It’s been a long time coming, but at last, I can finally see the end of the road. With only one chapter left and thirty or so pages left to write, it appears that the production of the first book is coming to an end. It’s a strange elation of sorts. I’m happy to be reaching the end point, but I also realize that the real work is about to begin. The revision process. The lovely painful revision process which feels as pleasant as running coarse sandpaper across the skin. I’m not a fan of it, but in my years knocking out pages, I’ve come to learn the old adage that writing is really just rewriting. No one gets it right the first time out.

For now, I thought I’d share a brief snippet of the book that happens within the first one hundred pages. The dead have just started to wreak havoc, but there isn’t enough of them yet to disrupt the daily inertia.

—

Another breath. And then, another scream.

A woman raced beyond the beyond the bend of the tunnel. Terror inscribed deep lines in her face and for just a moment, she looked as though she were laughing. She raced down the tunnel, black leather pumps discarded. Not caring about the crooked glances from all the streetwalkers. Her leather purse dangled useless from her shoulder, open and vomiting a trail of receipts, dollars, and various paper nicknacks that seem so important at the time but are at once forgotten. Randell watched her jump the turn-style, then disappear down the tunnel.

“Hey,” the MBTA employee yelled as he stepped out of his booth. He reached for his walkie-talkie, but his hand stopped when he heard the shouting and the yelling, and then the screaming. He remained a statue, eyes fixed at the vanishing point of the tunnel, shoulders raised, ears perked and when the screams blossomed into wails, his fingers moved to his walkie talkie.

“Sharon, we got a situation down here.”

Randell heard the footsteps moving his way but they were out of step and sluggish like a group of drunk men trying to run a footrace with a sinks tied to each of their belts. Randell felt a pull towards the turn styles. And with another scream, it became a jerk. Randell raced towards the turn styles, and like the business woman, he leaped over the metal arms.

He didn’t pay attention to the MBTA token collector. He didn’t listen to the out of sync steps that seemed to be everywhere at once but nowhere. He focused on his breath. His eyes narrowed to view only the path in front of him. The large backlit signs on the tunnel walls – signs that promised the joys of white teeth and enterprise computer support – formed the outlines of the empty road in front of him.

He turned another bend, and his sneakers slipped from underneath him and he tumbled to the cement floor. The cool unflinching surface smacked the side of his knee that felt as though it were a hammer.

“Damn it,” he spat as he rolled to this side, before trying to stand. A wave of embarrassment washed over him but left just as fast when he realized that he was alone.

He heard the squeal of one of the trains pull into a station. The beeping of an announcement followed the opening of doors. The panic faded for just a moment until he heard those same footsteps growing closer.

He moved down a flight of stairs as fast as he could, hearing those strange footsteps close the distance. Panic tickled the back of Randell’s neck, and when he caught sight of the train still parked on the loading platform, Randell pushed ahead as fast his legs could muster. Not caring about the pain in the knee.

When he reached the platform, he could feel his pursuer almost on top of him. He heard a groan like the man who had somehow regressed a million years into one of the savages that had once roamed the earth.

As he approached the green car, he heard the series of beeps indicating that the doors would close. He leaped through an open section just before the door unfolded shut. He heard a crack as a body smashed against the door, smearing one of the windows with a bloody head print.

For just a moment, a stillness enveloped the train and to Randell’s horror, the door’s unfolded once again. A man lay on his back but as he craned his neck upwards, the doors closed one more time. The train began to move. Randell stared at the platform and watched a police officer approach the fallen man. The officer extended extend a hand and the platform vanished in a but a second.

Randell sat in one of the plastic seats and rested his head against the plexiglass window, watching the lights pass him by. He heard a slight whimper behind him, and when he turned, he saw the blonde haired business woman curled into a corner of the train, holding herself in a ball. Hers eyes were a million miles away as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

A shiver jolted Randell. He looked away, knowing if he continued to stare that he would join her as well.