Still Alive Series Box Set, Vol. 2 | Books 5-6

by Bonds, Javan

  It was beyond me why the hell I was even a candidate for going off the Cora. The other crew members must not actually want to ever get off this damn river. They have tasked the only dam technician on our replica pirate ship to be protected by me countless times.

  I’m guessing Crow, my original shipmate that claimed to be an American Indian, must have been below deck. The gangplank had been lowered and Sanjay’s Clone Trooper boots touched the earth just before my Cylon boots and Aka followed close behind me in her Storm outfit. You’d figure she’d want something less skintight, being in such close proximity to her peeping Tom brother-in-law. But there she was, filling out the leather perfectly, between her two bodyguards. I doubt she enjoyed standing next to me; Easy surely told her it was okay.

  I was carrying a Klingon bat’leth over my shoulder, my melee weapon of choice. I couldn’t see any type of bladed armament on Sanjay. The African Princess carried some type of black halberd. I thought all main protagonists were required to carry something along with a firearm. “Dude, where’s your sword?”

  “Right here.” Sanjay patted the armored thighs of his suit with his bare hands. He had some type of wide, silken sheath attached to either leg. This is the first time I paid enough attention to realize his hands were uncovered. I’m so observant.

  “What’s that?”

  He spoke as if I should already know. “Katar.” I stopped and cocked my helmeted head to the side before he stopped and turned to face me. Aka took a step back and similarly turned to face me, alongside the HIT.

  “You got some kind of Star Wars thing from Gene?”

  He started to lift his weapons from their sheaths. “Katar are traditional Indian push daggers.” He pulled out an eight-inch long blade with some type of horizontal handle. Patel held it as if ready to use, blade pointing out over his closed fingers, a guard around his wrist completed the totally metal device.

  “Mr. Stanley had nothing like this in his collection. I brought them from home.” He held his hand up, closed fingers facing him. I almost laughed when I compared it to him shooting me a bird. He used his fingers to pull a lever in the device and the blade scissored open. A solid dagger remained in the middle while two razor-sharp arms spread out to either side. “Tiger blades.”

  I drew back in awe. “Holy fucking shit! That’s scary as hell.”

  I could hear his smile through the helmet. “Only if you’re on the receiving end.”

  I laughed nervously as he returned them to their sheaths. His steel could definitely come in handy in the crypt we were entering.

  To finish his description of the weapons, he filled me in on the specific history of the steel. “These are my family’s Tiger blades. They will slice up the afflicted just as they have my family’s human enemies for generations.”

  ☠☠☠

  “... Fuck if I know! Every one of you damn people act like I’m doing it on purpose.” I didn’t want to play anymore.

  Sanjay made it sound like he had killed more peevies today than every day before this since May Day combined. “It’s basically a cakewalk any other time. I wish I had been partnered with anyone else!”

  My sister-in-law threw her two cents into it. “He’s right. I’ve not seen more than a handful in one dam unless you are with me.”

  “Well fuck the both of you! I guarantee you it’s not because I want to come. I don’t know which one of you had the idea to randomly choose your defenders. Take my name out of the damn hat!”

  I continued slicing through zombies as we moved forward. The lock had been opened and the Cora was waiting safely for our return. We just had to rip through hundreds–if not thousands–of these stinking monsters.

  My Clone Trooper compatriot with red accents on his armor punched into shit covered revenant after nostril reeking scourge. He would seek a peevie closest in the room and jam his blade deep into the stomach, chest, or wherever he happened to land a blow. The Katar punctured blue flesh and pulled the wound apart as it exited. I nearly felt bad for the zombies that were eviscerated alive when he jerked his dagger free. Almost. The putrid baby diarrhea that resembled a chocolate Oreo cake filling spraying from their rectums as they collapsed, kind of killed my empathy.

  The Phantom was traveling down the opposite side of the hall as me, he was on my right. There was a wall on the other side of both of us. It didn’t seem like they were trying to get between us to the ebony goddess to our rear. I was thinking that she could've at least given us some assistance and sent a few rifle rounds into the horde. On second thought, I was glad I didn’t suggest that. A woman sending rounds over our shoulders wouldn’t make me feel safe either. Yes, I said it. Hey-oh!

  Sanjay disemboweled a body with every arm thrust. He would then step over the truly dying undead and my sister-in-law would then stab the pointed staff of her halberd into the craniums of the beasts, silencing them forever. I’m pretty sure I at least injured dozens of the animals. They would fall after receiving a fairly deep laceration or a definite bone bruise. My sister in arms would quickly dispatch the downed reanimate with a quick spear through a blue ear or yellow eye.

  “This is ridiculous!” Sanjay threw his arm forward and punctured a lung between two ribs. His blade opened up and he kicked his foot into the chest of the animal to free his blade. Blood splattered and bones cracked before the revenant flew backward.

  I knew he was blaming me for the number of undead. “Tell me about it!” It wasn’t my fault. “Just tell them to take my name off the list.”

  I brought one end of my bat’leth up and caught a running peevie in the area you would call– in Doctor terms–its junk. The blade sliced into testicles and up behind the rapidly deflating penis. I froze, almost feeling the pain of watching another male be damaged in that most sensitive area. The forward momentum of the undead scourge carried it further onto the blade and deeper into the pubic area. I almost dropped the blade and put my hand between my legs when I watched bloodied fluid and one of the balls pop out of the sac dropping to the floor. The imagery will forever be burned in my mind as the steel impacted the pelvic bone. The blue cannibal involuntarily took a step back. That was the worst fucking thing it could’ve done. My bat’leth came straight out just to the left of the sagging penis. Blood began pumping from the wound with the junk attached to the body only on the right side. The junk swung open like a door and hit the thing in the leg.

  I was beyond horrified to see what I’d done. I screamed at Sanjay. “Just kill the damn thing!” He brought his push dagger around and sliced it across the neck. I know it was excruciating, but the animal would surely die a quicker death with this one. But it collapsed, screaming and shitting everywhere.

  I wanted to tell it how sorry I was. At least Aka finally put the sad thing out of its indescribable torment. For some reason, I started looking for that free testicle. Thank God it was nowhere to be seen.

  We made it into the front office without my realizing it. The light was coming in through the windows and a hallway opened to a wider room. There were just a few dozen more peevies in this room and then we would be out in the sunlight. Where the hell had they come from? All the side rooms appeared to be small closets, bathrooms, or offices. Were they jam-packed into these rooms or had they entered the dam from outside? That would mean they were out in the sun. Were they that hungry? And if they had come from outside, the crew on the Cora would have definitely seen them charging the door. They could've shot them! What the hell? They were probably too busy rigging the contest to randomly pull my name for the next dam clearance to bother looking over the side of the boat.

  Being a wider room, one of the nudists was able to come around on my left side while I was busy slashing an enemy in front of me. It didn’t really have a chance to bite me, but I can imagine a domino effect with me and then Sanjay if it tackled me.

  Before it could rub shriveled genitals all over my armor, Aka stabbed the thing in the side of the abdomen. It stopped and turned its head to see something long and bl
ack sticking through from its side. The yellow eyes followed the staff to its holder and it cocked its head, confused. In the next second, I slammed my metal elbow into the beast. This crushed ribs and pushed the revenant even further onto the staff. The point was now protruding from its other side. It was disturbing to see something that was once a teenage boy on a spit. Now it just needed to start rotating!

  My sister-in-law pulled her spear with a twist. The animal was now free but still confused. I then spun on my heel and swung my alien blade at the animal. I was amazed that I cleanly beheaded the thing without much effort. Blood spurted from the neck and its head rolled. I was horrified as well as simultaneously astounded. With my next step, I tried to add a little spring, just to tell people I know I’m a badass that fucking beheads enemies!

  We finally burst through the door, into the beaming sunlight. There’s no way the peevies came from out here. Exhausted, the three of us walked to where the Cora was waiting. Just as a welcome home present, the rope ladder awaited us.

  I looked up and shook my fist. “Damn you, CROW!”

  ☠☠☠

  10

  Memoirs Of Benji 1

  DEVIN LANDERS, MY copilot, and I boarded a single engine Cherokee with plans to take an aerial trip around the county to see if we could pick up any survivors. I was confident we would make it back given that he was traveling with me. You can read in my earlier memoirs it seems, at least since May Day, he has some kind of connection with whatever– or Whomever– has been controlling events since the beginning of this zombie apocalypse. If this were a movie, he would have a direct line to the person writing the script. What's that called again? The Screenwriter.

  “You ready for this?” Devin asked as he swung himself into the Cherokee.

  He was wearing black leather pants accented with a black leather biker jacket and black leather gloves. I met the guy Mo called The Tech and saw some of his costumes. The spikes on the shoulders and the wrists of his jacket made it clear to whom this outfit belonged. The wicked looking logging chain thrown over a shoulder completed his get up. It may not have done so yet, but you could tell the thing could really inflict some pain. The only way Devin could've looked more awesome is if his skull was on fire.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I settled into the seat behind the controls, wearing my scruffy bombers jacket.

  What I was wearing didn’t come from Gene’s collection of outfits. I’ve had this old thing since before I became a naval flight officer. I don’t know why this pair of leather gloves was in my pack, but I put them on and told Mr. Star Trek Comic Book dude to save his stuff for someone else.

  Mo told me that “all main protagonists require some type of armor and melee weapon.” Apparently, I am being lumped into his little crew of pirates. I guess that’s a good thing. Main protagonists in movies don’t usually die. And if they do, it’s in some meaningful and ultimately badass way. When I go out, at least I’ll go down in a blaze of glory. I wonder what my role is supposed to be. It has to be something that sounds more epic and memorable than some lame ass designation like The Hero.

  I went to Gene the day the Viva Ancora was scheduled to set sail and presented what I would be wearing; he looked me up and down and smiled. “I know just what you need.”

  He disappeared downstairs on the Cora and came out with something that would complete my outfit perfectly. A wide-brimmed Fedora and a whip were in each hand. I don’t know how he instinctively knew neither Devin nor I would accept any kind of hard armor. I guess it’s something about being Navy men: our armor can only be driven, steered, or flown; it’s not something you wear.

  “Holy shit!” I gave him a lopsided grin. No one born in the past century would have any trouble recognizing what this stuff was.

  I placed the hat on my head and reached for the whip. He pulled back. “Hold on! You gotta see something.”

  Gene turned to his left to a coke can sitting on the rail of the boat, just a few yards away. He drew the whip, seeming to aim. Finally he drew his arm back and threw it forward. The whip snapped into the aluminum can with a “crack” and it basically exploded.

  “What the–“

  He gleefully showed me small metal wires running along the business end of the whip. I didn’t understand all the technical mumbo-jumbo he was telling me, but hell, I also didn't care. It’s going to kick ass, and that’s what matters!

  ☠☠☠

  As we sped down the runway, I thought about what we could run into. I hoped there wouldn’t be any full football teams in need of rescuing. We would only be able to carry three– maybe four souls maximum. We’d be making several return trips if we encountered the entire cast of Full House. DJ would definitely be on the first trip out; along with Jesse’s wife, Becky. I’d even take Joey on the first trip if he talked in funny voices. Jesse, though, he would be on the last plane ride to safety. Danny even goes before he does. Do I have to tell you, I don’t like John Stamos? Hopefully you figured that out by now.

  I was hoping if we did discover living people, we could land somewhere nearby, pick up a couple of individuals, take off, and be home in just a few minutes. I turned to my friend. “There’s no way it’s going to be that easy, is it?”

  He swiveled his head to me as if he knew what I had been thinking, and spoke flatly. “What do you think?”

  When the plane leveled off, we started scanning the ground, looking for any movement. We weren’t expecting to see “ALIVE INSIDE” signs on top of the old Crossroads Mall in Albertville, just anything would be great. We didn’t see a damn sign of anyone. It was as if the county had been abandoned for decades on the first couple of flights. It was depressing. I was beginning to think we were alone. On our third trip, we actually came across a small family and were able to save them. It was a great feeling to take someone to what had to be paradise after everything they had been through. I should have known that plane ride was going to be eventful when my copilot volunteered to go. I should have known the same for this adventure. Maybe I’ll figure it out eventually.

  We had been instructed to keep the rides short to save on fuel and sunlight. We were only going to fly straight over the mountain and follow Highway 431. We would be flying over a good portion of Guntersville, Albertville, Boaz, and finally the giant metropolis of Sardis before turning around to land at Guntersville airport.

  I would have liked to fly over the Pleasant Grove community to see if I could spot my family. But I promised myself to keep my mind on rescuing survivors. If my family was alive, they would eventually make it to Guntersville. I was afraid to fly over my home and see nothing. That would be even more depressing than simply not knowing.

  It might initially seem like a good idea to fly with some kind of banner or something to draw the attention of humans. But think about it: we are flying a plane over an area that had seen no electricity, no cars or trucks, and no mechanized equipment whatsoever in over a month. If you were sitting in your completely quiet house in a nearly dead world, I guarantee you would hear any kind of airplane long before you could see it. If you were barely making it, waiting for rescue, I’m also pretty sure you wouldn’t be hiding. You might be cautious at first, but you’re going to flag down the plane before it flies out of view.

  ☠☠☠

  “Well, come to think of it... They ain’t been too kindly.” I felt as if I was speaking to a Gomer Pyle impersonator.

  This guy seriously made hicks like me look like PhDs. He didn’t know why the power had “just plum cut off” or why the radio stopped playing “Cotton Eye Joe,” but the people down the road started “running around like chickens with their heads cut off, naked as jaybirds, and screeching like barn owls.” The neighbors had apparently “gone bonkers and started eating meat before it was hung up to bleed.”

  Gomer Pyle was actually named Jim Tidwell and he didn’t even flag us down! We spotted the smoke exhaust from his old Massey Ferguson tractor. He was just “tilling up the field when that there bi-plane come
down on the county road.” He told us he “ain’t seen much a nobody in a coon’s age.” He was “afixin to start up the old Ford and head down to check on Leroy and the rest of ‘em. Ain’t been nobody but my woman, the kid, and me.” He looked over to his son standing on the porch, turned back to me, and spoke in a low voice. “The dog musta R-U-N-N-O-F-T.”

  I was amazed this guy was able to make it this long with absolutely no idea of the zombies. “How have you kept from getting bit?”

  He looked at me, bewildered. “Bit? You mean by them meth heads? I shut up the chicken coop every night and they figured out I mean business when I gave them some birdshot a couple times.” He spit to his side, letting me know they wouldn’t be bothering him anymore.

  I was stupefied. Mo probably had some catchy title for a person or group of persons that had remained nearly completely alone since the outbreak began and stayed ignorant of the threat of zombies.

  I spoke slowly to Jim and thought using some of his vernacular might make him more compliant. “You and your kinfolk need to load up with us on that flying machine. Them tweakers got it out for y’all and if’n y’all don’t git while the gittin’s good, there’ll be hell to pay!” I thought I was through, but I tacked on a good one. “They’ll be stickin’ it to your woman!”

  Jim drew back and gasped. His wife cried out and covered the ears of her young’un. I think I just hit the nail on the head. He pointed a finger at me and started speaking at a rapid-fire pace. “You...you...you listen to me, feller. Them there sumbitches ain’t gonna lay a hand on my Shawna! I’ll show them dad-blamed, no good–”. His slurred speech became unintelligible mumbling as he grew angrier and angrier. He finally took a breath before backpedaling to the porch. “We’ll get in your aeroplane. I just gotta get a jug of my best shine.”

  I’m guessing Jim made his own moonshine. The smell of alcohol cooking must have been what kept the peevies away. If we had the time, and a way to transport Jim’s entire still, we would have. Maybe he could've helped The Medicine Man investigate some ways to weaponize alcohol. Too bad Dr. George already left on the boat with Mo. It wouldn’t matter anyway, if we could never make it back to the island. Had Jim known his bad habit would cost him his life so soon, he probably would have quit right then and there.