Shotgun Engagement By: Lucas White

This story originally appeared in Under the Bed Vol 02 No 05

which is available for purchase right here at this site!

 

Shotgun Engagement

By

Lucas White

I was in a daze as I slid my hand into my jacket pocket and fingered the small box inside. The ring was expensive, sure, but I figured it was worth it, for Ripley. She’s been on my case for a while about tying the knot. I don’t blame her; we’ve only been living together for years now but she would get so mad when we talked about it. Yeah, I may not have been the most receptive person in the world but the whole notion of getting married is scary, you know?

I don’t, like, not want to stick around with her or anything. She’s great, but the unknown factor has been eating at me. Will anything change? Will she be different? Would our friends still treat us the same way? Hell, will I be different? Too much bothersome crap to worry about when my time could be better spent hanging out with her and playing video games. Perhaps I play video games too often. I dunno.

“… dude”

 

It’s okay though; I finally decided to go for it. It’s not like I’m hurting for cash and we don’t exactly have to jump out the door to get married the second I slip the damn thing on her finger. It’s more of a symbol, something tangible to show her how much I care and my commitment to her. To us. Right? It sure has been a ton of trouble but my loaded neighbor Ralph was cool enough to help out by hosting this party at his place (a super-secret proposal party, how rad is that?). I felt like a big weight excused itself from my shoulders and fucked right off to badger some other guy.

 

“… dude”

 

However, something didn’t feel right. A heavy feeling of emptiness wrapped its way around my innards and rose to fill my torso with enough unease to induce nausea. My body was in one place but my mind was miles away. The pieces of the puzzle scattered all around me but I was too detached from reality to pick them back up. A faint nagging tugged at the back of my head as if my subconscious was trying to kickstart my brain. I left the ring in my pocket and rubbed my forehead in a vain attempt for clarity.

 

“… balls”

“Uhhhngh… balls? What?” I asked nobody.

“I SAID IF YOU DON’T SNAP OUT OF IT YOU’RE GOING TO JOIN RALPH’S BALLS ON THE FUCKING WALL DUDE.”

I was once again aware of Ralph’s apartment as reality came crashing back around me. Sure enough, the splattered remnants of a disembodied scrotum were stuck to the nearest wall like viscous silly putty. Some of Ralph was on the floor nearby. Everything above the waist was missing but the (now crotchless) set of legs was wearing the same pants Ralph had on earlier. I looked up and saw the rest of him hanging from the ceiling fan by the mouth.

 

Oh, right.

 

In the far corner, Ripley was busy tearing a few of our neighbors into giblets. I’m not sure what happened (and if anyone here did I’d be fucking shocked) but something caused Ripley to snap and start, well, eviscerating people. Most of the partygoers had escaped shortly after Ripley took it upon herself to wig out and tear Ralph into three pieces but only so many people can feverishly funnel themselves out of a crowded mid-sized apartment in the middle of a massacre. Among the bodies plenty of stragglers were still scrambling about and most of them were hurt pretty badly.

Ross, my roommate of sorts, was still yelling at me to get the fuck out of there and frantically gesturing towards the front door. I started to wonder why he hadn’t hauled ass already but then remembered that he’s not much of a runner (i.e. he’s a fat dude). I also don’t let him have a key to my apartment when he’s out drinking because bad things tend to happen.

I started to back away from Ripley but slipped on I-don’t-know-but-could-probably-guess-what and hit the ground hard enough to get her attention. My heart battered my ribcage as I tried and failed to ignore the searing pain in my lower back. I managed to scurry to my feet just in time to see her shifting towards me. It took everything I had to keep my bowels in check. She was nearly unrecognizable. Her skin was discolored and dried out to the point of breaking open and her hair was drenched in sweat, blood, and urine (don’t ask). Worst of all, her eyes looked cloudy and rotten and were leaking an effervescent pus-like fluid that left behind a yellowish crust wherever it dried. I was far too disgusted to vomit.

I wanted, no, needed to run but my legs refused to obey. I couldn’t believe this was the same person that mere hours ago was arguing with me about not wanting to watch Double Impact (even though I ordered the Blu Ray and paid extra for overnight shipping expressly for our weekly movie night). All I could do was hope she would smash my head in before going for my junk (Ralph wasn’t so lucky). Ross was kind enough to grab me by the arm and force me out of the apartment before she had a chance to strike. He pushed me out and slammed the door, startling my survival instinct into action and we booked it into the crowd of terrified survivors, rubberneckers, and police. The whole ordeal seemed to take hours but I guess only a few minutes had passed.

We didn’t get very far before Ripley burst from a nearby window into the mass confusion of the apartment complex’s huge cul-de-sac. The crowd noise shifted from shouting and confusion to horror and gunfire as we pushed our way through to the opposite side of the street. Ross needed a breather after all the excitement and years of substance abuse so we opted to hide behind the dumpster before hoofing it the rest of the way to my place.

The carnage at our backs sounded pretty bad; maybe a seven or eight out of ten. A sudden, deafening sound took over everything else. I’ve never heard an explosion before but the accompanying flash of light was telling enough. Several more followed. We didn’t dare look back over the dumpster.

With the exception of Ross’s exaggerated heavy breathing, we sat in silence for a few minutes. I took the time to try to process everything that had happened. It didn’t work. I was shutting down. All I could manage was a blank stare at what could only be described as a moldy pizza fly orgy on the ground by the dumpster while my frazzled, defeated brain refused to do anything of use.

“Jesus, dude, I knew your girlfriend was crazy before but this is fucking ridiculous.” I turned my attention away from the unabashed pizza fly sex towards Ross, who was celebrating the calming of his respiratory system by picking his nose. I wanted to call him out on it but knew he would claim the “just scratching” defense so I didn’t bother.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Getting defensive in this situation probably wasn’t my best possible course of action, but hey, fuck him.

“I mean, first she’s gettin’ all up in your face about gettin’ married; nagging and yellin’ at you all the time about the dumbest shit. You’ve only been together for what, five years?”

“More than that. I think.”

“Still, it’s not like you knocked the chick up or anything, and now she’s, like, a goddamn super zombie or something!” Ross waved his flabby arms for emphasis. I noticed a booger trapped in the bristles of his splotchy moustache. He couldn’t even pick his nose properly.

“Okay, look. A, She wasn’t ‘nagging’ me. She was right. When you’ve been in such a long-term relationship, it isn’t unreasonable to-” The glazed-over look in his eyes suggested I had already lost him. “Nevermind. B, I know you’re a terrible person, especially when you’ve been guzzling cheap booze for hours, but your views on marriage are more screwed up than mine, and C, super zombie?”

“Uh, yeah. Super zombie. Did you miss what happened to Ralph? She ripped his balls off. His balls. Off. Ripped. Super zombie.”

“What the hell is a super zombie?” I dreaded the direction towards dumb this conversation was headed in, but I had to ask.

“Like, a zombie, but way better. Obviously.” Ross shot me a patronizing look and scratched his neckbeard in a display of smug nerd superiority.

“I don’t think she’s dead, though. She just kinda snapped and started killing people, right? Aren’t zombies supposed to be undead?”

“She sure looked dead to me dude. Nothing that fucked up-looking can be alive. Did you see that shit coming out of her eyes? Gross, dude.”

“Well, whatever happened to her, we need to get back to my apartment-”

“Our apartment.”

“As I was saying, get back to my apartment-”

“Fuck you bro.”

“-and try to figure out if there’s anything we can do to help her.”

“Help her? We need to put that bitch down, dude. Preferably with bullets. Lots of bullets. All of the bullets.” As grateful as I was for his saving me from brutal death and potential castration, Ross was really pushing it this time.

“If you call Ripley a bitch again you belligerent cockbastard I will drag you back out there by the collar of your stupid My Little Pony t-shirt and personally feed you to her. Understand?”

“Fine, sorry. Damn. Girl’s got your balls in a vice from beyond the grave.” I was preparing another scathing rebuttal but was distracted by a large shadow looming overhead, growing larger by the second. It almost looked like a-

“FUCK CAR MOVE RUN THAT’S A CAR OH NO.” I didn’t have time to hope I got the message across as an enormous car-shaped clusterfuck of fire and metal screamed into view. I dove out of the way just quickly enough to be thrown off of my feet in the explosive destruction of our hiding spot but remained largely unharmed. When everything settled I lurched to my feet and scanned the area for Ross. Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s a shitwaffle, but it would suck if his final moment was a lethal facefull of exploding garbage. Besides, rent was due in a few days. I just bought an engagement ring; paying all three shares of rent by myself wasn’t going to happen.

I didn’t see him. All I saw was a suburban battlefield. A metric shit-ton of dead bodies, totaled cars, and the smoldering remains of gaudy lawn ornaments. In front of it all stood Ripley, my super zombie almost-fiancée, looking right at me. Her clothing was in tatters along with the rest of her and part of her face was blown away. I’m almost positive she was snarling. Ross emerged from a nearby pile of debris. He didn’t seem bothered; I wondered if he even noticed the smell.

“Well that sucked,” he muttered as he patted himself off. He turned and saw Ripley, then looked back at me wearing an expression that may as well have printed the words “god damn it” on his forehead.

 

We ran like our lives depended on it, which was appropriate considering the circumstances.

 

Ripley didn’t take too kindly to our retreat, and from behind us we heard an awful sound that inspired the mental image of an elephant being fed ass-first into a comically large wood chipper. I assumed it meant, “I’m going to chase you now. Die fuckers,” in super zombie language so I made an extra effort to position myself directly in front of Ross as our mad dash to my apartment progressed. My landlord could eat a dick as long as I still had mine by the end of the night. We made it. While I fumbled around in my pockets for the key, Ross pushed in front of me and opened the door. Oh, hell no. The fucking moron left the door unlocked! Had he been doing that since I started confiscating his keys? Whatever, if I lived to punch him later I’d worry about it then. I followed him to the door and-

“Wow, neat!” As Ross went inside I paused to bend over and pick up the small parcel leaning against the doorway. At least something good happened today. Curious, Ross popped back out.

“Oh, dude, is that Double Impact?”

“Hell yes. On Blu Ray.” I was so excited I momentarily forgot about the problem at hand until the problem at hand howled and hurled our uprooted mailbox at us with enough velocity for it to pierce the side of the house. The swift reminder of our pitiful mortality motivated us to hurry inside. I made sure the fucking door was locked this time, not that it would do much good. Ripley was on the door in seconds; wailing and pounding on it so hard I had to hold onto the knob to keep myself grounded. We had a heavy door but it wouldn’t last long on its own. I could already hear the wood splintering outside.

“So are you gonna pop that shit in or not, dude?” A master of ignoring problems behind the closed doors of his home, Ross was eyeing the package hungrily. A small portion of blue plastic was poking outside of a hole in the package and he was practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation. He’s an idiot, but to his credit he’s always respected the Van Dammage.

“Ross, shut the fuck up and help me barricade the door.” I gently tossed the package onto the couch then focused my efforts on the coffee table. It was the only sturdy piece of furniture we owned. It was huge, which also meant it was heavy as hell and by the time we dragged it over to the door Ripley’s arm, covered in festering gashes and bodily fluids, broke through. It was flailing; blindly grasping for something to kill. The shrieking outside grew frenetically as she slung gooey bits of the neighborhood all over the place. She appeared to be stuck; a definite plus. Ross seemed satisfied enough.

“Alright, I’m making a sandwich. You want one? I’m feeling generous.”

“Are you serious?” We almost just died and that fool was already thinking about chowing down on food I doubted was even his. Ripley did seem stuck, though, and now that I thought about it I didn’t get to eat anything at the party before people started dying. I figured it would have been rude to start picking at the snack table at that point. “Tch, fine. There’s some bacon in there from the other night. Be sure to use that.” I needed to sit down for a minute anyway.

I fell into my wonderfully soft sofa and decided to survey myself for damages. Other than some dirty scrapes and aching joints I was in decent, working shape. I tried to drown the unrelenting shrieking from outside in thought. I was safe for the moment, but likely not for long. Ross makes some dope sandwiches but after that we have to figure this shit out.

There has to be a way to get Ripley to snap out of it. To cure her or something. Super zombie is just something stupid Ross made up; maybe she just has… an acute case of rabies, yeah. I’ve come this far, I can’t give up yet. I slipped my hand back into my jacket pocket. Still there. I squeezed the small box until I could feel the strain in my knuckles and poured every ounce of hope I could muster into whatever I thought I was doing. I felt optimistic, like for a second maybe everything would work out. The microwave beeped to remind me that somewhat fresh bacon was in my immediate future.

 

Then the door exploded.

 

I shouldn’t have been surprised but I tumbled to the floor anyway as wooden shrapnel sprayed the room, accompanied by a cloud of dust and an atrocious smell. It smelled like something a dog would produce from either end after a week of a strict roadkill-only diet. Ripley stood in the doorway, paused rather theatrically compared to her prior behavior tonight. She was either breathing heavily or growling (I couldn’t tell), and drooling like a feral animal. However, whatever was cascading from her withering lips like a chunky waterfall more closely resembled bile than saliva. At that moment I began to accept that any attempt to salvage our relationship would be a one-way ticket to crushing disappointment. She remained stationary, staring at me with her gangrenous eyes. Perhaps she was after me this whole time and was giving me a chance to bend over and say my posterior farewells before painting the walls with my squishy parts.

Ross waddled into the room with one sandwich hanging from his mouth and another in his hand. The filthy prick didn’t even bother wrapping mine in a paper towel. Appetite ruined. He tried to say something, probably along the lines of, “oh shit,” but the words failed to pass through the delicious girth of the sandwich. Ripley leapt and batted him across the room like one of those cheap bouncy balls you get from the dentist that fail to make up for hours of mouth torture and don’t even bounce very well. Ross didn’t bounce very well either but the wall housing my fancy flat-screen TV was gracious enough to catch him. I gave Ripley a slight, apologetic bow and excused myself, promising to be right back. I jogged over to the wall to inspect my precious happy box for damage. Ross was making odd sounds that resembled breathing so I assumed he was okay. Satisfied with the condition of my television, I headed back over to Ripley as Ross slid down from our new wall crater. He hit the ground with a cartoonish thud as pieces of drywall and paint fell on top of him. My focus returned to Ripley.

She was doing that annoying thing she always does when losing her patience; crossing her arms but sticking out one set of fingers to tap on her arm like a passive-aggressive piano. The viscera and otherwise vague people goo all over her caused her fingers to stick a little, creating a wet sucking sound whenever each finger freed itself. I couldn’t help but grimace. She couldn’t help but roar at me like a fucking gorilla. She reared back and bounded towards me. Before I had a chance to defend (soil) myself, a visibly pissed off Ross sauntered up and reamed her in the face with a big chunk of drywall. More inconvenienced than anything else, she erratically slapped at her face. This served as enough of a distraction for us to hustle over to the garage (Ross’s room) door. Heading into his sleeping quarters was not something I would ever do intentionally, but this was a desperate situation.

An important thing to know about Ross is that he fancies himself a doomsday prepper. The key word here being “fancies.” While he harbored no concern for war, natural disaster, or other almost reasonable worries, he loved to throw dollars at equipment designed to defend against multiple home intruders, for “when the zombie outbreak happens.” This led to the untimely demise of our escape thanks to a doorjamb full of unnecessary locking mechanisms. Where Ross got the money for this brand of bullshit I had no idea nor did I care to find out. He was fumbling with his own locks as if he had never handled them before. Impatience bored into my brain and I had to make a conscious effort to keep myself from spazzing out and attacking the door. If I died because of that clownshoe’s stupid hobby I was going to be so pissed.

“Ross, Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Dude, what?”

“How long does it take to unlock your dumb locks?”

“I dunno.” What.

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You installed this crap like two years ago what is the problem?”

“I, uh, usually don’t lock them… Ha! There we go. One down, four to go.” I lost it. The full weight of Ross’s incompetence combined with my increasing awareness of how screwed we were was too much to bear.

“HURRY UP MORON SHE’S RIGHT BEHIND US WE’RE GONNA DIE I HATE YOU.” Ross was hurt. His eyes fell in shame. I couldn’t care less. All I could think of was Ralph. His butchered genitalia slid down the wall over and over again in my head, leaving a faint red stain of doom and emasculation. I noticed Ross looking much happier all of a sudden; he must have already forgotten that I yelled at him.

“Oh! Dude, it’s cool now. She’s gone.” Sure enough, after a quick scan of our decimated living room Ripley was nowhere to be seen. I was relieved, of course, but also confused and a little annoyed.

“Well that’s… dumb.” I crossed my arms and slunk to the floor. Figured I may as well take advantage and catch my damn breath. Ross shrugged and returned to his locks, having much more success now that imminent death and/or my foot in his ass was no longer a threat. Turns out he doesn’t fare too well under stress; who would’ve known? After a few minutes he figured everything out and we were on the other side of the door. I glared at him extra hard to make sure he locked up behind us.

Thanks to Ross’s ingenuity the garage had transformed into little more than a creepy nerd basement that just happened to be above ground. The lighting was dim, almost to the point of uselessness. Using the blue and green lights of his always-on computer and glow in the dark novelty posters, we navigated to the back of his room and what he referred to as his “workbench.” It was a large board held up with cinder blocks. Covering the board was a cluttered mess of warped, mistreated tools, odd-looking weapons, and junk food wrappers. Ross liked to go to gun shows, pick up cheap equipment, then “customize” it at home. He has tried and failed to get me to go with him multiple times. Finally seeing the fruits of his labor was all the confirmation I needed that I didn’t miss much.

I grabbed an unevenly sawed-off shotgun that was covered in athletic bandages and anime stickers. It had a sniper scope duct taped to the top. I raised an eyebrow in Ross’s direction and pointed at the scope. He beamed with pride.

“For extra accuracy.” He spoke as if he understood the difference between reality and Team Fortress 2. “I call that one St. Motherfucker.” He misinterpreted my speechlessness as positive validation and hoisted an AK-somethingorother covered in randomly allocated saccharine paint splotches. “And this,” he said as I noticed a cartoon pony keychain hanging from the trigger guard, “this baby is known as Friendship is Lethal.” Oh boy. With a great deal of reluctance I took St. Motherfucker (having something at least resembling a weapon was admittedly reassuring) and found a reasonably clear spot on the floor to sit on.

“I have an extra chair, dude.” Ross waved his hand towards a bean bag chair that had seen better days. I didn’t trust anything in this room. Especially not an old bean bag chair. I hadn’t seen one of those things since the nineties.

“No thanks.” I sat and wondered what I would do once I started to become too hungry to ignore. Ross sat at his computer, hideous rifle slung over his back, and began to browse Reddit or something. Wondering whether he was arguing with weirdoes on the internet about zombie survival scenarios or men’s rights activism distracted me from my stomach long enough to start nodding off. I had nearly fallen asleep before the sound of frantic scratching brought me right back from almost complacent to scared shitless.

“What the fuck is that noisaaaah ow, dammit!” I jumped to my feet faster than my body could keep up with and the disorienting rush of blood to my head knocked me on my ass. The scratching stopped and was replaced a moment later with barking.

“Oh, great. Fuckin’ dog.” Ross seemed to be familiar with our new attacker. “It’s the annoying dog from next door. It pissed me off one day so I stole one of its gross fake bone things and put it in that lockbox next to the wall.” He pointed to a small box on the floor on the far side of the room just next to the large folding garage door. “It was funny for a few days but the little bastard won’t let up!” He grimaced at the onslaught of noise but refused to look up from whatever he was doing.

“Then, fucking, give it back?” The more I learned about the man’s laziness tonight the more I hated him.

“I tried to, but I couldn’t find the key.” Of course.

“Then just throw the whole thing away, jeez, stop being such a-” The barking stopped when something much larger than a dog hit the wall. Hard. The banging grew louder and more intense; the room rattled and shelves spilled their contents. My mind raced to find a way out; a window, a vent, anything before the banging made its way to the garage door. It wouldn’t stand a chance. I leapt back to my feet, grasping Saint Motherfucker as if it (he?) was the only thing I had left in this world. I pointed the gun towards the door and prayed to whatever could possibly be listening that it was loaded. A loud, mechanical noise overtook the inhuman banging and the garage door… started opening normally. I looked over and Ross was at the wall switch, holding the button with one hand and sloppily aiming his gun at the door with the other.

“ROSS. FUCK. DOING. WHAT. YOU. GOD DAMN IT.” My words refused to work together as seething rage and disbelief melted my brain.

“It’s almost winter dude, we can take her. We can’t lose two doors!”

“We’re about to be fucking murdered and you’re worried about being COLD?” I contemplated turning his own creation against him but it wasn’t worth the ammo. I took solace in the fact that either I’d be too dead to care in a few minutes or if we somehow survived his name wasn’t actually on the lease. The garage door opened and we saw exactly what we were expecting. More or less.

Ripley stood in the doorway, dripping all over the driveway. The neighbor’s stupid dog was chewing on her leg. She didn’t seem to notice or care. Perhaps she and the dog were in collusion. I knew I never trusted that dog for a reason. She jerked her leg and before I realized what was happening fifty pounds of overweight, yelping suburb mutt shot past my head like a cannonball. I turned around just in time to see it explode on impact with Ross, spraying blood and chunks of furry meat from both of them all over.

Just enough of Ross was present to keep the remainder of his arms attached to his body but everything above that was gone. His body slumped over but his girth prohibited it from collapsing in a dignified manner. Something landed on my head. I swatted it off and a dog collar fell to the ground. Fully intact. Ripley’s mouth stretched, cracking and pulling her arid lips into a rotten grin. Her teeth were jagged and decayed. Vile fluids erupted from her throat as she laughed at me.

Now that Ripley and I were the only people, human or otherwise, left standing I realized how quiet it was. The screams, sirens, and fires outside stopped a while ago but I was too busy being scared out of my fucking mind to notice. Ross was dead, so that part of my life ceased to be. It was just the two of us; standing there, one waiting for the other to act. My hands were trembling and I struggled to keep the shotgun steady. I had no confidence in the object but I couldn’t drop it. That would be admitting defeat and to be honest the fact that any of this shit was actually happening was still floating over my head, well above the realm of acceptance.

Ripley made the first move. A mocking step forward. I swear she became more like herself the further away she progressed from human. I clenched my left hand into a fist so tightly my nails drew blood. I raised Saint Motherfucker with my right. For the first time tonight I tried to talk to her.

“Ripley. Don’t make me do this.” I tried to sound callous. My wavering voice betrayed the difference between what I said and what I was thinking, which was something along the lines of please don’t kill me please oh please why is this happening oh fuck me I am going to die. She took another step forward. Her derisive smirk twisted into an insidious glare. She staggered forward and pressed her decomposing forehead into the barrel of the gun. She wasn’t messing around anymore. This was it. She was daring me to shoot her or die like a fucking coward. If I hesitated she’d gut me in a second. I’d die quietly and become another name on the list of casualties. A week later the next tragedy would happen and nobody would care anymore. I wouldn’t even be killed by something as novel as a dog missile. Fuck that. I pulled the trigger. My hand exploded.

 

 

“AAAAAHHHHHHFFFFUUUUUCK YOU ROOOOOOSSSSS” it felt like I screamed for days. The surreal loss of feeling in my hand coupled with the indescribable pain just south of it was unbearable. I couldn’t think. I lost all sense of my surroundings. All I felt was pain and the sudden resurgence of my hatred for Ross. I was glad he was dead. I hoped he was spending eternities in hell with the grotesque remains of the dog perpetually humping his leg.

Somewhere in between yelling, drooling, and writhing in pain I began to feel odd, as if I were awkwardly levitating. I opened my eyes and the putrid face of Ridley the Super Zombie was all I could see. She had grabbed me by the throat and lifted me. She wasn’t even going to splatter me like the horror movie this unbelievable bullshit had been. She was going to choke me out like a chump. Slowly. Her grip tightened and my body fought for air along with the rest of its current problems. I started trashing involuntarily; my dying body no longer under my control. As my consciousness was tearing away from me I heard a faint sound. The clunky sound of a small, but heavy object hitting the ground from a height. Ripley let go of me and I fell on my hand. Stump. Whatever, it hurt like a Saint Motherfucker.

It was the ring. The small black box rested on the ground by Ripley’s foot. Her boots were still intact, thankfully enough. I couldn’t imagine how disgusting her feet were. She started at it while I squirmed around on the floor like a dying insect. It was much more difficult to sit up with a freshly missing appendage than I anticipated, but I managed. She looked at me and I swear her hideous face wore a mixture of confusion and fear. The ball was in my court. Too bad I was awful at sports. I took as much time to think as I figured I could afford before expending the rest of my energy to stand. As I tried to focus, standing there wavering like a hammered old man at last call, a vision came to me. It was Double Impact (on Blu Ray), still on the couch, still in the postal packaging and waiting to be watched, loved. I had to survive. Well, I had to try. I steadied myself as best as I could and put everything I had into this final moment.

“Yeah…,” I coughed, feeling more than phlegm coming up from my crushed esophagus. “That’s for you, Ripley.” I took a step forward and she surprised me by taking one back. “Listen, I know it hasn’t been easy lately, with me and…,” I looked over at the Ross/dog mess, sighed, then returned my gaze to Ripley. “Well, I finally did what you suggested and took some time to think. Really think. I hate to admit it, but considering the circumstances, fuck; I was scared. I dunno, I guess I was comfortable with what we had and didn’t want anything to change. Go fucking figure: here we are. Before I could even give the you the damn ring everything I knew has flown out the goddamn window. Shows how much I know.” Regaining her composure, she nodded like I was proving an old point of hers. Then her left eye fell out.

I crouched to pick the ring up, brushed it off, and took a second to look it over. I wasn’t worried about it breaking. I guess I just wanted to make sure, one more time, that I was okay with what I was doing. Especially now. I figured that whatever happened would be a superior alternative to having my dong ripped off and repeatedly jammed into my eye sockets. I bent down on one knee and bumbled around with my one hand until the box opened. It wasn’t the most hubristic ring in the world. It was modest without being too humble. Perfect for a simple guy like me.

Ripley was as stricken as a horrific monstrosity could be. She hesitated as I held the ring out towards her. What little brain matter she had left was probably telling her my display of pure idiocy was a ruse. In reality my desperation couldn’t afford cunning. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Before she could take either the ring or my face, she froze. Her arms and legs locked up and jolted down as if she was being violently restrained by an outside force. Her jaw unhinged with a disheartening crack and continued to stretch open wider and wider, destroying tissue along the way. It didn’t stop until a gaping hole took up most of her face, if not her head. Unsure of what to do next, I didn’t move. I hoped that maybe she was about to turn inside out or something.

A torrent of projectile regurgitation hit me like a firehose. It came out of her like a raging rapid comprised of bile, guts, mucous, blood, and half-digested food, which in this case probably used to be people. It was kind of nasty. I was too stunned to react. I was covered head to toe. When it was over I saw a tiny hand reach out of the dripping orifice that used to be Ripley’s face. Another hand followed. A wrinkly, purple, and criminally nude little imp-like being pulled itself out of her head. An erect phallus protruded from its forehead, which was so heavy it caused the creepy fucker to fall the rest of the way out. It righted itself, dusted off, and farted.

The dickheaded creature sauntered up to me, sneered, flipped me off, then vanished in a puff of smoke. I think it smelled funny, but so did everything else so I wasn’t sure. I felt a tinge of relief. It was nice to know that Ripley was randomly possessed by a demon or whatever, therefore rendering tonight’s events totally not her or my fault. However, I was still quite upset because my potential fiancee was possessed by a fucking cockdemon and slaughtered the entire neighborhood.

I blinked, and Ripley was herself again. Completely unharmed, if a little dazed. It didn’t take her long to snap out of it and she looked excited, all things considered. She walked up to me, still on my knee and coveted in horribleness, and took the ring. It was somehow still immaculate. She slid it onto her finger. She checked it out from as many angles as her wrist allowed, then crossed her arms in satisfaction. She smirked at me and said, “You did good, kid.” Then she fainted.

I felt bad for leaving her unconscious on the garage floor while I went outside to hose myself off but I thought she’d appreciate the sentiment once she woke up. When I reached down to grab the garden hose, I noticed that I was using both hands. Huh. I was too exhausted to think much of it. After my freezing hose-shower, I surveyed the area. It was in shambles insofar as property damage was concerned but I didn’t see a single bit of gore. The neighborhood was a ruinous ghost town. Back inside, any sign that the dog had erupted all over the garage walls, as well as Ross’s body were gone. No trace left behind.

The mental and emotional trauma as a result of everything that had happened (which would surely lead to problems for me later in life) had boiled over and dulled my senses to an odd state of clarity. I figured that whatever hell-born, reality-fucking metaphysical bullshit that allowed this to happen was trying to cover its tracks. But, like a bad crime drama villain that never failed to leave traces of semen strewn about any given crime scene, it was doing a half-assed job. Ripley and I could get in serious trouble as a result should we be stubborn enough to stick around. We had to get out of here.

I carried her into the ruins of our living room and laid her on the couch. It wasn’t long before she woke up screaming. I brought her some hot chocolate and held her for a while. This wasn’t going to be easy. Much to my surprise, after she calmed down a bit she looked up at me and smiled.

“That sucked!” Ripley forced an awkward chortle.

“Yeah… today was stupid.” I couldn’t tell if she was ashamed, despondent, or both. Either way the look on her face was heartbreaking. I had to do something. “So…want to watch a movie?” I nodded over to the small package on the couch next to her. Maybe it would take her mind off of things for a few hours before we had to figure out what the hell to do. She reached over and freed the movie from its manila prison. She rolled her eyes when she saw what it was but a tiny grin escaped her nonetheless.

“Okay, okay. You win. But only because I almost killed you.” She got up and put the disc in herself. She rejoined me on the couch and took another moment to examine the ring as the Blu Ray loaded. “You know,” she said as she eyed me with clear malicious intent, “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Oh.” I gulped like an idiot and stared at her; no worthwhile words came to mind. She giggled, legitimately this time, and squeezed my arm.

 

“Yes.”

 

The movie started but I was too frazzled to really take it in. Ripley snuggled in close. I nodded off but not before noticing the enormous Ross-shaped hole in the wall gradually repairing itself. As I let the fatigue take over I thought, Hey, maybe we won’t need to leave after all.

End