My Unlife: Rebirth by Typhoid Marty
“I could land on my head or something!” Emma retaliated.
“Oh please!” said John and pushed her again a bit harder. Emma stumbled backward, over-compensated and toppled forwards and right off the side of the train, banging her shoulder on the side railing as she did so.
“Oh now you are just being difficult!” yelled John after her. “And what, you landed on your head to prove a point? That’s just childish!”
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later they were on another train – Emma sitting and John pacing. Her shoulder was sending occasional stabbing pains down her arm, reminding her to level occasional “drop dead” looks at John – who had the good graces to occasionally look sheepish. He started talking and Emma sensed it was as much to ignore the cloud of unspoken fuck-you’s in the air as to impart knowledge.
“I am trying to get you a little more prepared for if we do find Steve. You fight like a bruiser.”
“I do all right,” Emma countered defensively.
“Only because you seem to have some affinity for pain. Some of the hits I watched you take should have made your grandchildren wince,” he answered, turning away.
Emma heard him mutter “If you live long enough to have any,” under his breath before he turned back.
“You don’t have the weight for fighting that way – oh sure against normal humans you do,” he said, staving off her retort with a wave of his hand before she even made it. “But Zombies are going to have hardened up too; so you don’t want to go toe to toe. Finesse, that’s what you need to learn. At the heart of finesse is balance.”
“When you say hardened up…” asked Emma, not really wanting to leave her angry place but her inquisitive nature temporarily winning out.
“One of the side effects, maybe from constant healing?” said John and held out his arm. Emma took it and was amazed, his flesh felt hard, somehow. “As time passes your flesh gets harder and so do your muscles.”
“What happens long term?” asked Emma “Do we just seize up?”
John shrugged “Dunno,” he answered. The idea sent chills down Emma’s spine – could she one day be mummified in her own flesh? “So are you ready to give it another try? I promise it will help.”
Regretting the decision as she made it, Emma put out her good hand and John pulled her back up.
A couple of miles of track later and Emma felt like she was starting to vaguely get it. She wouldn’t make a great skateboarder any time soon but reacting to the bumps and turns of the train was slowly becoming easier. Looking up at John, she felt a sense of pride – which instantly gave way to panic. Over his shoulder she had spotted a hastily erected wall across the tracks – apparently the response was to plug all the big and little holes at the same time. As if on cue, the train started to slow down.
“Oh fuck,” she articulated intelligently.
John spun around to see what she had seen, an act that would have likely made Emma lose her balance.
“Oh – ah. Crap” said John, obviously at a loss for words himself just before he pushed Emma from the train, again.
I have fallen off a train twice today Emma thought bitterly as she sailed backwards with rare grace into the air – her eyes narrowed as she watched John take a little hop off the side himself both times because he pushed me she added mentally.
This time at least she had managed to awkwardly roll, which beat her first (now firmly rejected) method hands down - landing hard on her head, neck and shoulder then flopping bonelessly backwards was not the way paratroopers were taught after all. Despite being flush with the minor success of not landing directly on her spine, she still wanted to smash John’s face into wood repeatedly until he thought he was a door knocker.
“So what is the plan?” she asked getting painfully up off the hard, rocky, sandy ground. With an effort of will she swallowed the surge of anger in a fit of practicality - her mother’s training had been thorough enough to survive even her current circumstances.
“I guess we wait for dark before sneaking past,” John answered honestly with a shrug “It can’t be more than a couple of hours away.”
“Well what are we going to do in the meantime?” Emma asked.
“I have a couple of ideas,” answered John with a grin, to which Emma blushed. In a rare fit of perceptiveness – not normally his strong suit – John picked up on it. “Oh not that – ew. I know a warehouse not far from here – I can give you some pointers about fighting.”
Emma – not knowing whether to be relieved or miffed that John had described the thought of carnal acts with her person using a one word descriptor of disgust - agreed.
Reaching their destination a few minutes later, Emma wondered if it had been worth it. An old warehouse off of the older harbor, it had obviously fallen out of use sometime in the last few years. The colors would doubtless be drab if not for the insane spider scratch scrawling over near every inch of surface inside and out. Various people had proudly proclaimed in sprayed word this place as theirs – using three feet letters to do so where necessary. Emma just couldn’t for the life of her figure out why they would want to.
“I believe they still make gyms for people to train to fight in - why are we in this shithole?” asked Emma politely. “Look, even the spiders have abandoned it – that cannot be a good sign,” she added. The spiders did indeed seem to have left for sunnier climes, but not before constructing a silky city in this one. Emma had no problem with spiders, but spider webs were a different story – feeling their gossamer on her small blonde arm hairs had always made her freak out.
“What’s wrong with this place?” answered John defensively - Emma hoped he had not bought into the timeshare. “I have always liked the docks - they combine sea air with a lack of inquisitiveness from the locals.”
“Besides,” he added “I doubt gyms like to see guys hit women in the face.”
“I am completely behind them on that policy,” answered Emma, taking a step backwards.
“Oh shut up and put your guard up,” John countered, verbally. “It isn’t anything you won’t heal in a day anyway. Maybe two.”
Emma stood in a stance she had not really employed for at least 10 years, a basic boxing position that her Dad had taught her. It brought back a lot of memories, a lot of which stung a little to remember. She had really loved her life back then, when her father was more of a friend than a parental figure.
John for his part circled her, clucking his tongue. He obviously didn’t approve of her up close and personal style but couldn’t really dissuade her of it. A quick flick to her right elbow reminded her to tuck the arm closer to her side – which she promptly did.
Finishing the circle, John took up position in front of her, a simple martial art pose. Emma wondered idly what formal training the more experienced Zombie had undergone?
Feinting a quick punch, Emma backed up a step nervously. She had not purposefully entered a fight in quite a number of years – right now she felt out of practice and somewhat ridiculous. John did not press the attack though, moving slowly to the left and forcing her to turn with him – she did so with short halting steps, not really comfortable in her balance or position.
“Widen your legs a little” John commented as he continued to the left. Emma did, finding it easier to move in time with him.
John finally lashed out with a direct punch which Emma blocked on her forearm. The pain of doing so made her wonder if she wouldn’t be better off letting him hit her soft fleshy side instead. He followed up by stepping in and to the right, smashing out with an elbow which ironically found her side – Emma instantly decided that yes, she would prefer to block his punches.
Emma was not one to back up for long, however. She flailed a quick jab that john quickly ducked under before raising a counter punch, again aiming for Emma’s exposed ribs.
Awkwardly turning, Emma managed to put an arm in front of the punch. She immediately backed up a step whi
“Try to make more circular motions, rather than just putting your arm in the way of my fist” John prompted, making the appropriate motions in the air.
He tried an exploratory jab and Emma blocked – by putting her arm in the way. A couple more jabs and Emma did the same a couple more times – to her increasing frustration. For some reason her old training just seemed too ingrained to easily discard. When working fast, her instincts took over and they seemed hardwired to the way she was taught so many years ago.
“Okay,” said John after a while of him punching and her (mostly) blocking. Emma’s arms felt absolutely black and blue. “Would you like to try punches?”
“I thought you were,” rejoined Emma, with a lot more bravado than she felt.
“Uh huh,” answered John. “Write your name and then I will concede that I can’t punch.”
Emma was momentarily confused until she realized – she couldn’t ball her hands into fists. The crappy job she had done of blocking his fist-anvils had pulverized her forearms.
“Let’s take a break for a few minutes,” he said “Give your body a chance to heal the worst of it.”
Emma sat down on the floor gratefully. Today definitely had not gone the way she expected – she felt an odd sense of diversion within herself. On the one hand, her human life and her medical degree were both going great. Dan – previously known to her only as a lecturer – was obviously very well known within his field and he trusted her. Hell it seemed like he was even growing to respect her.
That knowledge and her newfound ambivalence towards blood and gore led her to the other side of herself, however. How could she possible define something that had at once put her in so much danger while freeing her completely? It was like standing at the edge of the universe and looking out into nothingness but the nothingness was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
“Okay let’s pick this up,” John said, checking the dwindling sun through the window. “We can’t have more than an hour of light left and I want us to get moving as soon as it gets dark. Time to get some basic attack combinations though,” he added.
Emma got up slowly, not least to mask a wince – she was far from 100% still. Her arms ached like she couldn’t believe and her neck and shoulders were still shooting pain down her back from the earlier sudden encounters with the ground. Something in her moved though, an indomitable spirit that no-one who knew her would have suspected lay below the surface – no way was she going to show John weakness, not again. Dusting off, she stood opposite her sparring partner, legs slightly apart one in front of the other. Her arms were up in position she had come to feel semi-comfortable in – her front (left) hand in something approximating a boxer while her right was drawn in tight to her side, ready to make a straight line for punching. She had learned that much at least.
“K,” said John, pacing from side to side “well it isn’t terrible.” He came to a stop directly in front of her and widened his stance, putting his hands in a more traditional karate first position. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said and instantly took a step back to avoid a wide left handed hook. Emma was coming out fighting.
“Sloppy,” he summarized.
Emma led with another left handed punch, this time trying to jab directly rather than take extra time winding up for a circular hook. John responded by stepping right – her left - putting himself instantly out of range from her right hand.
“See what I did? If your opponent leads with their forward hand by stepping that direction you block them from using their more powerful second and also,” he added giving her a light punch to her exposed left side “can use the fact that they just opened their side.”
Emma retreated a step, not from pain but to rethink her strategy.
Coming in again she surprised John by attempting the same left jab, when he stepped right again to illustrate his previous point he found a quick right hand hook waiting for him. Narrowly blocking, he stepped back – only to find Emma had already advanced a step to attempt a meaty punch to his stomach. He again blocked with a circular motion and pushed her hard enough to stumble backwards.
“God you are such a bruiser!” he said, stunned “Where is your finesse? You fight like a heavyweight.”
“I am what I am,” Emma responded and stepped forward to start another round.
“I keep telling you, you aren’t equipped to fight this way,” replied John “but I can see you will need a more object lesson,” he added stepping forward and into the fight for real.
John wasted no time striking out at Emma which she blocked (painfully) while moving forward. John slipped a leg behind her ankle and pushed, sending her sprawling. Emma rolled to the side which allowed her to narrowly miss a kick for her side – she lashed out with her leg at his knee making him step backwards, giving her long enough to stumble to her feet.
Stepping forward, John made a quick punch to Emma’s face but was surprised in turn when her elbow met his nose – she had elected to take the punch to bring him in closer to a distance she was comfortable with. His head barely snapped back from what she would consider a very solid connection – more testament to his increased density. She followed with a punch to the side and was almost surprised when it actually connected, drawing a slight grunt from her sparring partner.
A second later, John connected with a left handed open palm strike that caught her completely unawares, spinning her and depositing the shocked Emma firmly on the ground.
Looking back up to John, she was somewhat surprised to see he had been replaced by her mother. Looking at the expression on her face, Emma felt she would much rather be back to facing the Zombie.
Chapter 15
“Let me help you up dear,” said her mother, offering a hand. Emma had a surreal moment where she wondered if she was experiencing someone else’s dream and decided she didn’t care if she was. Hearing these words from her mother was worth a little personal delusion.
Memory came in a flash a second later - Michelle had been in a huge horse riding kick at the time and they would regularly go to these stables to take care of her horse. It had seemed to a young Emma that riding horses should involve a lot more riding – the tasks to keep the animal happy and clean seemed endless to the impatient eight year old her.
Looking around as the scene froze, Emma noticed the stables had meshed with the warehouse she was undoubtedly unconscious in currently – solid wooden panels were now tagged with bright scrawl and the usual bright yellow surroundings had taken on a blue cast of concrete even though the walls retained their oak texture.
To the side Emma saw Michelle frozen in a huff, her back arched haughtily as she stood arms crossed over her chest.
“Why are you mad at me?” Emma asked in wonder – something she never asked at the time she was sure.
“You bit me, you little freak!” replied Michelle turning towards her. “You were always doing weird things,” she added turning away and freezing again. Emma supposed thinking back on it that Michelle was right, she had always felt a lack of attention and acting out had become her way at this age.
“It’s just her way Michelle, you know that,” her mother said gently, turning to her oldest daughter. Emma was stunned to hear her mother defending her but remembered that happened, while Michelle was still alive.
“She is too old to go around biting people,” her sister offered, still turned away “I didn’t do that when I was her age.”
“That’s true,” answered Emma from the ground. “But you did run away.” It was not the eight year old Emma speaking but the fully grown one - as she said it, she remembered the police at her house. Her sister had been found at a bus stop a mile away with nothing but a cookie in a handkerchief and her favorite teddy bear clasped under one arm. When found, she had snuffled that no-one would care as her little sister – an energetic four year old Emma - got all the attention anyway.
Thinking about it for a second, Emma supposed not much had changed. She was still biting people and her sister had run away again, this time successfully.
“Was that why you paid her so much attention?” Emma asked the statue of her Mother.
“She needed it more than you,” she replied honestly, without turning “you were content with your books and your weird friends. Michelle needed approval or she would have self-destructed, you were always the independent one.”
Emma had never really thought of herself as independent before, but she supposed it actually fit. Weirdly, she suddenly related to her mother better than she ever had – they had that in common after all.
“Get up, we have to get going,” her mother said.
“What, why?” answered Emma, accepting the hand stretched towards her.
“Because it is getting dark,” replied John, pulling her up and out of her dream.
Chapter 16
“There are people over there on the other side,” whispered Emma to John as they crept along beside the slowed train.
“Quick, let’s get on it so they can’t see our feet,” he whispered back. Emma couldn’t help but feel that he had warmed to her somewhat along the way – their interactions were more ones of friends than a teacher forcing their way through talking to a slow student.
“Let’s go catch a train!” he added and clapped her on the damaged shoulder as he passed.
Of course added Emma to herself as she winced that isn’t all good news.
Hopping up a small ladder, the two flattened themselves against the wall of a large container.
“Sneaking, Sneaking, Sneaking,” said Emma out loud. She had felt different since her recent dream about her mother and sister, lighter somehow. Probably just the concussion talking she reminded herself breezily with a mental wink.
“Shhhhhh!” hissed John, a little too loud himself.
“Sneaking, Sneaking, Sneaking,” answered Emma softly, drawing a look and a lopsided smile from John.
“I can’t help but feel,” whispered Emma, flat against the wall but intensely aware this still projected a her shaped mass in blackness “that this is about the worst camouflage ever. Six year olds would probably stop to laugh from the vaunted platforms of their hide and seek skills.”