Tales of the Zombie Apocalypse (Issue #3 | October 2015)

by Anthony, Michael

  As she neared the peak of the hill she felt her legs give way, she gasped and fought to grab on to thin air, somehow hoping in her desperation that she would find something to pull up on, to keep running, to avoid the monsters behind her. Before she knew it she hit the ground with a loud crunch, and her wrist was in agony. Her right wrist, god damn it, the one she needed as her left one was already injured. She had practically lost the use of both hands now in this nightmare, but she winced through the pain as she pushed herself off the ground.

  She stole a quick glance behind her. The zombies were following, and their pursuit was almost complete. She absolutely had to get to that green door of safety in the old garage. With every ounce of her strength she forced her feet in front of one another as fast as they would go. Her heavy breathing and the loud groans of the zombies were all she could hear, but soon enough the green door was right in front of her.

  She fumbled clumsily with the latch on the garage door, lifting it up just enough to barrel roll underneath, but as she tried to close the door behind her, she saw mangled, decaying fingers sneaking underneath the garage door.

  "HELP!" she screamed, waking her only surviving friend, Cal, from his nap in an old chair in the corner. "Cal, for Christ's sake help me!" Cal leapt to his feet, immediately dragging the garage door down, crushing the zombie's fingers, and bolting the door to ensure their safety.

  "They're strong!" Jenna sighed, as if it was a surprise that these inhumane zombies, with a blood thirst like no other, would be anything but freakishly strong. "Ew!" Jenna yelped, as she realized the zombie's decimated fingers were on their side of the door. Cal nodded and silently dragged the reinforced concrete blocks back across the entrance to further secure the steel that made up the door, hiding the mutilated fingers from her sight.

  Jenna winced as Cal bandaged her newly damaged wrist to a splint to keep it straight. Neither of them possessed an ounce of medical knowledge, so they couldn't be sure whether she had fractured or broken it, but Cal cared so much for her that he wasn't about to risk it. Until they could get to more survivors, he was going to take the best care of her that he possibly could.

  "So, what's the plan now?" Jenna asked.

  "I really dunno," Cal shrugged, "But we need to get the hell away from here now that those hideous creatures know where our safe place is. It's only a matter of time before they figure out how to get in here, and I sure as hell don't wanna be in here when that happens. I'm sick to death of feeling like their fast food, we need to find more survivors and band together," he finished.

  "I heard on the radio in the store back there some people talking about getting to the intersection of 5th and Main, they've converted a loft, there's doctors there, and food stocks to last. They were talking about an antidote..." Jenna reeled off the information she'd heard before the zombies had discovered her and she'd pelted back to the garage. "I know it's a good eight mile journey, but we have the fuel from yesterday, and I managed to get this," Jenna continued, emptying her jeans and jacket pockets of protein bars, energy drinks and snacks. Cal directed a warm smile at her, and she grinned back; his acceptance was important to her, and knowing she had done a good job and brought him good news filled her with pride.

  "Nice one, so we should reenergize, do you need a sleep?" he asked her.

  "No, no, I'm way too pumped, we should go sooner rather than later," she stated, trying to put on a brave face for him, but truly dreading facing the zombies when they would have to run to the car.

  "Cool, so I'll take the lookout spot and wait for them to disperse," Cal said, "And then we'll make a run for the car. I'll drive."

  The way in which he spoke ensured Jenna knew there was no room for negotiation on this one. Last time she'd tried to drive, she'd stalled the car, and their friend Ian was ripped from the passenger seat and devoured in front of their eyes. It was dreadful, and Jenna placed her head in her hands as she remembered her desperation at trying to start the engine again, Cal trying to drag Ian back into the car even though his legs had been torn off. His piercing screams were going through her head as the zombies ripped and tore at his mutilated flesh, enjoying their first human meal of the day. She shook her head to try to shake the thoughts. As heartless as it made her feel, she couldn't dwell on Ian's death. Even knowing it was her own fault, she had to remain positive and believe there was hope for her and Cal.

  Cal climbed the ladder to the rafters of the garage, and looked out the one tiny window that was in their safe house. The zombies were still pawing at the garage door below, desperate to get in and finish their feast of human flesh.

  He hesitated only for a second before he grabbed the cool-box he'd been hiding from Jenna. He felt despicable for it, but gathering Ian's body parts before they rotted was the only way he could protect the Jenna and himself. He opened the window just a crack, closed his eyes, grabbed the nearest body part he could think of and hurled it as far as he could. The zombies, attracted by the sound of what turned out be a falling hand, ran and stumbled, groaning across the square a good 30 to 40 yards away. Wow, Cal really could throw, he first thought.

  His second thought was that he and Jenna needed to leave, now, before the zombies came back for them. He grabbed as much food and water as he could and flew down the stairs, not uttering a word to Jenna. He got the car keys in his other hand, nodded to her, moved the concrete blocks and eased the door open. After a hesitant check to make sure there were no zombies in the immediate proximity, they ran as fast as they could to the red 4x4 they'd stolen some days previous.

  Jenna winced as she opened the door and realized the strange substance on her hands was Ian's blood. She slammed the door and wiped her hands on the upholstery, shedding the thought from her mind. Cal turned the key in the ignition, and the car coughed, spluttered, and failed to start up.

  "Hell!" he whispered under his breath, trying the key again. Once more the car made a feeble attempt to strike up, but failed, leaving them sat there in silence. Jenna didn't dare to say a word, she knew Cal's temper was unpredictable, and the two of them fighting right now would only make things worse and draw attention to them. Cal rubbed the car's key in between his hands, kissed it, looked to the heavens and tried once more. The car rumbled, wheezed, and just as Jenna thought all hope was lost, it roared to life. The immense sound of the engine startled the zombies only a mere few yards away, and as approximately thirty undead monsters started towards them, Cal floored the accelerator, and they were away.

  "Woohoo!" Jenna screamed and punched the air, "Cal you did it! You freaking did it oh my God!" she squealed. Cal couldn't help but smile as he looked at the excitement she was showing off. He knew in her mind that she thought they were safe now, but they still had some way to go, their fuel indicator was on, and he knew it was a bold and risky move.

  Before they knew it, they'd lost the horde of zombies that had initially chased them away from the safe place, and they were nearing their destination. Cal tried not to let himself get too hopeful, as he knew anything could happen in the half a mile they had left. Just as those thoughts had crossed his mind, the engine of the 4x4 began to dull and cut out. Cal let the car roll and drift as long as he could. Jenna panicked and looked around in all directions. As Cal jumped out of the dead car, he grabbed their bags and ran to the passenger side to let Jenna out.

  "We have to move, quickly," he stressed to her as he held both of her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "Promise me you'll do exactly as I say?" he pleaded. Jenna simply nodded and took his hand with her less injured left one. Cal didn't "do" affection, but he knew Jenna needed to feel safe, so he allowed it.

  They jogged steadily towards their destination, luckily Jenna knew the way based on what she had heard over the radio, and she was familiar with the area having worked here before the virus broke out. The thought of an antidote was all that kept her legs moving, or she feared she might have buckled and given in there and then. As they rounded corner after corner, the last half a mile to their
destination felt like it was taking an eternity. Suddenly, Jenna stopped dead in her tracks.

  "Wha---" Cal was stopped short by Jenna glaring at him and putting her finger on her lips. Soon enough, he heard it. The low groans of the undead. "Damn" he whispered, and pulled her towards an open door he'd seen.

  As they hid behind the door, which wouldn't lock, they could hear the groans getting louder. Their destination was only a few yards away. They could see it from the doorway, but the shuffling, moaning zombie was blocking their route. The pair knew they either had to run and risk it, or stay put and die.

  As if telepathically, they looked at one another, nodded, and ran straight for the undead monster. At first, Jenna was convinced it looked stunned, until she remembered the creatures were void of emotion. She narrowed her eyes and increased her pace, hoping to run fast enough to get past it that it wouldn't reach her. She broke her contact with Cal, knowing he would follow her and was more than capable of looking after himself.

  She neared the zombie, looking straight past it at the red door she knew was their destination. Before she knew it she was in line with it, and could see its rotting flesh covered arms reaching for her. She felt the scrape of its scabby finger against the flesh of her arm but just kept running, she could hear its groans as if they were coming from her very own mouth, but she just kept running. She reached the door and it flew open, the human survivors must have been watching her escape. But before she knew it the door slammed shut again, and she was alone with the strangers.

  "No, my friend..." she started, but an old man with a friendly face and glasses turned her around to look out of a small window. She felt the screams start in her stomach and barely recognized them as they filled the air around them.

  Through the window, she could see Cal on the ground. Eight or nine zombies were tearing at his skin, picking out his organs like a buffet. The zombies seemed to be moaning with delight as Cal writhed on the floor still alive but helpless to his fate. She later learned from the survivors that he had died protecting her. As the zombie reached out for her, Cal tackled it from behind. The zombie had howled in distress, and more had swarmed the area almost immediately, ripping at his skin and feasting on the blood that flooded the streets.

  It was that night that she sobbed. The image of Cal's writhing body being devoured by those monsters would not leave her mind. She may be safe, the survivors had plenty of food and resources, the cure was on its way, but she wished more than anything in that moment that it was Cal that was safe and not her. Life wouldn't be worth living without him.

  “The Rewards of Chaos in a Dying World”

  Story #8

  By

  Jackson Hewlett

  Part 1: The Wages of Death

  Yanking on the cord a few times, Thomas brought the chainsaw to life and held it up for the entire crowd to see. Nearly everyone put up their fists and cheered, shouting at him on the stage to give them a show.

  "You catch them, and we destroy them," Thomas shouted above the roar of the buzzing machine. He then turned to a handful of men and nodded his head. Without hesitating, they undid the lock on a heavy steel door and slid it open. One of the large men came forward with a noose on a long pole and stepped through the doorway. When he emerged, he kept his distance from an enraged zombie at the other end of the rope, an animal that thrashed and pulled wildly.

  "Look, an evil creature from the pits of hell, sent to feed on us." Thomas shouted to the crowd. The large man led the zombie forward while trying to maintain as much distance as he could. The crowd cheered again, and the zombie turned and struggled in vain to reach them. The large man throttled back on the pole, tightening the noose and pulling back on the creature to keep it from jumping from the stage.

  "Let the show begin," Thomas cried out. The group of men used as much caution as they could as the tied the undead creature to a wooden table facing out toward the crowd. After the zombie was secured, they each took several steps back and waited.

  Thomas set down the chainsaw momentarily and put on a clear, plastic face shield. When he retrieved his chainsaw, he again thrust it into the air to the roar and delight of the compound's crowd. When he turned to look at the zombie, it was pulling as hard as it could on its binding, stretching out his head at one of the men that stood by. It seemed totally unaware of what was about to happen.

  Once, this undead thing had been a man, maybe a worker in a factory or a manager at an office. Now, its skin had grayed and started to fall off, putrefied insides were bulging at the seams. A large slash ran down its face and neck where it had been cut only a week before at its capture. This thing was no longer a man, it was death itself.

  Thomas aimed the blade at its leg and sank it in. Blood flew from the opening as small chunks of flesh were spewed up and away. And then the ragged leg fell to the ground.

  The zombie was out of control now, its head seizing back and forth and from side to side as it tried to rip itself free and get to Thomas. He made quick work of the second leg before turning to the crowd and screaming out in triumph at his satisfaction. He was going to give them the show they came for.

  Next he took a few stabs at the arms without removing them. Not even bothering to find the exact spot for any joint, he twisted the chainsaw about a few times in the zombie's sides. There seemed to be no end to the muck that was starting to fill the floor of the stage.

  Finally, he started on the torso at the bottom, slowly dragging the blade upward. When he got to the chest, the monster vibrated and convulsed, racking the entire table as the chainsaw ripped into flesh and carved the chest cavity in two. Intestines, stomach, liver, and an untold amount of liquid poured forth and slopped onto the stage.

  When Thomas reached the head, he slowed even more, and inch by inch, he separated the right from the left. The jaw ceased chomping as the equipment cut it, and the dead stare split into one eye and another. As he pulled the chainsaw up and away, the entire corpse fell away, one piece to each side as the arms were still bound by rope.

  Thomas stepped forward and turned the chainsaw off. The entire insides of the zombie were there for anyone to see, bones split in two and brain sawed in half like some nightmarish anatomy project. One of the men who had tied down the zombie couldn't hold it in anymore, and turning away, threw up over the side of the stage.

  "My friends, this is your revenge. Are you not entertained?" he roared, lifting his bloodied hands. The large crowd answered back with calls of more and clapping.

  "Bring us more, and you'll have more," Thomas screamed to them. "You'll be paid in extra rations for every zombie you catch, and you'll choose the way they're sent to hell. Bring us more!"

  Part 2: Time to Cash Out

  Ethan was bleeding and badly. The wound had hit one of his arteries in his leg, and there seemed to be an endless flow of blood. He fell against the wall of the empty house, and taking off his t-shirt, ripped a length of fabric from it. It wouldn't stop the bleeding, but tying it tightly enough might slow it long enough for them to get help.

  "Promise me," he said to Henry, who guarded the closed door.

  "I'm not promising you anything," he replied. "We're going to get you out of here."

  "No," Ethan repeated. "Promise me if I don't make it, you'll strip the skin from that zombie before you pour gasoline over it and blast it with fire."

  "You're going to make it, and Thomas will congratulate us on the catch. He'll probably even let you dump the gas on it." Henry moved a table in front of the door in an attempt to buy some time. Right as he did so, a huge thump rocked the door frame. On the other side came the moaning and screams of the undead.

  "You know, we were no one before the apocalypse, and now we're zombie catchers. Now the whole town loves us," Ethan said. "Promise me, after I die, you'll put a bullet in me so I don't come back as one."

  "Never."

  But as blood continued to pour from Ethan, his eyes dimmed and his breathing became shallower.

  "Promise me," he
sputtered one more time. But before Henry could respond again, his friend was dead. As the pounding on the door grew louder, Henry screamed. Just yesterday, he and Ethan had been in the crowd, enjoying the destruction of the undead. And now, now his friend was nothing but a corpse himself.

  Henry fired his rifle through the door four or five times as he screamed, but the pounding did not stop. Finally, he walked over to Ethan's body, and removing a pistol, shot him twice in the head to ensure he couldn't return as a zombie. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

  Putting the pistol to his head, he listened to the sound of fists on wood as they hit the door again and again. When nothing changed, he lowered the gun and stared at the door for another minute.

  To hell with it all, he thought. I have to do right by him.

  Picking up his friend's dead body, he lifted it onto the desk before yanking the desk away from the door. He wasn't going to have much of a shot, but he might be able to pull this off.

  He waited for what seemed like forever, as the animals beat on the door, the hinges slowly giving way. With his rifle unmoving from its target, he was going to give them everything or die trying. When the door collapsed and fell forward, he screamed out and fired again and again. The first shot knocked back one of the zombie's head as blood burst backward onto the wall. Another shattered nose and teeth as it dispatched with the undead.

  The zombies went for Ethan's body first, giving Henry just enough time to place his shots. 7 zombies and 6 head shots. Henry realized that he was still screaming when he took the butt of his rifle and smashed it into the face of the last remaining zombie, quickly and skillfully shackling its hands and feet. The monster had one time been a doctor of some sort and still had his scrubs on.