***
I got the cookie sheet out. I couldn’t salvage this batch, and I gave up on putting another one in. I’ve got to handle this hallucination. It’s incredibly detailed. The zombies are—or used to be—a man and a woman. All the skin has been stripped from the top of the woman’s face, and in some places I can see the skull peeking out between the torn muscles of her forehead. She’s also missing a couple fingers, and she’s smeared imaginary blood all over my glass door. The guy is in worse shape; I think many of his joints are dislocated. His entire body looks like a poorly assembled puzzle. A lot of his skin is missing too.
I can hear them growling and moaning through the door. The glass reverberates when they thump on it. I know it’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. If I write the words enough times, maybe they’ll sink in. Because it sure as hell looks real. And it sounds real. And I bet if I opened the door it would smell real, too.
I have to call Dr. Wood. Maybe I should have kept taking the meds after all.
***
Dr. Wood reminded me about the evidence. I have evidence that the disgusting duo isn’t really out there. If they were real, then surely I wouldn’t be the only one who’s seen them. Somebody else would have spotted them, smelled them, heard their eerie groaning. Somebody would’ve called the police.
But what if I’m the only one home? What if they’re glued to my door because it’s the only one with prey behind it? After all, how many of the neighbors work from their houses? Don’t they all go into offices? Damn it, I’d know the answer to that question if I weren’t too scared of people to have a real conversation with a stranger.
Dr. Wood says I can do this. He says he’s proud of me for confronting the bats and that I can take on the zombies the same way. He did, of course, say it with a certain degree of smugness, as if to indicate that he’s also proud of himself for medicating my nutty ass into submission. I’ll show him. I’ll get rid of these undead snotbags all on my own. I’m going to open the door. I’m going to do it now. And I’m going to take a meat cleaver with me, just in case.
***
Damn that Dr. Wood. Damn him, because he’s damned me. Challenging irrational thoughts and phantom visions is only a good idea if they are actually irrational thoughts and phantom visions. Irrational thoughts don’t grab your arm and take a bite out of it when you open the sliding glass door just a crack. And phantom visions don’t bleed all over your clean kitchen floor when you cut off one of their hands with a meat cleaver.
I managed to get the door closed before the zombies could push their way in. I’m sure their pounding, more intense now that Mr. Zombie got a taste of me, will break the glass soon, but I’ll be gone by then. I ran for the garage, and I will write my last words here before I drive away. I’m sure I don’t have long. The wound is turning black, and I feel ill already. I can’t call the police, because if they believe me, I’ll be taken away for testing, quarantine, possible execution. Whoever finds this, reads this, when you pray for yourself, for your loved ones, for your world, please pray for me, too. I’ll need it. I should kill myself, smash my own teeth out, find some way to render myself harmless, but I haven’t the strength to resist one final temptation. Although I feel woozy and nauseated, I will hang onto life as long as it takes to get where I need to be when the hunger takes over. I can make it. Dr. Wood’s office isn’t that far away.
New to the writing scene, I have begun to share my work with the world. I am an incoming freshman at SUNY New Paltz in NY and I have loved zombies and horror fiction for as long as I can remember. My dream is to take part in designing and writing the next great horror film and to keep writing until I die. I would like to thank my mentor Tony Monchinski for helping me to expose my work and for inspiring my creativity on a daily basis.
as reports continue to flood in…*EWZN* Radio reports overwhelm
The NightmareReported By William Lederman
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” screamed the short man with the camcorder. Jimmy stood still, continuing to jam the shotgun in the man’s frightened face.
“Jimmy, c’mon, man. Put the gun down, he’s not a zombie,” I said while slowly putting my hand over the barrel of the gun and pointing it away from the man’s now pale face. He wore a gray business suit with a boring tan tie and he looked, to me, like a lawyer.
“How do we know he’s not bit?” Jimmy scowled.
“It’s okay. Don’t be afraid,” Claire said smoothly while extending her soft, delicate arm towards the frightened man.
“At least you guys aren’t zombies.” the man exhaled. “I’m not bit, and I didn’t mean to alarm you guys. I just stopped in that gas station for food on my way to the docks.”
“Well, you scared us half to hell with that loud crash,” Claire remarked while twirling her gorgeous dark brown hair.
“Yeah, I was behind the counter looking for a weapon.”
“Did you find any?” she asked.
“Just this,” he said, holding out a revolver in his hand. “It only has six bullets, though.”
“Well it’s your lucky day, mister,” Jimmy said while gesturing at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Donahue. Harry Donahue. You might recognize me. Channel 4 news.”
“That’s why you have the camcorder?” I intruded.
“Precisely. When this is all over and they find a cure, the media will have a frenzy looking for documentation and footage of this zombie apocalypse. And when that time comes, I’ll be prepared.”
“There is no cure,” Jimmy said angrily. “These things are dead already. Dead. How do you cure death, Mister Fancy Newscaster?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.”
“Guys, I think we should keep moving,” I added.
“Dan is right,” Jimmy said with authority. “As I was saying, Harry, it just so happens that we are also heading to the docks to find a boat out of here.”
“Well guys, we’re on 72nd Street, so we can just follow it down to the dock,” Claire broke in.
We began to move down the street at a brisk pace. Mister Donahue opened his mouth as if to say something a few times, then shut it again. After five minutes he said, “So, you never told me your names. If you want I could include you as eyewitnesses of the zombie apocalypse.”
“I’m Jimmy, he’s Dan, she’s Claire, and we don’t want to be in any documentary,” Jimmy sneered.
“Oh don’t mind him,” I explained in a more optimistic and generally less pissed-off tone. “He’s just grumpy because we had to leave his precious store. He owns Jimmy’s Sporting Goods down on 22nd Street. Claire and I are his faithful employees.”
“That’s right,” Claire chimed in. “We sell things like these aluminum bats here. Perfect for smashing the brains of a zombie with.”
“I see,” Harry replied. “Why did you guys leave?”
“Well, at first we started sheltering people who came to our door. You know, we gave them bats, food, and a place away from the zombies. But one of the suckers was bit and he didn’t tell us.” I shuddered remembering what it did to our co-worker, Marge. “Once he turned, the place wasn’t safe anymore. We were blindsided by three more of them hiding in the back. And finally, the last straw was when they started pounding on, and eventually cracking, our front doors.”
After a long pause Harry pleaded, “Do you mind saying that one more time for the camera, please?”
“No! Story time is over, no more talking. Do you want to let every zombie know we are here?” Jimmy practically screamed in the newscaster’s face.
“Okay. Okay. I guess I’ll just get some shots of the wreckage.”
“What a grump,” Claire whispered over to me. She would understand his pain if she knew what I know: that Marge was pregnant, pregnant with Jimmy’s baby. She had told me many times of how she and Jimmy were secretly seeing each other, and that I shouldn’t say anything because she and Jimmy would tell everyone when their baby was born. I guess that’s n
ever gonna happen now.
We were about one hundred feet from the next intersection when we stopped for some water at an abandoned pharmacy.
“I’m fine, guys,” Harry said while waving his arm at us. “I’ll wait out here, I wanna get some more shots of the wreckage.”
The three of us continued through the door. To my delight we found two fridges filled with cold drinks. We packed our bags with a few for the road, and then took a break. The spritz when I opened up my Coke gave me a relaxed feeling; one I hadn’t felt in the past two months. Ever since they started appearing. Since then, I haven’t had a second to just let go and enjoy myself.
I strode over to Claire who was enjoying her vitamin water. It was the purple kind. I remember how much I hated the purple kind. “You actually like the purple one?” I asked.
“When I’m in the mood,” she said, smiling at me. “Look at this guy.” She pointed out the window. Harry was filming the smashed cars in the middle of the street from every angle. He stopped every now and then and lingered on the dead bodies. “Is he crazy?” she asked.
“Well,” I thought for a moment. “Yeah, all newscasters are. They care more about their story than their own safety.”
“But I mean, by staying out there alone. Does he realize he will very likely be killed by zombies?”
“I don’t know. He’s either not too bright, or he’s the best newscaster there is.”
“Time to go,” Jimmy ordered, as he marched past us out the door.
We walked over to Harry and made off down the street. Right before we reached the intersection, a dozen zombies limped around the corner.
“Shit!” Jimmy yelled. “Find cover. Don’t be seen and they’ll pass.” He dove behind a lamp post beside the road. Claire and I ducked down behind the two crumpled SUVs in the middle of the road and Harry ran behind a delivery truck that was parked on the left. I could see his camera sticking around the corner of the truck filming the zombies.
“Idiot!” I whispered under my breath. Then a thought clicked in me. “Pssst, Jimmy.”
“What?”
“We have to go that way anyway. Even if they pass, we’ll still have to deal with them later. Besides, they’re heading towards us now. They saw the celebrity newscaster.”
“Shit,” he groaned as he glanced at the approaching zombies. “Alright, open fire.” He rose and began firing his shotgun at the approaching undead. At the sight of this, Harry drew his pistol and fired. Claire tapped my shoulder and pointed at Harry. He was firing with one hand and filming with the other.
“Put the fucking camera down and shoot like you wanna live or give me the gun!” I screamed. It was at that moment that I saw it. Under the delivery truck, the thing was crawling towards Harry. It had both of its legs missing and where they had been there were now stumps of torn muscle and rotting skin. “Harry, look out!” I yelled, but it was too late. It swiped at his leg, knocking him to the ground. The thing crawled on top of him, biting chunks of flesh from his chest.
“Oh fuck!” I breathed as I saw him being ripped apart. “Claire, c’mon,” I said. We ran over to Harry, slamming our aluminum bats down hard on the zombie. Harry’s screams sent a chill down my spine, but I just drowned it out, hitting the zombie again and again until it was a pile of smashed flesh.
“Dan,” Harry moaned. I couldn’t believe he was still alive. Well, not for long. I knew that either he’d succumb to the zombie bite and become one of them, or Jimmy would put a bullet in his brain.
“I’m here,” I replied.
“Take my camera. Show my story.”
“Harry, I don’t think…”
“Promise me you’ll take it. Promise me,” he pleaded. I looked into his fading eyes and realized I couldn’t deny him. If I did, I’d be like them; emotionless and uncaring about the fate of fellow members of their vile species.
“I promise,” I squeaked as I grabbed his camera off the ground. Jimmy had run over to my side while I was talking to the dying man and stepped forward.
“I took care of the group in front of us. Just one more flesh-eater to go,” he said while aiming down the sights of his shotgun at Harry who was motionless and getting more pale by the second. Suddenly he let out a growl and thrust himself at Jimmy just as Jimmy pulled the trigger. Harry’s head exploded all over the street. Claire started bawling into her hands.
“Why does everyone we meet die?” she cried hysterically.
“Stop crying!” Jimmy demanded as he turned and pointed at her. “Our only chance is to get to the docks. Now suck it up and let’s go.”
She grabbed my arm and buried her face in it. I could feel the dampness through my sleeve.
“Shh…, it’s okay,” I said calmingly while rubbing her back. “Now we gotta keep moving, Claire. Can you do that?” She nodded, staring into my eyes.
I felt bad for her. She’s only a junior in college, and still too young to be emotionally prepared to live in a world like this. I mean, I’m practically losing it myself. I can’t imagine what she must be going through.
“Damn, he wasted all of the bullets in the pistol,” Jimmy complained.
“It’s alright, we still have your shotgun,” I reassured.
“Actually, I’m out, too.”
“Shit! So you’re telling me all we have are these two bats?”
“That’s what I’m saying. We have to move quickly. We can’t afford to get into another face off with the zombies.”
We kept moving down the street, and it was relatively quiet. We moved faster than before because Jimmy said that more zombies were sure to have heard our gunshots and were probably on their way looking for some fresh flesh to feast on.
These streets were once crowded with traffic, I thought, and now they’re barren and deserted. I wondered how many people were left in the city. We couldn’t be the only ones left. Could we?
Up ahead we could see the library. That meant we’re only twelve blocks from the docks. My heart raced. Could we actually make it? I could tell Claire was uplifted too as she smiled for the first time since Harry died.
Then we heard it. It was a moan mixed with some growls in the background. Soon after that we heard the sound of hundreds of feet moving at their steady pace.
“Oh shit!” I yelled as we all looked around to find the source of the sounds. Coming from the streets, both in front of us and behind us, a hoard of zombies turned the corners. They dragged themselves towards the main course—us.
“We’re surrounded. What do we do? What do we do?” Claire wailed, quickly returning to hysterics.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I held her tightly.
“Quick, into the library,” Jimmy commanded. We all scurried in the direction of the entrance. I batted a zombie’s head as we darted past and up the stairs to the doors. Jimmy ran to get them, Claire and I turned to the mob of undead that was beginning to climb the stairs.
“Fuck, it’s locked,” Jimmy yelled back at us.
“We can’t go back this way,” I said while smashing the lead zombie with my bat.
“I’ll try and pick the lock.”
“Hurry,” I yelled and peered over at Claire. She was beating a zombie with her bat and screaming at it. That a girl, I thought.
“Got it,” Jimmy let out grunt as he pushed the door open. “C’mon, let’s move.”
“Just in time. I was almost swimming in them,” I said as I burst through the door.
“Where’s Claire?”
“I thought she was right behind me,” I explained as we both turned to look out the open door. Claire was lying face down with five zombies biting at her and ripping out her entrails. I covered my eyes in horror. Jimmy slammed the door as a zombie in overalls looked up at us and started approaching.
I fell on the ground in shock. I remembered all the long hours at Jimmy’s Sporting Goods when Claire and I had nobody to talk to but each other. If the zombies hadn’t shown up, I was going to ask her out on a date. I was planning it, too,
the week after this hell started. We were gonna have it off due to the holidays. I was gonna ask if she wanted to go get some dinner at this new Italian place in town. The zombies had to go and fuck everything up.
“Dan…Dan,” Jimmy’s voice brought me back to real-ity. “We’ve gotta move. I don’t know how long that door will hold.”
It suddenly became apparent to me that what I was hearing wasn’t my own heartbeat, but the sound of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of zombies pounding on the door.
“I can’t do it. I give up,” I said drearily while staring at the floor.
“Hey. There is no giving up. You give up, you become their food. Is that what you want?” He glared, expecting a response, but I just kept staring at one spot on the floor. “Hey, answer me. Is that what you want?”
“No,” I said, snapping out of it. He lent his arm and helped me up.
“It’s you and me now,” he said. “Don’t go all crazy on me.” I smiled. Jimmy always knew how to make me feel better. It wasn’t just his words, it was also the way he looked at me...like I was his son.
“We have to find a place to hold up for the night until those bastards move on,” Jimmy explained, putting an emphasis on the word bastards.
“Why not the librarian’s office in the back?” I asked.
“Good idea, but we’ll have to barricade the door. I’ll go get some books to burn, and a shelf to block the door. You clear the room and search for any food left behind.”
I made off for the room. It was small, about ten feet by twenty feet, and had a desk in the back. Behind the desk was a shelf with various books and a microwave in the corner. If there was a microwave there might be food. I looked around but found nothing. I checked the drawers of the desk and on all of the shelves. Nothing.
Eye Witness: Zombie Page 9
