by Bonds, Javan
ZOMBIE
PERDITION
☠☠☠
STILL ALIVE
BOOK SEVEN
Javan Bonds
☠☠☠
Foreword
Javan Bonds presents a post-modern take on the zombie apocalypse in a fun, fast-paced manner. The characters are representative of many different personalities, the dialogue is fresh with pop culture, and the action sequences are visually realistic. A good, new read in the apocalyptic world!
Joseph Talluto
Author of the White Flag of the Dead Series
“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in. sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves.”
Jesus of Nazareth
Matthew 7:15
Prelude
We sat around the table, waiting for my father to buzz the radio. I was uncharacteristically excited to give him news of what had been going on. All the shit with Festus would need to be discussed; the pirates and how we dealt with them, and of course, I’d have to inform him I’m now a badass that shot a fucking cannon. I was itching to tell everyone that would listen about my new mad skills.
I guesstimated it was at least a minute past the scheduled time. Hesitating, I decided to speak into the radio. “Daddy?” There was no way in hell I would use his call sign if that’s what he was waiting for.
“Elmo?” a teary female voice came from the other end.
I was confused. “Mama? Where’s Daddy?” I didn’t want to seem like an asshole and quickly made an addition. “And what’s wrong?”
I was beyond surprised my mom was even able to use the radio. She can’t use any kind of technology even though she claims to be a computer whiz, at least when she’s not around me. She turns into a blind and illiterate old lady when she gets on the computer in front of me. It’s immeasurably painful to watch her try and load up a Word document or, God forbid, pay a fucking bill online. I would rather kill myself than try to convince my mother that there is a big, flashing button in the middle of the screen. Even though it was there when I looked at the computer five seconds ago, she’ll swear that “it’s not there now.”
She sniffled. “He’s down at the police station being questioned.”
I waited for more of an explanation and received nothing. “Questioned for?”
It must have been the emotions breaking her train of thought. “He’s a suspect.”
I was shocked. “Suspect of what?”
She seemed disjointed as if she wasn’t thinking clearly. “Where is Eugene?”
I broke away from the radio and spoke to the crew. “Somebody go get Gene! He’s probably downstairs watching Charmed again.”
I turned back to the HAM. “He’s coming. What’s up?”
“He’s got to know.”
I nearly tapped my foot. “Know what?” If they discovered Ark of the Covenant, I was going to be pissed if Gene gets to know before me.
She frantically wailed.
“HUNTER’S MISSING!”
☠☠☠
1
Hear Me Roar
A black stiletto spike slammed into the wall with a wet click. There was only a diseased, unclean, malnourished, blue skull between the ball of the foot and paneling. The fact that the pointed heel was sticking all the way through the eye socket, penetrating undead gray matter, and poking through the back of the skull, meaning this would be the last time the peevie voided its bowels.
Humanity was obviously the victor of this battle. Amy Rice just wanted to untangle herself from her victim without having to get anything gross on her. In a bit of a hurry, with several other starving nudists charging her, it was going to be messy. There was no way around it.
She pushed the ball of her foot forcefully against the wall. Leaking brain squished from every hole above the chin, making a small farting noise as the eggshell thin brain casing popped and crunched under her boot, like infected nacho chips. Now completely brain-dead, the reanimated waif went slack.
Somehow, it was hanging on a tiny spear sticking through the destroyed skull. Foot planted against the wall at shoulder height, she curled her knee and extended it, trying to get the corpse to relinquish its hold. After several attempts, nothing seemed to be working.
Like, what the hell? It’s totally stuck. It’s like the thing wants me to touch it, for reals! Guess I know what I have to do.
The girl dressed as Elektra slid the katana from over her shoulder. With no time to waste, the blonde quickly sliced her blade cleanly through the neck of the peevie. The body toppled, oozing stinking crimson onto the floor. But the shattered and lifeless head still miraculously clung to the stiletto heel.
☠☠☠
Filling out her red skintight suit perfectly, she continued her choreographed bloodletting. Her boyfriend, Benji, could have watched her bounce around all day. He even stayed a few steps behind her and took on fewer enemies just so she’d have more reason to move about. He knew he probably should’ve felt somewhat guilty about giving the woman he loved more deadly work, but it was hard to feel anything other than his...
Erect male zombies were rushing the dancing bombshell. Their arousal was caused by a different kind of elation. It was exciting to see fresh, uninfected meat!
Amy’s foot disappeared from its position at a 180-degree horizontal angle. Instantaneously, it reappeared at ninety. The gutted cranium toppled, raining gore as it sailed through the air. If the monster’s truly dead mouth was able to scream, it would have been letting out a banshee wail.
For less than a heartbeat, the lips of the decapitated projectile met with the lips of a currently living reanimated corpse. Then, it exploded as it made full contact, sending rotten teeth, shards of bone, and remaining gray matter into its fellow.
Kiss of death.
The horrid meat bomb gave the ghoul reason to trip over its own excrement drenched feet. Expectedly, the starving cannibals in the same group tripped over their leader.
Posing little impediment to blunt force, their nutrition deprived brain casings exploded against hard concrete. Runny, gray tissue pooled on the floor, surrounded by cracked bones. The reanimates not lucky enough to meet their blue maker by injuring themselves irreparably, merely broke their legs, splintered hips, or shattered pelvises. True death would be coming soon, and swiftly. One last moment of pain was required from these already forsaken souls.
Returning her katana to its sheath and pulling a sai from either thigh, Amy moved to begin dispatching the moaning, sobbing and defeated animals.
“Losers!”
☠☠☠
Before she had taken care of more than a couple, a figure in blue spandex entered from a closed-door. Outfitted as Captain America, Robert Coe saw what she was doing and leaped over to help. Fists clenched, he appeared to be dragging his knuckles like a blue Donkey Kong, running his razored brass knuckles, The Devil’s Pizza Cutter, over the throats of the downed infected. Esophageal cavities and arteries burst luridly under slicing steel.
Wrenching her three-pronged dagger from another punctured deadhead, she sighed at her comrade, irritated. “Look, I had it, dude! You think just because I’m a woman I’m, like, not as strong as you?”
Shrugging unconcernedly, the superhero flicked something dangling from his right hand. “Well no. I was just saving you some time, is all.”
They both stood as the helicopter pilot, Devin Landers, entered the room. Seeing Ghost Rider walk in, logging chain over his shoulder wet with fresh blood got Benji moving. Giving a lopsided grin under his wide-rimmed Fedora, Benjamin Collins, dressed as Indiana Jones, spoke. “You think that’s it?”
Matter-of-factly, his fellow Navy pilot turned to him. �
�Hive’s clear. We can move!”
☠☠☠
2
And They Say
That A Hero
Can Save Us
There was no stopping. Though the streetlights were now on and he could see, and also probably be seen, he knew where he was going. There weren’t too many people out at night, even on the island. No chance of peevies attacking, Guntersville didn’t have much nightlife since the apocalypse.
Anyone able to get a glimpse of the shirtless blonde boy running full tilt through the quiet city would undoubtedly question him. Why are you running? Where are you going? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt? What’s with the Fedora? Why are you carrying a sword?
Hunter Daniels knew everything about his situation was peculiar. No one would believe him even if he told them exactly what happened tonight.
Sako.
The preacher.
The battle between good and evil.
Ivory.
“The policeman saved me,” he breathed to himself.
The people that had adopted him, Interim Mayor Randy Collins and his wife, Debbie, were surely worried. Hunter had just disappeared. After telling them the full story of the kidnapper, he would introduce his rescuer. He just knew Hirotaro Sako came out the victor.
Good always wins!
☠☠☠
Out of breath, the boy finally made it to the front entrance of the courthouse, right after Mrs. Collins turned away from locking the door. Banging the butt of the bone-handled katana was enough for her to turn around. With a gasp, she rushed to unlock the portal.
“Hunter! Where have you been?”
☠☠☠
As she was finishing her story, he questioned. “But why would they have arrested him?”
“Not arrested. The officers made sure to tell me it was only for questioning. And they were doing what was expected of them. He was directly connected to you...And after all the accusations with the other missing children...”
“But, Mrs. Collins, you know he didn’t have anything to do with them!”
She was trying to be reasonable for the sake of the community. “Yes. I know. But everyone else doesn’t.”
If she was going to continue, it didn’t matter. “And I know! I know who it’s been all along.” It all came spilling out. “Brother Brown was putting those skulls at the dumpster. He took me back to his house and was going to do something to me.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Is that why your shirt is missing? And why do you have a sword?”
“I don’t think he was gonna do that.” He hadn’t even thought about Brother Brown being a pedophile until now. “I think he wanted to eat me.” Shaking the pummel, he lifted his shoulder. “And it’s Sako’s. He stopped the preacher and told me to run! That’s what I did, all the way home.”
Just now noticing the hat on his head and the black and white cloth hanging from his pants pocket, she grew even more serious. “So he’s still there... fighting with the Reverend?”
The boy shrugged, “Doubt it. I’m guessing he already took care of the preacher. Should be on his way back to the station by now.”
Looking up at the clock on the wall, Debbie could see it was extremely late. Regardless, Randy was being held for questioning at the police department across Blount Avenue. It had to be active still. “I think we need to stop by the county jail.”
☠☠☠
“So... you’re accusing Brother Mike Brown of kidnapping you?” The uniformed officer, Greg Bennett, standing behind the desk, looked over his reading glasses at the kid next to the Mayor’s wife. At Hunter’s insistent nodding, the cop gestured for patience as he stepped through a door to his left.
☠☠☠
Once more, the door opened. Officer Bennet, poking his head out, motioned for the two to come around and follow him inside.
“Sarge wants to see you.”
The county jail was almost as large as the courthouse. Rather than the city Police Department building, this structure had been procured to house law enforcement once the city was turned into an island. Being frugal, city planners chose to keep things more centralized. Because there was almost no crime on the post-apocalypse island, nearly every jail cell was converted into an office. If the need presented itself for incarceration, the facilities would only be a step away.
Typical scenes of police department floors from television and movies wouldn’t be seen here. The large rooms of loud, frantically busy people at crowded desks were only make-believe. Individual offices and a peaceful citizenry meant a pin could usually be heard dropping throughout these halls. Things were just as busy as usual under the management of night-shift sergeant, Shawn Salzman. That is to say, not at all.
☠☠☠
The man behind the desk, sleeves of his dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, rasped, “Come in, come in!”
The Sergeant sounded something like Bruce Willis, a large mug of coffee fixed in his hand.
As the pair sat in the two empty chairs, Mrs. Collins lifted her purse without speaking. Grabbing a hat and blotted piece of cloth, she laid them both before her. Before leaving the courthouse, she decided it might not be a good idea to carry an unsheathed blade to the police department.
Salzman grew cold, taking a long glance at both items he set his coffee down. He knew to whom they belonged. “Why do you have those?”
“Sako saved me!”
“From what? Where is the detective now?” the cop questioned.
How many times am I going to have to tell this story tonight? The boy exhaled. “I was outside the courthouse and thought I heard something. I went to one of the alleys and found Brother Brown. I asked him what he was doing...Right before he drugged me! I woke up in his basement, chained to the wall. There was some kind of loud motor running in the next room.” Lifting his hand, he rotated his arm, showing the cop where the metal cuff had been attached.
As the cop stood to fill his coffee cup, Hunter continued. “He had a metal can with a hose on it and told me he was going to show me how it worked. Just before he got the thing against my forehead, Sako broke down the door and started fighting with him. The preacher’s tank blew up and knocked the sword away from Sako. The preacher said he was going to have to start hitting them in the head with a hammer or something. The detective pulled out a shorter sword, cut my shackle, and told me to run. His mask, hat, and katana were lying by the door, so I grabbed them up and started running home.” Brushing his hands together, the blonde kid finished. “I figure he’s taken care of business by now. Should be here shortly.”
Sarge already had his radio lifted. “Sako. Salzman. You read?” He paused.
Nothing.
Repeated calls on every channel received no response.
The cop breathed, unnecessarily loud. “He’s not answering.”
Hunter looked on unquestioningly. “But... His radio must be damaged. He’s on his way.” Hopefulness, in his voice, was waning.
The policeman looked out the window at a dark, empty street. “I’m sure.”
“Where is my husband?” Mrs. Collins broke her silence.
Raising his chin, the officer just remembered. “Ah! Come with me.”
☠☠☠
3
I Just Don’t Like This Kind of Livin’
The older man blinked. Looking out the window, he guessed by the location of the moon in the sky that the sun was far from rising. He didn’t know why he was awake. Surrounded by countless other unwashed bodies, it took a minute to remember where he was. Why the hell am I not dead yet?
For the moment, he was among the living; If you can call it that. Everything had been taken from Mortimer Lester. If Margaret survived that initial crash, I never saw her. Those bastards told me she was dead. In all honesty, I truly hope she was. Couldn’t bear to see what they’d be doing to her if she was still alive.
They took my woman, my freedom...and shit, they even took my cow! I’ve been stuck with all these damn people, who are just as stuck as
I am! Don’t know why we all don’t rise up at once to take control. Yeah, a few of those dumb shit enforcers have guns, but they couldn’t shoot all of us if they tried. I’m sure they want to anyway.
Others probably had had similar thoughts, but no-one wanted to die or cause the deaths of anyone else. The unbelievable complacency of the slaves of any era was stupefying. Why fight back when it would mean making decisions for you and yours? I guess the stupid sumbitches think getting protection from the outside is worth being owned and working for free. Fuck that! I’m getting outta here, one way or another.
Though I ain’t gotta worry about it, you can’t really consider its protection when you can expect your wife to be raped or your kids to wind up missing. These idiots around me would argue, “At least they’re feeding us!” I don’t consider the nasty slop they leave in front of us as feeding. We’re just being kept able-bodied so they can work us.
Not even sure why, really. We’ve expanded almost to the outskirts of downtown, pushed the barricades out further, one street at a time. What happens to us when there’s no more room to expand? Sure, they’ll need somebody to till the fields and keep the gardens, but the rest of us’ll just be extra mouths to feed. I sure as hell ain’t gonna be here when we find out what the final decision is.
I’m sure Our Dear Leader...the tribal warlord...Mother fuck or whatever the fuck they call him has a plan. A plan to conveniently get rid of everyone he can’t use. Surprising, they didn’t just kill me when they got me. I’m old, decrepit, and not really what you would consider “able-bodied.”
I’m busting out before the plan is made. Just like I ditched that fucking nursing home and the island of Guntersville. It’s time for me to move on. To where? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just go back the way I came. It can’t be any worse than it was. Maybe all those damn people are dead by now. It would be great to have my own private island.
