Savannah's Only Zombie (Book 1): A New Death

by Josh Vasquez

  What in the world is going on?

  He yanked back on the mop again, freeing the handle. She lost her balance again, but quickly was right back on top of Jeremy. This could not be happening.

  She should be dead right now...

  The anger rose up in him. He set his feet, let out a yell, and lurched forward, sinking the stick directly into the girl’s eye socket. It sunk in deep and she fell to her knees, then to the floor. She was dead. For good this time.

  Sweet Jesus, what did I just do? He thought to himself. I had to. I had no choice. It was self-defense. I just had to. She wouldn’t stop...

  As Jeremy reasoned with himself, trying to find some reason to make what just happened okay, or believable for that matter. The store was empty now. All the customers and the rest of the staff were long gone. It was now just Jeremy and three dead bodies. One of which, was because of his doing.

  “Uhh...”

  A moan came from Ashley’s collapsed body. Jeremy ran over to her and knelt down next to her. He pulled her up into his arms. She was still alive. Her breath was shallow, her breathing affected by the loose, mangled skin covering her face. She looked completely unrecognizable to him. The only thing that Jeremy could connect with her former self was her bright, blue eyes, which seemed much more vibrant compared to the ground hamburger look of her face.

  “Ashley,” was all he could muster up.

  He sat there and watched as she died in his arms. Her body tensed and then relaxed as she breathed her last strained breath. She was dead. Jeremy sat there for a moment, soaking in everything that was happening. He was having a hard time believing it. He so desperately wanted to be dreaming, but he knew that just was not the case. He laid Ashley back down on the floor gently.

  What the hell is going on? I just killed a woman and Ashley just died in my arms. What the hell? And Brian’s dead too, but who the fuck cares about Brian?

  As he hung his head low, eyes shut tight; he tried to figure out what to do. Mid-thought, he heard movement. The store was still empty. The movement came from in front of him. The girl that just died in his arms, the girl who he felt the life go out of her, was now getting back onto to her knees, and attempting to stand back up. This was not good. There was no thinking, “Oh, good! She’s alive!” No, this felt all wrong. This was not a happy ending.

  Jeremy watched on in horror as she began to do the same chomping movement that the other girl had been doing. He tried to slowly back away towards the door, not trying to draw any attention to himself. She didn’t seem to notice him. Brian was also making his way to his feet again. The two of them just stood there, in what seemed like a daze. They were aware of each other. Brian tilted his head back and let out a bellowing moan.

  It was horrible. Long and drawn out, it was filled with anguish. It seemed to last forever. Jeremy was mere feet from the door, his steps quiet and calculated. There was no need to bring attention to himself. The two newly reanimated corpses began to shuffle around, noses up in the air, sniffing for something. It seemed that Ashley was having trouble, seeing that she had lost her nose. But it quickly dawned on Jeremy what they were sniffing for. They were looking for food. They were looking for him.

  As soon as his foot hit outside the doors, he turned and bolted for the back of the building. He had chained his bike up there before his shift. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the parking lot was a mess due to all the panic. There were cars smoking from collisions, a few people yelling, but most had just fled the scene. Which was exactly the same thing Jeremy was planning on doing. He had no intentions of sticking around here to see what happened.

  His bike was still there, chained to a fire hydrant sticking out from the building. He heard moans in the distance. They were outside the store. He quickly unlocked the chain and jumped on his bike, heading back out towards the front and to the road. He saw both Ashley and Brian on his way out. They were both now attacking the two guys who were arguing over what now seems like a very minor car accident. Jeremy just pressed on.

  Peddle like hell, he thought.

  He had to get home. And he had to get there quick. Everything was going to hell around him. He had to make sure his mom was okay.

  Chapter Two

  It seemed as if the whole island was falling apart. Wilmington Island was one of the few coastal islands near Savannah, one that was mostly golf course and suburban sprawl. For a middle to upper class dwelling place, it seemed as if things had shifted upside down, and the apocalypse was upon us. Seeing the dead rise will have that effect on you.

  Jeremy never slowed down, pedaling feverishly towards home. As the world crumbled around him, his thoughts were on his mother.

  God, I hope she’s okay, he thought.

  It seemed more like a prayer though. Jeremy was not very religious. He did his time in vacation bible school at the local First Baptist church as a kid, but that was about the extent of his religious background. That was about as much as Jeremy’s mother could force on him. Faith was more her thing than it was Jeremy’s.

  His thoughts went back to his mother, causing his brain to send messages to his legs that they needed to peddle faster. He noticed that there were more people than just Ashley and Brian who were back from the dead.

  What did the movies call them? Zombies? The living dead? He thought. Whatever you call them, there are definitely more of them now.

  It seemed that the woman who initially attacked Ashley was not the only one. There were more. A lot more. As Jeremy raced down the road to his house, he saw probably at least twenty of those things. Nobody he knew, just random people. Some were giving chase to living people, others were being disposed of. Jeremy’s mouthed dropped as one woman ran out of her house holding a shotgun, blew the head off one of the zombies, and rushed her kids back inside.

  Pulling into the driveway of his house, Jeremy dumped his bike near the side door and ran into the house.

  “Mom! Mom, are you home?”

  The blinds were still closed, the house dark. It seemed that she was not home from work yet. He fumbled with his phone from his pocket. It was only a quarter to five. She would be home soon. He searched the house just in case one of those things got in somehow. The layout of their house was simple. Two bedrooms on one side of the house, a bathroom in the middle, a living room and a kitchen/dining area taking up the right side of the house. Jeremy checked both his and his mother’s bedrooms first. After seeing that they were empty, he checked the bathroom and then retreated to the living room. He collapsed on the couch and flipped on the TV. The news reports were all over the place.

  The news seemed just as confused as Jeremy was about what was going on. The reports were coming from all over the low country. The local news struggled to handle the onslaught of oncoming reports of the dead coming back to life and eating the living. It was not until he turned on the major news stations that Jeremy began to worry.

  This was not just confined to the islands or Savannah for that matter. This was happening all over the continental United States. Some stations were claiming that the attacks were due to an outbreak in the “bath salts” usage among the homeless. Others were saying it was some sort of airborne biological terrorist attack. The usual names were being thrown around: North Korea, Iran, and even mother Russia herself.

  And then you had the loony’s, who were fully convinced that this was full on biblical Armageddon. The guy with the big ears was pleading with his viewers to send in money as a faith offering and they would be spared from God’s impending wrath. Jeremy didn’t know much about the bible, but he knew that wasn’t right. No one seemed to know what was exactly going on. Only theories and opinions.

  The sound of a car door shutting caused him to jump up to his feet.

  She’s home!

  Relived, he ran to the side door to greet her. She was walking up to the house, a look of intense alarm on her face. His mother had aged well over the years. Her hair was still a bright red, and her skin was remarkably blem
ish free, except for the few freckles around her cheeks. The only thing that revealed her age was the few strands of gray hair over her ears, probably mostly brought on by Jeremy and his testosterone fueled antics. He wouldn’t claim full responsibility though, he was sure his father and the divorce brought on some as well.

  “Jeremy,” she started. “You’re okay! I was so worried! It seems that everyone is going crazy! I saw this man attack another man. He beat him to the ground and then began to bite him! Can you bel-”

  Her words were cut short. Jeremy watched on in shock from the doorway, as a man came shambling out of nowhere, and tackled his mother to the ground. His clothes were tattered and there were stains of blood still fresh around his lips. He put his full weight on her, and began to claw with jagged, broken finger-nails into her skin. His mother held him at bay until, finally, he overpowered her and sunk his teeth into her neck.

  “No!” Jeremy screamed.

  He flung open the screen door and ran to the rescue of his mother. He ran straight into the ghoul, knocking it off, but he noticed the dark, red blood gushing from his mother’s neck. The zombie began to crawl back to the woman it attacked. It was not deterred by Jeremy’s tackle. It only wanted to feed.

  A flat-head shovel leaning against the fence caught Jeremy’s eye. The zombie reached out with its dead hand towards Jeremy’s mother. He quickly grabbed the shovel and brought it down hard on the zombie’s arm. It moaned in frustration. Jeremy winced as he thrusted the shovel down, over and over again into the dead flesh.

  Yes, it was dead flesh, he decided.

  It finally broke through bone and tendon, severing the lower arm completely. It moaned again, this time deeper and hoarser. Jeremy now had its full attention.

  Jeremy started to turn his attention back to his mother, but another zombie stumbled up the driveway, and was making its way towards her. Another was coming across the front yard.

  Shit.

  He quickly stooped next to his mother and picked her petite frame up into his arms. As he lifted her up, he got a better look at the wound on her neck. It was dark purple and already looked infected. Blood steadily trickled down her neck onto her white blouse.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered.

  She was passed out from the shock. Her body was completely dead weight. Jeremy did his best to carry her back towards the house. He was struggling with getting the door open, when a dead hand took hold of his mother’s foot. The two dead had finally caught up to him.

  They both lurched at her feet and with some un-human strength, pulled her away from him. He watched as his mother was quickly torn limb from limb and devoured. Skin and flesh was torn from the bone. Her arms were pulled out from the sockets; a sickening pop announced the arrival of fresh blood pouring from her arteries. Even the zombie with the severed arm had made its way into the bloodbath.

  Tears uncontrollably streamed down his face, as Jeremy fell back into the house. He locked the deadbolt, and grabbing one of the dining table's chairs, jammed it under the door handle. What should have been a fairly simple task, his mind struggled to focus and he began to feel himself shut down. He felt numb. He fell to his knees in the living room and began to sob.

  “No, no, no,” he mumbled over and over again.

  The dead outside began beating on the door, trying to get in to the food inside. They did not retain the know-how of opening doors. A minor positive amongst the sea of negative. Jeremy began to feel anger wash over him. The same rage he felt in the store, except this time much stronger. He jumped up to his feet and made a beeline for the backyard. He ran outside to the shed, throwing lawn tools aside once he got there, searching for the machete his father left behind after he moved out. Rust had already begun its assault on the large blade.

  It’ll do, the voice inside his head screamed.

  His heart throbbed within his chest and the rage surged throughout his body. Slowly walking up to the gate that led back out front, he paused and remembered his mother. He remembered how she never gave up on him, despite his always rebelling against her. How she was always there for him after his father left. How she prayed for him constantly, despite his wanting nothing to do with her religion. Taking a deep breath and letting the rage burn deep into his lungs, Jeremy flung open the gate, and charged out into the driveway.

  The zombies had left the door and returned to his mother’s remains. All three looked up in unison. Slowly they stood up and began to walk towards their new meal. This angered Jeremy even more. They were not even satisfied with his mother. Every muscle in Jeremy’s body grew tight.

  He ran full speed to the nearest corpse and brought the rusty blade down on its shoulder, cleanly separating the arm from the rest of the body. It moaned, the other two moaning in response. He brought the blade back up and sunk it into the monster’s neck. Again. Again. The fourth time sent the head spinning in the air. The body fell limp. It was dead. This time for good.

  The other two were not bothered by the fact that their comrade had been killed.

  Re-killed? Jeremy quickly thought.

  They shambled towards him, arms stretched out, reaching for his warm flesh. Jeremy took another deep breath and let anger replenish his lungs. He sprung forward and quickly disposed of the two remaining dead. Learning from the first one, he didn’t waste time hacking off limbs. He aimed his blade straight for the neck. Soon their heads joined their friend’s on the ground. Their teeth still jawed up and down, until Jeremy took the shovel, and caved in each skull. They would not be getting back up.

  It appears from now on, you’ll have to kill people twice.

  Jeremy felt the rage dissipate; he quickly became exhausted. He went back into the house and locked the door behind him. Heading straight for the bathroom, Jeremy tried to focus. Everything seemed cloudy. He was in a daze. Once in the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror, steadying himself against the counter. Blood covered him. Not the clean, bright red blood you see in movies. It was coagulated, congealed. Dirty. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

  Mom, he thought. She’s gone. There was nothing I could do. Was there? No. There wasn’t. It was already too late by the time I got to her.

  He continued to replay the scene over and over in his head. The hot water beat against his bare chest, as he tried to figure out some way he could have saved her. There wasn’t one. There was simply nothing he could have done different. And he knew that.

  When he finished, he went to his room, and stood next to his dresser.

  What do you wear for the apocalypse?

  Jeremy stared at the drawers, waiting for something to come to him.

  Better just keep it simple.

  He reached in and pulled out a pair of jeans. They were a light blue, worn around the knees, and sat snug right under his waist. Unlike many of his peers, Jeremy thought that pants should sit at, or just below the waist, not right above your knees. It was hot outside, but the idea of a little extra protection comforted Jeremy. His backpack caught his eye, and he walked over to it, dumping its contents onto the floor.

  His first year of college was not really going according to plan. He had decided to stay in town and attend a local school. The main problem was that he worked more than he attended classes. He had scholarships, but he choose not to use them to their full extent. He would never admit it to her, but his mother was the reason he stayed. He did not want to leave her behind.

  And now for what? He thought. She’s gone now.

  He quickly put on a plain, black t-shirt, and then began to stuff a second pair of clothes in his bag. A lighter, a pocket knife his father gave him years ago, and his grey Muse hoodie, all made their way into the bag as well. Looking around the room, anything else seemed pointless.

  His eyes fell on the small box under his bed. Not really noticeable, but Jeremy knew exactly what it was. It was a surprise his mother never looked in the box or asked about it. Jeremy was convinced that she knew. There was no way she could have been that na
ive.

  He knelt down and retrieved the box. Opening it revealed what was left of some pretty good weed. Jeremy bought it from a guy a week ago and was slowly burning his way through it. He didn’t consider himself a “pothead” or a “stoner”; he didn’t bake all the time. It was just something to take the edge off. And now seemed like a really good time to take the edge off. Staring at it, he contemplated smoking a bowl or maybe six.

  Just fuck yourself up. Yeah and just ride this shit out...

  He shook his head.

  And then get torn to pieces by those freaks outside. Get yourself together man; this ain’t no time to bake!

  He dropped the box on his bed and made his way into the living room. Pausing on his way at his mother’s door, he looked in. Everything neatly in its place, still waiting for her to come home. Her bible still sat on her bedside table. Jeremy walked up to it and looked down at the book. The leather cover was cracked and the pages were worn from use. Every morning she got up and read this thing.

  And what good did it do her?

  It was something she treasured deeply though, perhaps only second to Jeremy himself. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his bag. A picture of the two of them sat next the book. He grabbed that too.

  Back in the living room, he gave the room one last look over. He was really stalling for what he was about to do next. Even before the dead started attacking the living, it was one of the last things he wanted to do. He reached for the phone.

  “Why am I even bothering?” He asked out loud.

  He first dialed his father’s cell number. Straight to voicemail. He then redialed his home phone. Answering machine.

  “Typical Dad,” he sighed.

  Regardless of how he felt about his father, the man was now the only family nearby. He would have to go find him and see if he was okay. Or still alive for that matter.

  Fantastic...

  Chapter Three