Neurons Like Brandy is a long running project of mine that I have been trying to finish for about 8 years. It focuses on a house in Brighton after the zombie apocalypse has passed, with flashbacks told by one of the remaining survivors every other chapter.
The chapter numbering is a little confusing so if this is your first time here and you are interested in reading more then I would recommend starting at the index where each of the chapters are ordered in the manner that they are meant to be read.
Below is the recounting of the main character's, Dan, housemate Isaac
Chapter 8: Isaac
Look, let me explain, he said to me with the veins on his
biceps and forearms throbbing.
It was the day that Sam died; the day that he killed her.
Sam’s illness had started two days ago with some coughing. Innocent enough but I noticed it straight away. The next morning she had started sweating and was complaining of a headache.
I told Dan and he got George. That made me cringe, since he had arrived Dan, Phillip and George had become a unit of sorts.
I think she is ill. It could be Flu, he admitted, or it could be the virus.
If it is the virus, Phillip argued, then why is it happening now? It’s been over a month since the outbreak. Surely she should have been sick already?
It was the day that Sam died; the day that he killed her.
Sam’s illness had started two days ago with some coughing. Innocent enough but I noticed it straight away. The next morning she had started sweating and was complaining of a headache.
I told Dan and he got George. That made me cringe, since he had arrived Dan, Phillip and George had become a unit of sorts.
I think she is ill. It could be Flu, he admitted, or it could be the virus.
If it is the virus, Phillip argued, then why is it happening now? It’s been over a month since the outbreak. Surely she should have been sick already?
That was back when I, kind of, trusted him, when I believed
that for all his aggression and drunkenness that his intentions were good. He
was dating Caryn now and I’d always liked her, she was one of the good ones so
I just followed the logic that she would pick a good person to be with.
She didn't seem to remember me but I guess at the time I had been all kinds of punk and now I'd switched to wearing my hair down and was more Cobain than Rollins.
Maybe it really is the Flu, George mused, and if it isn’t then I guess. He trailed off. I don’t know. He shifted uncomfortably. I am not a doctor, he sort of shrugged, but then none of us are.
It was decided that I would watch over Sam and see what happened.
The next day she had trouble getting out of bed, she tried to pass it off as nothing but I could tell that she was having trouble walking. The coughing got worse and so did the sweating. By the middle of the afternoon she was back in the apartment we had set aside for her and in bed. The next morning I had to help her squat over the piss bucket; she was so weak.
It had come on so quickly. Looking back on when everything turned to shit it was easy to see how no one would have been able to predict what it was until it was too late. Except it didn’t make it easy to deal with the fact that whatever the infection was or how it affected people all of that was now happening to my sister.
You know who is real and who is a fake when you have to ask them to help you wee. She joked.
You’d do the same for me, I replied as I pulled her up again. I was terrified of what might (definitely) be wrong with her that it took all the effort I had to not breakdown crying. Like shit I would. She replied.
I got her back to her bed, tucked her in and checked her forehead. She was boiling up; the sheets covering her were doused in sweat. It was kind of like her body was trying to evacuate all the water that it contained.
I’m only joking, she said looking up at me. Of course I would help you.
It doesn’t make sense, Phillip said, she has been fine the whole time.
We were gathered in one of the rooms lower in the building. The only person not present was Jo as she was tasked with keeping an eye on Sam.
Yeah, but we don’t know how this works, George pointed out. Carriers of diseases can be infected for days before showing symptoms. Cancer can spread for years before there any outward indicators.
That was what I disliked about George, whenever he talked to anyone it was hard to tell if he was looking down on you while he did.
Yes, but how do we know it isn’t just a really bad infection? Caryn asked. These could be the byproduct of a number of different things. What makes you so certain?
That was how my roommate went out. George said bluntly. It happened a little quicker – it only took about two nights. He sighed, I don’t know, George raised his fingers and did air quotes, the consensus, says yes.
Do you think it is contagious? Oli asked. I’ve been in contact with her for days. Oli paused and looked embarrassed. I mean, what the fuck? We all have.
I really don’t have the foggiest. George said, he started massaging his temples. I wondered if he was also sick. I have a theory but right now, that is all it is a piece of conjecture.
Like what? Caryn asked.
I looked at Dan to see if he was even vaguely interested in what was being said, the words that Caryn was saying anyway. He was staring off out a window facing the square. He of all people, I remembered thinking, should understand what I was going through. After Nufonia went, he was destroyed; Jo and I had to work in shifts to keep an eye on him. After the outbreak he had seemed to get better for a while but now he just seemed to be slipping again.
Well, the thing is, George hesitated. It is an unsavoury idea.
Whatever, Phillip dismissed him with a wave of his hand. We are wasting time. He marched out of the room. I and the rest of the group followed him. George and Dan (who had seemed to spring into action as soon as Phillip moved) were in front of me and I think that Caryn was behind me but I was too focused on Phillip's back.
Everything happened quickly, before I knew it we were standing around Sam’s bed. Jo was sat beside her holding her hand. All of Sam’s visible skin had turned grey and was covered in a thin layer of greasy liquid. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was coming in slow gasps.
Hey Phillip, I finally managed to say. He ignored me and just kept looking at Sam. He looked like he was going to start yelling. Instead:
Fuck. He said one word but the sadness in it was enough to explain himself. He sat down heavily next to Jo, who was staring at him with this wide eyed look she sometimes got.
Is there anything else we can do? Caryn asked.
No, at least, not as far as I am aware, George replied.
Well, we can’t just leave her like that. Caryn protested.
Phillip stood up and pulled out a gun. Jo recoiled and I heard someone gasp behind me. There was sudden movement all around me.
How did you find that? George asked, I saw him reaching past me towards Phillip’s outstretched gun hand.
I went looking through your uncle’s place, why didn’t you tell me you had it – never mind I don’t care, Phillip just sort of blurted all of that out with no proper pauses.
Phillip, Phillip. Caryn repeated until she got his attention. He snapped around, saw what George was trying to do and yanked his hand away.
Fuck off George.
Phillip, what are you doing? Caryn asked, I could hear her voice cracking.
What does it look like I am doing? I am going to put her out of her misery.
That’s when I felt it build up and explode.
Phillip don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare; she is my sister.
He looked at me, surprised, and lowered the gun. His shoulders sagged slightly. So, are we just going to fucking wait?
When the time came it was dark, the room was only lit by 6 candles that made the whole place glow.
I watched a documentary before the world ended that was about brain activity. It said that brain activity continues after death. It is like it takes a while for it to say good bye to the rest of the body, and then shuts off. They said that they tested it with guillotine subjects – weird that they would call them ‘subjects’ – and would ask them to move their eyes after their heads had been chopped off and they would. I want to believe in a soul and I want to believe that we don’t end up empty vessels and that brain activity allows us to blink and to be.
It stays as something I very much want to believe but when Sam stopped breathing I couldn’t go towards her. I knew what was going to happen next and it wasn’t going to be her just blinking at me.
We sat there in the silence and waited for it. One of the candles went out.
That seemed to have been the trigger for Phillip because he got up, took a pillow and put it against her face and then buried the gun into it.
I froze; I could only sit and watch him posing over her.
Just fucking do it, Phillip growled at the Sam.
Sam moved gently, her head pushed up against the pillow.
For some reason, I can recall the texture of the plastic hand rest that I was clutching – like sticky glass but with some friction under my index finger where the sheen must have been worn away – when Phillip started talking again.
Say something if you are still alive, he continued. Sam, say something.
She seemed to hear him as she stopped moving under the covers; her head had pushed the pillow tightly against the gun. Sam, please.
I jammed my index finger into that worn away plastic.
She started to moan, it started out as something I could recognise and then it became deeper, more from the throat, more inhuman.
The shot was muted. Its muffled bark into the pillow was enough to cut Sam’s noise down to nothing.
Phillip lowered his arm to his side and then dropped the gun to the floor. He half spun as he sat down next to the weapon. He looked at me and his eyes were pleading. I am sorry, I am so sorry. He said it in a manner that I believed. I just couldn’t tell if he was apologising to me or to her.
I just sat there, paralised by the reality of what had just happened.
Phillip slowly got up. He spoke as if he was drunk.
I am going to go upstairs and get some fresh air.
She didn't seem to remember me but I guess at the time I had been all kinds of punk and now I'd switched to wearing my hair down and was more Cobain than Rollins.
Maybe it really is the Flu, George mused, and if it isn’t then I guess. He trailed off. I don’t know. He shifted uncomfortably. I am not a doctor, he sort of shrugged, but then none of us are.
It was decided that I would watch over Sam and see what happened.
The next day she had trouble getting out of bed, she tried to pass it off as nothing but I could tell that she was having trouble walking. The coughing got worse and so did the sweating. By the middle of the afternoon she was back in the apartment we had set aside for her and in bed. The next morning I had to help her squat over the piss bucket; she was so weak.
It had come on so quickly. Looking back on when everything turned to shit it was easy to see how no one would have been able to predict what it was until it was too late. Except it didn’t make it easy to deal with the fact that whatever the infection was or how it affected people all of that was now happening to my sister.
You know who is real and who is a fake when you have to ask them to help you wee. She joked.
You’d do the same for me, I replied as I pulled her up again. I was terrified of what might (definitely) be wrong with her that it took all the effort I had to not breakdown crying. Like shit I would. She replied.
I got her back to her bed, tucked her in and checked her forehead. She was boiling up; the sheets covering her were doused in sweat. It was kind of like her body was trying to evacuate all the water that it contained.
I’m only joking, she said looking up at me. Of course I would help you.
It doesn’t make sense, Phillip said, she has been fine the whole time.
We were gathered in one of the rooms lower in the building. The only person not present was Jo as she was tasked with keeping an eye on Sam.
Yeah, but we don’t know how this works, George pointed out. Carriers of diseases can be infected for days before showing symptoms. Cancer can spread for years before there any outward indicators.
That was what I disliked about George, whenever he talked to anyone it was hard to tell if he was looking down on you while he did.
Yes, but how do we know it isn’t just a really bad infection? Caryn asked. These could be the byproduct of a number of different things. What makes you so certain?
That was how my roommate went out. George said bluntly. It happened a little quicker – it only took about two nights. He sighed, I don’t know, George raised his fingers and did air quotes, the consensus, says yes.
Do you think it is contagious? Oli asked. I’ve been in contact with her for days. Oli paused and looked embarrassed. I mean, what the fuck? We all have.
I really don’t have the foggiest. George said, he started massaging his temples. I wondered if he was also sick. I have a theory but right now, that is all it is a piece of conjecture.
Like what? Caryn asked.
I looked at Dan to see if he was even vaguely interested in what was being said, the words that Caryn was saying anyway. He was staring off out a window facing the square. He of all people, I remembered thinking, should understand what I was going through. After Nufonia went, he was destroyed; Jo and I had to work in shifts to keep an eye on him. After the outbreak he had seemed to get better for a while but now he just seemed to be slipping again.
Well, the thing is, George hesitated. It is an unsavoury idea.
Whatever, Phillip dismissed him with a wave of his hand. We are wasting time. He marched out of the room. I and the rest of the group followed him. George and Dan (who had seemed to spring into action as soon as Phillip moved) were in front of me and I think that Caryn was behind me but I was too focused on Phillip's back.
Everything happened quickly, before I knew it we were standing around Sam’s bed. Jo was sat beside her holding her hand. All of Sam’s visible skin had turned grey and was covered in a thin layer of greasy liquid. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was coming in slow gasps.
Hey Phillip, I finally managed to say. He ignored me and just kept looking at Sam. He looked like he was going to start yelling. Instead:
Fuck. He said one word but the sadness in it was enough to explain himself. He sat down heavily next to Jo, who was staring at him with this wide eyed look she sometimes got.
Is there anything else we can do? Caryn asked.
No, at least, not as far as I am aware, George replied.
Well, we can’t just leave her like that. Caryn protested.
Phillip stood up and pulled out a gun. Jo recoiled and I heard someone gasp behind me. There was sudden movement all around me.
How did you find that? George asked, I saw him reaching past me towards Phillip’s outstretched gun hand.
I went looking through your uncle’s place, why didn’t you tell me you had it – never mind I don’t care, Phillip just sort of blurted all of that out with no proper pauses.
Phillip, Phillip. Caryn repeated until she got his attention. He snapped around, saw what George was trying to do and yanked his hand away.
Fuck off George.
Phillip, what are you doing? Caryn asked, I could hear her voice cracking.
What does it look like I am doing? I am going to put her out of her misery.
That’s when I felt it build up and explode.
Phillip don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare; she is my sister.
He looked at me, surprised, and lowered the gun. His shoulders sagged slightly. So, are we just going to fucking wait?
When the time came it was dark, the room was only lit by 6 candles that made the whole place glow.
I watched a documentary before the world ended that was about brain activity. It said that brain activity continues after death. It is like it takes a while for it to say good bye to the rest of the body, and then shuts off. They said that they tested it with guillotine subjects – weird that they would call them ‘subjects’ – and would ask them to move their eyes after their heads had been chopped off and they would. I want to believe in a soul and I want to believe that we don’t end up empty vessels and that brain activity allows us to blink and to be.
It stays as something I very much want to believe but when Sam stopped breathing I couldn’t go towards her. I knew what was going to happen next and it wasn’t going to be her just blinking at me.
We sat there in the silence and waited for it. One of the candles went out.
That seemed to have been the trigger for Phillip because he got up, took a pillow and put it against her face and then buried the gun into it.
I froze; I could only sit and watch him posing over her.
Just fucking do it, Phillip growled at the Sam.
Sam moved gently, her head pushed up against the pillow.
For some reason, I can recall the texture of the plastic hand rest that I was clutching – like sticky glass but with some friction under my index finger where the sheen must have been worn away – when Phillip started talking again.
Say something if you are still alive, he continued. Sam, say something.
She seemed to hear him as she stopped moving under the covers; her head had pushed the pillow tightly against the gun. Sam, please.
I jammed my index finger into that worn away plastic.
She started to moan, it started out as something I could recognise and then it became deeper, more from the throat, more inhuman.
The shot was muted. Its muffled bark into the pillow was enough to cut Sam’s noise down to nothing.
Phillip lowered his arm to his side and then dropped the gun to the floor. He half spun as he sat down next to the weapon. He looked at me and his eyes were pleading. I am sorry, I am so sorry. He said it in a manner that I believed. I just couldn’t tell if he was apologising to me or to her.
I just sat there, paralised by the reality of what had just happened.
Phillip slowly got up. He spoke as if he was drunk.
I am going to go upstairs and get some fresh air.
Sure, kind of, I guess. I didn’t really know how else to
react.
Do you want to come?
No, I think I could do with some time by myself.
He nodded, and walked out of the room. As soon as he was gone the tears came out of me. Sobs came out of me uncontrollably like I was vomiting sorrow. I couldn’t have kept it in if I had tried, like there was this big fist in my chest that was punching it all up and out of my throat.
I didn’t want to take the pillow away from her face. I didn’t want to see if she was really dead (I knew she was dead). Instead I just slid onto the floor on hands and knees and bawled my eyes out. The grief sawed against my ribs like it was trying to cut me right down the middle.
I guess it was a kind of a guilt because I hated Phillip for what he had done. It was like it was his fault for all this shit. That focus is what got me out of crying and up on my feet. I hated him and I was going to show him how much I despised him.
I left Sam’s apartment, hit the stairs up to the roof with a storm in my breath that made me feel like I was going to start swinging. As I got to the top I started hearing him talking:
I fucking hate you, you’re like a buzzing fucking insect. Do you understand me? Buzz fucking buzz. The girl who died, she was worth a million of you. A fucking million.
I walked out. It was 5:30 in the morning. Phillip was standing over another figure that I realised was that guy – Grey.
Phillip saw me a second later and let go of Grey; who slipped, like an octopus out of water, onto the ground.
Look, let me explain. He said to me, the veins on his biceps and forearms throbbing.
Do you want to come?
No, I think I could do with some time by myself.
He nodded, and walked out of the room. As soon as he was gone the tears came out of me. Sobs came out of me uncontrollably like I was vomiting sorrow. I couldn’t have kept it in if I had tried, like there was this big fist in my chest that was punching it all up and out of my throat.
I didn’t want to take the pillow away from her face. I didn’t want to see if she was really dead (I knew she was dead). Instead I just slid onto the floor on hands and knees and bawled my eyes out. The grief sawed against my ribs like it was trying to cut me right down the middle.
I guess it was a kind of a guilt because I hated Phillip for what he had done. It was like it was his fault for all this shit. That focus is what got me out of crying and up on my feet. I hated him and I was going to show him how much I despised him.
I left Sam’s apartment, hit the stairs up to the roof with a storm in my breath that made me feel like I was going to start swinging. As I got to the top I started hearing him talking:
I fucking hate you, you’re like a buzzing fucking insect. Do you understand me? Buzz fucking buzz. The girl who died, she was worth a million of you. A fucking million.
I walked out. It was 5:30 in the morning. Phillip was standing over another figure that I realised was that guy – Grey.
Phillip saw me a second later and let go of Grey; who slipped, like an octopus out of water, onto the ground.
Look, let me explain. He said to me, the veins on his biceps and forearms throbbing.
Grey again! Been a while since we saw him. Plus more of the semi-deranged legend that is Philip.
ReplyDeleteAnd, at last, Isaac. I dig the style of narration in this chapter. It feels right for Isaac.
The first and last time you will see Grey in this story too. It also explains why Isaac, who had been friends with Dan for a very long time, never said anything about the relationship between Dan and Caryn.
DeleteAs for the style, I was really worried about this one as people might just think that I am shit at writing but what I was trying to capture was the way a stoner tends to tell a story and also Isaac's allusions to a poetic style of thought.
He is a little more flowery than some of the others and he isn't great at presenting the events in an ordered and clear manner.