by Samie Sands
After:
Undead Wars
Complied by Samie Sands
Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved.
Copyright: No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, recording or other electronic mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the copyright holder.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Caged Barbarians | Chuck Buda
Chuck Buda
A Cold Winter | McKenzie Richardson
McKenzie Richardson
A Transplanted Dr. Franks | Katie Jaarsveld
Katie Jaarsveld
Bright of the Living Dead | Thomas M. Malafarina
Thomas M. Malafarina
Hunger | Jensen Reed
Jensen Reed
Unnatural | GJ Stevens
GJ Stevens
The Package | Ryan Colley
Ryan Colley
What Happened to Emily? | C.L. Williams
C.L. Williams
Dying Days: Break Room | Armand Rosamilia
Armand Rosamilia
Punchline | Noel Osualdini
Noel Osualdini
Are You There? | Samie Sands
Samie Sands
The Hunger | Arnaldo Lopez Jr.
Arnaldo Lopez Jr.
Do Zombies Dream of Undead Sheep? | Rick Eddy
Rick Eddy
Reanimation Lab | Sheri Velarde
Sheri Velarde
Happily Ever Zombie | McKenzie Richardson
When the Cameras Stop Rolling | C.L. Williams
Teacher of the Undead | Alexander Bailey
Alexander Bailey
Quarantine | Samie Sands
Caged Barbarians
Chuck Buda
“I’LL FIGHT HIM.”
Jack Turk was the unofficial leader of C-Pod. The inmates either looked to him for guidance or they feared him.
“Jack, we can’t afford to lose you. Let’s pick someone else.” Melvin scratched his gray afro. The bags under his eyes had grown since the viral outbreak.
“What about Swede? He’s a big, dumb honky.” 8-Ball thumbed at the huge man perched on the bunk. His tone betrayed his typical hatred of other men, especially whites.
Melvin shrugged his shoulders. Jack didn’t want to send his bunk mate to lock horns with Muncie. He had a long history with Muncie. The nasty prison guard had used his baton on Jack more than a handful of times over the years. Now that he was a steroid-laden zombie, there was more to be concerned about. Jack shook off the suggestion.
“No way. Muncie is mine. It’s been a long time coming and I’m going to end it. Today.” Jack cracked his knuckles and shot a glance at 8-Ball. He liked the man’s pissed off attitude, but he didn’t agree with his idea.
Swede stood up. He approached Jack, towering over him. Jack had to crane his neck to look up into Swede’s face.
“I can take him, Jack. Let me do this.”
The rest of the men expressed their approval. It was obvious Swede’s size provided a formidable advantage over opponents. But size didn’t matter. Jack knew first hand as he had dropped Swede like a bag of dirt the first day he was incarcerated. Swede had sauntered into C-Pod like the cock of the walk. All the inmates had stepped aside as the imposing figure approached. Not Jack. And when Swede expressed his displeasure with Jack’s disobedience, Jack took Swede to the woodshed. They’d been friends ever since. The lesson still had to be learned, Jack recalled.
“Alright. I don’t like it, but it will give me more time to figure out how we can get out of this mess.” Jack shook hands with Swede. “Give ‘em hell. But leave me some scraps, will ya?”
Swede grinned and embraced Jack. The rest of the prisoners started to pump up Swede with chants and slaps to the back.
MUNCIE GNASHED HIS teeth. Although, he wasn’t Muncie the prison guard anymore. He had become a hulking zombie. A zombie cage fighter to be more exact. And he enjoyed his new job. Tearing apart prisoners had always been one of his favorite pastimes. It became more enjoyable now that he was given the tools to enhance his nasty disposition.
His veiny biceps strained at the worn uniform sleeves. Muncie flexed his pec muscles, so they alternately jumped up and down. It was one of his favorite scare tactics before facing off against an inmate. Muncie pounded his fists into the cinder block walls. He couldn’t wait to rip Swede apart. His bloodshot eyes taunted the big man as the guards shoved him inside the cell. A long gob of drool trailed from Muncie’s purple lips. Just four walls and a man about to die. Muncie liked to keep the cement wall behind him so the rabid guards could observe the fight through the bars on the other three sides.
Muncie smelled him. The fear and doubt sweated through Swede’s pores. Muncie charged forward and slammed the huge opponent into the bars. He felt Swede’s head rebound off the iron. Muncie lifted the enormous man over his head and slammed his body down onto the concrete floor. Blood sprayed outward like a bug splat on a windshield. He roared over the body and riled up the other zombie guards, who desperately wanted a piece of the action. But Muncie was Warden Gorgon’s favorite.
The zombie guard yanked Swede’s right leg until it snapped with a bone-cracking echo. He knew the Warden frowned upon too much damage because his goal was to convert all the losers of the cage matches into members of his legion. The Warden wanted to create an army of zombies to protect him from the masses beyond the walls of the prison. And damaged bodies couldn’t heal after death. But the steroids halted the decaying process. So, Muncie figured Swede would still be serviceable. He just couldn’t help himself. The zombie rage wanted so much more than mere fighting. It longed to feed.
HE EXPECTED WARDEN Gorgon to pull a stunt. And the Warden didn’t let him down. Jack found himself staring down his opponent inside the cage. The man, or what used to be considered a man, was Crawford. He was the number two man behind Muncie in the prison guard pecking order. A tall man with a flat top buzz cut, which looked more ridiculous on the head of a zombie.
Warden Gorgon had broken the news to Jack, personally. He informed Jack that Swede lost the battle and had been converted into a zombie. Gorgon intimated that Swede would fit in nicely with his army of zombie protectors. But all Jack could see was vengeance. He choked down the tears and the rage that swelled within his chest. Jack swore he’d avenge Swede’s death. The Warden had laughed in his face. Then told Jack he’d get his chance. He would be up next for the cage. Gorgon led him to believe he would be fighting Muncie, once and for all. And he knew it was too good to be true. Sure enough, he was right.
Crawford ran toward Jack in an instant. Jack followed suit as soon as he realized Crawford’s charge. The men bore down on each other like jousting opponents. They collided in mid-air with a resounding thud. Jack’s forearm crushed the bridge of Crawford’s nose. It didn’t slow the zombie at all.
Crawford reeled backwards from the blow. He clasped his hands together and hammered them down upon Jack’s back like an anvil. The wind expelled from Jack’s lungs and he crashed to his knees, feeling every inch of the cement floor through his legs.
The zombie guard kicked Jack’s head. The cage went fuzzy as a dark shadow threatened to cloud his vision from the edges. Even in pain, Jack caught a glimpse of Crawford’s next move. He dropped lower to the floor and swung his legs around in a scissor motion, taking the legs out from under Crawford. The purple veins bursting through Crawford’s temples pulsed at the surprise maneuver. He jumped to his feet and tore his shirt off in defiance. Jack watched the rippling muscles contort in a grayish pink hue. His trance was cut short by the chomping noises that clicked off Crawford’s teeth.
<
br /> Jack hurried to figure out how to beat his adversary. Jack was no stranger to brawls, having been in hundreds of them since grade school. Rarely had Jack ever fought someone his size or smaller. He liked to pick out the biggest guy in the yard or the bar and then show everyone what he was capable of. And Jack was not a gracious winner. Or loser. Either way, he made sure the name Jack Turk lingered on the lips of the witnesses for a long time. He fashioned himself a showman in that regard. One with a mean streak.
This fight was different. How do you defeat a zombie? He figured if he had a weapon, he could do something to decapitate the bastard. But in this cage, Jack was left to his own fists and smarts. And he wasn’t jacked up on steroids like Crawford. The game was rigged against him. That had never bothered Jack before. He just had to work a little harder this time.
Jack spat on the floor. He hunched over like a high school wrestler. They both circled each other, sizing up opportunities to exploit weaknesses. He tried something he hadn’t used yet. “Hey, Crawford. Now that you’re a rotting corpse, do you still have to do whatever that fat slob Muncie tells you to?”
Crawford screamed at Jack, spraying spit everywhere. He lunged at Jack and missed. Jack had anticipated the correct direction to avoid him.
“Can zombies get it up? I bet it doesn’t work anymore. There goes all your chances to rape inmates.”
Crawford charged Jack as he had hoped. Jack waited until the last second to jump up and swing around the tall zombies back. Crawford missed Jack, slamming hard into the iron bars. Before Crawford could react, Jack threw all his weight behind his kick. His leg smashed the back of Crawford’s head which lodged between the bars. The zombie guard struggled to squeeze his head out, but it was jammed in there pretty tight. Jack backed up against the other side of the cage. Zombie guard arms poked through the cage in an attempt to grab him. Jack ran and leapt into the air with his leg extended. It connected with the back of Crawford’s skull, further lodging the creature’s head in between the bars. Crawford howled in anguish. Blackened blood leaked from his ears due to the pressure.
Jack landed awkwardly, spraining his wrist. He clasped his arm and watched Crawford try to wiggle free. It wasn’t working. Jack had Crawford where he wanted him. He just had to finish him off. He used his good arm to brace it against the back of Crawford’s neck. Jack wanted to feel the vertebra give way under his force.
“Stop!”
The raucous shouting ceased. The mob of zombie prison guards parted for the Warden. He walked through the crowd with confidence. Jack had never seen the man sweat.
“You won, Jack. Congratulations.”
“I thought these fights were to the death.” Jack panted, trying to catch his breath.
Warden Gorgon grinned. “They are. But it’s supposed to be your death.”
Jack leaned closer to the bars. His face only inches from the Warden’s. “Well I always finish what others start.” Jack grinned this time.
“Don’t...touch...Crawford. I need him. You are free to return to your pod.” The Warden turned to walk away. He paused and faced Jack. “You lived to fight another day. Hm?” Gorgon left the room in silence.
Jack watched all the zombies drool, fixated on his blood.
HE TIGHTENED THE HELMET strap beneath his chin and adjusted the visor. Jack felt better protected now that he had “won” the gear, according to Warden Gorgon. He couldn’t help but recall a movie from his teenage years. Jack and his friend, Mikey, had gone to the theater to see Conan the Barbarian. Each time Conan won a pit fight, he was able to add weapons and armor to his battle arsenal. Jack chuckled under his breath. The cage matches he was participating in now were quite similar to the Conan movie. He picked up the baton and rolled it around in his palm. The hickory club would definitely come in handy.
Jack took a deep breath as he heard the mob coming his way. A thundering herd of zombie boots stomped along the cement floor. The echo grew louder as the crowd entered the room. He stared through the iron bars, trying to pick out his new opponent. He knew it would be a tougher fight. Gorgon was humiliated when Jack defeated Crawford. The Warden wouldn’t take another chance. Losing wouldn’t be an option.
The undead mob pressed against the cage, purple and gray arms reached through the bars. If the purpose was to frighten Jack or get inside his mind, then it worked. Jack ignored the pit in his stomach as his eyes searched the throng of tormented faces. The sea of rabid guards parted, and a new fighter shuffled toward the cage. Jack’s courage sank once he caught sight of the monster entering the cage.
Swede.
Jack stared at Swede, or what used to be Swede. His former bunk mate. And one of his best friends in the prison. How could he do this? Gorgon had played his hand well, Jack thought. The Warden figured Jack would struggle to fight his friend, even if he was no longer the same man Jack once knew. And the Warden had guessed right.
Swede towered above Jack from across the cage. The man had been huge and muscular as a human being. With steroids coursing through his system, Swede had become a true beast. Jack wondered why they had outfitted Swede in a prison guard uniform. He figured it was another tactic of mind games, to fight his old friend and see him converted to the other side. Jack felt sorry for Swede. He knew his friend had no control over what the Warden had done to him. Not only was Swede decked out in uniform, he wore a Kevlar vest and helmet too.
The fight started before Jack could finish his thoughts. The cage door slammed shut and Swede charged him with a hobbling limp. Jack tried to use his speed since Swede held the upper hand in size and strength. He dodged the first rush and swung his baton into Swede’s back. It didn’t even faze him. Swede turned to square off again. Jack stared at his eyes. They were black and soulless. He made up his mind to give the creature all he had. The thing that stood before him was no longer Swede. It looked like him but was now a monstrous rendition of the man he had called a friend.
Jack took the offensive. He sprinted toward Swede. The creature growled, its black tongue trying to sweep the drool from its lips. As he neared Swede, Jack lunged forward as if he were sliding into second base. He angled the baton in order to connect with Swede’s crotch. The club struck the creature’s genitals while it flew over Jack, missing him. Swede crashed into the wall at the back of the cage. Jack rolled over to break his slide. He couldn’t believe what he had seen. The baton strike hadn’t registered any damage. At least, nothing to slow the zombie down. Jack was flustered. If the head and torso are protected, and a solid nut shot didn’t work, then what the hell am I supposed to do? He struggled to answer his own question as Swede charged again.
Jack braced for the impact. He jumped in the air and wrapped his arms and legs around Swede’s enormous body. The pair smashed into the bars. Jack felt lightning bolts shoot up his spine as his back took the brunt of the impact. He held on using a bear hug. He hoped by staying in tight to Swede he might last longer. At least against punches and kicks. But Swede appeared content to just keep smashing Jack’s body into the cage. The undead hands beyond the bars scratched and clawed at him from behind.
He pulled the baton toward himself, hoping to put pressure on the back of Swede’s neck. That portion of the creature’s body was unprotected by helmet or vest. Swede kept slamming him into the cage, continually knocking the wind from his lungs.
“Swede...It’s me...Jack.” The words squeaked out between each crash. It was no use. His old friend showed no recognition of the words or any prior connection. Another tactic confirmed useless. Check. Jack mocked himself.
He drew the baton tighter, pulling it into his own chest through Swede’s neck. The creature’s head bent at a sickening angle. Jack wondered how Swede could breathe when his windpipe was so severely restricted. Then he remembered Swede probably didn’t need to breathe, in the traditional sense. The baton didn’t slow down Swede’s chomping teeth. The jaw worked fervently to gnaw flesh, but the angle of Swede’s head prevented a solid bite.
Jack used his legs
to dig his heels into Swede’s kidneys. Every few seconds he would slam the heels hard, hoping to loosen Swede’s grip. The creature growled each time, showing its displeasure with Jack’s tactics. The fight had reached a stalemate as both combatants held on to each other. Jack knew he had to end this fight as soon as possible. He was exhausted and struggled to catch his breath. The strength behind his grip had weakened too.
Jack nudged Swede’s visor up with his forehead. The chomping teeth moved closer to his neck. He decided to give the creature a taste of its own medicine. Jack bit down on Swede’s nose. It exploded in a gush of blood inside his mouth. He gave up worrying if he could catch the virus from Swede, because if he didn’t win the fight, his life was over anyway. Swede howled in pain and yanked his head away from Jack’s teeth. The flesh gave way and the nose clipped off in Jack’s mouth. Swede let go of Jack and stumbled backwards, clutching his face. Jack spit the nose out and then spat several more times to rid his mouth of potential pathogens.
While Swede clutched his face, Jack saw the opportunity for action. He rushed at his former friend and swung the baton like he was trying to hit a home run. The club met Swede’s deformed leg with a cracking sound. The previously broken leg gave way as Swede tumbled to the hard cement. Jack pounced on Swede’s chest and poked the end of the baton down hard into Swede’s eye socket. A geyser of vitriolic fluid sprayed to the ceiling, leaving spatter on Jack’s face and chest. Swede screamed a noise that Jack had never heard before. He hoped he would never hear it again. It chilled him to the bone. But he needed to finish the fight.
Jack used the end of the baton like a screwdriver, twisting the club down within the oozing eye socket. It suddenly gave way and the baton sunk into the cranial cavity.
Swede was dead.
Jack kept screwing the baton down even though he knew the fight was over. It took a few seconds for his brain to send the signal to his body which was fully entrenched in battle mode. He didn’t realize he cried as he worked the club. Nor did he hear the deafening silence around him. All the zombie guards froze in place when Jack won.
