IC- Living Past The Apocalypse

[welsh]

OCC- Ok, this is the thread I had mentioned before.

IC -

Awake-

I was awake, out of bed, and half way to the crib before the kid had begun to cry out. I must have heard it in the change in his breathing. Maybe it was just paternal instincts taking over. Then again, maybe it was the sudden movement that elicited the child’s cry. Needless to say, I didn’t make it in time.

With the baby’s first loud wailing, I glanced back at Beth. She was moving towards the window. The Berretta she keeps under her pillow now in her hands. Maternal instincts are a dangerous thing.

The child was screaming as I picked it up and checked the diaper. Sure enough it was wet. Beth was quickly making the rounds, checking behind the blinds to the world outside.

She caught me looking at her and shook her head.

I reached around the crib to find the pacifier but it was lost in the dark. The child’s cry was insistent, and I quickly lost patience. I tried to rock the kid in my hands as I moved towards the bathroom, hoping my body and the familiar motion would calm the kid. But he wasn’t having any of it. In the bathroom the kids screams seemed to bounce off the wall, making them even louder.

Quickly, I put the kid on a changing mat, and tore open the Velcro that kept the diaper together. The kid withered about, wiping shit on the matt, his tears and cries demanding and impatient. I looked for the diapers, but instead my foot kicked it away. Need light. I found the matches in the bathroom draw and brought it to a kerosene lamp, which quickly filled the small room with light and the smell of burnt fuels.

In the light I found a box of diapers, the last box, and broke them open, ripping open the plastic package, and wishing the kid would just shut the fuck up. I turned on the faucet to wet a rag to wash him down.

Beth stuck her head in the door, “What the fuck are you doing?” She whispered angrily.

“I am changing the kid. He wet himself.”

“Will you hurry the fuck up!” She said and then was gone. Probably to check the rest of the house.

I quickly wiped down the kid, tossed the soiled diaper away, and put on another. Just as I was about to put the Velcro back on, the kid let out another crap, soiling this diaper. I looked at the kid, astonished. For a moment, the kid stopped screaming, one little fat pudgy hands reaching for his face while the other made little jerking motions in the air. For a moment the kid just looked at me, his eyes curious, perhaps wondering what the concern was. Then he closed his eyes and the let out a loud, painful wail.

I reached down another diaper and took the old one away and tried to repeat the process, wiping the kid down and getting another diaper.

“Christ, Robert, what the fuck are you doing?” Beth, back in the room. Her eyes still dark, with bags of sleeplessness.

“He crapped the second diaper.” I said, trying to apologize.

“Where the fuck is the pacifier?” She demanded. She still had the pistol in her hands. Usually she doesn't repeat the word "fuck". Only when she's nervous.

“I don’t know, back in the crib I think.” I said. “Maybe he’s hungry too.”

But she had vanished again.

I got the diaper on and this time the kid didn’t poop into it. I tried to rock him but he didn’t take to it and was still screaming out, deafening my right ear.

“Give me the kid.” Said Beth, reaching for the child. In her other hand she had the pacifier.

“I got him.” I said, demanding she respect my paternal role.

“No you don’t. Don’t be stubborn.” She tried to put the pacifier in his mouth, but the kid spat it out.

And we were perhaps arguing about this for 10 minutes when we heard the first thumping coming from below.

We both froze, looking at each other. More thumps.

“We got neighbors.”

The thumps were coming from below, banging the floor loudly, powerfully. Powerful enough to come through the floor.

This time when she reached for the kid I didn’t refuse. I blew out the kerosene lamp and we both went back into the bedroom. Beth was rocking the kid now, but she was having about as much luck as I was. And the more the kid cried out, the more the thumping got louder.

We waited, hoping the kid would get quiet, trying to force the pacifier on him, which he kept spitting out.

Amazingly he stopped crying and looked at both of us with his little eyes. Moments like this I think that this kid is just the cutest pain in the ass I have ever had to deal with.

We had hoped that the thumping would stop when the kid stopped crying and our neighbors would leave us alone.

But they didn't. The thumping continued. The kid suddenly looked scared and let out an awfully loud wail.

"Maybe you should nurse him." I suggested. I went to the drawers and found my gun, attached the silencer.

Beth watched me, holding our child. “Better take two.”

It's a wonderful thing when someone cares for you.

____________________________________________

Meeting Beth-

I first met Beth on the lip of a cliff on the day she thought about ending her life. She was sitting near the end, looking down into Yosemite valley below, sunset having just passed. Below her was darkness and the dim shimmer of park lights, dimmed by banks of fog. Perhaps she felt that had she jumped she would have kept falling forever.

I don’t know why she hesitated, but I give thanks that she did. For I am sure had she jumped my life would have been much less interesting.

I had just come from a week of hiking the back country of Yosemite. It was late April, and the park was largely empty of people and coming back to life. We had received a late snow fall, and heavy snow is not unusual in Yosemite into May. But in May the tourists come back so by April the park rangers had to begin the process of checking the hiking paths. My friend Eric Schmidt, a lawyer in Sacramento, had befriended one of the year-long park rangers when he had worked for the magistrate one summer during law school. Since then we had joined Ranger Daniels on his April hikes through the national park.

We, being myself and our friends. Each year it had been a mixed bag of friends, depending on who could make it or who had other obligations. But we usually tried to come. The core were friends who I had met in UCLA plus Pablo, who I had known since elementary school. We would plan the trip for months, and, weather permitting, would journey to Yosemite in our various vehicles, park in the valley and then hike through the mountains for one or two weeks. Eric was regular, and had brought a friend of his, Spencer, who was a doctor of general medicine, also in Sacramento. I had come up with Pablo, who had taken off time from his father’s garage in the Napa where Pablo worked as a mechanic. Joining us were James Walsh, who had gone off and was now a detective in the SFPD, Carl Davis, a grad student like me in Biology, Jorge Quintinella, who shared a house with Carl at Berkeley and was joining us for the third year, and Robert Stone, a software designer currently living in Palo Alto.

We had hoped to make Yosemite Valley by nightfall, but had been delayed by fallen trees from the most recent storms. These same storms had taken out tower in the Valley and had mysteriously cut cellphone use. Ranger Daniels had mapped this set of hikes to inspect the damage done to Yosemite’s limited cellular infrastructure. For a week we had been blind to the world, which all of us had found to our relief. It had been decided that we would set camp and spend a last night outside and hike down into Yosemite canyon in the morning. We had enough supplies, as usual, for a few nights.

But being so close to the canyon, I had thought to get a glimpse of the valley at sunset, so had gone ahead of them planning to return to set my own tent later. But I too had been delayed by fallen logs and got to the lip of the canyon late, only to find I wasn’t alone. There was a woman there, her feet dangling over cliff side, her hands about to push herself off.

I did my best to be quiet, using the growing dusk to hide my movements until I was sitting on the canyon lip 100 or so feet away. Perhaps she had only come up for the view. Even in the growing darkness we could pick out the features, Half-Dome, the waterfalls.

Not sure what to say, I called out. “Hey, it’s quite a view.”

It still surprised her and I thought she might just push off into the dark.

She looked over at my direction, but couldn’t see me. She was silent for sometime. “You should have seen it when it was daylight.”

“Tried too, but I got here too late.” I called out thinking that the conversation was better than suicide.

“Why don’t you come closer so you don’t have to yell?” She asked.

That surprised me, but I took it as a good sign. So I got up and walked over and was about to sit next to her when she said, “But not too close ok?”

“Not a problem.” I said, sitting down. I got a look at her, but couldn’t make out her features in the dark. I could see that she was in pretty good shape, and figured she was in her early to middle 20s. Her hair was dark, long and curly.

Down below I heard a low moaning. The wind in the canyon.

“Seems so quiet down there.” I said.

“Not much livin’ down there.” She said.

“It will all be different in Summer.” I mused.

“Not this year.” She said.

I didn’t say anything for a little bit, letting the silence grow and wondering if the conversation was just prelude to suicide.

“You camped out nearby?” I finally asked.

“No. We had a place in your valley.” She said.

“Family?” I asked.

“Friends.” She replied.

“Well it would be unwise to down there at night.” I said. “Though I think your friends might worry about you.”

“I would rather not see my friends, but you’re right, it’s not safe to go down tonight.”

“Well, if you like we got some food and tent space, you can spend the night with us.” I said. She shot me a funny look, so I quickly added, “I mean, just friendly. This isn’t a pick-up of something.”

She laughed at that. But then didn’t say anything.

The silence got uncomfortable and I felt there was an empty space growing. “That is unless you got a better offer.”

She shook her head and said, “I wasn’t planning on staying the night. And I wasn’t up just for the view.”

Then she got quiet, and looked down into the valley. I could feel the chill despite the heavy clothing I had one.

With a tone of resignation she said to me, looking at me. “You should know that everything is dead down there. There is nothing living at all.”

I thought she was speaking metaphorically.

“Well you can always jump tomorrow.” I said, rather nonchalantly.

“Yes, tomorrow is another day.”

 

[welsh]

Fireside chat or How I came to learn that I slept through the Apocalypse-

She followed me back from the cliff without speaking. The night before we had received a dusting of snow, which still clung to the pine trees and floor, making the trail difficult to see, so I tried to focus on finding my way back to the camp in the dark. As it was, the snow fall provided a luminescence making my tracks clear enough. Even so, I preferred to concentrate on the trail, not sure what to say to girl behind me.

We heard the others laughing and smelled the fire before we saw the camp. They were talking among each other. Ranger Daniels telling a story about a bear that chased a young couple, buck naked, up a tree and had kept them up there for two days. The others were listening and chiming in, helping themselves to food, laughing. They had begun to pass around the last of the booze. The tents, including my own, where set and they had both coffee and a pot of beans cooking.

It was the last night that we could enjoy in ignorance of what had happened. The next day we would know the horror that awaited us and we would know the loss of friends. That night we held on to our notions of a world that had already passed on.

Pablo saw me first, and the girl behind me, nudging the others. Eric stopped and looked up and also smiled until he got a better look at the girl. I got the look and noticed he didn’t like what he saw. The others grew quiet as they noticed my companion.

“Hey,” I said to the others, “I bring a guest.” Had things been otherwise someone would have chided me for being the first to bring a girl in, but this time.

I stepped aside so that they could see the girl and why they had grown serious. In the light I noticed that she wasn’t wearing gloves and that her jacket was ripped in the sleeves, that her face was scratched and her hair dirty and matted. I was right, that she was in her early 20s, probably a college student. Her facial features were sharp, and her eyes intelligent under narrow eyebrows. Not a beautiful face, not unattractive but not the kind of girl who had to fight off boyfriends. It looked like there was mud on her jacket, her jeans and her hair. But it might have also been blood.

The others watched as she came into the light and tried to warm her hands in the fire. “I met her by the cliff overlooking the valley.” I explained.

“Does she have a name?” Asked Jorge.

“Beth.” She said.

“The cliff is no place to be in the dark. Especially with snow fall. It can get pretty icy and an easy slip and slide and you’d be a goner.” Said Daniels.

Beth simply nodded, and said, “I thought so too. Can I grab a bit of that food? I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Someone passed her a plate and a spoon and she dug in with gusto, quickly filling her plate. I looked over at Daniels and noticed he had hit his bottle of brandy and had a slight buzz.

“We also got coffee and some biscuits.” Said Pablo. “Stronger drinks too.”

“Little of both would go well.” She said.

“So what were you doing up at the cliff so late? Hell of a view up there at sunset. Where you up with friends? Did you get lost?” Asked Eric.

She shook her head between bites. “Nope. Actually I was thinking of jumpin’ when he showed up.”

Then she spooned in another mouthful of beans.

No one spoke for a moment, wondering if she was serious.

She picked up the awkward silence and looked up from her food and smiled. “These are good beans.” She took in another spoonful then lifted up a mug and pointed it at the coffee pot.

Carl chuckled followed by Robert, and perhaps because of the liquor the laughter spread. That eased the mood. I poured her some coffee and then tipped in a bit of our last can of condensed milk into her coffee.

We continued to talk among ourselves about the trail, about our plans when we got home, about how nice it was to be out of touch. We talked about jobs, girlfriends and jobs. It was the last time we talked like that.

Beth seemed to pullback a bit, listening while she ate, taking a slug for the Jack Daniels as it got passed around. I grabbed a plate of beans, but my appetite wasn’t there.

I whispered to James, the cop. “I think she was serious about jumping.”

He simply nodded. “looks like she’s had some kind of trouble.” He whispered back.

“Doesn’t seem like she’s suicidal though.” I said.

“Never can tell.” And he let it rest.

I tried not to look at Beth but I caught the others shooting her looks and occasionally glancing at me. Her condition suggested that she had been in some kind of trouble, but no one pushed it while she still ate. Perhaps we were trying to let her feel comfortable but not being intrusive. But she watched us, trying to judge us.

But eventually the conversation died down and our attention returned to her. We waited for Ranger Daniels to begin the questioning.

“So what where you doing on the cliff side?” He asked as he prepared another pot of coffee.

“Seriously?” She asked. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. Jumpin’ looked like a good idea at the time.” Then she shrugged and said, . “Still does.”

“Can’t be that bad whatever the problem is.” Said Daniels. “Nothing worth dieing over.”.

“Worse ways to die.” She said, and gave a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “You don’t know what I’ve seen.”

“Know what?” Asked Daniels. “What don’t I know.”

She didn’t speak for awhile, leaving the question unanswered as she considered what to say. But she couldn’t find the right words and so tried to say it plainly. “What’s going on. What happened. I can tell by looking at you, by listening to what you’re saying. You don’t know. How long have you been camping up here?” She asked.

I spoke first. “A little over a week.”

“And you haven’t heard?” She asked me.

“We’ve had no radio contact for a week. No cell phones seem to be working.”

“So you don’t know.” She said, her voice carrying a sad resignation. “You have no idea.”

Daniels was more serious now, his smile gone and his formal attitude on. “Know what?” He asked again.

She was about to speak, but then shrugged and said simply. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Beth reached for the bottle and drank then asked “More coffee. It’s pretty good.” We waited while she sipped the steaming cup.

Daniels grew impatient. “Tell me what you know.”

Then looking at none of us she said. “It’s the end of world.”

“What do you mean, ‘end of the world?’” Asked Jorge.

She just shook her head and said, “We heard it on the radio before we got here. Outbreaks everywhere. Of course we didn’t understand it. Maybe it was better that we were here and not in Davis. God knows what’s happening in the cities. All those people.” She seemed to be speaking to no one in particular and spoke without emotion, as if it were all fact. “

“Is it a virus? A terrorist attack?” Asked Carl, the biologist who looked over to Spencer, the doctor.

Spencer had been quiet but nodded to that. “A virus could conceivable spread over much of the country very fast. The Center for Disease Control has done studies about the spread of contagious diseases.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Something. Maybe it came from outer space? Or a government experiment. Or maybe it’s Hell overflowing. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. All I know is that it’s everywhere.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Death. And it’s hungry.” Then she looked at us and simply said. “What ever you had before you came here, it’s probably gone now.”

Daniels didn’t seem to be buying it, probably thought she was crazy. “Well we’ll see about that tomorrow when we get back to the Ranger station.”

“If you’re going back into the valley, you might as well jump off that cliff. It’s a better way to die.” Said Beth.

“We’ll call in from the Ranger station and get this sorted out.” Said Daniels.

“The ranger station was wiped out, overrun. No one alive there.” Said Beth. “They’re all dead.”

“What do you mean? There are nearly a dozen rangers down there.”

“I saw the station. I saw those things coming out of the station and what they were eating. I saw one ranger get dragged down. Susan was driving and the traffic got stuck in the valley, no one could get out. We tried to but the car went off the road and got stuck in the mud. Alice said we should go but Susan kept trying the car even though it was stuck and they came, and Alice…..” she said it fast, her voice growing hysterical as she spoke, and her fragmented story slowly setting our blood cold.

Spencer put a blanket over her shoulders and said. “Take it easy. You’re safe now.”

“No. I’m not.”

We asked more questions but Beth didn’t answer. She just shook her head. “You don’t believe me. You won’t until you see it for yourself.”

Then later she said. “If they come up here tonight, don’t let them get me. Ok. Just don’t let them take me.”

Despite her age, she seemed like a child afraid of the boogey man. We let Beth keep the bottle of Jack’s and when she finished it we passed her a bit of our brandy. She crawled into a tent, near the fire, laying down on a sleeping bag nearest the fire, wrapped herself in more blankets, and fell asleep.

Daniels watched her and looked at Spencer and then James “What do you think? Is she nuts? Psychotic. Have you seen this kind of thing.”

“Could be a lot of things. Trauma, hallucinations.” Said Spencer. “But she should see a shrink.”

James shook his head. “I have seen some bad shit, and people do strange things when they’ve been traumatized. Honestly, we won’t know until tomorrow.”

“We better put cuffs on her so she doesn’t do anything crazy.” Suggested Daniels, who had the only handcuffs.

“Do that and she’ll have a hell of a time getting down into the canyon. It’s a steep climb down and with all this snow and ice, we’ll need to go down hand over hand.” I said. I didn’t want her to put the handcuffs on her. Whatever had happened to her, I didn’t want her to be trapped. It would be like I had betrayed her trust.

“I don’t think she’s going to go back to the cliff tonight, and I doubt she’s a danger.” Added James, who I think had a sense of my concerns.

Carl had been the most quiet. “Just the same, better we keep a watch tonight.” We decided to break up into watches.

Daniels, a ranger, had brought a rifle and a sidearm on the hike, fearful of possible hungry bears just out of hibernation. James had brought his sidearm and checked his bag for extra ammo. Even Eric, who had been a DA, still carried a .38 and two speed loaders. Those with guns checked their weapons. Those without looked for something that they could use as a weapon. All I had was a hiking stick.

We didn’t speak about it but the girl’s story had chilled us. What if she wasn’t hallucinating, what if we had missed the end of the world and tomorrow we were venturing down into the valley of death.

I didn’t know what to think. I believed Beth had been through something terrible, and for what she had said, I thought that beneath her strong face, she was going through some kind of terrible traumatic shock. But I believed that the next day we would drop her off at the station, and that by evening I would be home in my apartment in Berkeley. I would never have guessed that I a year and a half later I would be a father.

I took watch first with James’ 9 mm in my hands. I fed the fire with the wood dry wood we had found, and watched the wood crackle and pop as the others turn into their tents. I thought about what she had said, and wondered what waited for us. But I chased those thoughts away, and thought about what I would do when I got back to school.

I began to nod off when I felt a hand grip my leg.

It was Beth, and she was looking at me hard, very awake, very earnest. “Remember, if they come. Make sure you don’t let them get to me. You stopped me from jumping, so you’re responsible to make sure they don’t get me.”

“I’ll make sure.”

She let go, watched me quietly, and then let her eyelids fall and sleep take her. Maybe it was that promise that has kept us together all these years.

______________

First Encounters-

I woke up in the morning, my face chilled and breath pluming from mouth, fragments of dream scattering in the day. I got up and packed quick, noticed that the others had grown quiet. Beth was awake and watching, trying to remain warm near the fire.

After we had packed up the tents we got breakfast together and ate without talking, then we packed up the rest and got ready to go.

“You’re still going down there?” Asked Beth.

“Yep.” Said Daniels, speaking for us.

“You won’t make it.” She said.

No one answered her.

“I’d rather stay here.” She added.

“Can’t let that happen.” Said Daniels. “We need to get you some help.”

“There’s no one down there that can help. Not me, not any of us. You’d be better not to try going down there.” She continued.

“We have to go.” Said Daniels, to her and the rest of us.

“Please don’t.” She said.

“I’m sorry.” Said Daniels, meaning it.

“I know.” She said.

The descent was hard, slow going. A lot of fallen trees, and the trail had slipped away and gone slick in places. It was good that Daniels hadn’t put the cuffs on her, because soon we were going hand over hand down. At a few points we came to overlooks of the valley below, but could see little of the valley below. Not the road, or the gas station. Not the trails, or the big old hotel at the end. Not the ranger stations or the camp sites. The only thing I could make out was the road winding up and out of the valley. Each time I looked I saw no traffic.

We continue quietly, our boots crunching on the snow, carefully trying to brake our way down, trying to be easy on the knees, through areas of rough, low brush, and through forests of different pines. Ranger Daniels was in front, keeping our pace constant. He wanted to get Beth to the ranger station, and see for himself that the world was as he left it. Beth stayed in back, almost at the end, as if ready at any minute to return from where we came. James took up the rear, perhaps to make sure she didn’t do anything rash.

We didn’t speak and our sounds were easily lost in the woods as we came down. The recent snow melting in the sunlight lifted a mist over the valley, limited our visibility. We came around a familiar bend of a well used trail, the trail becoming black asphalt, and I realized we were almost back in the valley.

I was third, and nearly bumped into Eric who was right behind Daniels. Eric was frozen, a few paces behind Daniels who had stopped moving and was watching the trail ahead. Further ahead, barely visible, I could see one of the emergency phones that were scattered throughout Yosemite Valley.

I whispered, “What is it?”

Eric shushed me.

Behind me the others had stopped and were waiting. I dimly heard Beth whisper. “We should go back now.”

I heard something move, and then a moan. A shuffle, stop, another shuffle. And a moan. Approaching.

Daniels had his hand over his holstered sidearm. The rifle was still in the enclosed rifle bag.

We waited, listening. But heard nothing more.

I thought we had been hearing things.

We waited, frozen. Listening. Hearing only wind and the rustle of frozen branches and dead leaves.

Then the moan again.

“That’s not the wind.” Said Pablo.

“No.” Said Jorge.

“They’re coming.” Whispered Beth, urgently.

And something did come, stumbling through the mist.

It was a person, a man. He was shuffling, in some kind of pain. Favoring his right leg. But we couldn’t see him clearly, through the trees. But he was approaching.

Eric was now kneeling, his hand near his ankle holster. Because he was crouched I could see the man approach.

He was stumbling, wearing a parker and boots, and some kind of yellow slicker. One of the maintenance guys who worked the park. He was obviously hurt, his face pale but his eyes wide. He didn’t seem to have noticed us, probably just following the trail, lost. But he kept coming on.

Then he stopped, and seemed to sniff the air, listening. Then he turned towards us, moaned once and began to move in our direction, still walking but now with purpose. Carl made a move to go forward and help him, but Spencer, the doctor stopped him and pulled him back. “Don’t.”

As he got closer I noticed that his arm was missing, as if torn from the parker. I felt my stomach lose something. It took a few more moments before I realized it wasn’t bleeding as it should have.

Daniels wasn’t sure what to do. He had been in the park for nearly 20 years, and had seen a lot of things. But what he had seen was subject to laws of nature he could understand. This was different and he couldn’t grasp it. He stood frozen, uncertain.

Eric said, “Holy shit. That guy needs help.”

From behind me I heard Beth say. “No. Shoot him. Don’t even try to help. Just shoot him.”

Daniels was ahead, had his hand out. He seemed to be grasping for the right thing to do, the right procedure. Nothing was working. When he spoke it was desperate. “Hey, stop right there. We’re going to help you out.”

But the man kept coming, his one arm reaching out, slipping on the ice, nearly losing his balance. As he kept coming he seemed to be growling, hissing, moaning.

From behind me I heard James the detective, say, “That man can’t be still moving.”

“That man should be dead.” Agreed Spencer.

“Stop right there.We’ll get you help.” Called out Daniels, who might have been figuring out something was very wrong.

But the man was now nearly 20 paces away and moving faster.

“Stop now.” Called Daniels, beginning to unholster his sidearm.

He would never have gotten it out in time. But he never had a chance to find out.

There was a blur from the right, fast. And then Daniels was down and something else was atop of him.

Something had moved on us quick, while attention was on the man coming up the trail. Something had caught us unawares, by surprise.

I backed away and Eric now had his pistol out and was moving backwards.

Daniels screamed out, and a red pool began to spread behind him.

I felt something on my skin, and realized blood had sprayed onto my face.

The one who had been coming up the trail stopped and fell upon Daniels’ still squirming body.

Something moved from behind us as Eric fired his .38. The bullet hit the thing that had taken down Daniels, knocking it down and over.

I realized it was some kind of man, his face wild and covered with Daniels blood, blood that was in the man’s mouth. The man turned over and then got back into a squat, facing us.

Then it seemed to leap towards us.

Beth had gone for Daniel’s pistol and was trying to get back to us. It was only a few feet, but she was closest and the thing went for her.

It took two steps, hunched over, and fell. A bullet for Eric’s gun had gone into its side.

But turned over and got up, now slowed for being hit. Eric fired again and again, missing once.

I moved forward and grabbed at Beth, pulling her back and past me up the trail.

Then the thing was among us, going for Eric, knocking Eric down, atop of him.

Eric had dropped his pistol and has his hand trying to keep the man’s head away, and I got a glimpse of the man trying to bite, going for any exposed skin it could.

I used my hiking stick and slammed it against attacker’s head, knocking it aside. It glared at me, as I hit it again, this time breaking the stick. I used what was left of it the stick.

James coming up, pointed his pistol at the things head, waited so that it was away from Eric and fired once. The man stopped moving and fell.

Eric, pushed the body away and tried to crawl up and away.

The other one, the one arm, stopped feasting on Daniels and tried to get up, slipped on the ice.

Tried again, and fell down. Then giving it up, it seemed to crawl towards us.

Eric reached for his dropped .38. Steven’s gun fired twice more, each time hitting the body twice.

But that didn’t stop the creature. Certainly no man could have kept coming.

Then a loud bang, and part of the creatures head opened up and it fell.

Beth, holding Daniels gun. Stepping forward, pointing at the two dead things. “Get the rifle and the pack. Quickly.”

No one moved, still shocked.

“Now!”

James first, coming forward, pointing his gun down the path, expecting more. Eric, reloading his pistol. Spencer and Carl looking at the dead. One of them saying. “They’re cold. So cold. How could they still be moving.”

Jorge bumped into me, and with Robert, we went to Daniels. The blood was beginning to congeal and freeze and the body was quickly loosening hit heat, already pale. His jacket had been bitten through in the arm, but what killed him had been the large wound to his neck. His eyes were still open as if in shock, unbelieving.

I reached down and put my hand over the lids and closed them. Then we quickly undid the clasps of his pack and tried to get it off his shoulders.

Jorge was in front of Daniels and suddenly screamed out and jumped back sliding on the ice, knocking into me down and on my ass..

I looked up from and saw Daniels’ eyes, wide open, seemingly alive and filled a rage I didn’t understand, desperate and demanding.

I heard Robert say “Holy shit!”

Daniels reached out and grabbed Jorge’s leg and pulled him in. But Jorge’s other leg came around and kicked at Daniel’s head, momentarily knocking him lose as he tried to crawl away.

Daniels, now turning over, crawling fast towards both Jorge and me, reaching for us.

I saw Robert behind, desperately trying to get the rifle out, fumbling with the Velcro straps, still saying quickly, repeatedly, “Holy Shit!”

Then a foot came down on Daniel’s back, pushing him down, and the pistol fired into it’s back. Daniel’s legs gave out and he began to twitch. One more shot to the head and even that stopped.

Robert still saying ‘Holy Shit!’ finally getting the rifle out, pointing it this way, or that.

Beth behind me, pulling me up with one hand the other still holding Daniel’s revolver. When I found my feet back on the floor, I reached over to help up Jorge, who was still looking dumbstruck at Daniels, who was twitching.

Beth now moving up the trail, backtracking from where we came. “We need to go. It’s too much noise.”

“What do you mean?” Asked James, still looking down the trail, trying to see through the curtain of mist before us.

“The noise, it will attract the others. We need to get out of here. They’re coming.”

 

[Gunslinger]

Greg's Story: How It Came To Be

Greg woke up quite suddenly and surely in the practiced manner of all paranoid junkies. The very second sunlight came streaming through the hotel window blinds, his eyes snapped open and dilated. His mind’s shielding rest and dormancy had been broken and a storming headache caught him full-swing. With it came a million frantic thoughts.

Where am I?
Where’s my stash?
Where the fuck is Ray?

Greg sat up in his bed, his sweating body sticking to the bed sheets. He almost swooned from the vertigo from just sitting up. The piercing sting behind his eyes was unbearable. He worked his dry tongue around his mouth, tasted the vague chemical tang of his last hit. His body ached for a fix.

His eyes wandered to the alarm clock on top of the room’s dresser and saw the broken red numbers “88:88” flashing brazenly back at him. Flipping off the broken clock, he checked his gaudy, fake Rolex and saw that it was ten o’clock in the morning. The little date box on the side told him that it was the 24th, meaning that he had been sleeping for two days. How was that possible? He stroked his chin, felt the two days’ growth of beard, and decided that it was very possible. Ray must have paid for another two nights. Or he could have killed the motel owner. It was always a fucking surprise with Ray.

With a groan, Greg threw off the sheets and got up. The air was warm and thick, the kind of humidity that you never wanted to fall asleep in. A bit more awake, his body realized that it was hungry and his stomach rumbled for a handout. Even more pressing than the two day’s worth of hunger was the need for coke, now more essential to his body than food or water.

The hotel room was a mess. The shitty little table in the middle of the room was turned over and was missing a leg. The television set mounted on the wall had a brick through its smashed screen. Burger wrappers, cigarette filters, and beer bottles littered the burnt and stained carpet. It all screamed of Ray’s handiwork.

Greg dropped to his knees. His shaking hands groped urgently underneath the bed until they found what they were looking for. Eagerly, he pulled out the leather “doctor’s bag” and opened it. Inside were assortments of drugs and drug paraphernalia: weed, pill bottles, syringes, hash pipes, razor blades, plastic baggies, lighters. Anyone caught with it could easily do twenty years in jail. He dug through the bag, ignoring the pills; he didn’t have the time for their effects to kick in. He forgot about the weed, didn’t want to mellow out in this state. He only wanted the coke.

At the bottom of the bag he found a small plastic baggie with about an ounce of coke in it. There had originally been five other bags filled to the brim with the stuff, enough to last the two of them for weeks while they made their run. But Ray was greedy, too unprofessional. Greg never wanted to work the fucker ever again. He was, in fact, just about ready to bash the fucker’s head in.

Instead, he tore open the plastic and spilled the chalky dust onto the dresser. It snowed onto the wood surface in chunks, like rocky silt. He diced through the coke with a razor blade, reducing it to a fine powder. His tongue was salivating as he formed the coke into a line. He dipped his nose expertly over the powder and snorted up.

And then Greg was flying. His head reeled back at the sudden euphoria felt once the chemicals reached his brainstem and bloodstream. He had forgotten how good the stuff was, how fucking potent it was. Of course, he wasn’t a fucking connoisseur of the junk, but it was miles higher than the chalk he was used to. He could understand how Ray could go through four bags of the stuff by himself. Understand, but not forgive, of course.

He felt good, like he could do anything. Coke did wonders to the ego. He was still hungry and there was still a slight headache but the coke had given him the kick-start he needed. He found a bottle of aspirin and dry swallowed two of the pills to kill the headache. He briefly considered going to the little diner, the only other building in the truck stop besides the hotel, but decided he needed a shower first. He felt sticky in the heat.

The bathroom was in slightly better condition than the rest of the motel room. The toilet was clogged and the sink was ringed with hair and empty coke bags. But the shower stall was clean. Relatively.

Greg took a quick ten-minute shower, long enough for the water to heat up for him to do a quick scrubbing. He would have shaved but there was no razor. He dried himself off and put on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hooded sweater. The weather was too hot to warrant a sweater but Greg wore it anyways, to hide his face from anyone looking to get a closer look.

Just as Greg finished dressing, a knock came at the door. Greg froze, taking stock of his situation and current surroundings: there was trash everywhere and a bag of drugs open on the bed. It only took him a second to realize he was in deep shit.

The knock came again. “Just a second!” Greg shouted as he closed up his doctor’s bag full of drugs and shoved it underneath the bed again. He started pushing trash underneath the bed too but stopped, realizing that it would be a fight in futility. He hoped it wasn’t the hotel manager; the cheap old bastard would likely kick them out when he saw the smashed T.V.

“Hold on!” he shouted when a heavy fist thudded against the door again. He walked up to the door, already thinking of an explanation as he threw back the safety bolt. He opened the door at a small crack, hiding the mess, and he gushed out, “Look, the room’s a mess ‘cause--”

The door was pushed back against him suddenly, throwing Greg to the floor. All three-hundred pounds of his fellow drug-runner, Ray Mancini, came bursting through the door. With his heavyset build, balding head with long hair, and thick mustache, Ray looked a lot like David Crosby. Except David Crosby didn’t wear clothes stained in blood.

“Holy shit!” Greg said when he saw the blood. “What happened to you?”

Ray didn’t answer. He stared blankly at him for a minute and then walked purposely towards him with dirty, blood-crusted hands outstretched.

“Hey, man,” Greg said, scrambling to his feet. He held up his hands, as if they would be enough to stop Ray. “Just chill out for a second.”

Ray didn’t chill out, though. He advanced ungainly, wobbling like an untrained sailor at sea. His left foot dragged behind him as he lurched forward.

Greg could recognize a coke fiend when he saw one. Powder ringed each one of Ray’s nostrils, caked on heavily as if he had dipped his entire face into it. In most cases, shooting up large quantities of coke stoned you into a cold unconsciousness. In other cases, it lent superhuman strength along with an unpredictable insanity. Which made dealing with a coke fiend an absolute blast half of the time.

Ray advanced closer and Greg backed away with each step. It was creepy, the way he wheezed bitterly but kept coming. “Stop it, man!” Greg shouted. He was getting panicky and the coke in his blood was making him jumpy. His fists clenched and opened, wanting to square the fucker across the face. “You’re being just…fucking…unprofessional, man!”

Professionals, that’s the way they were supposed to be, or at least it was the aspiration. Greg was only twenty-four but he knew the protocol, how to act cool while making the run. But Ray was an old fucker, apparently long in the game, yet he acted like a shitkicking rookie. What the fuck was he doing, getting shitfaced stoned like this? He had a job to do.

There was no reasoning with him. Ray was so high, he had shot up to the moon. With a mind astounding speed, the three-hundred pound drug smuggler groped for one of Greg’s arm. Squealing, Greg pulled it away just as Ray was about to bring it to his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Greg exclaimed, in a helplessly high womanly pitch. He thought he heard Ray’s teeth close together with an audible snap. Was the fucker trying to bite him?

Ray moaned in reply, his mouth frothing, and went after Greg again. There was no stopping him, not with all that coke in his systems. It was the coke fiends, guys like Ray Mancini and Rodney King, who started riots.

“You’re out of your mind,” Greg said softly and decisively. How the fuck did he get paired with such an asshole? This was becoming unbelievable. He had spent seven nerve wracking days with Ray, driving a big rig full of furniture from Nevada to Modesto, California. The catch was that every feasible hollow of furniture was filled with heroin. It was the cheap Mexican tar, not classy heroin, but still enough to send him away to jail for the rest of his life. And things weren’t getting easier with Ray mouthing off and getting into fights with practically everyone they met. He wanted attention badly, wanted everyone to know that he was top dog in the kennel. It was fucking unprofessional. And now the fucker was shooting up on their supplies and trying to take a bite out of him.

“This has been a long time coming, you fat fuck,” Greg declared. He picked up the broken off table leg and pointed it Ray. “Stop. I mean it.” He was rip-roarin’ ready to go at it, feed the old bastard a good dose of smack down.

Ray, of course, kept coming, heedless of the makeshift club. He was beyond the point of self-preservation; the shot of coke had destroyed what was left of his reasoning abilities. He flailed with both hands at Greg as he came closer.

“Fine!” Greg screamed. “I tried to reason with you, keep fucking professional about it. But this is what you get!” He swung the table leg halfheartedly at his unrelenting partner, a weak part of him still unable to hit the bastard. The blow glanced off of Ray’s hip. He didn’t even blink, he just kept coming.

The coke and adrenaline was zipping through his body now. A dangerous cocktail of chemicals and emotions was brewing inside him. Greg swung again, this time with more force and the table leg splintered in half as it collided with Ray’s bald head. This time he did stop, his eyes rolling back into his eyelids. With a heavy thud, Ray fell over.

“Shit,” Greg cursed. His heart was beating bombastically, trying to jump out of his chest. A primal part of his body cheered gleefully at Ray’s still body. He let his breath out slowly. “Shit.”

The scene was looking bad, no telling who would come checking on things. He dropped the broken piece of wood and ran over to the door, closing and locking it just in case the manager decided to investigate. That done, he now had to consider the three-hundred pound bastard lying on the floor. Bad enough that he had to be stuck with an unprofessional bastard. But why the fuck did he have to get stuck with a fat, unprofessional bastard? He bent over and checked Ray’s pulse and was only a little relieved to find that the bastard was still alive. His breathing was weak and shallow but he deserved it. It took all his strength to push Ray’s unconscious body into the bathroom.

Greg didn’t plan on being around when Ray came to. He had had enough, didn’t care if the bastard was stranded. Fuck him. Greg flung open the hotel door, ready to get into his big rig and finish the heroin delivery to Modesto. Time to blow this shitberg, roll the stuff to Modesto, and hightail it back to Santa Monica.

He got one foot into the hallway and then stopped.

Corpses littered the hallway, bodies strewn and frozen in horrific appeals of mercy. Entrails and limbs covered the floor, flesh torn asunder and bones splint to the marrow. Bloody handprints layered the wall, beaten in the throes of agony. Greg’s mind processed all of this quickly but none of it registered. It was too fucking surreal, like something painted by that sick fucker Salvador Dali. He looked closer at the scene from hell, saw that some of the corpses had actually been bitten into. Greg recalled the sound of Ray’s teeth closing sharply together, inches away from his arm. Despite having not eaten for two days, his stomach still had enough for him to vomit.

What the fuck happened while he was asleep?

 

[PyroPhoenix]

The beginning of the end-

Sunlight. Pure sunlight shone through the lids of my eyes as I awoke. A boundless enthusiaim filled me before I realized it was going to be another 9 to 5 grinding day in a fucking cubicle.

I sighed as I took my routine morning leak followed by the standard grooming I performed every morning.

As I went to the kitchen for breakfast I noticed that my coffee machine hadn't set off it's automatic brew function, and gathered that it had reset it self by the blinking 12:00 staring at me from the tiny glass screen.

Curious as to what time it was I checked the digital clock in my room. It had reset as well. I knew I didn't feel right and now I figured out it was because I had gotten a full nights sleep without the alarm.

"Ah shit!! Of all days to be late for work I choose today." This was followed by another thought. I'll just call in sick and take the day off. Hell I feel so good that I could go for a jog in the park. The phone proved itself completely dead.

"What the hell is going on here?" I turned the news on to see and was greeted by nothing but static on all of the channels.

I massaged my temples and sighed deeply. "Ok then I'll just get dressed then check the paper.

My favourite blue and white pinstripe suit came to mind at first and I decided to finish the look that I would wear my matching Fedora. "Look at you there Al Capone. Gonna smuggle up some rum." I made a crude gesture as if I were holding a thompson and made shooty noises through my cheeks. Laughing all the way to the door I soon saw the obvious reason why something felt wrong.

It was probably the legless torso dragging itself towards me on it's remaining arm.

I've finally lost it. No you haven't. Then why are you talking to yourself? Touche'.

What about the Zombie. O that. Yes that. Kill it dumbass. What if it isn't a zombie?

The irony of that last sentence dawned on me as I stoos looking at what must surely be the walking dead(Well dragging anyways). In blatant refusal to accept the fact it was there I closed the door and locked it. Then I unlocked the door and opened it again to make sure I had seen what I thought I had seen. Then I closed it again.

Ok, any doubts. No. Then kill it. Why? it isn't like it is trying to kill me or..WHUMP THUMP WHUMP. The noise was from the door no doubts.

"I already have a subscription to Sports Illustrated go somewhere else." WHAM. THAK CRACK.

Hey you better get moving. That last hit might have cracked the door.

Impossible. That door is solid oak.........at least thats what the landlord always said.

I think it is time you killed it.

Fine then. Maybe I should. But how? If it was missing it's legs surely I can do little to it.

Have you no clue.

Well no....

Remember when we watched that crappy zombie movie with your cousin, and the only way to kill them was with severe nervous system damage.

Ok so my mind had convinced me it was right. It usually was. Even when it had told me not to take my medicine. I grabbed my .38 special from the place under the sofa and checked the chamber. Six shots, and maybe another fifteen or so in my closet.

I walked slowly to the door. Although I should have had adrenaline I was as calm as ever. Hell If i died it would only end the life sucking monotony of my job.

A deep breath. Door Flies open. Zombie looks up at me and attempts to lunge. Never makes it more than threshold of my apartment.

I looked in wonder at the end of the rapid series of events. I had blown the rear end of it's skull clear out onto my neighbor's door.

One rapid shot, and not even a thought.

Kid your a poet and you didn't know it.

I closed my door and decided I would make a plan of action.

 

[PyroPhoenix]

My Plan Takes Shape-

I shuffled through the side pockets of my car nervously as I looked for a road map, or atlas, or fuck, anything at all. My efforts amounted to a Zippo lighter that I kept for the sole purpose of lighting my bosses cigarettes in hopes of a bit of favor.

Why don't you barricade yourself in the garage dumbass. Because they will smell me and swarm the place. Get a shotgun.

Good idea except for the gunstore is on the other side of town and I am not.

Check your neighbor's houses you idiot. Are you calling yourself an idiot?

Besides they are probably filled with the Zombies, and I don't fell like painting the Smith's household a deep shade of red.

Well you need a better plan then.....How about escape?

By what the subway? Great idea me.

Why not a Cessna. You can fly to somewhere without people.

I can't fly. Learn how to then fool. You know it is really confusing when you try to talk to me.

Well maybe if you listened better that wouldn't be a problem.

I don't hink tha- What was that noise?

I dunno...............maybe its FUCKING ZOMBIES SHERLOCK.

I spun and raised my gun. At the end of the street was the most Godawful thing I had ever seen.

What appeared to be a witch let out a primal howl from one hundred feet down the street and charged in my direction.

Shot one. High and left.
Shot two. Overcompensated. Low and right.
Sixty feet.
Shot three. Torso hit. No effect.
Shot four. Left arm gone.
Shot five. Left leg hit. Zombie stumbles and falls.
CLICK.
CLICK
CLICK.

"O shit!"

Tewnty feet, and the gun hit the concrete with an empty clatter. I braced my self and readied for a final stand.

It came at me so fast that I dived to my left and it ran headfirst into the quarterpanel of my Mustang. I grabbed it by the head at began slamming it in the door with animal ferocity.

Ten or so bloody slams later my windshield was spraypainted a lovely maroon. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but before he could say anything I punched him in the face and shut him up.

My garage was practically a sanctuary. Tools and grease everywhere reassured me. The wooden beams and century old drywall gave off a reassuring smell of hard labor and a warm haven. I set to work immediately. I grabbed three old beer botlles from the trash and filled them from a red can of gas in the far corner. I set these new toys in an old rucksack along with a small set of wrenches and a flashlight with a few extra batteries. Under my workbench sat a sledgehammer with a rusty iron head and a solid hickory handle. A small ten was stamped into the bottom and it felt right right as I hefted the work worn tool in my hands.

I set it aside for the moment as I reloaded my revolver. My previous guess of fifteen shells had been a tad generous and I only counted thirteen. I emptied the spent shells and filled the cylinder with a fresh six. I made sure the safety was on and dropped it in the pocket on the lining of my suit jacket. The seven remaining shells went into the breast pocket of my dress shirt underneath.

Back in my apartment I found the map while I stuck a few choice cans of Del Monte fruit cocktail into the sack and a few more of canned milk along with a dozen bags of peppermint tea. As an afterthought I dropped my swiss army knife into my pocket.

Can't eat canned food without a can opener nyuk nyuk nyuk.

Fuck you.
My mind immediately shutup and I quickly buckled the sack hanging at my side.

Four sharp butcher knives held the map by its corners to my coffee table, and I circled my destination with bright red ink.

I wrote a note and as a joke pinned it to the map with a fifth knife.

To whomever it may concern,
I admire your resourcefulness and or luck at surviving thus far. In my case it was luck, but whats the difference. We are alive. There is food in my cupboards and a few bottles of water in the hall closet with my emergency kit.
I am leaving for the town an hour or so to the west. You can find me at the police station there. I will leave clues of my passing in the form of more notes placed every few miles, and to mark the notes I will paint a large blue X on open walls facing the street. I have circled my destination on the map and have outlined my route.

May God bless you, and may luck take you to me.

Sincerely yours, The mystery man.

 

[welsh]

Twitchers, Stumblers and Runners.

We made it back to the switchbacks without running into anything. But they were back there. We could hear the moaning. That encouraged us to move faster. Up the switchbacks, over the hard parts when we had to go hand-over-hand. James, bringing up the rear, would watch our back and then push Robert, second to the back, ahead. He had gotten his shit together finally, at least as well as the rest of us.

For my part I was thinking about Daniels, and how fast he had been dropped. None of us had seen the thing that brought him down. It had been so damn fast. We had all been paying to the one coming right at us, that none of us watched our flanks.

I am not sure what the others were thinking. Probably how fucked up everything had gotten. But I was thinking about Daniels and how much I didn’t want to be him. We kept quiet and kept moving, regardless of our fatigue, back up the hill.

Eric drew us to a stop at the first good overlook, and when saw that Beth was right. “Oh shit. He mutter. We got more.”

They had followed us. These were moving slowly, stumbling about the side of the hill, cutting across the trails and slipping on the snow and ice. We had moved quietly and quickly, but they had followed us just the same.

We grew still and watched. We could barely hear them, their moans, their growls.

Robert drew up his rifle and pointed down at the nearest. I was surprised at how calm he was in holding the rifle when my hands were shaking like hell. Robert had been hunting since a boy and was comfortable shooting. But he didn’t fire, just watched through the scope until his arm got tired.

Watching the rifle brought make memories of Daniels. He had used that rifle to hunt and kill bear that were causing a problem, and had taken it as protection against we startled any hungry grizzly up in the mountain. Bad luck that it wasn't the bear he should have worried about.

They weren’t following the trail, just coming straight at us, over the snow and the grass, through the trees. They were hunting us, gathering towards us, as if by instinct.

The mist that had shrouded the valley earlier had burned off with the late morning sun, and I could see more of the valley. I fished out my binoculars to get a closer look around.

What I saw didn’t please me. There was a pile up of cars on the stretch of road leading out the valley. With the late spring, the trees were still largely bare wooded trunks surrounded by green pines. They were walking around the valley floor, on the roads, in the meadows, through the campsites. Moving without particular purpose, without particular direction, just wandering. Walking through the ranger station and the information areas, around the gas station terminals. I couldn’t make out the hotel at the end of the valley, but I had little reason to expect that was empty as well. “They’re all over the damn valley.” I said.

I looked to Beth and she pointed to a car, a sedan, that had gone off the road and was half stuck in the mud. “That’s where we got stuck.” The windshield had been smashed and there was blood, but I could see no bodies. I wondered if her friends Susan and Alice were among those stumbling about the valley.

The others of our little group were looking around the valley with their own binoculars, getting a first long view of the world we had suddenly inherited.

“They seem to be dazed.” Said Jorge, “Wandering as if they had just survived a disaster.”

“I think that’s us you mean, bud.” Said Carl.

“No really, look at them. They seem so lost.” Said Jorge.

“Well not those below us.” Said Carl, who looked down the trail to the switchbacks. The ghouls seemed to be trying to climb up, but kept slipping and falling, rolling back down the hill.

“Why don’t they just follow the trail?” Asked Spencer. “They would have an easier time if they just took the trail.”

“Yes, but they don’t understand.” Said Jorge. “Perhaps the idea is perhaps too complicated. They know they want us and they know we are here, and the fastest way at us is to come right up. But they don’t seem to understand the snow or the ice is causing them to slip”

“They only know to eat.” Said Beth, now watching them. “I don’t think any of them followed me up here last night. But maybe some of them did and couldn’t catch me because of the snow and ice, or maybe any that wandered up eventually slipped off the trail where it got hard.”

“Why are they moving so slowly. That one that got Daniels..” Started Eric, who got discouraged when he thought of the park ranger. He had known the Ranger the longest and of all of us.

“You think he was dead?” Asked James. “I mean I shot him but maybe he was just crazy, temporary insanity.” He had been a detective for two years, but I don’t think James had ever used his weapon in anger before, and probably never expected to use it on someone he knew and a fellow law enforcement official.

“He was dead James.” I said. “The bit he received damn near took his neck off. If you hadn’t of shot him God only knows what he might have done to us. I owe you bud.”

But James didn’t seem to take much satisfaction.

Robert was sighting in on one. “Should I shoot ‘em?”

I think we all wanted to shoot them at that moment. But the truth was we didn’t have much ammo, and we hesitated. The noise would bring more of them.

“Better save your ammo.” Said Carl. “How many rounds do we still have?”

Robert found a box of shells in the rifle bag, and Eric had two speedloaders for his .38. He had taken to keeping the pistol soon after joining the Sacramento DA office and had his life threatened after an organized crime trial. James had half of one clip for his Sig a box of 9mm rounds and another two clips. Beth had only Daniel’s big .357 and rounds that remained. “Not much.”

Down below the ghouls kept trying to climb, and kept slipping and falling. Perhaps eventually they would get lucky, but it hadn’t happened. The bigger problem was that their noise, or maybe their frustration, was attracting more company.

“Look at that one. Look how fast.” Said Jorge, who was watching one of the ghouls, dressed in a brilliant red flannel jacket, race across a meadow towards the trail head.

Carl watched. “Looks like this one doesn’t have the same coordination problems as the others.”

“Perhaps it has less damage to its mind or body.”

Indeed this one seemed to have better coordination and had less trouble crawling up the mountain, sometimes climbing over the others to move up.

We watched as it got past where the others were heaped, and began climbing up through the rough ground. Like the others it ignored the switchbacks, and like the others it would slide back on occasion. Like the others it had dried blood on its face and clothes but we could detect no clear wounds. And as it climbed up to us, I felt my blood crawl thinking that it had once been a man, but was now something different, some voracious and single-minded, something whose malice was instinctive and primitive.

Robert waited until it was half way up the hill before he said. “I’m going to drop him.”

“Do it.” Said James.

The rifle cracked and a red spot appeared on the ghoul’s chest, knocking it back down the hill, sliding down, bumping over rocks and stumps, rolling over and around, until it ended up among the others.

“Nice shot. Clean in the chest.” Said James.

“Yeah but the fucker is still alive.” Said Robert.

Sure enough, it was still moving. The roll down the hill must have broken it’s neck and it’s back, because it seemed incapable of it’s former coordination. But it’s head moved back and forth, it’s teeth biting, and I could imagine it’s growl.
The rifle cracked again, surprising me. I blinked, but when I looked again, the ghoul had stopped moving, another wound in it’s head.

Robert put the rifle down. “Got a clean shot to the chest, must have taken it’s heart out, and it’s still moving, even after that long damn fall. Then one to the head and it’s out. Damn things are hard to put down.”

Down in the valley, more of the ghouls were now heading in our direction, stumbling or running across the valley, alert to the sound.

“Let’s get up a bit further, just in case.” Suggested Beth.

No one disagreed and we continued up the switchback trail, often glancing down at the growing mob of ghouls that were still trying to climb up the steep rise.

“You think there any of those things up the trail?” Eric asked James.

Beth spoke. “From what we heard on the radio, they’re everywhere.”

"Well, we can't stay up here either." Said Eric. "We don't have enough food and if we do run into them, eventually we'll run out of ammo"

We continued uphill, James up front. I think we were all thinking about the quick ones, the more coordinated ones. How quickly one had come up on Daniels and had brought him down.

We continued to climb up through two more scenic overlooks where we stopped and began thinking about our next move.



******************

 

[welsh]

Dealing with Noisy Neighbors-

Beth had managed to quiet the kid. She was probably nursing the child. That would work until the kid had it’s full and then the banging would probably make it start crying again.

Losing Daniels coming off the mountain that first day, before we even got into the Yosemite camps, had been a tragic loss that had left us leaderless. But his death and the events of that day had taught me some lessons.

That might sound callous, but the thing is, you learn or you die. It’s that simple. That’s just the way it is.

For example, I had learned a few things.

LESSON - Zombies can’t climb. The harder the ascent, the harder it is for them to climb up. They just lack the coordination.

The faster ones might have more coordination, but the Stumblers just can’t do it, and you can forget about the Twitchers.

Thus the important practical lesson- first go up the stairs and then destroy the stair behind you.

When Beth and I had chosen our current accommodations, one of the first things we had done was destroy the stairs. It had taken the better part of a day, but having done it, we could sleep better. Now instead of a stairwell we used a rope and a few planks to climb down.

Never have I seen a zombie that could climb up a rope, or even climb up a steep ladder for that matter. Hell, I had seen them slide down steep slopes.

That said,
Lesson- don’t think you can’t be surprised. Paranoia can be your friend.

So I had rigged up a signal of cans and string along the corridor leading to the demolished stairs. Should a zombie come up, it would trip across those wires, making an audible signal of impending danger. And we kept our pistols under our pillows.

As I moved towards the demolished stairwell I took special care not to trip my own trap. For there was another valuable lesson-

LESSON - Silence is golden. The more noise you make, the more you attract zombies. The best policy was not to make noise.

And the damn thing was, that the zombies had good hearing. No one I talked to can explain it. They can hear you from a distance. Maybe they sense you.

Carl once thought that it was really the smell- they could smell your fear the way predator animals smell fear in prey. He never got the chance to test that theory.

I don’t think that the ghouls, that first day, knew we were coming until we crossed paths with the one coming up the trail. That was just bad luck, which was another thing you had to take precautions for.

Lesson- The trick to survival was to minimize the vagrancies of bad chance overtaking you.

That said, when Daniels had held out his hand and spoke outloud, the other one had probably heard it and came at him like a dog after a juicy porkchop.

Thus the lesson, don’t attract them or give them notice, least you lose what little surprise you might have.

So I walked around the second floor landing of the stairs and looked down. We had decided to take residence in a two story house, one flight of stairs up, a bit away from the neighborhood. I moved tip-toe, trying not to allow the floor to creak, hoping their banging would mask any sounds I made.

I screwed on the silencer I had acquired at Fort Pickett. For awhile I had worked as one of their scouts, one of their recon people until we had left the fort to go our own way. The silencer had come in handy then, and I had practiced with it so was comfortable using it regardless of the weight or imbalance.

The silenced pistol would be best, with the other pistol as back-up. Both Beth and I also keep longer range weapons we acquired before leaving the Fort, but they wouldn’t be as effective for this kind of work.

I waited for a few minutes to see if the landing below was clear. I knew they were in the room beneath the bedroom, but that didn’t mean there were others wandering the house. With all the banging they were making, they might have begun to attract more.

Thus-

LESSON - Be careful and always watch your back.

I could smell them but I couldn’t tell how many there were. Might have been a dozen or more.

Zombies don’t rot fast but they still stink of death. I don’t know why they don’t decompose as fast as they do. Rumor was that the whatever made the zombies move also repelled any of the usual things that consumed the flesh of the dead.

Usually you could smell them before they got up close. Sometimes you could hear them when they moaned of did that growling thing.

But sometimes they just surprised you. Next thing you know, they are snapping at your skin.

They bite you once, and it’s game over. That simple. Once bitten and you’re finished.

A hard rule but that’s just how it is.

Daniels had missed the one that killed him because he wasn’t aware of it till it was too late. He was so focused on what was right in front that he didn’t see the fast one come at him from the side.

None of us did. Maybe that’s why I still feel guilty about it.

I moved around the stair well, crouching to see what I could. I had the silenced pistol in my hand, and had a flashlight in my jacket pocket, the other gun in the small of my back.

If it was just stumblers, and even if there were a lot of them, I could probably finish them off with the guns I had. Hopefully the silenced weapon would be enough.

But if one was a fast mover, a runner, it would be on me before I could get the second piece out.

They were just that fast.

If that was the case, I would have to rely on the metal of the flashlight to bludgeon the damn thing before it bit me.

Maybe they were all in the same place.

Maybe new ones were entering the house.

The one’s below might have wandered in during the night.

It might have been the smell that woke the baby, if it’s instincts were better than mine. But my guess was that the baby’s cry and attracted them.

And I didn’t know how many where down there or even where they were.

If I survived this I would have to make changes so this uncertainty was minimized.

The baby had stopped crying. But the thumping would continue all night.

That was because-

LESSON - Zombies are instinctive eating machines.

Like great white sharks with two feet, they just existed to eat. Maybe that was all the purpose they had.

The zombies that had followed us to the mountain, the ones that had kept after us even after we shot them, the ones that kept trying to climb even though they kept falling- they existed and moved for one reason only- to eat. At best I have ever learned, humans are their only prey.

So these bastards below us would be with us all night long if we let them. And sooner or later they would wake up the kid, or scare the kid into screaming again, which would only attract more zombies, if there were more around. And even if the kid didn’t scream the zombies below would keep banging at the floor until they were either killed or they got us.

And they were not going to get us.

So why delay?

I looked back towards the bedroom, thinking about Beth, thinking that I might get bit or brought down and I might not see my son again.

I saw her stepping around the wire alarm, craddling our son with one hand, it’s face in her breast. She held her gun in the other hand.

Strange circumstance that I should have begun to raise a family after the apocalypse had fallen.

She was watching me, her eyes dark, knowing that I should act and waiting for me to get my courage up to go maybe, or maybe also wondering if I was going to come back this time.

And if I didn’t come back?

That she would be back on that cliff side, where I first met her, and I had few doubts of what she would do.

Which made me think of Daniels again, and perhaps the most important lesson of all.

LESSON 5- When confronted with immediate danger or death, best to be decisive and act.

Delay can kill you, uncertainty can steal your courage, fear can make your aim waiver, and that is all it takes to lose it.

Daniels had been unsure of what to do, and he had failed to act in the moment he should have. Had he not delayed, perhaps things would have been different for him and all of us. But that’s just the way it is.

In the days since the apocalypse one thing is always clear. We are always a moment away from death.

Maybe that why, despite it all, I seem to enjoy life more these days.

I lifted off the landing, using the rope, and used my foot on the wall to walk down quietly, my pistol ready. Beth’s presence above gave me a bit more comfort that someone was watching my back and I made it to the floor quietly and without interruption.

Then, slowly, tiptoeing across the room, I moved towards where the thumping was coming. I felt the pistol sweaty in my hands, nerves. The door was open.

I started to feel that thrill, the buzz, the sense of expectation, the excitement.

I glanced down the hallway to the front door which had been knocked open sometime during the night.

Had that awoken the baby? There was a wire alarm that had been knocked aside. We hadn’t heard it go off.

I tried to still my heart. A rapid heart beat can throw off your aim. I tried to cool my nerves, to relax.

Don’t delay- act.

I turned around flicking on the light switch and shining it into the room.

There were four of them, but only one was making the noise. Somehow it had managed to climb up on an old couch and was now within arms reach of banging on the ceiling. It had made quite a bit of damage, smashing the plasterboard and now had pits of sawdust and paster on its face and hair.

As soon as it saw me it stepped in my direction, lost it’s balance….

(At that moment I fired my first round in the one that was closest to me, which stood no more than four feet from the end of my silenced barrel)

………and fell off the couch, tripping forward…..

(I fired quickly into the head of the second one that had made a lurch towards me and fell like a ragdoll while I turned to face....)

…. hitting the floor with a loud thump, moaning out.

(....the third one was nearly on top of me. I could smell the rotten flesh in it’s mouth and it’s damaged teeth from chewing at raw bone, the eyes, felt the extended hot breath of its’ growl against my face. I had brought the pistol in and put it up against the bottom of it’s chin when I fired, blowing the top of the creatures head off).

I didn’t dare step closer to the one that had fallen, least the sweep of it’s arms pull me down. Instead I shone the light on it’s bald, plaster covered head, and fired, missing clearly twice and then hitting it in the head the third time.

I flashed my light at the four bodies on the floor, making sure none moved, that none were twitchers (for every once and awhile a twitcher becomes a stumbler), and then flashed the light around the rest of the room. Nothing.

I backed out of the room still pointing the gun at the four bodies.

That was a mistake.

Perhaps it was the light, or a reflection of the light.
Or maybe it was the low sound of the pistol’s muffler,
or maybe it had begun to come at the sound of the other zombies had made.

But I didn’t see it.

“Robert.” Beth’s voice was hardly more than a whisper but it was enough.

I turned, and the thing was on me.

I fired my gun twice, and I think the rounds hit it, but not the head, the essential head.

LESSON- Only head shots bring down zombies.

It’s arms went for my throat, but it had lost balance, and it fell to my left. That was enough for me to hit it with the flashlight, knocking it down to it’s knees.

It was still grabbing at my throat as I brought the edge of the metal flashlight down on it’s head. Once was probably enough.

But I only stopped smashing the flashlight against the zombie’s head when I heard Beth say, again, “Robert.”

I looked up at her, holding the bloodied flashlight in one hand, the gun in the other, five bodies underneath me.

I smiled.

She smiled back.

“I still need to check the rest of the house.” I said, though I knew that there were no more in the building.

“Best do that. I’ll keep an eye on the front door.”

I heard the kid gurgle and sigh. “He’s awake.”

“Yeah. But at least he’s not crying.”

“Not yet.”

She smiled again. “No not yet.”

“I’ll wait down here until sun-up to see if more are comin.”

She was still at the top landing after I checked the other rooms. “You going to be ok?” She asked.

“I’ll be fine. You better get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

"Hey, we're out of diapers. We'll need to go to the store for more tomorrow." She said.

"Tomorrow." I said.

She slipped back into the darkness, our baby in her arms.

I watched her disappear, and then found a position where I could guard the house. The windows on the ground floor had been boarded up so there was really one way in. But I was unsure how many others might have heard the noise.

I felt fatigue creep over me.

Lesson- Be ware of fatigue. It is usually fatigue that allows the zombies to catch you.

Near sunrise I began to nod off, sleep finally catching me. The wise thing would have been to close up the front door again and go back upstairs were it was safe, but sleep sometimes just creeps up on you.

But the baby woke up with a loud cry, and that sound quickly refreshed me.

The kid was still crying when daylight came.

 

[PyroPhoenix]

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step-

I had been travelling for a good hour or so, sticking to the middle of the widest streets possible so as to have a buffer between me and any noisy attackers. Every corpse I came across I lit on fire with my zippo to the ankle of it's pants (in a few cases shorts or dresses). A few of the creeping moaner zombies had tried to get me, but I just waited for them patiently with my hammer raised until they came within five feet or so and brained them.

But that was all in the past. Now onto my current problem.

I approached the Lowes with caution, unsure as to how many of the moaners hobbled through the huge and high roofed building. Despite thinking myself pretty badass I soon realized how much I wanted a machine gun when I first stepped into the pitch black building. Weak moans are echoing throughout the halls and I turn on my flashlight. That really didn't do me much good. The large shelves reaching almost eighty feet high (Ok maybe not quite but I wasn't going to find the tape measure aisle so I could double check) blocked my sight drastically. Particles of dust drifted lazily through the beam of my flashlight as I traveled deeper into the belly of the beast. Then it happened.

Hey. You know they usually keep the paints near the front, why dont you just grab a blue can and go.

I wish I could, but they might have a chainsaw in here somewhere.

Dude that is the most retarded idea I have ever heard. What good will a chainsaw do if you are DEAD!

You put forth a good point.

Yea well you are pretty damn smart yourself.

Did you just compliment yourself in the fourth person?

Well- RIIIIIIPPPPP

I turned with the thought emerging in my mind of how vulnerable I was sitting here and talking to my self in a daze. A fast zombie was running toward me as quickly as possible and were it not for its shirt having caught on a bent piece of steel I would have been dead.

I tried to hit it with the upswing of my sledge, but a life of cubicle work made me a little slow and weak and the best I could do was land a decent hit in its right armpit. It was bodily lifted and flung into a wall of power sanders. Ugly was regaining its feet when I swung again, this time much harder, and connected with the shelf directly above it. A hiss issued forth at me, and as the jittery monster was about to lunge a good half ton found its way in a small avalanche to the hideous creatures face.

All that was left was a twitching heap which I dug through until I found the head and silenced it with a good swing.

Holy shit that was close!

Yea no kidding. Why don't you shutup so it doesn't happen again.

My mental roommate decided I was right and quited down.

A few more zombies fell to my sledge as I wandered the halls looking for useful items. I secured myself a leather carpenters belt and a set of kneepads, gloves and elbowbads. I also grabbed a dozen sheets of steel about a square foot each and a fourth an inch thick along with a file and a pair of sheetmetal clippers.

I was on my way out when I saw the paint cabinet. It was locked, but a bullet fixed that. The resounding shot returned to me at least a dozen times from the depths of building.

Apparently a few others had heard me as well. As I was buckling my pack a fusillade of noise came from behind me. A horde of between twenty and a shitload of zombies was coming at me fast. I fired three shots in terror at the mob, but registered no effect. My fourth shot ricocheted wildy off of a metal surface and the room instantly filled with the smell of propane. I followed the hissing noise to a small pyramid of blowtorch canisters for sale, and one in particular leaking out of a gash in its side.

I ran back to the hend of the aisle and lit a molotov cocktail. As the mob passed in front of the cans I let fly and ducked behind the end of the shelf.

BANG----WHUD---WHUD-------------------WHUD-----------------------------------WHUD

Silence. Complete silence. Stars dance wildly in my vision. I fear I will black out. Then he took over and It was all okay.





I Decide To Do Myself A Favor-

Poor Kid. He had completely blacked out after fire rolled past him and his right arm had been fracturned by a flying can of paint.

I hauled him onto his feet, but it hurt me severely, my head was swimming from the pain and if I passed out he was screwed. I ran outside and found a two story house nearby. As a miracle would have it there was a note to the mailman saying they were on vacation pinned to the door. I swept the house. Completely empty.

A sandwich and a coke fixed the hunger problem. the hall held fresh linen. I put a splint on his arm, and then walked into the upstairs bedroom and locked the door. As good measure I put a dresser as a barricade. A playboy magazine was hidden under one side of the bed and I spent a good twenty minutes with it. When I was done I wrapped myself in blankets and went to sleep.

Where am I?

In my realm.

Its so peaceful here.

Yes. A small grove in the woods. Rather relaxing if I must say.

How did I get here?

You were knocked out by the blast.

Oh Shit! are we still in the Lowes?

No, I brought us to a house. we are safe.

I see. I have a question for you though.

Yes?

When did you come into being?

Silly child I have been here since you were born.

But I never believed in you. I always thought you were an imaginary friend of mine.

That doesn't matter. Because I believe in myself therefore I am.

I see.

You should wake up now, and make sure to be careful with your fractured arm and your burns.

I am injured?

Yes explosions tend to hurt things.

But I have only been here five minutes why should I wake up.

Time works differently here. You have been asleep for eight hours.

I guess it is time I left then

Good luck kid, bt hey you got me don't you?

Yeah. Good thing I didn't take my medicine.

As our hero was coming out of his sleep the sun was setting, and night had begun to fall on the smouldering town of death and destruction. Off in the distance gunshots echoed sporadically and an odd moan was ever present like an autumn wind. It was to be a hellish night. But as of now A peaceful look was all that covered his face and all was calm in his world.

 

[welsh]

Making plans for the future -


“We need to get pampers.” She had said.

Seems so mundane it’s almost macabre.

With the house safe again, I had to wait to see if more of the ghouls were coming, and then when the baby woke up screaming, I had to wait longer.

The zombies might be mindless eating machines, but they have keen senses, and one had to be careful. As I waited I ran over what went wrong and what needed to be done to improve the defenses of our home. In the short time we had been here I had done a fair job of setting up the house. Windows were blocked or boarded, some entry ways had been blockaded. On the ground floor there was but one way in, and one way out. But the fact that the ghouls had gotten inside, regardless of my sound alarm, meant that they could get in again. Perhaps I needed to expand our defense line, expand our perimeter, defense in depth.

Which made me think of Fort Pickett. The firebases and outposts. The days the APCs would attempt a break out and how they used their machineguns like brooms to knock away the ghouls. Or walking the line, the hastily made ramparts around the Fort, as the ghouls on the other side slowly grew, as they climbed atop each other to get inside. And the crowds of people living in tents, the smell of the overflowing latrines, the declining food rations. The people.

One only goes through so much. Everyone has a breaking point. Perhaps that is the most horrible part of this, the creeping insanity that seems to take hold of each and everyone of us. Shock, trauma, despair, depression. The futility, the expectation of doom that hangs over your head. The realization that you have just smashed a metal flashlight on someone’s head a half dozen times more than you had to, and that maybe you liked it a little, or a lot.

Always look on the bright side of your life?

Each day is a blessing. Believe it.

I have no doubt that Beth would put a bullet to her head if worse came to worse. It amazes me that she hasn’t yet because I know she’s wanted to. There have been nights when I haven’t been sure I could talk her out of it.

Out of what? The inevitable end?

And why haven’t I bought that story yet? Have I thought of it?

Sure, I have but I won’t talk about it, I won’t allow myself to dwell on it.

If I do I might not talk Beth out of it. Then what’s left?

What’s left? That was what we were talking about on the cliff the day we lost Daniels.

We just didn’t know and that made our minds wonder, speculate. We did know that we wanted to get away from the ghouls that had chased us back, and we had little faith that they would continue to have difficulty with the sharp slope. Jorge suggested that, primitive as they might be, they might still be capable of social learning, a grim possibility according to Carl. So we had continued up the trail, getting higher on the trail.

“Of course, if we go all the way up, there is no guarantee that none of those things are not up there already. This isn’t the only trail up this mountain.” Said Eric.

Even so, we figured that they hadn’t gotten up top yet and we certainly were not going back down the trail, and we could not remain where we were.

Which of course raised the next question- what to do next? That question begged the next question, Why? At that moment Beth’s idea of jumping looked more reasonable than ever.

Jorge didn’t speak much. Probably because he was a visiting student from South America and had even less a chance of finding out about his part of the world than we did, he was perhaps first to realize that he was very much dependent on our little community.

Robert kept looking down the trail expecting to see a ghoul to shoot. His only comment was that that he wasn’t sure how to get to his SUV, which was parked down by the Happy Trails parking lot on the other side of the valley. Robert was very fond of his SUV.

If Robert and Jorge didn’t say much, Pablo couldn’t shut up. He kept talking about his family, his wife and his young daughter. This got James to brood over the fate of his new wife in San Francisco. If Yosemite had become overrun by ghouls, and whatever it was had spread to the Bay area, than San Francisco would probably have transformed to a theatre of hell itself. Eric tried to console James, “Maybe it hadn’t gotten there.” But one look at Beth’s sad face told me otherwise.

If Spencer or Carl seemed concerned about family, they didn’t talk about it. They were mostly discussing the biological nature of the ghouls below, the possibility of whatever it was being a virus or some kind of bacterial warfare, or the plausibility of mass hysteria. It just didn’t make sense.

Me? Surprisingly I didn’t think about my family at all. My father and Mom had moved to Mexico and were living somewhere in Baja. I rarely heard from them. My other family were spread out between California and Boston. At the moment I was more concerned with my own sense of self than any of my siblings.

So I grew quiet and listened, thinking about the ghouls below us, the thought that other ghouls might have been able to climb up the steep trail. I took the point of watch while the others debated.

Their attention turned back to Beth, who like me had little to say and might have been considering another free fall off the side of El Capitan.

“The last I heard was that there were outbreaks everywhere. The Emergency Broadcast Service said it was everywhere. Last I heard the civilian authorities had decided to deploy the National Guard and the military was taking action against what they called a ‘threat to national security.’ Fuckin A threat.”

“Did they mention the other cities?” Asked Eric.

“No, they just said that military forces had been requested and were taking action to put down these things.” Said Beth. “Look, the night before there was little more than a few outbreaks of mass hysteria. In the morning, the radios had been seized by the government. It was that fast.”

“They must have had some news or instructions.” Said James.

“Yeah, stay indoors and protect yourself and don’t panic. Who the fuck is not going to panic. And they said that the military would be taking action.”

“How long ago did you hear this?”

“Three days ago” She said. “We were trying to get out of the valley because it had started here too. But the roads were backed up and we got stuck and that’s when…” She stopped talking about it.

“Three days ago.” Said Jorge. “By now the world as we know it might be finished.”

“Is that possible?” Asked Eric.

“Depends on how fast it spreads. Maybe there pockets of people, like us, trying to survive.” Said Carl.

“IN the city they would have called out the police, the national guard, civil service people. Maybe they could stop it.” Said James hopefully.

Carl shook his head sadly. “Considering the population ratio of civilian to policeman in a major city, the cops would easily have been outnumbered and overrun. No, my friend. I would not go back to San Francisco if that’s your idea.”

James didn’t like that.
Pablo exploded. “Fuck, what the fuck do you know. I am not going to just wait here when my family…”

“Man, they’re probably dead. The city would be a slaughter house” Said Carl. “No damn way we should try for any city.” He was going to say more but James punched him hard in the mouth.

Eric got up in the way of James who went after Carl, and got slugged for his efforts. Carl was yelling at James, “You’re nuts if you think you can make it to the city.” And got slugged again.

Spencer tried to intervene but was pushed back by Pablo who was getting into Spencer’s face yelling, “What are you going to do. You’re going to stop us from trying to save our family.”

The rest of us tried to break it up, but Pablo and James had grown up or had grown familiar with violence and it wasn’t easy. The brawl would have continued indefinitely except for a sudden rush of rolling thunder.

We all stopped and looked up. It wasn’t a storm that made that sound but the engines of A-10 aircraft flying over the valley.

“Air National Guard. But from where?” Asked someone.

“Penshall.” Said Robert. “I got a buddy who does weekends there.”

But the aircraft meant more than the fact that the National Guard were in business. It meant that somewhere, civilization as we had known it, still existed. And it gave us something to hope for.

We watched as the two planes flew over the valley. They fired no rounds and dropped no ordinance. Perhaps they were just doing a reconnaissance. But they were operating and that was enough. We tried to wave to them, to signal, but if they saw us they gave no indication.

James was the first to speak. “IF the Air Guard is still flying than we have a base we can get to.”

Jorge added, hopefully. “Maybe they are getting control of this thing. Maybe it’s mostly over already and we are in one of the only places it’s still a problem. After all we don’t know what’s been happening.”

The others grew excited. People were still operating. Aircraft were flying. Maybe this thing was being licked. We began to plan our next step, escaping the park.

The optimism was contagious.

Except for Beth who kept looking over the side of the cliff. She listened to us speak but only whispered. “Going for that Air National Guard base is insane. You have no idea how many of those things are between us and them. The smart thing would be to go where no one else is, and wait till this is over. That or jump off now and save yourself the consequences of waiting for the inevitable.”

 

[PyroPhoenix]

A few steps towards recovery-

Darkness. Quiet. And yet I am sure I am awake. Fumbling through my pocket I find my lighter and banish the darkness to the far corners of the room. Sitting up I realize that it is probably around ten thirty or so and that my conscious was right about time being different in his world.

I sit up and light a candle by the bed to save lighter fluid, and stood up to stretch. Flaring pain arcs it's way into my arm and I look down to see it bandaged and splinted. I notice a hall closet, and open it to find a few neatly stacked towels and sheets along with medical supplies and instruction pamphlets.

I slowly remove the bandage to view my wound. A gash five inches long runs the length of my forearm and it is completely surrounded by bruised tissue. The pamplet says that wounds are to be sterilized and bandgaed so I run some warm water into a washcloth and set it on the area for five minutes. I see myslef in the mirror and realize how dirty I am. I rewet the towel and scrub the blood off of my face and hands. I decide to wash the wound out with peroxide. My belt placed firmly between my teeth I pour, and fire burns through my arm. Thirty seconds later I rewrap my gash with a fresh bandage, and hope the would heals quickly.

Realization strikes me like a falling brick. If there is running water in the sink......................

It turns out to be the best bath I have ever taken, but my suit is ruined. I Look through the dresser in the bedroom for Some clothes and decide simple is best. By a stroke of luck the previous man of the house was just about my fit, and apparently a carpenter. I took a well worn pair of blue jeans and a wifebeater shirt. On second thought maybe sleeves would be a good thing in the event of a bite to the arm.

A nice white dress shirt catches my eye so I decide it will be mine.

Somewhere in the distance gunfire rattled in a rapid fire burst punctuated by loader shots from a large caliber rifle or shotgun. Suddenly the idea that protection may be important crosses my mind and i decide to put on the elbow and knee pads along with the leather gloves.

My stomach rumbles as I strap on the toolbelt I snagged and transfer my stuff into it. As my stomach dictates I decide to eat a big dinner before I head out into the unknown of night.

**** an hour later****

I am impressed with my work. A large X is spraypainted in blue and a note is stapeld to the middle of it

To whomever may be following me,

If you are wondering where I have gone I am headed west to the Harbor where I will Commandeer a boat. When I get there I will wait for two days before I leave.

Along the way I will continue to leave my messages every day when I find a place to rest. I put some leftover roast in the fridge of this house and a suit in the upstairs bathroom. It means a lot to me, and if you would take it with you and reunite me with it along the way I would certainly appreciate it.

I have tried to clear the path for you as much as possible, but I have been hurt and you should be more careful from now on. My ability to fight had been hampered by the explosion I made at the Lowes.

Good luck.

 

[Gunslinger]

Greg was still staring at the puddle of corpses and blood when he heard evidence of life from the bathroom. Like a terrible sleeping giant, Ray was loudly and obviously coming awake.

He jumped at the load groans and thrashing. Oh Christ, the fucker’s trying to kill me, he thought. With wild agitation, he slammed shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. His fighting instincts had left him and only the flight control remained.

He started running pell-mell, thinking that Ray had gone off the deep end. It was only when his bare foot connected with a squishy pile of entrails that Greg realized he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He shouted in revulsion, about to turn back when he heard the rumblings of Ray through the other side of the door, which pretty much settled what direction he would run towards.

Like a hare chased by hounds, Greg darted through the hall of bodies. Each step was like a miniature cardiac arrest, the sickly squish of blood and bodies underneath his feet sending a shiver up his spine and clenching his heart. Halfway through the hall, he stepped on a dislocated hand and its fingers caressed his toes in passing; Greg’s mind almost broke in horror. He shrieked and twisted his ankle away, tangling his legs together in the process. With a helpless wail, he fell deep amidst the corpse-strewn floor, literally knee deep in body parts.

If Greg was a bit better read, he would have wondered what Nietzschean level of Hell he had landed in. But he was just an idiot kid, destroying his mind with drugs. Instead, he thought, Oh Christ, this is like Carrie or something in a fucking Stephen King movie.

His jeans were wet and heavy with soaked up blood. He tried to get up but kept slipping, spilling him further into gore and offal. With a helpless sob, he started to crawl his way forward on all fours, heedless of the carnage he was covered in. He only wanted to get the fuck away from the crazy, unprofessional bastard on the other side of the door.

Greg swam out of the sea of bodies, making it out of the hallway and into the stairway. He looked literally like bloody murder, crimson and howling. He looked back over his shoulder, heard Ray still kicking about but not opening the door.

He clawed his way and stumbled down the stairs, ever thinking that Ray would come barging out of his room to tear his body asunder. He hit the last stair, his chin connecting hard on the bottom of the floor. The headache suddenly came back.

Whimpering, Greg picked himself up. He thought he heard footsteps behind him and bolted for the lobby. As he ran, he screamed, “Help! He’s gone bugshit, man!” He hoped the manager could hear him.

But when he got to the lobby, he saw that the manager was beyond hearing anything of the mortal world. The old dude was slumped over the counter, his throat ripped out and his head bashed in. There was evidence of struggle, as if he had been fighting back for a while before the blow to his skull ended it all.

Greg only paused for a moment, still fearing the wrath of Ray. He thought of picking up the telephone and dialing the cops but then decided not to. He was facing the threat of life imprisonment anyway. “Fuck the cops,” he decided. “Fuck Ray, too. Let him take the fall.”

He slammed through the door and ran to his sixteen-wheeler big rig parked off to the side parking lot. He climbed into the cab, lifting himself up with bloody hands. Gunning the engine, he took another at the hotel. You couldn’t tell that there were a bunch of mutilated corpses and a rampaging coke fiend wreaking havoc inside just by looking. The cops would be in for a surprise when they came to investigate it.

And though Greg didn’t know it, he himself was in for quite a surprise in the upcoming days.

 

[Reaper]

Let the Law Handle This


“Pass the beer, Tyler.”

“Ha, ‘Paass’.” Tyler mocked my accent.

“Shut up, uppity colonial and pass your English master a cold one.” I knew that would piss him off, it always did.

“Don’t make me wave George Washington’s face at you. It’s on every dollar you’re living on out here, Joe.” he handed me a beer all the same, “Or would you prefer Lincoln. You’ve got a five in your wallet.”

Tyler and I had a nice back and forth.

“Whatever, you Americans just think that because you are the most powerful country in the world, with an unbeatable military and a robust economy, you are better than everyone.” I took a hit from the bottle. It was not my first of the night and was unlikely to be my last.

“So Tyler, quit the Stars and Stripes bullshit and have drink.”

“You started the xenophobic crap.” he responded.

“Typical, you Americans always blame someone else.” I grinned as I made my way through the beer.

“I’m sick of your English shit.” Tyler grinned at me. He was tall and ropey, with a strength belying his frame. A good looking guy, the carnal sounds coming from his room most nights had kept me awake for months before I got a girl of my own.

I like to think I have a certain appeal but most girls don’t seem to notice. It’s hard to look past the bit of extra weight I’m still carrying and going bald before I was twenty didn’t help with the ladies.

“Sshhh.” I leant back on the sofa, or couch, “I’m trying to watch the game. Your fake football, despite being misnamed is an excellent sport.” The Raiders were playing and I had supported them for years. Well, I liked their uniform when I first watched a game when I was fourteen. That’s how it goes before you understand a sport, you make shallow choices and you stick with them.

“Go Raiders, eh?”

“Touchdown city, my friend.” I replied. I could feel the beers work on me. I can hear my voice getting louder and feel my cheeks going numb.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”
We both looked round at the window as we heard the wail of sirens pass by.

“Fourth time tonight.” I said, taking another sip.

“Maybe there was a fire. Could be people hoping to the sue somebody. A few burn victims here, a family made homeless there, the dollars add up to big bucks.” I looked at Tyler.

“You’re sick.”

“No, I’m a lawyer.”

“If you pass your finals.” I gestured to the many bottles strewn across and around the coffee table.

“I’ll pull it out my ass. I always do.” Tyler grinned at me again. He would as well. Lucky bastard.

“Didn’t know you were into that. Cindy get you started, or was it Mindy. I can’t remember them all.” My roommate chuckled.

“This is college.”

I joined him in a chuckle.

“Bet you ten dollars, there are three more sirens before the fourth quarter.” I said. Tyler finds it hard to resist a bet and he had drunk more than I had.

“You’re on.”

I smiled and drank my beer. We watched the game, a bottle of Jack may have joined the fray at some point, and after watching a little late night cable featuring some superb actresses wearing little and enjoying some make company, we made our way, unsteadily to our rooms and I went to bed a happy man.

I had won ten bucks.

Several hours of drunken slumber later

Oh holy fuck.

Aspirin, I need aspirin. My brain hurt just thinking. My eyes could not bring themselves to open and face daylight.

In hindsight, the whiskey was a mistake.

Water. I needed water.

Throwing myself out of bed, biting back the bile that lurched into my throat, I staggered, still with my eyes closed, toward the kitchen.

Feeling my way to the sink, I turned the tap put my head under the stream, relishing the cold shocking my brain into activity. All my brain did, unfortunately was tell me never to drink again.

I twisted my neck and let the water flow over my mouth and sucked much needed liquid into my system. It made me feel a little better but despite all logic, I knew what the fastest cure was. I cracked my eyelids and searched for a beer in the fridge. I twisted off the cap and took a long drink. My stomach resisted at first but after a few gulps I started to feel better.

Cure was a strong term. Quick fix was more appropriate.

I wandered to the coffee table and examined the carnage, hoping to see that beautiful red and white packet. Amid the bottles and shot glasses, I spied my pack of Marlboro Red. Once one was between my lips, I searched for a lighter, eventually finding my Zippo almost lost between the cushions on the couch. I lit up and took a deep drag. At first it felt rough across my lungs but the familiar feeling spread through my body and all was well again.

With a cigarette burning happily in one hand and a beer in the other, I started to feel something close to normal again.

I reached over and grabbed the TV remote and pressed a random number. Nothing happened. I pressed a few more and gave up; focusing on a screen did not appeal too much anyway. Throwing the remote on the couch, a took another sip of beer and headed back toward my room.

“Tyler!” I called, immediately regretting it as the loud noise rocked my delicate head.

“Fuck off, Joe!” came the angry reply.

“Just wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks a bunch. Go back to sleep.” Tyler had made a good suggestion. On my way back to my room, I glanced out the window and stopped walking.

“Tyler, get out here.”

“Leave me alone.” he replied, quite understandably.

“No, get out here now. Come and look out here.” I was still trying to decipher what my eyes were telling me.

Tyler staggered from his room, looking as rough as I knew I did.

“This better be two naked chicks mud wrestling in the street.” he croaked.

“Look out there. Someone’s crashed into Mike’s car.”

“He’ll be pissed.” Tyler chuckled despite his hang over.

“But, I think there’s still someone in the other car.”

“What?” Tyler hurried over and followed my gaze. “Fuck, you’re right. Should we call an ambulance?”

My brain was still struggling against the effects of alcohol.

“I’ll go down there and check.” I moved toward my room.

“No, I’ll go, I’ve taken a first aid course.” Tyler swayed slightly on his feet as he spoke.

“Come on, Tyler,” I replied, “we both study law and you know that if you try to help and fuck up, which in your state, you will, you’ll be liable.” Such a long sentence was difficult and my stomach was beginning to churn with all the effort of moving around. “Go and wake up Mike, he’ll want to know about this.”

I made my way to my room and began picking clothes up off the floor, giving them a sniff the check they were clean, or not too dirty. I found a pair jeans and a black T-shirt; one of my vanity ones that was tight around my thickening arms. I may have a little bit extra fat here and there, but I’m proud of my physique as far as muscles go. When I qualified as a bouncer in England before coming to the States, I worked out a lot to bulk up for the job.

Pulling on my almost knee high black leather boots, I tugged my jeans down over them. Tucking the trouser legs into the boots made me look like a pirate, and I never have the courage to do it in public.

I came out, buckling on my watch and found Tyler dressed in dirty grey combats.

“Pass my fags, will you.” I called to him. He picked up the Marlboros and tossed me the pack.

“I told you not to call them that over here, people will the wrong idea.” I grinned at him,

“Yeah, yeah.” I walked to the door, “Wake up Mike then come back here and look out the window, if we need an ambulance, I’ll shout.”

“Sure thing.” he replied.

I left the apartment and wandered through the empty halls. It was Monday morning and people were either already at lectures or they were sleeping in. Still, I usually saw a few people around the building. The lights weren’t working but there was some light spilling the windows at each end of the hall.

A shadow blocked the light at one end as I reached the stairs. I looked up and tried to make out the silhouette. It was big, with a mop of scruffy hair. Marcus from the floor above.

“Hey, man.” I called, “Someone hit Mike’s car. Just going down to see if everyone’s okay.”

Marcus replied with a low groan. I guessed he must have had an even heavier night Tyler and I.

“Ask Tyler if you need some Aspirin, see you in a mo.” I turned and hurried down the stairs. On my way, I heard a noise like breaking glass coming the front of the building but I couldn’t be sure. No one was checking their mail, which was odd but I was still a bit hazy upstairs and didn’t give it much thought.

Walking out into the sunlight, I squinted against the glare as pain again flared in my head. When I had adjusted, I made my way over to the line of parked cars. Moving out into the street I examined the damage done by the Ford which had ploughed into Mike small car. It had caved in the side panelling and destroyed the passenger side. “Fucking hell.” I muttered to myself.

Remembering why I had come out here, I began moving round the Ford but I was stopped in my tracks. The driver was gone. I was sure I had seen someone or something slumped over the wheel. Now the big car was empty.

I hurried round to the drivers side and the door hung open.

And a trail of blood led away from the accident. Curiosity made me follow it until it disappeared on wet grass in front of the building. Looking around, I saw that one of the downstairs windows was broken. As I walked toward the window, Tyler called out from above.

“Joe!” I looked up and squinted to see my roommate.

“Something’s fucked up down here. The driver’s gone and -” Tyler cut me off,

“Marcus has gone mental, he started banging on the door and he looked hung over as fuck but he was covered in blood, I started asking if he wanted an ambulance and he came at me.”

“He what?” I replied, stunned.

“No time. He’s still out there, hammering on the door.” he looked back into the room. “I tried to call the police but the phone’s dead.”

“What do you want me to do?” I was still just standing around in front of the building. “I can’t handle Marcus, he’s a linebacker for the college team.” I was strong and a bad guy to mess with despite only being 5’8” but I knew my limits. Against a guy like Marcus, I might as well be hitting a Great White with stick.

“Try the payphone.” he called. I looked back at the street and saw the booth.

“Okay, barricade the door and stay put.” I shouted. Turning I saw another figure rounding the corner of the building and coming into view. “Oh thank god.” I breathed, starting to run toward the new arrival. “Hey, I need some help…” I began, but I halted, skidding to a stop.

The figure was a woman, early thirties, brown hair, nice legs, expensive suit, good shoes, and one side of her face was a mess of blood and ripped flesh.

She shuffled toward me, struggling in the high heel shoes. “Are you alright?” I called, realising what a stupid question it was. “Oh fuck.” I heard myself say. She looked like a fucking zombie.

This was the worst hangover I have ever had.

I turned and ran toward the payphone. Got inside, grabbed the handset and dialled 911. My hands were shaking so much, it took three tries. I glanced up and the woman was following me but her shuffling walk made her slow.

I held the phone to my ear and it took me a moment to realise that there was no sound at the other end. I clicked the hook a few times and tried again. Nothing. This was not good.

I slammed the phone back down and turned to see the woman was now only twenty feet from me.

Tyler.

I had to get back to the room and make sure he was okay. But was I going to do about Marcus?

Fuck it. Cross the bridges as they come.

I ran back to the entrance and hurried inside. I looked around and found a chair. I picked it up and smashed it against the wall, then jammed a broken piece across the door handles, barring the entrance.

The chair gave me an idea.

I leapt over the manager's desk and picked up his stool.

Then, running back to my floor I saw Marcus still outside my room, banging the door with his big arms.

I took a deep breath and charged. The big guy turned to face me and he reached up to stop me, or grab me.

I put all my considerable weight into the charge and the legs of the stool hammered into Marcus’ big chest. He was knocked back, staggering. He took a few tottering steps but I continued and he eventually tumbled onto his back. I almost lost my balance as well, nearly landing on top of him. Something told me, that if I had, I would never see another birthday.

Dropping the stool, I banged on my door and shouted, “Tyler, it’s me, open up!” I looked over and saw Marcus rolling around, trying to get up. He moved slowly and without coordination, like he was drunk or ill. He had been a nice guy and seeing him like that made part of me want to help but all I could think about was getting inside.

“Joe?”

“Yes it’s me, now open up before Marcus gets up. Hurry!” I heard Tyler moving things behind the door. Marcus was almost to his feet and panic raced up my spine taking my brain in its icy grip.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Then the door opened and I saw Tyler’s terrified face. I barged him out the way, then slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, taking fast panicky breaths.

Safe, I thought.

 

[welsh]

occ- I was hoping to tell more of the Yosemite story here, but didn't get to it. Just saw Thin Red Line (great flick) and am thinking about inner dialogue. So here's a bit from my main character.

IC-
What do I fear most?

It’s not the zombies. The zombies are everywhere. They are the singular constant of our lives. They are as part of the fabric of our lives as the certainty of eventual death.

Perhaps we will tell our children that once upon a time mankind ruled the world. Now it’s our dead.

So no, it’s not the zombies. They are but a reminder that the great awareness of the limits of mortality is but a moment away.

Sometimes I think it’s Beth and what I would do if she left me. I guess I have my reasons for thinking that way. Are we not all the consequence of past lives? Is my dedication to her the sum of past love lost? Do I need her to make my life less lonely or some biological need of society that drives us?

I don’t know. I can’t answer those questions because they are too close to me now.

Fellow mankind? Sometimes I fear my fellow man more than I fear the zombies. The zombies are but mindless eating machines. But our fellow man, with his narcissism and selfishness, the limits of his warped perception, has frequently scared the crap out of me. The utter unpredictable nature of men and the damage they sow. I was innocent of this until that first day.

And those A-10’s flying through the valley like a ray of hope obliterating our growing despair. How could we have they could deliver destruction and death.

We, Beth and I, made a choice to leave the close society and safety of our fellow mankind to try to survive on our own. Many were told us that it was insanity. But it was choice. The insanity we would find out in the world or the insanity that grew within the walls of society. We choose the one we had more control over.

One survives by limiting the vagrancies of bad luck to decide one’s fate.

No, one must deal with fellow mankind with caution and hope, not fear. Fear is the mind killer.

What I fear most is finding myself enjoying the feeling of slamming a steel flashlight against the head of an animated corpse. I fear the thrill of danger I get before I go into a room with a gun in my hand. I fear the sense that perhaps one day I won’t be able to stop myself. I fear the slow, perhaps unstoppable decent, to madness.

It’s the creeping insanity that gets us all.

No one who survived that first day in year zero has come unscathed.

Now we give birth to a new generation of humans, few though they may be, who will know only this world and inherit this insanity.

It has many faces, many guises, this creeping doom. It is the point of breakdown, the crack up. It is the mind playing tricks, and the impulses we cannot control. It is the nature of our relativism, of what we learn we can live with.

Violence leaves a residue on the psyche. An unholy impression, a taint on your soul. The creeping madness of this violence is everywhere now.

Soldiers home from war found it impossible to reconcile the violence they would not, but for blind luck, have survived. A rape victim lives with the memory of that trauma buried inside. Now this violence is the essential element of life. How does the mind adjust to comprehend it?

And what of the person who has witnessed the violence of year zero?

How can I blind myself to the colors, the spectacle, of animated bodies bathed in a sea of liquid fire?
How do I deafen the sounds of men laughing as bodies are obliterated, the sound of tank tracks on bones and the clawing of dead hands on armor?
How can I remove the odor of a dead head of a decapitated corpse grabbing my ankle in the night?

Overcome the heartbreak of friends lives wasted, or fill the emptiness of a heart that grows calloused with scars.

The creeping doom, the horror, and the monster it makes, it makes of all of us who survive. That is what I fear.

--------------------

The bait and switch plan.

I thought about this as I listened to Beth move about the house with our child. Later I would improve our defenses, while she watched over me. One must always be vigilant.

But this home is temporary shelter, refuge. Biologists found that predators will wipe out prey unless prey can find someplace to hunker down, to hide, or wait for the danger to pass. We are looking for a permanent refuge, this is only temporary until we move on.

We thought we had found it at Fort Pickett, but the Fort was another kind of hazard. Not the kind of place one should raise a child.

This house is too insecure. Too close to an urban area. With time the zombie hordes will migrate out of the urban areas as they seek food. Zombie concentrations in urban areas are only temporary. Inevitable they will begin to leave the city and become more regular in rural areas. as they hunt for food and spread the curse.

There will be more in the days to come.

While sooner or later we will begin to slip up, get lazy, grow forgetful, and that’s when death comes for you. One must not take life for granted least it be violently taken away.

Perhaps the trap at the front door. Had I forgot to set it? Was that a slip?

But we needed diapers and food from the market in town. To get to the market we needed to avoid the zombies that wandered about in dense packs in the urban areas. Where one finds multiple zombies one also risks the fast movers, those that have more coordination, that can run and pounce.

We had done this enough that the plan was clear. It was simple- bait and switch. Using our bikes, quick and fast, we would move to one part opposite from where we lived.

We learned that bikes are better than cars for several reasons. Bikes are lighter and quieter. They don’t get stuck as easy on congested roads, they don’t attract zombies, and they are easy to fix in a pinch. And a fast person on a bike can out race a fast zombie, out maneuver a slow one.

Of course you can get pulled off a bicycle. A bike accident can leave you on the side of the road, a broken leg or a twisted ankle as you heard the moans the shuffles of the undead closing on you.

We would set up a decoy, a bait, that would attract the zombies away from the real target. Circle around and move quick, get the diapers, food and what other supplies we needed, and then out again.

Anytime you venture for the market, any time you bait and switch, it’s dangerous.

By setting up the bait you essentially create your own encirclement. You need to slip through the gaps before the zombies close off exits. Then go around, fast, and grab. One needs to be silent and quick.

Murphy promised that things would go wrong.

When Beth had finished what she was doing she came out with some breakfast for me. Bread, canned fruits, canned juice. We live out of a can. We outside, walking around the perimeter of the house. Discussing ways to improve the fence, our outer wall.

“We should be moving on soon. This place is becoming less safe.” She said.

She was right, it was time to go.

“Where do you want to set the bait this time?” I asked.

We had a map of the town, a tourist thing from better days. On it were 4 red x’s where we had pulled this stunt before.

Beth removed it from her back pocket and unfolded it. She pointed to a distant corner.

“You don’t think it’s too far away?” I asked.

She shrugged. “We’ve been doing this at these locations. Good chance the ghouls are still concentrated here, but it’s been awhile.”

“Might be the ghouls near the market don’t catch the scent from there, or don’t hear the noise.” I said.

“I’ll go inside first and grab what we need, while you watch the front. I’ll watch when you go. If it gets hairy outside, we’ll hear it.” She said.

“It can get hairy fast.”

“So, fuck let’s not go then.” She snapped.

I didn’t say anything. She was getting annoyed because I was too paranoid, to risk averse. But life is always risk.

“We know were everything is. It’s just a matter of going in and grabbing.” She added.

I had an image of her going through the shop shelves and not paying attention to a ghoul walking up the aisle. But I didn’t mention it.

“We need the diapers.” She added.

“Yeah.” I said.

What if we get a flat, or slide on loose gravel? What if the zombies were in a tighter group?

You think of the “what if” questions the more you are afraid of losing what you have. But I didn't mentioned it. It would have done little good.
-------------------

 

[Reaper]

Dropping Pennies

Tyler was looking at me, fear in his eyes. I returned his stare and knew that he saw the same fear my blue eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, my breathing still ragged.

“How the fuck should I know? You’ve been outside.” Tyler answered, starting to move furniture back in front on the door.

“The driver was gone.”

“Yeah, you said. What do you mean?”

“There was blood around the car, it led toward the building and there was a broken window.” I helped pull the bookcase in front of our thin wooden door. We needed anything to keep Marcus out. “I think the driver did it and is downstairs somewhere.”

“But I didn’t hear the crash. He must have been there all night, why’d he wake up now and break in?” Tyler looked confused and still scared.

“I don’t know, do I?” I replied, frustrated. I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. This was all bollocks. People don’t walk around after having their face ripped off, nice guys like Marcus don’t attack their friends and drivers who crash don’t stagger up to a building and break in; leaving a trail of blood, no less. “There was a woman too, looked like someone had ripped her face off. She kept following me and moaning but she didn’t look like she was in pain.” All the stress and shock of the situation was helping us both get over our hangovers.

“What the fuck?” Tyler sat down on the floor. “This can’t be happening. What do we do?”

“We sit tight.” I replied, knowing it was a lame plan but I wasn’t going outside with fucked up folks wandering about.

As if on cue, Marcus resumed his hammering, the door shaking under the assault. For now, it looked like we had ourselves barricaded in. Marcus was big but moving door blocked with a table and a heavy bookcase filled with enormous legal books was probably still beyond him.

“But we have to warn other people in the building.” Tyler said, showing he had the lion’s share of conscience in the apartment.

“You want to ask Marcus to move while you do that?” I handed Tyler a smoke and took one for myself.

We both looked up as we heard sounds of a struggle from the room above. Something smashed and we heard bodies hitting the floor. Over it all, we heard a man bellowing in anger and fear. We began to make out muffled words.

“Hellllp!!! Get off me! Help, she’s biting me, oh my god!! AARRRGGH!!!”

The wailing continued for a minute or so but eventually it stopped and we could only hear the body being rolled around above us. “Was that Matt?”

“I guess so.” Tyler sounded calm but I knew he must be as scared as me. Or at least I hoped he was.

“So Marcus isn’t the only crazy in the building.” I muttered, unhappy about the whole thing.

“Biting?” Tyler said, to himself.

“What?”

“Matt screamed that someone was biting him. Why would someone do that?”

“This is crazy.” I shook my head. “The woman outside looked like a zombie or something.”

“Don’t say that word.” Tyler replied.

“What word?”

“The Z word. It’s ridiculous.” Tyler was right. But whatever was going on, it was completely fucked up.

“Well, whatever they are, they’re in the building and they are after us. Or anyone who isn’t like them.” I said, trying to drive every zombie film from my memory.

“If that woman was messed up too, it can’t just be this building. What about the rest of the city?”

“I don’t know.” I snapped. I didn’t know what to do and I was terrified. I sucked in smoke and tried to calm down but with a crazed Linebacker outside trying to get in, I knew I was aiming high.

“Alice might be in trouble, Joe.” Tyler’s words hit me like a sledgehammer.

“Fuck.” I breathed. I hated myself then; more than I ever have or will again. I had forgotten about my girlfriend and all I could think about was saving myself. We weren’t on best terms right now, but she was still my Alice.

“We can’t stay here anyway.” Tyler stood up, taking the initiative. “We have no food in the place. That door won’t hold Marcus for long and if there are more crazies like him in here then we need to find somewhere secure.”

I was shocked. Tyler was a playboy, not a leader but all of a sudden, here he was taking charge. Good thing. All I wanted to do was hide in my wardrobe.

“Where are we gonna go? I need to get to Alice’s.” my voice shook with anger. Anger at myself over forgetting about her before.

“We take a car and pick her up. Then we find somewhere secure.” Tyler was moving into the kitchen, looking for things we would need. I followed him.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Hey, I’m as fucked up about this as you.”

Thanks bro.

“Okay, we get Alice, then move on. Her place isn’t any better than here.” I lit another cigarette. Cancer might get me before the crazy bastards outside. Oh, well. Life sucks sometimes and it feels like any choice you make will kill you. But at least Tyler and I had something resembling a plan. It wasn’t Operation Overlord or anything but you make do and we didn’t have a lot to work with.

“Right. Let’s do this before we chicken out.” Tyler held out his hand to me, “We’re gonna make it.”

I gripped his hand with mine and we shook.

“Would the English have beaten Washington if the French hadn’t helped you?” We grinned at each other, glad that we were becoming ourselves again.

“Today, English and Americans unite to face the danger together.” Tyler used to run the Drama club at his old college before studying law and he still had a flair for the dramatic. “Let’s get all the stuff we need from here and then we can think about finding a car.” I nodded and headed into my room, Tyler going to his own.

It felt strange standing in my room. Everything seemed normal. Well, the room still looked like a war zone but that was my organisational skills. It was just wrong that with crazy people covered in blood wandering around outside, I could still find anything the way it should be.

I shrugged off my feelings and concentrated. We needed to hurry and get to Alice’s and make sure she was okay. Moving around my room, I grabbed anything I thought would be useful. My lock knife was in a draw and I pocketed it. Emptying my book bag, I placed a half empty bottle of diet coke inside, then I added my spare pack of fags. They were only Lights; my back up when nowhere was open but when I knew that another pack of Reds in a day would only speed my premature death. Still, right now, I knew I needed as many cigarettes on hand as possible. I pulled open my clothes drawers and stuffed some underwear, a few vests and a spare T-shirt into the bag. Continuing my search, I found my jacket; thigh length black leather, and I remembered my stab-proof vest and yanked it out of the closet.

I had invested in the vest as little piece of mind for the job. As a bouncer, you know you have the edge over most folk - you’re sober, they’re drunk. I knew I could handle myself against most people but the really big guys could be trouble. Luckily, most of the time they only try something after a lot a of beers, and when they’re drunk, all you need to do is protect yourself until they lose their balance and then you’ve got them. The thing that really gets inside your head while working a club is the idea of someone with a knife. I can take a punch but being stabbed on the job is one of those nightmare scenarios because you can’t always be ready for something like that and in a fight, the guy with the knife has the advantage, big time.

I’ve had knives waved in my face before but I don’t look like a mark and I’ve never been mugged so the only people who wave knives at me generally think twice when I don’t cower away. All you have to do is show no fear and leave it to them to decide to stab you or fuck off. Most people don’t have the balls. Well, in England anyway. Tyler had warned me that the US was different. I knew that a big drunk guy was less of a threat than a sober big guy, but any drunk with a knife is a scary motherfucker. You don’t need balls when alcohol is telling you what do. Hence the vest. It would stop a nine mil round as well and it helped in a punch up. Wearing half an inch of protective weave stopped quite a lot and punch didn’t have much of a chance.

So if there were fucked up crazies wandering the streets, I wanted as much protection as possible.

I strapped the vest on over my T-shirt and pulled my jacket on. I felt a little better but part of me knew that the vest wasn’t enough. We had heard Matt screaming about biting and even though it didn’t make any sense, I remembered that Marcus had been snapping at me as I barged him out of the way. This was way too ‘zombie flick’ to be real. Maybe there was bad coke going round. Tyler had warned me about the drug scene and I had stayed away. I was no expert but I watched Cop shows and knew that drugs could mess up your head before they killed you. Rodney King fought four cops before he was beaten into submission. Right or wrong, the guy put up quite a fight first because he was high as a kite.

Not for the first time this morning I reflected that today was a really bad day.

I looked around, checking for anything else that might come in handy. I added a bottle of lighter fuel, a heavy flashlight and my glasses to the supplies in my bag. It wasn’t much but when you’re a student living two minutes from a store, you buy stuff as you need it.

One last look and I decided I had everything I needed.

Out in the hall I saw Tyler was waiting for me.

“Got your shit together?” he asked. He was looking me up and down. “Got the vest on, eh?”

“At least if Marcus hits me, it won’t hurt too much.” I grinned.

“Wish I had me one of those fancy Kevlar things.”

“I wish it was Kevlar. This is an old one and I would guess Kevlar is a minor ingredient. Besides, these guys don’t seem to be packing.” I replied, lighting another Red. “Wearing it just makes me feel better.”

“Fair enough.” Tyler replied. We had both managed to calm down since we had discovered the mayhem beyond our room.

“Got everything?” I asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I found some Evian in my room and I’ve got half a pack of Camels.”

“Why don’t we own a gun, Tyler?” I knew the answer but it just stung that a gun would be a valuable asset right now.

“Me parents were pacifists. You know, they were hippies.” he shrugged apologetically.

“And I’m not a citizen. Perfect. If we live through this, I’ll give you money to buy a gun.” I pulled by bag over my shoulder and adjusted it until I was comfortable. “What are we gonna do about Marcus?”

“We could go out the window.” Tyler replied.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” I moved to the window gesturing outside, “You fancy jumping out th-” I stopped as I looked down at the street. The woman was crouched over the body of a thin young man. He was jerking and wriggling in her grip. Her mouth was ripping at his neck and blood was pooling on the sidewalk. “Tyler…”

He joined me at the window.

“Holy Jesus.” he breathed.

“If I believed in god, I’d have a bone to pick with him right now.” We watched as the woman tore flesh from the man’s neck and devoured the soft meat. This was not cool. “Do all of them bite?”

“Looks like it.” Tyler shook his head. “But why?”

“ ’Fucked if I know. I guess we just have to make sure that doesn’t happen to us. Someone tries to bite us, we hit them back and we hit them hard.” I sounded like a bad-ass but it was taking a lot of concentration to keep fear from my voice. I have a deep rumbling voice normally, which helped.

“Check out Duke Nuke’em.” Tyler chuckled.

“We’ll see how the attitude holds up once we open the door.” I smiled a tight, tense smile.

“What about a car? Mine’s in the garage and you don’t have one.” Tyler had a point. No way was I hiking across the city if there were more things outside.

“Matt has a truck.” I replied. “If he was in his room, then his keys should be there too.”

“But he was attacked.” Again, Tyler had a point.

“I don’t like it, but he is the only one I know is here and has a car, I spotted the truck outside so we know it’s a sure thing.” Were we really going to do this?

“So now we need to get past Marcus and the crazy bitch who bit Matt?” Tyler looked nervous now. I was pretty sure I was mirroring his worried expression.

“We have to do it. You used to do karate, I used to box back in England. We can do this.” I said, rolling my neck and testing my shoulders. Confidence has be corralled in and once you find it you need to keep it.

“I took karate for a year because it impressed the chicks and I wanted to be an actor. And everyone loves the guys who do their own fight scenes and stunts.”

“Yeah, well, this is gonna be a hell of a stunt and think how impressed the chicks are gonna be when you can tell them that you took on a crazed, maybe coked up linebacker and a messed up bitch who had attacked a friend of yours.” I waggled my eyebrows at him, hoping that Tyler’s incessant need for pussy might help him get through this.

He knew what I was doing but it still made him feel better. He smiled his winning smile at me and I remembered why Tyler was such a good friend. He loved life and women and drink. And we both knew that if we didn’t pull ourselves together and get moving, then we wouldn’t get to enjoy any of those things again.

“Okay. We can do this. I’ll get my bat.”

“Good call. Marcus is big but no one can take a hammering from that thing.” I replied, glad that Tyler had thought of that. Weapons would make this easier and I doubted my little knife would be of much help. If the woman outside could walk around with half her face gone, then I doubted a stab wound would make much difference.

Instead, I fished out the big flashlight and hefted in my hand. It would make a serviceable weapon but the thought of upgrading later definitely appealed.

Tyler came back with the bat and seeing him holding it made me feel a lot better.

Marcus was still banging on the door. He was relentless. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up already. I guessed he could hear us and wanted to get us but there must be other people in the building who were less prepared and easier prey than us.

“Ready?” Tyler said, his knuckles tight on the weapon.

“We better do this fast before I lose my nerve.” I replied, knowing that if we talked this over all day I would go back to my original plan of hiding in the closet.

No! I have to get to Alice. She might be pissed at me, but I am not gonna let anything hurt her. “Do me a favour, Tyler. Don’t tell Alice that she wasn’t the first thing I thought of when all this shit happened.”

“Sure thing amigo.” he grinned at me, leaning the bat against the wall. “Let’s go.” I nodded and we quickly cleared the barricade out of the way, then fell back from the door, grabbing our makeshift weapons. The pounding on the door continued and now we could see the wood giving under the assault.

“Do we open up or wait for him to get inside?” I said quietly.

“You open the door, he comes at me and you hit him from behind.” Tyler’s thinking was clear and free of terror. I was glad he was here with me. I don’t think I would have made it this far if I’d been alone. But something occurred to me.

“No, you open the door. I’ve got a better chance against Marcus if he gets near me and I’m too short to get a good hit on his head from behind. You with the bat can take a good swing and put him down before he reaches me.” He looked from me to the door and I knew he liked the idea of not being the bait, but I also knew I hated the idea of leaving me to face Marcus. “Look, this is the best way. You’re not gonna let him get me, are you?”

He shook his head. “Okay.” I said. “Let’s rock.” We both chuckled, both realising how much both of us were trying so hard not to look or sound scared.

“I’m fucking terrified, man.” he said, smiling.

“Me too, bro.” I grinned back. It felt good, knowing we were in this together. The fear brought us closer and we realised that we didn’t need to pretend in front of one another.

“Let’s do this, now.” Tyler’s voice carried conviction now. From shared fear, confidence was born. Confidence that we would take care of each other, because we needed each other right now. More than ever.

Tyler moved to the door and turned the handle, stepping to side.

The burst open and Marcus came lumbering toward me. As he moved into the light I saw the blood covering his chest and the open wound on his neck. It looked like a bite. I took all of this in a second, and then the panic hit.

What the fuck was I doing?

Then Tyler stepped up and brought the bat down hard on Marcus’ head. I heard a sickening crack and he went down, dropping to his knees.

Without thinking, I stepped forward and brought the heavy torch down on his forehead. His head flopped back and he toppled forwards onto his face. I kept hitting him over and over again. Blood was spraying from his skull as I hammered it again and again.

I finally stopped when Tyler grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away. “Joe!” he yelled. I looked at him and I dropped the torch.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Jesus man. We’ve got to go.”

I reached down and picked up the flashlight, it was slippery with Marcus’ blood and I saw that my hands were shaking.

“Sorry.” I mumbled. What the fuck happened to me? I liked Marcus, but part of me just snapped - that wasn’t Marcus, that was a monster trying to kill me and Tyler and I just wanted to stop him. I didn’t like what I had done, but at least Marcus wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

That last thought gave me pause. How had a good friend just become a problem to be dealt with through lethal force?

No time to deal with that now. “You’re right. Let’s get Matt’s keys.” Tyler nodded and we dashed out into the corridor. Luckily it was still clear but I could hear muffle moaning coming from some of the rooms. On door was ajar and I heard thudding coming from inside. Luckily, Matt’s room was closer to the other set of stairs, the one Marcus had descended.

I followed Tyler and we reached the floor above. Matt’s door was open and Tyler and I stole a quick glance at each other. Another nod and we both took a deep breath. Moving up to the door, I peaked in. There was blood; lots of blood, but no crazy girl.

And no Matt.

Tyler looked in as well and he spied Matt’s keys on the coffee table in the lounge through the hall.

“Careful.” he said.

He went first and I followed, moving as quietly as I could. My boot skidded in the blood and I felt my stomach heave but I kept myself under control. Tyler moved ahead toward the keys. I looked into Matt’s bedroom as we passed the door but there was nothing in there of note, so we carried on.

“Oh shit.” I said, as we entered the lounge.

Matt was lying on the floor, propped against the TV. Blood leaked from his neck and there were other bites covering his forearms. Defensive wounds. “Get the keys.” Tyler nodded and snatched them off the table.

As the metal raked across the wood, Matt’s eyes jerked open. They were grey and lifeless but flashed toward Tyler, who looked up in time to see our fellow law student lurch to his feet.

Matt came at Tyler; lumbering like Marcus had. That saved our lives because we both stood absolutely still for a moment, frozen by shock.

Tyler came to first, reacting to the sudden danger. He swung the bat and knocked Matt from his feet but I could see that what used to be Matt was still a threat. I moved forward to finish him off like I had Marcus, but Tyler screamed at me,

“Look out!”

I turned and was knocked to the floor by a blur of blood and hair. It was the girl. I managed to get my forearm wedged under her chin, keeping her snapping jaws away from me.

“Argh, fuck!” I bellowed, her nails were scratching my face, leaving three bloody trails across me cheek.

Tyler reached down and heaved the woman off me. She almost nipped my arm but her teeth only found the leather of my sleeve. I crawled away as Tyler threw the girl across the room.

“Fuck this.” he breathed. “Let’s go.” I nodded my assent and we both took off out the apartment. Behind us I heard the moans of Matt trying to get up and the snarls of the fast-moving bitch.

We both hurried to the stairs and headed down. I heard the clatter of shoes following us and I realised the girl was chasing us. Slow fuckers were one thing but that speed freak scared the crap out of me. She had come so close to getting me.

Practically jumping down the stairs we passed our floor. I risked a glance down the hall and saw a figure moving out of the room I had noticed earlier. It lumbered toward us and I saw another shape crawling after it. It was Brett, one of our neighbours. Fuck this was bad.

Hurrying on down to the ground floor we reached the lobby, both of us breathing hard. Tyler ran to the door and tried to yank it open. I had forgotten about my attempt to keep the messed up businesswoman out. Tyler looked back at me, a curse on his lips before he decided to keep it for later and pulled the chair leg from the handles and yanked the door open.

Behind me I heard the haggard breathing and guttural growls as Matt’s attacker emerged into the lobby.

“Oh bollocks.” I muttered as she charged at me. Instinct controlled my movements as I swung the flashlight, clipping her head, sending her off course and she smashed into the manager’s desk. I think I heard her neck snap as her head connected.

God bless good luck, I thought. Well, good luck for me, bad luck for the freaking zombie or whatever they were.

I turned and followed Tyler out into the sunlight. The woman had staggered away but we saw her victim crawling around on the sidewalk, trying to get to his feet. Ignoring him for now, we both ran for Matt’s truck. Tyler slammed the key in the lock and climbed inside, reaching over to unlock the passenger door for me.

I got in as he gunned the engine and we took off, heading down the street, away from the walking morgue our building had become.

 

[PyroPhoenix]

OOC- Sorry that the previous version of this sucked so bad. This is a whole new rewrite.

IC- Intelligence, insanity, and religion. The good, the bad and the ugly-


After having left the house to set off for the other side of the city I had accomplished my basic task as well as possible by killing dozens of zombies with the same ease as one might kill mosquitos on a warm summer night as they buzz annoyingly for hours.

Tall, short, skinny, fat, man, women all fell to the steel head of my sledge which held no prejudice.

I had almost even begun to enjoy myself.....The primal baseness of my actions went unknown in my minds eye as I begun liberal enjoyment of the slaughter.

They were no longer humans with thoughts or actions. They were just mindless drones to slaughter without remorse.

"Fuck you boss take care of your own work instead of dumping it on me so you can screw your secretary!"

"Eat shit lady who's dog craps on my lawn!"

"For everyone who has ever driven forty miles and hour in the fast lane of the freeway when I was late for work!"

To sum it up simply, I became a monster. Killing them not for survival as much as the entertainment.

Hey man stop it. You are losing your mind to the red lust.

Shutup you asshole or I will kill you too.

LISTEN FOOL, YOU WILL NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO.

OR ELSE WHAT, ALL YOU ARE IS A FUCKING IMAGINARY FRIEND.

Wanna bet?

O I do. There isn't a damn thing you can do to stop me. I'm free you hear me? I'M FREE!

"FREEEEEEEEE" I screamed.

I rushed to the nearest zombie and raised my sledge to smash it in exultation.

Imagine my suprise when it dropped me with a hit to the forehead from from the butt of it's shotgun.

For a moment as the lights flickered before me on the ground I could have sworn he was a priest. And then a familiar blackness washed over me. I was knocked unconcious.

When the black void drifted apart like a heavy mist evaporating right before noon I found that I was in the clearing where my "imaginary friend" resided.

Off to my left a small waterfall fed directly into a pond so small that it wouldn't count as much more than a large kiddie pool. To one side was a rock wall draped in ivy. My alter ego sat peacefully staring at me as he lay against a rock and his bare feet dangled in the pond.

Just am Imaginary friend huh?

Listen man I am sorry about earlier, but I-

Shutup. Listen fool, and hear me well. When you decide to apologize to me it isn't cause you are sorry.

But I am sorry and-

Without the calm expression on his face ever changing he ferociously tossed a smooth river rock at my injured arm. It struck true and dropped to my knees in pain. I stared at him through eyes streaming with tears.

What seperate us from apes fool, what has sent men to the moon and forged empires? From the humble carpenter to the renaissance artist all share something that makes them human.

Intelligence, and more importantly, emotion. When you decide to lose your mind and start killing for the sake of killing you lose your humanity. I watched you light afire a man in his seventies with not a single bit of remorse. You even laughed as he burned.

But he was a zombie.

That doesn't matter, because when you took joy in killing you became no better than a monkey. A hollow shell with no purpose but what instinct and urge tells it. You may not think it, but there are differences in killing, When I kill I kill for survival or necesity, you have killed in frivolty.

I'm sorry...................I......apologize........I......

I broke out in tears and bowed my head in shame. He was right like it or not, and I had commited terrible hubris in my lapse of sane thought.

Come here and wash your foul deeds away with the purity of nature.

I crawled to the pond still crying freely, and splashed my face with the calm water. It was so pure that I immidiately regained my composure.

I wiped my face off on my shirt until it was dry and clean. Without a second thought I dove in and reveled in the feeling of goodness that swept through me.

As I went to break the surface of the water and catch a breath of air his hand held me down. For a split instant I thought he would kill me, but I decided he knew best and let myself fade to black in the heaven that is the pond.

 

[Reaper]

Breaking a Sweat

My hand was round the gun’s grip and aiming the weapon at the door before my mind was fully alert.

Something had woken me. My heart was pounding and I was soaked in sweat, the sheets damp and clinging.

Blinking sweat from my eyes, I continued to hold the gun aimed at the door. My hand was steady, now used to the weight and feel of the cold metal and plastic contraption which had saved my life so many times.

Climbing out of bed, a pulled a pair of jeans on over my boxers. Feeling less naked, I opened my door and stepped back keeping the gun steady.

Nothing.

I listened, closing my eyes. The loss of sight always helps me focus on sounds, noise on the edge of hearing that I would miss otherwise. Still nothing. I moved out onto landing, sweeping the area. Moonlight flooded through the windows and illuminated the empty space. I was the only one there. I lowered the gun and took a breath.

What had woken me?

Could have been anything, I thought. If anything can make you jumpy, the apocalypse is one of them. Seeing the dead rise and having to escape the jaws of slobbering, braindead zombies will rattle a man.

But a rattled man stays alive long enough to learn how to survive longer than five minutes. It had been a sharp learning curve but I guess I had made the grade because here I was. I had lived passed Z day and it had been hard, damn fucking unbelievably hard but I was still breathing.

If I didn’t miss my friends who didn’t make it so much, I would have been more proud of my survival than I was of anything else I ever achieved. Living in a world infested with undead still feels hollow. It’s not living anymore, it’s just surviving. Almost like I’m a zombie myself.

I wasn’t much better than them. I searched for food, a killed zombies to get it, I had killed people to get it. Some people didn’t want to share and they would have killed me to take what I had. I came out on top. But they got off easy. Fighting off the undead was bad but I had spent four years studying law, learning about how criminals, rapists, killers were put behind bars. It was at University that I had decided to become a cop after law school and now… now I was a murderer. I had taken human life.

When I was younger, I had thought killing someone would be easy; if I thought they deserved it. I had spoken of how I would quite happily kill anyone who hurt my family or my closest friends. I was right about how easy killing was.

It was just a squeeze of a trigger, a thrust of a blade or lucky punch that crushes the windpipe. Killing someone is incredibly easy. People are frail things.

I have killed five men. Five men so far, each of them believing they could have my things just because they thought they could take it from me. All of them were wrong.

Now, they’re safe. The zombies can’t get them anymore. Not a worry, nor a care troubles their minds now. Like I said, they got off easy.

I’m still here. Still here, surrounded by zombies, deserted buildings, what little food I have hoarded, and all my guilt. Zombie’s are pussy when compared to your own mind when it turns against you. The guilt was like a weight, a constant distraction. The men I killed had it coming. They tried to steal everything from me, they threatened me and now they are dead. I was lucky the first time but I learned.

The guilt would pass. I felt it less everyday, just a little bit slipped away each and everyday. You get used to things. Zombies still scared the shit out of me when they were trying to eat me. But when I was safe inside somewhere, I wasn’t scared anymore. The idea of zombies hunting through the world didn’t scare me. It was just life. My survival instincts kicked in when danger threatened, but the rest was just life.

Life was survival and now survival was life.

Listening one more time, I reassured myself the house was secure and that my own restless mind had awoken me.

I looked down at the gun in my hand. It wasn’t the first I had held as my shield against the zombie threat.

The gun sparked off a recollection of the dream I now know was to blame for my awakening.

It was about the day all this shit started. When Tyler and I had discovered that absolute fucking menace and strife had befell out Earth. We had survived the first of our horror and that we thought, hoped and well nigh prayed would be the end of the ordeal. But I knew now that the worst was still ahead of us.

I remembered that day as a fractured series of events; the hangover, the discovery, the terror and the escape.

I was still looking at the gun in my hand, an HK P-99 in .40 calibre. It was a superb weapon. Good safety features, solid and powerful ammunition that would put stop anything. A .40 is an ideal compromise from the light weight of the 9mm and the stopping power of a good old fashioned .45. I knew the ammo was rarer than most but while I had a supply, I was glad of the efficiency it provided.

I knew how to use guns now. I wasn’t great but I was good enough and that was all I needed to look after myself. But I still remembered what happened with my first gun. It almost made me laugh but it was hard to remember that without thinking about what happened afterwards and that part, I wanted to forget.

We were so happy when we got a gun. Every zombie film I’ve ever seen told me I had to get a gun. Gun equals survival if you’re smart enough.

But, I had never used a gun before and neither had Tyler.

I’m pretty sure anyone can imagine how it panned out.

 

[Gunslinger]

It was thirty minutes into the drive when Greg’s high began tapering off and the numbing paranoia set in. He realized that he had left the doctor’s bag full of drugs back in the hotel room with the unprofessional, fucking bastard. And there was no chance he was going to face Ray again, even if he needed another fix. Reality was coming back on the airwaves, in full, booming stereo that shattered the euphoric haze Greg was jiving to. With the coke wearing off, he had to face the facts:

Fact the First. Ray had gone bugshit and killed everyone in the hotel room. No, he didn’t just kill them; he fucking eviscerated them. Greg pounded the dashboard in frustration. What kind of fuckup did you have to be to kill a bunch of people while making a drug run? Whatever happened to playing it cool?

Fact the Second. He was sitting in the cab of his big rig truck covered in blood, looking like a fucking butcher. The blood dried and stuck to his clothes and face, suffocating his pores. And hell if he could make a pit stop and clean it off. It would take just one look before every fucking person with a cell phone dialed 911. Compounded with the fact that the cargo he was hauling just happened to be some Victorian furniture and pounds of heroin, getting spotted would be quite a bitch.

Fact the Third. He was fucking hungry and tired, the cocaine the only thing keeping him going since the morning. And it was motherfucking hot, the searing heat from the Nevada desert that you could only truly appreciate in the cab of a car without air conditioning.

Yes, Greg was very much coming to appreciate the term fear and loathing in Las Vegas. He knew now that it would be hopeless to get into California, especially with this amount of potential heat and attention on his tail. A cop was sure to catch up with the hotel and find Ray in the midst of a million fucking corpses. And Ray was the kinda fuckup who would break down under interrogation, the kinda unprofessional asshole who would cut a deal to save his own fucking unprofessional skin.

Greg’s only chance was to make it to one of the isolated safe houses strewn out in the Nevada deserts. He knew there was one just a few miles out of Las Vegas, maybe an hour’s drive of where he was now. Sure, the Italian thugs would be pissed off royally. But it was Mr. Carsini’s fault for pairing him up with such a fucking unprofessional asshole in the first place. And to his credit, at least Greg had kept on trucking and didn’t bolt at the first sign of trouble. And, more importantly, he had kept the millions of dollars worth of merchandise. Hell, he was just about a fucking hero.

Greg kept on the main, paved roads for now. He had a good sense of direction and a photographic memory; he’d know when to turn off into the desert hard pan north of Las Vegas where the concrete bunker safe house waited a few miles off. The Italian goons waiting there would take care of the rest. Greg just had to get there.

He slumped low in his seat, just in case someone tried to make him. It was an inferno in the cab, even with both windows down, and he could practically hear his skin sizzle in the baking heat. The sweat mixed with the dried up blood on his forehead, running down like bloody tears. But there was no helping it. Ray had busted up the air conditioner the day before.

That fucking unprofessional bastard.

He had dug around the mostly empty wrappers and bags strewn about the cab, only finding half a bag of stale peanuts to satiate his appetite. He remembered that Ray had eaten most of their munchies while getting high.

That fucking unprofessional bastard.

He turned on the radio but, after only a moment of scanning, could only hear Emergency Broadcasting Stations taking over the airwaves. Some major shit was going down apparently. As if Greg needed more heartache. He woulda listened to some of his own music but Ray had thrown all Creedence Clearwater Revival albums out of the window, stating that John Fogerty was just a deep South redneck.

That fucking unprofessional bastard.

It was going to be a hard ride. “Fucking Ray!” Greg shrieked, pounding away at the dashboard. He had half a mind to turn the truck around to kick the fucking unprofessional bastard’s bald head in. “I oughta clock that fucker’s card in.”

He spent the next twenty minutes cursing Ray and sweating. It was a nerve-wracking ride particularly when he reached the outskirts of Las Vegas. Droves of cars were driving pass him, one after the other in a constant stream. All of them heading away from Vegas. Greg slouched lower in his seat, fearing getting made. But the cars just zipped past, most of the occupants wearing panicked expressions.

Greg kept driving until he spotted an accident up ahead. A truck and a lighter mini coupe had collided together, both coming from opposite directions at full speed. They were mashed together, their grills merged and hoods strangled around. The car wreck formed an unnatural barricade, blocking most of the two lanes of the road. This, however, did not stop the traffic. The cars moving out of Las Vegas merely swerved around the wreck, barely slowing down.

But Greg was driving a big rig, with not much experience either. Even if he pulled off to the shoulder, he didn’t know if he could keep the attached trailer from hitting the wreckage. With a shout of frustration, Greg came to a complete stop.

He had to hurry. There was no telling when a police patrol cruiser came pulling up. Greg climbed out of his cab, heedless of the attraction he would get with all his bloody clothes. He was almost to the safe house and he couldn’t be bothered to stop now.

Things weren’t as bad as they looked. Sure, the cars were crashed and mangled, but the mini coupe wasn’t completely totaled. The engine in the trunk was unharmed, the front of the car taking the brunt of the damage. Maybe he could gun the min coupe up and tug the truck with it.

Greg got closer to the wreckage. He saw that the dude behind the truck was most definitely dead, his head coming into collision with his windshield and leaving a bright blossom of blood. But he didn’t know how the driver behind the mini coupe’s tinted windows was doing.

“Anyone alive in there?” Greg asked, feeling stupid as the words left his mouth.

No reply came.

He stood in the middle of the road for a minute, imagining what a picturesque scene he made in his bloody clothes next to the car wreck. The traffic had seemed to die down but it wouldn’t be long before somebody drove past. Or even worse, some cops showed up.

Greg got closer to the mini coupe and tapped the window. “Hello? Anyone?” he asked, still feeling like a dumbfuck.

Screw it, he thought. He pulled on the handle and flung back the door. Greg immediately jumped back a foot when the corpse of a woman tumbled out.

“Motherfucker!” he cursed. He was getting too familiar with corpses these days. The thundering of his heart in his chest subsided and went for the car again, meaning to get into the driver’s seat when the apparently dead woman came alive.

With a shriek, the woman sat bolt upright. Her face was bloody and her eyes were unfocused as her head jerked in all directions.

“Motherfucker!” Greg cursed again, jumping back a foot once more.

The chick’s head jerked at the sound of Greg’s voice and her once unfocused eyes suddenly locked onto his. With a shriek, she tried getting up but fell down, her ankle apparently broken.

Greg was going bugshit. This was too much to take all in one day. He just wanted to get the fuck out of here. And the lady shrieking on the road wasn’t helping his head none, either.

“Hey lady, just relax for second,” he said, taking a step closer. But she didn’t relax. Instead, she growled and snapped at his foot like a dog. Like she was trying to fucking bite him. It was all too familiar. Had the whole world turned into coke fiends?

“Goddammit.” Greg turned away, decided that he didn’t want to help the fucking bitch who was probably too delirious with pain. He started walking back to his big rig with two hands wrapped around his leg.

He looked down and saw the crazy bitch baring her mouth, ready to take a chunk of his leg. “What the fuck?!” he shrieked, kicking her hard in the face and throwing her off. He instantly regretted it, the internal voice of reason telling him it was wrong, lowdown to hit a woman.

“Christ, I’m sorry, lady,” he said, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.

The woman whipped her head and growled again. She made a lunge for Greg’s hand, her mouth bared again. And Greg would have lost most of his fingers on that hand if she hadn’t fallen short, her face slamming into the hard pavement.

“Goddammit!” he cursed. He felt bad at the sound her head made as it hit the street. But he was also pissed off beyond belief, turned off by all the unprofessional assholes he had met today. “Tried to fucking ‘pologize and you go bugshit on me! Well, fuck you! Fuck you, bitch!” He turned around with self-righteous anger.

Greg was halfway to the big rig when he heard the crazy bitch moving. He looked over his shoulder and saw her crawling towards him, her bloody fingers digging into concrete and bits of gravel biting into her open wounds. And she was gaining.

There wasn’t any point in reasoning with her. Greg ran the rest of the way and jumped into the cab of the big rig. He was about to close the door when the crazy bitch climbed in with him. Motherfucker, she was fast.

Her arms groped madly at his face. Greg caught them in both of his and shoved her away as he scooted further back into the cab. The crazy bitch was light weight but she was as determined a coke fiend. Streamers of saliva fell out of her wide, open mouth.

Grunting, Greg started going to town with his legs, kicking her in the midsection with his bare feet. She paid little mind, her head dipping closer to his throat. With a cry of frustration, Greg pushed her off onto the floor of the cab.

The adrenaline was pumping again, fueling his exhausted muscles. He reached underneath his seat and pulled free a tire jack. As the crazy bitch lunged at him again, he swung the steel prong down. It hit her squarely on the forehead, the metal ringing dully as the skull cracked under pressure. Her eyes rolled up to the back of her forehead and she fell limply into his lap.

With a shriek, Greg kicked the now definitely dead corpse out of the cab. Mindlessly, he started up the engine and pounded down on the gas, flooring the pedal. The big rig shot through the wreckage, forcefully pushing through the wreckage.

It was the second time in just one day that Greg left behind a corpse in his wake. He would find many more as he drove on to Las Vegas.

 

[welsh]

OC- Ok no violence again. But it's coming. This is back to the guys on the mountain.

IC-

Bait and Switch-

Bait the ghouls in one direction, while you quietly switch to another. It sounds simple, but you need always consider Murphy’s Law.

The flight of A-10s had given us reason to be hopeful and a goal worth pursuing. But we still needed to figure out what we would do next.

Our vehicles, including Robert’s SUV, were parked on the other side of the valley at the trailhead parking below the hike up to Half-Dome. If we wanted to get those vehicles, our choices were simple. Either we crossed the valley, and fight our way through the ghouls, or we went around the valley, including Half-Dome and fight our way down the slick trails down to the parking lot.

Directly before us was Yosemite Village and the Yosemite lodge. The main medical facilities, the gasoline station and garage, the main ranger station, most of the restaurants, were in the village. So were the ghouls.

The long way around would mean heavy hiking over at least a day, maybe two considering the damage to the trails. We could easily run into ghouls on the trail. But the problem was that we were nearly out of food and water. Water could be dealt with by using melted snow. But the food issue was serious.

That left a middle passage. We could use another trail, going around Yosemite Falls and past Mirror Lake but then cutting down to the Ahwahnee Hotel. We could try to scavenge what food was available and take refuge before making a move for our cars at the trailhead parking lot. But that would mean cutting through part of the trail.

Thus the plan- attract the ghouls to one corner of the park while the rest of us tried to move through another. It was already approaching mid-day. By the time we reached the Ahwahnee it would be dark.

It would also mean leaving people behind to attract attention, and who would then follow us at night.

Robert surprised us all by volunteering. He also had the rifle and would move down the slope and try to shoot a few. Rifle fire, echoed off the canyon, might attract more ghouls. James didn’t like the idea of leaving Robert alone to find his way through the dark, and volunteered to stay behind as well. The rest of us, Eric, Jorge, Pablo Carl, Spencer, Beth and myself, would make the hike around. Eric still had his .38, Beth was still holding onto Daniel’s revolver. James gave Pablo his 9 mm. The rest of us would have to fashion weapons from whatever we could construct: hiking or walking sticks, camping gear, anything.

Robert had already gone down the trail. James paused and said, “We will start firing in a few hours, and we won’t fire much. As soon as it gets dark we will follow and try to catch up.”

“We’ll try to leave markings. Do you have flashlights?” Asked Eric.

Robert said he did and wished us well. We nodded and wished him and Robert well, though I doubt any of us thought we would see either man again. James tried to smile and then turned down the trail.

We set off in silence with Eric the lead. Eric was the most familiar with the park having spent many summers there. Pablo followed. I waited as the others filed in behind, until it was just Beth and I. Beth shrugged. If she were going to die anyway, there was little reason not to follow.

Pablo seemed comfortable with the thought that he was doing something and said little. Eric seemed to concentrate on the trail. Or maybe he was thinking that if we ran into ghouls he would be the first one the creature would try to attack.

Jorge, Spencer and Carl seemed caught up in conversation. Perhaps it relaxed them, but what they said just disturbed me.

“How can they be?” Wondered Jorge. “They are dead, we assume. Do their hearts continue to beat? Yet we know their wounds are mortal.”

Spencer and Carl seemed to agree. For all intensive purposes the zombies did not seem to be alive but more like animated corpses.

“Then this raises the question of life after death, doesn’t it. Is there something else that inhabits us?”

“Could be that there is something in the body causing electrical stimulation to the brain so that body functions continue.” Considered Carl.

Spencer responded. “Possible but we are talking about the ability to walk, to move limbs, to identify prey and hunt. They may not be capable of more advanced functions, but they are capable of at least the basic functions of many animals.”

“How did they spread so damn fast?” Pondered Carl.

Beth answered that one. “It’s in the bite. People who have been killed by these things come back. You saw ranger. The bite killed him and turned him into one.”

“So it’s like a virus transmitted by salvia?”

Spencer seemed to think that was plausible. “It’s an infectious disease then. Like AIDS, it can be transmitted through salvia.”

But Jorge seemed uncomfortable with just a scientific discussion. “You are all missing the point. These things are not alive. AN infectious disease can spread with a germ perhaps but it must at least be alive. These things are not alive but are animated. This is not what we know to be natural but something other.”

Neither Carl nor Spencer seemed to accept that. To them the possibility of these things being beyond the comprehension of science seemed impossible. Carl even postulated that this could have been the result of a biological weapon. Jorge didn’t seem to accept that, for it would have meant the greatest discovery of mankind- life after death. A more plausible explanation was that it was alien. Something other than this world had invaded our planet and this was the consequence.

Beth who was generally quiet said little except, “Perhaps the reasons are not scientific but beyond science. Perhaps this is a case of religion. Armageddon has come and the dead walk the earth. Perhaps hell is overcrowded with sinners.”

That surprised me. “I didn’t think you were religious.”

“I’m not.” She responded. “But this might be a good time to start.”

“Odd isn’t it that a blow to the brain seems to make them stop.” Continued Jorge, “As if whatever that animates them requires the mind to function, at least in some simple way.”

I don’t know why Pablo or Spencer didn’t tell them to shut up. Perhaps the sound of other human voices were somehow comforting.

They continued to discuss the virus. How quick the virus must have spread. Beth tried to provide what information that was missing but even she didn’t know much and her information was old. Whatever it was it had happened almost spontaneously, and apparently everywhere. It had not spread from coast to coast, but had virtually erupted in different places and spread from those thousands of different points.

It could be everywhere, in every country.

With recent snow it was easy to lose our way. We tried to leave markings for James and Robert.

At one point Eric stopped, and the rest of us froze. We waited an impossibly long 5 minutes when a giant deer jumped across the path before us.

Pablo said, “I thought it was a fucking bear.”

The rest of us laughed at that which made the rest of the hiking either.

We didn’t hear Robert or James firing rounds. But by then we had moved deeply into the forest which would have consumed what sounds they made. We would hike for a half hour to an hour then rest. We had little to eat so there was no reason to break for lunch. Mirror Lake was frozen over, and the rivers we crossed were coated with recent snow, waterfalls turned into rivers of icicles It would have been all so very beautiful but we had been in the park for over a week, were tired and hungry, and wondering if the Apocalypse had begun without us. It was not the time to appreciate the aesthetics of nature.

The hike down to valley was easier but it was still dark when we finally got down to the valley. We moved down the steeper areas easily and then the trail took a slow gradual dissent. Certainly a zombie could have walked up the trail without much difficulty. We didn’t say anything but I think we all must have thought that if we needed to run back up the hill, there would be no steep climbs to protect us. From now on, our trip

The snow reflected the moonlight, but the forests and bushes and the snow banks created by the wind still limited our visibility.

Eric stopped us before we continued down into the valley. “So far we have been lucky and haven’t had seen any. But chances are we’re going to run into something between here and the hotel. If so, it would be better if we didn’t use the gun as the sound might attract more of those things. Besides, we got almost no ammunition. So we’ll try to bring them down without the guns if we can. Ok?”

That wasn’t comforting but we agreed that it kind of made sense. I didn’t think the plan would work if we actually got into trouble. Then panic would take over.

Night came on fast, and above us the sky was going overcast. Another storm threatened and the dark gave us all a chill.

But Eric was wrong. We didn’t run into any ghouls while on the trail to the hotel although we were on edge the entire last of the hike. We thought that maybe Robert and James, God bless them, had attracted all the zombies from the valley. Later we would discover that zombies would become increasingly slowed until they actually froze in low temperatures.

As we approached the hotel rose out of the misty dark like a beacon of hope.

We moved around the outer buildings, getting to the repair shed and garage. There I traded the wooded stick I had thought to use as a cudgel for a crowbar and a hammer.
Still no ghouls seemed to be moving about the darkness. The indoor lights of the hotel seemed a retreat. Had the ghouls ignored the hotel?

That hope was dispelled as we went through front doors and saw the spray of blood behind the cashier’s desk.

 

[PyroPhoenix]

My cross to bear-

As the black faded for the umpteenth time in the last few days he realized that my other hadn't tried to murder him. His surroundings began to flood into him; dimly lit walls made of adobe and stained glass saints lined his peripheral vision. Looking straight up an oaken cross hung precariously above him like an avalanche waiting to happen. The word INRA was deeply carved into the center, and seemed as he read it he almost saw that the cross gave off its own light. With no small effort he strained his head to the right and saw a hunched figure in font of him praying.

At that moment the man looked up. As previously thought it was the priest who had clocked him. They made solid eye contact and the room filled with quiet like a cemetary.

"Father I have sinned."

"How so my child?"

"I have broken the commandments. I have killed."

"It is ok my son they do not live. They are merely the spawn of mankinds sin coming back for its due."

"But they used to be people, and I slayed them without need."

"Then repent my son, and let the light of God wash away your sins."

This is total bullshit. what is wrong with you? The only gods you need are those of nature.

Quiet demon of mine.

Demon am I? Well what are you? A saint?

I command you to fall silent.

The voices stopped abruptly as he prayed at the alter for his repentence, and sent a qiuet promise to never kill without meaning again.

As he finished he stood and faced the priest.

"Come with me father, and escape this hell."

"I cannot leave my church to the servents of hell."

He looked at the priest with sad understanding. The priest looked back at him with dutiful piousness.

"Here my son may this serve as a reminder of all things good in a world gone evil."

The priest draped a necklace with a cross in the middle over the mans neck, and walked to the door. As the large portal was flung open bright rays of sunlight filled the church all the way to the cross against the back wall which seemed to greet them with its own brightness.

As he left he looked back only once to see the church for the first and last time from the outside. It was rundwon and placed in the middle of a few dozen piles of dead. His strongest memory of the event would always be the priest who had just finished healing his soul standing at the door with a double barreled shotgun and a silver cross awaiting hells servants with inhuman nonchalance.

After turning a corner he realised how absurdly abstract the scene he had just left behind seemed and almost turned around to double check the churches existance. After walking half a mile he heard two faint blasts from where he had come and turned to look. Even though it was a cloudy day there seemed to be a single ray of light piercing the clouds and haloing the area where the church ahd been.

Struck with a sudden feeling as if all was right in the world he smiled and moved on west towards his destiny

 

[Reaper]

The gun

“Look out!” I yelled as someone raced out into the road. Tyler was a good driver and he swerved just in time, missing the person by inches. We screeched to a halt and the runner, charged toward us. He looked human, there was no blood and his eyes were full of fear. He was a big guy, 6’4” at least and he looked like a body builder or something.

“Thank God.” he shouted as he reached us. “They’re after me, let me in.” Tyler and I looked at each other, then Tyler was looking past me and his eyes widened.

“Oh fuck.” he breathed. I turned and followed Tyler’s gaze.

They were coming alright. Three of the things were charging up from behind a building across the street. They were moving so fast. Like the bitch from our building.

“Get on the back.” I shouted at the man. He nodded and leapt up into the truck bed. “Go, Tyler. Go!”

Tyler hammered the gas and we surged forward.

I heard a thud behind the cab and I spun to look. The one of the things had jumped into the bed with the big guy and they were wrestling just feet away from me. I watched, not knowing what to do. “Tyler, stop. Fast.” I gave him a look that said I wasn’t joking and he stamped on the brakes. We started skidding and we both heard another thud as our passengers hit the cab roof and rolled down the hood and smacked the tarmac.

“Crap.” Tyler muttered.

In front of us, the big guy stood up and kicked the zombie in the stomach. He turned to us and I saw the blood coming from a bite on his cheek.

“He’s been bitten.” I said. The man was already coming toward us. He still looked human but my mind was making the connections from what we had seen earlier and I was remembering all the zombie films I had seen. I came to one serious conclusion.

A bite = death and then a living death. You become a zombie.

“Get in.” Tyler shouted to the man.

“No. He’s been bitten. He’ll turn.” the man was getting closer. He was looking at the blood dripping onto his shirt.

“What?” Tyler exclaimed.

“Zombies, Tyler. These things must be zombies. If he’s been bit-”

The man was beside the cab now. He looked at me and he banged on the window.

“What the fuck did you stop for. I could have handled that punk.” he looked down the street, “Shit, the others are still coming.”

He hopped up into the bed again and he sighed, shaking my head.

“We’re fucked.” I muttered to myself.

“Shut up Joe. We need to help anyone who is still human and damn it, look at the guy, he’s as big as you but almost a foot taller. He can help us.” Tyler got the truck moving as he spoke, propelling us away from the racing monstrosities.

The truck bumped up as we passed over the thing still lying on the tarmac in front of us. “Well, that’s one less to worry about.” Tyler said.

“I’m more worried about the one in the truck with us.” I said. Tyler looked at me.

“Give it a rest, Joe. Keep your zombie crap to yourself.”

Fucking great. Tyler is in denial. We’ve got zombies crawling all around the city and Tyler still isn’t taking it in. How am I going to convince him of what is so obvious?

I decided to give it one more try.

“Tyler, look, that guy in the back is gonna turn into a zombie. You know how big he is, what the fuck are we gonna do when he starts trying to kill us?”

“You really think that’ll happen?” Tyler looked at me; I nodded. “That’s crazy.”

“Matt turned after being bitten, Marcus had a bite on his neck, that guy outside the building had his neck all chewed up by the business woman. Everyone who’s been bitten has turned into one of them.” I glanced down at my jacket and saw the teeth marks on the sleeve where the fast bitch had almost nipped me. The scratches on my cheek were still stinging. What if a scratch is enough?

Holy fuck! Am I going to turn? What if whatever makes people turn was under her nails? My heart was pounding like an air-strike was occurring in my chest.

“So what are we gonna do? Ask him nicely to get out and walk? Come on.” We shared a look.

“Yeah, we can’t just kill him.” I said, knowing we had both thought of it and both rejected the idea.

“So what’s the plan?” Tyler asked, slowing as we came to an intersection. We both looked around. There were abandoned cars but no people. I saw some blood stains on the sidewalk and in the road. We had missed the action here and I was very glad of that.

“Police station? I’d feel a lot better surrounded by guys with guns.” I said, aching for the security of a good old Boomstick as Bruce Campbell would call it.

“Good call.” Tyler slowed the truck, obviously trying to plan a route to the nearest police station. My sense of direction has never been great so I decided to confuse him by attempting to give advice.

As we drove, we saw more evidence of carnage and the idea that the problem was a lot bigger than we had thought, was pushing its way to the front of our minds.

“What are we going to do if those things are everywhere?” I said, feeling nervous despite the transient safety of the truck.

“Well, we haven’t seen a zombie in a while. Maybe there aren’t that many and we’re just seeing where they moved on.” Tyler reply made some sense but I couldn’t believe it.

I’m a ‘the glass is half-empty’ kind of guy.

“Maybe.” I didn’t want to argue with Tyler again so I kept quiet.

We were making a turn when I heard the stranger in the truck bed cry out in pain. I looked round and saw that he was curled up in a fetal position. He was spasming slightly and I could see his huge muscles straining the fabric of his shirt.

Cold, icy fear gripped my whole body. Here it comes.

“He okay?” Tyler said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“No, is the short answer. He’s fucking turning, just like I said he would.” My voice was on the edge of breaking; the calm I was trying to infuse in my tone not really covering my fear.

“Not this again.”

“Tyler, are you fucking blind. The bite passes it on, the infection the curse, whatever the fuck it is. That man is turning into a zombie in the back of our fucking truck!” Anger was replacing fear. I needed Tyler sharp and in control but he was still locked in denial and if he wasn’t at his best, we could both die. “Stop the truck. We need to deal with this now.”

“What are we gonna do. We can’t kill him on a hunch. Calm down, we’ll be at the station soon and the police can deal with him.” he replied.

“Tyler, you not listening. He is going to-”

I was cut off as the big guy’s hand crashed through the cab’s rear window.

“Fuck!” Tyler screamed. I pulled away from the hand, moving as far into the corner of the cab as I could. Tyler spun to look and the hand grabbed his collar. “Fuck, fuck.”

I froze for a second, terror gripping me. I couldn’t make myself move for that might draw the big guy’s attention and I’d rather he was occupied with Tyler right now.

Pride and self-loathing combined to force me into action.

Tyler is you’re my friend. I’m a bouncer, that makes me a hard bastard, I have to save my friend and I am tough enough and mean enough to do it.

I’m not sure I believed it, but right then I had to or my best friend in the States was gonna get killed.

Finally I reacted. Snatching the flashlight from my lap, and hammered it down on the big man’s forearm. I heard a crunch of bone breaking but the attacker made no sounds of pain or surprise. At least his grip weakened because Tyler managed to jerk free but he pulled the steering wheel sharply to the left and the truck lurched to the side.

I remember looking up in time to see the parked car coming up fast and then it went black.

When I came to, Tyler had fallen from his seat out of the open door and I was slumped over the dash, blood leaking from my scalp. Sitting up I saw my blood also spattered across the spider web style crack in the windshield.

That explains the blackout, I thought. I had been concussed before and I was pretty sure this could well have cause a concussion. Funny that whatever happens to you, random medical knowledge comes to your aid in time to make sure that you can give yourself a horrible self-diagnosis that your confidence could really do without.

The joy that is the human condition.

I tried to open the door but my movements were slow and sluggish. I eventually got it open and much to my surprise, I collapsed down onto the tarmac. My body was fucked, my brain just hadn’t registered the fact. Probably because it had taken a beating too. Things weren’t looking to great.

Finally, I managed to get to my feet. I staggered round to the driver’s side and saw Tyler lying unconscious beside the truck. Moving over to him, I tried to feel his pulse but I was still in shock and my hands were shaking too much so I leaned down and felt his breath against my cheek. He was alive.

Behind me a scraping sound made me turn, the sudden movement making my head swim. When my vision cleared, I saw the zombie dragging itself toward us. One of its arms was gone. I assumed it had been ripped off in the crash. Not much blood was pumping and part of my brain told me that was odd. A bigger part of my brain was screaming, ‘Can’t I get a fucking break?’.

Tyler moaned and tried to sit up.

“We have to move, buddy.” I said. “He’s still coming. Come on, Tyler. Get up. Get up, get up, get up.” The thing was getting closer. “Get up.”

“Shit, what happened?” Tyler grunted.

“No time. Move.” I picked Tyler up, his weight making me stumble. Once he was on his feet, I supported him and tried to lead him away from the slow moving zombie.

“Joe, I think I broke my arm.” Tyler mumbled. He had obviously been hurt more in the crash.

“That’s nice.”

We got into the road and started hurrying away as best we could, which meant we made snails look speedy.

A sound that had been growing in the background started breaking through to me and I turned to look back the way we had come.

A police car was hurtling down the street, its siren blaring and it was headed straight for us. Instinctively I pushed Tyler away from me and he stumbled to the curb, falling on his face.

I heard the screech of breaks and looked up to the car skidding toward me. I locked eyes with the driver. He was a uniform cop and his eyes were filled with terror and doubt.

A flash of realisation came to me. Information coming together in my mind in the blink of an eye. The cop has seen Tyler and me staggering in the road, assumed we were zombies and decided to power through. When I pushed Tyler away and turned, the cop must have realised we were still alive and normal.

But by then it was too late.

I had never been hit by a car before but it was pretty much how I expected it would be.

It fucking hurt.

I was lucky enough to realise the danger and I jumped up onto the bonnet in time to stop the bumper breaking my legs and by then the car was slowing down. Still, nothing can make a physical encounter with a moving car pleasant.

The windshield cracked when I hit it and I rolled up over the roof, slid over the truck and thudded down on the road.

It hurt a lot.

But I guess I got lucky. I was still breathing when the car came to stop and I heard the door open and heavy footsteps coming rushing toward me. I was way too fucked up to roll over and look.

“Holy Shit, I thought you were one of them.”

All I could do was croak in reply. The cop put a hand on my shoulder to move me and pain lanced through my body.

“Ummph!” I groaned loudly.

“Sorry.”

I wanted to say ‘no, it’s okay. I get hit by police cars all the time.’ but this didn’t seem like a comedy moment.

I heard more footsteps coming toward us and was grateful, hoping the guys partner would help get me and Tyler into the squad car.

He was alone in the car.

The cops eyes widened as a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him away from me. He desperately groped for his gun but the zombie bit at the neck and blood splashed my face before the cop could reach his weapon.

Instinct guided my hand and a burst of adrenaline fuelled my actions as I reached out and grabbed the cop’s sidearm and drew it clumsily from the holster. The zombie was still occupied with the cop so I raised the gun and pointed at the ghoul’s head.

I squeezed the trigger and heard a dry click. The safety. Fuck. I knew a lot about guns, though I had never fired one before. The gun was a Beretta model 92, a standard issue police sidearm. A 9mm weapon that was also used by the US Army. I knew more than that but it still hadn’t made me remember to take the safety off. That’s what panic does to you.

Hearing the click, the zombie turned and looked at me. The lifeless grey eyes fixing with mine.

Oh fuck. I’m going to die.

A horrible crack sounded as Tyler brought part of our broken truck’s bumper down on the ghoul’s neck. The undead creature twitched then collapsed on the body of the corpse.

“That was pretty…” I groaned as I tried to sit up, “fucking close.”

“I was in a car accident recently.” he replied, a vaguely proud look on his face.

“Well, I’ve been in two in five minutes, now help me up.” He leaned over and tried to lift me but we were both in a lot of pain.

“Let’s get in the squad car before any more show up.” Tyler advised.

“Good plan, Stan.” I croaked, limping alongside my friend. “Wait.” I halted.

“What?” Tyler looked anxious.

“That other guy is still about.” I looked back at the big guy who had turned on us. He was still crawling toward us. I had almost forgotten about him what with all the being hit by a car nonsense.

“So fucking what, let’s get out of here before he gets any closer.” It made sense but I was angry. That guy had made us crash. We had been hurt in the crash and then I had been rammed by a fucking police car and it was all mister big muscles’ fault.

I looked down at the gun in my hand.

Detaching myself from Tyler I walked toward the crawling zombie and raised the pistol.

“Joe, come on man. What’s the point?”

“There’ll be one less we have to deal with later.”

I aimed the gun and adjusted my grip, managing to press the magazine release button. It dropped to floor in front of me. Embarrassment hit me like a wall but before I could give myself a slap, the zombie made a lunge at me and I stepped back. My intended victim crawled closer, moving over the magazine.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

I aimed and pulled the trigger but again there was only another click. There wasn’t one in the chamber. And all the bullets were now underneath the zombie.

“Fuck it, Joe. Let’s go.”

I had fucked up big time. There was little to do but turn and limp to car with Tyler. He seemed to be recovering and took the driver’s seat again.

“Okay, let’s go.” I said.

“Nice going with the gun, you prick.” Tyler said as he started the engine.

“Sorry man.”

“You were desperate for a gun and look what fucking happened.” Tyler was angry but I was pretty sure he wasn’t as angry as me. I used to love guns as a kid and the first time I use one, at a time when I really need a gun and I fuck and make the gun useless.

Nice going.

Next time I wouldn’t fuck up. I couldn’t or we might not be so lucky next time.





In the darkness of my room, I sat looking at the P-99 in my hand and chuckled. I didn’t like looking back to the first day but I couldn’t escape it. It was like a scar in my mind that wouldn’t heal.

I hadn’t fucked up the next time. But it was still too late. Well too late to save day, just soon enough to save me, I guess.