The Final Station

Running, panting, breath pounding in and out of his screaming lungs, Tom ran toward the old gas station. It was the only refuge in sight on this deserted highway. His legs felt like lead weights as he continued, barely, to place one in front of the other. Stumbling past the two corpses hanging from the silver car at the pumps, he barely registered the blackened, bloated skin or the clouds of flies swarming over them. Churning, his stomach threatened to spew the last of it's contents at the horrific stench. Swallowing the acidic bile, he waved off the smell and continued his death march.

Stumbling up to the main doors he grabbed the pull handles and yanked. The doors rattled but did not open. He pounded his fists against the safety glass, yelling. No response. Tom stumbled away from the doors around the left side of the dilapidated station. Rushing to the door marked MENS he grabbed the knob, which, thankfully, actually turned. Crashing the door open, he stumbled inside, chased by the howls in the near distance. Slamming the door shut behind him, Tom turned the lock. Almost falling against the door in his exhaustion and terror, Tom turned. Placing his back to the door he surveyed his refuge.

Old, dingy, faded..., the single fluorescent light flickered dimly. The mercury-laced argon inside the dirty glass tired, sluggish, used up. Tom could empathize. Shadows raced like a plague of cockroaches across the walls of the dingy bathroom. A prevalent ammonia smell of old urine permeated the space. Tom - not certain the urine smell was actually worse than his own too long unwashed odor - slid slowly along the wall to the corner. Sliding down the wall, he huddled, hands around his knees. Lowering his head he tried to catch his breath. Chemists aren't used to strenuous exercise - at least not this chemist. At least the electricity worked. Tom was surprised. Most places had lost electricity within a week or so after the event as power stations failed due to lack of maintenance.

Raising his head from where it rested on his aching knees, Tom gazed at the water stains in the pitted drop ceiling. Brown swirls in a myriad of patterns dotted the ceiling like miniature spiral galaxies. Probably not too likely I'll die from a mold infestation, he thought. In the distance outside the window he heard several mournful howls. Tom rose with a groan and walked to the window. It was privacy glass made to allow light access but to obscure the view. The outside was blurred, warped. The whole world is warped, he thought, and it's my fault. Although there was some light from the old station's pump area, there was nothing to see other than the car, as dead as it's occupants if the flattened tires were an indication. Another howl, this one sounding closer, split the night. Tom pressed his forehead against the glass, the coolness felt good on his feverish forehead.

A swarm of moths lit upon the glass, their wings beating a staccato rhythm. Like him they had been attracted to the light. Like them this attracton would most likely lead to a painful death. Suddenly a slightly larger creature landed on the glass right in front of his eyes. It adhered to the glass like Spiderman. Tom staggered back, heart racing. His lower back smacked painfully against the sink. Shit, he thought, his heart racing. Removing the small 1000 lumen flashlight from his back pocket, Tom flicked it on. Returning to the window, he peered out as best he could. Christ, just a damn tree frog.

A thump on the bathroom door caused him to scream and jump. Tripping over a loose shoelace, Tom fell to the floor. The noise reverberated around the enclosed space. The flashlight fell to the tiled floor, spinning. A crazed swirl of light spun like a kaleidoscope. As a loud growl followed the thump, Tom backpedaled, with hands and feet, his sore ass thumping painfully across the floor. Hitting the far wall he huddled there, whimpering in fear. Another thump, followed by another, struck the metal door which rattled in it's frame. Several loud growls sounded. There were at least three large, probably hungry, animals out there. Probably tigers from some local zoo. No doubt, turnabout being fair play, they were on the hunt for man meat.

The sudden thump of a heavy body against the window caused the wall to shudder. Grabbing his flashlight, Tom pointed it at the window. Two paws, each appearing the size of an adult hand, adorned with long claws, scratched against the glass. Tom was not a religious man, but the found himself praying. He had been doing a lot of that since the virus he had invented for the government's chemical warfare section had mutated and escaped. So had everyone else. The window cracked.