Undead Worlds 2: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Anthology

by Authors, Various

  Silence fell upon the scene, like someone dropping a curtain. I felt my heart hammering away in my chest.

  “Should we check out Neal?” Jenkins asked.

  “We?” I asked, looking back at him. “You mean me, right?”

  Jenkins had his hands clutched to his chest reminding me of a little girl. “Well, you are the closest.”

  Killing the old lady wasn’t enough, I guess. I had to check on what once was a vital, young man who now was probably dead. With the amount of blood pooling around his body, there was very little doubt of that.

  I made my way over to Neal’s bloody corpse and looked down. His lifeless eyes peered up and past me, looking into the great beyond. One of his hands still clung to his throat as if he could have kept all his blood in with that futile gesture.

  “Is he dead?” Jenkins asked from behind me.

  I just nodded my head.

  “Do you think he will turn into one of those things?”

  My chest tightened for a moment, then I said, “If what the reports say is true, then yes.”

  “Shouldn’t we do something about him?”

  “Again with the we,” I said. “You want me to do something?”

  “I guess, yes.”

  “You realize that he died all because you wanted one of those pretzels, right? We came down here from our safe haven because you just had to have one of those damned things.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  My vision became blurry, and I saw spots dancing behind my eyes. For some reason, I felt like I wasn’t getting enough oxygen. I dug my fingernails into my palms and the pain brought me back from the edge.

  “Sorry,” was all that Jenkins said.

  I refused to look at him. “Get back upstairs. I have to clean up this mess.”

  I pulled my gun out this time. I had had enough of mop handles. Neal deserved to a better ending, but it was the best I could do for him.

  I wasn’t good with words when it came to death. I had only known Neal for a very brief time, so a eulogy was out of the question. Besides, there was no one around to hear it.

  I did what I had to do and got it over with. Goodbye, Neal. Neal, who had worked at the pretzel shop and served us soft, warm, and salty deliciousness. Neal, who would be among the first of many people I would have to watch die over the next few months.

  This is how day one at the mall ended. I hoped the next day would be a better one, but it surely wasn’t.

  Malls are supposed to be cheery places of vapid consumerism -- until they’re overrun with zombies. Who knew a mall could go from a place where material dreams came true to a real nightmare?

  Two days ago, I was flying across the country with my protectee, Sam Jenkins, a key witness in a case against a nefarious East coast mobster. As a U.S. Marshall, it was my job to set him up in a new identity in the witness protection program. Sunny San Diego was his intended destination, but instead, we were forced to land in San Antonio.

  At first, I thought it was mechanical problems, but once we got inside the airport, rumors swirled about a viral outbreak. Mixed into the morass of rumors and gossip was the news that all flights were canceled. That caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

  The powers that be said there was nothing to worry about, but I knew that was bullshit. There was no way that every flight across the country was grounded for a little burp in safety and security. That last and only time I remember that happening was 9/11. I learned just how serious it was when Jenkins and I saw a zombie chow down on a man in our hotel. It all went downhill from there. Chaos ensued, and it was every man for himself. Since Jenkins was my responsibility, I didn’t have that option. I had to keep him safe and sound.

  Call it my overzealous dedication to duty. That or plain stubbornness. Zombie apocalypse be damned. I hadn’t lost a protectee yet, and I didn’t intend to do it now.

  That’s how we ran into a cop named McKinney and that’s how we ended up at the mall. He said it was safe there, and it was -- until it wasn’t. Then things got really ugly. But that didn’t happen right away.

  “I’m hungry,” Jenkins said.

  “You look like you’re always hungry,” I said. Jenkins wasn’t corpulent, but it looked like he rarely took only one trip to the buffet table.

  “Can we go to the food court?”

  We had taken refuge inside a hair salon on the second floor of the mall. I didn’t want to be at street level with those things out there walking around. Plus, it gave us a decent view outside through a window in the back hallway. Not that it offered a lot of optimism.

  The salon wasn’t overly swanky, but it had some decent couches we were using as makeshift beds. It also had a ready supply of water which is necessary for human life. Or so I have been told.

  “Do I have to remind you of what happened the last time we went to the food court?”

  Jenkins went silent, but that didn’t mean everyone was going to remain quiet.

  “Mr. Grant, I’m hungry, too.” This came from a cute as a button seven-year-old named Martin who had just stepped up beside me. He was part of a family who had taken refuge with us. Well, a partial family. Dad was missing in action with no word on his whereabouts. He had gone missing when the world went to hell in a handbasket.

  Mom was there with Martin. Her name was Joni and, on the surface, she came across like any TV-family mom of three -- haggard, but with an underlying sense of scrappiness. She wasn’t all that tall but had a runner’s body, lean with sinewy muscles. If I had to sum her up with one word, I would say spunky.

  The other two members of the family were Travis and Jessica. Travis was cast as the sullen teenager of fifteen who came across more disturbed that his iPhone had lost service than the fact that the world may be circling the drain. Life without text messages was a life not worth living, I guess. The last member was Jessica, and her role was that of the sassy and precocious nine-year-old.

  Joni just seemed ill-fitted for Texas. It wasn’t something specific. Just a vibe I got from her.

  I turned to Martin and said, “Hey, I told you to call me Grant. Not Mr. Grant.”

  He seemed to like my lack of formality because he let loose with a big smile that both warmed my heart and caused me concern. Let me state for the records that I wasn’t ready to become a father-figure since his dad was MIA.

  “Okay Mr. Grant, can we go get something to eat? I sure would love a twist cone from that ice cream store.”

  I scratched my head for a moment and said, “I guess we could. You’ll need to ask your mom first.”

  His face scrunched up for a moment as he contemplated the request to ask his mother. “Do I have to?” He asked.

  “Yes, you do,” I said.

  He didn’t like my response, but he decided it was the only way to get what he wanted. He turned and started trudging toward the back of the salon to his mom, his shoulders slumped, like man on death row.

  “How come you decided to go when the kid asked you, but you shut me down?” Jenkins asked.

  “Well, he’s a growing boy who needs his nutrition and you’re a grown man who looks like he has some reserves to live off of.” He narrowed his eyes at my playful barb. “Besides, his mom will shut him down, anyway. That leaves me off the hook from being the bad guy.”

  “Chicken shit,” Jenkins replied.

  I heard someone clear their throat behind me. A man reclined in one of the salon chairs, a tan Stetson tilted over his face. This gentleman rounded out our cast of zombie apocalypse refugees and was a mall guard named Carl. He was a crusty guy of around sixty, but with his grizzled gray beard, that estimate could go five years either way.

  “Yes, Carl?” I asked but didn’t really want to hear his response. Carl was the resident know-it-all and one of the few locals still at the mall. I found it very curious as to why he was still here while all the other resident San Antonians who worked at the mall had fled for home.

  “Let me tell you, hombre, it’s a sca
ry world out there,” Carl replied leaning forward in the salon chair. He pushed the brim of his Stetson back on his head revealing his weather-worn face.

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” I said.

  “Some of the dead ones got into Claire’s --”

  “Claire’s? Is that someone you know?”

  “It’s a store. They sell earrings and jingle-jangle thingies for the teenie boppers. You don’t get out much, do you?” I didn’t answer, so he continued with his story. “Anyways, these dead ones are trapped inside. I think they ate a couple folks.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, alarm bells going off in my head. So far, I had only seen two people get eaten, and that was two too many in my book.

  “Well, while you all were sleeping, I was out doing my rounds. I know, I know, I’m not on the clock anymore, but old habits are hard to break. Anyways, when I get to Claire’s I see what I thought was melted chocolate smeared all over one of the windows.”

  I sighed inside, knowing Carl was building for one of his long-winded stories.

  “As you probably guessed, that wasn’t chocolate. It was blood. While I’m inspecting that, one of those dead bastards slams into the window, holding someone’s foot. As in a foot no longer attached to a body. And this zombie’s chewing on it like it’s a turkey leg. I tell you, I just about lost my lunch.”

  I looked over to Jenkins. His eyes glazed over as the gruesome scene played through his mind. His pallor had shifted from his normal pasty white to a shade of green. Maybe that would squelch his appetite?

  “And you decided to wait until now to let us know?”

  “Well, they can’t get out of there. I shut the security doors.” Carl shrugged sheepishly.

  “Next time, Carl, let me know sooner about incidents like this. We are only two stores away from Claire’s.”

  Carl sat forward in the chair and gave me what he probably hoped was a hard stare. Instead, it made him look cockeyed. “Who put you in charge, anyway?”

  “I’m not. I’m just trying to save my ass like the rest of us. Well yes, and his ass.” I jerked a thumb toward Jenkins. “Zombies down the hall seems like a need-to-know fact that you should have shared.”

  Footsteps approached from the back of the store. Martin wore a smiled that spread from ear to ear as he bounced toward me and I knew I was in trouble.

  He stopped and beamed up at me and. “Mom said I can go down to the food court with you. Jessica’s hungry too so we’re all going! She said it would be like a picnic.”

  I couldn’t see anything in this scary, new world being a picnic. I probably should have headed out on my own to get food to bring back, but there I was being a people pleaser again.

  “You can’t very well go without me,” Carl replied, holding up the expansive ring of keys he so generously showed us about once an hour. He had the keys to the kingdom, and he was its lord and master.

  I let out a sigh and said, “The more, the merrier, I guess.”

  Jenkins spoke up and his voice cracked a little. “Do I have to go?”

  “Well, it was your idea in the first place,” I said. “Besides, that would leave you here all alone. You don’t want that, do you?”

  I saw the wheels turning behind his eyes and he must have come to the conclusion that risking a trip out of the salon was better than being alone. “Okay, I’ll go.” He didn’t look too confident in his choice.

  “Jessica, Martin, stay next to me,” Joni commanded as she joined our merry little band. “There will be no running off. Do you understand?”

  “Mom, shouldn’t we stay in here until the police or someone gets here?” Jessica asked as she looked past me and into the mall beyond.

  I leaned down and put on a confident smile. “Listen, you know that there is strength in numbers. Right?” She nodded reluctantly. “Good! We can watch each other’s backs.” I offered my hand in a high five gesture.

  She looked up at her mom and then back at me and said, “High fives are so lame.”

  Joni shut that down fast. “That was rude, Jessica. You apologize to Mr. Grant.”

  “Please call me Grant,” I said.

  Looking chided, Jessica said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Grant.”

  Maybe someday they’d listen and call me Grant.

  “That’s okay, sweetie,” I said. “We’ll be okay.” I turned back to Carl. “Can you get the door?”

  “Travis!” Joni shouted back into the store. “I said now. And put the phone down. There is no service. It’s just a waste of time.” She turned back to me with a sheepish grin. “Kids. You know?”

  But I didn’t know. There were no kids in my life and no prospects of them. Maybe never.

  Carl went into motion and thirty seconds later the metal accordion door clattered open and we were on our way.

  As Carl pointed out, I didn’t get out much. My life consisted of work, work, and more work. Maybe that’s why my relationships never worked out?

  Malls weren’t a part of my habit, but let me tell you something; empty malls are creepy. You’d think with all the bright colors that were scientifically proven to get us to buy, buy, buy, the atmosphere would somehow ward off all the doom and gloom of our circumstance, but that wasn’t the case.

  The salon we now called home was on the second floor, so we were forced to head downward and that got us closer to the roaming dead ones. While we had listened and watched whatever breaking news reports we could until the cell and television networks collapsed under the strain, we still knew very little about these dead things.

  I knew enough from my detective days to determine that half of what the news carried was bullshit. The other half was overblown to get ratings, but the little I could discern said we were in trouble. Serious trouble.

  This wasn’t a localized thing. Reports told us that it wasn’t just a national crisis, but a global one. It was rolling like a tsunami across the planet and there seemed to be no stopping it.

  To make matters worse, no one knew what caused it. One day, the dead were dead and the next, they were up and roaming around looking for people to munch down on. The truth was that it didn’t matter how it started, it was here and the dead were here, ready to turn us into dinner.

  We hit the first floor and it didn’t seem any cheerier down there. The whole group felt it and tacitly paused.

  Carl said, jangling his large key ring. “Come on, gang. The food court is wide open. Time for some decent food.”

  As we started forward, Martin slid in next to me and tugged at my shirt. “Mr. Grant, remember, you said I could have a twisty cone,” There was a slight whine to his voice.

  I leaned over closer to him. “Listen, big guy, we need to just get food.” I tried to say this with as much firmness as I could without sounding overbearing. I prayed he didn’t say the next words. Then he did.

  “But you promised,” he said.

  Why pleasing a seven-year-old boy mattered to me was crazy, considering what we were up against, but it did.

  His eyes brimmed with tears and I knew as soon as the first one streamed down his cheek, I would cave anyway. So, I took the easy way out. “Sure, big guy. We’ll see about getting that twisty cone. But don’t get your hopes up. We may still have electricity in the mall, but I don’t know if they left any ice cream in the machine.”

  In retrospect, I should have been a hard ass, but off we went.

  After walking past empty and closed stores in a long corridor, we turned the corner and came to the food court. It really wasn’t much of a food court. There were only four vendors. One served tacos and other Mexican food. The next one was a warm pretzel joint that then now deceased Neal managed. There was a pizza by the slice restaurant, too. The last one was what mattered most to young Martin. It was a combination ice cream and smoothie place.

  All-in-all, it was an underwhelming array of options, but as the desperate sailors say, any port in a storm.

  What made this food court somewhat special was that it was on t
he interior of the mall. Just outside the windows was an expansive courtyard area that included a waterway that connected to San Antonio’s Riverwalk. The Riverwalk was what brought the tourists in.

  The Riverwalk was an interconnected set of man-made waterways that streamed through the downtown featuring all sort of restaurants, shops, and hotels along each side of it. The city’s tourism bureau called it a “World-Famous Destination.” While it had been impressive in the few hours I got to spend by it before a zombie showed up to devour a man, I hadn’t heard of it before I was forced to land there.

  It just so happened that one tributary of the Riverwalk waterway ran into the courtyard of our mall. The waterway made up most of the courtyard with walkways surrounding it, complete with small tables with colorful metal umbrellas. I’m sure without zombies roaming the streets, it had been the place to be. Now, it was just sort of sad, devoid of smiling and happy people.

  “I’d love some pizza,” Jenkins said, sidling up next to me.

  “I don’t think firing up the ovens to make a slice is on the docket for the day,” I said. “This is more like a snatch and grab. I don’t want to be down here any longer than I have to be.”

  “What about my ice cream?” Martin asked, moving in beside me.

  I looked down to him. “What would your mom say about having dessert before you ate your real food?”

  Before he could answer, Joni interjected, “She’d say that’s a no go. Ice cream is fun food. We eat fun food last.”

  “Carl,” I pivoted toward the older man who was standing fondling his key ring again. “Do your keys open the back rooms of these places?”

  “They sure do,” he said.

  “Jenkins, why don’t you and Carl go scrounging for food?”

  Jenkins didn’t need any more encouragement and he and Carl disappeared behind the door of the Mexican place.

  I looked in Joni’s direction. “Why don’t you, Jessica, and Travis check out the front areas of the pizza and taco places for anything edible?”

  “What about you?” Travis asked looking like he didn’t want to take orders from me or anyone.