Still Alive (Book 7): Zombie Perdition

by Bonds, Javan

  Grinning, I wondered aloud. “You think all the gun safes are in the next room?”

  As my behemoth of a fellow crossed the room to the first set of aluminum ledges, I started asking myself more questions. Why the hell was I partnered with Neal? Where’s my girlfriend? How did we even choose our partners? Just before I could tell him to grab a pack for me if he found the treats, so many events happened so fast, it would have to be played in slow motion to catch it all. His heavy boot creaked on one of the old floorboards, starting the cascade of unfortunate events.

  The disturbing of the aged plank upset one of the items on the highest level of one of the storage units. A case of bottled water that was just far enough over the edge to teeter for a moment. Even though it was only one case of drinking water, we both held our breaths, hoping it would settle. It didn’t.

  It tipped and began a disastrous tumble to the floor. As it toppled, it caught the edge of a package hanging just far enough over the shelf, bringing it down with it. A waste of twenty-for bottles of water, right? Nope. It gets worse... much worse.

  The package, which we later discovered to be powdered salsa, was either ruptured when initially caught by the case or upon impacting the floor, I’ll never be sure. Of course, the thin, weak lid on at least one of the containers of water broke or simply popped off upon impact. The liquid touched the spilled dehydrated salsa scattered around it. At first, it made me stop, dreaming about Doritos. Then, I thought about it. Salsa. What’s in salsa? Exactly. Vinegar.

  “Well, shit, Neal! Again, really? We probably need to go back downstairs and warn the others.” All I could do was hang my head even before I started hearing the barks and howls.

  ☠☠☠

  Devin Landers and Robert Coe walked through a darkened garage, only illuminated by a single broken glow stick. Captain America searched while Ghost Rider simply traveled from one side of the structure to the other. Robert found the laxness insulting. We’re looking for a little girl... and he acts like he’s already been here!

  Suddenly, the Steve Rogers impersonator began sniffing the air before speaking with consternation. “You smell that?” After a few more inhalations, he continued. “Smells like...”

  Leaning back on his hands set on a worktable, Devin blew out his cheeks. “Salsa.”

  “That’s it!” Nodding, the man in red, white, and blue spandex continued to search. The tangy scent of the spicy Mexican topping was instantly prominent. Maybe somebody found a jar somewhere on the property. Man, I wish I had some Doritos!

  A few more seconds went by as the first avenger continued about his business. Johnny Blaze look alike, popped his neck and asked. “What’s in salsa?”

  In the middle of opening a tool cabinet door, the symbol of freedom stopped and pondered. Once he heard a distant, inhuman howl, he turned around. “Oh.”

  ☠☠☠

  Two sets of Clone Trooper armor bumbled through the cabinets in the kitchen. Mahatma and Rajesh had been assigned to clear this part of the house before continuing onward. It was beginning to seem ridiculously fruitless. What was the point?

  ”You know, this seems kind of senseless. It’s not like she’s playing hide and go seek,” the green accented Trooper spoke, opening the small door under the sink to reveal nothing.

  “Yeah well... you got something else to do?” his Indian brother snickered, walking past the fridge. “And if she’s hiding in there, she wins. Nothing could make me look inside.”

  Mahatma cocked his helmeted head and took a deep breath through his nose. Gaze settled on the sealed icebox before spinning around fully. “You smell that?”

  Moving around the island, Rajesh closed on the entry to the living room. “Tomatoes... onions... cilantro...” he was thinking about corn chips.

  Doshi brushed his gloved hand over the shaft of his axe knife. “Yeah, you’re forgetting the most important ingredient in salsa.”

  Confused, the other turned. Without actually speaking, the look through the faceplate gave him the answer. Vinegar!

  Mattu spoke to the silent response. “Damn!”

  ☠☠☠

  “Like, totally, there’s nothing here!”

  Robocop rasped, “Don’t I fucking know it.”

  “Then, like, why the eff are we here, dude?

  After slamming the lid of the washing machine closed, Elektra followed him out of the laundry room. Without turning, he made a statement as a matter of fact. “Because we’re supposed to be. Where the fuck do you think she is?”

  Amy thought about it. “Well... Sako said something about Brother Brown...”

  Before she could go on, he grunted. “Fucking bingo. You and me are on the same page. I know that’s where she has to be, where they all went.”

  “But if you know that, then what’s the point in–“

  Pulling his head out of an empty broom closet, he raised a fist and curled his nose, “Smell that?”

  Amy turned to the interior of the house and similarly sniffed, “Like, Picante sauce?”

  He answered. “I was thinking chunky Peso.” The policeman shrugged, using different pronunciations. “But fucking potato, goddamn patata I guess. What’s in both of those things?”

  Furrowing her brow, she questioned. “Like, tomatoes?”

  Shooting a finger pistol at her, The Justicar grimaced, “Right on. But you’re forgetting one of the most important fucking things...” Salzman let his sentence trail before reaching over his shoulder for Damron.

  Hungry, animalistic screams began sounding from outside. Smiling wickedly, he was ready for the battle to come, “Vinegar!”

  ☠☠☠

  All four pairs of us came together in the living room. Descending the stairs three at a time, I spoke before my feet touched carpet, seeing the gang's all here. “Y’all smelled it?”

  “No duh!” Amy stated the obvious.

  Winded, Captain America questioned, “Where’d the vinegar come from?”

  Not saying a word, I threw a thumb over my shoulder. Having just come out of the stairwell, Neal hadn’t heard our brief conversation. Regardless, he defended himself against the accusatory stares. “It wasn’t my fault, guys. Seriously!”

  Without turning to face him, I shrugged, “Yeah, he didn’t really do it. He just accidentally set things in motion to bring the blunatics here.”

  Swiveling his metallic skullcap in my direction, Salzman questioned the descriptor. ‘Blunatics?’”

  “Gene’s word,” I Remembered getting the same reaction from Sako.

  Though his quizzical stance told me he wasn’t sure who Gene Stanley was, he raised and lowered his shoulders. “Fitting.”

  Can you guess what my copilot did while we worked tirelessly to secure our lives? Watched. Like this was a casual ballgame, he was merely a spectator. Obviously, he knew he wasn’t in jeopardy here. If he’s not wary does that mean I can relax? Maybe I should try that next time, if I were actually capable of being idle on the approach of blue death.

  Robert and The Phantoms set up furniture around the room to use as props. Noticing a decorative jar packed with marbles on a bookshelf, Captain America had an idea. Grabbing it, he tossed the ornate glass container into the kitchen, where it shattered on impact with the ceramic tile. Tiny balls of every color littered the floor.

  The black tinged Mandalorian faceplate stared at him, shocked. Robert was confident the action would be justified. “What? They’ll trip on them! Plus, the fact it's bare feet on broken glass is only a good thing for us.” In acceptance, Mahatma only shrugged.

  Amy noticed a bottle of detergent on a table just inside the laundry room, clicking her tongue at Steve Rogers. “Good idea, dude. Slip and slide!” She ran for the container, spinning off the top and emptying it on the floor as she returned. Now, the three entrances to the house, front, patio, and garage door had new impediments the zombies would need to maneuver around.

  ☠☠☠

  Aching, monstrous roars rapidly drew closer. Every naked c
annibal within a thousand miles seemed to have instantly honed in on the slightest whiff of their favorite concoction. When I was younger, I had a dog, Bryant, that could get the scent of a rabbit and start chasing from a mile away. Unless it was in my face, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled a rabbit. Even though vinegar’s more of a prominent odor, how the hell can they pick it up so quickly and from so far?

  And yes, my dog’s name was Bryant. Do I really need to say it? It’s kind of obvious... Roll Tide!

  ☠☠☠

  We prepared for the horde as barking and yelping was only blocks away. In seconds, there were only a few houses between us and the hungry scourge. Nearly in a heartbeat, they were at the doorstep. Of course, the sliding glass doors to the deck were the first to go. It took a little work to get in the garage. The front door would soon be nothing but splinters. At least I could be thankful building walls were usually a pretty solid barrier.

  Broken glass scattered all over the tiles in the kitchen after several reanimants slammed against the French doors. A few fell through with the glass, quickly rising. Some were sliced to ribbons with weeping wounds. Bloodied, one apparently took the brunt of the fall on its face. It stood with grotesque lacerations all over the front of its skull, both yellow eyes poked out. This one wouldn’t be much of a problem for us... and it might even be a hindrance to its brethren.

  Shredded, blood-soaked blue skin cluttered the once white floor. Some of the stinking, disease-carrying beasts lost their footing in the slick crimson, breaking malnourished arm bones, splintering soft ribs and hips, or simply shattering brittle skulls. Not even a shot had been fired, and their numbers were already dropping. Tripping on their fallen kin and slipping on bodily fluids was doing more to damage the infected ranks than we ever could.

  Finally, either the floor was cleared or the monsters were simply walking on top of their crumpled fellows, they were able to start moving forward. Two submachine guns and both barrels of a shotgun started sending lead at the revenants, causing havoc. Screaming demons were chewed into unrecognizable pieces by The Phantoms. Those lucky few that were simply torn apart by Captain America’s double ought buck met their blue maker before their remains hit the floor. It was nastier than prom night for Carrie!

  ☠☠☠

  In less time than it takes to blink after bullets started puncturing reanimated corpses, the door from the garage toppled inward. Emaciated ghouls began forcing themselves over one another to get inside and closer to some delicious vinegar.

  By the time they realized there were also humans in the house, it was too late to retreat. They began crunching on broken glass. Bloodied, blue feet started shooting into the air, rolling over marbles. Devin, Amy, and Neal all rained bullets into the mass.

  Excrement, blood, feces, bone fragments, waste material, and even more shit nearly filled every square inch of the room. These gaunt, starving creatures somehow had intestines chock-full of spoiled chocolate pudding. Think of wet charcoal soaked in a vat of used newborn diapers before being peppered with some kind of goo that could have been rotten bananas. That’s what was sprayed on everything visible within the kitchen, including the ceiling and floor.

  Elektra and Boba Fett continually emptied magazines of high-velocity lead into the throng without ceasing. You guessed it. Ghost Rider only fired the occasional shot, putting a bullet into a yellow eye or through a thin, blue cranium. He didn’t try very hard to make it appear as though he was fighting for his life. It was dark, so it wasn’t really noticeable, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had his eyes closed! No matter how many times I see him do this, I’ll never be able to simply take it easy when I’m surrounded by bloodthirsty cannibals hungry for my flesh.

  ☠☠☠

  At the ready behind the coffee table, Me and Robocop heard the zipping of automatic weapons and a 12 gauge blooming at our backs. Three rifles constantly sounded at our front. In moments, we would be adding our own sound effects to the deafening cacophony. Though he surely had extra ammunition for his .45, I’d need to tell the cop he’s going to have to carry something with more firepower. In any first-person shooter, does the mission ever start with your holding just one weapon? No. You have a main gun, a secondary, and usually a tertiary... pistol, or something. That wasn’t geeky, was it?

  Anyway, the revolver’s range was more suited to the front door, which couldn’t have been any more than half the distance away from the other doors. We wouldn’t have nearly as many blunatics coming through a single entrance, so two of us could handle it without much trouble. The fact there was now Tide pooled up in the entryway would keep our enemies busy for a considerable time.

  Gnashing creatures piled on top of one another as they surged through the opening. Holding our fire for a moment, we waited to see the effects of the slippery trap. We weren’t disappointed. Every infected sole that tried to make contact with the floor went airborne. Stomach turning crunches and pops sounded as blue head after ghoulish cranium ruptured, spilling out undead brains and stinking blood.

  Bowels voided as creatures flipped and spun. A new substance could be added to the mix of blood, various juices, and the ever present detergent. I was hoping for a miracle, but I don’t think any kind of cleaning product could make them smell better. The liquid coating the floor became something of a sickly green color.

  Once enough downed reanimated corpses literally carpeted the short hallway, the heaving mass of upright bodies began pushing forward. Some unlucky few were forced into the dining room, leading through the enclosure to the only other doorway, the kitchen. I guess it really wasn’t a question of luck. They were going to meet hot lead regardless.

  Though there was no waiting until we could see the whites of their eyes, we earlier discussed holding our fire until they got almost to the stairwell. It wasn’t known if they would try to make it upstairs to avoid us, or if our scents were now the priority. Either way, we were going to make sure they drew close before opening up. There would be blood!

  Naked feet only a step away from carpet, Salzman let out a warcry. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfuckers!” Our volley of rounds was led by a .45 hollowpoint.

  Emptying magazine after magazine through my carbine, I noticed the entryways in the kitchen to my left. Both directions featured grotesque, bloodied, eviscerated bodies or various parts that reminded me of scenes taken straight from 300. That is if the cast from Frank Miller’s story was made up of hypothermic concentration camp victims with spastic sphincters and jaundiced corneas.

  There were enough bodies to build a great wall of peevie. Even if this house had remained intact, I couldn’t imagine anyone using it for anything. Ever! Most of the frame wouldn’t even be good for firewood!

  Though I never saw him use one, Salzman surely had a speed loader for Dameron. Definitely more than one. No way he could’ve manually reloaded a damn six-shooter that fast or that many times. I’m not even sure where he was carrying all his ammo.

  ☠☠☠

  Maybe my vision tunneled so I was only able to focus on the front door. I didn’t notice the other defenders tossing several grenades into the kitchen. You think I might’ve been paying enough attention to realize there were multiple explosions one room away. I’m sure there were beautiful, awe-inspiring scenes of disgusting, horrific death I would never be able to forget. Shame I missed it!

  Clearly, the police officer at my side was just as sick of delivering true death to the zombies one bullet at a time. He started throwing his own incendiary devices at the main entrance to the house. I would get a front-row seat to even more gory horrific action. And the best part... I get to share it with you!

  A small, cylindrical tube rolled to the feet of one reanimant. It stopped walking and looked down. Pondering the object, it bent to pick it up. Turning the shape over in its hand, I felt the thing was about to shrug and simply drop it. It might have done that... if there was time.

  The phosphorus grenade plumed in the blue fingers. For the briefest flash, what I saw almost
resembled Dr. Manhattan’s initial reappearance to humans after his radioactive incident in The Watchmen. Skin peeled back to reveal bone which melted away just as quickly. Trillions of tiny holes covered the front of the monster, rapidly growing in depth.

  A terrible, shrieking cry dissipated into a soundless scream. Crimson began leaking from the open sores now covering the zombie. Somehow still conscious, it was surely begging its blue deity for a quick road to eternal sleep. Unfortunately for it, the divine phone was forwarding messages straight to voicemail.

  As the demon was eaten to pieces in agonizing torment, it saved several of the monsters behind it. Guaranteed, it wasn’t accepting pain for its brethren. I’m guessing it would’ve undoubtedly offered just a taste to any of those in the rear. You could say it was an unwilling sacrifice.

  Almost every peevie within direct line of sight of the handheld napalm caught at least a fragment of excruciating fire. They fell, one after the other, being wrapped in fastidious torture. Unstoppable balls of flaming magma burned through filthy blue skin as if it were no impediment. Infected, oily blood erupted from the running lesions, accumulating into a pool of horrible death.

  Seconds later, Salzman tossed another grenade at the macabre display of opened bodies, pieces of zombies, bloodied shit, and stringy gore. A spherical ball hit the floor and started rolling further back in the ranks of the undead. Before it could make it very far into the mass, a blunatic scooped it up.

  Taking a glance at what it was holding, it reared its arm back, obviously preparing to reciprocate the throw. As the projectile left its hand, I was in utter shock. “What the fuc–“

  Only centimeters from its fingers, the frag exploded. The force of the blast simply vaporized the revenant that threw it, at least from the knees up. Stumps dribbled boiling red around broken, protruding thigh bones. Almost instantly, the small amount of blood poured out of what little was left of the monster. Somehow, the floor remained intact. This stubby, short monument was the only thing left of the first peevie I’d ever seen smart enough to throw a grenade.