later that night the second thing happened during our indian pizza dinner. the power went out. there was the sound of glass breaking and a scuffle down stairs. we were all sitting on the floor of my living room wondering what the hell was happening. jesse still holding his pizza slice near his face. he was staring hard at me. i knew that he'd be ready to move when i moved. truman was doing that wide mouthed, slow motion chewing while turning his head side to side staring out at everyone with his huge eyes. my brother, cigarette in one hand and a can of pbr loosely held in the other. suddenly the glass to the back door exploded in wards. i looked at jesse and we moved one way. everyone else, it seems, has scattered.
Jesse and i ran down the hallway looking for a way out. room after room, all the windows had been boarded or barricaded from the outside. i could barely hear the sounds of the others panicked footsteps and voices over my heavy breathing. there was a lot of yelling and then gunshots and then silence. jesse and i stopped into a room and ducked into a closet. it seemed to be a young girls room as the closet was filled with tiny dresses and dolls. we sat with our backs against the wall. there was no way out and we were out numbered. they had guns. we had nothing. i remember the clubs i had hanging on my wall. the fijian war clubs. my room was just across the hall and one door down. we make a dash for it. our heels narrowly missed by a spray of bullets. they are close.
in my room i grabbed one of the clubs from the wall. it was much bigger than i remember and it's light. on my floor near my bed is a big machete. it's more of a huge rectangular shard of metal that has been crudely sharpened with a handle stuck on the end of it. jesse grabs the other club and a short sward. we sat on the end of my bed, our weapons drooping to the ground and considered for one second that these are the last minutes of our lives.
i don't remember actually killing anyone. at least not visually. i just remember swinging. furiously. with no regard. i remember the way it felt, the impact. i could feel the difference. i could feel the difference from when my club was stopped abruptly with a sharp noise by a wall or piece of furniture and when it was stopped with a thud from a softer more absorbent object. i can only assume those were body parts. i also remember how it felt to use the machete. what it felt like to hit bone. that cracking-grinding feeling.
i don't know how long this went on for or how many of them there were. all i know is that i woke up alone. in the living room. there were pieces of people everywhere. bone fragments and sludge. my hair was sticky. my ass in a red puddle, my legs splayed in front of me. my back was against the couch. it was soaked through. sticky.
it was at this point that the urge to pee became so strong that i woke myself up and went to the bathroom.