Don’t Hold Your Breath
It had been close to three months since Kevin had heard anything from Brian. Kevin had actually busy happily reflecting on this fact, many times imagining that maybe Brian had gotten himself killed in a nondescript third-world country. The police had also finally come to the conclusion, that despite its improbability, the story Brian had told them was most likely true.
Kevin had understood why they were incredulous. After all, what kind of guy walks into a police station and tries to explain that they accidentally killed their best friends family because he was sure they had become infected with the zombie plague? Kevin still wasn’t sure what the cops thought about this explanation, but they had finally decided that he hadn’t killed his own family in such a terrible way. And with large quantities of psychoactive drugs and therapy he was starting to realize that things might one day return to a normal level.
Kevin wasn’t really convinced that things were going to get better, but somehow a combination of five anti-depressants can do wonders. What really made Kevin smile was thinking about Brian being killed by kids with machetes in Brazil. In reality, Kevin should never have looked a gift horse in the mouth.
About five seconds after the joyful children in Kevin’s mind had finished hacking apart the last pieces of Brian’s body, Kevin’s cellphone started ringing.
Probably Paul again… Checking on how I’m feeling… Asking if I’m drinking…
But to Kevin’s surprise it was some strange 090 number he had never seen before. So being that he was alone in the world and had nothing better to do than drink enough to attempt to have a coherent conversation with a bottle of Jim Beam, he answered the call.
“Holy Shit Kevin! I’m glad you answered, its Brian. I’m in Japan.” The reception wasn’t great and there seemed to be some signal echo, but the voice was clear, it was a mildly scared sounding Brian.
“Are you sure it’s you Brian… I thought I remembered the Brazilian dream children just finishing killing you in my head.” Kevin’s words were a bit slurred, but the thought of Brian being alive and well was oddly sobering.
“I should write that down… Might be important, hasn’t worked before, but you never when something might be a vision eh? You said Brazil right? Anyway… I just wanted to see how you were bud, it’s been too long.”
“Oh, me? I’ve mostly been drinking and going to therapy sessions. But Paul usually calls and check on me about those things. Oh, the police also finally believed your story. I think they also kind of hope you’ll die quietly somewhere and save them having to attempt taking your to court.” Kevin was mostly sober now, but he was still hoping he might just be to drunk to know if he was really dreaming.
“Yeah, Paul’s a good guy. Too bad about his sister and all that. Maybe you two should find a support group together… But to get to the point. I need your help man.”
“Please tell me you have embraced the idea of committing ritual seppuku and want me to aid as your second?” Reading Shogun seven or eight times in the last three months was suddenly a boon rather than a dangerous obsession for Kevin.
“Ummmm not exactly. The evil out here is overwhelming! I could really use someone like you to back me up, and also help me organize all the records I have for keeping track of what is evil and what isn’t.” Brian’s voice was not pleading at all, except maybe about organizing the files, he had always been a shit record keeper.
“I think we need to remember, Brian, that I’m not an alcoholic now for no reason. I don’t drink because my family was zombies… I drink because you thought they were zombies. I can’t help you… I won’t help you! I, I, just, can’t… I … no.” By this point Kevin was mostly screaming incoherently.
It was then Brian realized that a hunter truly is alone. And the hunt had to continue. He was sorry Kevin would never see the light of the truth as he had. Brian just hoped they hadn’t gotten into Kevin’s mind like so many of the others.
