Blood of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book One)

by Fuchs, A. P.

  The sky lingered before them then gravity took over and the helicopter dropped.

  Joe’s stomach flew into his throat and all three of their backsides lifted from their seats.

  August pawed at the controls and a few moments later the low droning whir of helicopter blades came from above.

  “Hang on!” the old man said and tugged at the collective.

  Billie shrieked.

  Joe screamed and suddenly the man with the fiery eyes’ words from before came to him: But this is not your time.

  “Is it now?” Joe said.

  “What?” Billie shouted.

  He shook his head.

  After all that, after all that happened, was this how it was to end? To die in a helicopter crash in a world of gray skies and walking dead?

  “Arrrrggghhhhh!” August screamed.

  The helicopter lurched forward and the roof of a building occupied the windshield.

  “Pull up!” Joe shouted.

  “I’m trying!” August snapped.

  The helicopter angled back a little, the sky filling the top half of the windshield, the rooftop filling the bottom.

  The whistling of the wind streaked by on either side of the chopper’s hull.

  WHOOM—Crachoonkcrachoonkcrachoonk!

  The roof’s pavement sprayed toward them as the blades made contact and chewed it up. They lurched forward from their seats and Joe could hear August’s body plow into the controls even as his own slammed into the back of the pilot seat. Metal groaned against concrete and Joe covered his head as a barrage of cement sped toward the glass, shattered it and sprayed into the cabin.

  The roar of the blades biting into the cement pierced his ears.

  One of the blades snapped off the helicopter. The chopper rocked back and the three slammed into their chairs as gravity partly righted the thing, freeing the remaining slowing blades from the cement.

  A loud bang resounded within the cabin as the skis hit home against the rooftop.

  Covered in glass, Joe waited, listening for any movement from outside. As the helicopter settled, silence came in and his ears began to ring.

  “Billie?” he said softly.

  She groaned. She was alive.

  “August?” he said.

  Labored breaths came from the other side of the seat in front of him. “I’m here.”

  They were alive.

  Joe’s stiff and achy body shook, and he wept.

  * * * *

  Billie could scarcely move. She had to consciously remind herself to sit up slowly lest she strain her aching muscles, which had locked up completely during the crash, something, she was sure, would cause her trouble later.

  Joe stirred in his seat beside her and in her peripheral she watched as he sat up, slowly, then turned to her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she whispered as she carefully turned her neck from side to side. The muscles on either side of her neck and all the way into her shoulders screamed as she tried to look from left to right. “Sorta.”

  “Oh, thank God,” he breathed.

  August groaned.

  “You okay, August?” Billie asked, a hand to her neck.

  “Yeah,” he rasped. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  From where she sat, she didn’t have a good look at him but from what she could see, his face was covered in blood and one of his eyes was already beginning to swell shut.

  They sat there for a few minutes, just settling, making sure that the helicopter wasn’t going to move or tip or do anything that might forbid them from getting out. Once satisfied everything was as fine as it could be given the crash, Joe slowly moved from his seat and tried opening the side door. It wouldn’t budge. He slammed his body against it, trying to rock it open.

  “Jammed,” he said.

  He scanned the floor of the helicopter, as if looking for something. Then, pulling the X-09 from the holster inside his trench coat, he turned to Billie.

  “Watch out.” He slammed the weapon against the cracked glass of the side door. The glass spider-webbed. He smacked it again and this time it shattered. “Let’s go.” He put the gun away and tucked his hands into the cuffs of his jacket to protect them from the shards of glass bordering the window frame.

  After he climbed out, he held out his arms and Billie eased herself out of the window. Each wriggling movement was enough to make her want to cry.

  But she had shed enough tears already. It was time to swallow it and be as strong as she could.

  Joe’s hands held her firmly beneath the arms as he lowered her to her feet, his face wincing as he tried to control her weight.

  “Oh come on. I’m not that fat,” she said.

  Joe smiled. “No, it wasn’t that. Just really sore.”

  “I was joking.”

  “Oh. I meant . . .”

  She turned to the cockpit door. The entire front end of the helicopter was smashed in. The blades above it were bent and twisted, one of them hanging askew over the shattered windshield, making it impossible to get August out from the front.

  “How do we get him out?” she asked.

  Joe approached the crumpled door and tried to pull it open. It rocked a little on its hinges but not enough to open it.

  He stepped back from the door. “I guess the same way you and I got out.” He got close to the glass. “August?”

  The old man turned his bloody face toward him.

  “I’m gonna pop the glass. Can you lower your head?”

  August nodded.

  “Okay, here we go.”

  August disappeared from view.

  Joe pulled out his gun, took aim, then stopped. “What the—”

  “What?” Billie asked.

  He rotated the gun, examining it. “It’s different.”

  “Different?”

  “This isn’t my gun, Billie.” Sleek and black, this wasn’t the gun he knew. The rotating chamber was gone, as was the enormous hammer he had grown so fond of. It was light, too, easier to hold. The only similarity was the sight at the end of the barrel.

  “Then who’s is it? No one else had a gun at the bank, Joe.”

  He shot her a hot glare. “I don’t know whose gun it is, but this isn’t mine!” And he took aim at the cockpit window and cracked off a shot.

  The glass shattered.

  “Take it easy!” she yelled.

  Grimacing, Joe checked the gun, furrowed his brow, then stormed toward the cockpit door and peered in. “He’s pretty banged up. You just gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?”

  * * * *

  Supported on either side by Joe and Billie, August stepped slowly toward the rooftop entrance. He hadn’t looked around enough to be sure, but from what he could gather, they were back on top of the Richardson building. Whatever happened to all of the undead up here, he didn’t know. Maybe they had seen the helicopter coming for the roof and, in their own way, had gotten scared and stumbled off the roof’s ledge? Or maybe he and the others weren’t back where they started? It didn’t matter. He was just thankful the dead were gone.

  But that awful gray-and-brown sky. He’d recognize it anywhere.

  They were home.

  “Easy, man. One step at a time,” Joe said.

  “I’m trying. Just find me a place to sit. And make sure the roof entrance is secure. I don’t want any of those things coming up here and finding us.”

  “We’ll have to figure out a way to get down,” Joe said.

  “I know. We will.”

  They found him a spot to the side, against one of the large air vents. His body objected to being lowered down from a standing to sitting position, especially his neck and lower back.

  “Here.” Joe tore off the bottom of his already-torn shirt from beneath his trench coat. “Use this to wipe your face.”

  August took the fabric. “Thanks.” He patted at the blood. Each dab against the wounds stung like flame.

  But he was thankful he was alive.


  Billie put her hands on her hips and turned to Joe. “How come you didn’t notice the gun was different inside the helicopter?”

  “I don’t know. Wasn’t paying attention. I knew it felt different but I thought that was because my hands were sore because of the crash.”

  “Weird.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  * * * *

  “I’m going to take a quick look around,” Billie said.

  “The door,” August rasped and weakly pointed to the roof’s entrance. The door was ajar and looked pretty much like how Joe remembered it.

  “I’ll get it,” Joe said.

  As he neared it, he stopped when he heard footfalls within. He pulled out the X-09 and got it ready.

  The footsteps drew closer. Faster.

  He took a step back and called to the others, “Guys, we got company!”

  August slowly turned his head toward him and looked at him with weak eyes. Billie just stood at the roof’s edge, a hand covering her mouth.

  The footsteps faded.

  “Billie? Did you hear me?” he yelled across the roof.

  She turned and faced him. Even from this distance, the look across her face was unmistakable. Something was wrong.

  The footsteps didn’t return.

  Keeping his gun trained on the door, Joe quickly jogged over to her. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you—”

  Her big blue eyes pleaded with his.

  “What?” he said.

  She pointed down to the street below.

  Joe looked over the edge. The muscles in his legs lost their strength and he teetered back a step then fell onto his haunches. He inched forward and looked again. “No way.”

  The dead were enormous.

  Below, they walked the streets. Ten of them, all giants, each at least fifteen stories tall, with wide shoulders, well-muscled jaws and razor sharp yellow teeth.

  “We’re dead,” Billie said.

  Joe couldn’t help himself but nod.

  From across the roof: “Joe, the door! Something’s coming!”

  Joe stood and, with weak legs, spun in the direction of the door and ran toward it. His thumb moved to cock the X-09’s hammer, ready to blast the head off anything that came through. There was no hammer. He forgot.

  What do I do? he thought. He hoped the thing was ready to roll just like before.

  Closer now. The footfalls were back, growing louder.

  Take it out, fast and swift. No time for games. Not with those . . . giants . . . moving around down there.

  He stopped several paces from the door. He took one quick look over his shoulder to make sure Billie and August were far enough behind him and out of harm’s way. Billie was at August’s side, her arms around him, helping him to his feet, seemingly getting ready to run if need be.

  The footfalls stopped and a humanoid shape filled the frame of the door.

  Joe’s heart jumped into his throat when the person emerged.

  It was Des. Alive.

  “What?” Joe said.

  “Guys!” Des shouted and ran out to meet them, all smiles.

  “Des!” Billie screamed, let go of August and ran to embrace him. The two collided in a big hug.

  August teetered on his feet as he slowly came toward them.

  Joe moved to help him.

  They made their way over. Billie still had Des in her arms.

  “I can’t believe this! How—” she said with a voice sopped with tears.

  “What? I’m fine. You guys left without me,” Des said.

  “Huh?” She let go and gave him a playful shove. “Those things came after you—after us—and they . . . they . . .”

  “They got you, Des,” Joe finished.

  Billie nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  Silence hung on the air.

  Joe didn’t know what to say. Des was alive, somehow. And there was no way he would have been able to stand against so many of the creatures alone.

  A low drumbeat filled the air. Then another. And another.

  Joe, August and Billie froze.

  The creatures below were getting closer. Joe wasn’t sure if he should do it now or wait a few more minutes to tell August about the change in the zombies’ appearance.

  Then again, in a few more minutes they could all be dead.

  August eyed Des up and down.

  “What?” Des said.

  The old man arched an eyebrow, as if he knew something the others didn’t. “What’s going on, Des? I’m thankful you’re alive, that you survived somehow, but you haven’t asked about the crash or even why I’m cut up.”

  Joe felt himself straighten. The old man had a point. No matter who you were, you asked how someone was if you saw them bleeding. You asked if anyone was hurt if there was a crash. Joe quickly drew the X-09. “You got three seconds to answer, Des.”

  “Joe?” Billie said, eyeing the gun.

  “One.”

  Des opened his hands. “Guys, come on. Everything’s fine. I don’t know what—”

  “Two.”

  “Joe!” Billie snapped.

  The drumbeats grew louder.

  “Answer the question,” August said.

  Des squinted his eyes, as if at a loss for words.

  Then he snarled and his peachy-white skin faded, revealing a sickening gray epidermis with chunks of flesh missing. His green eyes lit up an awful white.

  He lunged for them.

  “Three.”

  About the Author

  A.P. Fuchs is the author of many novels and short stories, most of which have been published. He is also known for his superhero series, The Axiom-man Saga. The most recent installment, Axiom-man Episode No. 1: The Dead Land, pits Axiom-man against the undead. Fuchs lives and writes in Winnipeg, Manitoba, with his wife, Roxanne, and two sons, Gabriel and Lewis.

  Visit A.P. Fuchs on the Web at:

  www.canisterx.com and www.undeadworldtrilogy.com

  Praise for Blood of the Dead

  “Blood of the Dead isn’t what you think it is. Sure, it starts out as a zombie jamboree that drags you through hell on Earth, but then it goes further . . . a lot further . . . and takes you straight to hell and back again. This is the stuff of nightmares, boys and girls, with some unnerving and frightening action scenes that will have you on the edge of your seat and haunt your dreams.”

  - Rick Hautala, author of The Wildman and Occasional Demons

  “A satisfying addition to the ever-growing zombie subgenre . . . non-stop action and flesh-eating mayhem . . . Blood of the Dead will be enjoyed by any zombie fan.”

  - The Horror Fiction Review

  “Frantically paced and never predictable, Blood of the Dead takes the usual staples of the zombie-genre—blood, guts, guns and action—and mixes them with the bizarre to create a unique story. It’s a formidable mix—think Night of the Living Dead with a healthy dash of Dante’s Inferno! Fuchs leads his cast through a nightmare world filled with relentless pain, constant fear and never-ending waves of dead flesh, then takes them some place worse . . . . You’ve never read a zombie story like this before!”

  - David Moody, author of the Autumn series

  “Talented author A.P. Fuchs has woven a bloody tapestry out of human flesh, the dark ruins of a decimated earth and the raw fear and uncertainty of the few remaining survivors. Richly drawn characters face loss, isolation, hunger and, of course, hordes of the living dead in this post-apocalyptic gem. Zombie fans will do themselves well by picking up a copy of Blood of the Dead. Scary, heartbreaking and imaginative, this book sits near the top of my very short list of zombie favorites. An absolute blast!”

  - Gina Ranalli, author of Chemical Gardens and Wall of Kiss

  “Fuchs presents a hellish apocalypse underneath poisoned skies in Blood of the Dead. Well-drawn characters navigate the very edge of a meat grinder powered by Fuchs’s twisted imagination. The Undead World Trilogy looks to be a promising addition to the genre.”
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br />   - Gregory Solis, author of Rise and Walk

  “Unrelenting and unnerving, Fuchs crafts an apocalyptic tale of empty humanity among a world overrun by the living dead. A world uniquely envisioned and vividly crafted by the imagination of A.P Fuchs. Blood of the Dead offers a rich blend of guns and gore that is sure to please the most diehard of zombie fans.”

  - Geoff Bough, Editor of Revenant Magazine

  Also by A.P. Fuchs

  Undead World Trilogy