outside was trying to talk. He stood there, frozen to the floor, a revolver on the couch and a dead girl in his bed. He tried to think of a reason not to walk back to the couch and blow out his brains. He tried to think of a reason to not slit his wrists and lay next to Amanda and die in her cold, dead infected arms as his blood became a warm rose blanket for them both. He couldn't think of a reason, not a single reason not to, but it always came back to the promise, the promise he made to Amanda and his mentor, Jake. He remembered the day Amanda walked in on him trying to slit his wrists. He felt so worthless, and so alone but he had forgot how his death would affect Amanda. She asked him if it was her fault, if it was something she did. He laughed at her, his wrists blossoming like tainted roses into the sink as he did. He had replied with some witty remark, which one, he could not remember at the moment. All he knew was that Amanda was either up above him with God, or burning below him with his father, either way he didn't want to disappoint her or Jake. He turned the knob and swung the door inward. Curled up like a dog on his welcome mat was the boy who lived on the fifth floor. He was only wearing a pair of canvas shorts and his chest was streaked a framiliar maroon. The boy looked up and began to smile and cry at the same time.
"Ah...Ah....Marsh...Marshall! Thank God! Thank...thank you God..." He whispered as he began to sob. He was looking down at this boy, noticing that he didn't have the green splotches or blisters. He kneeled down and put his hand on the boy's side. The boy was warm, unlike the people who have The Sickness.
"Are you okay kid?" Marshall asked, his mind turning to the well-being of the boy before him. The kid couldn't have been over fourteen, fifteen tops. The boy stood up and looked right into Marshall's eyes.
"Yeah,...I'm fine."


2

He took the boy inside and made him some Kool-Aid with the last of his fresh water. They drank it in silence until it was gone. It was the boy who began to speak first.
"I thought I heard someone in here about a hour ago, so I tried to navigate the hallway and...well you've seen what it's like out there." The boy started, guestering towards the door with a blood streaked hand. The boy noticed Marshall's bloody hands and nodded.
"You too?"
"Yeah, bout' a hour ago." Marshall replied, his gaze on his sneakers. The room was silent untill Marshall looked back up, and looked at the boy.
"Your Vincent, right?" He asked, his hands under the table. The boy nodded and the silence resumed it's course. Marshall stood up and went to the couch and grabbed his revolver, Vincent watched this with a look of sympathy. Marshall took the remaining six bullets out and dumped them into his pocket. He swung the cylinder close and tucked the revolver into the back of his pants. Vincent was seated in a chair by the kitchen table.
"So, what do we do now sir?" Vincent asked, his voice cracking, puberty playing it's sick games even now.
"What'd you mean?"
"Like, from here, what do we do? Do we just sit here and waste away? Do we go outside and see if it's any better? Do we go to Disney Land? What do we do? Sir." Vincent told him, his face drenched in sarcasm.
"First off, your gonna stop calling me sir, makes me feel old. Okay?"
"Fine, whatever floats your boat..." Vincent replied. Marshall went to the landry room next to the pantry and plucked out a dirty white t-shirt. He came out and threw the shirt at Vincent. "Second of all, it ain't much prettier outside. Put that on, it's cold out there." He held the shirt and his eyes glazed over for a second before he picked up on what Marshall said. He pulled the shirt on, picked at a loose string and took a deep breath. "So, how are we supposed to get downstairs? The stairway is blocked by those fat bastards and their chubby ass kids." Vincent asked, sctratching his head with his left hand.
"Don't use that kind of language, but your right, that's why we're using the fire escape." Marshall told him as he took his jacket off the landry room door and put it on. The leather was old and well cared for.
"Nice jacket."
"Thanks, only thing my dad ever gave me."
"You two close?"
"Nope. The bastard like to watch me bleed. That's how I got this." He said, tapping the scar between his eyebrows that ran down the right side of his nose. Marshall closed the landry door and told Vincent to open the window in the kitchen. As Vincent did so, Marshall went to the only bedroom, his shoes thumping in the silence of the apartment.

Vincent opened the window and leaned out, peering at the corpses littering the road. The smell was bad, and he expected that it would be even worse on the ground. He turned around in the small kitchen and grabbed a wash cloth from the sink and stuffed it in his back pocket. He heard Marshall walk to the bedroom in that slow gait he had. Vincent barely knew Marshall but he liked him just the same. He heard Marshall talking but the walls muffled it beyond recogniztion. He jumped up on the counter and waited for Marshall to return.

She was still laying there, the way she was a hour ago. Marshall touched her skin and found that she was ice cold. He was thankful that her eyes were still closed. He got into the bed with her and put his arm around her, the way he did when she was still alive. Fresh tears ran down his face, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming. When he calmed down he kissed her cheek and sat on the side of the bed.
"I'm sorry Amanda...I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I had to hurt you that way. I hope there's a heaven, and I hope your there. I still love you Amanda, I always will." He told her corpse as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He got up and opened the drawer in his bedside table. Underneath a fishing magazine was a small black felt box. He opened it up and stared down at the diamond there. He had spent the last two years saving up to buy it. He had planned to give it to her on their anniverery in three months. He pulled the ring from the box and went to her side. He grasped her left hand and slid the ring on her finger.
"Will you marry me?" he asked, his imagination trying to make her come back. He remembered the prayers, the begging, the pleading he had down a day earlier, and they filled him with grief. He prayed to God, begged Buddah, pleaded to Allah, screamed at the Virgin Mary, and cried to Jesus. He rememebered that as he looked down at the ring on her cold dead finger, and vowed he would have his revenge, his revenge on 2WIRE. He would burn them down, and talk to them up close as Norman would, he talk to them real fucking close.


3

Marshall and Vincent stood on the fire escape and looked around. Cars layed wrecked in the streets, fire hydrants that burst days ago finally finishing their spray, and the bus that crashed into the gas station had finally stopped burning. The thing that bothered him the most was the birds. Everywhere he looked a bird was eating a corpse. He almost puked when he saw a bird eat a homeless man's eyes. He told Vincent to go down the ladder first and told him he would follow. Vincent went down, and waited for Marshall at the base of the fire escape. Marshall took a look down and smiled at Vincent. He went over to the ladder and slowly climbed down. He remembered all the time he used to climb down this thing when he was a kid. Since he had lived in these apartment complexes since he was sixteen, that was eight years of fond memories of midnight snacks and sneaking into girl's houses and doind very inapropitrat things to them, much to their pleasure. As he was about seven feet from the bottem, the ladder began to creek. Marshall hurried down, but wasn't quick enough. The ladder snapped from from it's anchors and threw him to the ground. He landed on his back, the shock sending a numbness to his fingers and toes. He expected his life to flash before his eyes, or time to slow down, all that happened was he might have shit his pants. Millions of thoughts whizzed through his head as he expected the ladder to crush his skull, but that crunch never came. The ladder missed landing on him by a few inches. Vincent ran over and stood over Marshall, already screaming.
"Are you okay?!" He yelled, but Marshall could barely hear him. Vincent asked a second time and it was then that things changed. Pain flashed through his skull and bolted to his eyes. Everything got bright and then his ears popped. He felt real hot and then passed out. He thought it was a hell of a way to die.


4
"Wake up!" Vincent demanded, banging his fist upon Marshall's chest, unaware that this was causing more harm then help.
"Wake up! I need you, you can't leave me like this! You can't!"
He slammed his fist down again, and this time Marshall let out a violent breath, a breath that was strangely pink.