Best New Zombie Tales Trilogy (Volume 1, 2 & 3)

by James Roy Daley

  “We’ve got a very special couple in the audience tonight,” Freddy said between songs. “They’re a wonderful coupla cats, gonna––that’s right, you know it––tie the knot day after tomorrow, on Valentine’s Day.” There was a little chorus of “Awwwws” from the audience. “That’s right. We all know about the power of eternal love.” Freddy nodded to Em and me. “Let’s hear a big round of applause for the soon-to-be happy couple Mr. and Mrs. Tony Stinson––!”

  The applause started and Em and I did some waving. Em was blushing something fierce there in the half-light and she wore it well. Freddy went on. He got a very serious look on his face.

  “That’s right, cats. We all know about the power of eternal love. About the bond that happens between a man and a woman who are totally––and I do mean totally––in love. And when I say they’re in love, I do mean love, L-U-V.” There was a faint spray of laughter. “But all kidding aside, I’m not joking around here, folks. Love. It’s serious business. And that’s why I’d like to dedicate this next song to Tony and Emily, the very special couple here tonight.”

  There was more applause.

  “Oh, Tony,” said Emily, snuggling up against me, and I saw that she was crying mascara tears down her pale cheeks. I fished my handkerchief out of the pocket of the Armani and dabbed at them, smearing black all over the handkerchief.

  Freddy started in with “Just Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.” Emily turned to kiss me in the darkness. When Freddy was done there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, including mine. That’s how great this guy was, total class, the best crooner in the business. I’m not kidding here. He knew it was time to liven things up so that’s why the band started playing a perky island beat.

  “All right, folks, there’s love and then there’s love. That’s why we’d like to do a little number for you––” he seemed to think about it for a minute–– “maybe on a cheery note. Got a song they sing down Jamaica way, in a place called the Caribbean, see they’ve got stories they like to tell about a creature called the ‘zombie.’ “Some people in the audience laughed a little. “Hey, this is serious,” said Freddy. “Hey, I think this audience is a buncha zombies. Heh heh. That’s why I think it’s time––how ’bout we have a special on zombies? Can we do that, Barry?” Freddy pointed at the bartender, who gave a big nod and a grin. “All right, then. Zombies, half off. Get out there, ya no-good cocktail girls. So now here’s a little song, hey, pick up the tempo, guys, a little song they sing down in the Carribean, something I like to call ‘Zombie Love.’”

  Freddy started singing. The song was something special, something happy and fun, about how “Zombie Love, it ain’t what it’s cracked up to be––” A cheery, happy song, and that’s why I almost forgot myself there in the darkness smoking my Black Lung double-filter. That’s why I ordered another drink when the applause rippled through the audience and Freddy was taking a bow for his happy little song called “Zombie Love.” And maybe there in the darkness I fell in love with Em all over again, like we were sixteen and horny, like we were just finding out what it’s all about. And that’s why I maybe drank a little too much and maybe so did Emily. So when we made our way out to the car park and the freckle-faced kid brought the car around I didn’t see the look in the punk’s eyes until it was way too late.

  The freckle-faced kid grinned his wide grin as I fumbled in my pocket for a bill to hand him. He gave me the keys and I groped after them. That’s when his other hand came up holding the .38.

  “Manny Pearlman sends his most heartfelt salutations on the happy occasion of your wedding, ass-wipe,” the kid said, quickly, and pulled the trigger twice.

  Emily just gasped, like she didn’t realize what was happening. But the front of the black-sequined cocktail dress blossomed and red sprayed over her face. Now the kid was gone and I was on my knees screaming.

  Em was looking up at me, her eyes suddenly glassy, her breath coming short. I looked into her face with sudden terror, sudden rage as I took her in my arms and whispered “Em?”

  “He seemed like a nice kid,” she told me, and then she was gone.

  * * *

  War for the future…no question about it. This was a new kind of war, and there were no fucking prisoners.

  * * *

  JT taught me that phrase when he was trying to talk me into nailing that little punk Donny Pearlman. I didn’t really want to hurt a man by killing one of his relatives, a non-combatant. Just didn’t seem to fit into the code I had grown up with. It just didn’t seem right.

  “There is no code,” JT had told me. “The stakes are too high. The world is a different place than it was, Tony. This is a war for the future. There are no rules.”

  * * *

  JT’s men had promised me revenge on Manny Pearlman. I didn’t want revenge. Way I saw it, nothing mattered anymore. Me and Manny were even, and if he and JT wanted to even up some bullshit score they had between them, that was their own problem. I just wanted out. I hooked up with an outfit, doing security on oil rigs up in Alaska. Maybe I thought the cold would freeze some of the hurt out of my soul. I buried Emily in that cocktail dress she was so proud of, and I wept behind my shades as I scattered Vegas dirt across the red roses on her coffin. Maybe she was the only fucking thing that mattered to me, but at least I knew it had been real. JT was right. It was a war for the future, and everybody had lost.

  * * *

  Sometimes I think I went a little nuts up there in Alaska. Maybe the cold froze out my brain, instead of my heart. When it started happening––when the dead started hauling their sorry maggot-eaten asses out of the grave––I realized that there was a chance, a tiny, tiny chance, that I might find my Emily, and she might welcome me with open arms.

  * * *

  Open arms is pretty close to the mark. But it’s not exactly what I had in mind.

  * * *

  Roses. Dead roses. Everywhere.

  I come to my senses with her hands all over me. She’s clawing and scratching, biting and tearing, uttering a nightmare wail like fingernails on the chalkboard of the damned. Or something. She’s got her body up against me and her legs spread around me, grinding her crotch against mine, and so help me I’ve got a hard-on even though I’m bleeding all over. The Johnnie Walker is spilled across my suit. I’m pressed against the bed and Emily has got the tie pulled tight, strangling me. Somehow she’s gotten loose from the bonds. I feel her teeth closing on my throat and it seems like she’s ripping me open. That’s when I see her wrist, and I know in a flash what she’s done. She got free from the ropes by gnawing all the flesh off her wrist. And then using that mangled hand to free the other. Goo smears across my face. I hit her hard but she won’t budge. I reach out blindly for the nightstand and manage to pop open the top drawer. I feel the butt of the .45 and haul it out, thumbing off the safety. The Armani’s come loose and Emily gets her teeth closed on a chunk of my neck, ripping it out with a shred of my shirt. I scream as I feel the flesh tearing. While she’s chewing that one I get the barrel of the .45 into her mouth amid the pulpy mass of my skin.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her as I pull the trigger.

  One ankle is still tied to the bottom of the bed frame, so she flies halfway out of bed and sprawls there ruined and dangling. The pain in my shoulder is overwhelming, it’s throbbing and blood is running all over the bed. I look down at Emily and I start to think I should cry, but I just don’t feel like it anymore. I kneel over her, amid the scattered rose-petals and upended candleholders, and look into Emily’s ruined face.

  “Flights of angels, baby,” I say. It’s hard not to cry.

  Sadly, I bend down and kiss the gaping mass that was her mouth a minute ago. One last kiss, tortured and romantic. She tastes like chorizo.

  Far below, I hear the sound of breaking glass.

  I go to the window. Below, bleached in the white glare of the full moon, mingled with my reflection, stretching out as far as I can see across the moonlit desert, is a sea of th
e dead, garbed in Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts, black peg pants and dealer’s vests, tuxedos and cocktail dresses, plaid and crepe and pinstripe. All the freaks in Vegas, a rotting ocean of shambling bodies come to Church at midnight to claim one of their own.

  The front of the Armani is caked with gore. My shoulder is torn open and my flesh shows. I pull the jacket off, grunting from pain, and set it on the bloodied bed. I peel off my shirt and look down my shoulder, with its missing chunk of flesh where Emily gave me her final, insistent, kiss. The wound glistens wetly in the candlelight. I turn back to the window, where the dead burbling pricks are mounting the walls.

  “Guess the war’s over,” I say to nobody, or to my reflection.

  I feel the dull dead weight of the .45 in my hand.

  Downstairs, the dead are climbing.

  ‘Til Decay Do Us Part

  MYRRYM DAVIES

  You’re listening to WZBI 1320, Zombie Talk Radio—your source for the latest in zombie-related news, weather and traffic conditions. Up next: ‘TIL DECAY DO US PART with Dr. Johnny Quietus.

  * * *

  “Hello! Welcome to ‘Til Decay Do Us Part, the only talk show dedicated to helping zombies—and those who love them—cope with the unique changes Undeath brings to a relationship. I’m your host, Dr. Johnny Quietus. Assisting me tonight is my lovely wife, Gina. Say ‘hello’, Gina!”

  “Huuuuh.”

  “Gina’s feeling a bit under the weather tonight. Probably something she ate. I’m sure she’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Gina?”

  “Aaaah.”

  “Right! Now then, tonight’s topic is Intimacy and Infidelity in an Undead Relationship. Y’know, it’s hard enough keeping a marriage together when both partners are alive, but when one becomes a zombie…well, that requires some pretty big adjustments, mentally and physically. We understand how difficult it can be to adapt to these necessary—and sometimes shocking—changes. That’s why we’re here: to help you face those challenges and get the most out of your relationship. I see we already have a few callers on hold. Gina? Would you please patch our first guest through?”

  “Aauuh.”

  “Thanks, Sugar…Hello caller! Welcome to ‘Til Decay Do Us Part.”

  “Gaauuh…uh.”

  “Hi there, Karen. Thanks for calling. What’s on your mind this evening?”

  “Aaaaaaaaaahh…uuhrrrrr.”

  “So, let me get this straight: you feel your husband spends too much time with the non-deceased, and you’re worried he may be cheating on you with a live woman. Correct?”

  “Uuh?”

  “I see. Tell me, Karen—is your husband a relatively new zombie?”

  “Gaaaaah.”

  “Uh-huh. And…well, I know this is a delicate question to ask a lady, but how long have you been a Zombified Citizen?”

  “Uuuuuuh.”

  “Hmmm…yes. Well, Karen, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Your husband probably spends so much time with the living because he has only recently become a zombie. Chances are he’s simply feeding and…testing the waters, so to speak. Going from being alive to being Undead in the space of a few hours can be very disconcerting. Think back to when you were a fledgling; the confusion and hunger you felt in those first weeks of your Undeath. It probably took you a while to come to terms with who and what you are. Your husband needs time to adjust too. Be supportive, of course, but give him a little space—sometimes guys just want to work things through by themselves. Once he’s comfortable with his new identity, he’ll be less likely to wander.”

  “Guuhh.”

  “No, Karen, thank you. Take care, and don’t hesitate to call us should you have any other concerns.

  “Okay! I see we’re up against a commercial break. When we return, we’ll dig into the listener mailbag.”

  * * *

  Do you or a loved one suffer from Premature Decomposition Syndrome? PDS affects ninety-nine percent of all Zombified Citizens, and is the leading cause of dermatological putrefaction and appendage loss in persons two or more years Undead.

  There’s no cure for PDS, but advances in treating the symptoms of the disease are being made every day. DeadLife Pharmaceuticals is proud to announce a new weapon in the fight against this disfiguring malady: Shellac.

  When applied to the skin, Shellac has been proven to slow the decomposition process in seventy percent of PDS patients with mild-to-moderate dermatological putrefaction, reducing the overall risk of appendage loss. Side effects are mild and may include joint stiffness and tackiness of the skin. Early diagnosis and regular follow-ups greatly increase your chances of treating this debilitating disease.

  Don’t let the ravages of PDS interfere with your busy lifestyle. Contact your ZomCare provider today and ask them if Shellac is right for you. This message paid for by DeadLife Pharmaceuticals.

  * * *

  “And we’re back! For those just tuning in, you’re listening to ‘Til Decay Do Us Part. I’m your host, Johnny Quietus. Now, here’s an interesting letter from a listener in Delaware. It reads:

  Dear Dr. Quietus,

  My husband, Mack, and I have been married for twenty-eight joyous years. Even Mack’s untimely Undeath had no effect on our love. Not at first, anyway.

  It’s been a little over a year since my husband became a zombie, and things have changed. We’ve always had a very fulfilling relationship, both spiritually and physically, but lately Mack’s grown unresponsive. He won’t give me so much as goodnight kiss; much less engage in more intimate activities.

  I’ve been very supportive of him since his zombification, but I just don’t know what to do anymore. Attempts to discuss the matter have been met with either a blank stare or a dismissive grunt. I love Mack, Dr. Quietus, but I have needs too, and they aren’t being met. Is this the end of our happy marriage?

  Desperate in Delaware

  “Oh, dear…Desperate, let me start by saying I understand your frustration. When my Gina became a zombie, she was somewhat indifferent to my romantic gestures, herself. But with a little patience and understanding, we were able to work through it. We’ve both made numerous adjustments over the years, and I feel our marriage is stronger than ever! Wouldn’t you agree, Gina?”

  “Guuuh…uuu.”

  “I love you too! Now, Desperate, I hope you’re listening tonight because I have a couple of suggestions for you. First, don’t take your husband’s impassive behavior personally. The reason for his lack of communication could be physiological. I’d suggest taking Mack in for a checkup at your earliest convenience. He may be suffering from esophageal decomposition. Or maybe he simply has food stuck in his throat. A reputable ZomCare provider can check for these and other afflictions, and give you advice on working around any physical issues.

  “Another thing you must understand is your husband is dealing with certain changes he may find difficult to discuss with you. His indifference to your sexual overtures may be his way of covering up feelings of inadequacy. Physical deterioration is a big problem for zombies and it has some pretty embarrassing consequences, including tissue shrinkage and abrupt limb loss. Imagine how awkward it would be for Mack should his…ah, ‘manhood’ detach during foreplay. The very thought of it may be enough for him to shirk his husbandly duties. Again, a good ZomCare provider can assess your husband’s extremities and offer treatment options that are right for you and Mack. Good luck, Desperate, and keep us updated on how things are going.

  “Okay, well, I was hoping to take a few callers, but it looks like we’re up against another commercial break. Back after this message from Bradley’s Brain Emporium.”

  * * *

  Bradley’s Brain Emporium & Butcher Shop offers the juiciest brains and freshest viscera in the Southeast. They’re the exclusive provider of quality meats to top, zombie-owned restaurants like Visceratti’s and Resurrection, and have been voted ‘Best Meat Shack’ by Modern Zombie Magazine five years running.

  At Bradley’s,
you’ll find everything you need to create a gourmet meal—all at prices you can afford! Need something special for that important business dinner? Bradley’s now offers catering for groups of ten or more! Choose from a variety of innards, add some savory side dishes and a gallon of our Bodily Fluid Blend, and you’ll be set to impress. In a hurry? Call 555-4BRAINS to place your order by phone. We’ll have your cuts wrapped and ready to go when you get here—guaranteed.

  For quality meats at prices you can afford, there’s no place like Bradley’s. Stop by today!

  * * *

  “…spleen puree is a little hard to come by at the Piggly Wiggly, Gina. You’d probably have to go to…what?”

  “Uuuh.”

  “Oh, hi there, folks! Didn’t realize we were back on the air. Y’know, Gina and I were talking during the break about the amazing progress our zombie friends have made in the few short years they’ve been granted citizenship. Take the owners of Visceratti’s and Bradley’s, for instance. Those guys aren’t business majors or marketing experts—just a couple of hard-working zombies with the foresight to tap into the Undead market. And look at them now! Mr. Bradley is catering to some of the finest restaurants in the country; Visceratti’s is rated number two worldwide for their incredible Undead Cuisine. I think that says a lot about the entrepreneurial spirit of our Zombified Citizens, don’t you, Gina?”