Exit 38

How I Got Mauled to Death by Cyborg Monkeys at Exit 38

I awoke in the darkness of an abandoned mall just off of exit thirty-six, huddled with what little items I owned in the back corner of the Men’s Restroom. The cool tiles felt good in the summer heat—or I imagined they would have if the temperature ever raised above sixty-fucking-two in this goddamn town. But, whatever, there are more pressing matters at hand. Such as, the howling and screaming monkeys that stole away the final four hours of rest I had planned to enjoy and savor.

Like, rude much?

It was almost a full two minutes before I ran into the creatures at the north side of the mall. It wasn’t time yet for my adrenaline to spike and race through the bloodstream of my body, which would come after the metal, pull down gate laid crumpled and torn on the floor. The same could not be said about the inhabitants on the other side of the gate who started jumping, barking, and thrashing at the metal in excitement.

No one knew where they came from, sure it probably wouldn’t have been all that hard to figure out, our society being at the height of information accessibility and government monitoring ten years ago during the outbreak. However, before anybody could trace the devil’s creatures to a definitive origin too many important people had gotten mauled and the world just wanted them gone. They were persistent bastards that spread across the country as fast as AIDS and fad health tips.

Maybe it was the opposable thumbs. Maybe it was the telepathic abilities and heightened strength. Hell, it might have even been the robotic eyes that enabled these fuckards to have tracking, heat vision, and satellite navigation directly implanted into their skull nuggets that made them such good hunters of the human race. For that’s what they were—supposedly, they didn’t bother any other members of the animal kingdom. As a result, recent endangerment and extinction rates have gone down and are estimated to go down further. Human caused pollution is at an all-time low, which is nice.

Silver lining, right?

I was able to get to the west entrance when the tear of metal and pattering paws on tile reached my ears. The glass doors wouldn’t last long either. They knew how to use a handle and pull, it’s not that hard. Outside there were only crushed cars and nowhere to run or hide. I’ll be damned if I lasted ten years in this shit post-apocalypse young adult novel set-up and die next to a Chuck-e-Cheese.

Because, fuck that mouse.

Just over the terror of battle screams was the harsh rumble of a P.O.S. truck clunking its way across the parking lot. I didn’t stop my just-above-brisk-jogging pace. The truck pulled up next to me anyways. I still didn’t stop.

“Hey,” the man called, matching my speed, “you should hop in if you don’t want to get beaten to death by frenzied monkeys.”

“What the hell,” I said and hopped in.

I shouldn’t have gone with him. That guy was a fucking idiot.

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Hello Mortals,

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Fare thee well, Mortals.

Mac Abre