almost everyone i’d come across had eaten human meat. some more than others. people are a hell of a lot easier to catch. i wouldn’t eat human…or i guess i should say i couldn’t. the smell, the texture, the fact that it’s human. i tried once and gagged like a nun being orally raped. i puked. “you’re such a pussy,” lisa had said.

I don’t know if being called a pussy for having a sensitive gag reflex was justified. after all, just two days before throwing up human, i had torn a man’s throat open with a rusty bow saw. nothing pussy about that. unless saving our lives was pussy.

so it wasn’t a surprise when i came to in the burnt-out warehouse to find a skinless body hanging upside-down from the rafters. it looked as if a giant red crayon had melted and dried beneath him. or her. i couldn’t tell. i was on my belly—my hands behind my back. my wrists and ankles were bound by electrical chords ripped from a lamp or a television. anything electric is garbage. my head was throbbing. he had clocked me pretty good

“roll over to me and i’ll cut you free,” lisa whispered.

i didn’t answer. i wasn’t rolling anywhere. i was tired. tired of surviving. i was envious of the inverted corpse. hang me upside-down and open my carotid artery. eat me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. you win.

“tommy, roll over here!” she was no longer whispering. lisa knew what thoughts were slow dancing between my ears. “now is not the time to give up.”

i remained silent. she was bored of my bullshit.

“fine. you wanna end up as fertilizer, that’s your choice.”

my choice? none of this was my choice. i didn’t tie us up. i didn’t scorch the earth. if i’m guilty of anything, it’s believing in nothing. death was nothing. nothing had to be better than living. my stomach rumbled. i had bad gas. hunger gas. it’s the worst kind of gas. the rot from inside escaping through my ass. it was both painful and disgusting. fuck this life. i was ready for nothing.

on cue the man responsible for the lump on my noggin appeared. he was naked. he smelled worse than shit. his disease-covered skin resembled the mountain ranges of a children’s raised-relief globe. i went skiing when i was twelve. my parents bought me a 45 minute lesson. i stuck mostly to the green circles and blue squares. i did manage to sneak in a black diamond. i flew down the mountain blessed with luck not skill. it was one of the best days of my life. they promised we’d do it again next winter. but divorce happened that following summer. my mother moved us to california. she bought me a surfboard.

his black greasy hair was a carnival for lice. it hung below his waist. he placed his foot, black from gangrene, on my shoulder and rolled me over. he took a knee and leaned in—face-to-face. he sniffed me like a dog and then he belched. the stench rushed through my nostrils and slammed into the back of throat. i instantly started to gag

“jesus, tommy, you’re such a pussy!” his head shot up and his eyes darted in the direction of her voice. he smiled. his teeth more black than yellow—more yellow than white. he walked over to lisa. the days of women’s lib were long gone. who was she to mouth off to a man? even a man who was soon to be breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

he stood over her, his legs an a-frame above her thighs, and pissed a steady stream of amber colored urine. she folded her knees into her chest. he probably thought she was using her shins as an umbrella. he didn’t care. he’d piss on her knees. she remained stoic. i did not. i began to puke up pure bile. he turned to me. this was a good time.

all good times must end.

it was no accident lisa was still alive after all these years. she’s a survivor. you could tie her up. beat her. rape her. piss on her. but if you wanted to kill her you needed to get up pretty goddamn early. the piss was rolling down her shins and into her hiking boots. she had scored her hiking boots in a nearly perfectly preserved big 5 we stumbled across last spring. i think it was the old san vicente and wilshire intersection. not too far from where biggie was shot. but i can’t be certain. destruction only has one look.

she had modified the soles of her boots some time ago. the pain was instant. his eyes grew to the size of hard boiled eggs. he turned back just in time to witness his manhood sailing through the air. the razor sharp inserts were made from an old chef’s knife of hers. she said her deadly boots made her a superhero. she dropped her legs back in between his just before he fell to his knees. blood and piss sprayed out as if his midsection was a broken fire hydrant. before he could scream, she jack-knifed her body and kicked open the back of his neck like a kitchen garbage can. his chin dropped to his chest and his severed spine scampered out from behind his head like a centipede under a rock.

she rolled out from under him and wormed her way to me. she cut me free and i untied her. moments later we were on our way. she kind of was a super hero.

“i won’t ever give up again. i’m sorry.” i said.

she nodded. at least i think she did. she had gone dark—understandably so.

“how far is the ocean?” she asked.

i wasn’t sure. “i know it’s that way.”

she rolled her eyes. duh. “i need the ocean to wash tonight away.”

i took her hand and we headed west. she smelled worse than shit but i didn’t gag. the ocean would wash the smell. and that’s something. and something is better than nothing.