Mark Tufo's Blog, page 9
March 23, 2012
The first 500 Words ZF6
The blackness was complete within and without the tattered walls which should have housed my soul, I could not see my hand in front of my face. I could not even tell if I was corporeal. "Michael." An omnipresent voice rang out."God?" I answered."Some have called me that, others, have used Zeus, Allah, Jehovah, Buddha.""Am I dreaming this?""I am an eternal being that watches over the affairs of man.""So God then basically.""My name if I had one matters little, you may use Yoda if that makes you feel more comfortable.""Oh come on, you're telling me, I'm talking to the One God and you're giving me a Star Wars reference?""I did not like Jar Jar Binks." "Nobody did." I told him back. "You seem mighty affable for an omnipotent being that could smite me down. Or is it 'smote?'"An older man of indeterminable age appeared before me at some point, in the last flash of a second the blackness had been stripped away replaced by a source of light equivalent to a noon day sun yet I could see no hint of its origin."I didn't really see 'you' like that." Mike said thoughtfully. "Maybe I did, this is rather confusing." "Would you rather I appear as this?" The man surged to over 40 feet tall, fiery eyes peered down at me, a long flowing beard almost touched the tips of his sandal clad toes. His voice booming. "I appear as the person that stands before me expects me to be.""No, no the old man thing is way better!" I yelled up. "So if I was a feminist?"He sighed deeply but was back to the form of the kindly stranger before I finished my words."It has come to my attention that Poena has deemed you as her plaything.""Just now you figured that out? I thought you knew everything, and I figured he was a she, almost had to be. She's been messing with my life for decades. Maybe if you had skipped a movie or two I wouldn't be in this predicament.""I think I know exactly why you are in this situation." He said pointing to my mouth."Yeah probably right about that." I said sheepishly."I will release you from the binding she has placed on you.""Why now Yoda?" I asked testing the boundaries, typical stupid ass Michael Talbot. He looked at me a glint of humor in his eyes. He looked like a proud father that wanted nothing more than to scoop his wayward child up and laugh but was required to set an example. Who the hell did he have to answer to?"Contrary to a lot of fatalistic individuals, I care very very deeply about the world of man. But there are very strict rules laid down by nature herself, that do not allow me direct intervention.""You're God, what can possibly stand in your way?""More than you will ever know."
March 19, 2012
FanFic Contest ~ Oh Henry by Susan Campbell Lee
Oh HenryA short storySusan Campbell Lee owns all rights to this story, it may not be copied without her written permission.
"Catch it boy!" Justin yelled as he launched the Frisbee high in the afternoon sky. It flew through the air like a missile. Henry ran for it taking long flowing leaps, the wind blowing through his fur making him feel exhilarated. He jumped up to meet the plunging object and easily made the three foot hurdle to snatch the bright red disk out of the air, landing elegantly on the ground.The Talbots were at the park having a picnic, the most delicious fried chicken and potato salad he had ever tasted. Tracy was at her culinary best.The sun was shining. The birds were singing sweetly in the trees. They were all laughing and having fun, just like the good old days. (Except for the jumping and the flying through the air, that was just odd)The group suddenly fell silent and turned on one accord to face their forthcoming doom.Assemblages of one hundred or more zombies were heading their way from all directions, and they were already way too close for comfort. How had they managed to creep up on them? It wasn't as though the zombies didn't smell like an outhouse gone bad.Henry trembled as the dark ones (His name for them) crept even closer to him and his family, intent; murder and feasting. They lacked the inner light that the living Homo sapiens had. The spark that made them human had burned out leaving a dark empty shell.They ambled forward like a huge wall of ugly. The collection of mangled zombies resembled a Picasso on acid, while the family went more for Van Gogh, The Scream."It's your responsibility to protect your family." Tommy said, looking sadly at the dog between huge dripping bites of watermelon. He turned his head to look at the lumbering crowd of ghouls coming their way then spit a seed on the ground as juice ran down his chin.The pong of the attackers assaulted Henry's nostrils. He was about to taste the potato salad coming up the other way.Henry wanted to tuck his tail under and run but what kind of good dog does that. He was a good dog. Everyone always told him he was a good boy.Of course they would also say he was lazy, fat, stinky, and on some occasions called him a bad dog. (Especially when he decided to find out what that delicious aroma wafting from the garbage was.) The putrid ones were getting closer."You just gotta step up and take charge. It's what a dog does," Tommy implored. The rest of the family nodded in agreement.'It's my responsibility! Since when did that rule start? Somebody must have neglected to inform him on that little detail.' He stared at everyone disbelievingly.'This is about the time I hide under something and you guys take charge and kick butt.'What could he do? He didn't have guns like the humans did. And without opposable thumbs he most likely couldn't shoot one anyway. He didn't particularly like the idea of biting one of the zombies and finding out what they tasted like. If they tasted half as bad as they smelled he was in for a real treat. (liberal sarcasm!)Besides, weren't the humans supposed to protect and coddle their pets? You know, adopt a dog, take it home, spoil it, teach it a few tricks then humiliate it by dressing it like Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and a variety of other costumes, for the family pictures. Do they think that I never noticed that I was the only one dressed like a goof ball?This might just come under the label cruelty to animals… Or maybe it was his turn to repay all the stuff they had done for him.He trembled again. The first walking dead had reached his family and had grabbed Mike. His best friend in the world reached out for Henry, his eyes pleading to be saved. He was helpless to save himself!Mike was never helpless. Yes he was a bumbling fool at times, and yes, he was germ phobic. He did throw up a lot and did space out a lot. He was well known for running his mouth at the most inopportune times, always getting in trouble.. He was terrified of his wife, Tracy, though he loved her dearly. But helpless he wasn't. Henry knew he had to help Mike. He was his master and he knew that Mike would die for him if the roles were reversed. In fact there was no doubt in his mind that he would.He finally stirred to action. Or at least that was his intent. Henry found, to his horror that he couldn't move. It was as though his paws had been mired in cement. His body seemed to weigh a ton. For all his straining he couldn't move an inch.Maybe he should just play dead. It was his only defense. Would these things eat a dead dog?He watch helplessly as the human beast ripped Mike's throat out. The monster threw his head back, blood dripping from his mouth and howled. He strangely reminded Henry of the Star Wars character Chewbacca. Where had that come from? He was getting more like his master every day.He felt like his life had just ended watching Mike die. Utter hopelessness swept over him. Two others grabbed Nicole and started tearing her to pieces. He finally managed to walk forward but at a painfully slow labored pace. After seemingly hours had passed, he reached one of the dreadful monstrosities just as it sunk its sharp teeth into Tracy's arm. She was screaming, trying to pull away from the fetid thing that held her tight. Henry bit down on the dark one just to realize that he had no teeth.'Oh that's just great! This just keeps getting better and better!' He gnawed impotently at the malodourous leg as the thing continued to use Tracy as a chew toy."You gotta wake up Henry!" Tommy pleaded, his face fading from view, "Do what a dog is spose to do for crimany sakes. Wake up!" Panic shot through Henry as he awoke still fighting the phantom being. Henry awoke feeling like he had been kicked. He looked around sleepily. Never had he been so happy to awaken from a dream.Nothing seemed amiss. The world was at peace, well at least this house was. And that was the only part of the world that concerned him right now.It took a minute to calm his nerves and convince himself that it had just been a dream. And a real humdinger at that! He was surprised that he hadn't woken up to a wet bed.He could still smell the rotten stench of the dark ones. The nasty taste of the undead lingered on his tongue. The images of the carnage, was forever burnt into his brain. The terror shook him to the core. He needed a tummy rub.The house was quiet, almost surreal. At least there was nobody to complain about his latest windy discharge. He heard them; always complaining about his odiferous smell. Well did they ever stop to think that it might be all the Pop-tarts Tommy fed him? He let another one rip then grunted in satisfaction. The chicken liver Pop-tarts were delicious! Just the thought of them started a Pavlovian response.Mike had left earlier, neglecting to offer him nourishment. Justin, Brendon, Travis and Tommy left a while after, also not offering food to him.When they found him shriveled up to just a shadow of his former self and dead, they would be sorry.Pangs of self-pity waved over him giving him a little comfort.The two girls were asleep upstairs. No way did he want to wake them up. They would rip his head off.He still wondered what he had done to get his balls cut off. Whatever it was he was not planning to repeat that offense.He needed a Pop-tart. Where was Tommy?He loved Tommy. Tommy 'got him.' Not like the other humans. He had told him many strange and wondrous things. Not the blah, blah, blah, way the others did. He spoke in Henrys head. He spoke 'dog'. He had opened Henry's brain to a different way of thinking. He revealed to him some of the events to come, both horrifying and wonderful. He told him of the trials the family would have and how only the strong would survive. Some things made him whine and shiver in fear. He conveyed to him the parts he, an ordinary dog would play in the macabre journey they must take. Although Henry would eschew such things, he would become both a peacemaker and a warrior.Some of their own would be brought to the very doorstep of death and others would step over. They would all have to do things that would shake them to the very base of their moral fiber.Tommy had told him the Zombies were basically oligophagous. Their only food source right now was humans. But he figured when people ran out then he thought they would turn to animals and fish. After that he wondered if they would turn vegetarian.Hmm, contemplations for another day.Henry didn't like the thought of being a menu item for carnivorous monsters. No not at all. Even though the things Tommy told Henry alarmed him, he wanted him to stay there for a long time.Tommy was like comfort food. You didn't care if it was good for you or not. You craved it, you needed it, you ate it and you loved it. It made you feel happy and well, comfortable. It gave you that warm and fuzzy feeling that everything was going to be hunky dory, He thought of his wonderful Quirky family. They were a strange bunch but they were his and he would do what he could do to protect them, even if it meant putting himself in danger.Mike has his space outs, his temper, and his paranoia but he was still predictably perfect. He had a heart of gold. Everyone knew that he was only the honorary figurehead of the family, even Mike. But that didn't bother him. Even Henry ruled Mike's daily activities. But that was a good thing.The boys, Justin and Travis, were full of mischief and good times. They loved sports and girls. They were one hundred percent red blooded American boys. They had a few knock down drag out fights but they really got along pretty well. They sometimes brought him along on their adventures. He loved that, mostly for the food. (Duh!)Tracy and Nicole, just stay out of their way if their mad. They got mad fairly often. But they were the ones that remembered to feed him, so that in its self, endeared them to him. His stomach growled. He started speculating on how long the boys would be gone. Tommy had told him they were going to rescue Mike's friend Paul and his wife. Tommy had said frankly he was worried about this trip. It was going to be touch and go, and was not going to end well. But if anyone could do it, it would be them. They were the real deal heroes. Henry liked Paul. Paul claimed he hated dogs but Henry knew better. Paul would slip him treats and rub his tummy when nobody else was around. His wife seemed like a likable person.He hoped the boys and their rescues' would all return home safe and sound. Also, Mike, although he had a way of landing on his feet even in the worst of times.How could a short fat dog like him be a hero? He would prefer to describe himself as sturdy or burly, but still, he could only do so much.He sighed and laid his head on his paws. What's the use? He was a lover not a fighter. That's just the way he rolled.There was that noise again. He snapped to attention and listened. That was definitely a noise that didn't belong.He slowly, because that's the only way he could, rose from his bed and headed to the kitchen where the sound was coming from.He stopped just short of the kitchen doorway. He knew something was wrong the minute the smell hit him. It was a sour dead smell, but not like the dark ones. (But sort of) This emanated from a tall heavyset man standing just inside the French doors. He reeked of death and sickness, but he was not one of the dark ones.Their eyes locked for just a second. The stranger's eyes burned brightly with insanity. The lights were on but nobody was home. At least not anyone you would like to meet. Certainty not a house you would trick or treat at, even if they were giving out full size candy bars. The guy was as taken back by Henry as Henry was of him. Henry did not know this guy and was more than positive that he was an immediate threat to him and his family. He sure has hell hadn't come here to deliver to them the happy news that they had won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. He was just as sure that he hadn't come to borrow a cup of sugar.Henry tried to look as menacing as possible. His attempt at a snarl looked more like a snaggletooth grin.He had never had a reason to be aggressive before. It just wasn't in his nature. Well there was the occasional dog that trespassed on his property. He would chase them off, except for the cute poodle across the street. He kind of had a thing for her. He hadn't seen her around for a while.And cats, they set his teeth on edge (Which were still in his mouth, he realized with much relief. Teeth that is)Well he now had reason for attacking this miscreant interloper. The next move the man makes better be towards the door. 'Please let it be towards the door!' He readied for the attack. He just had to ignore the large knife the man held. He didn't know if he could. "What are you doing here?" He growled at the dog. "I hate dogs!"Henry looked at him nonplussed. `Maybe I live here you moron!' Henry thought incredulously. 'I doubt many people would friend you on Facebook, unlike me, a dog that has seventy friends.' Still not sure what Facebook was but having to pose for so many profile pictures it must be about dogs.He snorted, spraying an undignified geyser of snot across the room, and was delighted to see, much to the man's disgust, that it landed on the fellow's shoe. Priceless!The man scowled at his shoe with abhorrence then a wicked smile creased his face as he looked at Henry, the smile of the damned.He did not see Henry as a threat.Henry got that a lot."You are a good little doggie aren't you? An obedient dog too. You don't want to get kicked across the room now do you, my vulgar little canine?"His voice sounded funny to Henry. He had never heard anybody, especially a man, talk like that before. The guy's voice was a high falsetto. His mannerisms were strange. He held his hand that wasn't holding the knife, up like a claw and kept making swatting gestures at Henry.Even more reason to dislike the stinky intruder. The man's smile was as dark as his eyes. His face was covered with pock marks. His nose was red from years of drinking too heavy. His hair hung heavy with oil. The sociopathic madness that oozed from his every poor was palpable. "Where are the pretty girls? While the men are away the kitty will play." He giggled sinisterly. "Meow, they are going to have so much fun playing with my toys." Then he hissed at Henry. Hissed!The hair on Henrys back bristled as he bared his teeth. A deep rumble started in his chest. He suddenly found it easy to ignore the large knife the man held in his hand, and charged. It was time to take out the trash. He launched himself at the man like a fat torpedo, teeth first, not really knowing what the hell he was supposed to do.Luckily the prime evil part of his brain awoke. The killer instinct that had helped his predecessors rip the throats out of their rivals took over. He felt the predatory blood lust they must have felt.His aim, of course, was slightly off. Instead of the satisfying crunch of teeth on bone, his heavy body careened into the man's knee knocking him hip first into the cabinet. The knife flew from his hand, clattering across the floor. The man landed hard on the floor.'Well, that's going to leave a mark.' Henry would have laughed if he could.The man precipitously jerked in fear. He was suddenly worried about an attack from the stubby little monster. He looked quickly around for the knife then, decided it was best if he just got the hell out of dodge.The dog couldn't tell anybody about his little visit.It wasn't a total loss. He had managed to snag another plaything. She would provide entertainment for a few days.He would come back another time better prepared.Henry rolled twice before landing on his back, his stubby legs in the air, and surprisingly unhurt. That wasn't so bad he thought.He fought to right himself. Anyone who has had a dog of his build knows, that is not a pretty sight. The intruder scrabbled on his knees towards the door managing to get to his feet right before he stepped into Henry crap.His expletive described the pile perfectly.As he tried to run his feet kept slipping making him look like a repulsive version of Scooby Doo. All that was missing was the sound effects.Then the Man did a surprisingly graceful, feminine pirouette for an individual of his girth, (maybe the goo helped) and ran through the gate.While the trespasser tripped the lights fantastic Henry managed to get back on his feet. He took a few seconds to decide whether to give chase or stay. He chose to give chase.The game was afoot. He was hot on the man's heels.Wonder Dog to the rescue.Thank goodness the guy was out of shape or he would have left him far behind. As it was Henry started to fall back more and more.Maybe that was a good thing, he told himself. The guy is already out of the house. He is leaving. What was he going to do if he caught him? Hold him down until the police came. What police, there were none.They would probably shoot him for attacking the man.This isn't happening.He came around the corner of the house and skidded to a halt doing a very ungraceful somersault in the air, head over heels. He flew butt first into a female zombie with a grunt. She stood her ground looking down at him snarling and snapping.As he fought his way to his feet he wondered why she wasn't claiming him as an early morning snack until he saw her hands were behind her back and behind her back was the freak.Henry recognized the woman. It was post death Mrs. Gardner from across the street.She always brought over the most wonderful treats every holiday, and whenever she had 'made a little too much.' She was always cooking scrumptious things.She was also the owner of his friend the poodle. That explained her absence. He felt a little sad. He would miss her. He thought briefly about saving Mrs. Gardner, but then realized if he did he may end up baked with an apple in his mouth. He shook the vision from his mind. She struggled against the man but he held her tight, laughing.Creepy!As they turned in their struggle Henry saw the man snapping metal objects on her wrists. He slipped a large handkerchief around her face, fitted it over her mouth then tied it tightly behind her head.This infuriated her even more. She started bucking and kicking, this in turn made the man laugh even harder.The man smiled at him and gave a conspiratorial wink."We keep this between us little one." He laughed heartily at his little joke. "you stay or I will let her make doggie sausage out of you."He led his growling capture down the street.Henry felt a little sorry for Mrs. Gardner. He hung his head and turned away feeling worthless. Henry started back to the semi safety of his home. He knew his house would never feel the same again.It had become a waiting game just like Tommy had told him. All they could do now was to wait for bad dark ones to find them. It was all just a matter of time. There was no dodging this bullet. It was a matter of when not if.Some girl named Eliza was after them. And what Eliza wanted Eliza gets. Tommy was terrified of her. He spoke of her with opprobrium and the nostalgic loss of a loved one. Henry went inside and curled up in his bed. He knew he would never feel completely secure again. His inner sanctum had been defiled. His dog-like innocence had been tainted.He now had an idea of what would be expected of him. His carefree days were pretty much over.He had to become a Rambo dog to survive.Maybe later, right now he was worn-out and just wanted to sleep.And with any luck he'd dream of chasing cats instead of the other alternative, being chased by the undead.He heard Tracy and Nicole moving around above him, then the familiar creaking and snapping of the floorboards as they came down the stairs.He knew every one of the creaks and groans in this house. Every day he had listened to those comforting sounds that let him know he was not alone. He always knew where everybody was by the by the levels of sound each person made.The sounds of laughter, talking, fighting and loving were resonances he treasured.A lot of the time when they thought he was being 'lazy,' he was absorbing the sights, sound, and vibrations of this home and its occupants. He was completely aware of everything going on around him, and enjoying every minute of it.He loved the smells of the house. The mingled smells of onions, bacon, stinky feet, sweat, perfumes, past Christmas trees, and life had filled the air around him. All the smells a family makes.Now everything was permeated by the inexorable smell of the dead.Now trepidation of the undead and unfamiliar routine filled the air. Everyone tried to avoid the creaks in the floor, moving around stealthily. They were all avoiding talking about anything unpleasant.There was whispering, yelling, crying and most of all fear. The once cozy comfortable house had now turned into a war room full of bullets, guns and knives.Everyone sat poised, waiting to jump into action at the drop of a hat. Guns were in hands more than the TV remote used to be. Shots could be heard any hour of the day making everyone jittery.Movie night with popcorn and treats had given way to early bedtimes because of utter exhaustion.Nothing would ever be the same again. "Henry you are such a lazy mutt," Tracy said as she scratch him behind his ear. He raised his head to accept the much needed attention."When was the last time you got any exercise? You don't get taken for walks anymore. We need to get you a treadmill. Mine is the wrong kind for you."A feeling of guilt came over Tracy as she thought of the unused object. She hadn't used it for such a long time."I'm sure Betty has one she never uses."A sob caught in her throat. 'No time for falling apart.' She told herself.Tears came to eyes as she thought of her family and friends, wondering if they were alive. An aching nostalgic feeling swept over her.She knew she couldn't talk to Betty. She had seen her on the other side of the gate. She had gone to the dark side, as Mike would say.She quickly wiped the tears away and straightened her spine. Her daughter did not need to see her like this.Nicole laughed. "That is the worst watchdog I have ever seen. He would run and hide if anybody came near the house. Wow he stinks. This house reeks. Mom where is the air freshener?""In the kitchen cupboard," She smiled at Nicole. "Do you think it will work on the Zombies?"Henry followed them into the kitchen hoping to get rewarded for his heroics. Instead he was ignored. So typical! He plopped down, falling asleep as soon as he hit the floor."What a bunch of pigs!" Tracy picked up the knife off the floor and set it in the dishwasher. "Cant anyone pick up after themselves? And look someone left the back door wide open. And the gate! Unbelievable! She slammed the door with more force than necessary.It's not like we weren't having a Zombie epidemic or anything. Has everyone gone nuts?Oh and great, Henry crapped on the patio again. Well isn't that nice. What the hell Henry! Sometimes I wonder if it's worth having a dog." She shook her head in frustration.Tracy felt a chill blow down her spine, playing along it as though it were a xylophone. She walked over and opened the back door. She surveyed the back yard. She saw the foot prints going through the feces. Those were not made by her family. Moreover, they would not have left the gate open either.She turned and looked at the slumbering dog. He was twitching. She heard a soft whimper.She was going to have to have a long talk with Tommy. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a lot of insight. He was a necromancer, or something close to it. Maybe he was clairvoyant to some degree. There was assuredly something going on with that boy. He always seemed to know things before they happened.She hoped with all her heart that he would never loose his sweet innocence. He was unquestionably someone she wanted fighting on her and her family's side.Maybe she didn't want to know what he knew. Perhaps ignorance is bliss. Knowing the present-day activities was bad enough.Fatigue suddenly swept over her. She needed a cigarette desperately. No, what she really need was to lie down."Hey Nicole, I'm going to lie back down for a while. Do you think you could find out where everyone is for me? Get the boys up and have them start straightening up the place. Have them clean up that dog crap. And please keep the gate locked.""Sure mom." Nicole shot her mom a concerned look. "You look like you could use a little shuteye. Are you ok?""I'm fine sweetheart. I've just been having trouble sleeping. But then again, who hasn't.""Isn't that the truth?" Nicole started the coffee. She was going to need it if she had to chase everyone down.Nicole had a niggling feeling deep inside of her that something wasn't right. She started to wonder where Brandon was. It wasn't like him to just take off without telling her where he was going. He knew his life would be a living hell when he got home. She couldn't help it; she was her mother's daughter. She got a mug from the cupboard.When she found him he was going to get a piece of her mind."You want a cup of coffee?" She asked her mom, still worried about her. Generally the strong one, her mom had not seemed herself lately. Right now she was acting really wacked.Nicole was going to kick the boy's butts if they didn't help her clean this house from top to bottom. But the smell, that was hopeless. Her stomach roiled. The constant stench day in day out was draining her. "No thanks, maybe later." Tracy paused as a strange sensation came over her. She shuddered, pulling her sweater tighter around her. She wondered if it was a harbinger of doom.She shook her head, disgusted at herself. She was the level headed one of the family. She had to pull herself together. She could not imagine what would become of her family if she wasn't there to hold the reigns. Between her boys' youthfulness and Mike's hair brained ideas. She chuckled. For all his bluster, Mike was just a marshmallow.Maybe she was too hard on him. But it did seem to help him stay in line.Her daughter was like her, solid and level headed. She had inherited some of her dad's phobias, although she controlled them better.She was her only daughter and she treasured her in that special way only mother could.She went to the snack box, got Henry's favorite treat and laid two by his sleeping head. She gave him a scratch behind the ear."Good dog." She whispered. She trudged up the stairs wearily. Just one more hour of sleep would help. Then she would be just fine. The day would begin anew.Nicole would get everyone rounded up and then they would have a wonderful brunch.Tracy would cook potatoes, pancakes, eggs and bacon. Shoot the works.Today was going to be a wonderful day.She knocked on the wooden banister for luck. She then smiled at her uncharacteristic behavior.Even that superstitious ritual could not take away what was to come.
"Catch it boy!" Justin yelled as he launched the Frisbee high in the afternoon sky. It flew through the air like a missile. Henry ran for it taking long flowing leaps, the wind blowing through his fur making him feel exhilarated. He jumped up to meet the plunging object and easily made the three foot hurdle to snatch the bright red disk out of the air, landing elegantly on the ground.The Talbots were at the park having a picnic, the most delicious fried chicken and potato salad he had ever tasted. Tracy was at her culinary best.The sun was shining. The birds were singing sweetly in the trees. They were all laughing and having fun, just like the good old days. (Except for the jumping and the flying through the air, that was just odd)The group suddenly fell silent and turned on one accord to face their forthcoming doom.Assemblages of one hundred or more zombies were heading their way from all directions, and they were already way too close for comfort. How had they managed to creep up on them? It wasn't as though the zombies didn't smell like an outhouse gone bad.Henry trembled as the dark ones (His name for them) crept even closer to him and his family, intent; murder and feasting. They lacked the inner light that the living Homo sapiens had. The spark that made them human had burned out leaving a dark empty shell.They ambled forward like a huge wall of ugly. The collection of mangled zombies resembled a Picasso on acid, while the family went more for Van Gogh, The Scream."It's your responsibility to protect your family." Tommy said, looking sadly at the dog between huge dripping bites of watermelon. He turned his head to look at the lumbering crowd of ghouls coming their way then spit a seed on the ground as juice ran down his chin.The pong of the attackers assaulted Henry's nostrils. He was about to taste the potato salad coming up the other way.Henry wanted to tuck his tail under and run but what kind of good dog does that. He was a good dog. Everyone always told him he was a good boy.Of course they would also say he was lazy, fat, stinky, and on some occasions called him a bad dog. (Especially when he decided to find out what that delicious aroma wafting from the garbage was.) The putrid ones were getting closer."You just gotta step up and take charge. It's what a dog does," Tommy implored. The rest of the family nodded in agreement.'It's my responsibility! Since when did that rule start? Somebody must have neglected to inform him on that little detail.' He stared at everyone disbelievingly.'This is about the time I hide under something and you guys take charge and kick butt.'What could he do? He didn't have guns like the humans did. And without opposable thumbs he most likely couldn't shoot one anyway. He didn't particularly like the idea of biting one of the zombies and finding out what they tasted like. If they tasted half as bad as they smelled he was in for a real treat. (liberal sarcasm!)Besides, weren't the humans supposed to protect and coddle their pets? You know, adopt a dog, take it home, spoil it, teach it a few tricks then humiliate it by dressing it like Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and a variety of other costumes, for the family pictures. Do they think that I never noticed that I was the only one dressed like a goof ball?This might just come under the label cruelty to animals… Or maybe it was his turn to repay all the stuff they had done for him.He trembled again. The first walking dead had reached his family and had grabbed Mike. His best friend in the world reached out for Henry, his eyes pleading to be saved. He was helpless to save himself!Mike was never helpless. Yes he was a bumbling fool at times, and yes, he was germ phobic. He did throw up a lot and did space out a lot. He was well known for running his mouth at the most inopportune times, always getting in trouble.. He was terrified of his wife, Tracy, though he loved her dearly. But helpless he wasn't. Henry knew he had to help Mike. He was his master and he knew that Mike would die for him if the roles were reversed. In fact there was no doubt in his mind that he would.He finally stirred to action. Or at least that was his intent. Henry found, to his horror that he couldn't move. It was as though his paws had been mired in cement. His body seemed to weigh a ton. For all his straining he couldn't move an inch.Maybe he should just play dead. It was his only defense. Would these things eat a dead dog?He watch helplessly as the human beast ripped Mike's throat out. The monster threw his head back, blood dripping from his mouth and howled. He strangely reminded Henry of the Star Wars character Chewbacca. Where had that come from? He was getting more like his master every day.He felt like his life had just ended watching Mike die. Utter hopelessness swept over him. Two others grabbed Nicole and started tearing her to pieces. He finally managed to walk forward but at a painfully slow labored pace. After seemingly hours had passed, he reached one of the dreadful monstrosities just as it sunk its sharp teeth into Tracy's arm. She was screaming, trying to pull away from the fetid thing that held her tight. Henry bit down on the dark one just to realize that he had no teeth.'Oh that's just great! This just keeps getting better and better!' He gnawed impotently at the malodourous leg as the thing continued to use Tracy as a chew toy."You gotta wake up Henry!" Tommy pleaded, his face fading from view, "Do what a dog is spose to do for crimany sakes. Wake up!" Panic shot through Henry as he awoke still fighting the phantom being. Henry awoke feeling like he had been kicked. He looked around sleepily. Never had he been so happy to awaken from a dream.Nothing seemed amiss. The world was at peace, well at least this house was. And that was the only part of the world that concerned him right now.It took a minute to calm his nerves and convince himself that it had just been a dream. And a real humdinger at that! He was surprised that he hadn't woken up to a wet bed.He could still smell the rotten stench of the dark ones. The nasty taste of the undead lingered on his tongue. The images of the carnage, was forever burnt into his brain. The terror shook him to the core. He needed a tummy rub.The house was quiet, almost surreal. At least there was nobody to complain about his latest windy discharge. He heard them; always complaining about his odiferous smell. Well did they ever stop to think that it might be all the Pop-tarts Tommy fed him? He let another one rip then grunted in satisfaction. The chicken liver Pop-tarts were delicious! Just the thought of them started a Pavlovian response.Mike had left earlier, neglecting to offer him nourishment. Justin, Brendon, Travis and Tommy left a while after, also not offering food to him.When they found him shriveled up to just a shadow of his former self and dead, they would be sorry.Pangs of self-pity waved over him giving him a little comfort.The two girls were asleep upstairs. No way did he want to wake them up. They would rip his head off.He still wondered what he had done to get his balls cut off. Whatever it was he was not planning to repeat that offense.He needed a Pop-tart. Where was Tommy?He loved Tommy. Tommy 'got him.' Not like the other humans. He had told him many strange and wondrous things. Not the blah, blah, blah, way the others did. He spoke in Henrys head. He spoke 'dog'. He had opened Henry's brain to a different way of thinking. He revealed to him some of the events to come, both horrifying and wonderful. He told him of the trials the family would have and how only the strong would survive. Some things made him whine and shiver in fear. He conveyed to him the parts he, an ordinary dog would play in the macabre journey they must take. Although Henry would eschew such things, he would become both a peacemaker and a warrior.Some of their own would be brought to the very doorstep of death and others would step over. They would all have to do things that would shake them to the very base of their moral fiber.Tommy had told him the Zombies were basically oligophagous. Their only food source right now was humans. But he figured when people ran out then he thought they would turn to animals and fish. After that he wondered if they would turn vegetarian.Hmm, contemplations for another day.Henry didn't like the thought of being a menu item for carnivorous monsters. No not at all. Even though the things Tommy told Henry alarmed him, he wanted him to stay there for a long time.Tommy was like comfort food. You didn't care if it was good for you or not. You craved it, you needed it, you ate it and you loved it. It made you feel happy and well, comfortable. It gave you that warm and fuzzy feeling that everything was going to be hunky dory, He thought of his wonderful Quirky family. They were a strange bunch but they were his and he would do what he could do to protect them, even if it meant putting himself in danger.Mike has his space outs, his temper, and his paranoia but he was still predictably perfect. He had a heart of gold. Everyone knew that he was only the honorary figurehead of the family, even Mike. But that didn't bother him. Even Henry ruled Mike's daily activities. But that was a good thing.The boys, Justin and Travis, were full of mischief and good times. They loved sports and girls. They were one hundred percent red blooded American boys. They had a few knock down drag out fights but they really got along pretty well. They sometimes brought him along on their adventures. He loved that, mostly for the food. (Duh!)Tracy and Nicole, just stay out of their way if their mad. They got mad fairly often. But they were the ones that remembered to feed him, so that in its self, endeared them to him. His stomach growled. He started speculating on how long the boys would be gone. Tommy had told him they were going to rescue Mike's friend Paul and his wife. Tommy had said frankly he was worried about this trip. It was going to be touch and go, and was not going to end well. But if anyone could do it, it would be them. They were the real deal heroes. Henry liked Paul. Paul claimed he hated dogs but Henry knew better. Paul would slip him treats and rub his tummy when nobody else was around. His wife seemed like a likable person.He hoped the boys and their rescues' would all return home safe and sound. Also, Mike, although he had a way of landing on his feet even in the worst of times.How could a short fat dog like him be a hero? He would prefer to describe himself as sturdy or burly, but still, he could only do so much.He sighed and laid his head on his paws. What's the use? He was a lover not a fighter. That's just the way he rolled.There was that noise again. He snapped to attention and listened. That was definitely a noise that didn't belong.He slowly, because that's the only way he could, rose from his bed and headed to the kitchen where the sound was coming from.He stopped just short of the kitchen doorway. He knew something was wrong the minute the smell hit him. It was a sour dead smell, but not like the dark ones. (But sort of) This emanated from a tall heavyset man standing just inside the French doors. He reeked of death and sickness, but he was not one of the dark ones.Their eyes locked for just a second. The stranger's eyes burned brightly with insanity. The lights were on but nobody was home. At least not anyone you would like to meet. Certainty not a house you would trick or treat at, even if they were giving out full size candy bars. The guy was as taken back by Henry as Henry was of him. Henry did not know this guy and was more than positive that he was an immediate threat to him and his family. He sure has hell hadn't come here to deliver to them the happy news that they had won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. He was just as sure that he hadn't come to borrow a cup of sugar.Henry tried to look as menacing as possible. His attempt at a snarl looked more like a snaggletooth grin.He had never had a reason to be aggressive before. It just wasn't in his nature. Well there was the occasional dog that trespassed on his property. He would chase them off, except for the cute poodle across the street. He kind of had a thing for her. He hadn't seen her around for a while.And cats, they set his teeth on edge (Which were still in his mouth, he realized with much relief. Teeth that is)Well he now had reason for attacking this miscreant interloper. The next move the man makes better be towards the door. 'Please let it be towards the door!' He readied for the attack. He just had to ignore the large knife the man held. He didn't know if he could. "What are you doing here?" He growled at the dog. "I hate dogs!"Henry looked at him nonplussed. `Maybe I live here you moron!' Henry thought incredulously. 'I doubt many people would friend you on Facebook, unlike me, a dog that has seventy friends.' Still not sure what Facebook was but having to pose for so many profile pictures it must be about dogs.He snorted, spraying an undignified geyser of snot across the room, and was delighted to see, much to the man's disgust, that it landed on the fellow's shoe. Priceless!The man scowled at his shoe with abhorrence then a wicked smile creased his face as he looked at Henry, the smile of the damned.He did not see Henry as a threat.Henry got that a lot."You are a good little doggie aren't you? An obedient dog too. You don't want to get kicked across the room now do you, my vulgar little canine?"His voice sounded funny to Henry. He had never heard anybody, especially a man, talk like that before. The guy's voice was a high falsetto. His mannerisms were strange. He held his hand that wasn't holding the knife, up like a claw and kept making swatting gestures at Henry.Even more reason to dislike the stinky intruder. The man's smile was as dark as his eyes. His face was covered with pock marks. His nose was red from years of drinking too heavy. His hair hung heavy with oil. The sociopathic madness that oozed from his every poor was palpable. "Where are the pretty girls? While the men are away the kitty will play." He giggled sinisterly. "Meow, they are going to have so much fun playing with my toys." Then he hissed at Henry. Hissed!The hair on Henrys back bristled as he bared his teeth. A deep rumble started in his chest. He suddenly found it easy to ignore the large knife the man held in his hand, and charged. It was time to take out the trash. He launched himself at the man like a fat torpedo, teeth first, not really knowing what the hell he was supposed to do.Luckily the prime evil part of his brain awoke. The killer instinct that had helped his predecessors rip the throats out of their rivals took over. He felt the predatory blood lust they must have felt.His aim, of course, was slightly off. Instead of the satisfying crunch of teeth on bone, his heavy body careened into the man's knee knocking him hip first into the cabinet. The knife flew from his hand, clattering across the floor. The man landed hard on the floor.'Well, that's going to leave a mark.' Henry would have laughed if he could.The man precipitously jerked in fear. He was suddenly worried about an attack from the stubby little monster. He looked quickly around for the knife then, decided it was best if he just got the hell out of dodge.The dog couldn't tell anybody about his little visit.It wasn't a total loss. He had managed to snag another plaything. She would provide entertainment for a few days.He would come back another time better prepared.Henry rolled twice before landing on his back, his stubby legs in the air, and surprisingly unhurt. That wasn't so bad he thought.He fought to right himself. Anyone who has had a dog of his build knows, that is not a pretty sight. The intruder scrabbled on his knees towards the door managing to get to his feet right before he stepped into Henry crap.His expletive described the pile perfectly.As he tried to run his feet kept slipping making him look like a repulsive version of Scooby Doo. All that was missing was the sound effects.Then the Man did a surprisingly graceful, feminine pirouette for an individual of his girth, (maybe the goo helped) and ran through the gate.While the trespasser tripped the lights fantastic Henry managed to get back on his feet. He took a few seconds to decide whether to give chase or stay. He chose to give chase.The game was afoot. He was hot on the man's heels.Wonder Dog to the rescue.Thank goodness the guy was out of shape or he would have left him far behind. As it was Henry started to fall back more and more.Maybe that was a good thing, he told himself. The guy is already out of the house. He is leaving. What was he going to do if he caught him? Hold him down until the police came. What police, there were none.They would probably shoot him for attacking the man.This isn't happening.He came around the corner of the house and skidded to a halt doing a very ungraceful somersault in the air, head over heels. He flew butt first into a female zombie with a grunt. She stood her ground looking down at him snarling and snapping.As he fought his way to his feet he wondered why she wasn't claiming him as an early morning snack until he saw her hands were behind her back and behind her back was the freak.Henry recognized the woman. It was post death Mrs. Gardner from across the street.She always brought over the most wonderful treats every holiday, and whenever she had 'made a little too much.' She was always cooking scrumptious things.She was also the owner of his friend the poodle. That explained her absence. He felt a little sad. He would miss her. He thought briefly about saving Mrs. Gardner, but then realized if he did he may end up baked with an apple in his mouth. He shook the vision from his mind. She struggled against the man but he held her tight, laughing.Creepy!As they turned in their struggle Henry saw the man snapping metal objects on her wrists. He slipped a large handkerchief around her face, fitted it over her mouth then tied it tightly behind her head.This infuriated her even more. She started bucking and kicking, this in turn made the man laugh even harder.The man smiled at him and gave a conspiratorial wink."We keep this between us little one." He laughed heartily at his little joke. "you stay or I will let her make doggie sausage out of you."He led his growling capture down the street.Henry felt a little sorry for Mrs. Gardner. He hung his head and turned away feeling worthless. Henry started back to the semi safety of his home. He knew his house would never feel the same again.It had become a waiting game just like Tommy had told him. All they could do now was to wait for bad dark ones to find them. It was all just a matter of time. There was no dodging this bullet. It was a matter of when not if.Some girl named Eliza was after them. And what Eliza wanted Eliza gets. Tommy was terrified of her. He spoke of her with opprobrium and the nostalgic loss of a loved one. Henry went inside and curled up in his bed. He knew he would never feel completely secure again. His inner sanctum had been defiled. His dog-like innocence had been tainted.He now had an idea of what would be expected of him. His carefree days were pretty much over.He had to become a Rambo dog to survive.Maybe later, right now he was worn-out and just wanted to sleep.And with any luck he'd dream of chasing cats instead of the other alternative, being chased by the undead.He heard Tracy and Nicole moving around above him, then the familiar creaking and snapping of the floorboards as they came down the stairs.He knew every one of the creaks and groans in this house. Every day he had listened to those comforting sounds that let him know he was not alone. He always knew where everybody was by the by the levels of sound each person made.The sounds of laughter, talking, fighting and loving were resonances he treasured.A lot of the time when they thought he was being 'lazy,' he was absorbing the sights, sound, and vibrations of this home and its occupants. He was completely aware of everything going on around him, and enjoying every minute of it.He loved the smells of the house. The mingled smells of onions, bacon, stinky feet, sweat, perfumes, past Christmas trees, and life had filled the air around him. All the smells a family makes.Now everything was permeated by the inexorable smell of the dead.Now trepidation of the undead and unfamiliar routine filled the air. Everyone tried to avoid the creaks in the floor, moving around stealthily. They were all avoiding talking about anything unpleasant.There was whispering, yelling, crying and most of all fear. The once cozy comfortable house had now turned into a war room full of bullets, guns and knives.Everyone sat poised, waiting to jump into action at the drop of a hat. Guns were in hands more than the TV remote used to be. Shots could be heard any hour of the day making everyone jittery.Movie night with popcorn and treats had given way to early bedtimes because of utter exhaustion.Nothing would ever be the same again. "Henry you are such a lazy mutt," Tracy said as she scratch him behind his ear. He raised his head to accept the much needed attention."When was the last time you got any exercise? You don't get taken for walks anymore. We need to get you a treadmill. Mine is the wrong kind for you."A feeling of guilt came over Tracy as she thought of the unused object. She hadn't used it for such a long time."I'm sure Betty has one she never uses."A sob caught in her throat. 'No time for falling apart.' She told herself.Tears came to eyes as she thought of her family and friends, wondering if they were alive. An aching nostalgic feeling swept over her.She knew she couldn't talk to Betty. She had seen her on the other side of the gate. She had gone to the dark side, as Mike would say.She quickly wiped the tears away and straightened her spine. Her daughter did not need to see her like this.Nicole laughed. "That is the worst watchdog I have ever seen. He would run and hide if anybody came near the house. Wow he stinks. This house reeks. Mom where is the air freshener?""In the kitchen cupboard," She smiled at Nicole. "Do you think it will work on the Zombies?"Henry followed them into the kitchen hoping to get rewarded for his heroics. Instead he was ignored. So typical! He plopped down, falling asleep as soon as he hit the floor."What a bunch of pigs!" Tracy picked up the knife off the floor and set it in the dishwasher. "Cant anyone pick up after themselves? And look someone left the back door wide open. And the gate! Unbelievable! She slammed the door with more force than necessary.It's not like we weren't having a Zombie epidemic or anything. Has everyone gone nuts?Oh and great, Henry crapped on the patio again. Well isn't that nice. What the hell Henry! Sometimes I wonder if it's worth having a dog." She shook her head in frustration.Tracy felt a chill blow down her spine, playing along it as though it were a xylophone. She walked over and opened the back door. She surveyed the back yard. She saw the foot prints going through the feces. Those were not made by her family. Moreover, they would not have left the gate open either.She turned and looked at the slumbering dog. He was twitching. She heard a soft whimper.She was going to have to have a long talk with Tommy. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a lot of insight. He was a necromancer, or something close to it. Maybe he was clairvoyant to some degree. There was assuredly something going on with that boy. He always seemed to know things before they happened.She hoped with all her heart that he would never loose his sweet innocence. He was unquestionably someone she wanted fighting on her and her family's side.Maybe she didn't want to know what he knew. Perhaps ignorance is bliss. Knowing the present-day activities was bad enough.Fatigue suddenly swept over her. She needed a cigarette desperately. No, what she really need was to lie down."Hey Nicole, I'm going to lie back down for a while. Do you think you could find out where everyone is for me? Get the boys up and have them start straightening up the place. Have them clean up that dog crap. And please keep the gate locked.""Sure mom." Nicole shot her mom a concerned look. "You look like you could use a little shuteye. Are you ok?""I'm fine sweetheart. I've just been having trouble sleeping. But then again, who hasn't.""Isn't that the truth?" Nicole started the coffee. She was going to need it if she had to chase everyone down.Nicole had a niggling feeling deep inside of her that something wasn't right. She started to wonder where Brandon was. It wasn't like him to just take off without telling her where he was going. He knew his life would be a living hell when he got home. She couldn't help it; she was her mother's daughter. She got a mug from the cupboard.When she found him he was going to get a piece of her mind."You want a cup of coffee?" She asked her mom, still worried about her. Generally the strong one, her mom had not seemed herself lately. Right now she was acting really wacked.Nicole was going to kick the boy's butts if they didn't help her clean this house from top to bottom. But the smell, that was hopeless. Her stomach roiled. The constant stench day in day out was draining her. "No thanks, maybe later." Tracy paused as a strange sensation came over her. She shuddered, pulling her sweater tighter around her. She wondered if it was a harbinger of doom.She shook her head, disgusted at herself. She was the level headed one of the family. She had to pull herself together. She could not imagine what would become of her family if she wasn't there to hold the reigns. Between her boys' youthfulness and Mike's hair brained ideas. She chuckled. For all his bluster, Mike was just a marshmallow.Maybe she was too hard on him. But it did seem to help him stay in line.Her daughter was like her, solid and level headed. She had inherited some of her dad's phobias, although she controlled them better.She was her only daughter and she treasured her in that special way only mother could.She went to the snack box, got Henry's favorite treat and laid two by his sleeping head. She gave him a scratch behind the ear."Good dog." She whispered. She trudged up the stairs wearily. Just one more hour of sleep would help. Then she would be just fine. The day would begin anew.Nicole would get everyone rounded up and then they would have a wonderful brunch.Tracy would cook potatoes, pancakes, eggs and bacon. Shoot the works.Today was going to be a wonderful day.She knocked on the wooden banister for luck. She then smiled at her uncharacteristic behavior.Even that superstitious ritual could not take away what was to come.
March 15, 2012
New Contests 1-5
If interested in playing please sign up under 1 or all of the contests under my facebook author page. Open to everyone, everywhere.
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March 13, 2012
Winner Winner Random Contest
Winner Winner....Wife here, sorry Im late guys, took myself out this weekend and Im laid up in bed now. Please send an email to mark_tufo@yahoo.com subject line winner: Brian Tru, Nick Reed, Shawn Lynch, Ray Logan, Neil Schneider, Aisha Blevins, Diane Johnson, Maria Bigar, Jim King, Joy Burke Buchanan. These probably will not go out until early next week as I am not getting along with my crutches.
March 10, 2012
Random Contest
Ready, Set, GO totally random drawing. I have 6 misc signed prints and 1 signed ZF 3.5. Sign up under this post if you are interested. Drawing and give aways will be random! Open to everyone, everywhere ends 3/13 5pm est
March 9, 2012
FanFic Contest ~ ShowDown by Louis Rubino
Louis Rubino owns all rights to the following work, which may not be copied or used without express permission in writing by him. Enjoy:
"Talbot!" It's amazing how I even woke up to that. I've been hearing so many people scream my name lately (and not in a good way if you catch my drift) that it's just as customary as the moans of the dead, which should definitely not be part of the norm. My eyes fluttered open. Goodbye Kim Kardashian, hello zombie apocalypse. I zombie-shuffled over to the motel room door, resting my hands against the cool metal as I looked through the peephole. This rundown motel was our refuge for the night. We combed through every room, making sure we weren't about to set up camp next to a group of hibernating deaders. Probably was going to be the last good night sleep for a while considering the cloud of doom that constantly loomed overhead. As my eye touched down on the peephole, all I could see was a grey-green rotted piece of flesh passing up over the glass. "You've got to be shitting me!" Unbeknownst to me, a crowd had begun to form around me. I shot off the door rubbing my eyes in disbelief. 'Was I still dreaming?' I thought to myself. If so, Sir Licks-a-lot was not a fair trade for Kim. "He's back! I'm sick of this guy licking my peephole!" "What are you going on about Talbot? Trust me, no one here wants to lick your peephole," BT chimed in before his baritone laughter took over. 'Ha, peephole,' okay I have to admit that never gets old. "Yeah, real funny there, Green Mile," I quipped. "Not cool, man. Not cool." "Sorry," I said. I looked back through the peephole, seeing Sir Licks-a-lot idly standing there, as if he was staring through the door at me. "I swear I killed this guy," I said to no one in particular, "There's no way that there's more than one zombie that licks peepholes." "Dad, I'm semi-possessed and I'm not as screwed up as you are." "Yeah, morning to you too, Justin." I took my side arm out of its holster and placed my hand on the door knob, turning it then quickly forcing it open. The momentum was enough to make the zombie stagger back. Before it could raise its arms in the typical zombie fashion, I raised mine. I found its forehead with the sights and let the gun do the rest. His head snapped back, the bullet forcefully escaping though the back of its decaying skull. "Yeah, try licking my peephole now." There's no way I actually said these things out loud. I'm not always that unfiltered, am I? Laughter quickly broke out from the doorway and spread to me, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. "Talbot!"I was so wrapped up extinguishing my old friend that I had completely forgotten the reason I looked outside in the first place. Durgan was standing in the middle of the street. A few deaders staggered around the area, but it was nothing like the usual army that usually followed him around. "Guys, suit up!" I slightly turned my head, yelling back to the motel room, never taking my eyes off of Durgan. Within 30 seconds, there was a five-man army standing behind me: Travis and Justin; bred from my crazy-ass genes, BT; one of the two biggest and most intimidating men I've ever met, and my two new friends who've proved to be nothing but noble thus far; Brian and Jack. They were definitely a team I was proud to have backing me up. "What do you want, Durgan?""I want you, Talbot!""Woah, woah, woah, I'm not that easy. Maybe a nice fancy dinner and a bottle of wine will increase your chances," I put on a crooked smile as his face turned red from the anger welling up inside."You know what I meant, you shithead. You and me, right now, Talbot.""Where's your owner, ya mutt?" I retorted.He swallowed down the majority of his anger before answering."My mistress has given me permission to play with you. Trust me, she is not far."I didn't doubt him for a second. I could still feel her presence, and it was evident that Justin could too. There was something else in the air; a near tangible feeling that was comforting yet ominous. 'So this is it? This is the end of the road for me' I thought to myself. I noticed how Durgan emphasized the word 'play' and it wasn't looking good for me. Damn it, I've seen that light so many times that I doubt they'd even let me travel down that tunnel again. BT craned his head over from behind me, speaking in a low voice. "Let me take him. He'll kill you, Talbot, you know it.""Thanks for the words of encouragement big guy." I said dryly. "You know what I meant, ya priss. It's not supposed to end here for you, Mike.""Woah, Mike? You never use my real name. Aww, you big softy, you care about me," I said, teasing the gentle giant."You know what? I think you can take him, Talbot. See you on the other side."My faced strained as I sorted out all possible outcomes, but no matter what, the ending wasn't good. I'd die if I went against Durgan, and that was the brutal truth. The man was a solid wall of muscle held together by an infernal rage towards me. He would skin me alive if he could, and that was definitely not out of the realm of possibility."My friend over here has a suggestion. How about you fight him instead?"BT's face split with his ear to ear smile."You two both have a leg handicap, so it should be a fair fight."BT's smile disappeared."Sorry, buddy," I said looking back at him."Watch it germaphoibe, or I might have to rethink our arrangement… again.""You know what?" Durgan said a little louder than necessary, breaking the banter between BT and I, "I'll take on the nigger, and then I'll kill you, Talbot." A smug look broke out on his face as he said my name."All right, you white ass little bitch, bring it on!" BT yelled from behind me. I'm not going to lie; I jumped at least a foot as his powerhouse voice almost literally scared the shit out of me. Yeah, I shit and jumped at the same time. I might've peed a little too. Sue me."BT, the kids!" Tracy yelled from the doorway.Tracy's words seemed to just bounce off of BT's wall of a back as he lamely progressed towards Durgan. He slapped his guns into my unready arms, nearly knocking me over."Break a leg!" I yelled without thinking. I really have to stop doing that. If the zombies didn't cause my demise, my mouth sure would. "Seriously, Talbot?" BT said, turning back to as if he didn't know I was capable of having such a small filter. "What? You know I don't think before I speak."Durgan wore the biggest shit-eating grin his muscle bound face could sustain. Yeah, his face even had muscles; it was ridiculous. Eliza was definitely pumping him full of vampire steroids or something. Durgan charged full speed, head leveled with BT's chest, like a bull aiming for the red. Durgan's shoulder connected with BT's chest. He slid back, the soles of his shoes scraping away against the pavement, but his legs never faltered. Durgan forced BT off of him when he realized that his poor attempt at grappling proved futile.For such a big guy, BT was quick, but so was Durgan. Evil coursed through his pencil-thick veins; giving him the only advantage that he had in this situation. BT let go a right hook that landed solidly against Durgan's cheek. The dislocating of his jaw was audible, but did little to send shivers up my spine. I was too desensitized for that at this point. Just like being at a hockey game, we cheered for every hit that landed and encouraged with every hit taken (if you didn't think 'Bruins' when I said that, this journal isn't for you).Durgan stumbled back, catching himself on his hands, like an inebriated bum getting tossed out of a bar. His hands wandered to his slack jaw, retreating away as soon as the slightest touch was made. "Hurt?" BT mocked, relishing in Durgan's pain.But his words only seemed to fuel the muscle bound giant. He quickly regained his composure and charged. BT flew back onto the concrete, Durgan on top, aiming for the kill. Durgan cocked his arm back, but this only gave BT the time he needed to assess and react to the situation. Durgan's hand slipping right passed BT's head as he pulled it to the side. Durgan screamed out in pain, giving BT the opportunity the propel Durgan off with a forceful groan. "Come on! Are you kidding me? Kick his ass already!"I couldn't help but jostle BT a bit. Besides from aggravating him, it gave him a little extra incentive to win faster so he could come kick my ass."Yeah, like that's not what I'm trying to do right now you Yankee bitch," BT said as he quickly got to his feet. "That hurts BT, you know I'm a diehard Red Sox fan." Do you think we were taking the situation a little too lightly? Well if this was my last few minutes on Earth, I'd like it to be filled with at least a few laughs. Truth is I was a little scared. Not so much scared for BT, 'cause I'm pretty sure nothing short of a tank could take that son of a bitch out, but for my family. Eliza had a plan here, but I'd be damned if we didn't give it all we had. She had a plan, but we had the will.Albeit there wasn't the usual horde that followed around Eliza, like the most obedient puppy dogs, there were still a few staggering deaders combing the area. I pointed to Travis and in no time my messaged was manifested in the 5 quick shots that dispatched our unwanted guests. Durgan shot his head up in fear, thinking we were getting involved in his futile scuffle. BT never faltered. He knew we were the only ones that used guns, and took this opportune time to send a jab flying towards Durgan's nose, but somehow, by some indevine intervention, he dodged it, but his thinking wasn't as quick as BT's. BT used his off target punch to bring his hand back behind Durgan's head, pulling it down toward his upward flying knee. Blood spewed out from Durgan's now broken nose. Even a Beverly Hill's doctor couldn't save this bastard's face now.He went down, wind forcing its way past his detached jaw. I knew it must've taken quite a toll on BT's leg; resting all his weight on it while administering that crippling blow. Durgan tried to scramble to grab BT's legs, but it was no use. He joined his hands together and brought the club down on Durgan's back, like an angry gorilla (I swear that wasn't meant to be racist).With one final curb stomp it would be all over. My time with Durgan flashed before my eyes; our wonderful time at the hardware store and pushing him around in his wheelchair… although I did leave him in it to get swarmed by the living dead. My musings were cut short by something that made my stomach and heart both crawl up into my throat. Eliza placed herself between BT's executing progression and Durgan. Where the hell did she even come from? She raised her hand and BT stopped, but not by his own will. His feet began to lift off the ground, hot air forcing its way out of his clenched teeth in futile resistance. 'Oh dear God; is this how it ends? Getting crushed by a BT wrecking ball?' I made sure not to say that one out loud. He'd probably break her demonic hold just to pummel me. I do have some filter, ya know."Hello, Mike," Eliza said with something that looked like a genuine smile, "it's nice to see you.""Always a pleasure," I said, drolly. You think she picked up on the sarcasm?What happened next tore my heart further than it ever had been. Tommy came forth out of the tree line, his gaze never releasing me from its grasp. There was something different though; there was no ear-to-ear smile, pop tart remnants in the corner of his lips, or crinkle of wrappers in his pocket as he walked. The light in his eyes had disappeared, replaced by two sunken obsidian orbs, devoid of any soul. "Tommy!" Travis yelled, letting his guard down to charge his lost but not forgotten friend – his brother. I put my arm out to stop him before he could go far. Any more momentum and I would've clothes-lined the poor kid. "No," I said sternly, "there's something wrong here.""Dad, what are you talking about? It's Tommy!" His emotions clouded his perception."He's right, Travis. Tommy isn't here anymore. You may address me only as Tomas.""What's happened to you, Tommy?" I asked, nearly choking on the words as they came out. "I told you; Tommy isn't here anymore," he retorted quickly with no sense of emotion in his voice.'Oh, Tommy, what has she done to you,' I kept thinking"Mike, don't forget I can still hear your thoughts. She has made me stronger."Eliza smiled back at her brother in satisfaction. She was proud of her pet. Let's just hope Tommy has a plan to bite the wicked hand which feeds. Eliza bent her hand forward, and in one fluid motion, BT flew back a couple feet before arching towards the ground. "You, okay?" I yelled out, never letting go of the soul wrenching stare engaged between the Queen of the Damned and I. "Never better," BT said not-so-reassuringly between his clenched teeth."Pathetic excuse for a servant," Eliza snarled as she approached Durgan's near lifeless body. "My apologies, my Mistress," he tried to say over the obscurity of his dislocated jaw. She levitated him the same way she had to BT, but brought her hand forcefully across his face. For the second time that day, I heard that audible pop, but this time it was the sound of his jaw being relocated. The scream that was issued forth from Durgan's powerful lungs was like a dinner bell to zombie miles around."Quick fight, huh?" I asked BT rhetorically, patting him on the back, and reissuing him his ordnance. "Well get me some real competition and I'll give ya a better show.""Where are your friends?" I asked, not really wanting an answer. I could do without more 'dinner guests' for as long as possible."They're resting. My minions grow quite weary. You insignificant mortals have seemed to dwindle down to such low numbers very fast. I expected more of a fight – some will-driven resilience."She smiled! She was like a kid on Christmas about the whole situation. She loved how the human race had crashed to their knees so fast. She watched on relished in the fact that even as the world was in utter turmoil, people still turned against their brethren instead of banding together as the world's greatest predator quickly too reign. Fuck civility. The pursuit of happiness was gone; now it's just the pursuit of survival, but so many people had just refused to survive. It would be so much easier to just give up, but that's not what life is about. Dying is easy, living is the hard part. "So that's what that is," I said, suppressing my building rage, "they're hibernating now that there's less food around. How long can they stay like that?"The hordes of zombies in stasis proved to be a huge threat. They occupied areas all around the country, and you wouldn't even know they were there until it was too late. But how did they get in those places? Even structures with closed doors just so happened to house these hibernating zombies, like someone had opened the doors for them. Eliza was tucking her children in for a nap. "You need not worry about that, Mike," she said matter-of-factly, "you will be gone long before they are.""You seem so sure of yourself," I responded boldly, trying not to choke on the fear that I was swallowing down. Truth was; I believed her. I've been scraped by the jaws of death too many times to not know that my luck was quickly running out.
* * *
"Travis," a voice said nonchalantly, with nearly, if any, emotion. I looked around, trying to find the source of the monotone. Travis," it said again. It was in my head. "What?" I said out loud. Justin turned to me with a 'who the hell are you talking to' look. "Sorry; thinking out loud." "Yeah, well it's obvious your dad's kid. There goes my adoption theory." "Hey I'm not the one who's half zombie," I retorted. "Yeah, you better hope I don't bit you either." Now that shut me up. I wonder if his bite had the same effects that a zombie bite had. "Travis," the voice called out, but surprisingly with no sense of impatience. "What?" I replied, making sure it was just in thought this time. "Look under the bathroom sink." It was Tommy. The voice was so unfamiliar without its usual cheerful nature. "Tommy! Tommy, what'd she do to you, buddy? We've missed you so – "Tommy is no longer her, Travis, and he will not be coming back." I thought I heard some resent in that statement, but maybe it was just my mind wanting to find some remnants of the old Tommy. I tried to call back to him, but there was no response. Either he had broken the connection or he was just ignoring me, but he told me something for a reason. I snuck my way out from the front line and headed for the door. Mom saw me coming, noticing the determination plastered across my face. She didn't bother to question nor stop me. There were three bathrooms between the rooms that we had been occupying. I rifled through the first one, only to find stacked up rolls of toilet paper. I don't think the decaying, previously soaked rolls of toilet paper were what Tommy wanted me to find. I moved on to the next sink only the find the same thing, but with an added bonus: a dead rat. Of course it was in the last place I looked. Isn't that how things always worked out for us Talbots? Behind the façade of toilet paper was a slingshot surrounded with a necklace garnished with garlic. "Thanks, Tommy," I said out loud, a smile finding its way across my face. I started back to outside, but stopped short, catching myself on a doorframe. If I went outside she'd see me and what I was about to do. Was I really about to shoot garlic from a sling shot at a vampire who almost literally scared the shit outta me? Justin was right; I am my dad's kid. I ran up the stairs, searching for the door that led to the roof. I perched myself against the dilapidated motel sign and slung the garlic around myself like a bandolier. Eliza had a finger pointed towards dad, most likely reassuring him of his impending death. I don't know if she knows this or not, but it's damn near impossible to kill that man. Don't ask me why, but he just won't stay down. Now, I was going to make him proud. I grabbed a piece of garlic and broke it into individual cloves, keeping one in my hand as I shoved the remaining pieces of mythological ammo into my jacket pocket. I drew my arm back and took steady aim, inhaling, trying to judge my surroundings. The wind was relatively calm but had a tendency to surprise, and as for the distance, there was about 40 feet between me and my target. And with one drawn out exhale the garlic clove sailed through the air. By some form of divine intervention, it struck home; head shot. Garlic shrapnel littered Eliza's face, while smoke began surface and wisp along her flesh. She let out the most violent scream I've ever heard; a scream that said 'I'm in absolute pain and I will destroy who ever caused it.' But before her scream even reached full pitch, I had another clove knocked on the slingshot and let that one fly. I received the same result as the first one. It struck her in the hands as she tried to clear her face of the caustic garlic remnants. Everyone's face expressed utter confusion as to what had happened. Dad looked up at me and I gave a quick smile before darting back down the stairs.* * * One second I was being told about I would be kept alive as my skin sizzled off while being forced to watch my family was tossed into the pits of the hungry undead and the next I hear the most guttural, soul shattering scream I've ever heard. I looked left and right, looking for answers, but was only met with the same confused look reflected back at me. I saw a glimpse of something fly through the air, right before it struck Eliza. I looked up and around to find the source. Travis was perched against the motel sign, a slingshot in hand. Within a second he was gone, on his way back down. Eliza let down her hands, smoke continued to pour off of her face, as if she wasn't scary enough. She let out one more scream, but this one wasn't from pain; it was a commanding roar. Her undead servants began to flood the area, emerging from the tree line and stumbling down the highway. She had them lying in wait for this purpose, if she just so happened to find herself in a tight spot. "Fall back!" I yelled, waving my hands towards the direction of the motel. I paid no mind to Eliza, as she had probably already fled the scene. I fired off a couple of well aimed head shots as I retreated, but that did nothing to dent the numbers of the oncoming horde. Brian and Jack split up and headed for the trucks while the rest of us gathered the family and whatever belongings we good grab. I stood post at the door, taking shots at the occasional fast movie zombie. My horizon was slowly turning gray, and by gray I mean rotting maggot infested flesh. "Let's go in there!" I yelled as I rang off another couple shots. 100 yards of clear space left and it was rapidly decreasing. Brian and Jack pulled up right beside me. I climbed on the truck and took my position as everybody filed out of the doorway and into the cars. Our space for escape was little if not gone. "Run through them on the left side and ride south!" I yelled to Brian. He took the lead in from of Jack and gun it towards the horde. I fired as many shots as possible to create an open. "Hold tight!" was all I could muster before the truck contacted with the wall of the undead. I might've squealed like a little girl, but I still claim that was from me holding Henry too tight. He looked up at me as if to say 'You're not blaming that one on me, buddy.' That dog is too smart for his own damn good. The sea of dead crashed to and fro against the sides of the cars. Decrepit decaying hands reached out over the truck bed walls reaching for a warm meal. I hugged myself tight against the wall watching the hands hover above. Everybody followed suit and clenched their eyes shut, trying to imagine a better place; any place that wasn't the bed of a truck surrounded by the undead. After what seemed to be an eternity of trying to reengage in that dream with Kim, the speed picked up and the truck rocketed forward. My eyes fluttered open and I was relieved when my vision didn't include hungry hands. I brought myself to my knees and looked back at the horde of dead 300 ghouls strong. My eyes narrowed in on something strange. In an uninterrupted line, zombies were being pushed aside like they had been hit with an angled plow. Mental note; find an angled plow. My first thought was that a survivor had saw our small caravan and decided it was now or never to get help. I brought up the scope on my AR and zeroed in on the survivor with balls of steel. What I wasn't expecting was to see a ghoul in full control of his decomposing body shoving aside his brethren to catch its prey. I took a shot but watched as a stumbling zombie fell victim to the bullet. Not only was this thing fast, but it was a master in disguise. It was perfectly camouflaged. Its head dipped up and down as in plowed on through. Others caught on and had taken notice to this zombie anomaly. Shots ranged out but not one had hit its target. This thing was fast. Not like me-running-for-my-life fast. Like a well-trained-Olympic-athlete fast. It felt no pain, no fatigue and no remorse for the soul-devoid vessels that he cast to the side in his pursuit. "Stop!" I yelled out.The vehicles slowed to a stop and we abandoned the cars. The people aware of the threat showed those who weren't through rifle scopes and binoculars. A firing line formed with every one of us standing full attention, even Henry.He emerged out of the crowd and made a bee line towards us, chewing up the 200 yard buffer like it was nothing. His skin had been torn away from ear to ear, exposing decaying muscle barely holding together its blackened teeth. Its short hair matted with blackened blood, just like the rest of his body. A shirt barely hung on its dainty frame, swaying like a cape as he ran."Wait!" I yelled back to everyone as I unhooked my tanto edge machete. I'm sure I heard people yell my nam
"Talbot!" It's amazing how I even woke up to that. I've been hearing so many people scream my name lately (and not in a good way if you catch my drift) that it's just as customary as the moans of the dead, which should definitely not be part of the norm. My eyes fluttered open. Goodbye Kim Kardashian, hello zombie apocalypse. I zombie-shuffled over to the motel room door, resting my hands against the cool metal as I looked through the peephole. This rundown motel was our refuge for the night. We combed through every room, making sure we weren't about to set up camp next to a group of hibernating deaders. Probably was going to be the last good night sleep for a while considering the cloud of doom that constantly loomed overhead. As my eye touched down on the peephole, all I could see was a grey-green rotted piece of flesh passing up over the glass. "You've got to be shitting me!" Unbeknownst to me, a crowd had begun to form around me. I shot off the door rubbing my eyes in disbelief. 'Was I still dreaming?' I thought to myself. If so, Sir Licks-a-lot was not a fair trade for Kim. "He's back! I'm sick of this guy licking my peephole!" "What are you going on about Talbot? Trust me, no one here wants to lick your peephole," BT chimed in before his baritone laughter took over. 'Ha, peephole,' okay I have to admit that never gets old. "Yeah, real funny there, Green Mile," I quipped. "Not cool, man. Not cool." "Sorry," I said. I looked back through the peephole, seeing Sir Licks-a-lot idly standing there, as if he was staring through the door at me. "I swear I killed this guy," I said to no one in particular, "There's no way that there's more than one zombie that licks peepholes." "Dad, I'm semi-possessed and I'm not as screwed up as you are." "Yeah, morning to you too, Justin." I took my side arm out of its holster and placed my hand on the door knob, turning it then quickly forcing it open. The momentum was enough to make the zombie stagger back. Before it could raise its arms in the typical zombie fashion, I raised mine. I found its forehead with the sights and let the gun do the rest. His head snapped back, the bullet forcefully escaping though the back of its decaying skull. "Yeah, try licking my peephole now." There's no way I actually said these things out loud. I'm not always that unfiltered, am I? Laughter quickly broke out from the doorway and spread to me, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. "Talbot!"I was so wrapped up extinguishing my old friend that I had completely forgotten the reason I looked outside in the first place. Durgan was standing in the middle of the street. A few deaders staggered around the area, but it was nothing like the usual army that usually followed him around. "Guys, suit up!" I slightly turned my head, yelling back to the motel room, never taking my eyes off of Durgan. Within 30 seconds, there was a five-man army standing behind me: Travis and Justin; bred from my crazy-ass genes, BT; one of the two biggest and most intimidating men I've ever met, and my two new friends who've proved to be nothing but noble thus far; Brian and Jack. They were definitely a team I was proud to have backing me up. "What do you want, Durgan?""I want you, Talbot!""Woah, woah, woah, I'm not that easy. Maybe a nice fancy dinner and a bottle of wine will increase your chances," I put on a crooked smile as his face turned red from the anger welling up inside."You know what I meant, you shithead. You and me, right now, Talbot.""Where's your owner, ya mutt?" I retorted.He swallowed down the majority of his anger before answering."My mistress has given me permission to play with you. Trust me, she is not far."I didn't doubt him for a second. I could still feel her presence, and it was evident that Justin could too. There was something else in the air; a near tangible feeling that was comforting yet ominous. 'So this is it? This is the end of the road for me' I thought to myself. I noticed how Durgan emphasized the word 'play' and it wasn't looking good for me. Damn it, I've seen that light so many times that I doubt they'd even let me travel down that tunnel again. BT craned his head over from behind me, speaking in a low voice. "Let me take him. He'll kill you, Talbot, you know it.""Thanks for the words of encouragement big guy." I said dryly. "You know what I meant, ya priss. It's not supposed to end here for you, Mike.""Woah, Mike? You never use my real name. Aww, you big softy, you care about me," I said, teasing the gentle giant."You know what? I think you can take him, Talbot. See you on the other side."My faced strained as I sorted out all possible outcomes, but no matter what, the ending wasn't good. I'd die if I went against Durgan, and that was the brutal truth. The man was a solid wall of muscle held together by an infernal rage towards me. He would skin me alive if he could, and that was definitely not out of the realm of possibility."My friend over here has a suggestion. How about you fight him instead?"BT's face split with his ear to ear smile."You two both have a leg handicap, so it should be a fair fight."BT's smile disappeared."Sorry, buddy," I said looking back at him."Watch it germaphoibe, or I might have to rethink our arrangement… again.""You know what?" Durgan said a little louder than necessary, breaking the banter between BT and I, "I'll take on the nigger, and then I'll kill you, Talbot." A smug look broke out on his face as he said my name."All right, you white ass little bitch, bring it on!" BT yelled from behind me. I'm not going to lie; I jumped at least a foot as his powerhouse voice almost literally scared the shit out of me. Yeah, I shit and jumped at the same time. I might've peed a little too. Sue me."BT, the kids!" Tracy yelled from the doorway.Tracy's words seemed to just bounce off of BT's wall of a back as he lamely progressed towards Durgan. He slapped his guns into my unready arms, nearly knocking me over."Break a leg!" I yelled without thinking. I really have to stop doing that. If the zombies didn't cause my demise, my mouth sure would. "Seriously, Talbot?" BT said, turning back to as if he didn't know I was capable of having such a small filter. "What? You know I don't think before I speak."Durgan wore the biggest shit-eating grin his muscle bound face could sustain. Yeah, his face even had muscles; it was ridiculous. Eliza was definitely pumping him full of vampire steroids or something. Durgan charged full speed, head leveled with BT's chest, like a bull aiming for the red. Durgan's shoulder connected with BT's chest. He slid back, the soles of his shoes scraping away against the pavement, but his legs never faltered. Durgan forced BT off of him when he realized that his poor attempt at grappling proved futile.For such a big guy, BT was quick, but so was Durgan. Evil coursed through his pencil-thick veins; giving him the only advantage that he had in this situation. BT let go a right hook that landed solidly against Durgan's cheek. The dislocating of his jaw was audible, but did little to send shivers up my spine. I was too desensitized for that at this point. Just like being at a hockey game, we cheered for every hit that landed and encouraged with every hit taken (if you didn't think 'Bruins' when I said that, this journal isn't for you).Durgan stumbled back, catching himself on his hands, like an inebriated bum getting tossed out of a bar. His hands wandered to his slack jaw, retreating away as soon as the slightest touch was made. "Hurt?" BT mocked, relishing in Durgan's pain.But his words only seemed to fuel the muscle bound giant. He quickly regained his composure and charged. BT flew back onto the concrete, Durgan on top, aiming for the kill. Durgan cocked his arm back, but this only gave BT the time he needed to assess and react to the situation. Durgan's hand slipping right passed BT's head as he pulled it to the side. Durgan screamed out in pain, giving BT the opportunity the propel Durgan off with a forceful groan. "Come on! Are you kidding me? Kick his ass already!"I couldn't help but jostle BT a bit. Besides from aggravating him, it gave him a little extra incentive to win faster so he could come kick my ass."Yeah, like that's not what I'm trying to do right now you Yankee bitch," BT said as he quickly got to his feet. "That hurts BT, you know I'm a diehard Red Sox fan." Do you think we were taking the situation a little too lightly? Well if this was my last few minutes on Earth, I'd like it to be filled with at least a few laughs. Truth is I was a little scared. Not so much scared for BT, 'cause I'm pretty sure nothing short of a tank could take that son of a bitch out, but for my family. Eliza had a plan here, but I'd be damned if we didn't give it all we had. She had a plan, but we had the will.Albeit there wasn't the usual horde that followed around Eliza, like the most obedient puppy dogs, there were still a few staggering deaders combing the area. I pointed to Travis and in no time my messaged was manifested in the 5 quick shots that dispatched our unwanted guests. Durgan shot his head up in fear, thinking we were getting involved in his futile scuffle. BT never faltered. He knew we were the only ones that used guns, and took this opportune time to send a jab flying towards Durgan's nose, but somehow, by some indevine intervention, he dodged it, but his thinking wasn't as quick as BT's. BT used his off target punch to bring his hand back behind Durgan's head, pulling it down toward his upward flying knee. Blood spewed out from Durgan's now broken nose. Even a Beverly Hill's doctor couldn't save this bastard's face now.He went down, wind forcing its way past his detached jaw. I knew it must've taken quite a toll on BT's leg; resting all his weight on it while administering that crippling blow. Durgan tried to scramble to grab BT's legs, but it was no use. He joined his hands together and brought the club down on Durgan's back, like an angry gorilla (I swear that wasn't meant to be racist).With one final curb stomp it would be all over. My time with Durgan flashed before my eyes; our wonderful time at the hardware store and pushing him around in his wheelchair… although I did leave him in it to get swarmed by the living dead. My musings were cut short by something that made my stomach and heart both crawl up into my throat. Eliza placed herself between BT's executing progression and Durgan. Where the hell did she even come from? She raised her hand and BT stopped, but not by his own will. His feet began to lift off the ground, hot air forcing its way out of his clenched teeth in futile resistance. 'Oh dear God; is this how it ends? Getting crushed by a BT wrecking ball?' I made sure not to say that one out loud. He'd probably break her demonic hold just to pummel me. I do have some filter, ya know."Hello, Mike," Eliza said with something that looked like a genuine smile, "it's nice to see you.""Always a pleasure," I said, drolly. You think she picked up on the sarcasm?What happened next tore my heart further than it ever had been. Tommy came forth out of the tree line, his gaze never releasing me from its grasp. There was something different though; there was no ear-to-ear smile, pop tart remnants in the corner of his lips, or crinkle of wrappers in his pocket as he walked. The light in his eyes had disappeared, replaced by two sunken obsidian orbs, devoid of any soul. "Tommy!" Travis yelled, letting his guard down to charge his lost but not forgotten friend – his brother. I put my arm out to stop him before he could go far. Any more momentum and I would've clothes-lined the poor kid. "No," I said sternly, "there's something wrong here.""Dad, what are you talking about? It's Tommy!" His emotions clouded his perception."He's right, Travis. Tommy isn't here anymore. You may address me only as Tomas.""What's happened to you, Tommy?" I asked, nearly choking on the words as they came out. "I told you; Tommy isn't here anymore," he retorted quickly with no sense of emotion in his voice.'Oh, Tommy, what has she done to you,' I kept thinking"Mike, don't forget I can still hear your thoughts. She has made me stronger."Eliza smiled back at her brother in satisfaction. She was proud of her pet. Let's just hope Tommy has a plan to bite the wicked hand which feeds. Eliza bent her hand forward, and in one fluid motion, BT flew back a couple feet before arching towards the ground. "You, okay?" I yelled out, never letting go of the soul wrenching stare engaged between the Queen of the Damned and I. "Never better," BT said not-so-reassuringly between his clenched teeth."Pathetic excuse for a servant," Eliza snarled as she approached Durgan's near lifeless body. "My apologies, my Mistress," he tried to say over the obscurity of his dislocated jaw. She levitated him the same way she had to BT, but brought her hand forcefully across his face. For the second time that day, I heard that audible pop, but this time it was the sound of his jaw being relocated. The scream that was issued forth from Durgan's powerful lungs was like a dinner bell to zombie miles around."Quick fight, huh?" I asked BT rhetorically, patting him on the back, and reissuing him his ordnance. "Well get me some real competition and I'll give ya a better show.""Where are your friends?" I asked, not really wanting an answer. I could do without more 'dinner guests' for as long as possible."They're resting. My minions grow quite weary. You insignificant mortals have seemed to dwindle down to such low numbers very fast. I expected more of a fight – some will-driven resilience."She smiled! She was like a kid on Christmas about the whole situation. She loved how the human race had crashed to their knees so fast. She watched on relished in the fact that even as the world was in utter turmoil, people still turned against their brethren instead of banding together as the world's greatest predator quickly too reign. Fuck civility. The pursuit of happiness was gone; now it's just the pursuit of survival, but so many people had just refused to survive. It would be so much easier to just give up, but that's not what life is about. Dying is easy, living is the hard part. "So that's what that is," I said, suppressing my building rage, "they're hibernating now that there's less food around. How long can they stay like that?"The hordes of zombies in stasis proved to be a huge threat. They occupied areas all around the country, and you wouldn't even know they were there until it was too late. But how did they get in those places? Even structures with closed doors just so happened to house these hibernating zombies, like someone had opened the doors for them. Eliza was tucking her children in for a nap. "You need not worry about that, Mike," she said matter-of-factly, "you will be gone long before they are.""You seem so sure of yourself," I responded boldly, trying not to choke on the fear that I was swallowing down. Truth was; I believed her. I've been scraped by the jaws of death too many times to not know that my luck was quickly running out.
* * *
"Travis," a voice said nonchalantly, with nearly, if any, emotion. I looked around, trying to find the source of the monotone. Travis," it said again. It was in my head. "What?" I said out loud. Justin turned to me with a 'who the hell are you talking to' look. "Sorry; thinking out loud." "Yeah, well it's obvious your dad's kid. There goes my adoption theory." "Hey I'm not the one who's half zombie," I retorted. "Yeah, you better hope I don't bit you either." Now that shut me up. I wonder if his bite had the same effects that a zombie bite had. "Travis," the voice called out, but surprisingly with no sense of impatience. "What?" I replied, making sure it was just in thought this time. "Look under the bathroom sink." It was Tommy. The voice was so unfamiliar without its usual cheerful nature. "Tommy! Tommy, what'd she do to you, buddy? We've missed you so – "Tommy is no longer her, Travis, and he will not be coming back." I thought I heard some resent in that statement, but maybe it was just my mind wanting to find some remnants of the old Tommy. I tried to call back to him, but there was no response. Either he had broken the connection or he was just ignoring me, but he told me something for a reason. I snuck my way out from the front line and headed for the door. Mom saw me coming, noticing the determination plastered across my face. She didn't bother to question nor stop me. There were three bathrooms between the rooms that we had been occupying. I rifled through the first one, only to find stacked up rolls of toilet paper. I don't think the decaying, previously soaked rolls of toilet paper were what Tommy wanted me to find. I moved on to the next sink only the find the same thing, but with an added bonus: a dead rat. Of course it was in the last place I looked. Isn't that how things always worked out for us Talbots? Behind the façade of toilet paper was a slingshot surrounded with a necklace garnished with garlic. "Thanks, Tommy," I said out loud, a smile finding its way across my face. I started back to outside, but stopped short, catching myself on a doorframe. If I went outside she'd see me and what I was about to do. Was I really about to shoot garlic from a sling shot at a vampire who almost literally scared the shit outta me? Justin was right; I am my dad's kid. I ran up the stairs, searching for the door that led to the roof. I perched myself against the dilapidated motel sign and slung the garlic around myself like a bandolier. Eliza had a finger pointed towards dad, most likely reassuring him of his impending death. I don't know if she knows this or not, but it's damn near impossible to kill that man. Don't ask me why, but he just won't stay down. Now, I was going to make him proud. I grabbed a piece of garlic and broke it into individual cloves, keeping one in my hand as I shoved the remaining pieces of mythological ammo into my jacket pocket. I drew my arm back and took steady aim, inhaling, trying to judge my surroundings. The wind was relatively calm but had a tendency to surprise, and as for the distance, there was about 40 feet between me and my target. And with one drawn out exhale the garlic clove sailed through the air. By some form of divine intervention, it struck home; head shot. Garlic shrapnel littered Eliza's face, while smoke began surface and wisp along her flesh. She let out the most violent scream I've ever heard; a scream that said 'I'm in absolute pain and I will destroy who ever caused it.' But before her scream even reached full pitch, I had another clove knocked on the slingshot and let that one fly. I received the same result as the first one. It struck her in the hands as she tried to clear her face of the caustic garlic remnants. Everyone's face expressed utter confusion as to what had happened. Dad looked up at me and I gave a quick smile before darting back down the stairs.* * * One second I was being told about I would be kept alive as my skin sizzled off while being forced to watch my family was tossed into the pits of the hungry undead and the next I hear the most guttural, soul shattering scream I've ever heard. I looked left and right, looking for answers, but was only met with the same confused look reflected back at me. I saw a glimpse of something fly through the air, right before it struck Eliza. I looked up and around to find the source. Travis was perched against the motel sign, a slingshot in hand. Within a second he was gone, on his way back down. Eliza let down her hands, smoke continued to pour off of her face, as if she wasn't scary enough. She let out one more scream, but this one wasn't from pain; it was a commanding roar. Her undead servants began to flood the area, emerging from the tree line and stumbling down the highway. She had them lying in wait for this purpose, if she just so happened to find herself in a tight spot. "Fall back!" I yelled, waving my hands towards the direction of the motel. I paid no mind to Eliza, as she had probably already fled the scene. I fired off a couple of well aimed head shots as I retreated, but that did nothing to dent the numbers of the oncoming horde. Brian and Jack split up and headed for the trucks while the rest of us gathered the family and whatever belongings we good grab. I stood post at the door, taking shots at the occasional fast movie zombie. My horizon was slowly turning gray, and by gray I mean rotting maggot infested flesh. "Let's go in there!" I yelled as I rang off another couple shots. 100 yards of clear space left and it was rapidly decreasing. Brian and Jack pulled up right beside me. I climbed on the truck and took my position as everybody filed out of the doorway and into the cars. Our space for escape was little if not gone. "Run through them on the left side and ride south!" I yelled to Brian. He took the lead in from of Jack and gun it towards the horde. I fired as many shots as possible to create an open. "Hold tight!" was all I could muster before the truck contacted with the wall of the undead. I might've squealed like a little girl, but I still claim that was from me holding Henry too tight. He looked up at me as if to say 'You're not blaming that one on me, buddy.' That dog is too smart for his own damn good. The sea of dead crashed to and fro against the sides of the cars. Decrepit decaying hands reached out over the truck bed walls reaching for a warm meal. I hugged myself tight against the wall watching the hands hover above. Everybody followed suit and clenched their eyes shut, trying to imagine a better place; any place that wasn't the bed of a truck surrounded by the undead. After what seemed to be an eternity of trying to reengage in that dream with Kim, the speed picked up and the truck rocketed forward. My eyes fluttered open and I was relieved when my vision didn't include hungry hands. I brought myself to my knees and looked back at the horde of dead 300 ghouls strong. My eyes narrowed in on something strange. In an uninterrupted line, zombies were being pushed aside like they had been hit with an angled plow. Mental note; find an angled plow. My first thought was that a survivor had saw our small caravan and decided it was now or never to get help. I brought up the scope on my AR and zeroed in on the survivor with balls of steel. What I wasn't expecting was to see a ghoul in full control of his decomposing body shoving aside his brethren to catch its prey. I took a shot but watched as a stumbling zombie fell victim to the bullet. Not only was this thing fast, but it was a master in disguise. It was perfectly camouflaged. Its head dipped up and down as in plowed on through. Others caught on and had taken notice to this zombie anomaly. Shots ranged out but not one had hit its target. This thing was fast. Not like me-running-for-my-life fast. Like a well-trained-Olympic-athlete fast. It felt no pain, no fatigue and no remorse for the soul-devoid vessels that he cast to the side in his pursuit. "Stop!" I yelled out.The vehicles slowed to a stop and we abandoned the cars. The people aware of the threat showed those who weren't through rifle scopes and binoculars. A firing line formed with every one of us standing full attention, even Henry.He emerged out of the crowd and made a bee line towards us, chewing up the 200 yard buffer like it was nothing. His skin had been torn away from ear to ear, exposing decaying muscle barely holding together its blackened teeth. Its short hair matted with blackened blood, just like the rest of his body. A shirt barely hung on its dainty frame, swaying like a cape as he ran."Wait!" I yelled back to everyone as I unhooked my tanto edge machete. I'm sure I heard people yell my nam
March 5, 2012
FanFic Contest week 1 ~ Saving Jebediah By Doug Ward
Doug Ward owns all rights to the following work, which may not be copied or used without express permission in writing by him. Enjoy:
Saving Jebediah
It was many weeks after the initial outbreak of zombies that we saw our first one. You have to understand, I live in the mountains of West Virginia in an extremely small town called Helvetia. Our current population has to be less than sixty and we're surrounded by mountainous wilderness. That's why we took little notice of the countries plight. Sure, the news from outside our area went deader than a stinkbug left out in the cold but we're used that sort of thing. Winters can be long and hard so you just stock up on food and fuel for the generator. I was just thinking that it was a great time to settle down to a good book and wait for the countries media to get back online. The last reports were disturbing, about all those city slickers getting their flu shots and then they all got sick. Nothing big, just blown out of proportion. That was until it came right up to my doorstep. I live in an old white aluminum sided farmhouse just on the outskirts of town. The house sits about a stone throw from the general store. I don't have much family around here since ma and pa died. Just me and my great uncle Jebediah. He lives out in the hills, just off the road to Holly River State Park. It seemed like I had just lit a fire in the wood burner, with my handy pocket lighter, and settled onto my couch for an early afternoon nap when I heard someone pounding on my door. The peculiar thing is that the pounding was really rapidly. Nobody around here does anything quickly. This urgency sent me into action. I hoofed it across the room and yanked open the door only to find old Stan Drucker, white smock covered in blood, holding his arm against his chest. His legs were pumping up and down as he hurried looks over his shoulder. "Hurry up Max," he said pushing his way from my cement porch and into my living room. "What happened to you," I stammered trailing behind him as he made his way into my kitchen. "One of those campers came in looking like death warmed over. I asked him if he'd gotten into a bottle and he bit me." Stan replied while running a stream of water over the gaping wound on his arm. I helped the store owner dry and wrap his limb in a dish towel and directed him into my living room so he could lie down. "Holy crap!" I yelled as a bizarre nightmare stepped up onto my porch and was lurching toward the open door. It was dressed in a plaid shirt with kaki shorts and was missing part of its cheek. The smell assaulted me as I ran to intercept the intruder. The apparition put one hand on the doorframe, and was reaching inside for me with the other when my Marine training took hold. You have to understand that being a Talbot, it's almost a requirement that I spend some amount of time in the military. My flavor of service was the Marine Corp. At the time, the training I received didn't seem so useful. Little did I know just how useful it would become. I chopped his outstretched arm up and away then delivered a side kick to this guys mid-section knocking him from the small porch. Recovering quickly I swung the door closed and drove the dead bolt home. Stan was on the couch shivering, sweat beading on his brow. Now I am not going to try to fool anyone. In this isolated mountainous region, television is spotty at best. I have watched a lot of zombie movies in life and I immediately put the pieces together. What I had thought was some freak hoax over the TV now became crystal clear as I pictured the creature I had so recently kicked off my cement landing. I sped to my bedroom and pulled the 9mm Glock from my nightstand. I was shoving the clip home just as a dull thump sounded outside the living room door. Not having time to ready any of my other guns I hurried back into my living room and chambered a round. A series of low thumps followed as, I assume, the zombie camper was trying to figure out the door. I wasn't going to give him the chance. Twisting the knob which released the deadbolt and in a single motion I threw open the door while swinging the gun into the open portal at head height. Nothing was there. Panic seized me as I swiveled my weapon looking for my quarry. A wet hand latched onto my ankle. Trying to free myself, I fell backwards, ankles still angled toward the now open door. Another hand slapped home. This time it grasped my opposite calf. As I looked down I could see the blood stained mouth poised to plunge down upon my unprotected legs. I leaned to my left swinging the Glock around and taking a desperate wild shot. The 9mm round took the zombie camper through the forehead blowing out a small section of the back of it's skull. I never saw the bullet striking the target but I felt the bulk of it's weight slump heavily onto my lower legs. Relief flooded my body as I lay there regaining my composure. A moment later, I felt disgusted by the corpse pinning me to the floor. Although it's body was slack it took a whole lot of kicking to free myself from it's tight grasp. As I resumed an upright position I could see why it wasn't standing when I opened the door. The undead creatures right leg was broken. A decent length of it's thigh bone protruding from under it's gore covered shorts. With my foot, I pushed the now still body far enough outside the door to assure its closing and once again secured the entryway. Remembering the events leading up to the struggle I brought my attention back to Stan. He was no longer on the couch. I could hear him vomiting into the kitchen sink. As I entered the small country style kitchen I saw Stan, his back arching as he dry heaved. Red soaked the towel covering his wound. Thin rivulets of blood flowed down his arm and across his hand as he leaned on the counter over the sink. "What's happening Max," the old shopkeeper asked in a thin voice, not turning around. I slid the weapon into the waistband at the back of my jeans and softly, in my calmest voice soothed, "It's ok Stan. I just had to take care of the camper. He won't bother us again." "No Max!" He said as he slowly turned around. "What's happening to me?" Stan's skin was visibly gray and covered with sweat. His red-rimmed eyes had sunk as they they peered out of two dark holes in his head. In silence he began unwrapping his arm. It had stopped bleeding but the edges of the wound were an angry black. It looked painful. The worst part of it was the smell. It emitted the sweet stench of rotting flesh. "Am I gonna become like that camper?" Stan asked in a small voice. "Not on my watch," I responded following that up with the most confident smile I could muster. We spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning and treating the bite. We used sterile gauze and made it as comfortable for him as we could. I tried telling him soothing things and buoying his spirits but he was silent throughout the whole procedure. The weirdest thing was that while cleaning and binding the wound, things that should have hurt Stan didn't seem faze him at all. Finally when it was all done we retired to the living room to decide our next course of action. My first thought was to let Stan rest. I quickly dismissed that idea because if he didn't get some immediate help, well, I've seen enough movies to get a pretty good idea of what he would become next. Just as I was about to suggest going to the hospital, about an hours drive, my eyes fell to the picture on the now useless TV. The frame held the last picture of my uncle Jebediah Talbot. My good old Talbot sense of honor kicked in and I knew I had to alert him to the possible danger of the zombie apocalypse. "Stan," I broke the silence. "We need to get you to a doctor. The hospital is about an hour away, what do ya say about a little road trip?" He just nodded and I figured while I had him in the mood, "Let's stop and get my uncle, he's on the way." Stan made no indication either way so I took that as an accent and went to the window to see what it looked like outside. My first thought was all is quiet. That's when I spied Audrey, she ran the local restaurant. It's actually the front room of a house. I told you there was less than sixty people in this town. Audrey seemed to be walking a little too zombieish for my liking and remembering the dead camper on the porch I decided the back door would be the best escape route. Besides, my truck was at the side of the house so either way would be just as close as the other. I grabbed my Browning 12 gauge from my gun rack and pulled a few fists full of shells for it and the Glock, out of my china cupboard drawer. Stuffing them in my hoodie's pocket I rejoined Stan in the kitchen and prepared for our exit. The back of the house looked clear. No visible undead. So quietly, I lead Stan to the truck and got him in with no trouble. Stan was becoming unresponsive, possibly going into shock. I was going to have trouble keeping an eye on him and driving so while I helped buckle him in I pulled the belt really tight. As I was crossing to my side I heard a distant gun shot from the direction we were about to go. The truck, my pride and joy, fired up on the first try. It was a black Ford F 150 I had almost literally stolen from a dealer in Morgantown. The truck was Canadian, I know, all Fords are Canadian, but this one was made for Canada. It's speedometer and mileage indicator were in metric so they couldn't get rid of it. That meant I got it for a song. As we drove through town, which consists of about three blocks, I saw Audrey had caught sight of Erin, one of my former classmates, and was putting on a good chase. Now Audrey was no spring chicken, but living the hard life out here, we are typically in better shape than most city joggers. Erin was holding her own, but it seemed she'd eventually lose the race, so I gunned the engine and asking her forgiveness under my breath, I ran Audrey down. A terrible thump recorded her head bouncing off the hood of my F 150 and she slid under the truck as we drove on past. I didn't want to look back but human nature took over and I could see her crumpled form in the middle of the road. Drops of Audrey's blood flowed in red streams toward me, across my trucks hood, as I raced ahead and paralleled Erin who continued running. Her eyes were glued straight ahead. I tried honking the horn to get her attention but she kept running. Finally, I pushed the button to lower the passenger window and leaning forward I shouted, "Erin, it's ok. Stop running and we will take you in the truck." For a moment she seemed to slow. I could see her eyes darting toward the truck in order to catch a quick glance. Then she slowly turned her head and her eyes locked on Stan sitting in the passenger side. Shock registered on her face and a whine sounded between gasping breaths. She quickly changed direction and ran straight into the outstretched arms of Mr. Grady. They fell in a tangle of arms and legs but I could tell, in the side view mirror, that his teeth found their mark by the spray of blood from what looked like her neck region. He probably hit an artery. I tore my eyes from the horrifying scene and glanced at Stan. He turned to meet my eyes and I watched a thin string of drool pull free from his lap. "How you feeling Stan?" I asked. He just turned to back to his original position of looking out the passenger side window. A chill ran down my back as I pondered how long I'd have before Stan would possibly turn. What was I going to do if he turns in the truck. We were out of town in seconds. I don't need to remind you it's a small town. The road changed just as fast to the usual dirt road as we sped off towards my uncles cabin. Dust made a thick cloud behind us covering the rear window with the powder. About a half mile up the road I had to swerve to avoid several bodies lying in various places on the road. My tires skidding on the unpaved surface as our forward motion came to an end. The trailing cloud enveloped my truck as it overtook us with it's momentum. Losing it's density it still made a thin veil through which I could still make out the blockade. Ahead was a steel one lane bridge. Sitting in the middle of the bridge was a big gray primer colored Chevy truck, facing away from us. I was all too familiar with the owner of this vehicle. Three big guy in various pieces of camouflage and flannel were sitting in the back with menacing looking rifles. I took my foot off the brake and slowly moved forward until the biggest guy stood up and aimed his gun at us. The other two mimicked his movement raising their own weapons. I hastily brought us to a stop again and dropped the truck into park. Through the thinning haze of dust I could see the larger man leap down from the rear of the Chevy. With the gun once again held directly at me he called out, "that you Max Talbot?" I knew it was Bo Jones by his size and his perpetually, almost ready to paint, truck. To say we weren't friends was an understatement. I had broken up with his little sister and he had personally taken it upon himself to make my every moment as miserable as possible. When I returned from the military Bo kept a cool distance from me. Never threatening me but never welcoming either. I rolled down the window and responded, "Yeah, now get that piece of crap Chevy off the bridge before I use a real truck ta push it outta the way!" Bo continued his careful walking-while-aiming gate toward us. Slow measured steps closing the distance. The cloud of road dust had nearly dispersed but had settled on the windshield partially obscuring the view both in and out. "Put your hands out the window and open the door,!" Bo demanded 16 gauge shotgun still leveled at me. "Now how am I supposed to do that?" I replied sarcastically. "Use the outside handle dummy," he responded coolly. He was now close enough to speak in a normal voice. Opening the handle proved harder than you'd think. When the door unlatched I pitched forward off balance. As I fell forward I was greeted with a gun barrel sliding past my face and a loud roar as the 16 gauge fired. I shifted my weight rolling to my left as I continued my fall. The deafening gun shot sound was replaced with a loud ringing in my ear as I fell face first onto the ground. Everything went black.
*********
I awoke on the road beside my truck. Right ear ringing as I propped myself up on my left elbow. Bo, Jim, and Bert sitting around me in different states of recline. "What the heck was that about?" I yelled at Bo, realizing my mistake as the ringing increased to a high pitched wine as I spoke. My right hand immediately cupped the offending area. The boys rolled back hooting with laughter. Bert, literally rolling on his back holding his belly as his flannel and camo covered body shook with waves mirth. "You shouldda seen yerself doing that face plant," Jim explained through tobacco stained teeth. "You shot at me," I said returning to my original question swiveling back toward Bo with one hand still holding my ear. "No," he said. "I was shooting at him." he pointed at my still open truck door. I could see the blood spatters on the little bit of windshield viewable from my current position. I rose unsteadily to my feet, reeling from my recent ear trauma. There, in the midst of all the gore, was Ole Stan Drucker. Headless, mind you. "It was reaching for you when I came up beside the truck," Bo said solemnly. "I had to act fast. Who was he?" I explained the events from earlier that day. They all lowered their eyes when I told them who had been with me. After I had finished I listened to their own stories. It seems they were out hunting when they came across their first undead. Being rednecks, those zombies didn't stand a chance. "What are you gonna do now?" asked Jim. "Your welcome to join us," offered Bo. Looking back at my blood splattered truck cab I was having second thoughts about jumping in there. I had no idea how the illness or whatever it was jumped from person to person. I had first hand knowledge of it being transferred through a bite but what if it could occur from a scratch. I quickly looked at my lower pant legs. For the first time I saw what the zombie camper had done to my jeans. Blood and a greasy stain was all over the front of the lower trouser legs. I gingerly lifted the pant leg where the creature had grabbed my ankle and it was clean. No scratches. As I dropped my jeans to inspect the opposite calf I heard the boys gasp! "Hey!" Bert blurted out. "We run a family Zombie Hunter Squad here!" he chuckled exaggeratedly waving both hands in the air while closing his eyes as tightly as possible. "If you want to continue killing the undead today then you'll have to put your pants back on please." The others roared again in laughter as they feigned embarrassment. My face flushed as I hurried to inspect myself for any wounds. Finding none, I pulled my pants back in place and quickly closed my button and fly. It was obvious. I couldn't take my truck and risk possible infection. But I needed to get to Uncle Jeb. He could be in danger. "Can I get a ride?" I asked no one in particular. Bo grinned, "Sure Talbot, I hope you won't mind riding in a piece of crap Chevy?" he mocked pointing to his bumper sticker of a boy peeing on a Ford symbol. "I deserve that," I agreed retrieving my Glock from where it had fallen out of my waistband. My shotgun was a loss in the truck so I passed my 12 gauge shells on to Bert who was sporting the same exact gun, make and all. "Where are we off to?" Bo asked leaning out of the open truck cab. "I need to make sure my uncle Jebediah is ok." Everyone froze. I guess I should explain. My uncle Jeb is rumored locally, and I guess even regionally, to be crazy. I don't think he's crazy. He's a survival nut. A Korean War veteran, he had came back and wanted to stay away from people. To hide from the world. He'd had enough of everything and just dropped off of the grid. Not that there was much grid to speak of down in these hills but that just made it that much easier for him to disappear. I climbed up into the bed of the pick-up and they all piled into the cab. I noticed a few sideways glances from them before I settled with my back to the cabs rear window. As my eyes grew heavy from the events of the last few hours I could hear them arguing about what they should call themselves. The Redneck Zombie Clean-up Crew... The Hillbilly Headshot Posse. I woke to the sound of shotgun firing and the hooting of my saviors. Gripping the side of the truck bed I hauled myself up to see what was happening. Bo and the boys had leapt from the truck and were off the road about twenty yards looking at something in the grass. I quickly surveyed my surroundings for any danger and feeling relatively safe I took a seat on the cab roof. In the movies, the living always seem to have boundless energy. Constantly on the move, never taking a moment to rest or even relieve themselves. In reality I was exhausted. Coming off of the adrenaline rush I could have went right back to sleep. I never did get that nap back at home. Curiosity got the best of me as I rose once again and hopped down from the full-sized pickup. The dirt road gave way to brush as I approached my travel mates. "What ya got?" I asked to no one in general. "Bert shot us an eight point. The animals seem to be running scared!" Jim replied wiping his bloodstained knife in some grass. "I think them zombies are causing the critters to panic." "We saw all kinda game just run right if front of the truck while you were taking yer nap," intoned Bo. "We stopped so we could shoot us some supper. Those zombies are probably the reason we got skunked while hunt'en this morning." "Or it could be cause Bert ate all them baked beans last night," Jim chirped through a brown toothed grin. "Just keep that up and I won't share my cabbage stew with ya," answered Bert with a good natured shove. Trueborn hunters the trio had the deer field dressed and ready to butcher in no time. As Bo carried the carcass back to the truck Jim asked in a small uncertain voice, "You don't think this ole deer is gonna get up and try to chomp on us do ya?" Everyone stopped walking. Turning toward the group with the bucks head hanging over his broad shoulder Bo answered. "We'll keep him in the bed with Talbot. If he turns, won't be no loss." A slow nervous grin spread across his face but his comment brought no sign of mirth from the rest of the group. All eyes were on the carcass mostly hidden behind their leaders bulky frame. As Bo turned and continued on to the truck Jim bent and picked up a twig. He poked at the field dressed body with an air of caution, half expecting the beast to react to the torment. We didn't attempt to stop him. I think we were all waiting to see what would happen next. Back at the truck Bo dumped the body into the bed of the primer gray pickup, shocks reacting, squeaking loudly in protest to the sudden weight. "Yer uncles cabin is over the next mountain, so jump in with your new bunk mate," Bo mocked while doing his best courtly bow. Mustering all my courage I climbed up in the open bed keeping as far from the head of the deceased animal as I could. I squatted in the corner behind the cab. As the guys piled back inside the vehicle I stealthily pulled the Glock from my waistband and, hand shaking, I nonchalantly pointed the business end at the hopefully dead animal. As the truck started forward it hit a rut in the unpaved road. The sudden drop made me lurch forward. My free hand shot forward and so did the gun. The bucks head jumped with the impact of the bullet. The truck came to an immediate stop. "What are you doing Talbot?" yelled Bo as he slammed the transmission into park while opening the door. "Are you outta yer mind?" "My weapon discharged causa the bump you hit." I accused trying to cover for my actions. The boys came around to the back examining the deer. There was a tiny bit of blood showing the bullets entry point. Bert had bled the deer right after gutting it. "You shot it in the head," Bert moaned. "I was gonna mount it!" "Sorry," I offered feeling silly for my paranoia. "I can't believe you were afraid of Bambi." The boys slowly returned to their seats. I felt silly. Still, how was I to know if the recently killed animal would rise and try to eat my brains. Bert wasn't the one stuck back here with the uncertainty of what would happen. He didn't stop Jim from poking the deer to see if it was aware. The rest of the ride was short and uneventful. I replaced the missing bullet in the clip so the gun would be full. Then settled in I watched as the deer bounced rhythmically as we drove across a washed out section of the road. It gave me little comfort that the deer was head-shot. The group had lost something. A part of our morale was now damaged. I felt even more like a misfit. All too soon the truck slid to a halt beside an overgrown path used as his driveway. "This is your stop Talbot," he said in a rather abrupt manner. "You guys aren't coming?" They all looked at each other. "I don't think so," offered Jim. "Ya see, yer uncle is crazy. We heard rumors that some people who go back there never come back out." The others shook their heads in agreement. I didn't blame them. I had heard those same rumors whispered when people thought I couldn't hear. I didn't believe them but I, myself, hadn't been to his cabin in more than ten years. He always came to my house. Driving up in his old rusted out Jeep CJ 5. When I offered to come out and visit, his eyes would get wild and he would make me promise that I would never pop in on him for any reason. I didn't know what he was doing way out here, but he was family and I always respected his wishes. Sometimes I thought he was another Ted Kaczynski. But weather he was another Unabomber or just a bit off of his skull, he was my uncle and I was going to make sure he was ok. I pulled my once again fully loaded handgun out and sighing said, "Thanks for everything guys. If it weren't for you..." I left the last part off. They all said their farewells and wished me luck. I turned and began following the overgrown trail to the cabin. With a last look over my shoulder I watched the truck slowly head down the road, a small trail of dust marking their progress. I felt truly alone. Scared. The only thing keeping me from breaking back to the road to flag them back down, was my loyalty to my uncle. His cabin was about a mile off the road. Night was still about two hours off so I had plenty of time to walk to his shack. My boots crunching on the few bare spots in his seldom used driveway. I had walked only a short while when I heard a strange sound. My hand tightened on my gun as I followed the noise into the woods to the right of the trail. It was a strange noise. Low moaning with a creaking intermixed. As I got closer I felt my pulse quicken. Cold sweat trickling down my back. The woods were dense so I had to weave my way between the trees in my search for the source of the sound. All at once the branches above me erupted. Leaves rained down on me as I swiveled the weapon up. Hands, pawing at me, nearly knocking the gun from my hand. I could feel the cold dead fingers slip past mine as the zombie, hanging upside down tried to grab my outstretched hands. I fell to the ground and scrambled away as more branches began to violently shake with their own undead occupant. I quickly realized that they were trapped in snares. From the vantage of the base of a tree I assessed the situation. There were three zombies in all. Swinging upside down in separate snares. I had to chuckle. My uncle had company and he was more prepared than I was. This was probably where the rumors had come from. I rose and walked about looking at the spectacle while the undead in the trees continued to thrash about reaching futilely for my living flesh. As I was wondering what I should do, I felt a sharp tug at my ankle harshly jerking me into the air amid the zombies. "Crap!" I yelled as I careened wildly back and forth. Cold hands snatched at me as I spun and swung in ever decreasing circles. When the spinning slowed, I found that I was out of reach of the other snare victims, but they continued their mindless pawing. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I repeated as the full weight of my situation bore down upon me. My hoodie gathered about my chest. The extra bullets, I knew, we're a loss, scattered about the forest floor. As the blood began to pulse in my head I knew I had precious little time to escape this trap. Just as I was reaching for my pocketknife I heard something snap in the tree to my left. I looked down only to see that one of the zombies had fallen to the ground and was limping into position below me. As it greedily reached upward I noticed it had no foot. It must have torn free but the lack of a foot didn't seem to deter it at all. Luckily I still clutched my Glock in my right hand. I extended it as far as I dared and, while slowly spinning, put a slug straight down through its upturned skull. The zombie crumpled to the ground and I waited a moment to be sure it stayed down. Satisfied, I carefully fished my pocketknife out and opened it. Knowing I couldn't keep the gun in my hand I tried to secure it in my waistband. It worked for about three seconds. I watched in horror as the weapon slowly dropped onto the chest of the fallen zombie below. Now I remember telling you that us backwoods people were strong and that I had good military training but I still couldn't pull myself up to cut the rope. I tried to climb up my pant legs with knife in mouth, like a pirate, but it was doomed to failure. My only hope was to swing back and fourth and maybe grab a branch. As I swung I quickly understood my folly. I lacked control. One of the still struggling zombies managed to grab my hooded sweatshirt. And quickly reeled me in. I acted with pure instinct. I screamed! Loud and hard, through my gritted teeth. My left hand shot out and grabbed the undead by the throat in order to keep it from biting me. My right snatched the knife from my mouth. We careened to and fro in a cloud of brown leaves as I plunged the blade into the side of it's head. I was about to release the foul beast when it dawned on me. I could climb up the horror and maybe gain my freedom. I retched as I climbed up its greasy pants feeling morbid joy when I was able to grab the rope. As I continued to scale the hemp rope I noticed that I had gained some slack in it. Using my free foot I was able to slip the loosened noose off of my foot. The full weight of my body swung into the body of the now still corpse with a wet smack. I knew I was too high up to just drop to the ground. I didn't want to risk injury so I decided to climb as far down the zombie as possible before risking the drop. The smell was horrendous. It's clothing leaving a slimy coating on my hands making it hard to keep my hold on the fabric. That's when it happened. I fell. My right ankle exploded in pain as I rolled on the ground. Cursing my luck I grabbed the offending limb and grunted in agony. Leaves clinging to my clothes I hurriedly exposed the injured area and saw with relief that it wasn't broken. Sprained. Just my luck. Could have been worse though, so I took a quick appraisal of my situation and found I was relatively safe for the moment. The zombie above was still but the other continued it's empty attempts to somehow get to me. Sitting there I composed myself for a moment and it dawned on me that the zombie above may draw others. I needed to somehow get to my uncles cabin and any creatures investigating the ruckus overhead might delay me. I snatched my gun from the fallen zombies chest and abandoned any attempt to recover the lost bullets or the pocketknife. Jeb was more of a survival nut than I was so I was sure he would have plenty of weapons and ammo. I thought that I should kill the remaining undead. It would be one less in the world. But I quickly dismissed the idea. I only had a ten round clip. Minus one round. That left me with nine rounds and I wasn't sure what I would still run into. It took some time but I found a suitable fallen limb to make a crutch. Wrapping my hoodie around the "V" where it branched I was comfortable while walking but a little cold. The sun would be going down soon so I needed to get moving. I decided against returning to the trail and opted to go straight through the woods to the Jeb's place. I was very careful as I hobbled on my way. Not wanting to repeat my last folly. As I neared the cabin I heard a familiar moaning. Grimacing I continued on. In my present state I really didn't need any more adventures. But as I hobbled onward the sounds got louder. Carefully I moved forward as the woods blocked out much of the remaining light. I was almost at the edge of the trap when I realized what was in front of me. A hidden pit yawned in my path. I reeled backwards staggering in order to avoid falling. Pain erupted as I forgot the makeshift crutch in order to maintain my footing. After the pain subsided I crept to a safe distance and looked in. The bottom of the pit was covered with wooden stakes. Two zombies were inside. One staked through its torso struggles for me but was held fast by the stake. The other walked awkwardly toward the side I was on. It moaned and reached but couldn't reach the top. If it hadn't have been for these undead blundering into the pit it would have been me down there. Once again I pondered shooting the pathetic creatures but knowing I had to conserve my ammunition, I made a mental note to come back when I had healed and had more bullets. I carefully hobbled around the trap skirting it by a wide margin. My armpit was starting to get irritated by the strain of supporting my weight. But I didn't have the time to look for a better fit. It was getting hard to see. I did my best to avoid any other traps but it was more by sheer luck rather than any skill. I was becoming desperate. Exhaustion was making me take dumb chances. Finally, I hit the edge of the clearing. My uncle had cleared a hundred yards around the cabin so there would be no obstacles in his firing line. The only thing inside the clearing was the outhouse. Which was about fifty feet to my left almost on the tree line. Jeb's place was a one-room shack. Windows on all sides were small but provided a great view of all angles of approach. The waning sunlight was a little stronger here than in the woods so I could still see fairly well. But what I saw made my heart sink. Three zombies were weakly beating at the door. The windows were shuttered. As I stood there I saw no lights escaping even the smallest cracks. Uncle Jeb was holed up in there tight. But it was up to me to clear the zombies trying to get in. Any idea of leading them away would be purely foolish. Even though I was probably faster than they were it would probably lead me into more trouble. I decided that the best way would be a frontal approach. If I came in firing, maybe Jeb would help out from his side. As I took my first steps into the clearing I felt an adrenaline rush. My progress was steady and they hadn't noticed me. Then my crutch went into a small hole and I banged my foot off the ground. The sudden jolt of pain made me wince. That was enough. Two of the zombies broke from the door at a run. They were fast. Real fast. They were still kind of far away but I was scared so I leveled my gun and slowly, as I released a breath, fired. I missed. Repositioning my angle I shot again striking it in the shoulder. The running corpse spun wildly hitting the ground. I acquired the next target. This time it was close enough for a clean head shot. It was a lucky shot but I wasn't going to argue. The zombie I had earlier hit in the shoulder popped back up and renewed it's sprint toward me. I took two more controlled shots as it closed on me. Four shots left I reminded myself. The sprinter was about twenty five feet from me as I squeezed off three more. Sweat running down my forehead I felt panic rise as I prepared my final shot. The zombie disappeared. I dropped my aim lower and waited for it to reappear. Nothing. Fearing an assault from the woods I hobbled forward. Another hidden pit gapped in front of me. The zombie had fallen in while running at full stride and hit the opposite side snapping it's neck. Throwing caution to the wind I went straight for the cabin. Hopping with the crutch caused waves of pain but I had to get to the safety of the shack. I met the last zombie halfway across the clearing. I raised my weapon level with it's bobbing head and muttered, "did I shoot 9 shots or 10. In all this excitement I... Oh forget it.". I shot it nearly point blank, dead center in the head. I didn't even watch it fall completely to the ground. At the cabin my heart sank. The door was securely locked. I called out for uncle Jeb to open up but even after I clearly identified myself the entrance remained secured. I wondered what had happened to Jeb. Had he left. Was he Ok. I knew I couldn't remain outside the shack much longer. I could see several forms shuffling out of the tree line probably drawn by the noise of the gunshots. I needed to get inside and it needed to be fast. I couldn't see any of the fast moving type but that didn't mean there weren't any around. I checked all of the windows but they were all shuttered and barred from the inside. Immediately abandoning any idea of breaking down the door, I set to work on one of the windows. Although Jebediah had built his home to be a bunker, at 84 years old, maintenance hadn't been preformed in a long time. The window frame felt spongy with rot and possibly some recent termite damage. Tearing at the decay I quickly had the corner of the shutter free and was able, with a few well-placed blows of my handguns grip to bash the whole shutter inside. It clattered to the floor releasing the other half of the porthole. I once again called out for my uncle. After a few seconds with no answer, I lunged through the small opening, leaving my crutch outside. My midsection folded as my weight suspended from the sill. The cabin was pitched black. Any moonlight filtering from around me was immediately swallowed by the absolute blackness inside. Swiveling my hips I gained enough leverage to fall inside. There was a thump as my body flopped to the floor but no other noise followed. It smelled of wood smoke, mildew, and a hint of something else. Rotting meat. I thought my gun was empty but I swiveled it around anyway. The now revealed moon light cast very little light through to tiny opening. I was nearly blind. I fumbled for my lighter, feeling a wave of relief as I found it's shape in my front right pocket. I snaked my fingers inside and produced the object. Two hasty flicks later and I was rewarded with a dull warm glow. The flame was not bright but it illuminated the small one room shack. I nearly dropped the lighter when my eyes fell on the object of my quest. My uncle Jebediah sat in his bentwood rocking chair. His corpse remained perfectly still. One hand resting on a bottle in his lap, the other clutched his chest. A tear drew a wet line down my cheek as realization of my uncles plight struck me. Here, I had been surrounded with death for nearly a day and now it hit home. I reached out and touched his wrist. It was cold, stiff, and definitely dead. My uncle had probably succumbed to a heart attack but why he hadn't turned, I had no answer. I was merely relieved. If I needed to fight my uncle off or even had seen him walking about undead, it would have devastated me. This felt natural. Right. The way it should be in a world gone mad. Moaning from outside brought me back to the moment. Thumb burning from the heat of the flame I swung back toward the window to find a pair of hands reaching inward. Using a table leg I hoisted my way up to my feet again. I spied a group of candles on the table and lit them with my no overheated lighter. Then I began hastily searching through the room for weapons. Increased moaning at the window made me hop faster as I went for the closet near his bed. I dug through his clothes and in the back of the closet I uncovered three rifles of various calibers and two pistols. On the top shelf he had tons of ammunition for the weapons. The 22 caliber rifle and pistol I quickly discarded but his 9mm six shooter I tossed on the table along with two speed loaders. The moaning took on a choral tone as more undead were gathering at the diminutive opening. I could hear their hands tearing out chunks of the rotted window frame. As I hobbled near the window I could see their gray forms as the moonlight robbed them of their natural colors. They redoubled their efforts as I came into view. At this distance I dispatched them using only four shots for the three of them. Hopping closer I spied three more emerging from the trees. Two were the fast type. I returned to the rifles and inspected them closer. They were all junk. Corrosion rendering them unsafe to handle. Examining the pistols, I found both to be functional but in need of serious care. As I used one of the speed loaders to replace the spent cartridges in the revolver I could hear the swift approach of the quicker zombies and knew my time was short. I whirled toward the open portal and fired as one half dove, half toppled through the yawning window. Blood spattered the inside sill as it fell partially inside. Black blood trickled into an ever-growing pool under it's still body. The other hit the wall at full tilt. Rotted chunks of the deteriorating wall rained in small arcs across the wood plank floor. I could feel the whole cabin shake under it's assault. I planted my feet as best as I could while aiming at the spot I believed my attacker would break through. Hand shaking, my palms felt slippery as I waited for the inevitable. It felt like hours, my ankle throbbing in protest of the small amount of weight that I allowed it. Suddenly the wall burst apart. I got off one wild shot as the gruesome beast was upon me. We collapsed back against the table shattering it beneath our weight. The gun skittering off somewhere into the shadows on the floor. Somehow I was able to grab both of the monsters shoulders. It, in turn grabbed mine and attempted to pull me within range of it's snapping mouth. The stench of it's breath assaulted me and I could feel the slimy coating of it's gore stained shirt. I was on my back. I needed to get on top and subdue the zombie so in a practiced wrestling move I dropped my left arm while shifting my right side up. At the same time I arched my back throwing the off-balanced creature to the left rolling on top of the struggling beast. The maneuver was swift but took a lot of energy. My strength was rapidly waning. I knew I couldn't keep this up indefinitely but yet my opponent could. I also had the problem of it's slower moving companion. He would be showing up soon. Just as I was losing hope I heard a low boom. My heart quickened as I expected to feel the third one bite down upon my back. Then I noticed lights dancing through the newly exposed portion of the shack. The roar of a Chevy engine drew my attention as my hopes were raised, but my excitement turned to panic as my hand slid off the slimy left shoulder of the creature. Lurching backward and to my right I narrowly avoided it's mouth as it flew upwards now free. I was on the bottom again my burning muscles trembling under the relentless assault. I maintained my hold on it's right shoulder as my left grasped the first thing it found. I had it's wrist. The moment I realized this I knew it was all over. The zombie moaned triumphantly and began its unobstructed decent upon my exposed neck just as a blast roared through the small building. Blood and gore splattered across my upper body and face as the struggling zombie dropped directly on top of me. Arms and hands flying I pushed the disgusting bulk off of me. I back peddled away from it not trusting that it was truly over. Vomit flew from my mouth, back arching as I emptied my stomach on the plank floor. Acid burned my lungs as my body competed for air between eruptions. When I had settled I looked at the opening and framed in the headlights of the vehicle was Bo. Shotgun resting its tip on the ground, he looked every bit the hero from an action movie. Chest heaving with ragged breaths I couldn't say anything. I just stared, gasping. "Come on Talbot," he said sounding like a drill Sargent. "Do I have to pull yer butt outta the fire all day? Get on yer feet. All these gun shots are drawing them like a dinner bell." I breathlessly asked, "How?" "Bout an hour down the road we got ambushed by a gang of those zombies. We lost Jim there. It was about then that we decided we couldn't leave ya to these pieces of crap!" Bo emphasized the statement by kicking the now still corpse on the floor. We were silent for a moment. Each not knowing what to say. Both lost in our private sorrow. Bo slowly turned and walked back through the headlights toward the truck. His shadow grew larger until he vanished from sight. After finding and lighting a single candle I paid my last respects to my uncle, then pulled an old sheet over his form. Numbly, I used some water and an old towel to clean myself up as best as I could. We took what we could salvage from my uncle's home and before leaving set it ablaze. The old wood caught quickly, flames eagerly licking at the long dried wood. As we left I watched the glow of my uncle Jebediah's pyre grow smaller in the distance. My tears faded as the miles wore on. The next day it was bitter sweet. Knowing I had lost most of what I knew, but feeling the bond of old enemies turned friends.
Saving Jebediah
It was many weeks after the initial outbreak of zombies that we saw our first one. You have to understand, I live in the mountains of West Virginia in an extremely small town called Helvetia. Our current population has to be less than sixty and we're surrounded by mountainous wilderness. That's why we took little notice of the countries plight. Sure, the news from outside our area went deader than a stinkbug left out in the cold but we're used that sort of thing. Winters can be long and hard so you just stock up on food and fuel for the generator. I was just thinking that it was a great time to settle down to a good book and wait for the countries media to get back online. The last reports were disturbing, about all those city slickers getting their flu shots and then they all got sick. Nothing big, just blown out of proportion. That was until it came right up to my doorstep. I live in an old white aluminum sided farmhouse just on the outskirts of town. The house sits about a stone throw from the general store. I don't have much family around here since ma and pa died. Just me and my great uncle Jebediah. He lives out in the hills, just off the road to Holly River State Park. It seemed like I had just lit a fire in the wood burner, with my handy pocket lighter, and settled onto my couch for an early afternoon nap when I heard someone pounding on my door. The peculiar thing is that the pounding was really rapidly. Nobody around here does anything quickly. This urgency sent me into action. I hoofed it across the room and yanked open the door only to find old Stan Drucker, white smock covered in blood, holding his arm against his chest. His legs were pumping up and down as he hurried looks over his shoulder. "Hurry up Max," he said pushing his way from my cement porch and into my living room. "What happened to you," I stammered trailing behind him as he made his way into my kitchen. "One of those campers came in looking like death warmed over. I asked him if he'd gotten into a bottle and he bit me." Stan replied while running a stream of water over the gaping wound on his arm. I helped the store owner dry and wrap his limb in a dish towel and directed him into my living room so he could lie down. "Holy crap!" I yelled as a bizarre nightmare stepped up onto my porch and was lurching toward the open door. It was dressed in a plaid shirt with kaki shorts and was missing part of its cheek. The smell assaulted me as I ran to intercept the intruder. The apparition put one hand on the doorframe, and was reaching inside for me with the other when my Marine training took hold. You have to understand that being a Talbot, it's almost a requirement that I spend some amount of time in the military. My flavor of service was the Marine Corp. At the time, the training I received didn't seem so useful. Little did I know just how useful it would become. I chopped his outstretched arm up and away then delivered a side kick to this guys mid-section knocking him from the small porch. Recovering quickly I swung the door closed and drove the dead bolt home. Stan was on the couch shivering, sweat beading on his brow. Now I am not going to try to fool anyone. In this isolated mountainous region, television is spotty at best. I have watched a lot of zombie movies in life and I immediately put the pieces together. What I had thought was some freak hoax over the TV now became crystal clear as I pictured the creature I had so recently kicked off my cement landing. I sped to my bedroom and pulled the 9mm Glock from my nightstand. I was shoving the clip home just as a dull thump sounded outside the living room door. Not having time to ready any of my other guns I hurried back into my living room and chambered a round. A series of low thumps followed as, I assume, the zombie camper was trying to figure out the door. I wasn't going to give him the chance. Twisting the knob which released the deadbolt and in a single motion I threw open the door while swinging the gun into the open portal at head height. Nothing was there. Panic seized me as I swiveled my weapon looking for my quarry. A wet hand latched onto my ankle. Trying to free myself, I fell backwards, ankles still angled toward the now open door. Another hand slapped home. This time it grasped my opposite calf. As I looked down I could see the blood stained mouth poised to plunge down upon my unprotected legs. I leaned to my left swinging the Glock around and taking a desperate wild shot. The 9mm round took the zombie camper through the forehead blowing out a small section of the back of it's skull. I never saw the bullet striking the target but I felt the bulk of it's weight slump heavily onto my lower legs. Relief flooded my body as I lay there regaining my composure. A moment later, I felt disgusted by the corpse pinning me to the floor. Although it's body was slack it took a whole lot of kicking to free myself from it's tight grasp. As I resumed an upright position I could see why it wasn't standing when I opened the door. The undead creatures right leg was broken. A decent length of it's thigh bone protruding from under it's gore covered shorts. With my foot, I pushed the now still body far enough outside the door to assure its closing and once again secured the entryway. Remembering the events leading up to the struggle I brought my attention back to Stan. He was no longer on the couch. I could hear him vomiting into the kitchen sink. As I entered the small country style kitchen I saw Stan, his back arching as he dry heaved. Red soaked the towel covering his wound. Thin rivulets of blood flowed down his arm and across his hand as he leaned on the counter over the sink. "What's happening Max," the old shopkeeper asked in a thin voice, not turning around. I slid the weapon into the waistband at the back of my jeans and softly, in my calmest voice soothed, "It's ok Stan. I just had to take care of the camper. He won't bother us again." "No Max!" He said as he slowly turned around. "What's happening to me?" Stan's skin was visibly gray and covered with sweat. His red-rimmed eyes had sunk as they they peered out of two dark holes in his head. In silence he began unwrapping his arm. It had stopped bleeding but the edges of the wound were an angry black. It looked painful. The worst part of it was the smell. It emitted the sweet stench of rotting flesh. "Am I gonna become like that camper?" Stan asked in a small voice. "Not on my watch," I responded following that up with the most confident smile I could muster. We spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning and treating the bite. We used sterile gauze and made it as comfortable for him as we could. I tried telling him soothing things and buoying his spirits but he was silent throughout the whole procedure. The weirdest thing was that while cleaning and binding the wound, things that should have hurt Stan didn't seem faze him at all. Finally when it was all done we retired to the living room to decide our next course of action. My first thought was to let Stan rest. I quickly dismissed that idea because if he didn't get some immediate help, well, I've seen enough movies to get a pretty good idea of what he would become next. Just as I was about to suggest going to the hospital, about an hours drive, my eyes fell to the picture on the now useless TV. The frame held the last picture of my uncle Jebediah Talbot. My good old Talbot sense of honor kicked in and I knew I had to alert him to the possible danger of the zombie apocalypse. "Stan," I broke the silence. "We need to get you to a doctor. The hospital is about an hour away, what do ya say about a little road trip?" He just nodded and I figured while I had him in the mood, "Let's stop and get my uncle, he's on the way." Stan made no indication either way so I took that as an accent and went to the window to see what it looked like outside. My first thought was all is quiet. That's when I spied Audrey, she ran the local restaurant. It's actually the front room of a house. I told you there was less than sixty people in this town. Audrey seemed to be walking a little too zombieish for my liking and remembering the dead camper on the porch I decided the back door would be the best escape route. Besides, my truck was at the side of the house so either way would be just as close as the other. I grabbed my Browning 12 gauge from my gun rack and pulled a few fists full of shells for it and the Glock, out of my china cupboard drawer. Stuffing them in my hoodie's pocket I rejoined Stan in the kitchen and prepared for our exit. The back of the house looked clear. No visible undead. So quietly, I lead Stan to the truck and got him in with no trouble. Stan was becoming unresponsive, possibly going into shock. I was going to have trouble keeping an eye on him and driving so while I helped buckle him in I pulled the belt really tight. As I was crossing to my side I heard a distant gun shot from the direction we were about to go. The truck, my pride and joy, fired up on the first try. It was a black Ford F 150 I had almost literally stolen from a dealer in Morgantown. The truck was Canadian, I know, all Fords are Canadian, but this one was made for Canada. It's speedometer and mileage indicator were in metric so they couldn't get rid of it. That meant I got it for a song. As we drove through town, which consists of about three blocks, I saw Audrey had caught sight of Erin, one of my former classmates, and was putting on a good chase. Now Audrey was no spring chicken, but living the hard life out here, we are typically in better shape than most city joggers. Erin was holding her own, but it seemed she'd eventually lose the race, so I gunned the engine and asking her forgiveness under my breath, I ran Audrey down. A terrible thump recorded her head bouncing off the hood of my F 150 and she slid under the truck as we drove on past. I didn't want to look back but human nature took over and I could see her crumpled form in the middle of the road. Drops of Audrey's blood flowed in red streams toward me, across my trucks hood, as I raced ahead and paralleled Erin who continued running. Her eyes were glued straight ahead. I tried honking the horn to get her attention but she kept running. Finally, I pushed the button to lower the passenger window and leaning forward I shouted, "Erin, it's ok. Stop running and we will take you in the truck." For a moment she seemed to slow. I could see her eyes darting toward the truck in order to catch a quick glance. Then she slowly turned her head and her eyes locked on Stan sitting in the passenger side. Shock registered on her face and a whine sounded between gasping breaths. She quickly changed direction and ran straight into the outstretched arms of Mr. Grady. They fell in a tangle of arms and legs but I could tell, in the side view mirror, that his teeth found their mark by the spray of blood from what looked like her neck region. He probably hit an artery. I tore my eyes from the horrifying scene and glanced at Stan. He turned to meet my eyes and I watched a thin string of drool pull free from his lap. "How you feeling Stan?" I asked. He just turned to back to his original position of looking out the passenger side window. A chill ran down my back as I pondered how long I'd have before Stan would possibly turn. What was I going to do if he turns in the truck. We were out of town in seconds. I don't need to remind you it's a small town. The road changed just as fast to the usual dirt road as we sped off towards my uncles cabin. Dust made a thick cloud behind us covering the rear window with the powder. About a half mile up the road I had to swerve to avoid several bodies lying in various places on the road. My tires skidding on the unpaved surface as our forward motion came to an end. The trailing cloud enveloped my truck as it overtook us with it's momentum. Losing it's density it still made a thin veil through which I could still make out the blockade. Ahead was a steel one lane bridge. Sitting in the middle of the bridge was a big gray primer colored Chevy truck, facing away from us. I was all too familiar with the owner of this vehicle. Three big guy in various pieces of camouflage and flannel were sitting in the back with menacing looking rifles. I took my foot off the brake and slowly moved forward until the biggest guy stood up and aimed his gun at us. The other two mimicked his movement raising their own weapons. I hastily brought us to a stop again and dropped the truck into park. Through the thinning haze of dust I could see the larger man leap down from the rear of the Chevy. With the gun once again held directly at me he called out, "that you Max Talbot?" I knew it was Bo Jones by his size and his perpetually, almost ready to paint, truck. To say we weren't friends was an understatement. I had broken up with his little sister and he had personally taken it upon himself to make my every moment as miserable as possible. When I returned from the military Bo kept a cool distance from me. Never threatening me but never welcoming either. I rolled down the window and responded, "Yeah, now get that piece of crap Chevy off the bridge before I use a real truck ta push it outta the way!" Bo continued his careful walking-while-aiming gate toward us. Slow measured steps closing the distance. The cloud of road dust had nearly dispersed but had settled on the windshield partially obscuring the view both in and out. "Put your hands out the window and open the door,!" Bo demanded 16 gauge shotgun still leveled at me. "Now how am I supposed to do that?" I replied sarcastically. "Use the outside handle dummy," he responded coolly. He was now close enough to speak in a normal voice. Opening the handle proved harder than you'd think. When the door unlatched I pitched forward off balance. As I fell forward I was greeted with a gun barrel sliding past my face and a loud roar as the 16 gauge fired. I shifted my weight rolling to my left as I continued my fall. The deafening gun shot sound was replaced with a loud ringing in my ear as I fell face first onto the ground. Everything went black.
*********
I awoke on the road beside my truck. Right ear ringing as I propped myself up on my left elbow. Bo, Jim, and Bert sitting around me in different states of recline. "What the heck was that about?" I yelled at Bo, realizing my mistake as the ringing increased to a high pitched wine as I spoke. My right hand immediately cupped the offending area. The boys rolled back hooting with laughter. Bert, literally rolling on his back holding his belly as his flannel and camo covered body shook with waves mirth. "You shouldda seen yerself doing that face plant," Jim explained through tobacco stained teeth. "You shot at me," I said returning to my original question swiveling back toward Bo with one hand still holding my ear. "No," he said. "I was shooting at him." he pointed at my still open truck door. I could see the blood spatters on the little bit of windshield viewable from my current position. I rose unsteadily to my feet, reeling from my recent ear trauma. There, in the midst of all the gore, was Ole Stan Drucker. Headless, mind you. "It was reaching for you when I came up beside the truck," Bo said solemnly. "I had to act fast. Who was he?" I explained the events from earlier that day. They all lowered their eyes when I told them who had been with me. After I had finished I listened to their own stories. It seems they were out hunting when they came across their first undead. Being rednecks, those zombies didn't stand a chance. "What are you gonna do now?" asked Jim. "Your welcome to join us," offered Bo. Looking back at my blood splattered truck cab I was having second thoughts about jumping in there. I had no idea how the illness or whatever it was jumped from person to person. I had first hand knowledge of it being transferred through a bite but what if it could occur from a scratch. I quickly looked at my lower pant legs. For the first time I saw what the zombie camper had done to my jeans. Blood and a greasy stain was all over the front of the lower trouser legs. I gingerly lifted the pant leg where the creature had grabbed my ankle and it was clean. No scratches. As I dropped my jeans to inspect the opposite calf I heard the boys gasp! "Hey!" Bert blurted out. "We run a family Zombie Hunter Squad here!" he chuckled exaggeratedly waving both hands in the air while closing his eyes as tightly as possible. "If you want to continue killing the undead today then you'll have to put your pants back on please." The others roared again in laughter as they feigned embarrassment. My face flushed as I hurried to inspect myself for any wounds. Finding none, I pulled my pants back in place and quickly closed my button and fly. It was obvious. I couldn't take my truck and risk possible infection. But I needed to get to Uncle Jeb. He could be in danger. "Can I get a ride?" I asked no one in particular. Bo grinned, "Sure Talbot, I hope you won't mind riding in a piece of crap Chevy?" he mocked pointing to his bumper sticker of a boy peeing on a Ford symbol. "I deserve that," I agreed retrieving my Glock from where it had fallen out of my waistband. My shotgun was a loss in the truck so I passed my 12 gauge shells on to Bert who was sporting the same exact gun, make and all. "Where are we off to?" Bo asked leaning out of the open truck cab. "I need to make sure my uncle Jebediah is ok." Everyone froze. I guess I should explain. My uncle Jeb is rumored locally, and I guess even regionally, to be crazy. I don't think he's crazy. He's a survival nut. A Korean War veteran, he had came back and wanted to stay away from people. To hide from the world. He'd had enough of everything and just dropped off of the grid. Not that there was much grid to speak of down in these hills but that just made it that much easier for him to disappear. I climbed up into the bed of the pick-up and they all piled into the cab. I noticed a few sideways glances from them before I settled with my back to the cabs rear window. As my eyes grew heavy from the events of the last few hours I could hear them arguing about what they should call themselves. The Redneck Zombie Clean-up Crew... The Hillbilly Headshot Posse. I woke to the sound of shotgun firing and the hooting of my saviors. Gripping the side of the truck bed I hauled myself up to see what was happening. Bo and the boys had leapt from the truck and were off the road about twenty yards looking at something in the grass. I quickly surveyed my surroundings for any danger and feeling relatively safe I took a seat on the cab roof. In the movies, the living always seem to have boundless energy. Constantly on the move, never taking a moment to rest or even relieve themselves. In reality I was exhausted. Coming off of the adrenaline rush I could have went right back to sleep. I never did get that nap back at home. Curiosity got the best of me as I rose once again and hopped down from the full-sized pickup. The dirt road gave way to brush as I approached my travel mates. "What ya got?" I asked to no one in general. "Bert shot us an eight point. The animals seem to be running scared!" Jim replied wiping his bloodstained knife in some grass. "I think them zombies are causing the critters to panic." "We saw all kinda game just run right if front of the truck while you were taking yer nap," intoned Bo. "We stopped so we could shoot us some supper. Those zombies are probably the reason we got skunked while hunt'en this morning." "Or it could be cause Bert ate all them baked beans last night," Jim chirped through a brown toothed grin. "Just keep that up and I won't share my cabbage stew with ya," answered Bert with a good natured shove. Trueborn hunters the trio had the deer field dressed and ready to butcher in no time. As Bo carried the carcass back to the truck Jim asked in a small uncertain voice, "You don't think this ole deer is gonna get up and try to chomp on us do ya?" Everyone stopped walking. Turning toward the group with the bucks head hanging over his broad shoulder Bo answered. "We'll keep him in the bed with Talbot. If he turns, won't be no loss." A slow nervous grin spread across his face but his comment brought no sign of mirth from the rest of the group. All eyes were on the carcass mostly hidden behind their leaders bulky frame. As Bo turned and continued on to the truck Jim bent and picked up a twig. He poked at the field dressed body with an air of caution, half expecting the beast to react to the torment. We didn't attempt to stop him. I think we were all waiting to see what would happen next. Back at the truck Bo dumped the body into the bed of the primer gray pickup, shocks reacting, squeaking loudly in protest to the sudden weight. "Yer uncles cabin is over the next mountain, so jump in with your new bunk mate," Bo mocked while doing his best courtly bow. Mustering all my courage I climbed up in the open bed keeping as far from the head of the deceased animal as I could. I squatted in the corner behind the cab. As the guys piled back inside the vehicle I stealthily pulled the Glock from my waistband and, hand shaking, I nonchalantly pointed the business end at the hopefully dead animal. As the truck started forward it hit a rut in the unpaved road. The sudden drop made me lurch forward. My free hand shot forward and so did the gun. The bucks head jumped with the impact of the bullet. The truck came to an immediate stop. "What are you doing Talbot?" yelled Bo as he slammed the transmission into park while opening the door. "Are you outta yer mind?" "My weapon discharged causa the bump you hit." I accused trying to cover for my actions. The boys came around to the back examining the deer. There was a tiny bit of blood showing the bullets entry point. Bert had bled the deer right after gutting it. "You shot it in the head," Bert moaned. "I was gonna mount it!" "Sorry," I offered feeling silly for my paranoia. "I can't believe you were afraid of Bambi." The boys slowly returned to their seats. I felt silly. Still, how was I to know if the recently killed animal would rise and try to eat my brains. Bert wasn't the one stuck back here with the uncertainty of what would happen. He didn't stop Jim from poking the deer to see if it was aware. The rest of the ride was short and uneventful. I replaced the missing bullet in the clip so the gun would be full. Then settled in I watched as the deer bounced rhythmically as we drove across a washed out section of the road. It gave me little comfort that the deer was head-shot. The group had lost something. A part of our morale was now damaged. I felt even more like a misfit. All too soon the truck slid to a halt beside an overgrown path used as his driveway. "This is your stop Talbot," he said in a rather abrupt manner. "You guys aren't coming?" They all looked at each other. "I don't think so," offered Jim. "Ya see, yer uncle is crazy. We heard rumors that some people who go back there never come back out." The others shook their heads in agreement. I didn't blame them. I had heard those same rumors whispered when people thought I couldn't hear. I didn't believe them but I, myself, hadn't been to his cabin in more than ten years. He always came to my house. Driving up in his old rusted out Jeep CJ 5. When I offered to come out and visit, his eyes would get wild and he would make me promise that I would never pop in on him for any reason. I didn't know what he was doing way out here, but he was family and I always respected his wishes. Sometimes I thought he was another Ted Kaczynski. But weather he was another Unabomber or just a bit off of his skull, he was my uncle and I was going to make sure he was ok. I pulled my once again fully loaded handgun out and sighing said, "Thanks for everything guys. If it weren't for you..." I left the last part off. They all said their farewells and wished me luck. I turned and began following the overgrown trail to the cabin. With a last look over my shoulder I watched the truck slowly head down the road, a small trail of dust marking their progress. I felt truly alone. Scared. The only thing keeping me from breaking back to the road to flag them back down, was my loyalty to my uncle. His cabin was about a mile off the road. Night was still about two hours off so I had plenty of time to walk to his shack. My boots crunching on the few bare spots in his seldom used driveway. I had walked only a short while when I heard a strange sound. My hand tightened on my gun as I followed the noise into the woods to the right of the trail. It was a strange noise. Low moaning with a creaking intermixed. As I got closer I felt my pulse quicken. Cold sweat trickling down my back. The woods were dense so I had to weave my way between the trees in my search for the source of the sound. All at once the branches above me erupted. Leaves rained down on me as I swiveled the weapon up. Hands, pawing at me, nearly knocking the gun from my hand. I could feel the cold dead fingers slip past mine as the zombie, hanging upside down tried to grab my outstretched hands. I fell to the ground and scrambled away as more branches began to violently shake with their own undead occupant. I quickly realized that they were trapped in snares. From the vantage of the base of a tree I assessed the situation. There were three zombies in all. Swinging upside down in separate snares. I had to chuckle. My uncle had company and he was more prepared than I was. This was probably where the rumors had come from. I rose and walked about looking at the spectacle while the undead in the trees continued to thrash about reaching futilely for my living flesh. As I was wondering what I should do, I felt a sharp tug at my ankle harshly jerking me into the air amid the zombies. "Crap!" I yelled as I careened wildly back and forth. Cold hands snatched at me as I spun and swung in ever decreasing circles. When the spinning slowed, I found that I was out of reach of the other snare victims, but they continued their mindless pawing. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I repeated as the full weight of my situation bore down upon me. My hoodie gathered about my chest. The extra bullets, I knew, we're a loss, scattered about the forest floor. As the blood began to pulse in my head I knew I had precious little time to escape this trap. Just as I was reaching for my pocketknife I heard something snap in the tree to my left. I looked down only to see that one of the zombies had fallen to the ground and was limping into position below me. As it greedily reached upward I noticed it had no foot. It must have torn free but the lack of a foot didn't seem to deter it at all. Luckily I still clutched my Glock in my right hand. I extended it as far as I dared and, while slowly spinning, put a slug straight down through its upturned skull. The zombie crumpled to the ground and I waited a moment to be sure it stayed down. Satisfied, I carefully fished my pocketknife out and opened it. Knowing I couldn't keep the gun in my hand I tried to secure it in my waistband. It worked for about three seconds. I watched in horror as the weapon slowly dropped onto the chest of the fallen zombie below. Now I remember telling you that us backwoods people were strong and that I had good military training but I still couldn't pull myself up to cut the rope. I tried to climb up my pant legs with knife in mouth, like a pirate, but it was doomed to failure. My only hope was to swing back and fourth and maybe grab a branch. As I swung I quickly understood my folly. I lacked control. One of the still struggling zombies managed to grab my hooded sweatshirt. And quickly reeled me in. I acted with pure instinct. I screamed! Loud and hard, through my gritted teeth. My left hand shot out and grabbed the undead by the throat in order to keep it from biting me. My right snatched the knife from my mouth. We careened to and fro in a cloud of brown leaves as I plunged the blade into the side of it's head. I was about to release the foul beast when it dawned on me. I could climb up the horror and maybe gain my freedom. I retched as I climbed up its greasy pants feeling morbid joy when I was able to grab the rope. As I continued to scale the hemp rope I noticed that I had gained some slack in it. Using my free foot I was able to slip the loosened noose off of my foot. The full weight of my body swung into the body of the now still corpse with a wet smack. I knew I was too high up to just drop to the ground. I didn't want to risk injury so I decided to climb as far down the zombie as possible before risking the drop. The smell was horrendous. It's clothing leaving a slimy coating on my hands making it hard to keep my hold on the fabric. That's when it happened. I fell. My right ankle exploded in pain as I rolled on the ground. Cursing my luck I grabbed the offending limb and grunted in agony. Leaves clinging to my clothes I hurriedly exposed the injured area and saw with relief that it wasn't broken. Sprained. Just my luck. Could have been worse though, so I took a quick appraisal of my situation and found I was relatively safe for the moment. The zombie above was still but the other continued it's empty attempts to somehow get to me. Sitting there I composed myself for a moment and it dawned on me that the zombie above may draw others. I needed to somehow get to my uncles cabin and any creatures investigating the ruckus overhead might delay me. I snatched my gun from the fallen zombies chest and abandoned any attempt to recover the lost bullets or the pocketknife. Jeb was more of a survival nut than I was so I was sure he would have plenty of weapons and ammo. I thought that I should kill the remaining undead. It would be one less in the world. But I quickly dismissed the idea. I only had a ten round clip. Minus one round. That left me with nine rounds and I wasn't sure what I would still run into. It took some time but I found a suitable fallen limb to make a crutch. Wrapping my hoodie around the "V" where it branched I was comfortable while walking but a little cold. The sun would be going down soon so I needed to get moving. I decided against returning to the trail and opted to go straight through the woods to the Jeb's place. I was very careful as I hobbled on my way. Not wanting to repeat my last folly. As I neared the cabin I heard a familiar moaning. Grimacing I continued on. In my present state I really didn't need any more adventures. But as I hobbled onward the sounds got louder. Carefully I moved forward as the woods blocked out much of the remaining light. I was almost at the edge of the trap when I realized what was in front of me. A hidden pit yawned in my path. I reeled backwards staggering in order to avoid falling. Pain erupted as I forgot the makeshift crutch in order to maintain my footing. After the pain subsided I crept to a safe distance and looked in. The bottom of the pit was covered with wooden stakes. Two zombies were inside. One staked through its torso struggles for me but was held fast by the stake. The other walked awkwardly toward the side I was on. It moaned and reached but couldn't reach the top. If it hadn't have been for these undead blundering into the pit it would have been me down there. Once again I pondered shooting the pathetic creatures but knowing I had to conserve my ammunition, I made a mental note to come back when I had healed and had more bullets. I carefully hobbled around the trap skirting it by a wide margin. My armpit was starting to get irritated by the strain of supporting my weight. But I didn't have the time to look for a better fit. It was getting hard to see. I did my best to avoid any other traps but it was more by sheer luck rather than any skill. I was becoming desperate. Exhaustion was making me take dumb chances. Finally, I hit the edge of the clearing. My uncle had cleared a hundred yards around the cabin so there would be no obstacles in his firing line. The only thing inside the clearing was the outhouse. Which was about fifty feet to my left almost on the tree line. Jeb's place was a one-room shack. Windows on all sides were small but provided a great view of all angles of approach. The waning sunlight was a little stronger here than in the woods so I could still see fairly well. But what I saw made my heart sink. Three zombies were weakly beating at the door. The windows were shuttered. As I stood there I saw no lights escaping even the smallest cracks. Uncle Jeb was holed up in there tight. But it was up to me to clear the zombies trying to get in. Any idea of leading them away would be purely foolish. Even though I was probably faster than they were it would probably lead me into more trouble. I decided that the best way would be a frontal approach. If I came in firing, maybe Jeb would help out from his side. As I took my first steps into the clearing I felt an adrenaline rush. My progress was steady and they hadn't noticed me. Then my crutch went into a small hole and I banged my foot off the ground. The sudden jolt of pain made me wince. That was enough. Two of the zombies broke from the door at a run. They were fast. Real fast. They were still kind of far away but I was scared so I leveled my gun and slowly, as I released a breath, fired. I missed. Repositioning my angle I shot again striking it in the shoulder. The running corpse spun wildly hitting the ground. I acquired the next target. This time it was close enough for a clean head shot. It was a lucky shot but I wasn't going to argue. The zombie I had earlier hit in the shoulder popped back up and renewed it's sprint toward me. I took two more controlled shots as it closed on me. Four shots left I reminded myself. The sprinter was about twenty five feet from me as I squeezed off three more. Sweat running down my forehead I felt panic rise as I prepared my final shot. The zombie disappeared. I dropped my aim lower and waited for it to reappear. Nothing. Fearing an assault from the woods I hobbled forward. Another hidden pit gapped in front of me. The zombie had fallen in while running at full stride and hit the opposite side snapping it's neck. Throwing caution to the wind I went straight for the cabin. Hopping with the crutch caused waves of pain but I had to get to the safety of the shack. I met the last zombie halfway across the clearing. I raised my weapon level with it's bobbing head and muttered, "did I shoot 9 shots or 10. In all this excitement I... Oh forget it.". I shot it nearly point blank, dead center in the head. I didn't even watch it fall completely to the ground. At the cabin my heart sank. The door was securely locked. I called out for uncle Jeb to open up but even after I clearly identified myself the entrance remained secured. I wondered what had happened to Jeb. Had he left. Was he Ok. I knew I couldn't remain outside the shack much longer. I could see several forms shuffling out of the tree line probably drawn by the noise of the gunshots. I needed to get inside and it needed to be fast. I couldn't see any of the fast moving type but that didn't mean there weren't any around. I checked all of the windows but they were all shuttered and barred from the inside. Immediately abandoning any idea of breaking down the door, I set to work on one of the windows. Although Jebediah had built his home to be a bunker, at 84 years old, maintenance hadn't been preformed in a long time. The window frame felt spongy with rot and possibly some recent termite damage. Tearing at the decay I quickly had the corner of the shutter free and was able, with a few well-placed blows of my handguns grip to bash the whole shutter inside. It clattered to the floor releasing the other half of the porthole. I once again called out for my uncle. After a few seconds with no answer, I lunged through the small opening, leaving my crutch outside. My midsection folded as my weight suspended from the sill. The cabin was pitched black. Any moonlight filtering from around me was immediately swallowed by the absolute blackness inside. Swiveling my hips I gained enough leverage to fall inside. There was a thump as my body flopped to the floor but no other noise followed. It smelled of wood smoke, mildew, and a hint of something else. Rotting meat. I thought my gun was empty but I swiveled it around anyway. The now revealed moon light cast very little light through to tiny opening. I was nearly blind. I fumbled for my lighter, feeling a wave of relief as I found it's shape in my front right pocket. I snaked my fingers inside and produced the object. Two hasty flicks later and I was rewarded with a dull warm glow. The flame was not bright but it illuminated the small one room shack. I nearly dropped the lighter when my eyes fell on the object of my quest. My uncle Jebediah sat in his bentwood rocking chair. His corpse remained perfectly still. One hand resting on a bottle in his lap, the other clutched his chest. A tear drew a wet line down my cheek as realization of my uncles plight struck me. Here, I had been surrounded with death for nearly a day and now it hit home. I reached out and touched his wrist. It was cold, stiff, and definitely dead. My uncle had probably succumbed to a heart attack but why he hadn't turned, I had no answer. I was merely relieved. If I needed to fight my uncle off or even had seen him walking about undead, it would have devastated me. This felt natural. Right. The way it should be in a world gone mad. Moaning from outside brought me back to the moment. Thumb burning from the heat of the flame I swung back toward the window to find a pair of hands reaching inward. Using a table leg I hoisted my way up to my feet again. I spied a group of candles on the table and lit them with my no overheated lighter. Then I began hastily searching through the room for weapons. Increased moaning at the window made me hop faster as I went for the closet near his bed. I dug through his clothes and in the back of the closet I uncovered three rifles of various calibers and two pistols. On the top shelf he had tons of ammunition for the weapons. The 22 caliber rifle and pistol I quickly discarded but his 9mm six shooter I tossed on the table along with two speed loaders. The moaning took on a choral tone as more undead were gathering at the diminutive opening. I could hear their hands tearing out chunks of the rotted window frame. As I hobbled near the window I could see their gray forms as the moonlight robbed them of their natural colors. They redoubled their efforts as I came into view. At this distance I dispatched them using only four shots for the three of them. Hopping closer I spied three more emerging from the trees. Two were the fast type. I returned to the rifles and inspected them closer. They were all junk. Corrosion rendering them unsafe to handle. Examining the pistols, I found both to be functional but in need of serious care. As I used one of the speed loaders to replace the spent cartridges in the revolver I could hear the swift approach of the quicker zombies and knew my time was short. I whirled toward the open portal and fired as one half dove, half toppled through the yawning window. Blood spattered the inside sill as it fell partially inside. Black blood trickled into an ever-growing pool under it's still body. The other hit the wall at full tilt. Rotted chunks of the deteriorating wall rained in small arcs across the wood plank floor. I could feel the whole cabin shake under it's assault. I planted my feet as best as I could while aiming at the spot I believed my attacker would break through. Hand shaking, my palms felt slippery as I waited for the inevitable. It felt like hours, my ankle throbbing in protest of the small amount of weight that I allowed it. Suddenly the wall burst apart. I got off one wild shot as the gruesome beast was upon me. We collapsed back against the table shattering it beneath our weight. The gun skittering off somewhere into the shadows on the floor. Somehow I was able to grab both of the monsters shoulders. It, in turn grabbed mine and attempted to pull me within range of it's snapping mouth. The stench of it's breath assaulted me and I could feel the slimy coating of it's gore stained shirt. I was on my back. I needed to get on top and subdue the zombie so in a practiced wrestling move I dropped my left arm while shifting my right side up. At the same time I arched my back throwing the off-balanced creature to the left rolling on top of the struggling beast. The maneuver was swift but took a lot of energy. My strength was rapidly waning. I knew I couldn't keep this up indefinitely but yet my opponent could. I also had the problem of it's slower moving companion. He would be showing up soon. Just as I was losing hope I heard a low boom. My heart quickened as I expected to feel the third one bite down upon my back. Then I noticed lights dancing through the newly exposed portion of the shack. The roar of a Chevy engine drew my attention as my hopes were raised, but my excitement turned to panic as my hand slid off the slimy left shoulder of the creature. Lurching backward and to my right I narrowly avoided it's mouth as it flew upwards now free. I was on the bottom again my burning muscles trembling under the relentless assault. I maintained my hold on it's right shoulder as my left grasped the first thing it found. I had it's wrist. The moment I realized this I knew it was all over. The zombie moaned triumphantly and began its unobstructed decent upon my exposed neck just as a blast roared through the small building. Blood and gore splattered across my upper body and face as the struggling zombie dropped directly on top of me. Arms and hands flying I pushed the disgusting bulk off of me. I back peddled away from it not trusting that it was truly over. Vomit flew from my mouth, back arching as I emptied my stomach on the plank floor. Acid burned my lungs as my body competed for air between eruptions. When I had settled I looked at the opening and framed in the headlights of the vehicle was Bo. Shotgun resting its tip on the ground, he looked every bit the hero from an action movie. Chest heaving with ragged breaths I couldn't say anything. I just stared, gasping. "Come on Talbot," he said sounding like a drill Sargent. "Do I have to pull yer butt outta the fire all day? Get on yer feet. All these gun shots are drawing them like a dinner bell." I breathlessly asked, "How?" "Bout an hour down the road we got ambushed by a gang of those zombies. We lost Jim there. It was about then that we decided we couldn't leave ya to these pieces of crap!" Bo emphasized the statement by kicking the now still corpse on the floor. We were silent for a moment. Each not knowing what to say. Both lost in our private sorrow. Bo slowly turned and walked back through the headlights toward the truck. His shadow grew larger until he vanished from sight. After finding and lighting a single candle I paid my last respects to my uncle, then pulled an old sheet over his form. Numbly, I used some water and an old towel to clean myself up as best as I could. We took what we could salvage from my uncle's home and before leaving set it ablaze. The old wood caught quickly, flames eagerly licking at the long dried wood. As we left I watched the glow of my uncle Jebediah's pyre grow smaller in the distance. My tears faded as the miles wore on. The next day it was bitter sweet. Knowing I had lost most of what I knew, but feeling the bond of old enemies turned friends.
March 2, 2012
Winner Winner
Gibby McGibberson Vikki Hammond Samantha Cato James Martin Gerald Hughes JR Don Shelman Paula Baca Roger Logan Josh ClearyJennifer R PaulSorry for any typos guys I was trying to read my chicken scratch. Please send me an email with the subject of winner with your name and address. They are at the printers and will be done Wednesday.
February 29, 2012
What are you guys doing to me?
I love it! Thank you!
Zombie Fallout 1:
UK : #5 in Books > Fiction > Horror > Thrillers
#13 in Kindle Store > Books > Fiction > Horror
US: #34 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Horror
Timothy:
UK: #47 in Books > Fiction > Horror > Occult
US: #66 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Horror > Occult
Indian Hill:
UK: #40 in Books > Fiction > Science Fiction > Military
Zombie Fallout 1:
UK : #5 in Books > Fiction > Horror > Thrillers
#13 in Kindle Store > Books > Fiction > Horror
US: #34 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Horror
Timothy:
UK: #47 in Books > Fiction > Horror > Occult
US: #66 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Fiction > Genre Fiction > Horror > Occult
Indian Hill:
UK: #40 in Books > Fiction > Science Fiction > Military
February 28, 2012
Quick contest
How about a quick little contest to celebrate Zombie Fallout 5 release. I have 3 signed prints for Zombie Fallout 5. Reply to this post (author page on facebook) if you are interested in having your name thrown into the hat!
