“Come out!” Salvatore shouted.
Eric sat up and pressed his back to the wall. “He murdered her!” he shouted. There was no response. “A girl! A poor girl!” Eric cried. His voice broke. Then the response came, but it wasn’t Salvatore.
“You know how she was!” Anselmo called. Eric couldn’t tell which side of the barn the man was on. The rain was coming down in sheets, and he could barely hear the winemaker above the din. “She told me she called you – we’d never discussed it – she gave me that look, you know the one. Witch!
“Then I had her in the water. Under the water. There was no going back then, Professor! I must have been as scared as she was, believe me. But it was HER OWN GODDAMN FAULT!” Anselmo was slurring heavily, and the occasional stutter in his voice told Eric the man was stumbling closer. But he still didn’t know from which side! And Salvatore might be advancing silently from the other. Eric saw the stone wall through a line of olive trees. He could try and climb it. No. It was soaked and so was he. He’d take a bullet in the back. Better to face the bastard head-on.
Someone rounded the corner at his left. It was Salvatore, but his rifle dragged in the mud at his side, and through the downpour Eric saw blood pumping from a ragged wound in his neck, gushing through his fingers. Eric watched in horror as the brimming blood was washed away by the rain, only to instantly return. Salvatore sagged to the ground, and the rifle fell before him.
Eric stepped forward to reach for it. A dead man appeared at the corner. Eric dove for the gun.
The dead man jerked back as a bullet punched through his ribs. Eric had only just caught up the rifle; Anselmo was behind him, with the .38, and he knew the bullet had been meant for his back.
It happened quickly. Eric rose. The rifle kicked in his hands. Anselmo fell with a scream.
Eric staggered away, toward the wall, away from both Anselmo and the walking corpse. The dead man looked from him to Anselmo. His eyes met with those of the latter, the wounded one. Anselmo rolled onto his bloody stomach and clawed at the earth. “NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
He didn’t make it so much as a foot before the man fell upon him. He screamed like a child as he died.
Standing beside the wall and the olive trees, Eric had a clear view of the other corpses shambling down the hillside. They came around the barn on both sides, falling on their knees over Anselmo and his cousin. But a few pushed past the feeding frenzy, their eyes on Eric.
He looked down at the rifle. He didn’t know how to chamber a new round, or if he even had to. He didn’t even know if there was another round. He was a stargazer, for Christ’s sake, and today every star had been blotted from the sky.
“Liv,” he moaned.
The dead moaned in return.
Though without a star, Eric pressed the barrel to his chin and made a wish.
THE END
LARRY AND HANK’S BIG DEAD FISHING ADVENTURE
By
Eric S Brown
“Vacation. Such a simple concept. A break from the routines of work and day to day life. Fun in the sun and all that. Beach balls, fishing rods, and big breasted women in bikinis. Tell me, Hank, do you see any women here?” Larry growled as he jerked the bolt back on his rifle and a spent casing popped into the air.
“You just shot one through the head, Larry,” Hank said innocently, not comprehending Larry’s sarcasm.
“No, you idiot! Dead ones don’t count! I am not looking to get my privates chewed off. I mean real, wet, breathing women.”
Hank leaned closer to the edge of the roof the two of them had sought refuge on. He looked down into the sea of hungry corpses. Hundreds of gray, rotting faces stared up at him as the dead snarled and raged, pawing at the walls of the Burger King below them. “I don’t think so Larry. There’s a lot of dead ones though.”
“Oh, why don’t we take the weekend off?” Larry mimicked Hank’s words from the day before. “We can drive down to the beach. Get in some deep sea fishing and see the babes in their swimsuits. Maybe we can even go to one of them nude beaches. It’ll be fun!” Larry chambered another round and took aim at the skull of a fat man in a John Deere cap with a ripped open stomach which leaked a continuous stream of black pus. Larry squeezed the trigger and the man’s head snapped back as the high powered round reduced his brain to mush. “Do you remember saying those words, Hank? I remember you talking me into this,” Larry grunted. “Well let me tell you, this is just loads of fun, buddy! You talked me into driving right into the middle of the apocalypse!”
Hank’s forehead creased in thought. “Uh … I think the apocalypse would’ve happened whether we came down here or not. Besides, we’re getting great tans, stuck up here on this roof.”
“Oh, Hank …” Larry shook his head.
“It’s true,” Hank assured him. “We’re going to look awesome for the girls back home. You just have to look on the bright side of things, Larry. There’s always a silver lining. My dad said so.”
Larry’s rifle clicked empty as he tried for another shot. Sighing, he lowered the weapon and began to reload it with the loose bullets he’d stuffed inside the pockets of his shorts. “We can’t shoot them all. I don’t have enough ammo and, sooner or later, those monsters are going to find the stairs that we used to get up here. Mind telling me what we’re going to do then?”
Hank shrugged. “I don’t know, Larry, but you always think of something. Remember that time the boss figured out someone was taking money from the registers? You framed that mean guy, Pete, for it. Not only did we get to keep our jobs but that bastard got fired and couldn’t make fun of me no more.”
Larry struggled for a way to explain to Hank the reality of their situation. “Those things on the street aren’t human, Hank. I can’t con them or put on my charm with them. They’re only interested in eating us. Nothing else.”
Hank smiled at him. “No worries, Larry. Things will work out. You’ll see.”
Not far away, Erin was straining with her back against the door of the beauty salon’s office. All her strength and the full weight of her slim, one hundred and twenty pound form was shoving into it, trying to hold back the dead on the other side. Bloody, broken and mangled fingers lined the edges of its frame, clawing at her. Melissa helped with one hand, her other busy stabbing at the fingers with a pair of scissors.
Beth stood watching the two of them as she held two pairs of scissors of her own. “Did you hear that?” she shouted over Erin’s constant wailing and the hungry moans of the dead outside.
“Little busy here!” Melissa snapped as she hacked at another groping hand. Two severed fingers plopped onto the floor at her feet.
“That was a gunshot!” Beth exclaimed. “Someone else is still alive!”
“Beth!” Melissa snapped. “Some help!”
“Don’t you get it? We’re going about this all wrong. That door will never hold those things. We need to fight our way through them and make a run for it!”
“You’re insane!” Erin shrieked.
“No, I’m not,” Beth said firmly. “Let them in. We can take them.”
“Fine. Have it your way,” Melissa conceded and backed away from the door.
Erin’s screams grew higher in pitch as the weight and fury of the dead on the door slowly pushed her aside. A teenage Goth girl in fishnets half staggered, half fell into the office with them. Beth stepped up to meet her and buried a pair of scissors into her face above the girl’s nose. The girl’s eyes rolled into their sockets as her body slumped forward.
“Follow me!” Beth ordered as she threw herself into the several creatures blocking her path. The creatures were slow and uncoordinated and Beth used that to her advantage, kicking, punching, and shoving her way through them. Blackened nails clawed at her skin and teeth snapped at her from all sides.
Beth paused in the salon’s atrium, waiting for Melissa and Erin to catch up. A cop with one arm missing lunged at her. She planted her remaining pair of scissors straight into his right eye, rammi
ng them in up to the hilt. “Cover me!” she yelled as she knelt over the cop’s corpse and tugged at the pistol holstered on his hip.
Melissa rushed forward, shoving a shirtless, unkempt surfer-type with several bullet holes in his chest through the salon’s large glass window as he came at Beth. Erin slapped at an elderly dead woman, but stumbled over its walker and fell against a cabinet, casting cans of hairspray and bottles of shampoo in all directions. The old woman leaned over her and sunk her false teeth into Erin’s shoulder. As the creature pulled her head away, trying to take a chunk of Erin with her, her teeth remained embedded in Erin’s flesh. Erin stared at the nicotine-stained things with wide, terror stricken eyes and screamed again.
At last, Beth tore the gun free. Getting to her feet, she shot the old woman in the face, spraying Erin with black pus and gore. She then spun about, dropping two more of the creatures with quick headshots. “Come on!” Beth jumped through the salon’s shattered window into the street.
The parking lot was full of cars waiting to be taken. She hoped one of them had keys in because she had no idea how to hotwire one. Dozens of the dead wandered among the vehicles and they all turned in their direction as Melissa and Erin appeared at her side.
Beth spotted a bright green van with its side door open. “The van!” she cried, already sprinting for it.
Larry silently brooded, waiting for the dead to come pouring onto the roof. It was only a matter of time and he knew it.
“Larry!” Hank said, suddenly jumping up and down where he stood by the edge of the Burger King’s roof. “I found us some!”
“Not now,” Larry muttered. “Can’t a guy even get a few minutes to make peace with his maker before he dies?”
“There’s three of them Larry! They’re making a run for a van.” Hank rushed over and yanked him to his feet. “We gotta save them!”
“What are you rambling about?” Larry snatched his arm away then he saw her. The red-haired girl jumped into a van across the street. Two more girls hopped in after her and the van’s door slammed closed as several creatures reached it just behind them and began pounding on all sides. The van shook and rocked where it sat as more dead huddled around it. With the image of the red-head burnt into his mind, Larry jerked up his rifle and started shooting. She was hot. Sure, he’d only gotten a glimpse of her, but all he needed to know right now was that she was the kind of girl he wanted to get to know.
His first shot splattered a dead hotdog vendor’s brains onto the van’s front windshield. His second dropped a paramedic with one half-eaten leg trailing behind him. Larry kept firing as the van’s engine roared to life.
Hank whooped beside him. The girls in the van must have spotted them because it ploughed through the dead towards the Burger King. “They’re coming!” Hank squealed like a kid on Christmas morning.
The van came to a stop below them. “Jump for it!” Larry yelled and jumped off the roof. He landed on the van’s roof with a dull thud. He looked back to urge Hank on as his friend fell on him. The impact jarred the rifle from Larry’s hands and it went flying into the ranks of the dead who were surrounding the van once more. Larry shoved Hank aside and slapped the van’s top loudly with his palm. “Go!” he shouted. “Get us moving!”
The van’s tires screeched. It shot forward as Larry and Hank clung on.
Inside the van, Beth kept her eyes glued to the road, spinning the wheel left and right, trying to dodge both the dead and the wrecked and abandoned vehicles that filled her path.
“We have to kill her!” Melissa was telling her. “You know Erin’s infected. She got bit!”
“I’m right here!” Erin pointed out. “I can hear you, y’know?” Erin held a hand pressed tightly over the bleeding wound on her shoulder. “That old bitch had false teeth! Can you even catch whatever it is from dentures?”
“I’m not taking any chances!” Melissa grabbed Erin by her hair and bashed her head against the metal wall.
“Help!” Erin wailed through a mouthful of blood as she spat two teeth onto the floor and flailed, desperately trying to shove Melissa away from her.
“Girls!” Beth shouted, keeping her eyes on the road. “Stop it! If we don’t stick together we’re all dead!”
Melissa reluctantly let go. Erin offered a crooked smile and then grabbed her by the arm. Melissa’s eyes widened as Erin’s teeth tore a chunk of flesh from her wrist. “You witch!”
Erin laughed as Melissa’s blood dribbled down her chin. “You gonna kill us both now?!”
“I’ll kill you both, and you know I will, if you don’t stop it right now,” Beth warned them. Melissa and Erin glared at each other, but they both sat still and kept quiet.
Larry breathed a sigh of relief as the van finally came to a stop in front of wrecked military blockade. Beyond it were the docks. There were only a few creatures milling around on the street and the closest was a good minute’s shambling away. Flexing his aching fingers, Larry jumped down from the van’s roof. This time, Hank managed to scramble down without injuring his friend.
The van’s side door slid open and they came face to face with the three girls. Two were pale and bleeding. Droplets of sweat glistened on their foreheads and one was emitting a low guttural moan.
“Erm … Nice to meet you ladies. I’m Larry and this here is Hank. Thanks for the save.”
“Beth,” the red-head nodded at him. The other two just stared.
“Are they okay?” Hank asked.
Larry opened his mouth to speak, but that’s as far as he got. With a snarl, the petite girl sprang at Beth. Beth rammed the butt of her pistol into the girl’s nose and sent her reeling backwards. With two well aimed, lightning shots, Beth sent her former friends to Hell.
Larry’s mouth hung open in shock. He snapped it shut then said, “That … that was brutal. I am utterly and totally impressed.”
“Stow it,” Beth grunted at him. “I say we grab what we can, find a boat, and make for the islands.”
“What islands?” Hank asked dreamily.
“Does it matter?” Beth replied with a thin smile.
“Suppose it doesn’t,” Larry agreed.
The blockade was littered with decaying, properly dead and half eaten corpses. Most of them were soldiers and there were weapons scattered around them. Larry whistled in appreciation as he helped himself to an M-16. He tossed Hank one as well.
“Bad ass,” he commented as he saw Beth test the weight of a discarded USAS-12 automatic shotgun. “Now that’s some firepower.”
“Didn’t help these guys much though, did it?” Beth said as she examined the boats moored up in the distance. “Either of you guys know how to sail? We don’t want something that’ll run out of fuel on us and leave us stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“Larry knows everything there is to know about boats, lady. We’re going deep sea fishing,” Hank informed her.
Beth’s expression was a mixture of pity and hope as she offered him a smile. “I hope so,” she said. “I really do.”
“Wait up a sec!” Larry ordered them as they started for the docks. He disappeared into a nearby gas station and emerged a few minutes later with his M-16 slung over his shoulder and carrying two cases of Bud Light and a bag of ice. “If we’re taking a fishing vacation, for who knows how long, by God, we’re going to do it right!”
The docks were clear of the dead as they boarded a small white fishing boat by the name of Seahorse. Larry cast off its lines as Beth and Hank loaded up what few supplies the three of them had been able to loot from neighbouring boats. A lone dead man came shuffling down the dock towards them at the last moment as the boat drifted free of the dock. Beth raised her automatic shotgun and put five rounds into its chest, cutting it in two.
“That’s for the girls,” Larry heard her whisper under her breath. He put a hand on her shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Larry pulled her to him and hugged her tight.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. “We’re safe n
ow. It’s all over.”
As the sun set over a dead world, the sail boat glided across a languid sea. Larry and Beth reclined in lawn chairs on the deck with cold beers in hand as Hank stood at the boat’s side railing, his line cast, and fishing pole in hand. “You see, Larry,” he told them. “Don’t you feel better now? This vacation rocks!”
THE END
HOME IS THE SAILOR,
HOME FROM THE SEA
By
William Meikle
I smoked too many cigarettes, sipped too much Highland Park and let Bessie Smith tell me just how bad men were. For once thin afternoon sun shone on Glasgow; the last traces of winter just a distant memory. Old Joe started up “Just One Cornetto” in the shop downstairs. I didn’t have a case, and I didn’t care.
It was Easter weekend, and all was right with the world.
I should have known it was too good to last.
I heard him coming up the stairs. Sherlock Holmes could have told you his height, weight, shoe-size and nationality from the noise he made. All I knew was that he was either ill or very old; he’d taken the stairs like he was climbing a mountain with a Sherpa on his back.
He rapped on the outside door.
Shave and a haircut, two bits.
“Come in. Adams Massage Services is open for business.”
At first I thought it was someone wandering in off the street. He was unkempt, unshaven, eyes red and bleary. He wore an old brown wool suit over a long, out of shape cardigan and his hair stood out from his scalp in strange clumps. I’ve rarely seen a man more in need of a drink.
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